“What was the sheriff thinking, arresting him at Everton Estate, hauling him into the courthouse in front of that horde of reporters…” Mrs. Greerson clucks her tongue. “Now you listen to me,” she says, pointing her finger in my face. “You keep him safe, you hear? These vultures will fly back to wherever they came from soon enough. Then you bring him back here so he can make his case to the people. We’ve got to change hearts and minds, isn’t that right ladies?”
“Hearts and minds,” Isla and Charlotte echo in agreement.
I have to admit, Mrs. Greerson commands an impressive amount of respect.
She turns back to me. “But until the coast is clear, stay away.”
“I will,” I say.
She smiles and pats my hand. Somehow, she manages to make the gesture comforting. I wonder what I’m doing wrong.
“Your mother was a good woman,” she says tenderly. “Noah never would have done anything to hurt her.”
My chest pinches.
“I know,” I say quietly. Part of me wishes I could tell them about Noah’s alibi. That I’ve already found the key to his freedom. I don’t remember the last time I sat at a table with women that wasn’t for some charity event or ABA conference. Where the conversation was free flowing and not carefully curated. Where I didn’t have to be so perfect all the time.
“Good,” Mrs. Greerson says. “Now go on. Get.”
She makes a shooing gesture with her hand.
I stand and walk to the door, with a parting glance at Charlotte, who’s laughing at something Mrs. Greerson is saying, her teeth a flash of white against smooth olive skin, her curls bouncing with her movements. I turn away and head to the car.
I wonder if Noah makes spaghetti and meatballs for Charlotte too.
I fly back to the city and head to the office for a few hours.
Grayson is there, and I fill him in on the good news. I call Noah and put him on speakerphone so we can all celebrate together.
“I can’t wait to see the look on Foghorn Leghorn’s face,” Noah says gleefully.
“Who?” I ask.
“That’s what I’ve nicknamed Wilbur,” he says sheepishly.
Grayson lets out a bark of a laugh. “Oh my god. It’s perfect. Seriously, who names their kid Wilbur?”
“What’s with you and cartoon characters?” I say, shaking my head. “Look, we’ve still got to proceed like we’re the underdogs. Iwant to be overprepared. And there’s also the small matter of the real killer being at large. Noah, I want you to start looking into any other possible suspects. I know there’s nothing much to go on, but I imagine you can find the time between cooking and the gym.”
Grayson raises an eyebrow at me and mouths,He cooks?I brush him off with a wave of my hand. “I’m going to start looking for an expert to poke holes in the fingerprint evidence. Grayson, you start drafting motions for the pretrial hearing.”
“I’ll see if I can find any CCTV footage to backup Noah’s alibi too,” Grayson says. “There probably won’t be tapes from five years ago but doesn’t hurt to look.”
“Great idea,” I say. “What’s the word on discovery?”
“I emailed Foghorn,” Grayson says, grinning. “He says we’ll have it later this week. Like, what the fuck, it’s digital, it’s not like he’s sending it via carrier pigeon. They’re really slow walking this process.” Grayson cocks his head. “You know, he also has a sort of small-town “Anderson Cooper if he was straight” vibe.”
“I bet Wilbur would appreciate that comparison more than a cartoon rooster,” Noah says.
“I’ll start drafting the motion for change of venue,” Grayson says.
I nod. “I’ll work on holding the Magnolia Bay Sheriff’s Department accountable for their abysmal crime scene investigation.”
Grayson smiles at me. “There’s the badass bitch I know and love.”
“See you later,” I say to Noah.
When I hang up, Grayson is looking at me with a wicked smile.