Erma wrinkled her nose. “Where was BJ during all this? You say it was only a matter of minutes after you went to your room?”
“I had showered, so a bit more than that. BJ had probably gone to bed.” She stood with one hand on the doorknob.
“Should I call BJ about it tonight?”
“It can wait until tomorrow. I definitely want you to talk with her about giving us a cottage for the trial.”
“Will do, first thing. Get some rest. We've got a lot to do.”
“Don't I know it.” Sandra pulled the door open. Cold wind blew in. “For now, I'm going to my condo where I can get warm and cozy.”
Sandra dragged herself and her things up to her condo and laid down to close her eyes for a few minutes before fixing anything to eat and unpacking. She awoke to a blast of thunder and a crack of lightning. A moment later, a stuck car horn blared from the seawall. Glancing at the clock, she was incredulous. She'd slept until ten o'clock at night. Lethargy held her in its embrace and made her want to close her eyes and go right back to sleep. She had a few things to do, though. After washing her hands and splashing water on her face, she pulled a bathrobe over a nightgown and some slippers on her feet.
The refrigerator smelled stale and offered few choices. She grabbed a cup of yogurt and a spoon before opening the draperies to peek outside. If a balcony could flood, hers did. Water pooled where the tile was low. The plastic all-weather furniture had been blown about, one of the chairs caught in a corner, the other lying on its side. The little table was pushed up against the sliding glass door.
Out on the beachfront, the clouds parted for a moment and the half-moon lit up frothy, choppy waves. A few cars drove by, spraying water from each wheel well. An air leak at the bottom of the doors let a cold breeze spiral up her gown. She shivered and dropped the drapes. She walked back to the bedroom and sat on the bed with her back against the headboard. After eating a bit of strawberry-flavored yogurt, she scrolled through her emails, flagging the ones she wanted to read. Then she went back to the oldest ones.
The first was a message from a divorce client about a vitriolic email she'd received from her husband. Sandra advised her to print out the message and save it. The judge would love to see that.
The next two were from an assistant district attorney in Galveston asking whether she would agree to a continuance of two cases that were set the week of spring break, so she, the ADA, and her family, could go to the Bahamas. That reminded Sandra she needed to discuss spring break with Mel. Jack had always been good about switching days so there should be no problem, but they needed to talk soon. The fourth email was from Rex. She hated to open it but clicked anyway.
“HEY, SANDRA, JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU MADE IT HOME ALL IN ONE PIECE. BTW, I DIDN'T GET A CHANCE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING THAT I THINK YOU OUGHT TO KNOW IF YOU'RE GOING TO KEEP REPRESENTING RUFINA. DID YOU KNOW SHE'S A LESBIAN? JUST THOUGHT YOU'D WANT TO KNOW THAT.
YOUR FRIEND, REX
Didn't he know proper email etiquette—that writing in all caps was the same as shouting? She wouldn't put it past him to know and do it intentionally to annoy her. What a buffoon. She'd print that email and put it in a folder with his name on it. In fact, she was going to ask Patricia to print out all the emails they'd received from him. They might come in handy. As to the allegations Rufina was a lesbian, who else might Rex have told? Carlos, maybe, otherwise why would Carlos think so? And how could Rex possibly think Rufina's sexuality had any relevance to a murder charge?
On the other hand, there had to be a reason behind the constant emails and the allegations against Rufina. Did they somehow tie into whomever killed Katy Jo? Was sending them supposed to be some kind of message within a message? Were she and Erma supposed to figure out something that for some reason he felt he couldn't tell them? Her gut told her she needed to follow up on everything Rex had said and done. But it would have to wait until the following day.
She read the rest of the emails, answering a couple, marking a couple more to print out and place in her clients' case files, before listening to her voicemail. She played those messages back, the first one was from Doug Christian, Katy Jo's boyfriend.
“Miss Salinsky, Mrs. S—Mrs. Schindler—gave me your phone number and said you want to talk to me about Katy Jo. I'm driving down to Houston this weekend. Call me back, and I'll meet you somewhere halfway between Houston and Galveston on Saturday.” He left his number and hung up.
The next three calls were from Erma. Sandra finished the yogurt and put the container in the kitchen. Before she could turn out the light, her cell rang.
Jared's deep voice resonated. “Sandra, it’s Jared. Did I wake you?”
An unbidden spurt of adrenaline warmed her chest. “I was just turning in.” She sat up, pulling her feet under her, covering them with the bottom of her nighty. The rain's steady beat on the windows came more slowly than when she'd awakened. Good cuddling weather, but she'd have to make do with a phone call. And, she reminded herself, she wasn't sure about having a relationship.
“Wanted to make sure you arrived home safely. A cold front pushed through up here—had a small hailstorm.”
Sandra had trouble picturing Jared, presumably at home, since she hadn't seen where he lived. Surely a real estate attorney wouldn't be at the office after ten o'clock at night. “Are you at your house? What kind of place do you live in? I don't even know that. A ranch? An apartment? A condo?”
“A house about a mile outside of town, with my mother.”
Holy shit, a man who lives with his mother? No way. “Oh, I see.”
Jared laughed, a deep, full-bodied guffaw that lasted about five seconds. “Kidding.”
Sandra pulled a second pillow behind her and leaned back. “Very funny, though if your mother is anything like my mother, not so funny sometimes.”
“I'm not sure what that means since I haven't met your mother—I look forward to the pleasure—”
“You say that now . . .”
He laughed again. “Isn't your mother a lawyer, too?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sandra said, pulling her knees to her chest. “My mother's quite a character. Anyway, get back to where you live.”
“I really do have a house about a mile outside of town.”
“No mother?”
“My parents have a ranch between here and Bandera.”
“So you live alone?”
“You're awfully curious for someone who has kept me mostly at arm's length.”
“You evading my question, counselor?”
His voice held a smile. “Okay. I have a ten-year-old calico cat—a big, fat, spoiled, ornery girl who would make Garfield look like a saint.”
“Hmmm, somehow I pictured you as a dog man.”
“You pictured me?”
The conversation wasn't going in a direction she considered safe. “Not to change the subject, but do you know a man named Doug Christian?”
“Hmmm. Don't want to talk about us? When are you coming back up here?”
“Yeah, Jared, I don't know what to say. It's late. I'm still worn out from such a quick trip there and back. Let's see how things go.”
“That works for me, Sandra. Doug Christian? Why? What's up with him? Never mind, for the murder case, right?”
“I guess you could say that.” She hated to share information with him but could use any details he had about Christian.
“He was a hometown football hero some years back. Went to Baylor on a football scholarship, blew out his knee in the Baylor-Oklahoma State game. Had to drop out of school due to lack of funds. Never graduated. Last I heard, he worked construction in North Texas somewhere.”
“Whoa, thanks for all that info. So you're a football freak?” Just what she needed. But, if a man liked football, a woman would have lots of time to do her own thing. Shit. Why was she even thinking like that? She didn't want a long-term relationship.
“Aww, not like I was. You're not?”
She shook her head, like he cou
ld see her. “Sports aren't my bag, but I do like to run.”
“All right. So we've found mutual ground. Me, too.”
“Good. Now I want to pick your brain a little, and then I'm going to hang up. By the way, I'll be back up there in three weeks or so to get ready for trial, which has been moved up. Way up.”
“How far up?”
“Next month. Don't tell me you didn't know.”
“You didn't tell me.”
“I'm shocked. No one else did either?”
“I guess my spies were asleep at the wheel. When did that happen?”
“Yesterday.”
“Humph. So that's good though, right?”
“Doesn't give us much time to prepare. But, anyway, a couple of things you might know or be able to find out easily. About Rex and this guy, Doug.”
“Shoot. I'll help you if I can.”
“Okay, well, Doug Christian first. I understand he was Katy Jo Schindler's boyfriend.”
“I'm afraid I don't know much about the girls' personal lives. Sorry. This town is small, but not that small.”
Sandra's chest tightened. “No problem. What do you know about him? Is he the violent type? Jealous type?”
“You think he would have anything to do with Rufina's case?”
“I've been wondering—do you know his reputation?”
“Never heard anything bad about the guy, but he's been gone from here for a while.”
“I don't have to be afraid of him, though, do I? I'm going to meet with him this weekend.”
“He a witness?” The tone of his voice rose.
“Possibly. Do I need to be afraid of him?”
“Be sure to meet him in a public place like a restaurant. In the daytime. Then, no worries, but I think the guy is all right.”
“BJ says he's a teddy bear.”
“Then he probably is. I wouldn't put it past her to check up on all the guys the twins dated. Roy—Commissioner Schindler—would have.”
“Okay. Then there's the Rex issue. What the hell's his problem?”
“He’s the only son. The baby of the family. Spoiled rotten. Over-indulged. Never did understand how BJ and Roy couldn't see what a punk he is. Roy would bail him out every time he'd get in trouble, starting in juvie court. It was never Rex's fault, always the other guy’s.”
“That's what I thought. He acts like it, too.”
“So he's giving you problems. I can tell by your voice.”
“I'm not sure why, yet. Something's going on with him. I knew it wasn't just me—Erma and me—but I wanted to check.”
“Well, I'd steer clear of him. Since he grew up with parents—especially his father—covering for him his whole life, he's got this sense of entitlement. From what I heard, he should have been locked up a bunch of times, but he always got off. Never even had to do probation.”
Sandra hunched her shoulders and dropped them. Sitting on the bed wasn't conducive to the best posture. “Jared, time for sleep. Great talking to you.”
“You, too. Stay in touch. As soon as you get back up here, come to the office. I've had the desk cleaned out for you. I look forward to seeing more of you.”
Sandra smiled. That statement certainly had a double meaning. “Me too, so long as you know we're going to be really tied up most of the time.”
“I'm flexible. See you soon.”
“Goodnight, Jared.” Sandra clicked off. She put her cell on Do Not Disturb, turned off the bedside lamp, and slid under the covers, still smiling.
Chapter Seventeen
Fifty-degree weather hung over the island the following morning. Though waves washed onto the sand, fog muffled the sound. Everything wore a veil and would leave a kind of grime once the fog cleared off. Dampness permeated clothing making it almost impossible to feel dry.
After she arrived at the office, Sandra stuck her head in Patricia's section. “Hey, Patricia. I'm here but headed upstairs.”
Patricia raised a hand but otherwise didn’t reply, didn’t even look up.
Sandra dumped her things on her desk and climbed up where she found Erma in the small office next to their loft-library, law books spread across the desk. Though they subscribed to online law libraries, since Erma refused to use a computer, they continued to buy law books for her to use. Waste of money, but Erma brought in her share.
Rufina came in from the library. She wore a pair of black slacks and a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up like it was some kind of office uniform. “Buenos días.” Her face held a smile and looked more relaxed than Sandra had ever seen it.
Sandra said, “Good morning, y’all.”
“We made a hell of a boo-boo,” Erma said. “I don't know if you spoke with Patricia when you came in, but we hurt her feelings. You need to apologize when you go back down. I already have.”
“What'd I do?” As far as Sandra knew, she had done nothing to offend their secretary.
“Neither of us told Patricia about Rufina's injuries. Patricia was pretty startled this morning when I introduced them.”
“Oh, shit. I'm sorry Rufina. Did she say something to you?”
“She said something like 'Oh my Lord, what happened to you?'“ Rufina shrugged. “It did not bother me. I've had people staring at me for years.”
“But Patricia was embarrassed,” Erma said. “Like I said, I apologized. We did tell Mel, right?”
“I'm sure I did.” Sandra crossed the room and slipped an arm around Rufina's shoulders, walking her back toward the library. “I'm glad you're not easily offended. We have some tough times ahead of us. Now, Erma must have shown you around downstairs, the kitchen and the bathroom and our offices. You've made yourself comfortable up here?”
“Yes, in the easy chair near the window,” Rufina said. “There's good light I can read by. I like to watch the cars going up and down Broadway and the palm trees blowing. So different from Fredericksburg.”
Rufina had opened up on the trip down to Galveston. Now she apparently felt safe and more comfortable with them. She was animated and smiling.
“Do you have everything you need?”
“Sí. I'm fine.”
“Erma treat you well last night?”
“Oh, yes. We had a nice time at her house. Like a slumber party. Do you need me to help with anything?”
Sandra felt good about things as she looked down on the little damaged woman. “No, but if you don't mind, I'd like a few moments alone with Erma. When we get to your testimony—which probably won't be today anyway—I'll give you a holler.”
“Esta bien.” She picked up a book that lay open and face down on the library table and settled into the chair by the window.
Sandra closed the door between the library and the small office where Erma sat thumbing through one of the Southwest Reporters. She dragged up a chair very close to Erma. “Listen, you know what I was thinking? I mean, I'm kinda glad this happened, this bit with Patricia. The whole incident has given me an idea that will help with jury selection.”
Erma marked her place and closed the book. “Tell me.”
Sandra lowered her voice. She wouldn't want Rufina to hear what they were going to discuss—at least not yet. “Well, I was thinking if we got one or two soft-hearted women on the jury, that might help our cause.”
“How're we going to do that?”
Sandra glanced over her shoulder. “If we're diligent, we can position Rufina so no one in the venire sees anything but her unscarred profile. She'll keep her face turned away until we tell her. Like, if the judge is one of those who insists on introducing everyone—and even having the defendant stand—we'll tell her to keep her face turned away until we indicate she's to let the potential jurors see her.
“Yeah. Maybe she could wear a scarf.”
“What I'm thinking is, you can draw up your jury chart, and you'll be at counsel table where you can watch the venire. Then, when I do voir dire, I'll re-introduce Rufina and have her stand and turn her face so all the people will see her
damaged side at once.”
“And I'm supposed to record their reactions—as quickly as possible.”
“Right—but just the women's. Most men are never as soft-hearted as women. And then I can voir dire them, all of them—men and women—on their reactions—like hey, I saw how you reacted to Rufina. Are you going to be able to set aside your feelings and be fair and impartial to my client in spite of the fact she's been the victim of a fire? We'll be looking for those women who we hope feel guilty because they feel so shocked at seeing her and even more shocked at their own reactions. What do you think?”
Wham. Erma slapped the top of the desk. “Smart thinking. All we need is one to hang up the jury.”
Sandra licked her lips and grinned. “I thought you'd like that. Now, I'm going downstairs to apologize to Patricia.” Sandra reached the top of the stairs and turned back to Erma. “I only wish we had someone to cover the office during the trial so Patricia could come to Fredericksburg, too.”
“She'd enjoy that, but we need her to manage things while we're gone. And you can tell her, too.”
Erma was right. Still, someday they'd hire another secretary—make Patricia an official legal assistant with a secretary under her, then she could come to court occasionally if she wanted to.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Sandra realized what she'd been thinking. Damn Erma. Somehow, she'd influenced Sandra to forget for a few days about the insurance firm job offer. How did the woman do it? Little did Erma know, though, Sandra was still considering the offer. Still thinking how much simpler life would be if she didn't have to deal with criminal defendants and all their issues.
Late that morning, Erma came down to Sandra's desk. “You don't mind that I had Patricia get out a binder and start putting a trial notebook together, I hope.”
“Nah. There's no time to squabble over stuff. Did she calendar the trial? Were there any conflicts?”
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