Page 46 of Defend Me

Oh. Well, that makes sense.

“Anyway,” Charlotte says. “Maria told me, and I called Isla.” She spreads her hands out wide. “The Magnolia Grapevine.”

“Did you know she was with Caden at the time?” I ask.

“Yes. She texted me at the party and told me she was leaving with him.”

“Have you found anything that proves Noah’s innocence?” Isla asks, looking at me hopefully.

“Yeah,” Charlotte says. “Spill. Noah keeps saying it’s all lawyer client privilege and confidential and all that.”

I wonder how much he talks to her. How often they text or call. How long they’ve been…whatever they are. Charlotte clearly cares about him a lot.

I glance around and realize quite a few tables are watching us. “I can’t discuss the case,” I say, as Isla looks crestfallen, andCharlotte purses her scarlet lips. There’s a pair of older women at one table whispering to each other and two guys my age at another—one looks familiar, and I realize with a pinch of pride that I recognize him.

“That’s the sheriff’s son,” I say.

“Yeah, that’s Cody,” Isla says, following my gaze. I remember he would come over sometimes when Sheriff Briggs was looking to get a donation out of Dad.

“Who’s the guy with him?” I ask, glancing at a blond-haired man with a surly expression.

“Ugh, that’s Mike Cochran,” Charlotte says, rolling her eyes. “Local troublemaker and all-around dickhead.”

Ah, so this is the infamous Mike. “Noah said something similar.”

“Listen,” Charlotte says. “Noah is a really good guy with a really big heart. And I’m sure he’s pretending he’s fine and he’s strong and all that dumb shit men like to say. But—” She glances at Isla. “We’re all scared. There’s a lot of talk here, people assuming that he must have done it because why else would the sheriff have arrested him.”

That is generally the logic of the masses—innocent until proven guilty is a nice phrase, but any defense attorney can attest to the fact that it’s usually an uphill battle.

But what Charlotte doesn’t know is that Noah has every reason to feel confident now that we’ve got Patrick Forrester as the ace up our sleeve.

“Siobhan Everton!” I whirl around at the sound of my name being shouted by the woman I saw the other day on the way to Noah’s house—iron gray bob, thick glasses, sensible shoes.

“Who are you?” I ask. Charlotte snorts and Isla’s eyes widen. I didn’t mean to be insulting—I literally have no idea who this woman is.

But now everyone in the café is watching us, even the woman at the espresso machine. The old lady stumps over, shoos Mike “the dickhead” Cochran out of his chair and pulls it over to sit beside me.

“What are you doing back in town?” she hisses, leaning in like now she wants to have a private conversation after alerting the entire coffeeshop to her presence.

“Excuse me?” I say.

“Mrs. Greerson,” Isla says, and I realize this is the Magnolia Grapevine queen, “Von is helping with Noah’s defense.”

“I know what she’sdoing, Isla,” Mrs. Greerson says testily. “But what’s she doinghere? Don’t you know there are reporters all over this town, trying to ferret out a scoop? I’d heard you’d taken Noah away somewhere.”

“Who told you that?” I ask.

“I have my sources,” she says. “I know everything that goes on in this town.”

“Well, I have,” I say. “He’s at?—”

“Don’t say it out loud, girl, these walls have ears!”

“So do all these people,” Charlotte points out.

“None of your jokes now, Ms. Perez,” Mrs. Greerson says. “This is serious business.”

“We know,” Isla says.

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