Page 83 of Defend Me

Noah shifts in his chair but I’m unperturbed. “Motion to exclude the fingerprint,” I say, handing the judge another brief. Wilbur chuckles and my eyes flash to him. “I’m sorry, is this funny?” I ask.

“No,” he drawls. “Just predictable. Your honor, that fingerprint is damning physical evidence. It was lifted off the bullet casing using cutting edge technology?—”

“Technology that has not yet been vetted thoroughly by the state,” I say. “It was an FBI lab.”

“You think the state lab is going to do better work than the Feds?” Wilbur says incredulously.

“I think I would like to rely on technology that is not in its infancy,” I reply tartly.

“Motion denied,” Judge Warner says. I don’t think he’s even reading a word of the briefs. He flips through every single one I pass him dutifully and says, “Denied,” after each one. No cameras in the courtroom? Denied. Motion to dismiss? Denied. That one I knew didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, but I wanted to make as many motions as possible, on the slight chance one of them would stick.

When we finish, Wilbur is giving me a smile so smug, it should be illegal. “Here’s our list of witnesses,” he says, sliding a paper over to me. I give it a cursory glance and my stomach flips.

“Everything all right, Miss Everton?” the judge says.

I look at Wilbur. “This is basically the entire town.”

Wilbur shrugs. “I maintain the right to call anyone who was at the party the night before the shooting. Isla Davenport’s testimony will show the stalker was in attendance. These are all relevant potential witnesses.”

This is bullshit. I don’t think someone like Eric Kim is going to have any relevant information, but I see what Wilbur is up to. He wants me spinning my wheels, wasting my time interviewing the population of Magnolia Bay. Another name on the list catches my eye. “You’re calling my father as a witness?”

Wilbur nods. “He found Marion that morning. He can establish the timeline.”

“It’s your funeral,” I mutter. Dad isn’t going to be happy about that.

I slide my own witness list across the table to Wilbur, who looks it over.

“Who is Patrick Forrester?” he asks.

“A witness,” I say, trying to sound casual.

“A witness to what?” Wilbur asks.

“Do you want me to present my case right now? I thought we would wait until the trial starts for that.”

Wilbur glances at the judge, a flicker of worry in his eyes. But Judge Warner doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Very well,” he says. “We’ll reconvene for jury selection on December first.”

He stands and sweeps out of the room, Wilbur hot on his heels. The stenographer scurries out of the room and Noah, Grayson, and I head back down to the foyer.

“That went well,” Grayson says dryly.

“I knew all our motions would get denied,” I say. “I just thought he might do a better job of pretending to read them.”

Grayson chuckles. “I’m shocked you didn’t go for the jugular when he called you Miss.”

I grimace. “I have decided to pick my battles.”

“I can’t believe Wilbur is calling the whole town as witnesses,” Noah says.

“Oh, he’s not,” I reassure him. “He knows most of their testimony won’t be relevant. He just wants me to waste my time interviewing everyone.”

“That crafty bitch,” Grayson says, shaking his head. Then he claps his hands together. “Well, kids. The sun is over the yardarm as my grandmother used to say. We have lived to fight for our valiant client another day, Foghorn Leghorn’s insane witness list notwithstanding. With the one-two punch of Dale and Patrick’s testimony, Noah’s acquittal is a sure thing. So. Where does one go to get libations in this one-horse town?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

NOAH

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