Death, Taxes, and Green Tea Ice Cream

by Diane Kelly

  Would they?

  Dear God, I hoped so.

  I looked over at them as Giacomo returned to my side. Several met my gaze, but a few others were looking elsewhere. Hard to glean anything from their expressions.

  Trumbull glanced at the clock. It was shortly before five. “We’ll wrap things up for today.” She turned to the jurors. “Be here at nine tomorrow morning to begin deliberations.” She banged her gavel and we all stood as she descended her bench and returned to her chambers.

  chapter forty-two

  The Longest Night of My Life

  The reporters and their cameramen cornered both Troy Kerr and my attorney as we headed down the steps outside. Both attorneys predicted an easy victory. Obviously, one of them would be proved wrong tomorrow.

  Trish LeGrande elbowed another reporter aside and shoved her microphone in Troy Kerr’s face. “Given that she fired Miss Holloway, Lu Lobozinski’s testimony in support of the former agent was a surprise. What are your thoughts about her statements?”

  “It’s natural that Ms. Lobozinski would come to the defense of an agent she’d hired,” Kerr said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Miss Holloway clearly used excessive force.”

  “Clearly,” Trish repeated, glancing my way.

  So much for unbiased journalism, huh?

  A male reporter stepped in next. “There’s speculation you’ve got your eye on the bench and brought this case to get the attention of the judicial selection committee.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Kerr cut angry, accusing eyes to Giacomo before turning back to the reporter.

  “I overhead two attorneys in the men’s room talking about it,” the reporter said. “Another mentioned it in line at Security. Three of the judges in the snack bar were talking about it, too.”

  Neener-neener.

  A red-haired female reporter waylaid Giacomo. “You brought SWAT officer Lamar Thomas down to size. How did that feel?”

  Giacomo remained professional, refusing to gloat. “Just doing my job,” he said. “Getting honest answers out of people who don’t want to give them.”

  I took Giacomo aside and thanked him. “You were incredible in that courtroom.”

  He curled his fingers, blew on his nails, and rubbed them on his chest in a gesture of inflated ego. “I am that damn good, aren’t I?” He echoed Lu’s words, following them with a grin. “Like you.”

  I smiled for the first time in weeks.

  I parted ways with my attorney and entourage on the steps and headed home with my parents, Nick, and Alicia.

  * * *

  Despite feeling utterly exhausted, I couldn’t sleep a wink that night. I tossed and turned next to Alicia on the futon in my guest room. I stared up at the ceiling and tried to count sheep. Unfortunately, like my thoughts the sheep went in a hundred different directions.

  At 2:00 AM, I slid my feet into my slippers, grabbed my cell phone and keys, and sneaked out of my town house. I looked down the street to see the light from Nick’s big-screen television flickering in his living room window. Apparently he couldn’t sleep, either.

  I sent him a text as I headed his way. Coming over.

  Ten seconds later he was standing barefoot and bare chested in his driveway, waiting for me in nothing but a pair of faded flannel lounge pants in a Dallas Cowboys print. His breath hung in the frigid night air, but he didn’t seem to notice the cold.

  I walked straight into his arms. He wrapped them around me, holding on so tight I thought he might crack his ribs again. I would’ve cried if I’d had the energy. As it was, I was too exhausted to do anything more than stand there and let him hold me up.

  After a few seconds, he released me, took me by the hand, and led me inside. Without a word, he swept me into his arms, carried me upstairs, and made sweet, soft, sad love to me. We both knew that even if I won my case tomorrow things would never be the same. This trial would be a scar on my soul.

  Afterward, I allowed myself a few minutes in Nick’s arms, feeling his chest rise and fall under my cheek, listening to his heart beat. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  As I lay there, I thought again about how Nick would be affected if I was convicted. Though the thought of him with another women made me utterly sick, I had no right to ask him to wait for me. I didn’t want to tie him down, to force him to stay true to me out of a sense of duty or guilt. Breaking up with him would be the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, but I owed it to him to set him free.

  Even if it killed me.

  When I climbed out of bed, Nick did, too. While I put my pajamas and slippers back on, he slid on a sweatshirt and a pair of sneakers with his lounge pants.

  As he walked me home, I said, “Nick, if I get convicted, I want you to move on.” As the words left my lips, my heart shrank into a painful ball in my chest.

  “You’re not going to get convicted,” he said, though his uncertain tone told me that he, too, was afraid to let himself have too much hope lest the jury side with Troy Kerr. “And what do you mean, ‘move on’?”

  “I want you to find someone else.”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me to a stop. “Nope. Not gonna happen.”

  My eyes grew misty, my throat tight. I looked up into his eyes. “I don’t expect you to wait for me.”

  “I’ve already waited months to make you mine, Tara. I’ll wait some more if I have to.”

  A tear escaped down my cheek and he ran a thumb over the wet trail to erase it.

  He looked down into my eyes. “If you’re convicted, Tara, I’m quitting the IRS.”

  “Nick! No!”

  “I couldn’t work for a government that would treat one of its own that way.” He exhaled a long, steamy breath. “I couldn’t work for people who could convict you.”

  “What would you do?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Run off and join the circus?”

  “I can’t see you in one of those clown cars.”

  “Hush, woman,” he said, giving me that chipped-tooth smile I never tired of. “I’d be the ringmaster.”

  We continued on to my door, where he waited while I unlocked it and stepped inside.

  “Good night, Nick.”

  He gave me a soft kiss that turned my heart inside out. “Good night, Tara.”

  chapter forty-three

  And the Verdict Is …

  Tuesday morning brought another case of dry heaves, these even more intense than yesterday’s. Today I would know my fate.

  But what would it be?

  I trembled as I tried to apply my mascara, poking myself in the eye. My lipstick ended up all over my mouth, my blush in wide swaths across my cheeks. When I finished I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Shit. I was the one who belonged in a clown car.

  My cat Anne stood in the front foyer, watching me as I packed up to go. She looked up at me with frightened eyes, almost as if she realized something was up. Then again, maybe it was my horrid face that scared her.

  The always-aloof Henry had even come down from his usual perch atop my TV cabinet, though he sat off to the side, nonchalantly licking his paw as if to say, No need to worry. You’ll be back.

  “Thanks, Henry,” I said. “I needed that.”

  I gave them each a scratch behind the ears.

  Given that we had no idea how long jury deliberations would take, only Nick, Bonnie, and my parents made up my cheering squad today. The others went about their work, though I had strict orders from all to text them the instant I heard the verdict.

  I took a seat next to Giacomo, who greeted me with a warm smile. “Ready to walk out of here a free woman?”

  “Hell yes,” I said under my breath. I just wasn’t sure it was going to happen.

  The reporters lounged about the benches with magazines and laptops, ready to make productive use of their time while they waited for the verdict.

  The jurors trickled in and took seats in the box. A straggler who sneaked in as Judge Trumbull ascended her
bench received a cursory admonishment. “What part of ‘nine o’clock’ did you not understand?”

  After the judge gave the jury some standard instructions, they were sent to a nearby conference room to deliberate. We all stood as they exited the room.

  Giacomo pulled out his laptop. “You don’t mind if I work on a brief while we wait, do you?”

  “Be my guest.” I stepped back to the gallery to sit with Nick, Bonnie, and my parents. Nick grabbed one of my hands, my mother the other.

  With the jury out of the room and my case in a holding pattern, Judge Trumbull handled minor matters in several other cases. Two attorneys debated a trial setting in a mail fraud case while another couple of lawyers argued over the admissibility of an e-mail communication of unverifiable origin.

  My mother had brought along some magazines, Southern Living, House Beautiful, Better Homes & Gardens, but neither of us could do much more than stare at the pages, unseeing. Time seemed to have slowed, the Earth no longer spinning on its axis but remaining static. Not only had last night been the longest of my life, this morning was following suit.

  I glanced at the clock for what must have been the hundredth time. What was taking the jury so long? It had been two excruciating hours. I was innocent, dammit! It shouldn’t take this much time for them to figure that out, should it? Then again, this was an important matter. They had a duty to carefully review the evidence before coming to a decision.

  Judge Trumbull picked up another file and eyed the clock, too, probably debating whether to break for lunch. She instructed her bailiff to consult with the jury and find out the status of their deliberations.

  The bailiff returned a minute later. “The jury is ready.”

  I tried not to wet myself.

  My mother gave my hand one last squeeze. I took my seat at the defense table and watched as the twelve members of the jury returned to the room. My head felt so light and full of air I thought I might faint.

  Once they were seated, Trumbull asked the foreman, the white-haired man who’d been wearing the sweater-vest yesterday, whether they had reached their verdict. He announced that they had.

  Giacomo stood and I rose, too, on legs so wobbly I had to brace myself with my hands on the table lest I keel over. Nick appeared beside me, putting a supportive hand around my waist, holding me up. I leaned on him, closed my eyes, and silently prayed.

  “What is your verdict?” the judge asked.

  I held my breath.

  “We find the defendant not guilty.”

  Not guilty.

  Not.

  Guilty.

  I opened my eyes.

  It was official now. I wasn’t a bad person.

  My innocence would be noted in a public record for all the world to see.

  My mother let loose a happy cry behind me while the rest of the gallery broke out in murmurs. I was no longer able to stand. Nick lowered me gently into my chair, kneeling next to me, holding both of my hands in his, and looking up into my face with an expression of immense relief.

  Giacomo looked down at me and smiled. “Another satisfied customer. I mentioned I charge double for ‘not guilty’ verdicts, right?”

  I looked up at him. “Nice try.”

  The attorneys thanked the jurors for their service and Trumbull dismissed them.

  Troy Kerr walked over and shook Anthony’s hand. “Good job.”

  “Any plans to appeal?” my attorney asked.

  What!?! My heart skipped a beat as I jerked bolt upright in my chair. This nightmare might not be over?

  “No,” Kerr said. “I don’t see any grounds for taking this further.”

  I slumped again.

  Thank God!

  chapter forty-four

  My Delivery Arrives

  Nick texted everyone the good news, then turned to me. “How do you want to celebrate?”

  “Sushi and green tea ice cream.”

  My parents, Bonnie, Nick, and I went out for lunch. Having eaten little over the last few days, I stuffed myself full of kappa maki, California rolls, and green tea ice cream.

  Afterward, Bonnie headed home while the rest of us returned to my town house. While I changed out of my suit and into jeans and my favorite Longhorns sweatshirt, my mother and father packed up their things for their trip back to Nacogdoches.

  Nick helped them carry their things out to my father’s truck.

  My mother turned to me before climbing in, fresh tears in her eyes. “I’m glad this is all over.”

  “You and me both.”

  She and my father gave me hugs and kisses and drove off.

  I turned to Nick, finding myself choking up once again. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you through all of this.”

  He slid me a sexy grin. “I think I should be rewarded.”

  I slid him a sexy grin right back. “I happen to agree.”

  We spent the afternoon in Nick’s bed, though, admittedly, a large part of it was spent dozing. The trial had left us horribly sleep deprived.

  * * *

  Over the rest of the week, my life returned to normal. Well, it returned to what passed for normal for me these days.

  Don Geils and the Department of Justice finalized his fourteen-year plea deal. Anthony phoned me to let me know he’d successfully argued to have Geils’ $10-million civil lawsuit against me dismissed as frivolous. That was one less thing for me to worry about. My new coat arrived from Neiman Marcus, courtesy of the Aberdeens. Jeremy sent me a full case of cow patties, too, a peace offering of sorts. The media moved on to new fodder, my trial now yesterday’s news.

  Each day I fought through rush-hour traffic to go to and from my job in the audit department in Fort Worth. Nick and I saw each other in the evenings.

  My life wasn’t bad. In fact, it was pretty good. Safe. Predictable. Stable. Still, I still grieved for the life I’d lost. That crazy, risky, dangerous thrill ride of a life.

  On Saturday morning, Nick and I headed over to the firing range in my BMW, my long-range rifle and several boxes of ammo loaded in the trunk. The morning was exceptionally chilly and windy, a cold front having blown in overnight and taking its sweet time moving out of the area.

  As always, I hit every target in the bull’s-eye. Though Nick was a good shot himself, he came nowhere close to matching my precision.

  We decided to call it quits after half an hour on the range. My nipples were so cold and hard they felt as if they might pop off, and Nick feared his testicles were going to crawl up inside him.

  When we finished, we compared our far-off paper targets through my father’s spare field glasses.

  “I might feel emasculated,” Nick said as he looked through the oversized binoculars, “if you hadn’t made me feel all man last night.” He cut me that chipped-tooth grin.

  We returned to my town house, where we warmed up with mugs of hot chocolate and stacked empty cardboard boxes around my living room, making it appear as if I had an extensive stock of items to sell at my alleged booth at the Traders Village flea market. I needed to look legitimate. Didn’t want the delivery driver for Tokyo Discount Telecom to become suspicious.

  Eddie, William, and Tanaka checked in with Nick by phone an hour before the delivery was to take place. Eddie had parked in the lot of a frozen yogurt shop located on the main thoroughfare that led into my neighborhood. William waited in the parking lot of a day-care facility. Agent Tanaka was parked a quarter mile farther down, in the lot of a Presbyterian church. The plan was for all five of us to follow the truck, taking turns in the lead to be less noticeable.

  Alicia’s in-box at work was already overflowing with clients’ tax records, so she’d gone into Martin and McGee today. I was alone as I waited for the delivery, pacing back and forth in my house, trying to force myself to sit still on my couch but having no luck.

  Twenty minutes after the estimated delivery time of 2:00, the rumble of a truck engine sounded out front. I took several deep breaths to calm myself. If I appe
ared overly excited or agitated, I might unintentionally clue the driver in that I knew the products were counterfeits and that agents lay in wait to bust him and his cohorts. Then again, we still weren’t sure whether the delivery driver was in cahoots with the people running TDT in Japan. There had been enough evidence for a judge to issue a search warrant, however. Once we followed the truck to its depot, we’d search the place.

  I peered through my peephole as the man stepped down from the truck’s cab. He appeared to be the same delivery driver who’d dropped off the order at Westside Wireless, the Asian man we’d seen on the video footage. He circled to the back of the truck, opened the cargo bay, and removed a dolly, positioning it upright on the asphalt next to him. He hopped into the bay, disappearing for a few seconds as he rounded up my order. One by one, he loaded six boxes onto the dolly, then wheeled them up my driveway. I stepped back when he made it to my porch and pushed my doorbell.

  Ding-dong.

  I counted slowly down from ten so he wouldn’t realize I’d been spying on him. I pulled the door open. “Hello.”

  He held out a clipboard. “Are you Sara Galloway?” he asked in a voice tinged with an Asian accent.

  “Yep. That’s me.” Not.

  He tapped a spot on the paper with his finger. “Sign here.”

  I signed the board under my alias.

  “Where do you want the boxes?” he asked, glancing around.

  I pointed to a spot I’d left open in the foyer. “Right here is good.”

  He rolled the dolly over, quickly stacked the boxes against the wall, and rolled it back out the door.

  “Thanks!” I called after him from the doorway. I glanced down the street. Nick sat in the driveway of his town house in a white G-ride, ready to follow the truck.

  I closed the door, grabbed my keys and purse, and headed into the garage. I punched the button to raise the door. As it went up, I saw Nick drive by. I climbed into my car and backed out of my drive, following him.

  Every nerve ending in my body tingled with anticipation.