Leaving the children with the policewoman and Joe, I grabbed the cell out of my bag and called Heather. No answer. I tried Phillipa.
“Oh, Cass, am I glad to hear from you,” she cried. “News?”
“We have the children. Other than the fright of their lives and a chilly dip into Eel River Pond, they’re all right. We’ve got them dry and warm right here. Go tell Dee this instant.”
“Dee overheard Heather’s call to Stone and insisted on following him to the plantation. Heather wouldn’t let her drive, of course, so they’re both on their way to wherever you ended up. Eel River, you say?”
“Yes. Part of Plimouth Plantation extends to the river. What about Fiona? Have you heard from her? We’ve got to let her know that Laura Belle is safe.”
“Well, that’s another problem. Fiona finally gave up roaring around town and drove back here. But when she heard the latest developments, she insisted on racing to the scene to rescue Laura. And, worse, she was waving her pistol. Apparently, it’s been locked up in her glove compartment. No one could stop her. Or at least, I couldn’t. For a plump little lady, she packs a lot of muscle. So I left M&Ms to stay with Jenny and Anne, and I’m in my car right now, trying to get to Fiona before Fiona gets to Lee.”
“Good move. Two ambulances just pulled in, so I’ve got to go now. Call the minute you catch up with Fiona. Talk about a loose cannon on the deck!”
I don’t know how Heather managed it, but somehow she’d run red lights and raced recklessly after the ambulances. Right after the paramedics arrived, the Mercedes careened in behind them. Careless of fenders and paint, Heather pulled it into the woods so as not to block their exit. Then Dee was jumping out, crying and screaming.
“They’re all right. They’re all right,” I kept saying as she threw her arms around the two boys and Laura Belle, too. The paramedics were hovering nearby, wanting to evaluate the children. They gave Joe a blanket for himself, but he was too edgy to sit still. I had to hang on to his arm to keep him from running after Stone. “You’ve done enough now, Joe,” I murmured warmly. “It’s you who saved them, you know. Now let the others bring in that wretched boy. Oh, I wish Fiona hadn’t gone off half-cocked. She should be here with us.”
“Fiona’s hysterical right now,” Heather said. “But basically she’s a finder. She knows we’re at the plantation, and she’ll roll in here any minute now. Isn’t it wonderful that the children are safe! What happened?”
I was about to tell her when we heard a gunshot somewhere up near the Visitors’ Welcome Center. Then a whoop and a scream from the general direction of the old fort.
“That’s it,” Joe said. “I’m going after them.” He tossed off the blanket and began running toward the fort.
“You and I had better follow that shot,” I said to Heather. “That’s got to be Fiona.” With the ambulances still filling the dirt track, it would be too difficult to get either of our cars out of the odd places where they were parked, but the distance wasn’t that far. We ran uphill to the Welcome Center, then on to the fort when we spotted Fiona crouched behind her baby blue Town Car. She seemed to be trying to get a bead on someone at the fort. Heather literally threw herself on Fiona and wrestled away the pistol.
“He’s up there. I saw him up there!” Fiona cried out.
“So are Tip and Stone and a couple of cops,” I hissed. “What if you’d hit the wrong person? Or even the right person. You’d be going to jail right along with that depraved youth.”
“And, besides,” Heather chimed in, “we’ve rushed up here to tell you the best news. All the children are safe! You can go to Laura Belle right now—she’s waiting for you just down this road. So come on, you crazy lady. Let’s go!”
I gave a kind of sign to Heather to escort Fiona to her little girl and leave me there. Fiona needed no more urging, a bundle of tartan hurling itself down the hill toward the child. Heather handed the pistol to me and went, too, but looked back to say, “Be careful, Cass. Don’t go into that fort until you know it’s safe. And don’t shoot that damned thing.”
Fiona’s keys were still in her car. I had turned my back on the fort and was hiding the pistol in the trunk under a box of car junk when I felt myself hit hard in the back. I almost fell into the trunk. Then Lee was on top of me, slamming my head against the floor of the trunk. Again and again. I was more than “seeing stars” my brain was bursting with exploding supernovas.
Yet somehow, although dazed and in pain, I managed to turn myself around to see five guys, including Tip, pounding out of the fort after this one agile kid who was now dancing around with Fiona’s pistol. Without a moment’s thought, I threw myself forward and tackled the boy’s legs. He fell to the ground with a cry of panic. The pistol skittered out of his grip, and we both grabbed for it at once. It was achingly just beyond either grasp. I could feel my fingers barely touching the cold metal. But Lee pushed me out of the way and stretched out his hand just a little farther than mine. Then a foot seemed to come out of nowhere and clamp itself down on Lee’s eager hand. I looked up through the agony of quite a few bumps and bruises. It was Joe.
Joe hauled Lee up by his collar and, with admirable restraint, merely pinned his arms and turned him around so that one of the cops could cuff the boy, who now was crying. “I want my mother. I want a lawyer. I was only trying to save those children when this Indian chased me away.”
It was probably a good thing that Stone and the officers took Lee away before Fiona got hold of him. With Joe’s arm around me and Tip close beside, we watched the cruisers drive away, the boy in the backseat looking stunned and impossibly young. I thought about Lee’s mother and grandmother, how they would fight tooth and nail for their darling. I imagined that confrontation could easily spin out of control.
But what I never dreamed was that the Reverend Selwyn Peacedale, the newest millionaire in Plymouth, would insist upon hiring a prominent criminal lawyer in Boston to defend Leonardo Deluca. The famous and infamous Owen Llewellyn, defender of murderers, gangsters, and felons of all description, agreed to take the case.
“Wyn feels a spiritual responsibility in this whole tragic series of events,” Patty tried to explain over a cup of tea at the parsonage. I wasn’t sure she understood herself. “We prayed over the matter, and Wyn feels God spoke to him.”
“Yes?” I urged. What I really wanted to know was God’s point of view about all the poor souls who’d been poisoned, some of them fatally, by a greedy kid.
“I don’t know exactly, but the gist was that Wyn wouldn’t feel able to administer a single penny of that Craig fortune with a good conscience if one of the Craig family, only a child really, and a talented child at that, went to prison for some grisly life term among a lot of hairy, horny older men. Wyn said if Lydia Craig hadn’t practically disinherited her own family, none of these terrible things would have happened.”
“Wrong! Neither Lee nor anyone else except the firm of Borer, Buckley, and Bangs knew the provisions of the Craig will. When those poisoned brownies showed up at the church social hour, Lee must have thought his mother was still a primary heir.”
“Well, you can’t be sure what the boy knew,” Patty said. She glanced at the door as if to be sure that her husband was still safely tucked away in his study, then continued in a whisper. “Wyn may have mentioned the bequest to someone, what he knew about it at the time, and you know how news travels in Plymouth. Neither one of us is comfortable with the thought of that youngster shut away from the world for most of his young life.”
“A terrible prospect, I agree. And it’s happening more every day that really young children, even younger than Lee, are committing heinous adult crimes. What can the law possibly do with the boy?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
As it turned out, what the law did was pull in its claws when Owen Llewellyn strolled into the courtroom and melted the stony heart of Judge Lax. The attorney’s mellifluous voice caressed every consonant that rolled off his tongue. A big, handsome ma
n with a mane of white hair, he wore a gray Armani suit and sincere blue tie; Llewellyn looked solid and sympathetic, confident of the virtue of his argument as well as of his own personal power. The prosecuting district attorney, Liz Strait, a shrill, nervous young woman with dark hair in a stylishly uneven haircut that condemned her without a trial to the scorn of every Plymouth matron in the courtroom, was no match for the Welsh word-sorcerer.
When search warrants were finally issued, the potted hemlock plant that once had been growing in Bianca Deluca’s cellar room was still missing, and every file in Lee’s computer had been erased by a special program he’d installed. Stone couldn’t use my copies of Lee’s incriminating computer notes because, as he informed me sternly, I had virtually stolen them. With little evidence, and that circumstantial, to connect Lee to the poisonings, the D.A. had settled for a charge of attempted murder of the children he tried to drown in Eel River Pond. But the boy was still two weeks short of his sixteenth birthday. So in his first appearance before Judge Lax, Llewellyn succeeded in having Leonardo Deluca’s trial moved to juvenile court. The juvenile court judge was Maria Lacrimas, whose bias in favor of youngsters was well known. And since now there would be no jury, the decision would be hers alone.
No one was allowed in the courtroom during a juvenile criminal trial except the attorneys, family members, and witnesses. Fiona’s humming spell could not be used to shake the truth out of Lee. But Deidre, Joe, Tip, and I were present as witnesses. Lee looked up from the yellow legal pad on which he was writing notes, and I could tell from the hint of a grin that he had found a way to resist any psychic intrusion.
“Truly a changeling,” Deidre murmured.
Behind Lee and Llewellyn, the entire Craig clan was assembled to show familial support. Jean and Arthur Deluca held hands. Bianca Deluca glared at everyone. Arthur Deluca looked bemused, like a man lost in a perplexing dream, while Jean beamed loving trust to their son. Heidi Craig sat at the defense table with Lee, Llywelyn, and Llewellyn’s two assistants. With Wyn’s deep pockets at the ready, no expense needed to be spared.
Deidre testified to Lee’s earlier intrusion into her home, how she had come home and found him trying to poison her children with so-called Maraschino Milk, how she had wrestled him out the door.
“Mrs. Ryan, have you ever been treated for anxiety or depression?” Llewellyn asked sympathetically in his cross-examination.
“No, I have not.”
“Are you saying that you’ve never been prescribed medicine for anxiety or insomnia?”
“Oh, perhaps once. After my baby Anne was born.”
“So the answer is yes, then. You have been treated for anxiety. Did you strike the boy?”
“Not exactly.”
“Did you draw blood in any way?”
“Well, just his cheek got scratched.”
“But you had no actual evidence of poison? Just what you fancied was the case? In fact, you didn’t even lodge a complaint with the police or have the milk analyzed.”
“He ran away with the bottles. But I knew, I knew. And that day Lee Deluca threatened my children.”
“Oh, come now, Mrs. Ryan. What did he say, exactly, that you construed as a threat?”
“He said ‘You shouldn’t have marked my face, lady. I play a mean Richard the Third, so watch out.’”
“So you did assault the boy…you’re admitting that.”
“But Richard the Third killed the princes in the tower. That was a direct threat, a reference to my children.”
“A threat you never saw fit to report to the authorities? Why do you imagine the boy was trying to harm you or your family?”
“He’s a sociopath, that’s why. He doesn’t need a reason.”
“But in what context did he know you, Mrs. Ryan.”
“I’d been at his school, asking questions about his record.”
Llewellyn turned to the judge with a significant look. “You’d been trying to discredit him at his school, is that it?”
“Not discredit him, no. But he does have a history of—”
“We’re not here to discuss the boy’s school record, although it’s an outstanding one. Mrs. Ryan, are you an alumni of Assumption High School?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And are you still a practicing Catholic? Or have you recently joined a witch cult professing satanic beliefs?”
“Objection!” Liz Strait finally came to life. “Mrs. Ryan’s religious beliefs have nothing to do with her testimony here today.”
Judge Lacrimas agreed.
“No more questions for this witness, Your Honor.”
M&Ms was called to testify that she’d just gone upstairs for a minute to lift Baby Anne from her crib when Lee Deluca sneaked into the kitchen and lured the two boys and Laura Belle out into his car. “Just like the Pied Piper,” she affirmed, glaring at the boy.
Then it was our turn to relate the events we had witnessed at Plimouth Plantation. Tip and Joe testified to the scuffle with Lee and the gun. I described my confrontation with Lee and the tire iron. If looks could slay, the beady-eyed Bianca would have had me dead and buried before Llewellyn sauntered over for his cross-examination.
“Ms. Shipton, what did young Leonardo himself say he was trying to do?” the defense attorney asked me.
“He said he was trying to save the children. But—”
“Thank you. And what did he say about the implement he carried?”
“You mean the tire iron? That he was going to break the car windows with it. But that’s such a—”
“No more questions for this witness, Your Honor.”
Perhaps impressed with Lee Deluca’s theatrical skill, so much like his own, Llewellyn allowed his client to testify. The boy’s demeanor exuded trustworthiness, kindness, bravery, and every other Boy Scout virtue, as he explained how he’d dropped in to apologize to Mrs. Ryan for scaring her on their earlier encounter. He’d found the children alone and unattended, and when they begged him to take them for a ride in his little green car, he reluctantly agreed, thinking they’d at least be in someone’s care. Just for fun, he’d driven into Plimouth Plantation to show the boys the Pilgrim settlement. He’d stopped the car for a moment and got out to check the tire—the steering had been pulling to one side. Perhaps something sharp in the dirt road had caused a leak. He’d picked up the tire iron, thinking he might have to change the tire. Willie had locked the car doors and somehow managed to shift the car into neutral. The Volks had rolled down the hill into the water. Then we—Joe, Tip, and I—had arrived and misunderstood the whole situation. Lee had been about to run into the water and break the car window so that he could rescue the children.
It was a performance worthy of a seasoned Shakespearean actor. By the time he finished speaking, it was late afternoon, and the sun’s rays through the courtroom window rested on Lee Deluca’s tousled curls like a halo. I did not feel it was going well for our side.
The testimony completed, we all stood up while the judge retired to her chambers; she would deliver her decision at ten the next morning. Meanwhile, Lee was released into the custody of his father and mother.
All of us, including Tip and Patty, who had been in the hallway knitting furiously all during Lee’s trial, gathered for a gloomy supper at Heather’s, whose conservatory could be pressed into service as a dining room for the multitudes. Captain Jack, always unfazed by the unexpected guest or a horde of them, busied himself cooking up an impromptu feast featuring baked haddock and sourdough bread, like the miracle of the loaves and the fishes. Meanwhile we hung around in disconsolate postures, drinking.
“Patty, why don’t you call Wyn to join us,” Heather suggested. “It makes me nervous to think of him rooting around in your refrigerator by himself.”
“Thank you, dear. Of course, I’ll call, but surely we’re safe enough now that the Deluca boy is on trial, for heaven’s sake,” Patty said.
Wyn said he was too tired to be good company. He’d spent the day in p
rayer, meditation, and a meeting with the architects he’d hired to design Gethsamane’s new entrance and addition. He’d just have a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of coffee milk. Then he was going straight to bed.
“Call him back!” I insisted, handing her my cell phone. “What about that milk? Has it been vetted?” Joe put a calming hand on my arm. Was I sounding hysterical?
Patty dropped her workbag instantly and called Wyn right back. But it was all right. The coffee milk hadn’t even been opened. I was definitely getting paranoid.
“Surely the boy won’t want to cast suspicion on himself in the middle of his trial,” Phillipa pointed out.
“I wouldn’t put anything past him,” Tip said. “I know that kid from track meets. He’s got the idea that he can get away with anything. And he usually does.”
“But remember that the Reverend Peacedale is financing his legal eagle,” Phillipa added. “No point in killing the heir who’s laying the golden egg.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right,” I admitted. “Patty, I’m sorry for alarming you. I just hope Judge Lacrimas sees the light.”
“I’ll pray that she does.” Patty said, holding out her wineglass for a refill as Heather waltzed around the room topping up glasses with two open bottles of a delectable Orvieto. Dick smiled at her indulgently and wielded the bread knife, cutting chunks from a sourdough loaf to accompany the mammoth wheel of Vermont cheddar cheese that was Captain Jack’s notion of hors d’oeuvres.
“What an excellent idea,” Fiona said. “Let’s all pray for that lovely judge, each in her own way. In fact, put down your glasses, ladies. For this, we must hold hands.” Yes, of course, I thought, and could see the same resolve on my friends’ faces. We formed a circle, joined by Patty, and bowed our heads silently for an interval of meditation. Then suddenly Fiona flung up her hands, still hanging on to those she was holding, Deidre’s and Patty’s, as Phillipa, Heather, and I did the same. Our fervent thoughts flew out into the cosmos and directly, I hoped, to Judge Lacrimas’s inner ear.
Ladies Courting Trouble Page 29