Page 20 of Defend Me

I fileEmilyaway withCharlotteas a list of people to familiarize myself with. Maybe Noah can give me a list with names and descriptions. This will be my jury pool. I should get familiar with them.

Daisy is shaking her head. “Mom was like Noah’s own mother. I can’t believe Emily could think he killed her. I don’t know how anyone could believe that.”

“I hate to break it to you, Daisy, but people do kill their own mothers,” I say.

“Von!”

“I don’t think he’s guilty!” I protest, putting up my hands. Sometimes, I just can’t help pointing out facts. “I’m defending him, aren’t I?”

She sniffs and wipes her nose. “You’re not going to let them put him in jail for this, right?”

Looking into my little sister’s sky-blue eyes, I feel a sudden sense of trepidation. Harold’s words echo in my head. He’s right. An innocent client is a nightmare. Because if Idon’tsucceed…I let everyone down. Not just Mom. Not just Noah. I let my family down too. Because we all deserve justice.

“I’m late,” I say, pouring my coffee into a thermos. I won’t make promises I’m not sure I can keep. But my resolve is hardening with every passing minute.

“Von.” Daisy isn’t going to let me wriggle out of this.

I brush a strand of red-gold hair out of her eyes and tilt her chin up to meet my gaze. “I am very good at what I do,” I tell her slowly. “I am going to win this case. Noah won’t go to jail.”

I can see the relief spread across her face. She wraps her arms around my waist and buries her head in my shoulder. I feel another pinch of unease—I hope I haven’t just lied to her.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice muffled through my silk blouse. I give her a squeeze.

“Now I’ve got to go talk to my client.”

Daisy releases me and gives me watery smile. “Tell him I say hi.”

“Sure.”

As I head out to the car where Alex waits, my phone buzzes with a text from Grayson.

Did you see this??

Attached is a news article about the arraignment in theMagnolia Bee, the local paper.

Could Love Be In The Air?the headline blares over a picture of Daisy reaching out to take Noah’s hand. The moment was so brief and her movement so quick I couldn’t stop it. And beneath the headline, reads:Daisy Everton Shows Support for Patterson Despite Overwhelming Evidence.

I glance at the byline—Everly Harris. Never heard of her. And what the fuck is she talking about? Overwhelming evidence? There’s one fingerprint. The rest of their case appears to be extremely circumstantial, from what that prosecutor said. Those love letters were unsigned. Lots of people know about that break in the hedge.

Andlovein the air? Goddammit. We do not need this turning into even more tabloid fodder.

This Everly Harris could be a thorn in our side. The Times has an article too,Grayson texts.They don’t mention Daisy. The Post does though

Let’s focus on the interviews today, I write back, not wanting to imagine what insane headline theNew York Postis running with. That rag thrives on this kind of thing.Are you on your way over? I want you to talk to Mr. Patterson. Get his statement. We need to start building a timeline. I’ll talk to Noah.

Just waiting for my Uber to get here.

I’ve never been to Noah’s house before. I haven’t been to this side of Magnolia Bay at all. Alex drives down narrow streets lined with simple homes painted in pastel colors, fronted with tiny patches of lawn. An older woman with an iron gray bob and oversize glasses is taking laundry down off a line—I vaguely remember her from the courtroom yesterday. She watches the car pass with a stern, almost discerning, expression. Two kids shoot baskets in a driveway covered in chalk drawings. A wizened man in a wheelchair sits on a tiny porch, chatting with a guyabout my age who also looks familiar. The younger man is showing the older one something on his phone.

The first thing I see as we reach Noah’s house are the news vans. They sit bumper to bumper, reporters and TV anchors and cameramen all clustered around, talking to each other or on their phones, waiting for anything newsworthy that might break. They perk up in unison upon my arrival.

Noah’s house is on the bay side of the street. I knew there were smaller homes on the opposite side of the water from the Way, but you can’t really see them from our house, and I’ve certainly never been to one. Instead of manicured lawns, there are swaths of wild, untamed woods that encroach the water’s edge. The house is gray-shingled, with a red door and white shutters, both in need of a paint job. We lurch down the poorly paved drive and I see a sloping backyard dotted with spruce trees, birch, and sugar maples leading down to a dock. Tufts of grass grow wildly around a series of paving stones leading up to the front door.

The reporters surge across the street toward my car as soon as we’re parked.

“Great,” I grumble. I see a reporter I know from the Times. The news vans are all from local news stations. At least this hasn’t gone national—yet. As soon as Alex opens the door for me, I’m surrounded.

“Siobhan!” A young woman with mousy brown hair and tortoiseshell glasses rushes up to shove her phone in my face. “Everly Harris, theMagnolia Bee.Do you really think Noah is innocent?”

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