Page 89 of Defend Me

“That was around nine, I think,” he says as his phone starts to ring. “Sorry, this is my husband,” he says apologetically. “Hey love…” His face falls. “Oh. Okay. Let’s talk about this at home, I’m with Siobhan Everton right now.”

He looks despondent as he hangs up the phone. “Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah just…Reggie and I are trying to adopt, but finding a lawyer who is both competent and affordable is…” His voice trails off. “Sorry. Not important. Anything else you wanted to ask me?”

He looks so forlorn. I feel a pinch of sympathy, a sudden desire to be of assistance, like I was with Jake.

“I could help you, if you’d like,” I say.

Dev frowns. “Pardon?”

“I’m no adoption lawyer, but I know some people. I’m sure I can find someone who would be willing to help for a reasonable rate.” I smile. “I’ve racked up a lot of favors in my time.”

Dev’s eyes go so wide I can see whites all around his irises. He stares at me like he’s seeing the sun for the first time.

“Are you…are you serious?” he gasps.

Tears fill his eyes and I feel a loosening in my chest. “Of course,” I say. “I’d be happy to help.”

Dev shrieks, startling me, then throws his arms around my shoulders. “Sorry, I’m a hugger!” he squeals, laughing, and then I’m laughing too, even though I’m decidedly not a hugger.

“It’s really no big deal,” I say, as he lets me go.

“Itisa big deal,” he insists. “Oh my god, what’s your favorite cheese? No don’t tell me, I’ll send you a whole basket.” He grins. “This is the start of a brie-utiful friendship.”

I talk to Reggie, Dev’s husband, next. He’s a burly guy with Navy tattoos who loves to listen to Oldies on a small portable radio while he fixes cars. He thanks me profusely for offering to help him and Dev. But unfortunately, he was also not awake the morning of the murder. Cody Briggs, the sheriff’s son, works with him. I’ve only ever seen Cody with Mike the Dickhead, but when he’s at the garage, Cody is cheerful and polite, and I wonder if maybe he’s only keeping his distance from Noah out of allegiance to his father. Cody tells me he woke up around seven and got up to get some water—he noticed his father was already gone and figured he’d been called into work. Then he went back to bed. He found out about the murder later that morning when Mike called him.

Mike the Dickhead refuses to answer my questions. He just says he doesn’t remember, it was so long ago, blah blah blah, and his eyes keep darting to my chest. I can see why Noah dislikes him.

But for the most part, the more people I talk to, the more people in the town seem eager to help. Pamela and Eric Kim have come around to Noah’s side, though neither of them was awake that morning. Sometimes I’ll meet Grayson at Perks for a meeting, and Pamela is always ready with my americano and Grayson’s cortado. Charlotte and Isla have started inviting me to their Friday happy hours at the Screw, and sometimes Caden and Noah join us. My theory is proving correct—the more Noah shows his face around town, the more he reminds Magnolia Bay that he’sstill the good man they’ve known for years. Public opinion has been shifting in his favor.

As the days to the trial tick down, I feel confident that there’s no one on Wilbur’s witness list who can actually help the prosecution. There’s no one who can really help the defense either, but we’ve got our silver bullet with Patrick’s testimony. Noah does go and meet with Patrick—I passed along that request. Noah is very quiet when he comes back that night, and we don’t have sex. We curl up by the fire in silence for a while. Then Noah tells me he’s glad he spoke to Patrick. That it helped knowing he’s turned his life around.

“At least now, he won’t hurt anyone else,” he says, as he stares at the fire crackling in the hearth, with Penny’s head resting on his leg.

One afternoon, a week before Thanksgiving, Grayson, Noah, and I are in the blue study looking through yet another box of logbooks. Thanksgiving is only a week away—then we’ll start the voir dire process before trial. I’ve been prepping Isla on her testimony, since the prosecution will be calling her as one of their first witnesses. I try to prep Dad too, but that goes about as well as expected. No matter how many times I remind him this is a criminal—not a civil—trial and he’s never been in a court like this before, he snaps at me that he doesn’t need anyone’s help and he knows how to handle lawyers.

I turn the page of the logbook in my lap, the list of names and dates blurring together.

“What the fuck, Stan,” Grayson says in frustration tossing the book he was looking through back into a box. “Someone should introduce him to the internet. Searchable terms. Excel spreadsheets. I feel like my eyes are going to bleed out of my head from looking at all of these.”

“The right book is in here somewhere,” Noah says in his typically optimistic manner.

“I need a break,” Grayson says, standing up and stretching. “I’m going to grab a La Croix. And see if Isla’s made anything to snack on.”

“I think there are some Chelsea buns in the breadbox,” I say, running my finger down the list of dates.

Grayson pats his stomach. “That woman is devastating for my figure.”

He leaves and closes the door behind him. Noah groans and shifts in his chair.

“I didn’t think it would take this long,” he admits. “I’m starting to agree with you two. Stan needs to update his system.”

I shift in my chair, causing the logbook to fall from my lap onto the floor. I leave it for a minute, standing and stretching, then walk over to run my fingers through Noah’s hair. “The right book is here somewhere,” I remind him.

“You’re remarkably patient,” he says. “You could have made a really good deputy.”

“Ha,” I say. “No thanks. Those uniforms wouldn’t suit me. I don’t wear polyester.”

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