Holidays at Crescent Cove by Shelley Noble Page B

him.
    â€œBut it was the photos . . . of that young . . . woman. I looked at them. And . . . and . . . she looked a bit like you. And I thought, what if it had been you instead of her? And suddenly I knew I couldn’t do it. Not again.
    â€œI’m sixty-two. I’m tired. I worked hard to build my practice, but I lost sight of what was important along the way. Then I asked myself, ‘What if this was my last case? What if I defended Harrison Cavanaugh, walked out of the courtroom and dropped dead?’ ”
    He breathed out a laugh. “I felt like Ebenezer Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas yet to come. So I wrote my letter of resignation, informed my clients that I was leaving, and here I am.”
    A shiver of apprehension crawled up Grace’s spine. “When was this?”
    â€œLet’s see. Last Thursday.”
    â€œDid you tell Mother?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œNot exactly? She’s worried sick. Don’t you think—Oh, crap. I’ve got to call Nick. I asked him to have his officers look out for you.”
    â€œThe police?”
    â€œYes, damn it. I didn’t think they would be looking for you to arrest you.”
    â€œArrest me?”
    â€œYou took all these files. You’ve compromised the defense by showing them to me. They’re going to do I don’t know what to you. No wonder they’re frantic to get their hands on you.”
    Her father waved away her objections with a flick of his hand. “I named you lawyer of counsel before I resigned. Technically you’re working on the case.”
    Grace groaned and reached for her cell.
    â€œI found him,” Grace said as soon as Nick answered. “Thanks. Sorry to bother you. Yeah, he’s okay. Thanks again.”
    She turned to her father. “You noticed I didn’t say where I found you. Now you’d better call Mother and let her know you’re okay before we figure out what to do with this mess.”
    But her father just sat there.
    â€œDad, move it.”
    One side of his mouth crooked. “You haven’t called me Dad in a long time.”
    She looked at him. Really looked at him. And her anger and hurt began to melt away. She was helpless to stop it. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to hold onto it any longer. He’d come to her. She didn’t begin to know what it meant. But she knew she’d follow it until it was over and hope there would be something good at the end. “Call,” she said, and began to unbutton her coat.
    Her father reached for his cell, talked for a few seconds. Listened for a few more. Ended with, “Okay, okay, I’ll tell her.” And hung up.
    â€œShe insists on driving down. She’s bringing food. And says to tell you to go out and get a turkey.” He pushed himself out of the chair. “Oh, and that she loves you.”
    He moved stiffly toward the table and reached for a folder. “And so do I.”
    They stood side by side, leaning over the table, hands braced on the edge, father and daughter, studying the files of the defense’s case.
    â€œWhat do you want to do?” Grace asked.
    â€œI don’t know that there’s much we can do. I guess I didn’t know my partners at all. Or have I lost my grip? Does this look like a case to you?”
    Grace shook her head. “Looks like a case of desperation to me.”
    â€œExactly.” He turned to look at her. “But if you think I would have stayed with this case if I had a better chance of winning, you’d be wrong.”
    â€œI don’t. I’ve seen you try a case successfully with less.”
    Her father sighed. “Yes. But was it the right thing to do?”
    â€œI don’t know, Dad. I know you can’t practice according to whim. That everyone—even the criminals—are entitled to a fair trial. But I can’t do that. And this isn’t even fair.” She picked up