Death of a Rancher's Daughter

by Susan P. Baker

  “She doesn't do capital murder cases,” Holt said.

  Sandra glanced from Holt to the file to the judge. “So the Grand Jury has returned an indictment for capital murder? I haven't been officially notified.”

  Holt said, “Not yet, but they will.”

  The judge shot Holt a look of reprimand. “He's correct. If it's a capital murder, the regular judge will preside or else another judge who's experienced in cap murder. My limit is regular old murder.” Her eyes crinkled. “But I've been assuming this case is cap murder.” She thumbed through the file. “The indictment is for murder, Mr. Holt? What's this about?”

  “Ahem. Our Grand Jury is holding the case open—we're waiting on some evidence, and then they'll hand down the cap murder indictment.”

  “Ms. Salinsky is expected to prepare for trial without knowing what her client is charged with?”

  “I'm hoping the indictment will come down by the end of this week, Judge.” Holt's eyes shifted from one woman to the other.

  “He's been hoping for a while now.”

  A muscle flexed in the judge's cheek. Her eyebrows drew together. “This is highly unusual and not like you, Mr. Holt, not that you've appeared before me many times.”

  Sandra enjoyed watching Holt squirm.

  Judge Olsen slapped the file closed. “Well, what we're proceeding on today is the assumption this is murder, not cap murder. What do I need to hear, and do we need a record?”

  “Yes, Judge, if you don't mind. I'd like a record on everything.” Sandra barely kept the note of glee out of her voice. Apparently, not every judge would put up with Holt's antics.

  Holt stood. “I guess we'd better go into the courtroom.”

  The judge nodded. “Let me put on my robe.”

  Sandra followed Holt through the door. Settling at counsel table, she pulled out the Barboza file, which was beginning to thicken with pleadings. What was Holt trying to pull with that capital murder bit? Merely giving her a hard time, or was there some evidence which would bump the case up from murder? She didn’t believe there was motive enough at the present time.

  “You could have called. I would have agreed with most everything you're requesting,” Holt said.

  Sandra didn't want to argue with him. She had no intention of letting him set her up in an agreement on her motions or, for that matter, anything else.

  When the judge came out, they took up the motions. The judge granted the Speedy Trial motion, which wasn't required but told Sandra she'd have to try to get an earlier setting from the court coordinator. Finally, they came to the discovery motion.

  Holt preened like a red-breasted robin. “I think we can cut this hearing short, Judge. My office has an open file policy, so Mrs. Salinsky can come look at anything in the file.”

  Judge Olsen glanced at Sandra, her eyebrows raised. “What do you say, Ms. Salinsky?”

  As a former prosecutor, Sandra wasn't going to fall for that old prosecutorial trick. If she didn't have a court order signed by a judge, and Holt produced something at trial she'd never seen, she wouldn't be able to keep it out of evidence. “I'd like a signed order, Your Honor. If you wouldn't mind ruling on each paragraph, I'd appreciate it.”

  Judge Olsen rubbed a knuckle across her lips and nodded.

  “That's not necessary, Judge,” Holt said. “She can have access to anything I've got.”

  “Is there a reason you don't want to take Mr. Holt up on his offer?”

  Sandra glanced from the judge to Holt. “Is there a reason I can't have a signed court order?” That sounded prickly, but she didn't care. She had to protect her client.

  Holt threw his hands up as though amazed. “I don't know what you're used to in the big city, Mrs. Salinsky, but we don't do things like that up here. We still do things on a handshake.”

  He clearly enjoyed putting her on the spot, but nothing she could do about it. “Judge Olsen, this is a murder case, if not a capital murder case. I don't mean to imply anything about this particular district attorney's office, but you used to do criminal defense work. In a murder case I've got to dot every i and cross every t to protect my case for appeal.”

  “Oh, now wait a minute—” Holt said.

  “I'm afraid I must insist on having signed court orders for everything.”

  The judge consulted her watch. “It makes no difference to me. I get paid one way or the other.”

  “Judge, I'd like to be out of here soon,” Holt said.

  “Then I suggest you agree to everything she wants, or we can proceed with Ms. Salinsky's discovery motion.”

  Forty-five-minutes of arguing and posturing later, Sandra packed her briefcase with the signed court order and said goodbye to the judge. When she arrived at her Volvo, someone had taken a key or a knife and scratched a large X across her Texas Democrat bumper sticker, beginning with the paint above the bumper. A spike of adrenaline darted up her back. If she hadn't fully realized it before, Sandra could see now how far into enemy territory she was.

  She walked around to the passenger side to see what else they'd done. Nothing, thank God. Her hands shook. She glanced around, but no one was near the few vehicles parked at the courthouse. People dotted the sidewalks. A woman came out of a shop. A couple pulled a newspaper out of a box on a corner. No one seemed like a culprit, but, really, what would the culprit look like?

  She unlocked her car and threw her things into the passenger seat. A muscle in her neck ached. A vein throbbed at her temple. She shouldn't have taken Rufina's case, but if whoever had keyed her car had more in mind than insulting someone from the other political party, if they intended the damage to scare her away, they were in for a surprise. She never backed down.

  Grabbing her phone, she called her office. She'd move the car to a different spot and get a bite to eat before she left town.

  “Hey,” she said when Patricia answered the phone. “Erma around?”

  “Everything going okay?”

  Sandra rubbed her lips together. “Mostly. Everything going okay in Galveston?”

  “Sure. We've got it all under control.” Patricia's voice held a lilt, so Sandra could tell Patricia was happy.

  “Great. Let me talk to Erma, please.”

  “Okey, dokey. I'll put you through.”

  “Sandra.” Erma's voice was so loud Sandra wondered if her mother had added a little something to her morning coffee. “How’d it go?”

  “The judge was Judge Olsen from Galveston.”

  “No shit? Well, that must have been fun.”

  “Holt wasn't too happy, but WTH, we don't care, right? She granted everything in our motion. I'm headed to the B &B for my stuff. I'll eat lunch before I head back.”

  “Safe travels.”

  Sandra tossed her cell into the seat beside her. She could have told her mother a lot more about her day, about the keying of her car and how much she wished she hadn't agreed to take Rufina's case, but it was better to hang up and not go into it until she returned home. Working for an insurance firm had to be better than this. She hadn't given them a response either way yet, but she was leaning closer to working for the “sweatshop,” as Erma called it.

  When she slid out of the car at the B & B, a truck pulled in beside her.

  A short Latino male, who smelled like he’d just come in off the ranch having been mixing with the livestock, practically threw himself out of the driver's door. He wore a brown work jacket, a dark blue, plaid, long-sleeved snap-down western shirt, jeans, and mud-caked western boots. He grabbed his straw western hat off his head, rushed up to Sandra, and started shouting in Spanish.

  The words all ran together, too quick for her to understand with her limited Spanish, but they sounded like “Yo no quiero que usted” something “mi hermana!” Something “abogado de San Antonio.”

  Sandra stepped back and glared at the little man who, though short, was thick and strong-looking. With the heels on her boots, she was at least six inches taller. Her heart pumped fast.

&nbs
p; “No habla,” she said, though she knew abogado meant lawyer. She put her fists on her hips. Since it was broad daylight, she didn't think anyone would stand by and let the man assault her. “You want to say something to me, you gotta speak English.”

  He said something else in Spanish she knew was an insult, and then said in decent English, “I don't want you on my sister's case. I got a lawyer from San Antonio who is going to represent Rufina.”

  Sandra stood her ground. She recognized him as the same man who had come into the back of the courtroom the day of the bail hearing. There was no way of knowing whether he was the person who had damaged her car, but he could have been. He was worked up. Why was he so angry? All she had done was drive five-to-six hours to Fredericksburg, meet with his sister, appear in court with her and get bail set, go home, and then return to the Hill Country and go to bat for her. Why the hell was he so pissed?

  “Hey, I didn't volunteer for this case. Billie Jo and Rufina wanted me.”

  “Now you can get off it. I got another lawyer. Go back where you came from. We don't want you here, you and your old mama.”

  The hair rose on Sandra's arms. They might not want her, but they had better not start in on her mother. “Wait a minute, señor,” she said. “Who is we?”

  “Me.” He pointed at his chest with his thumb. “Me and Rufina and the rest of mi familia.”

  Sandra's face burned like she'd been slapped. That was news to her. If Rufina didn't want her, all she had to do was say so. She'd had plenty of opportunity. Sandra sized up the little man. His weathered face could crack any moment. Still, Sandra was offended and defensive and didn't like to be verbally accosted on the public street. She didn't know what his problem was. She was a good lawyer and was taking care of business.

  “Como se llama?” She asked his name.

  He hesitated a moment before answering. “Carlos.”

  “Well, Carlos, I don't why you have an issue with me and my mother, but we—I—am taking this case very seriously. I'm working it hard. You don't know me, true, or anything about me, but if you ask around—call down to Galveston—you'll find I have a good reputation for being a damn fine criminal defense lawyer.”

  Though it seemed impossible, his angry face screwed up even more. “If you're so maravillosa, why is mi hermana so scared she won't come out of her casa?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Even in the middle of a weekday, Fredericksburg's Main Street was filled with tourists and townspeople. As a destination town, people came for the shopping and the restaurants and bars. Sandra moved her car again, this time to park in front of a bakery that offered ready-made sandwiches and coffee. The yeasty aroma of baking bread greeted her, causing her stomach to growl. Wending her way through the throng, she purchased a sandwich and hazelnut-flavored coffee.

  She unbuttoned and loosened her jacket and picked a table facing the street. The sandwich was on locally baked, thick multigrain bread. She chewed while contemplating what should be done about Rufina. Whatever had happened to make Rufina afraid, Sandra needed to find out right away. Still cold from standing outside with Carlos, she shivered and sipped some coffee. BJ must be aware of the situation and should have called. Sandra scrolled to BJ's number and clicked on it.

  “Sandra!” BJ said in a louder than normal voice. “I'm so glad you called. I need to talk to y'all about Rufina.”

  “That's why I'm calling. What is this about her wanting different lawyers?”

  “Where'd you hear that?” Her tone hadn't lowered.

  Sandra held the phone away from her ear. “Her brother, Carlos. He accosted me outside my car a few minutes ago.” She pulled a small piece of crust off her sandwich.

  “You mean y'all are here?”

  “Calm down, BJ. You're yelling.” Sandra popped the bit into her mouth while she gave BJ a moment to settle down. “Only me. Had hearings on some motions today. Rufina didn't tell you?”

  “Rufina is—is I guess you could say hiding in her cottage.”

  “That's what Carlos said. Who or what is she hiding from?”

  “Can you come out here? I mean, are you in a hurry to go back to Galveston?”

  Sandra started to answer when someone stopped at her elbow. She raised her head. Jared stood with a sandwich in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Sandra's breath caught with the memory his cologne brought back to her. He wore no coat. His tie was askew. The top button of his long-sleeved light blue dress shirt was undone, but otherwise he was decked out in lawyer attire down to his shiny boots.

  “What do we have here?” He raised an eyebrow. “Could it be Attorney Salinsky?”

  She pointed to her phone and waved him to a chair. “Not in a huge hurry,” she said into the phone. Jared dragged a wooden chair from under the table with the toe of his boot and sat down.

  “I wish you would come out here and talk with her,” BJ said. “Rufina hasn't told me what happened. She was okay the first few days after she got out of jail.”

  Sandra swallowed hard. She wasn't prepared to stay, didn't want to stay, but circumstances change. Avoiding Jared's eyes, she studied his hands as he unwrapped his sandwich.

  “You could talk to Kathy Lynn while you're here.” BJ was trying to sweeten the pot. “She's supposed to come over this evening for dinner. You could stay the night and head back early tomorrow morning.”

  “Hold on a minute while I check my calendar.” Sandra tapped the calendar app. Nothing she probably couldn't rearrange. “All right. Let me contact my office. I'll be out there later today. Will you tell Rufina, or should we let it be a surprise?”

  “I'll tell her. She'll let me in, and she'll talk on the phone, but she won't come out. See you later. Thanks.”

  Sandra put her phone on the table. “Mr. Jared Longley.” Her eyes met his hazel ones, now a bit shy of brown. “I'd invite you to join me for lunch, but you've done that.”

  He stared at her, his brows raised, his lips compressed. He glanced at her sandwich and back up to her face.

  “Turkey,” Sandra said.

  He laughed out of the side of his mouth.

  Sandra snorted. “Not you. The sandwich.”

  He nodded and took a bite of his, chewing for a moment before swallowing, and said, “Chicken.”

  She studied his face, his eyes. “Me or the sandwich?”

  He ate another bite. “You were supposed to call me, so we could go to dinner the next time you came to town.”

  She sipped her coffee, savoring the hazelnut and avoiding his eyes. “Arrived this morning.”

  “I didn't receive your message.” He raised an eyebrow again.

  Her eyes met his again. “Didn't leave a message.”

  “Didn't call?”

  “I'm not going to lie.”

  “Don't want you to.”

  “I was planning on driving up and back in one day.”

  “What time was your hearing?”

  “Nine.”

  “Nine.” He took a small bite and chewed for a minute. “You left Galveston before sunup to get here for a hearing at nine?”

  She blotted her lips and focused through the window at the people crowding the sidewalk. Time to fess up. “Well, okay, I did lie a little.”

  “You spent last night here.”

  She reared back. “You knew that?”

  “My cousin owns the B & B.”

  She scooted back her chair and started to rise. “This isn't going well.”

  He put a hand on her arm. “Sit down, Sandra. Let's finish our sandwiches.”

  Even through her coat, her arm burned at his touch. She sat back down. Her stomach twisted. “How long were you going to let me go on with my story?”

  His eyes slow danced. “Oh, I don't know.” He took another bite, a huge one, as if knowing it would take him a while to chew it all and swallow, giving her time to make her excuses.

  “I had planned on driving straight back after my hearing. I got in late, too late to do anything but fall int
o bed. But you probably know that as well. When I woke up this morning, I figured I'd run over to the courthouse and come back and get my stuff and check out.” She swallowed some coffee. “The day hasn't been going the way I planned. And I have a hearing tomorrow in Galveston I don't think I'm going to make unless I drive late into the night, which I don't like to do, especially since I've been up a jillion hours in the past few days. And, BJ wants me to go out there and talk to Rufina and I said I would.” She stopped to breathe.

  He stared at her while she spoke. He finished his sandwich and brushed the crumbs into a little pile on the wrapper before tossing everything into a nearby trash can.

  Sandra stopped herself from doing any more rambling and held her hands in her lap. Definitely the day wasn't going right. She'd lost her appetite. The coffee was no longer hot. She dumped her food in the trash, too, and waited for him to speak.

  She needed to call her friend, Ray, to cover for her at the hearing on a protective order in the morning. If Ray couldn’t do it, Sandra would need to call Erma, who hated protective orders and wasn’t up on the law, either. As a last resort, she could try to get a reset, but the hearing really needed to go forward for the safety of the client.

  “So what are your plans for the evening?”

  “I guess you're pissed, but you shouldn't be. If I'd meant to stay longer, I would have called you.” She pulled her hands into her lap to hide a small tremble.

  “Now I know you're lying.”

  “No, honestly, I would have. We have a bargain. You did say we could use your office during the trial.”

  “Huh. That would have been the only reason. I get that. You wouldn’t want to jeopardize our agreement, if not our relationship.”

  Sandra lowered her eyes. “I—I’m not sure.” Where did those words come from? She had told herself she didn’t want a relationship. Now she’s implying she’s not sure? What the hell was wrong with her?

  His eyes widened. “You want to come across and look over my set-up since you're here? Don't think you're leaving tonight if you have to go out to BJ's.”

  She held up her palm and drew a deep breath. “You overheard my conversation. I could go see your office, but I have to make a few more calls.” She gave him a business-like expression she hoped communicated she had no intention of sleeping with him again. “And I've got to check out of the B & B. I hope your cousin won't charge me for a second night since it's getting late.”