Page 66 of The 1 Lawyer

“Was he angry?”

Gates met her eye. He knew a trick question when he heard one. “Not that kind of anger.”

Choosing her words carefully, Jenny said, “So, in your opinion, could his frustration with the lack of legal options push him to take matters into his own hands? Is that a possibility?”

“Never. Murder wasn’t in his nature. Benjamin wasn’t a violent man.”

Jenny grimaced. “Then what about that scene in court? Your cousin took a swing at Stafford Lee in the courtroom. Stafford Lee tried the rest of the case with a black eye.”

Gates brushed her statement off with a wave. “It was a lucky punch, that’s all. Benjamin was never a fighter. Even when we were kids, he wasn’t any good with his fists. Maybe because he was left-handed.”

Jenny picked up her phone and tapped a quick memo to herself. “I wasn’t aware of that. I didn’t see anything in the reports about Benjamin being left-handed.”

“Well, it’s true. Here’s an irony: In Hebrew, the name Benjamin means ‘son of the right hand.’ But my cousin favored the left, always.”

She set her phone down. Pastor Gates cut into the chop and took his first bite of pork. Ruefully, he said, “I believe we’ve let our food get cold.”

“That’s okay.” Jenny knew she couldn’t clean her heaping plate. Talking about murder had dampened her appetite. “Anything else you can share with me?”

He thought for a moment before he answered. “I truly believe that Aurora greeted Benjamin when he passed through the gate. They’re together in heaven; I take comfort in that. But we’re still on earth. And a lot of strife and trouble and woe remains in this place. I think we need to be on guard. All of us.”

He set down the serrated knife. “There’s a killer among us. Because my cousin didn’t murder those two people they found in Stafford Lee Penney’s house. And I don’t believe Benjamin killed himself.”

He picked up the knife again. “So—you tell me. Who did it?”

CHAPTER 51

LATER THAT week, Jenny walked onto the patio behind Surfer Matt’s Shack on Biloxi Beach near the boardwalk. She spotted Stafford Lee sitting at one of the waterfront tables.

She checked her watch. Stafford Lee was on his lunch break and didn’t have much time. When she slid into the chair across from his, she saw that he had already ordered his lunch. On the rough wooden tabletop painted neon purple sat a paper-lined plastic basket and two tall plastic cups.

Stafford Lee handed her a straw. “Is ice water okay? We need to stay hydrated. It’s hot as hell out here.”

“Water’s fine.” She peeled the paper wrapper off the straw. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”

He waved the apology off. “I beat you by a couple of minutes, so I went ahead and ordered. Want to share?”

He nudged the basket across the table toward her. Nestled inside was a huge fried-shrimp po’boy, cut in half, flanked by a generous helping of fried pickles.

Jenny fanned herself. “God, yes. Looks divine. Okay if I salt the pickles?” She picked up the saltcellar and gave it a liberal shake. Watching Stafford Lee dig into his half of the sandwich, she marveled at the change he’d undergone. “So, what’s up? Anything new with you?”

“You won’t believe this.” The sun glinted off his sunglasses as he grinned at her.

“What?”

“I have a bench trial this week.”

Jenny almost choked on her pickle, but she recovered swiftly. “Stafford Lee, how fantastic that you’re back in the saddle!”

He nudged his shades down on his nose and peered at her over the rims. “Want to know a secret? I’m nervous. It’s my first time trying a case since rehab. I’m feeling a little performance anxiety.”

“You are not!”

He glanced around, leaned across the table, and said in a low voice, “I am. Like a kid right out of law school jotting objections on a note card. What if I’m out of practice? What if I forgot how to do it?”

Stafford Lee pulled a woeful face, and Jenny laughed out loud. “Stafford Lee, you are the king. You’ve been the local trial giant for over a decade.”

He gave her a grudging smile.

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