For the Defense

by Maggie Wells

  “I concur,” Wendell said gravely. “I did handle the sale of his land, but I was the seller’s attorney. He used some fellow out of Miami, Florida, for his end of the transaction.”

  “He seems to have a lot of ties to Miami,” Simon mused. “I’ve looked into his business ventures, but they appear to be on the up-and-up. At least, on the surface. Made his initial fortune day-trading and expanded from there. Owns real estate all over Florida, a few small businesses, but nothing to bring in the big money. From what I can see, he made the bulk of it in the stock market.”

  “At least the part of it that’s aboveboard.” Wendell gave a dismissive sniff. “You wouldn’t find any evidence of illegal activities online, would you?”

  “No,” Simon admitted. “The snake thing is pretty out there. People with money can sometimes go wacky with it, but this appears to be a lifelong obsession.”

  “I can go back through whatever wildlife legislation I’ve voted on in the last couple of sessions, but I honestly can’t think of any way in which our mutual interests may have crossed paths,” Dell concluded.

  “Which leaves Simon,” Wendell said gravely. “He said he picked you. I’m with your dad in thinking he threw us into the mix for some extra oomph. Your activities on behalf of the natural gas consortium’s political action committee weren’t a state secret. He probably thinks he can twist your arm harder by adding us in for good measure.”

  Though it had been nearly a year since Simon had accidentally jeopardized his entire political future by not doing his due diligence on behalf of his lobbying firm, he couldn’t argue with his grandfather’s conclusion. What Simon had done hadn’t been illegal, but the optics weren’t good. He’d taken the fall for the firm, walking away with not much more than an unspoken promise of their future support in his back pocket. Now he wasn’t certain he wanted to get into the game at all.

  “Yeah.” He drew a shaky breath. “I admit he threw me at first, but now I can’t help but think he’s playing chicken with me.”

  “Good analogy,” Wendell said with a chuckle. “Ye gods, son, what did you think the man could possibly have on your father or me?”

  “I have no clue,” Simon replied honestly. “You’re the one who keeps telling me dangerous creatures lurk in these woods. You’re the one who told me I needed to come here and take on some easy lawyering while I waited for people to get forgetful. Now I’m trapped in Pine Bluff with this guy using me.”

  “I did tell you those things,” Wendell admitted ruefully. “I didn’t tell you to take Coulter on. You chose him. When something too good to be true drops into your lap, it’s because it’s too good to be true.”

  Simon bristled when his father piled on.

  “Your ego always trips you up, son. You wanted to make a splash. And you wanted to impress this Coulter fellow because he’s sittin’ on a pile of cash,” Dell concluded.

  His grandfather picked up the baton again. “Not saying you’ve done anything wrong. We’ve all spent some time cultivating some wealthy and powerful people. The problem is, sometimes you allow yourself to be blinded by flash.”

  There was a long silence, and in it, Simon read his father’s tacit agreement with his grandfather’s assessment. It pained him, but Simon couldn’t say it wasn’t true. His whole life, all he wanted was to step into the Wingate legacy. The problem was, every time he took a chance and tried to set himself apart from his father and grandfather, he ended up tripping and falling flat on his face.

  He was ruminating on this when his father spoke up.

  “There are ways for you to be able to off-load him, but sacrifices may have to be made on your part. More risk taken.”

  Simon scoffed. “You mean possibly jeopardizing my entire political future. Let’s face it—my chances are already slim. With the campaign contribution mess and whatever it is I’ve gotten myself into down here aside, no one is going to elect an attorney who has been disbarred.”

  “There are always ways to spin unsavory items from our past into more palatable chunks for public consumption,” Wendell insisted. “It comes back to the best defense being a good offense. We need to figure out a way for you to get out ahead of this guy, if not out from under him.”

  There was another long pause. He could almost hear the three of them pondering different angles. At last, his grandfather chimed in.

  “Dora tells me there’s a new lady in town. She’s supposedly gone to work at Timber Masters,” Wendell commented mildly.

  “I clearly need to find more for Dora to do if she has time to report every scrap of local gossip back to you,” Simon replied. “Of course, keeping her occupied will be much harder if I ditch my neediest client.”

  “It’s a catch-22,” Wendell agreed with a hum. “Aside from her ability to keep an ear to the ground, Dora is an excellent judge of people.”

  “She is,” Dell said. “She told me I was going to propose to your mother five minutes after she met her.”

  Wendell let loose with a guffaw. “Well, son, anyone with eyes in their head could see you were smitten. The bigger question was whether Bettina would have you.”

  “Can we get back to the subject at hand?” Simon asked, impatient with the conversational detour.

  “We’re still on the subject,” his grandfather replied mildly. “Dora says this woman looks like a Fed.”

  The three men fell silent.

  After digesting the information, Simon spoke up. “I was about to ask how Dora might know how to tag a federal agent, but then I remembered where I am.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Wendell hummed. “If anyone’s going to be able to spot a Fed a mile away, it’s Dora. She watched me go toe-to-toe with enough of them.”

  “Funny, Ben Kinsella had a friend from the DEA come to town earlier this week,” Simon informed them.

  “Did he now?” Wendell mused. “Isn’t that interesting. I didn’t think he’d left on the best of terms with many of his colleagues there.”

  “Do you think there’s trafficking happening in the area?” Dell asked.

  “The only thing I’ve come across was a teenager caught with some weed,” Simon informed them.

  “There’s worse going on,” Wendell said ominously. “I think it may behoove you to have a frank conversation with our friends over in the law and justice center.”

  “And say what? ‘Hey, I think my client might be a bad guy after all’?” Simon demanded.

  “Did I say you should speak to them about your client?” Wendell retorted, the question uncharacteristically sharp. “I said you should sit down with some of your friends and neighbors. Be a part of the community. Try having your finger on the pulse rather than one foot out the door.”

  His grandfather’s impatience came through loud and clear. Simon ducked his head, tensing his jaw to keep from snapping back. Because, damn it, the old man was right.

  “Your granddad is right,” Dell said calmly, ever the peacemaker. “You think my trips back home are duty visits to maintain support, but you’re wrong. Chet Rinker and I have been best friends since nursery school. Your mother pretends she’s jealous Trudy Skyler and I went steady in the eleventh grade, but I think she does it to make me feel good. I’m on the alumni homecoming committee, and not so I can ride in the parade. Pine Bluff is my home,” he said, his voice conveying a depth of feeling microphones never quite got across.

  “Your mama is an Atlanta girl. She’d never have been happy living in such a small town full-time, so I made some sacrifices. Maybe I should have put my foot down more when you were coming up, but if you hope to represent those people one day, you need to know who they are and what they need.”

  The simple truth of what his father and grandfather were saying hit him hard. The thing Lori had said about him thinking he was too cool for this place ping-ponged around in his head. They weren’t wrong. He’d been resisting settling in.
Refusing to believe his time in Pine Bluff was anything more than a speed bump in his life. His chest felt tight and his head too heavy to hold up. Shame pulsed through his veins and warmed his skin.

  “You’re right,” he said at last.

  “What did you say?” Wendell prodded. “Can you repeat that?”

  “Dad, don’t,” Dell said preemptively. When Wendell refrained from further commentary, Simon’s father pressed on. “It’s a good suggestion, Simon. Maybe something more like a meeting,” he mused. “A few key people and some frank discussion.”

  “Yes. A breakfast meeting,” Wendell suggested. “Perhaps around the time your express deliveries usually show up.”

  “Good idea,” Dell chimed in effusively. “Never hurts to have a few witnesses around too.”

  “Hey, did I tell you I ran into Roy Biddle the other day?” Wendell asked Dell.

  While his father and grandfather swapped stories about the people they’d run into on their separate campaigns, Simon tapped out a text message.

  I need a favor.

  He waited, inserting cursory grunts and the expected laughs at intervals. At last, the ellipses indicating a reply was being typed appeared.

  Yes?

  Can you convince Ben and Harry to meet with us at my office tomorrow morning around 7 or 7:30?

  Lori’s reply came less than a minute later.

  No problem with Ben, but I’ll have to check with Harry. You lawyers keep far more leisurely hours. What’s up?

  He smiled as he listened to his father complain about the number of Auburn fans who’d shown up at his last town hall meeting. Thumbs flying, he typed.

  I need to get some perspective on some things. Tell the guys I’ll provide coffee and doughnuts.

  Always a good incentive. She added an emoji of someone drooling. See you in the a.m.

  Simon grinned and tuned back in to the conversation in time to hear Wendell spout off about the “overopinionated knuckleheads” who called into his favorite sports talk-radio station. He couldn’t help thinking things were looking up.

  * * *

  THERE WAS NOTHING but a box of doughnuts between him and the woman he wanted to kiss again. Well, the doughnuts, the massive oak conference table, the district attorney and Sheriff Ben Kinsella, who’d eyed him with wary suspicion when he and Lori exchanged greetings notably warmer than they’d been when they’d convened in the judge’s chambers.

  Though he had no chance of getting “more kissing” added to the morning’s agenda, so far his new friends and neighbors had been nothing but forthcoming in giving him their take on the current state of affairs in Masters County.

  “You can probably get actual data from the state agencies,” Ben was saying. “I can tell you things on the ground have been shifting.” He bit into his second cream-filled doughnut and sighed. “I wish I didn’t love these things so much. I hate being a cliché.”

  Lori snickered, and Ben shot her a warning glance. Simon fought the urge to smile reflexively when she hid her own.

  “Opioids,” Hayes announced, jerking him back to the conversation at hand. “The stuff that went down last spring with the killings associated with Jared Baker and the Crystal Forest Corporation fronting methamphetamine production slowed some of the meth trade in the area, but nature abhors a vacuum. When the crystal wasn’t readily available, people started raiding medicine cabinets.”

  “Rinker’s Pharmacy has been broken into no less than three times in the past year,” Lori informed him. “Of course, they can’t get to anything valuable. Mr. Rinker has his place fortified better than a Pentagon bunker.”

  Simon scoffed. “You’re kidding.”

  Without missing a beat, Lori spoke to Ben, her expression completely blank. “Simon thinks I’m the funniest woman he’s ever met,” she said in a voice devoid of inflection. “Whenever I say something, all he ever says is ‘You’re kidding.’ He thinks everything I say is a joke.”

  “No. Not at all,” Simon interjected, scooting to the edge of his seat, ready to talk his way out of whatever circular argument she wanted to invent. “I was simply using a phrase commonly used to express shock and disbelief.”

  “He doesn’t believe a word I say,” she said blandly.

  “I believe your every utterance to be the gospel truth. I’m the one with limited capacity,” he said dryly.

  “Addiction to opiates has been on the rise throughout the country,” the DA continued, shooting Ben and Lori an exasperated glance. “I’m sure you’ve heard on the news,” he added. “Rural areas are particularly hard-hit because the supply isn’t steady. The ebb and flow can lead to people doing some pretty desperate things.”

  “Tighter restrictions on making prescription meds available for recreational use has led people to look for alternatives,” Ben said, his expression grave.

  Simon glanced from face to face, slotting all the pieces together. “So you’re saying there is a trafficking problem in the area,” he concluded.

  “We’re saying we have reason to believe there is,” Ben clarified.

  “Now we’re not only looking for methamphetamine,” Hayes said grimly, “but also heroin.”

  Simon found himself holding his breath, wondering for the millionth time how he’d stumbled into this predicament. His path had been laid out for him since he was a boy. Okay, so he’d tried to take a shortcut and ended up sidelined, but his push for power hadn’t knocked him out of the game completely. Coming to Pine Bluff was supposed to be the safe bet, but he’d rolled snake eyes on his initial pass. Now he had to find a way to indicate he’d be open to helping them find whatever it was they suspected.

  “I watched that show everyone’s been talking about last night. Exotic Escapades? The one on Cineflix about the people who claim to do exotic-animal rescue,” Ben said, his conversation casual yet oddly pointed. When their eyes met, the sheriff smiled wide and affably. “Have y’all watched it?”

  Lori shook her head and Harry simply snorted, but Ben paid no attention to them. His gaze was locked on Simon.

  “No,” Simon said, approaching the conversational gambit with caution. “I’ve heard it’s a hot mess, though. Doesn’t seem your type of thing.”

  Ben nodded. “It’s not, but Alicia Simmons was telling us all about it at dinner last night.”

  Simon felt all three sets of eyes boring into him. They were testing him. Or trying to tell him something without actually speaking the words out loud. So he swung at the softball Ben had lobbed at him. “Alicia Simmons? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her yet.”

  Ben rocked back in his chair, his gaze so steady, Simon was beginning to wonder if there was a red laser dot at the center of his forehead.

  “She’s new to town. Coming down from Atlanta to work for Marlee in inventory control over at Timber Masters,” the man said, the picture of casualness.

  “No wonder the name didn’t register for me.” Simon did his best not to let his confusion show. He suspected Ben was steering this conversation in a particular direction, and he was willing to go along for the ride. “From Atlanta, huh?”

  “Yep. I believe she was born and raised in the area,” Ben continued.

  The silence stretched for a few heartbeats. Simon got the feeling he was supposed to respond to this information, but he didn’t have the first clue how or why. “I can’t say the name is familiar to me, but Atlanta isn’t Pine Bluff, is it? I swear, I can’t remember the last time I ran into anyone born and bred up there.”

  Ben laced his fingers together and rocked forward in his chair until his hands landed on the table with a soft thunk. “I knew her some when I lived there.”

  Framed as it was, the admission shocked Simon. Was this Alicia Simmons the mysterious friend from the Drug Enforcement Administration? If so, what was she doing coming to work at Timber Masters? Unless—


  “From your time with the DEA?” he asked bluntly, tired of the subterfuge.

  The corners of Ben’s mouth curved upward in a smile. “Yep.”

  “Wow. Well, talk about an interesting career transition.” Simon shifted his gaze between Lori and Hayes. Neither of them seemed to be surprised or impressed by the morning’s revelations. “I take it she’s here temporarily?”

  “I believe so,” Ben replied so casually they could have been speculating about the weather.

  Simon simply nodded. “Okay.”

  Another awkward silence descended on the room.

  Hayes sat up too, making a show of checking the time on his wristwatch. Ben shifted in his seat. Rumpled and unshaven, the sheriff had clearly come off an overnight shift. “Well, I appreciate the sunrise breakfast, but I—”

  “Wait,” Simon blurted, startling his three guests.

  When they looked at him, puzzlement and suspicion written all over their faces, he felt a hot flash of embarrassment. For a man trained to win oral arguments, he was having a hard time keeping his guests interested enough to hang around until the damn express delivery van got around to him.

  “I, uh...” He cast about, hoping to find another topic compelling enough to keep them seated for a few more minutes. “About Coulter...”

  He clammed up and stared back at their expectant faces. What the hell was he going to say? They waited, their expressions a tossed salad of wariness, expectation and caution. Thankfully, the front door burst open and Dora bustled into the foyer, speaking loudly enough to draw everyone’s attention away from him.

  “No. I will not sign my name,” she was saying, her voice sharp and precise. “I am not Mr. Coulter’s representative... Simon!”

  He flinched when she bellowed his name. The other three swiveled in their seats, their attention fixed on the door to the conference room. Launching from his chair, he did his best to keep his voice light and cajoling, hoping a laugh would cover his nerves. What he was about to do could backfire in his face, but he had to do something.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, hurrying toward the reception area. “I’m in a meeting, Dora.” He drew to a stop at the conference room door. “What’s wrong?”