Page 48 of The 1 Lawyer

When she didn’t pick up the second time, I left a message: “Hey, Carrie Ann, sorry to miss you. The trial’s over. Jury came back with a defendant’s verdict. So it’s a win!” An old lady using a walker approached and sat at a slot machine next to me. I turned my back to her and lowered my voice. “And I was just thinking about the first jury trial I won after we got married. You remember that one? We’d just bought the house and put every dime we had into rehabbing it. We were so broke, I couldn’t afford to take you out to celebrate. We split a six-pack of beer at home and ordered a pizza from Domino’s.”

The recollection made my eyes misty. Too much whiskey, I thought, rubbing them.

“God, I miss that. I miss you, babe. If I could, I’d turn back the clock. Isn’t there some way to do that? Can’t we just talk about it?”

I couldn’t go on indefinitely. I used my most convincing tone. “I’d really like to come over tonight. Would that be okay? It feels like the moment is right for us to talk this out. Call me back, let me know if tonight’s a good time. You just say the word, and I’ll walk up to your door with a Domino’s box in my hands.” I spoke with a teasing note. She used to like that. “Hey, you want wings? You got wings. Sky’s the limit tonight, baby. We’re living high.”

The voice-mail beep sounded; my time was up. I stared at the phone, wondering whether I had made my case. Maybe I’d used up all my persuasive magic in closing arguments.

I hoped there was enough left to convince her to return my call.

CHAPTER 35

JENNY WAS a light sleeper. It was a requirement in her profession.

So when the cell phone on her bedside table rang at 3:43 a.m., she jerked awake. Wondering which hysterical client had interrupted her sleep with a crisis, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and read the name on the phone screen. But it wasn’t any client, past or present. The caller ID read Hank Sweeney, a detective with Biloxi PD.

She was so surprised to see that name that she fumbled as she tapped the screen and almost disconnected the call. She caught it right before it went to voice mail. “Hello?”

He said, “This is Sweeney.”

“Hank?”

“Hey, Jenny.”

“What’s up?” Her voice sounded foggy. She took a sip from a water glass on the nightstand.

Hank said, “Sorry to wake you.”

His voice was solemn. Jenny tensed up, her head clearing rapidly. Bad news was coming; that was certain. She clicked on the lamp and squeezed her eyes shut at the burst of light.

He said, “I’m at a crime scene. I need information and it can’t wait.”

Jenny experienced a sinking feeling of dread. “What’s going on, Hank?” She braced herself and waited.

Hank exhaled. “Stafford Lee Penney has been murdered.”

Jenny heard people shouting in the background. “What? What did you say?” She sat straight up in bed, thinking that she must have misunderstood him. She tucked her hair behind her ear and said, louder, “Hank, did you say something happened to Stafford Lee?”

This time, his words were distinct, the message unmistakable. “Stafford Lee is dead. Obviously, it’s foul play, no question about that. His wife, Carrie Ann, is also deceased.”

Jenny’s mind went blank with shock. She struggled to follow the thread of his words as the detective continued.

“They were both shot at close range. There’s a third body in the room too. We need to reach next of kin before we make any public announcement. That’s why I called you, Jenny. I was wondering—”

She didn’t learn what he wanted from her, because a voice in the background interrupted him. Hank turned away from the phone and shouted something she couldn’t make out.

She was frantic for information. “Hank! What’s going on?”

“Sorry, Jenny. I’ll get back to you.” Hank ended the call.

Stunned, Jenny stared at the phone, but the screen had gone dark.

CHAPTER 36

CLUTCHING HER cell phone to her chest, Jenny stumbled out of her bedroom and ran down the narrow hall. She paused outside the spare bedroom to tug down the hem of the old T-shirt she used for sleepwear. Without knocking first, Jenny threw the door open with such force that the knob slammed against the wall, probably denting the drywall.

The curtains weren’t completely drawn. A thin glimmer of light came through from the streetlamp outside. When Jenny’s eyes adjusted, she could make out a figure on the bed. Her heart pounding, she prayed that her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her in the semidarkness.

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