Sasha McCandless 02 - Inadvertent Disclosure
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“He also did this by asking you to return a document?”
“Yes, by raising the issue of inadvertent disclosure, he drew my attention to a flyer that showed Keystone Properties had held a fundraiser for Commissioner Price on the property at issue. Again, he had ethical obligations, and perhaps legitimate fears, that were boxing him in. So, there were limits to what he could do.”
“So, we’re in agreement that he was no Atticus Finch?” Aroostine smiled.
“Right.” Sasha smiled back. “Not a Sir Thomas More either, for that matter.”
Showalter would be okay. The citizens of Springport understood what it had meant to be under Heather Price’s thumb. After her death, the stories about her hard-nosed negotiating tactics and fondness for arm-twisting started to flow forward from all corners of the county.
And, according to Russell, Showalter was doing a decent job of investigating Shelly Spangler.
“Moving on, despite the warnings, Commissioner Price feared Judge Paulson might rule against her?”
“Yes. And, Drew had explained the judge’s routine. So, she decided to preempt the opinion by killing him. She set up in the alley, shot him through the window, and drove away, unseen by anyone except her sister. Sheriff Stickley’s job was to get the tape with the judge’s opinion on it. But, when he got to chambers, the dictaphone was empty. So Attorney General Griggs, stepped in to help cover up the murder and get that tape.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Apparently, Heather Price had determined she needed to have someone high up in her pocket. Her sister said she bought off the attorney general once she realized all the state representatives were bought and paid for by Big Sky.”
“How did he try to cover up the murder?”
Sasha cleared her throat. “He convinced the chief justice to appoint an outsider to investigate the judge’s murder. Someone with no prosecutorial experience and no understanding of the town’s culture. Someone he was certain would fail.”
Aroostine smiled again. “And who was that?”
“That was me.”
“How’d that work out for Mr. Griggs?”
“Not as planned,” Sasha said.
A soft chuckle rose from the grand jurors.
“Where was the missing tape?”
“Gloria Burke, the judge’s secretary had it.”
Sasha and Will had rehearsed this part of her testimony carefully. Sasha wasn’t willing to say anything that would implicate Gloria. So she hoped to gloss over how Gloria came to possess the tape without lying.
“For safekeeping, would you say?”
“I would.”
Sasha shot Will a grateful look. She didn’t want to know what conversations he and the special prosecutor had had, but they’d worked.
“So, this decision that Commissioner Price was so desperate to prevent? I take it in his opinion, Judge Paulson granted Big Sky’s motion and unwound her precious deal?”
Sasha turned to face the grand jurors directly. “No. In a reasoned, detailed opinion, Judge Paulson denied Big Sky’s motion and affirmed the council’s decision to approve the hotel plans.”
Aroostine let that statement ring through the room for a full minute before she said, “Thank you, Ms. McCandless. You’re excused.”
CHAPTER 46
One week later
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Connelly’s question weighed on Sasha. She thought about it when she was running, sparring, and doing yoga. When she was showering, driving, and falling asleep. She just didn’t have an answer.
It was time to do the decent thing and let him know. Face whatever the consequences would be.
She spent the morning working out—running, punching, and kicking until every bit of nerves had drained out of her, replaced by the welcome calm that accompanied physical exhaustion.
After a very long, very hot shower, she dressed in yoga pants and her softest hooded sweater and headed to the Strip District. She wandered the wholesalers’ stalls and picked out a good Italian cheese, some fresh pasta, a handful of earthy mushrooms, and a bar of dark chocolate.
Then she walked along the cobblestone streets, dodging shoppers and tour groups, until she came to Wholey’s Fish Market. She considered the live lobsters, but they waved their long antennae at her like they were greeting a friend and she didn’t have the heart. The containers of lump crabmeat elicited no feelings of guilt, so she had the fishmonger dig one out of the ice for her.
She almost never cooked. And when she did, it was always from a recipe that she followed religiously, more like it was the instructions for deactivating a bomb than the steps for making a casserole or a roast. But, today, she had no recipe, no shopping list.
She floated from store to store, staying present in the smells and sounds of the Strip. Using them to keep her nervous worry about the upcoming talk with Connelly at bay.
She finished her shopping at Prestogeorge for some coffee. Russell’s face flashed in her mind unbidden, as she inhaled the scent of the oily dark beans. She dismissed him from her mind and picked out some espresso beans.
On a whim, she stopped outside the coffee roaster’s shop to buy a bouquet of tulips from a street vendor.
Finally, she headed for the car, her arms laden with packages, and tried to come up with a menu for the night’s dinner. She was about twenty-five yards away when, without warning, the skies opened up and fat drops of rain pelted her. She broke into an awkward half run, the best she could manage with all her groceries.
The rain picked up as she reached the car and fumbled for her keys. She tossed her soggy bags and now-wilted flowers in the back seat and hurried into the driver’s seat.
She was soaked. Water streamed off her hair and ran down her face. She flipped on the wipers. A scrap of paper stuck under the left windshield wiper waved wildly.
Great. She hopped out and freed it from the wiper. It was a parking ticket. Of course.
She returned to the car, tossed the ticket into her center console, and wiped her hands on her pants. She turned up the heat to stave off the chill and cranked the radio. A jagged line of lightning zigzagged across the sky and, almost immediately, a tremendous boom of thunder shook the car. April in Pittsburgh. The weather could turn in an instant.
Just as she popped the car into gear, someone banged a palm on her driver’s side window. She jumped. Connelly’s face peered in through the glass. She unlocked the passenger side and motioned for him to go around.
He ran around the front of the car and jumped in, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Hi,” he said. He gave her a watery kiss then shook his head like a wet dog.
“What are you doing here?”
He’d planned to spend his day in the office, catching up on paperwork.
“Getting drenched, mainly. I finished up early and decided to grab lunch. It seemed like a nice day for a walk, so I thought I’d get a bite here. Glad I ran into you.”
The sky was dark now, and the rain came in steady sheets.
“Me, too. I’m not driving anywhere until this lets up, though.”
Connelly twisted in his seat and eyed the ripped and sopping wet bags on the back seat.
“Did you get anything good?”
Her earlier confidence in her ability to whip up a meal evaporated as she looked back at the random collection of food.
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
She reached back and dug out the chocolate bar. She unwrapped it and snapped it in half.
“Want some?”
They ate the dark squares in silence and watched the rain cascade off the front of the car. A PAT bus rolled by, sending up a wave of standing water that splashed over the hood.
“What’s the occasion, anyway?” He waved a hand at the groceries.
Her cheeks burned through the damp cold. What could she say? I was going to make a special dinner and then tell you I don’t know if I love you? The idea, which had seemed flawless just that morn
ing, suddenly struck her as lame, if not cruel.
“Ummmm…”
Connelly’s eyebrows shot up.
“Sasha McCandless, at a loss for words? Inconceivable!”
She attempted a weak smile. Her stomach flipped. Just get it over with, she thought. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and stared hard at the dashboard.
“Connelly, I’ve thought really hard about your question. You know, where this is going and how I feel about you. And, I’m sorry, but I just don’t know.”
Forcing the words out flooded her body with relief. He’d take it however he took it.
She peeked over at him. He was staring at her.
She opened her mouth, planning to tell him what they had did matter to her, but stopped when he burst into loud laughter.
He was laughing at her. Really laughing, like it was hilarious.
“Ummm?”
He tried to stop. Wiped a tear from his eye and caught his breath.
“I’m sorry, but you do know.”
A spark of anger flared in her stomach.
“No, Connelly, I don’t know.”
He reached over and took her chin in his hands.
“Actually, you do. Ever since we got back from Springport you’ve been talking in your sleep.”
“What?”
“Yeah, pretty much every night.”
He gave her a crooked smile.
She sunk into the seat, almost afraid to ask, but she had to know.
“What do I say?”
He tilted her head up, forcing her eyes to meet his.
“One thing you say is that you love me.”
“I do?”
He nodded.
“What else do I say?”
He started to laugh again.
“You call me Leo.”
NOTE TO THE READER
Thank you for reading Inadvertent Disclosure; I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, please consider lending your copy to a friend or posting a short review on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/Inadvertent-Disclosure-McCandless-Thriller-ebook/dp/B0075ZWQ3M
ALSO BY MELISSA F. MILLER
Irreparable Harm (Sasha McCandless No. 1)
available at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XDACV2
Dark Blooms: Two Crime Fiction Shorts
available at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004O6N198
COMING SOON
Irretrievably Broken (Sasha McCandless No. 3)
available Spring of 2012
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Melissa F. Miller is a commercial litigator and has practiced in the offices of international law firms in Pittsburgh and Washington, D.C. She and her husband now practice law together in South Central Pennsylvania, where they live with their three young children. When not in court or on the playground, Melissa writes crime fiction.
For more information about Melissa or the Sasha McCandless series, please visit http://www.melissafmiller.com/ and sign up for Melissa’s newsletter.
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