prosecutor was done, Judge Willoughby asked if the defense had witnesses.
“ None, Your Honor.”
Claire listened, so numb she hardly registered her own disbelief, as Judge Willoughby declared, “The court finds there is sufficient evidence that the defendant could have committed the crimes of which she is charged. She must appear before the Excelsior County grand jury, which is scheduled to convene on Monday, July 13. At that time a more formal determination of whether she shall be tried for these crimes will be made. Is there anything else?”
Ryder stood up and requested that bond be set, listing the defendant’s lack of any previous arrests and her strong ties to the community as proof that she could be trusted to walk free.
“ Your Honor, I object,” Buckly Fortin announced. “These are serious charges, and if the victim dies, there will be further—and even more serious—charges.”
But Judge Willoughby overruled the prosecutor. He rapped his gavel, set the bail amount and stipulated that the accused was not to leave the county. Then he asked for the next case.
* * *
Both Joe and her mother were waiting for her when the sheriff’s people gave her back her belongings and let her go home. Claire walked out into the late-afternoon sunlight and down the courthouse steps with Joe on one side and Ella on the other.
She tried to be grateful that she was free for a week at least, that the sun was shining and she could go about her life once again, for a time anyway, unconfined by bars and gray walls. But it didn’t work. She was numb; she didn’t want to feel. And beneath her numbness, anger burned.
She was innocent. She had done nothing, except fight off a man’s unwanted advances. Yet in one week’s time she would stand before a grand jury and find out if she would be going on trial for shooting that man.
It was so wrong....
Also, she couldn’t stop thinking about a tiny incident that had occurred in the courtroom. It was right after Judge Willoughby had set her bail. Ryder had been talking to her, telling her that Joe, whose business was working for bondsmen, would easily arrange her bond. She’d felt someone’s eyes on her. Slowly, she’d turned.
Behind the prosecutor’s table, in the front observer’s row, sat an attractive blond woman in a trim maroon business suit. She was staring at Claire, her blue eyes icy cold. Claire felt the chill of the woman’s hatred halfway across the courtroom.
She’d guessed immediately who the woman must be. But she turned to Ryder and asked in a whisper, anyway. “Do you know who that woman is, the one in the maroon suit?”
He’d nodded. “Mariah Henson. Alan Henson’s wife.”
Now, in the sunlight, Claire shivered a little. She had no doubt that Mariah Henson hated her.
“ Honey, we’ve got the car right here,” her mother said softly to her.
Claire looked down to the foot of the broad steps. Sure enough, her mother’s big Chrysler was parked in the first space beyond the handicapped spot. Being a Snow and on the best of terms with all the officials in the county had its advantages.
“ Thanks, Mother. But a car is ridiculous. It’s just around the corner. I’ll walk.”
“ But, dear. Surely you don’t want to deal with all the responsibilities of the motel right now. Why don't you come home with me for awhile? Joe has volunteered to look after Snow’s Inn for a few days.” Ella actually managed a thankful smile for the man on the other side of her daughter. “Come on, honey. Let me spoil you for a while.”
Claire shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I just want to go home.”
They were at the foot of the steps now, beside Ella’s car, beneath a big Japanese plane tree. A few people sat on the benches of the courthouse veranda, and one or two wandered up and down the steps.
Ella continued to keep her voice scrupulously low; this was family business and certainly no concern of hoi polloi. “Surely you aren’t still angry about that
“ None, Your Honor.”
Claire listened, so numb she hardly registered her own disbelief, as Judge Willoughby declared, “The court finds there is sufficient evidence that the defendant could have committed the crimes of which she is charged. She must appear before the Excelsior County grand jury, which is scheduled to convene on Monday, July 13. At that time a more formal determination of whether she shall be tried for these crimes will be made. Is there anything else?”
Ryder stood up and requested that bond be set, listing the defendant’s lack of any previous arrests and her strong ties to the community as proof that she could be trusted to walk free.
“ Your Honor, I object,” Buckly Fortin announced. “These are serious charges, and if the victim dies, there will be further—and even more serious—charges.”
But Judge Willoughby overruled the prosecutor. He rapped his gavel, set the bail amount and stipulated that the accused was not to leave the county. Then he asked for the next case.
* * *
Both Joe and her mother were waiting for her when the sheriff’s people gave her back her belongings and let her go home. Claire walked out into the late-afternoon sunlight and down the courthouse steps with Joe on one side and Ella on the other.
She tried to be grateful that she was free for a week at least, that the sun was shining and she could go about her life once again, for a time anyway, unconfined by bars and gray walls. But it didn’t work. She was numb; she didn’t want to feel. And beneath her numbness, anger burned.
She was innocent. She had done nothing, except fight off a man’s unwanted advances. Yet in one week’s time she would stand before a grand jury and find out if she would be going on trial for shooting that man.
It was so wrong....
Also, she couldn’t stop thinking about a tiny incident that had occurred in the courtroom. It was right after Judge Willoughby had set her bail. Ryder had been talking to her, telling her that Joe, whose business was working for bondsmen, would easily arrange her bond. She’d felt someone’s eyes on her. Slowly, she’d turned.
Behind the prosecutor’s table, in the front observer’s row, sat an attractive blond woman in a trim maroon business suit. She was staring at Claire, her blue eyes icy cold. Claire felt the chill of the woman’s hatred halfway across the courtroom.
She’d guessed immediately who the woman must be. But she turned to Ryder and asked in a whisper, anyway. “Do you know who that woman is, the one in the maroon suit?”
He’d nodded. “Mariah Henson. Alan Henson’s wife.”
Now, in the sunlight, Claire shivered a little. She had no doubt that Mariah Henson hated her.
“ Honey, we’ve got the car right here,” her mother said softly to her.
Claire looked down to the foot of the broad steps. Sure enough, her mother’s big Chrysler was parked in the first space beyond the handicapped spot. Being a Snow and on the best of terms with all the officials in the county had its advantages.
“ Thanks, Mother. But a car is ridiculous. It’s just around the corner. I’ll walk.”
“ But, dear. Surely you don’t want to deal with all the responsibilities of the motel right now. Why don't you come home with me for awhile? Joe has volunteered to look after Snow’s Inn for a few days.” Ella actually managed a thankful smile for the man on the other side of her daughter. “Come on, honey. Let me spoil you for a while.”
Claire shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I just want to go home.”
They were at the foot of the steps now, beside Ella’s car, beneath a big Japanese plane tree. A few people sat on the benches of the courthouse veranda, and one or two wandered up and down the steps.
Ella continued to keep her voice scrupulously low; this was family business and certainly no concern of hoi polloi. “Surely you aren’t still angry about that
Similar Books
