Bench Trial in the Backwoods

by Maggie Wells

  After picking up his fork, Harry scooped up some baked beans and shoveled in a few mouthfuls. He ate on autopilot, oblivious to the noise and commotion around him. Within a few minutes, he’d demolished the beans and what was left of the slaw and the sandwich, not giving them the appreciation they deserved.

  “Must’ve been good,” someone commented gruffly.

  Harry jerked and his head swiveled. Ben Kinsella stood behind him. Still chewing, Harry eyeballed the sheriff. “Evening,” he said, but with more warmth than he’d given Arnie Smithson. He took in the jeans, flannel and ball cap the other man wore and nodded to the empty stool beside him. “I take it you’re off duty tonight?”

  Ben gave a brief nod as he straddled the stool. “Picking up some barbecue. I find it helps to have food on hand if I hope to lure Marlee away from the office anytime before seven.”

  “Smart thinking.” Harry tore open a wet wipe and used it to give his face and hands a thorough cleaning. “Had a chat with Arnie,” he said, gesturing toward the long table before the sheriff could ask. “I don’t think it was them.”

  Ben bobbed his head, then smiled at Selena as she approached. “Hey, Selena. I need two of the specials with potato salad and beans to go.”

  She nodded and made a note on her pad. “Want a drink while you wait?” she asked, pointing her pen to Harry’s beer bottle.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  She uncapped a cold one and slid it in front of the sheriff. “Another, Harry?”

  He shook his head. “I’m good. I’m driving, and I hear the law around here is pretty vigilant.”

  Ben smirked as he lifted his bottle and toasted them both with it. “It’s a tough town. Somebody got his house shot up last night.”

  Selena, who’d started for the kitchen, stopped short, spun on her heel, then marched back over to them. The stern expression on her face had Harry and Ben pulling up straight as she leaned in to speak to them under the din. “What did you say?”

  Ben lowered his bottle to the bar, then spoke with deliberation. “Someone took a few potshots at Harry’s house last night. Took out the porch light. Almost took out a friend of ours.”

  A deep furrow appeared between Selena’s brows. She glanced over at Harry, her expression surprising him. She looked torn between incredulity and anger. “Are you kidding me? Actually shot at your house?”

  Ben spoke before Harry could. “Yes.”

  She planted her hands on her hips and rocked back on her heels, clearly weighing something in her mind. At last, she pitched forward again. “I wasn’t going to say anything because, you know, I hear things—all sorts of things—but I never know what’s true or not.”

  “We understand,” Ben prompted, glancing over at Harry as if looking for confirmation of his presumption.

  Harry nodded. “Anything you’ve heard might help.” He balled up the wrapper from the wet wipe and tossed it onto his empty plate. “I’d appreciate it. I really liked my porch light.”

  She scowled so fiercely Harry was afraid he’d pushed too hard, but then she shook her head, clearly disgusted. “Not those two in the corner,” she said, flicking a glance toward the bikers seated at the corner table. “But I’m seeing more and more guys from that, uh, club come through these days.”

  Neither Harry nor Ben was dumb enough to look, but Harry recalled the men he’d spotted when scanning the room. “The bikers?”

  “The Outriders,” she said with a sneer in her voice. “Not even a good name.”

  Her commentary coaxed a reluctant laugh from Harry. “Aw, come on. It’s not bad.”

  “Only saying they could have done better,” Selena said, raising her hands as if to ward off an argument.

  Ben wasn’t as easily distracted. “The Outriders,” he murmured as he automatically reached for the notebook he kept in the breast pocket of his uniform shirt. Unfortunately, the patch pockets on his flannel were empty. “Damn.”

  Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text message with the name. “There. And I want it noted technology saved the day for you in this case. You’re the only person I know who is even more low-tech than I am.”

  Ben rolled his eyes, then checked his own phone to be sure he had the information. Lifting his bottle, he flashed Selena a smile so mild they might have been exchanging recipes. “How many would you guess you’ve seen lately?”

  Selena pursed her lips and shrugged. “At least a half dozen, but likely more. Usually come in twos or threes. No big groups, like a club out for a cruise, you know?”

  “Gotcha. Thanks, Sel. We’ll put some feelers out.” He took a sip of his beer as she headed back to the kitchen again.

  But Harry saw a spark of something restless in Selena’s eyes. On impulse, he called after her. “Hey, Selena?” When she spun around, quirking one perfectly arched brow, he gave her the winsome smile he used to woo a jury. “I, uh—” he made a motion to imply she should keep their conversation on the down low “—appreciate your help.”

  Running her tongue over her teeth, she marched back over to them, tore a ticket from her pad and said, “Put your money where your mouth is, Mr. District Attorney.”

  Laughing, Harry reached for his wallet as the swinging door swooped back and forth in her wake. “She’s gonna start nosing around,” he said without looking at Ben.

  Ben nodded, then tossed off Harry’s worry with a shrug. “You know as well as I do service personnel are some of the best sources any investigation can have.”

  “I don’t want her asking too many questions and getting unwelcome attention. Selena has her hands full running this place and trying to keep old Dusty from working himself to death. She doesn’t need to be doing our jobs, as well.”

  “Well, for your information, I have been doing my job, Counselor.” Ben grasped the neck of his bottle and tipped it toward him, rolling the edge of the bottom back and forth. “I’ve identified a handful of credible leads as to who might have you in their sights.”

  “Oh yeah?” Harry threw a twenty down on top of the ticket to cover his meal, the single beer and allow for about a 60 percent tip.

  A minute later, Selena came through the swinging door again holding a tightly wrapped plastic bag with two food containers. She swept Harry’s ticket and the twenty from the counter. “Need change?”

  “Doubt I’d get it even if I said yes,” he answered with a smirk.

  She flashed a smile. “Have a good night,” she said dismissively, then slapped a ticket down in front of Ben.

  Harry clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder as he rose. “Wow. No freebies for the law around here.”

  “No freebies in Dusty’s at all,” Selena retorted. “Never have been, never will be.”

  The sheriff shook his head as he pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. “And worth every penny,” he said with an affable smile. “Night, Harry.”

  Harry let his gaze drift to the table along the back wall before sweeping the room. The two biker guys in the corner were still there, their table littered with wadded napkins and several empty beer bottles, and their gazes fixed on the sheriff. Harry figured they’d let Ben get a head start before mounting their rides. Probably hoping to evade any chance at being pulled over.

  Pushing through the door, he hunkered into his suit coat, though the worsted wool did little to inhibit the chilly wind. He was halfway to his car before he spotted the trouble. There she sat, his poor, abused car. Her shiny—if slightly marred on one side—paint job gleaming in the floodlights illuminating the parking area. All four of his tires were flat.

  There was a short burst of noise and clatter as someone came out the door, but soon the evening quiet closed in around him again. Before he managed to pick which swear word to use, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

  Anger and frustration roiled inside him as he saw Ben staring mournfully at his B
MW. “Come on,” the other man said gruffly. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

  Chapter Seven

  It took everything she could glean from Campbell’s recordings plus the information she’d received from Ben Kinsella, but Alicia was finally able to convince Bronson to let her head back to Pine Bluff. A well-placed word in his superior’s ear hadn’t hurt either. At last, he set her free to see for herself what was happening with her case down in Masters County.

  She pulled to a stop in front of Harry’s house exactly where she’d parked mere days before. The neighborhood looked much the same. A few people had started decorating for Christmas, giving the street a boost of much-needed color as the days grew shorter and the nights longer. She noted Harry had compensated for his broken porch light by stringing white Christmas lights along porch rails and pillars. They should have cheered her, but the thought of him standing out there hanging those lights, open to any crackpot with a gun, made her stomach flip over.

  Slamming the car door, she strode around to the trunk and hefted the suitcase she’d barely touched since her last trip to Pine Bluff. Once upon a time, she rarely fully unpacked from any trip. Before Bronson had become her chief, she was hardly in the office for more than two days together. She’d come home, send out a batch of dry cleaning or run a couple of loads of laundry, then put everything back into the same suitcase and go.

  But whether Bronson clipped her wings or not, those days were over for her. Or at least they would be soon. Soon, she would be planted. She’d finally let her roots sink into the soil so her child would know who he or she was and where he or she came from and never face the sort of displacement she had as an army brat.

  After setting the suitcase on the asphalt, she extended the handle and dragged it up over the curb with a grunt. She noted the lack of car in the drive, but figured the lights on inside were a good indicator. Maybe Harry had finally decided to use his garage as an actual garage. The luggage wheels bumped over the grassy berm until she reached the walkway leading to his front door. At the foot of the steps, she abandoned the extension and reached for the handle attached to the top of the case to heft it up the four shallow stairs.

  The weight of the case hitting the wooden floorboards must have alerted Harry to a caller, because the foyer light went on. She pressed the bell, but the door swung open before she could retract her finger.

  “Alicia,” he said gruffly. “What are you doing here?”

  She took a moment to appreciate the view. He wasn’t wearing a suit coat, but he wore gray pin-striped trousers and a white shirt with his polished wing tips. His collar was open, and any evidence of a tie had been eradicated. Dark stubble shadowed the distinct lines of his jaw.

  Alicia smiled, recalling how upon meeting him for the first time she’d decided his slightly pointy nose kept him from being too blandly handsome. Harrison Hayes was one of those men who snuck up on you. His charm and appeal lay as much in his sharp mind, quick wit and sly smile as it did his good looks. One might be tempted to dismiss him as simply yet another clean-cut Southern man with his neatly trimmed hair and solemn hazel eyes. But dismissing Harry for any reason was a mistake. It took Alicia about twenty-four hours to realize the district attorney grew far more potent as one got to know him.

  “I’m coming to stay for a while,” she announced.

  He rolled a pointed glance down at the suitcase beside her and raised an eyebrow. “So I see.”

  “I mean, I’m coming to stay with you,” she said, clarifying.

  His head jerked up and he looked genuinely surprised by the notion. “Coming to stay with me?”

  She gave a brisk nod. “May I come in? It’s cold out here.”

  Ever the gentleman, Harry unlatched the screen door and pushed it open. Then he stepped back, allowing her to pass. When she reached for her suitcase, his hand closed over hers. “I’ll get your bag.”

  She didn’t fight him, because mainly she was tired of wrestling with the damn thing. If he wanted to be all chivalrous about things, she wasn’t about to stop him. Once they were inside with the door closed firmly behind them, Harry glanced down at the large suitcase again before looking her dead in the eye.

  “You think you’re going to stay with me?”

  “Ben offered the house I had before, but I don’t see much point since I plan to stick pretty close to you the next couple weeks.”

  His jaw dropped and his eyes opened so wide she almost laughed. He was the very caricature of a man in shock. “You do?”

  “I’ve been assigned to investigate some of the threats being made against you in the weeks leading up to the Coulter trial.”

  “Everybody and their brother is already investigating most threats. Why did they need to send you?”

  “You act like you aren’t happy to see me.” She planted a hand on her hip and thrust it to the side as she studied him directly. “Would you prefer I leave?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  His answer came quick enough to assure her it was his gut reaction, so she rolled with it. “We’ve come across some indicators leading us in a different direction when it comes to identifying the forces behind the perpetrators of these crimes.”

  “Crimes?” He gave a brief, bitter laugh. “Around here, we call it mischief and vow to get even with whoever it was later.”

  “Where I’m from, it’s called terroristic threatening.” She smiled then. “Potato, po-tah-to.”

  Harry ran his hand through his hair, rumpling its styled perfection. The nervous habit had been one of the things that first drew her to him. Alicia found tousled Harry so appealing she’d once reached over and smoothed his hair in the middle of their postinterrogation recap. She wanted to mess him up now, but doing so wouldn’t be appropriate. Which was ironic, considering they knew each other a lot more intimately now than they had then.

  “Come in,” he said, gesturing toward the living room. “I’ll, uh, put this in the guest room.”

  She smiled to herself as he wheeled her bag away. In the living room, she took a minute to drink in the details of the room she hadn’t bothered noticing the night they were under fire.

  Framed family photos were arrayed atop side tables and on a couple of floating shelves attached to the wall. The room was furnished with comfortable, masculine pieces upholstered in leather. An old refinished trunk served as the coffee table, and an upright piano was installed against the far wall.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Harry called from the hallway.

  “Water is fine, thank you.”

  A moment later he reappeared with two bottles of water in hand. He loosened the cap on one before handing it to her. Alicia smiled, once again amused. “Thank you. I never would’ve been able to open a bottle on my own.”

  “Oh, sorry. Habit,” he said with a shrug.

  “You often go around handing out bottled water?” She eyed him as she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a quick sip, trying to figure out this somewhat inscrutable man.

  He shook his head. “No, but my mama taught me to serve people a certain way. I wouldn’t dare hand a can of Coca-Cola without first popping the top.”

  Alicia laughed. “I see. Yes, heaven forbid we risk a broken fingernail.”

  He smiled as he joined her on the sofa, leaving the cushion between them open, but angling his body to face hers. “I know you’re tough, but like I said, old habits.”

  “I understand.” She gestured to the array of photos. “Does your family live nearby?”

  He shook his head. “My sister and her family live in the Chicago area. My parents retired to Florida.”

  “It always kind of tickles me when people move from Georgia down to Florida. Doesn’t seem to me like there’d be a whole lot of difference.”

  “Maybe not from Atlanta to Florida, but there’s a whole world of difference between Masters County and
most cities in Florida.”

  “Your father was a doctor, right?”

  He raised his bottle to her in silent salute. “You’ve been doing your research.” He took a drink, then nodded. “My father was general practitioner here in town, and my mother was a homemaker, though she wasn’t much interested in housework. She spent most of her days down at the beauty parlor catching up on the latest. My sister is also a doctor, as is her husband. I am the black sheep.”

  A laugh burbled out of her. “If the black sheep ends up being a successful district attorney, I’d say your family is doing quite well.”

  He shrugged. “Anyway, they all seem happy, and I’m happy here, so I guess we’re all winning at life.” He propped his elbow on the back of the sofa and rested the bottle on his thigh. “How about you? Where’s your family?”

  Alicia’s smile faded. “Let’s see.” She tipped her head back. “At the moment, my parents are in Germany, but they’re due back into the Washington, DC, area sometime after the first of the year.” She straightened and eyed him directly. “My father is expected to take an appointment with the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

  He did a comical double take. “Joint Chiefs of Staff? Wow. Cool.”

  “The culmination of a lifetime of work.”

  “Which branch?”

  “Army.”

  “Any siblings?”

  She shook her head. “No, only me. They found out pretty quickly a child can slow a person down when one is trying to march up the ladder.”