Silver Thaw: A Mystic Creek Novel

by Catherine Anderson

  Amanda took a bracing breath. “Mark is totally off his rocker when it comes to me. Always has been, always will be.”

  “But he also has a finely honed sense of self-preservation. He may get quarrelsome and say insulting things to you or about you, but I doubt he’ll do anything more. And he’ll pass through a metal detector, remember. In order to hurt you, he can only try a physical attack, and if he does, I’ll be there to stop him if Johnson doesn’t beat me to the punch. Johnson mentioned once that he was a football linebacker in college. He’s gained weight over the years, but I can tell by looking that he still packs a lot of muscle, and I’d bet good money that he can still throw one hell of a punch.”

  Amanda knew they were drawing closer to the courthouse. She straightened her jacket and fussed with her blouse. “Do I look okay?”

  He gave her a measuring look with those warm hazel eyes. “You look beautiful.”

  Amanda pushed at her hair. “So where will Chloe be? I forgot to ask.”

  “In a guarded cubicle outside the courtroom. If the judge wishes to speak with her in closed chambers, an armed guard will escort Chloe through an adjacent corridor directly there. She’ll never enter the courtroom. Our moms are going to stay with her. There’s a DVR, so they’re taking some Disney flicks for Chloe to watch.”

  “Do you think the judge will ask to interview Chloe?”

  “Johnson says he doubts it because of Chloe’s age. More than likely, the judge will listen to the testimonies, look at the evidence, and make a judgment from the bench. When we leave the courthouse, it should all be over.”

  “Until Mark goes to trial for the abuse.”

  Jeb reached over to squeeze Amanda’s shoulder. “One thing at a time, honey. Let’s get through today. Then we’ll worry about the trial.”

  * * *

  The moment Amanda entered the courtroom, both her body and her brain went numb. Wood paneling, a low-profile judge’s bench, curved seating and desks for the plaintiff and the respondent, mottled gray tile—everything blurred in her vision. Jeb escorted her up the center aisle to an opening in the bar, which divided the gallery from the court arena. Clyde Johnson met them and grasped Amanda’s left arm to guide her to the plaintiff’s table. Amanda sank into a well-cushioned and sturdily built wooden chair. Johnson sat to her immediate left.

  Amanda kept her gaze fixed on the judge’s bench, but in her peripheral vision she could see Mark sitting at the respondent’s table with a thin, dark-haired man who she guessed was his lawyer. Why is it that everything else seems hazy, but Mark’s face is crystal clear? She wanted to jump to her feet and flee, only she had nowhere to go. She’d run as far as her limited funds could take her, she’d tried to hide, and regardless of all her efforts, here she was, facing Mark again. He was staring at her. Against her will, she flicked a glance at him, and he smiled—that evil curve of his lips she’d learned to dread.

  The court clerk called the hearing into session and said, “All rise.” She said more, but her words rang like gibberish in Amanda’s ears, announcing that the Honorable Somebody was presiding. For a moment Amanda thought, Oh, no, I missed her last name. But then she dimly recalled that Johnson had instructed her to call the judge Your Honor, no last name required.

  The judge, a plump older woman with short blond hair and solemn gray eyes, took a seat behind the bench, and a rustle of movement followed as everyone sat down. Amanda knew she would be called to testify first, but she wasn’t prepared for it to happen so quickly. As she walked on unsteady legs to the witness box, she wanted to scream at the armed bailiff, the court clerk, and the court reporter that this wasn’t business as usual. A little girl’s future hung in the balance, and they acted as if it was only another day.

  Amanda took the stand. She thought maybe she was sworn in, but if she was, she couldn’t recall the details. Johnson rose from the plaintiff’s table and stepped forward.

  “Ms. Banning, would you like a glass of water before we proceed?” he asked.

  Amanda tried to bring his broad face into focus. “Um, yes, please, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  A blurry someone brought Amanda a glass. She clutched it in both hands, thinking, Don’t spill it.

  Johnson asked her a question. Though she didn’t quite register what it was, she heard herself replying. Her voice sounded as if it came from deep within a tunnel. Please, God, help me get through this. Help me protect Chloe. In a daze, Amanda fielded question after question, and then Johnson resumed his seat to let Mark’s attorney cross-examine her.

  Panic coursed through Amanda, for she knew this lawyer would come at her with his fangs bared. She searched frantically for tawny hair, a burnished face, and hazel eyes. Jeb. He sat two rows back from the petitioner’s table, which hadn’t been part of their plan. Prior to the judge taking the bench, Johnson had whispered to her why the courtroom was so crowded, saying that divorces were matters of public record and could be watched by anyone. Divorce, a spectator sport.

  When Amanda locked gazes with Jeb, some of the tension eased from her body. I can do this. With Jeb’s support, she could survive anything. Then, without meaning to, she locked gazes with Mark. His blue eyes glittered like ice chips, so cold, the hatred in them so venomous, she felt a chill touch her skin. He bared his teeth in that smile again and pursed his lips to blow her a kiss. The kiss of death, he’d often called it, just before pulling the trigger of a revolver he held to her temple.

  Amanda started to shake. Her brain froze. Mark’s attorney cried, “Ms. Banning, I’ve asked you the same question three times!”

  Amanda jerked and forced her gaze to the lawyer, who reminded her of a nasty little weasel, and pushed out, “I’m sorry. Would you please repeat the question?”

  He leaned closer to the witness stand. “Can you prove that Mark Banning inflicted any of the injuries you’ve documented in your photos?”

  Amanda groped for an answer. Finally she said, “No.”

  “Louder, please!”

  “No!” Amanda cried.

  The attorney threw up his arms and smiled at the judge, as if Amanda’s answer said it all. Water slopped from the glass she clenched. The coldness slid over her fingers and puddled on her lap. My skirt, she thought, and then realized how stupid it was to worry about her clothing. Chloe was all that mattered. Mark caught her gaze again and sneered. She searched again for Jeb, fixed her gaze on his face, and found the calm to answer the attorney’s aggressive questions.

  At some point, Mark’s lawyer shoved a photograph of Chloe’s burned hand under Amanda’s nose. The curved wounds from the red-hot stove burner ran deep.

  “You claim that your husband, Mark Banning, inflicted these burns on your daughter’s palm. But you have no photographic evidence of that.” He turned toward the judge. “Your Honor, may I suggest to you that children often accidentally burn themselves? There’s no proof that Mr. Banning inflicted this injury on the child. In fact, this photographic evidence is so weak, I’m amazed that you’ve allowed it to be presented to the court.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  No! Amanda wanted to scream the word. Only Johnson’s warnings that she should show no anger forestalled her. Mark’s attorney sounded so reasonable that the judge might listen to his argument. There was no photographic evidence that Mark had inflicted any of the injuries on Chloe. How could anyone who saw those images think that Amanda could have taken snapshots while the incidents occurred? Oh, God, oh, God, don’t let Mark be alone with her. Amanda had no doubt that he would kill Chloe if given half a chance.

  Dizzy with fear, Amanda watched the judge. After studying the picture of Chloe’s burned palm, she began flipping through others, her brows creasing in a deep frown. To Mark’s attorney, she finally said, “If it were one instance of injury, I might consider your point valid, sir, but there are too many wounds documented in these photos for all of them to have be
en accidental.” She folded her hands atop the stack of pictures. “I will also point out that Mr. Banning will stand trial to determine if he’s innocent or guilty of inflicting these injuries. The court’s duty today is to grant dissolution of the marriage to the plaintiff and to decide whether or not the minor child will be placed in possible jeopardy if the father is allowed to have unsupervised visitation.”

  “Yes, Your Honor, but the court’s decision today will have bearing upon the outcome of that trial. If the father is granted only supervised visitation with his daughter now, there will be an implication of guilt, which may influence the decision of the Eureka judge.”

  The judge held up her hand. “The court repeats that the purpose of this hearing is to grant dissolution of the marriage and determine the probability of endangerment to the child if the father is allowed unsupervised visitation.” Turning to Amanda, she said, “Ms. Banning, you are free to return to your seat.” To Mark’s lawyer, she said, “Do you wish to have the respondent testify?”

  “I do,” the attorney replied.

  The court clerk called Mark to the stand. All went well for Mark as he responded to his attorney’s questions. Amanda could tell that they had rehearsed his testimony several times. But then Johnson cross-examined. The older attorney went after Mark like a pit bull, tripping him up in his lies.

  “My wife always had her own car!” Mark shot a blazing glare at Amanda. “She’s lying in an attempt to make me look like some kind of monster. I always made sure she had a home phone line, too. What kind of husband would leave his wife stranded without a way to call for help if something happened?”

  Johnson shot back, “Can you produce proof that you own a second vehicle and phone bills to document the home phone line?”

  Mark lost his composure and nearly shouted, “Of course. I don’t have any paperwork with me, but I can produce it later.”

  Johnson turned and smiled at Amanda, pretended to check his notes, and then faced the bench again to drop a bomb. “That’s peculiar, Mr. Banning, because I hired an investigator to check your phone records and vehicle registrations. According to his findings, you’ve never had a home phone line at any of your residences, and since your marriage to Ms. Banning, you’ve owned only one vehicle, an older-model gray Chevy sedan.”

  Johnson carried the investigative report to the bench for the judge’s perusal. She skimmed the paperwork and then cast a questioning look at Mark, whose forehead had beaded with sweat. “How can you explain this, Mr. Banning? I’ve dealt with this investigator, and he’s very thorough.”

  Mark waved a hand as if to flick away a bothersome gnat. “My credit went bad, so my father purchased the second vehicle and got us the home phone under his name.”

  An expression of pure delight played upon Johnson’s face as he returned to the table to fetch another report. He pivoted to face the bench again. “I anticipated Mr. Banning claiming that, so I had my investigator check to see if any of this man’s family members or friends had purchased a second car for Ms. Banning’s use.” He strode briskly toward the judge to hand her the report. “No car, no phone. Ms. Banning’s testimony is the absolute truth. Her husband left her without transportation, telephone, or Internet services, and separated her from all her friends and family.”

  Mark started to speak, but the judge cut him off. “Need I remind you, Mr. Banning, that you may be charged with perjury if you give false testimony in my court?”

  Mark yelled, “I’m not giving false testimony!” He pointed at Amanda. “She’s the liar here! She abandoned me! She took my child away from me and kept her hidden from me for nearly six months!”

  The judge brought down her gavel. “Order in the court! Lower your voice and remain in control, Mr. Banning, or the court will find you in contempt.”

  When Mark shouted a curse at the judge, she slammed the gavel down again. “The court rules in favor of the plaintiff, Ms. Amanda Banning. Dissolution of the marriage is granted and will be final in ninety days. Mr. Banning is granted court-supervised bimonthly visitation with his daughter, two hours per visit. Under no circumstances shall the child be alone with her father. If Mr. Banning is found to be innocent of the abuse charges in a Eureka court of law, the presiding judge can, and undoubtedly will, grant the father a more lenient visitation plan.”

  After releasing a pent-up breath, Amanda grabbed for more oxygen, her lungs burning. We won! The decision was in Chloe’s favor. She’d be kept safe. Amanda couldn’t think beyond that.

  “But, Your Honor,” Mark’s attorney cried, “this is—”

  The judge used her gavel again. “The court has ruled.”

  Amanda wanted to shout with joy, but instead she grasped the desk edge and clamped down with her fingers to stop from making a sound.

  Mark leaped from the witness stand and rammed into the bailiff with such force that he sent the unprepared officer reeling off his feet. For Amanda everything went into freeze-frame mode. She saw Mark charging toward her, but time seemed to stop after each stride he took. Something white slipped from the right sleeve of his sport coat. “You lying, treacherous bitch! I’m a fit father, damn you! The breadwinner! My daughter has never gone without a single necessity!”

  Amanda’s gaze froze on the object in Mark’s hand. With one terrified glance, she took in a serrated, heavy-duty plastic tool sharpened to a deadly point and less than a foot long—able to lie along Mark’s forearm between his wrist and the bend of his elbow.

  And he meant to kill her with it.

  Clyde Johnson, standing before the judge’s bench, had been only momentarily caught off guard, and he whirled to block Mark’s path, but the assailant’s momentum knocked the attorney back against the table.

  “Order in the court!” the judge screamed. “Resume your seat, Mr. Banning!”

  Amanda knew no one could stop Mark. She had to stop him herself. Shooting to her feet, she grabbed the arms of her chair and, with strength she never realized she possessed, swung the heavy piece of furniture up to shield herself just as Mark, now with only the table between them, slashed at her with the weapon. The chair lurched in her grasp as the hard, sharpened plastic dug into the underside of the leather-covered seat.

  She heard a woman scream. Jeb’s voice rang out. “Get out of my way, damn it! Out of my way!”

  Amanda dimly realized that Jeb’s path was blocked by people who’d sprung to their feet. Alone, I’m all alone. As that thought sank into her brain, anger exploded within her. In flashes, she saw a series of images, all of Mark coming after her. Always before, she’d been so scared that she couldn’t think. Not this time. She swung the chair at Mark, nearly knocking him off balance. With a flurry of jabs, he came at her again with the blade. She met each thrust with the chair, knowing that if he got past the barrier it made, she’d be dead.

  In a blur, she saw Johnson regain his footing. It didn’t matter if Jeb could reach her or if Johnson could intervene. She’d learned over the last many months that she could stand on her own two feet. She’d learned that she wasn’t stupid or ugly. But most important, she’d imagined herself taking Mark on, time after time, with nothing but a cast-iron skillet or a butcher knife. A heavy upholstered chair worked better. No matter how much force Mark put behind his thrusts, he couldn’t penetrate wood and leather, and he couldn’t knock her down as long as the sturdy table was between them.

  She would defend herself this time—or die trying. She’d finally found happiness for both her and Chloe, and she would not allow Mark to steal that from either of them.

  When Mark drew back to take another stab at her, Amanda saw an opening and swung the chair at him again. He staggered but didn’t go down. He looked startled for an instant, and then pure murder returned to his blue eyes. Crazy, mindless, maniacal rage. Shouts rang out from behind her. She heard another woman scream. In her peripheral vision, she saw the bailiff regain his feet. From a side door
way, she glimpsed other officers bursting into the courtroom.

  “I told you I’d see you dead if you ever ran from me!” Mark yelled. “Stupid cow!”

  Amanda wished she had the strength to raise the chair high enough to bring it down on his head. But that would leave her body unprotected, and he would stab her. It was safer to let the wood and upholstery take the punishment. Somewhere in the din, she heard Jeb yell again, “Get the hell out of my way!” So she knew he was coming. She would hold Mark off until Jeb could tackle him.

  Only it wasn’t Jeb who body-slammed Mark. It was the big, burly Johnson, her cranky but kindhearted attorney. He lunged forward, body hunched, and launched himself into a tackle, colliding with Mark on his right and grabbing his legs. Mark hurtled sideways and hit the floor near the witness box like a felled tree.

  Clearly prepared for a tussle, Johnson said in a voice gruff with anger, “Move, you miserable son of a bitch. Just try it.”

  Court deputies rushed forward, guns drawn. But Mark didn’t move. Amanda, still holding the chair up with trembling arms, stared in mounting horror at her husband’s still body. He lay with one arm flung outward. His other arm, the one that had been brandishing the knife, was tucked under his body. Stunned, her brain struggling to make sense of what she was seeing, she felt frozen in place.

  Johnson rose to his knees. “Oh, God, did he hit his head? He’s unconscious.”

  The stupefied bailiff collected his wits and went down on one knee to probe Mark’s neck. “Call an ambulance!” he yelled. “No pulse! I’ve got no pulse!”

  Amanda dropped the chair, her overstrained arms dangling uselessly at her sides. Her gaze fixed on the crimson pool of blood seeping out from under Mark’s body, she blinked away black spots and struggled not to collapse. Suddenly strong arms encircled her torso to hold her erect. She recognized those arms.