Enright Family Collection (25 page)

And it would also give India some time with Nick.

“Nicky,” his sister had called him. It suited him, she thought. “Nick” was so adult, so cool. “Nicky” was boyish and sexy.

And he was sexy, no way around that. Eyes to die for, ditto the dimples. She recalled his lanky frame, the long hard arms and legs, strong shoulders, capable hands, clever mouth, all of which had been so very close to her the night before. And she sighed.

Yeah. Nick was
definitely
on her list of things to do in Devlin’s Light.

Warm all over, inside and out, she turned her attention to the work before her.

If she needed something to bring her back to reality,
The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania v. Alvin Fletcher
would sure enough do the job.

The courtroom was stuffy, the judge having ordered the windows closed to keep out the steady rain that had fallen since dawn. Too cool for air conditioning, too warm for heat, the air lay heavy and uncirculated, lending a stifling atmosphere to an already tense situation. The defendant had not yet been brought into the room; the prison van had reported a flat tire, delaying the proceedings and keeping everyone on the edge of their seats, like runners held too long at the starting line.

India smoothed her hair for about the fifteenth time and tapped her fingers anxiously upon the table. She had been ready to take him on, Alvin Fletcher and that hotshot lawyer from Philadelphia that the Fletcher money had bought and paid for. She pulled up the sleeves of her black knit dress that skimmed her body to the knee—no too-short skirts for this attorney, not in Judge Swain’s court, anyway. Her fingers toyed with the heavy gold chain that lay at the hollow of her neck. For Gentleman Jim Swain’s courtroom, classic clothes, classic jewelry, always understated,
were the rule of thumb. Women were expected to look and act like ladies, the men like gentlemen. In old Jim’s opinion, there were few things more tasteless than a member of the bar dressing inappropriately for court, using foul language or exhibiting bad manners in public. No such behavior was tolerated in the lawyers who came before him.

India’s eyes shifted to the defense attorney who sat waiting impatiently at the next table, noting that he sighed loudly, with exaggerated exasperation, every so often. He tapped a pen noisily on the desk. He had declined pointedly to take India’s hand when she’d offered it to him earlier that morning.

Bad manners, all.

Gentleman Jim was watching.

India smiled to herself. She needed any extra help she could get. The Philadelphia lawyer, Andres, had the reputation of being next to impossible to beat. He was cocky and he was arrogant, so rumor had it, but he won. He took cases that no one else would touch, charged a king’s ransom for his time, ate up the prosecutor’s case and spent the next month on a beach somewhere.

That would account for the tan. And the attitude.

Well, Mr. Tanner-than-thou, we’ll see what Gentleman Jim thinks of you.

She heard a slight rustle behind her and turned to see Barbara McKay and her parents enter the courtroom. Barbara looked terrified, her father looked murderous. Andres glanced over his shoulder, looked Barbara up and down, then turned away, as if to dismiss her. Inside, India began to seethe. How dare he treat this young woman with such blatant disrespect.

India helped the McKays to their seats immediately behind the railing that separated the prosecutor’s table from the general seating area in the old-fashioned courtroom. Judge Roy Bean—or Judge Robert Devlin, for that matter—would have been right at home. Since the defendant had not yet arrived, India sat and talked with the victim and her family, trying to calm their nerves, going over yet again how the proceedings would run.

It was almost ten o’clock when Alvin Fletcher was led
into the courtroom. In his brown tweed jacket and his well-tailored tan wool slacks, he looked like anything but a man who got his kicks hurting women. A “wolf in sheep’s clothing” so accurately fit. Fletcher sat in the chair that his lawyer held out for him, seated himself, and immediately bent his head close to Andres’s, deep in conversation.

Birds of a feather, Aunt August would say.

Gentleman Jim called both prosecuting and defense counsel to him.
The People
v.
Alvin Fletcher
was about to begin.

It had taken one and a half days to pick a jury, one and a half days that Barbara McKay had to sit and watch Alvin Fletcher as he played it so very cool. Outside the courtroom, Barbara had broken down, and India worried about her ability to hold up on the stand, despite Barbara’s assurance that when the time came she would be there.

India spent the next two days arguing points of law, trading case law back and forth, another full day of arguing motions. Court adjourned early on Friday, sending India home with a briefcase full of statements and a list of witnesses—newly disclosed to the court by the defendant— whom she wanted to interview.

No time off with Nick and Corri this weekend, she told herself wearily as she dragged the heavy leather case up the front steps of the townhouse.

No cozying up in front of the fire with an irresistible man, she lamented, turning the key in the lock and pushing open the front door.

No wonderful breakfast. She scooped up a hefty pile of mail and plopped it onto a chair in the living room.

No pile of leaves to share with a happy six-year-old. She tossed her coat wearily onto a chair in the living room.

India glanced at the clock. Corri would be getting ready for her bath right about now. Aunt August would have just finished the dinner dishes. And Nick?

She could all but see him. He’d be standing on the deck outside his cabin, wearing a heavy sweater and softly worn corduroy pants. He’d be leaning on the railing, his after-dinner cup of coffee in his hands, and he’d be looking out across the bay. From the deck, if the evening was clear
enough, he’d be able to see a faint glow of lights from Cape May. He’d swirl the last bit of coffee around in the bottom of the cup. He’d be thinking…

He’d be thinking about me.

Smiling, knowing for certain it was true, she kicked off her shoes and padded into the living room. The evening’s workload suddenly seemed a little lighter.

Chapter 15

The intricacies of the human mind never failed to captivate India’s imagination, and it was with total fascination that on Monday morning she watched Alvin as he studied his fingernails and awaited the court’s ruling on yet another motion. Here, she thought, was a perfect example of nature gone wrong for no apparent reason. No childhood trauma, a la Ted Bundy, to use as an excuse. From all reports, even his own, Alvin’s parents had been loving, caring individuals, totally involved with all their children, an older daughter, a daughter younger than Alvin, then yet another younger brother. Even now they sat together, in the back of the courtroom, a tightly knit unit, as still and emotionless as mannequins, as if stunned to find themselves where they were, not really comprehending the circumstances that had caused them to gather there.

One of Alvin’s sisters sat next to their mother, holding her hand motionlessly. Just a few more victims of Alvin’s twisted mind, India thought, watching them, huddled along the last row. She studied them one by one, feeling their pain from across the length of the room. It was then that the younger sister, a pretty girl of maybe nineteen or so, entered the courtroom and made her way to her seat at the end of the row, next to her father. As India began to shift her gaze
back to the front of the room, she became aware that Alvin too had turned his eyes to his family, and for the first time since being led into the courtroom, a blush of something— could it have been fear?—crossed his face. India turned back once again, seeking the source of his alarm.

There, she thought, her eyes pausing on the face of the younger sister.

She is not surprised. She knows.
India’s breath caught in her throat.

The girl’s face wore a harder veneer than the other members of her family, but beneath it, India recognized the look of triumph, of justice. Of having watched the beast caged and secretly rejoicing in its capture. Wondering what the girl might have suffered at the hands of her older brother, India’s eyes shifted from brother to sister, then back again, watching the silent interplay between them.

And in that instant, India knew that she had him.

At the earliest opportunity, India caught Alvin’s gaze and, with total deliberation, looked down the rows of spectators to the last row, then back at Alvin. India then crossed her arms over her chest, sat down, leaned back in her chair and smiled broadly. Alvin blanched, nervous eyes darting from his sister, who was whispering something to her father, and back to India, who continued to smile knowingly. When the judge called her and Andres to the bench to discuss a ruling, India strode to the front of the courtroom with all the confidence of a sure winner. Alvin shifted uneasily in his seat and fiddled with his cufflinks.

Damn, I should have been an actress
, India mused.

Call Kosieki and tell him I want him to come into court and sit in the back row next to the youngest Fletcher girl. I want him to talk to her, even if it’s only about the weather
, India wrote on a notepad, adding
and make sure Alvin sees him.
She passed the pad to the young policewoman who sat behind her in the front row, waiting her turn to testify as to her findings at the crime scene. She nodded, then grinned at India and went off in search of a telephone to call the detective India had requested.

Dave Kosieki was big, blond and handsome, very Ivy League. Just the type of guy, India guessed, that the younger
Fletcher woman was accustomed to, the type she’d smile at when he sat next to her in the back of the courtroom. The type she’d engage in conversation. Alvin would have no way of knowing it was all small talk. Chances were his guilty conscience would assume it was something more. Especially after a day or two of watching Kosieki with his sister. And especially after India added the girl’s name to the list of witnesses she’d be calling. It was unlikely that the girl would, in fact, tell them anything; the family unit looked too tight, too close. But Alvin wouldn’t know that for sure.

I’m going to smoke you out, brother.
She smiled at him again as she prepared to leave as court was dismissed for the day. She made a point of walking briskly to the back of the court, of giving the impression of pausing at the end of the back row on the end where the sister sat. Alvin stretched his neck to watch her as he was being led through the door.

There’s a little something to think about while you’re laying in your cell tonight, bucko.

After two days of watching his younger sister getting cozy with the lead detective, Alvin tried to plea bargain. India smiled and gave the appearance of considering his offer before refusing to make a deal. She had him rattled now, she knew it. If he took the stand to testify, he would crack. She could see it in his face. She knew the look of a coward. And Alvin Fletcher was, above all else, a coward. India could smell his fear, and she knew she had him.

He broke two days before Thanksgiving. Against the advice of his counsel—Andres made it perfectly clear to Judge Swain that he had vehemently opposed his client’s action—Fletcher entered a guilty plea. It was all over but the sentencing, which would come weeks later.

India stood at the side of the prosecutor’s table and held hands with the victim and her family while they offered their thanks and asked a special blessing for India, who had helped them take the first step toward making things right again.

“You taking off this weekend?” India asked Roxie as she returned from court, her cheeks still flush with exuberance.

“Going to Tom’s parents in Harrisburg,” she said, rolling her eyes, “where there will be a cast of thousands gathered,
each of them waiting to grill me on when we’ll be adding to the population. Great going, India. I heard you had Fletcher peeing himself. What did you do to him, anyway?”

“Fed him his worst fear.” India grinned, accepting a congratulatory hug from Herbie, who himself was on his way to court on a DUI. “Then I watched him choke on it.”

The roadside stands that had in the summer months sold wooden baskets of Corri and tomatoes and squash were all boarded up as India drove the last country mile to Devlin’s Light. She was grateful for the good timing on Alvin’s part, entering his plea when he did, which served to extend the long Thanksgiving weekend, thus giving everyone a little something extra to be thankful for. This year India would have time to help Aunt August prepare for the traditional Thanksgiving feast, which would bring Devlins from far and wide back to the family homestead. For the second time that year, they would all gather, August’s elderly cousins and their spouses and children and their children’s children. They would count heads and count their blessings, pausing to remember those who had passed on during the year. This year Ry’s name, along with that of an elderly greataunt, would be entered in the Devlin family Bible. It would be a hard moment for Aunt August, India knew, when the time came for her on Thursday to write his name there, below their father’s.

India drove past the edge of the marsh where red-winged blackbirds perched territorially on cattails that slumped at varying angles above the tidal pools. She opened her car windows to drink in the scent of it, her nostrils seeking the smell of salt and bay. Pleased when she was able to fill her lungs with the brisk sea air, she relaxed against the car seat. She was home.

Passing by the lane leading to Nick’s she paused a split second, then fought off the urge to take that left up the drive of stone and crushed shell to the cabin. Later, she decided.
I’ll stop in later.
In her mind’s eye, she could see the look on his face as he would watch her climb the stairs leading to his back door. He’d be looking out the kitchen window toward the bay. Or maybe he’d be sitting on the deck, watching the
mallards land feet first out past his floating dock. Maybe when he saw her, he’d—