Death of a Rancher's Daughter

by Susan P. Baker

  Erma grimaced. “Only Mel's spring break.”

  “Yeah. I’m trying to decide what to do.” She'd been mulling over the conflict since she'd found out about the trial setting. She and Jack had worked out the custody agreement long ago and generally got along. He wouldn't be the problem. She just didn't want to give up any of her time. Every moment with her daughter was precious.

  Erma stood over her. “We do see her almost every day.”

  “It's not the quality time we'd have if we went someplace together.”

  “So you'll be pissed if I tell you I told Mel the trial is that week?”

  “No. She's got to know.” Sandra tapped the space bar on her computer. When it came to life, she pulled up the calendar. Her day was clear except for a new client interview. She would take some time that afternoon to talk to Mel about it. Some private time. She glanced at Erma. “What did she say? Was she disappointed?”

  Though she and Jack got along, sometimes he was patronizing. She could hear the conversation between them now. Jack would say something about Sandra having to work and offer to take Mel to Cancun or someplace equally fabulous for spring break to show what a wonderful father he was. And he wouldn't be far from wrong. Except for his attitude.

  Erma pulled her sweater across her chest. She wore woolly house shoes in a leopard print. Her long wool skirt almost brushed the top of them. “Chilly in here.” She turned up the thermostat.

  “You’re avoiding my question.”

  “Since Mel's helping around the office, would it be such a bad idea to take her with us to Fredericksburg over spring break?”

  “What? No way. How would that help? I wouldn't have much time to spend with her.”

  “She could help us a little, search the Internet, run errands, get us fast food for lunch, etcetera, and sometimes be out at the ranch and go riding—I'm sure BJ could arrange one of the hands to take her—and climb that big rock—”

  “Enchanted Rock. Yeah, spring would be the best time for that. I remember climbing it in the summer and almost sweating to death. We didn't take enough water and were dying of thirst—”

  “Yeah, like that.” Erma stood with her hands on her hips. “And all those shops. You can give her your credit card and let her go to town—in a manner of speaking, since the courthouse is at the far end of Main Street.”

  “You're suggesting I buy her off.”

  “I wouldn't put it that way.” Erma shrugged one shoulder. “Okay, I would put it that way, but why the hell not?”

  “I'm not sure she wouldn't be better off with her dad.”

  Erma sidestepped toward the doorway. “She doesn't think so. She wants to go with us—wants to help us try a case.”

  Feeling overwhelmed, Sandra didn't have the energy to put up much of a fight. She'd tossed and turned the night before, even as tired as she'd been when she arrived home. “Erma—”

  Erma headed back across the hall. “I gave her a choice. You asked what she said. She said she wants to go to Fredericksburg. She said three generations of lawyers . . .”

  “Oh, please tell me she didn't start up on that again. I keep telling her she's a high school student and has plenty of time to decide what she wants to do with her life.”

  “So she has ambitions to be like her mother and grandmother. Is that so bad?”

  “We'll talk about it later.”

  “Aww, let her come with us. It'd be good for the kid.”

  Sandra pulled her coat together and buttoned it up. “I said, we'll talk about it later. Now I'm going over to the courthouse to talk to one of the assistant DAs and then run some errands. If we have any walk-ins, you can interview them. And don't drink anything. I don't want you breathing bourbon on anyone. Besides, if Rufina sees you drinking at the office, she might lose faith in us.” She frowned at Erma.

  “I don't know what you're talking about.” Erma sat down at her own desk and picked up a pen.

  “I'm talking about the pint of Jim Beam you have hidden in your credenza behind the box of business cards and the box of envelopes.” Sandra walked into Patricia's office. “Adios, Patricia. Text me if anything important comes up.”

  “Yes, ma'am.” Patricia raised her eyebrows to confirm she'd heard the conversation and knew what was going on. She kept an eye on everything. That's what the best legal secretaries did.

  Erma waited until Sandra drove away before hollering at Patricia. “Did you tell on me, girl?”

  “No, ma'am,” Patricia hollered back. “But she's not stupid.”

  Erma walked into Patricia's office. “But she's wrong. The bourbon is Jack Daniels, not Jim Beam. Ha!”

  Patricia sat at her computer, her back to Erma, a multicolored knit scarf draped around her neck and shoulders. “You interested in hearing your most recent email from Rex?”

  Erma plopped into the chair next to Patricia's desk. “That little fart. What's his problem now?”

  “He says, 'Hey, Erma, guess Sandra told you how I helped y'all out.'“

  A chill ran up the back of Erma's neck. “That little son of a bitch. I swear he's bi-polar or something. One minute he's as sweet as honey, the next minute he's trying to sink our defense and gloating about it.” Erma pounded Patricia's desk. “Send him back this reply. 'Mrs. Townley to you, young man.'“

  Patricia typed the message.

  “'And Ms. Salinsky when you're talking about my daughter.'“ Erma didn't wait for Patricia to get it all typed out. The little piss ant had gotten on her last nerve. She jumped out of the chair and stomped around Patricia's office. “'Keep out of our case. Quit emailing us, or I'll file a restraining order against you.'“

  Patricia's fingers played over the keyboard. “Hit send?”

  “Yep. That ought to fix him for a while. I don't know what the hell his problem is.” She stopped next to Patricia and leaned over, staring at the computer screen.

  Patricia hit send. “Ms. Townley, it wouldn't take much for me to teach you how to send and receive email. I bet you could come up with better responses to people like this Rex person if you'd sit down and write it out yourself.”

  Erma screwed up her face and shook her head. “Nope. Not me. That's what I pay you for. We're not having this conversation again. I'm not using a computer, either big or little. Let's not talk about it anymore.”

  Patricia gave an exaggerated sigh.

  Erma pressed her shoulder. “I'll be in my office. She strutted down the hall and into her office where she picked up the phone and punched in BJ's number.

  “Sandra and Rufina make it back last night with no problems?” BJ asked when she answered.

  “BJ, we need a separate place to stay during the trial.” Erma sat down in the Queen Anne she kept in one corner and pulled her thick little legs under her. The draft from the hardwood floor was bad at the moment. The cold front that blew in had lasted about five-minutes until the fog took over. Even wearing wool, she still felt the chill from the bottom up.

  “My house not good enough for you?” BJ's voice had turned flat.

  No doubt Rex had spun a tale for his mother, or else BJ was offended they didn't want to sleep in the house. She could certainly afford to put them up in a hotel for the duration of the trial if she didn't want to give them a cottage. “It's not that.” She wasn't about to tattle on Rex—at least not yet. But she didn't want him hanging around them for any reason. And especially not around Mel.

  “We need room to spread out. Sandra found us local counsel, so we have access to a library and copier and etcetera, but we're going to need space where we can discuss the case and our trial strategy without being interrupted.” What she meant was, where no one could overhear, not only Rex but any members of BJ's household who might think they needed to know what was going on.

  “Oh,” BJ cleared her throat. “Like a place with a kitchen and a couple of bedrooms?”

  “With some privacy. Plus, I think my granddaughter will be coming up for the week, too, if you're all right with that. So it'll
be three beds. You don't mind, do you?”

  “Well, we did talk about one of the cottages. Is that still an option for you? I have a couple of empty ones. One is two bedrooms with a sofa bed. Full kitchen, of course, but you'd be welcome to eat with us—”

  “Uh—”

  “If you want to—I know I'm supposed to pay expenses. I'm okay with that. You can eat out every night if you want.”

  If only she could tell BJ part of the reason was Rex. Did he think all the emails and other annoyances would endear himself to them?

  “And I can send one of the girls down to fetch your laundry every few days,” BJ said. “Or not, if you don't want.”

  “Hold on, honey,” Erma said. “I'll discuss it with Sandra. She's not here now.” She wasn't sure if she was supposed to discuss the exchange of cottages with Rufina yet or ask BJ to agree to a cottage first.

  BJ exhaled into the phone.

  “Was that a sigh?” Erma asked.

  “I guess,” BJ said, her voice conveying a sense of resignation. “But don't worry, I'm not going to blubber all over you like I did Sandra.”

  “Goddamn, that's news to me. When was this?” Erma shifted the phone to her other ear.

  “Night before last, I'm embarrassed to say. I've been trying to do the stiff upper lip thing, Erm. But when Sandra looked at me sympathetically, that was all she wrote. I broke down.” Her voice wavered. “I don't believe in looking soft, particularly in front of children.”

  “Don't let it worry you. Didn't you cry all over the phone when you called me and again at the Dairy Queen when we got up there, and I still love you.” Erma couldn't believe she said that. The words must have taken on a life of their own, spoken themselves. It wasn't any more her nature to talk like that than it was BJ's. “But never mind.”

  BJ cleared her throat, again, and breathed heavily. “So when will we see you next?”

  “I'm thinking no later than the Wednesday before trial. Hey, you don't happen to know how they handle jury selection, do you? And what about pretrial conference? Does the judge conduct it a week or two before the trial or a day or so or what?”

  “You're asking the wro-o-o-ng person.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I thought as much. I'm getting antsy with only a month to go. Don't worry about things. We'll keep you posted.” She was ready to hang up. “So go ahead and reserve a cottage for us. Ha. Ha.”

  “Rufina tell Sandra or you anything we didn't already know?”

  “BJ, I need to go. And, I'm not sure what I'm free to discuss at this point. So how about you let me get back to you on some things.”

  “Oh. You take care then, Erma.” BJ hung up.

  Erma rose to hang up the phone. “So how's the trial notebook coming?” she called to Patricia. She glanced in the direction of the booze. It was close to lunchtime. She'd sort of promised Sandra, and then there was Rufina to consider, so she didn't do anything other than give the credenza a cursory look. But it was going to be a long afternoon.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Later that day, Sandra was at her desk, Rufina was up in the library, and Erma was at court, when the front office door rattled as someone opened and closed it.

  “It's only me,” Mel yelled.

  Thankful there were no clients in the office. Sandra called back, “We need to talk. Come on in and grab a chair.”

  Mel dumped her book bag on the floor and peeled off her leather shirt jacket, dropping it on top of her bag. She did the teenage collapse in one of the client chairs in front of Sandra's desk.

  “How was school today? Everything go okay?”

  “Same as usual.” Mel crossed one starched denim-clad leg over the other. “Did I do something wrong?” Her dark blue polo shirt contrasted with the green in her eyes.

  “No, honey. We need to discuss spring break.”

  “I thought Grandma and I settled that.”

  A small fire smoldered in Sandra's stomach. Too often Erma interfered with Sandra's parenting. Bad enough Sandra had to deal with Mel's father. Matters were only made worse when Erma got involved. “You know grandma doesn't call the shots where you're concerned.”

  Mel tensed. “So I'm not going to Fredericksburg with y'all? Why don't you want me to go?”

  “Whoa, we're getting ahead of ourselves here. No one said you weren't going. We haven't even established you were going.” Sandra tapped her pen on the desk pad. If Erma would stay out of her business with Mel, life would be a lot easier, but when had that ever happened? “I've thought about it and wondered whether I should talk to your dad. He might be happy to have you this spring break, and you could come to me for Easter instead—provided the trial is over by then.”

  “Why? I don't get it.” Mel tossed her head in a way that made Sandra think of herself at fifteen.

  “Your dad might want to take you someplace cool, like last year. I had been thinking of some neat places to take you this year, but this trial came up.”

  “Sandra—Mother—Dad takes me to stuff all the time. I don't need you to do the same thing.” She rolled her eyes. “You and Dad don't need to compete for me. I love you both.”

  “Spoken like a mature person—”

  Mel tossed her head. “Well, of course. Who do you think I am? I do have professional people in my life to model after, you know.”

  “I wasn't trying to buy your love, honey. I just thought—”

  “Mom, Grandma said I could help y'all with the trial. A murder trial. How cool is that?”

  Sandra laughed. “Real trials aren't like Court TV. Sometimes there are long periods of time waiting around. Preparation time each night—”

  “Court TV is boring, but this will be real, Mom. I can't wait.”

  “You have to understand though, Mel, it's not like you'll get to do much. Take notes, run errands, and etcetera, but that's all. Since you're not an adult, the rules won't allow you to sit at counsel table.”

  “But I can be in the courtroom with you and Grandma.”

  The back door of the office slammed. Erma had returned from court. Sandra raised her voice. “Even Erma won't have that active a role. She'll be second-chairing me. I'll do jury selection and all the examination of witnesses, that sort of thing.”

  “Says who?” Erma's voice came from the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway, one hand clasping her old leather briefcase, the other on her hip. Her coat opened to a black wool suit identical to the one from the day before. Erma had a closet full of outfits very similar to each other. She claimed she had to make fewer decisions that way.

  “I'm the one BJ hired. I'm Rufina's lawyer. I control the case.” Sandra squared her shoulders, ready to go head-to-head with Erma. She'd made the comment about the active role intentionally so Erma would hear it. Erma still hadn't fully conceded that Sandra was lead counsel. “I thought we got that straight when you dragged me into this.”

  “There isn't any reason I can't voir dire the jury.”

  “Continuity, Mo—ther.”

  “Continuity be damned. If I was a young associate, you'd be letting me do more than what I heard you say.”

  Mel sat on the edge of her chair—her eyes lit up. To Sandra's chagrin, Mel liked witnessing her mother and grandmother argue, finding it funny most of the time. Erma hadn't budged from her position in the doorway.

  “First, I ought to leave you down here to mind the office,” Sandra said. “But I've agreed to let you accompany me up there and help out.” That would get Erma's goat. Both of them knew it took more than one lawyer to successfully defend a murder case. There was always so much to do, so many unexpected events to address. “Second, what is it you're interested in doing? You're going to be jury consultant unless we hire someone.”

  Erma crossed the room and dropped her briefcase in the chair next to Mel. She pulled off her coat and gloves, stuffing the gloves in her coat pocket. “I'm a better jury selection expert than any of those three hundred dollar an hour whores—uh—consultants.”

  “Then why wou
ld you want to select the jury and me act as the consultant?”

  “I'm just saying. I should have some kind of active role.” She gathered her things and took them across the hall.

  “You can do opening and part of closing—the short part.” Sandra'd always intended for Erma to have a role, but she had to maintain a pretense. “What's the matter? You don't want to do any of the argument?”

  Erma returned and looked at Sandra cockeyed. Sandra knew the look—Erma's suspicious look. “I'm not going to examine any of the witnesses?” Erma's tone almost sounded hurt, but she was a good enough actress, after decades of trial work, that Sandra didn't know if her tone was real or fake.

  “Do we have to decide this now? I'm still trying to figure out if Mel should come with us or not.”

  Mel jumped up. “Yes!”

  Sandra shot her a look. “If you get bored, I won't have time to run you to the airport in San Antonio so you can go home.”

  “I won't be bored. Mom, it's going to be my first murder trial.”

  Sandra chuckled, breaking the tension. “Well, as long as you're willing to do the work.”

  “I am. I am.” Mel ran around the desk and threw her arms around her mother. “So give me something to do now, and I'll get right on it.”

  Sandra drummed her fingers on the desk. “Hmm. All right. Tomorrow I'm meeting with Katy Jo's boyfriend. Find a legal pad and draft some questions for me to use at the interview with him.”

  Mel nodded. “For us to use at the interview tomorrow. This is my weekend with you.”

  Sandra glanced from her daughter to Erma. She could leave Mel with Erma, but it wouldn't hurt to take her to the interview. The guy wasn't a suspect. At least not that she knew of. “Yes, us.”

  “All right!” Mel picked up her things and left for her own desk in the front room. Sandra waited until Mel slid the huge wooden doors closed before addressing Erma.

  “How did probate go?” She made some notes on a pad and laid her pen aside.

  “The usual. Since I drew the will, there were no problems with it.” She rubbed her hands together. “I'm still cold. The wind got to me. Listen, I was thinking, I do want to examine one or two witnesses. I like to keep my hand in, you know?”