WELCOME TO TYLER-JUDSON’S ON TRIAL!

Forty years after his wife’s disappearance, Tyler patriarch Judson Ingalls has been arrested and charged with her murder! All eyes are trained on the proud Ingalls family as the dramatic courtroom battle grips America’s favorite hometown.

SHE’S HER GRANDFATHER’S DEFENSE COUNSEL

Amanda Baron knows she’ll need all her courage and skill to defend her grandfather, Judson, against notorious state prosecutor Ethan Trask. She knows Judson is innocent, even though she only has to prove reasonable doubt.

AND THE PROSECUTOR IS DISTRACTED

Ethan Trask is convinced of Judson’s guilt. But Amanda’s shrewd courtroom strategy surprises him…and her quiet dedication charms him. He’s determined to convict her grandfather, but he knows that if he succeeds, Amanda will never forgive him…

Previously Published.

The kiss left them breathless.

Amanda burned with embarrassment. How could she have let such a thing happen?

“You have my word,” Ethan said stiffly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Amanda returned. “Maybe then the judge won’t have to rule you out of order for leaping over the defense table to get at me.”

“Is this a new tactic?” he demanded. “Seduce the prosecutor if you think you have a weak case?”

“My case isn’t weak,” she exclaimed. “Not in the least.”

Amanda glared at him as she settled into her sports car. And as she did, she realized something: no matter how many dueling words might fill the air between them, the attraction still existed. And there was precious little either of them could do about it.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Mills & Boon’s Tyler, a small Wisconsin town whose citizens we hope you’ll soon come to know and love. Like many of the innovative publishing concepts Mills & Boon has launched over the years, the idea for the Tyler series originated in response to our readers’ preferences. Your enthusiasm for sequels and continuing characters within many of the Mills & Boon lines has prompted us to create a twelve-book series of individual romances whose characters’ lives inevitably intertwine.

Tyler faces many challenges typical of small towns, but the fabric of this fictional community created by Mills & Boon has been torn by the revelation of a long-ago murder, the details of which are evolving right through the series. In Courthouse Steps, the intriguing mystery culminates in an emotional trial that profoundly affects the lives of everyone scarred by Margaret Lindstrom Ingalls’s life of careless desperation.

Phil Wocheck has already testified to the police and the grand jury about what really happened that fateful night, but he’s not about to share that information with anyone—not even his own son. What’s going to become of them? Edward and Alyssa, Jeff and Cece, Liza and Cliff and little Margaret Alyssa, Amanda and Judson? Their world seems to be hanging from a single thread, which could snap at any moment.

Join us in Tyler for a slice of small-town life that’s not as innocent or as quiet as you might expect, and for a sense of community that will capture your mind and your heart.

Marsha Zinberg

Editorial Coordinator, Tyler

Courthouse Steps

Ginger Chambers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Steve, Beverly and Chris...who always believed

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Ginger Chambers for her contribution to the TYLER series.

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Joanna Kosloff for her contribution to the concept for the TYLER series.

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

AMANDA SAW him across the lobby. He was standing in a cluster of people, but he was easily the most likely to draw the eye. Tall, dark-haired, in command—the set of his handsome features reflected a quick mind and a steely determination. The group he was with seemed to hang on his every word. Several individuals nodded; one left to do his bidding. He turned to a shorter man at his side, murmured something for his ear alone, then broke away from the small group himself. His walk was assured as he started across the room.

Amanda’s heart rate jumped when she saw that he was coming toward her. She looked around for somewhere to hide. She didn’t want to meet him like this! She wasn’t ready! When she’d come to the courthouse in Sugar Creek, it was to tie up the last threads in a case that had nothing to do with her grandfather. She hadn’t expected to run into Ethan Trask!

She sidled quickly toward a high rectangular table where other people were filling out forms. Picking up a form herself, she pretended to study it, but in reality she continued to watch the man...her adversary. His reputation had preceded him. He was the state attorney general’s “Avenging Angel.” When he was assigned to a case, he almost always won it. Brilliant, she’d heard him described. Merciless, as well.

She held her breath as he paused near her. Had someone told him that she was here? She spared a glance toward where he’d been standing and saw that the group had dispersed. No one was waiting to see what would happen next. Her blue gaze whipped back to the man and moved quickly over his angular face and strong, straight nose. She braced herself for his sharp word of greeting and the reactive flash of confident recognition that she would be no match for him.

Instead, his gaze lingered only briefly on her face before moving on. She was just another woman among many who had business in the courthouse. She might have been there to arrange bail for a boyfriend or to act as witness at a trial. He had no business with her, as far as he knew. No reason for recognition. Amanda remained frozen near the table. It was only when she saw him walk safely through the double doors of the building’s main exit that she allowed herself the freedom to breathe again. Her heart rate took longer to settle.

She had known he was coming. Everyone knew he was coming; his picture had been in the Tyler Citizen on and off for a week. It was only a matter of when. Now he was here. In person. No longer a face in newsprint or a terrifying reputation to be feared. She had seen him, looked straight into his eyes, and she had discovered that this time reality was every bit equal to the gossip.

“Amanda...hello,” someone called from a short distance away, drawing her out of her panicky thoughts.

Amanda looked up to see a fellow attorney struggling to contain an armload of notebooks and files. She forced a smile. “Sharon! Hello to you, too! I thought you were still visiting your parents in Florida.”

Her friend grimaced. “I’m supposed to be, but I got called back. A custody hearing was moved up, so here I am. Have you heard? Ethan Trask is scheduled to set up his office in the courthouse today. Have you met him yet? Walk with me—I’m already behind schedule.”

Amanda checked over her shoulder to make sure that Ethan Trask hadn’t changed his mind and reentered the building. “No,” she said, settling in at her friend’s side. “I haven’t met him yet, and I wish I never had to.”

Sharon Martin glanced at her with compassion. “I don’t envy you one bit. Neither does anyone else, with the possible exception of our usual showboater. He’d love to take on Ethan Trask. Winning or losing wouldn’t matter, as long as he got plenty of media attention.” Sharon hesitated. “Have you given any more thought to finding a co-counsel? I’d offer to help, but I’d be next to useless. You need someone who really knows their way around a criminal court.”

“I could always ask Larry,” Amanda murmured dryly. Larry Richardson was the “showboater” Sharon had referred to. Not only did the man have an ego the size of Wisconsin concerning his abilities as a criminal defense lawyer, he also thought he was God’s gift to women.

“Yeah, sure.” Sharon’s tone held just the right amount of sarcasm. “First he’d insist on being lead counsel. You’d have to do everything his way. Second, he’d inflate his fee. Third, you’d do all the work and he’d take all the glory. Fourth, you’d have to fight for your virtue every time you stepped into an empty room with him. And fifth...he wouldn’t care nearly as much as you do about proving your grandfather innocent. Don’t ask Larry!”

“I’ll take your advice under consideration, Counselor.”

Sharon, who looked tanned and rested from her week in Miami, ignored Amanda’s teasing words. “The strain is starting to show, Amanda. Seriously, get some help. Have you thought of asking Professor Williams?”

Sharon and Amanda had attended the same law school in Illinois, and Professor Williams had been their favorite instructor. Several years ago he had retired and moved back to his family’s longtime home on nearby Lake Geneva.

“I’ve thought of him,” Amanda admitted.

They paused at the base of the wide, curving stairway that was the centerpiece of the graceful old building. Sharon glanced toward the upper floors. “I’ve got to go. Give him a call, Amanda. If our positions were reversed, I would.”

Amanda waved her friend away and continued down a long hall that branched off the lobby. She had contemplated placing a call to Professor Williams on more than one occasion, but had hesitated each time because he’d been reported to be in ill health. And with all the upset about her grandfather’s upcoming trial, she hadn’t taken the time she once would have to pay him a friendly visit. She had been too busy trying to catch up loose ends so that she could devote herself completely to her grandfather’s case.

As she neared the county clerk’s office, a man who’d been slouching against the wall looked up and jerked forward. “Miss Baron! Could I have a word with you, please?” He pressed closer. “Would you give me a quick statement about Ethan Trask? How does your grandfather feel about his assignment to the case? Does he think he’ll get a fair trial? Have you had second thoughts about representing your grandfather? Have you seen Ethan Trask yet? Have you talked with him?” He readied a notepad and a stubby pencil.

The barrage of questions set Amanda on edge. She still wasn’t accustomed to such attention. Strictly a small-town lawyer, she handled small-town problems. The most notorious case she’d ever been involved with concerned a male dog of very mixed breeding that had fallen under the spell of a certain champion female show dog next door. Spike had displayed surprising versatility and enterprise in getting out of his backyard in order to pay his calls, and the show dog’s owner had been furious about the little Spikes that had frequently turned up in his litters. He had sued the neighbor, whom Amanda represented, and the story had passed from local color to newspapers across the state. She had given a few quick interviews and been done with it. She and Rob Friedman, the owner and publisher of the Tyler Citizen, had had a few good laughs out of it. But ever since her grandfather’s indictment, Amanda found little to laugh about.

She took a quick breath and said, “There’s been no change in my grandfather’s representation. He has every faith in my ability and in the state to give him a fair trial. As to Mr. Trask...he doesn’t frighten either one of us. We’re each still getting a good night’s sleep.”

“But considering Ethan Trask’s reputation—”

Amanda flashed a naturally sweet smile. “I’ll leave it at that. Now, if you don’t mind, I have business to attend to.”

The reporter held back as she stepped into the clerk’s office. She might look cool and confident, which was the impression she very much wanted to give, but she felt far from that inside. If truth be told, her sleep patterns were awful. She kept having the same dream, that a monster was out to get her and, no matter where she took cover, always found her. From the drawn look of her grandfather, she suspected he was having much the same experience.

Amanda took care of her business as quickly as possible and made her way out of the courthouse. She had only one close call. As she was about to leave through a side door, she came face-to-face with the small, slender man who had been with Ethan Trask. She recognized him instantly. He had jet-black hair, warm brown eyes and just the slightest trace of a Latin accent when he excused himself and stood aside for her to pass. He was not a handsome man. His nose was too large for his face, his mouth was too wide. But he held himself with such confident élan and had such quick charm to his smile that Amanda found herself smiling, too. Yet if he was in any way connected with Ethan Trask, he had to be dangerous.

Reacting instinctively, Amanda ducked her head and hurried away.

* * *

THE HALF HOUR it took for Amanda to drive from Sugar Creek to her office in Tyler included a quick stop at Marge’s Diner, where she picked up lunch. Holding out the bag of food to her secretary, she teased, “Amanda to the rescue! Are you starving? That took longer than I thought. I fully expected to find you expired on top of your desk.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tessie Finklebaum grumbled.

Tessie had been a legal secretary for longer than Amanda had been in the world. She’d seen everything, done almost everything, and was surprised by nothing. She had to be getting close to seventy, but she kept the date of her birth a deep, dark secret. It was as secret as the true color of her platinum-tinted hair. Each morning Tessie went for a two-mile “hike,” as she termed it, and two evenings a week she attended an aerobics class. It was not in a person’s better interests to call her “old.”

Amanda pulled up a chair to her secretary’s desk. The set of offices they shared was rather small, comprising her own office in the rear and the secretarial space in front. But she’d tried to decorate the place with a little taste, bringing a chair or two from home and cheerfully accepting Tessie’s array of houseplants.

Amanda dug into the paper bag and divided its contents. She placed two tuna sandwiches, two bags of chips and two cans of soda on the napkins her secretary had spread on the desk. “I saw Ethan Trask today,” she remarked easily.

Tessie fixed her with a piercing look. “You did? What did he say?”

Amanda grinned. “I didn’t say I talked with him, I just saw him. Then I ran away like a craven coward. Tucked my little yellow tail between my legs and took off. What do you think of that?”

“I’d say you probably did the right thing. What was he like?”

Amanda leaned back. “Oh...tall, dark, handsome and terrifyingly competent. Nothing special.”

Her secretary shook her head. “You better get yourself some help, young lady.”

“That’s what Sharon Martin said.”

“You should listen to her. Ethan Trask will eat you alive.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence. I told a reporter I was perfectly assured of my ability.”

“Are you?”

“I’m scared to death.”

Tessie picked up her sandwich and started to munch. For a time they ate in silence. Finally, Amanda pushed away from the desk, her meal half-eaten.

“I’m going to make a couple of calls,” she said. “If anyone needs me, ask them to wait.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Amanda shook her head as she entered her sanctuary. For Tessie to call her “boss” was something of a joke. They both knew who was boss in the outer office, and it certainly wasn’t Amanda. Tessie must think her in extreme need of a pick-me-up...which she was. Because joke all she wanted, she was truly terrified.

She had tried to tell everyone from the start that her grandfather should hire a lawyer more experienced with trial procedure, an expert in criminal defense. But no one had listened. They all told her she would do a great job. No one understood that criminal defense was an art form, just as was criminal prosecution. An ordinary, run-of-the-mill lawyer couldn’t just walk in off the street, prepare a case of this magnitude and expect to win. She certainly couldn’t. And if her grandfather ended up spending the rest of his life in jail because of her inability...

Amanda reached for her telephone index and punched in a number with the Lake Geneva area code. Ten minutes later, she had gained an appointment with the professor. After that, she punched in the number of the Ingalls mansion. Clara Myers, her grandfather’s longtime housekeeper, answered the phone.

“Clara, hello, this is Amanda. I’m not going to be home for dinner this evening. Actually, I just had lunch.... Yes, I know how late it is. Would you please tell my mother that I’ll speak to her when I get in, and tell Granddad...tell Granddad I might have some interesting news for him. No—” she quickly changed her mind “—don’t say that last part. Just tell him I love him, and that I’ll talk to him later, too.”

She stared at the phone once she’d hung up. Then her gaze drifted to her rows of law books, which looked almost as pristine now as they had when she first received them, a gift from her mother and grandfather upon graduation from law school five years before.

Law, the body of rules that kept the fabric of society from coming apart... She had fallen in love with it when she was fifteen and one of her high school classes had gone on a field trip to the courthouse in Sugar Creek. She had watched the lawyers maneuver back and forth, watched as the defense team tried to use the cold and impersonal rules to the advantage of their client, watched as the state’s representative held fast to the ideal of those rules. And from that day she had forgotten her earlier plan to become a veterinarian. She had haunted the library in Tyler, reading every book she could get her hands on that gave a view of the legal process.

She liked to think that, since becoming a lawyer herself, she had helped people. She hadn’t won every case these past five years, but she had certainly attempted to. Most of her work involved technical expertise: what paper to file and where. Few cases actually went all the way to a trial. She tried very hard to mediate between people, to help them settle their differences before they resorted to further legal action.

Amanda sighed, her pretty face, normally so ready with the high-voltage Baron smile, unusually serious. The law was cold and impersonal, which meant that emotion held no place in judicial decisions. Just because a jury didn’t like the way a defendant looked or behaved didn’t mean they could take out their disapproval on that person by finding him guilty. Their decision had to be based solely on the evidence presented.

But in this instance, it was her grandfather she would soon be defending, and she wanted him to have every advantage that the system could offer—every bit of warmth she could stir in the jurors’ hearts.

Her gaze moved to the newspaper clipping she had pinned to the wall earlier in the week—a picture of Ethan Trask. On it she had drawn the concentric circles of a target, with the bull’s eye the tip of his nose. At that moment, the tip had a dart sticking out of it. Not that she had made such a superb hit, though she’d tried for a quarter of an hour. She had ended up by marching over to slam the dart in at point-blank range.

Ethan Trask. The man she had seen so confidently issuing orders in the courthouse such a short time ago. The attorney general’s “Avenging Angel.”

“Oh, Granddad,” Amanda groaned softly, beneath her breath, “if only it were anyone else!”

CHAPTER TWO

THE COTTAGE beside the wide lake nestled comfortably in the trees. Its look was ageless. It might have stood there for two years or two hundred. Amanda waited at the front door for Professor Williams to answer her knock. She shifted restlessly from foot to foot.

When at last the door swung open, a slightly older version of her favorite and most valued instructor greeted her. Like the man who had been with Ethan Trask, he, too, was her par in height. Only instead of being slender, Professor Williams was more than adequately insulated against any sudden disruption in the world’s food supply. His cheeks were round, his midsection rotund, and he had just enough unruly white hair left on top of his head to remind Amanda of an elf. His eyes contradicted the image. Instead of being benign and merry, they were probing and sharp. After his first sweeping glance, Amanda knew the Professor had guessed the reason for her visit.

“You’re wasting your time,” he said. Still, he motioned her indoors. “The only sport I’m interested in right now is fishing—bass, walleye, bluegill.”

The interior of the cabin was just as comfortable as the exterior. Neatly kept, with an overstuffed couch and chairs, it was perfect for a retired bachelor.

Amanda decided not to equivocate. “You’re the only person I can ask, Professor.”

“Why’s that?” he shot back. “Are you trying to tell me I’m the only person with a half a brain left in this state?”

“No.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t believe you.” His eyes narrowed. “You always did tell the truth, even when it wasn’t in your best interests.”

“Isn’t truth what the law is all about?” Amanda countered. “I seem to remember you had a special lecture you liked to give—”

“I did,” he interrupted her. “But I gave it so many times I don’t care to hear it again.” Finally he smiled. “It’s good to see you, Amanda Baron. Even under these trying circumstances. You’re a feast for the eye as well as the spirit.”

Amanda inclined her head, managing a small smile.

The professor looked her over more carefully. “I’ve kept up with what’s been happening via the newspapers. I read about your grandfather’s arrest and his indictment. Events of that sort are good fodder, especially when they happen in a nearby town. How is your family holding up?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid. They’re all trying to act as if everything will turn out all right, but they’re scared silly that it won’t.”

“And you?”

“Me most of all.”

The professor showed her to the couch and invited her to sit down while he went to make coffee. Soon he was back with two large mugs. “Do you take cream or sugar?” he asked.

“No, I like it straight.” She accepted a cup and took a small sip of the steaming liquid. It did little to warm her.

Professor Williams sat back, his cup untouched. “So, what is it you’re afraid of?” he asked.

“What am I not afraid of is a better question! I don’t know what I’m doing, Professor! I’ve never handled a criminal case before...at least, nothing more serious than some crazy local kid assaulting someone, or somebody else robbing a store. This is murder we’re talking about here! Life imprisonment. And my grandfather is the person charged! Everyone believes I can handle it—my mother, my brother, my sister...my grandfather. They all think that just because I have a law degree, I should be able to waltz into court and get Granddad off. I’ve tried to explain that it’s not that easy, but they won’t listen.” She set down her cup, afraid to hold it any longer in case it spilled.

“I believe you can do it,” the professor said quietly. “You have a very quick mind, Amanda.”

“But if I lose, if I do something wrong...if I overlook something, if I pick the wrong jurors...Ethan Trask will—”

“You have a very tough adversary.”

“The battle won’t be fair!”

“Which is why you came to me.”

Amanda sat forward, her chestnut hair lightly brushing her shoulders. “I thought possibly if you would be my cocounsel...”

He was already shaking his head. “It’s been three years since I left teaching and ten since I set foot in a courtroom. When I retired, I took leave of all that.”

“It’s not something a person forgets,” she maintained. “Not someone as capable as you. I’ve read your memoirs. I’ve read all the cases.”

“I didn’t say I’ve forgotten anything,” he corrected her sharply. “I said I took leave of that life. I swore to myself that I would never again come before the bench in any capacity as a lawyer, and I meant it. I saw too many doddering old men in my day, men who barely knew how to tie their shoelaces any longer, still trying to plead a case...and some of those men were behind the bench, too! No, I’m much too old and much too tired to inflict myself on the judicial system.”

Amanda immediately remembered the rumors of his ill health. “I heard that you weren’t feeling well. But you look so...healthy.” His color was good, his eyes bright.

He laughed shortly. “That’s something I put around to keep from being bothered. Too many people read that damned book last year and wanted advice. They came at all hours of the day and night.”

Amanda looked down. That was exactly what she was doing.

“I didn’t mean you,” he said, correctly interpreting her sudden stillness. “I’m talking about strangers, people I don’t even know.”

Amanda’s features were tight. She should never have come here. Professor Williams was a wonderful teacher, but they had never become personal friends. Too many years and too much experience separated them. Only desperation had brought her to this point. She stood. “I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time. You warned me in the beginning. I should have listened.” She smiled, and the sweetness of her smile had no artifice. “I’m glad that you’re not ill,” she added.

She turned to leave, but a hand stopped her. Professor Williams’s expression was whimsical. “You have something very special, Amanda. A quality many other lawyers only try to achieve. Sincerity just shines out of you, my dear. Stick with that, and you won’t have a thing to worry about.”

The compliment was nice and Amanda appreciated it, but she knew that sincerity alone wasn’t going to win her grandfather’s case. Only hard work would do that. Hard work and, as the situation now stood, a great deal of luck. “Thank you,” she said.

She started for the door again, opened it and was about to go outside when Professor Williams asked, “Would you be willing to accept me in the role of adviser? I won’t step into the well with you, I won’t talk to the judge or wrangle with Ethan Trask, but I will give you the benefit of what little knowledge I’ve managed to glean over the years. Would that be a satisfactory compromise?”

For the first time since her grandfather’s indictment, Amanda felt a spurt of optimism. She turned back to the professor, joy spreading in her smile. “That would be wonderful!” she said, her throat tight.

His round face softened. “Why is it old men are so often willing to make fools of themselves when asked to by attractive young women?”

“I would never call you old, and I would never dare to call you a fool. Thank you, Professor.”

“My name is Peter. If we’re going to work together, it should be as equals.”

Amanda tried the name. “Peter,” she repeated.

He nodded. “Now, you must set me straight on this case. As you know probably only too well by now, the media rarely manage to get the story right.”

“Gladly,” Amanda agreed.

She stepped back into the cozy room, curled up on the couch and, with cup in hand, gave her new friend an accounting of all she knew about her grandfather and the woman he was accused of murdering forty-two years before—his wife and her grandmother, Margaret Lindstrom Ingalls.

* * *

ETHAN TRASK SURVEYED the set of offices that would be his for the upcoming weeks and decided that they were beginning to shape up. Everyone involved with helping him to settle in had done their jobs efficiently and well. Desks were positioned, file cabinets provided, worktables set up. Even the secretary on loan from the local district attorney’s office was already hard at work, entering something into her computer. And in one corner, packed in several boxes, was the material he would need to make the state’s case against one Judson Thaddeus Ingalls. At present, he knew only the essentials. The seventy-eight-year-old man was accused of murdering his wife at their lakeside estate some forty-two years ago. The story circulated after the woman’s disappearance was that she had run away, probably with another man, leaving her husband to raise their young daughter. That falsehood had been widely believed until recently, when her remains had inconveniently turned up.

Ethan placed one of the boxes on the table nearest his desk and started to empty it. He would familiarize himself with the details of the case, first by going over the police reports and then by moving through all the other materials gathered for presentation to the grand jury. He dragged a chair over to the table and sat down.

He was beginning to work his way through the initial stack of reports when the man assigned to the case from the State Department of Justice came quietly into the room.

Carlos Varadero and Ethan had worked together several times before. Ethan liked the man, admired him for both his professional ability and his tenacity. Not much slipped by the keen eye of the Cuban. As an investigator, he was first-rate.

Carlos flashed a quick smile. “I have learned something that will interest you, my friend.”

Ethan pushed the papers away. “What?” he asked.

“This Amanda Baron, the woman who is to act as defense counsel for Judson Ingalls. She is his granddaughter. And...” The word was drawn out, then repeated for dramatic effect as Carlos brought another chair closer to the table. “And she is also the granddaughter of the deceased. There, what do you think of that? I had only to ask one or two questions. People here are interested in the trial. Many of them know Amanda Baron personally. A few know her family. More know of her family. They are very influential.”

Ethan already knew that the Ingalls family was influential in Tyler, and it didn’t surprise him that their influence carried beyond the small town’s border and into the county seat. The fact that he had been brought in as special prosecutor spoke volumes. What he hadn’t known was that Amanda Baron was one of them! “We have to get her off the case,” he stated curtly, his mouth tightening.

“That may be hard to do,” Carlos said.

“We still have to try. Her presence could prejudice the jury.” Ethan crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the public green surrounding the courthouse. He watched as people walked to and fro along the sidewalks. “No one should be above the reach of the law,” he said firmly. “No matter how wealthy, no matter how influential. Judson Ingalls thought he could get away with the murder of his wife, and if it hadn’t been for a quirk of fate, he might have managed it. I’m not going to let him make a mockery of this trial.”

For Ethan there was no other course. His whole life had been set along one path. It was as natural for him to separate right from wrong as it was to breathe. The pursuit of justice burned within him like a bright light, often setting him apart, forcing him to choose between what was expedient and what was just. It was a matter of pride for him that he had never backed away from a hard choice.

He turned from the window and lifted another box onto the table. “You might as well get started, too,” he said, pushing it toward his assistant.

Carlos’s brown eyes were amused. “I also heard that Amanda Baron is a very pretty, very determined woman. The people in the courthouse speak highly of her.”

Ethan paused. “Do you think that should make a difference to me?”

Carlos shrugged. “You are a man. You will notice.”

“I was sent here to do a job, Carlos.”

“Do you want me to find out more about her? I could go to Tyler tomorrow and talk to some of the people there.”

Ethan thought for a moment. “That might be a good idea. I’ll come along, too. Feel out the atmosphere of the place.”

Then he resettled in his chair and again started to sort through the material that would form his case. It was going to be a long evening.

* * *

AMANDA DIRECTED her aging MG into the wide driveway at the side of the Ingallses’ big house on Elm Street. From the collection of cars, she could see that Jeff was home, which meant Cece might be there, too, and that Liza was visiting, undoubtedly with Cliff and baby Maggie.

The elation Amanda had felt on the drive back to Tyler suddenly deserted her. Even with Professor Williams—Peter—offering advice, it would still be she who would have to face Ethan Trask. She might still make all kinds of mistakes, ask the wrong questions, let important points slip by.

She looked at the huge Victorian house, whose lights were striving to hold the night at bay. The family had been through so much this past year. From the moment the body was found, rumors had started to fly. Then rumor had turned to fact, when the remains had been identified as Margaret’s. From that point on, their lives had been one long nightmare. Sometimes it was hard to tell friend from foe. A few people wanted to see the Ingallses receive their comeuppance. Others remained steadfastly loyal, while still others swayed in the breeze of whatever public sentiment seemed dominant that day.

Instead of being torn apart, though, the family had grown closer—even Liza, who had once been estranged from them. They were united by the common belief that Judson Ingalls was innocent of the accusation made against him. And they looked to her to prove it.

Amanda shivered slightly in the freshening breeze, reacting to the awesome responsibility. But she soon set her shoulders, restored her confident smile and made her way into the great house that had sheltered members of her family for well over a hundred years.

Voices from the living room drew her to that section of the house. No one noticed her at first, so she had a moment to survey the scene. Her sister, Liza, sat on the floor, her long, lanky frame leaning back against her husband, Cliff Forrester. Cliff, relaxed in a wing chair, quietly combed a lock of Liza’s rebellious blond hair with his fingers and listened intently as she spoke. The girls’ older brother, Jeff, and his fiancée, Cece Scanlon, sat on the couch. Both looked rather exhausted from their respective work shifts at the hospital and the nursing care facility at Worthington House, not to mention the additional time each spent at the free clinic Jeff had set up in one of the empty office suites at Ingalls Farm and Machinery. For them to be off duty at the same time was unusual, as was the fact that they had chosen to spend their spare time with the family instead of away somewhere on their own. Alyssa, the Baron siblings’ mother, sat in another wing chair holding little Maggie. The worried strain that had become so much a part of her beautiful features was softened by the love she felt for her first grandchild. With strands of her fine golden hair falling gracefully over her cheeks, she played with the newborn infant’s tiny hand. Judson, the white-haired patriarch of the family, stood with his back to the bay window, his posture ramrod straight. He was the first to acknowledge Amanda’s presence.

“Amanda,” he said when Liza, too, noticed her and abruptly stopped talking. “I saw you drive up, but it took awhile for you to come inside. Are you having more trouble with your car?”

Amanda’s car was the joke of the family. As it grew older, it seemed to break down almost as frequently as it ran. Still, she loved it. It had been a sixteenth-birthday present from her father, and that above all made it special to her. She smiled. “Amazingly, it’s running beautifully.”

“You must have placed Carl on a retainer fee,” Liza teased. “I heard he closed his garage for two weeks this summer and went to Hawaii. Did you single-handedly subsidize his vacation?”

“No,” Amanda retorted. “Actually, we barter. I’m going to handle his divorce, and he’s going to rebuild my engine.”

“Better watch out about letting him get too close to your carburetor,” Jeff goaded. “I’ve heard he’s become quite the ladies’ man since he separated from his wife.”

“Jeffrey,” Alyssa admonished, pretending to frown while at the same time fighting a smile. “Leave your sister alone.”

“Yes, Jeffrey,” Amanda taunted, while Liza and Cece giggled.

Even Judson managed to find a grin. The family so seldom had occasion to laugh these days, any opportunity was appreciated.

Amanda placed her purse on a small side table and claimed a section of couch nearest her mother’s chair. She leaned toward the baby, smoothing a tiny tuft of fine blond hair. “And how is Miss Margaret Alyssa today? Learn any new words? Can we count past ten yet? Hmm?”

The weeks-old infant opened her eyes and blinked at her aunt, causing Amanda to feel the weight of responsibility expand to a new generation. Liza and Cliff had been through so much in their individual lives—Cliff having to learn to deal with the aftereffects of his time spent in Cambodia, and Liza at last coming to terms with one of the major tragedies of the Baron family, their father’s suicide. Now the two planned to make Tyler their permanent home, and as a result, young Maggie would have to live with the outcome of the trial. She would grow to maturity among people who would look upon her great-grandfather either as an upstanding member of the community, as he’d always been, or as a convicted murderer.

Amanda shook away the thought. She couldn’t deal with it at present. “What did I interrupt when I came in?” she asked.

All the smiles disappeared.

“We were talking about the trial,” Liza volunteered. “About Ethan Trask. Jeff heard someone at the hospital say he arrived in Sugar Creek today.”

Amanda felt her insides tighten. “He did,” she confirmed.

“What does that mean?” Alyssa asked.

“It means that he’s getting ready to try the case. He’ll set up his office, then start talking to people.”

Jeff frowned. “But I thought the district attorney had already investigated the case. The police...Karen, Brick. Why do they have to do more?”

“Ethan Trask will want to talk with everyone himself. He’s coming into this new, remember? The attorney general just appointed him.”

Liza’s frown was fierce. “I still don’t see why Mr. Burns had to ask for a special prosecutor. It’s not as if he and Granddad are best buddies. They barely know each other outside of a couple of charity events. Isn’t that right, Granddad?”

Judson nodded.

“I know,” Amanda agreed. “It’s hard to understand, but the district attorney had to disqualify himself because of the way the situation could be interpreted. If Granddad is found not guilty, it might be thought that the D.A. didn’t push hard enough. Mr. Burns and Granddad aren’t best friends, but they do know each other.”

Liza grunted. “Mr. Burns is watching out for Mr. Burns. He doesn’t want to do anything to foul up his chances of reelection.”

“That’s probably true, too,” Amanda conceded. “But it doesn’t change the original fact. He had no choice except to take himself off the case.”

“So he made sure we got Ethan Trask,” Liza complained.

“He had no say in the matter. That choice belonged to the state attorney general.”

“Remind me not to vote for him, either,” Cliff said quietly, gaining a quick smile of approval from his wife.

“Me, too,” Cece agreed. Jeff squeezed her hand.

Amanda decided that the time was right. She had planned to tell her grandfather the news later, but since everyone was here... “I think I gained a point for our side today,” she announced. “Actually, a whole lot of points. Do any of you remember when I was in law school and talked about a Professor Williams? How brilliant he was, and how lucky I felt to have him as one of my instructors?” She received blank looks all around. “Well, Professor Williams—Peter—is retired now, and he lives at Lake Geneva. I spoke with him this evening. That’s why I was late, why I missed dinner. He’s agreed to advise me on Granddad’s case!”

The expected excitement didn’t occur. Finally, Liza questioned, “Does that mean he’s taking over?”

Oh, if only that were true! Amanda thought. But she shook her head. “No. He’s agreed to help, that’s all. He’s very experienced in courtroom procedure and criminal law. He was a practicing trial attorney for years before he went into teaching. He’s very respected. He’s even written a book—”

“Does it make you feel better that he agreed to assist you?” Judson interrupted.

Amanda gazed at her grandfather’s strong face—the high cheekbones, the commanding Ingalls nose and chin, the eyes that could be stern but were mostly gentle. “Yes,” she answered truthfully. “It makes me feel better.”

“Then that’s all that counts,” Judson decreed. “I agree with your decision. His first name is Peter, you say? My father’s name. A good name for a man.”

“I think you’ll like him, Granddad,” Amanda assured him, relieved that her grandfather had consented.

Judson nodded, then turned to look outside. He’d been doing a lot of that recently—standing and looking out windows. Amanda couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about the present or remembering something from the past.

Cliff glanced at his watch, then stood. He helped Liza to her feet as well. “We have to go,” Liza said. She collected her daughter from her mother’s lap. “Little Maggie needs to hit the sack...not to mention Mommy and Daddy. Cece, when you gave us all those childbirth lessons, why didn’t you warn us that once babies come into the world they like to torture their parents? I thought she’d wake up only once a night to be fed, not every two hours like clockwork. And Cliff’s no help. He doesn’t come with the right equipment! He gets up with me, though, just to be fair.”

“Remind me to put you up on the roof the next time a shingle blows loose,” Cliff teased.

Liza flashed a reckless smile. “You think I wouldn’t do it?”

Jeff laughed. “Liza, Cliff’s been married to you long enough to know when to back off. If he’s not careful, the next time it storms you’ll be up on the roof replacing missing shingles, all the while suckling your newborn child!”

“I don’t want Maggie to grow up with preconceived notions about people,” Liza defended.

Once again Jeff laughed. “Sis, I seriously doubt that there’s any danger of that! Not with you for a mom.”

Cece stood up to hug Liza. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” she advised. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Jeff pretended to be hurt. “You can say that about me? You’re going to have to make that up to me, my girl.” He pulled Cece back down to his side and kissed her, long and with feeling. When he let her go, she was pink. Her fingers fluttered to her short, dark hair, but the secret smile she wore was a pleased one.

With her daughter cradled in one arm, Liza made the rounds, hugging her mother, her brother, her grandfather and finally Amanda. “Walk out to the car with us,” she whispered in Amanda’s ear. “I have to talk to you.” Her smile urged Amanda not to react.

Amanda gave a short, almost imperceptible nod and kept her own smile in place.

Liza passed the baby to Cliff, who somehow managed to look instantly comfortable with the tiny burden. His quietness seemed to instill quietness in the child. Maggie gave one tiny wiggle and went to sleep. Liza smiled and went about the business of collecting the array of baby things, which she then packed away in a soft cloth bag.

“Here, let me help,” Amanda volunteered. She took the bag from her sister, which freed Liza to arrange a light blanket around her child for protection against the night.

After their final goodbyes, Amanda followed them out to the car, and while Cliff put the baby into an infant-restraint seat, Liza said worriedly, “I didn’t want to ask inside, but what if he wants to see me? What should I do? Can I refuse?”

Amanda knew immediately who “he” was: the man who seemed to be on everyone’s mind—Ethan Trask. “Yes, you can refuse,” she said. “But he’ll subpoena you for the trial. He has the power of the state behind him. He can make you testify.”

“But what if he comes around before that...what do I do?”

“Am I your lawyer?”

“What do you... Of course you’re my lawyer!” Liza replied, catching on quickly. “Mine and Cliff’s both. Right, Cliff?”

Cliff straightened, his tall good looks emphasized by the diffuse light from the house windows. “Right,” he agreed.

“If you’re contacted, call me right away,” Amanda said. “Tell him you won’t be interviewed unless I’m present.”

Liza gave a devilish smile. “I’m almost beginning to feel sorry for the man!”

“Well, don’t. He knows a lot more about what he’s doing than I do.”

Liza sobered instantly. “I wish Cliff and I had never found the rug or that Joe Santori had never given me the bullet. I wish...no, I can’t wish that. If I’d never come back to Tyler, Cliff and I wouldn’t have met, and there’d be no Maggie. But if I hadn’t insisted upon redoing the lodge... It’s my fault, isn’t it, that this has happened? Leave it to me! Leave it to Liza to screw everything up!”

“Liza...” Cliff’s quiet voice cut into his wife’s frustration. “No one blames you.”

“It would have come out eventually, Liza,” Amanda agreed. “Granddad had thought several times about selling the lodge. It was only a matter of time before he did and before someone else started renovations.”

“But he looks so old now. What if he can’t stand up to the pressures of a trial? What if he collapses? What if he—”

“You’re tired,” Amanda said. “A lot has happened to you over the past few weeks. You’ve given birth, you’re trying to adjust to motherhood, both you and the baby are still chock-full of hormones. The grandfather you love dearly has been indicted for murder...just an ordinary month in the life of one Mary Elizabeth Baron Forrester.” Amanda patted her sister’s hand. “Go home, Liza. Go home with your wonderful husband, and let me worry about Granddad. I have reinforcements now. I’m not nearly as afraid as I once was.”

“Are you telling us the truth?” Liza demanded. “You’re not just saying that to make me stop worrying?”

Amanda crossed her heart, the sign the Baron siblings had used since childhood to signify truth telling.

Liza’s face brightened, but Cliff wasn’t fooled. Unlike his wife, Cliff didn’t want to be fooled. Amanda hesitated to look at him, but she felt her gaze drawn. In her brother-in-law’s black eyes she saw the truth. And she knew that he knew she hadn’t spoken it.

CHAPTER THREE

“THIS WAY, PETER. Over here,” Amanda urged. In her haste to get to the spot where Margaret’s body had been found, she drew ahead of the overweight professor. She moved agilely across the gently sloping hillside, while he proceeded more slowly. As she waited for him to catch up, she double-checked the accuracy of the location. To her left was the lake and the offshore wooden swimming float that she had known since childhood; to her right stood Timberlake Lodge—a large, rambling structure that had been built by her great-grandfather to host hunting parties for his friends, and which now was part of the Addison Hotel chain. Straight in front of her was the gnarled old pine tree she and Liza and Jeff had played under when they were young and had come to the lodge for a stolen afternoon. “This is the spot where they found her. A willow tree used to stand near here, but Joe took it down when he and his men were checking the water pipes.”

The professor wiped his pink cheeks. As he puffed from exertion, his alert eyes moved over the manicured lawn of the newly opened resort, then lifted to the multigabled structure that nestled at the top of the hill. “If she was running away, she didn’t get very far,” he said.

“No,” Amanda agreed.

“Why here?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know that, either.”

“What does your grandfather think? Have you asked him?”

Amanda hesitated. “My grandfather doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Peter’s answer was a displeased grunt.

“I know,” Amanda defended. “I just haven’t pressed him. He’s coming to my office this afternoon. We’ll talk then. He’s promised to tell me everything he can remember.”

“I hope his memory is excellent.”

“It is.”

She received another grunt, but this time Peter sounded more satisfied. She watched as he absorbed the quiet beauty of his surroundings. Timberlake Lodge always had the same effect on her. It was hard to believe that something as frightening and horrible as a murder could ever have taken place in such a sylvan scene.

She broke the silence that had fallen. “The police found her suitcase...did I tell you that? It was all packed and ready to go. Only for some reason, it was in the lodge’s potting shed. Well, not when they found it. Actually, it had been stolen. Whoever took it must have realized they didn’t have anything of value, so they dumped it on the highway between here and Belton. One of our police officers found it. It had her initials, M.L.I., and Granddad identified her clothing.”

Amanda lapsed into silence again, remembering the awful moment when Karen Keppler and Brick Bauer had come to the house, in uniform and on official business. And the way Karen had looked at her grandfather...suspiciously, as if she were already persuaded to believe that he had killed Margaret.

“Rather odd that it wasn’t with the body,” Peter mused.

“I know. If Granddad had done it, wouldn’t he have gotten rid of the suitcase, too? To make it look as if she had taken it? He knew Phil—Phil Wocheck was the gardener at Timberlake then. He knew Phil was in and out of the potting shed all the time, digging through things. Granddad couldn’t have expected the suitcase to stay hidden if he was the person who put it there...which he wasn’t.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m sure!” she repeated.

“This Phil Wocheck. He’s the man you said testified before the grand jury? The man whose testimony seemed to carry so much weight?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Peter frowned. “I wonder what he knows.”

“We all wonder that!”

“You need all the information you can get, yet the prosecution is required to give you only your grandfather’s statements to the police. If you want more, you’ll have to file a motion.”

“I’m working on it now.”

“Good girl,” the professor approved.

Amanda started back up the hill, this time making sure to go slowly enough so as not to outpace her companion. What Phil had said to the police and then to the grand jury had been the subject of much speculation, both within the family and without, for the past few weeks. But Phil, observing the grand jury’s injunction not to speak of his testimony, would say nothing.

Frustration curled in Amanda’s stomach. She had so little to work on! She had no idea what the prosecution would throw at them. She had only the charge included in her grandfather’s indictment: first-degree intentional homicide, the worst accusation the State of Wisconsin could issue against a person.

The professor had started to puff again when two men appeared at the top of the pathway. One was tall, the other short. One moved with commanding assurance, the other with compact grace. Both had dark hair. When she recognized them, Amanda felt her breath grow shallow. She, too, might suddenly have gained forty pounds and forty years. Instinctively her hand reached out toward the professor, whether to warn him or to ask for protection, she didn’t know.

The professor glanced at her curiously, then he followed the direction of her gaze.

“It’s him,” she whispered tightly. “Ethan Trask.”

“Introduce me,” Peter said.

“I can’t! I haven’t met him yet!”

“Then you’d better introduce yourself.” Peter seemed amused by the turn of events. Or rather, by Amanda’s reaction. “He’s not a god,” he said. “He puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like I do.” He glanced at the beige trousers Amanda wore. “Just like you do.”

“I sit on the end of the bed and jam both my feet in at the same instant,” Amanda replied shakily.

Peter’s smile was no longer hidden. “Then that makes you special. Introduce yourself!”

The men were almost upon them. Amanda swallowed. She had already felt the sweep of Ethan Trask’s gaze and the much friendlier estimation of his companion. Of the two, she would much rather deal with the shorter man. She took a step sideways, signaling a desire to communicate.

“Mr. Trask?” she said. To her own ears, her voice sounded dry, strained. She could hear the fake attempt at confidence.

Up close, the special prosecutor was even more impressive than he had been the day before. He seemed taller, more intense, more determined, more handsome. His eyes were neither black nor brown, but an intimidating combination of the two. His dark brown hair was perfectly groomed, a tendency to curl tolerated but not encouraged. His features might have been carefully sculpted to give the image of strength—straight nose, firm jawline, sturdy chin, a mouth that was at the same time sensual and austere. The cut of his perfectly tailored suit bespoke a body that was muscular, athletic.

Amanda’s heart rate accelerated as he turned to look at her. Under his direct gaze she felt like a rabbit caught in a snare. “I, ah... My name is Amanda Baron, Mr. Trask, and I represent—”

Her name seemed to hit him like a lightning strike. It wasn’t so much that he jolted physically, but his mind seemed to snap to attention, focusing solely on her. It was all Amanda could do to continue. “I represent Judson Ingalls. This is Peter Williams, retired professor of law at the University of Illinois. He’s going to—”

“Amanda Baron.” Ethan Trask repeated her name as if he had heard nothing else she’d said.

Amanda smiled nervously. “Yes. I represent—”

“I know who you represent.”

Amanda shot a look at Peter, who in turn was studying the assistant attorney general. Her gaze then went to Ethan Trask’s companion. She was searching for a kind word, a kind face. She found it in the shorter man when he smiled at her. Still Amanda remained confused. She didn’t understand exactly what was happening. Ethan Trask sounded angry. Again attempting civility, she held out her hand.

There was a long moment before he responded, a moment that came close to insult. When finally his fingers closed over hers, they were brisk, businesslike. Amanda was quick to break contact. Her arm fell back to her side, but her hand still tingled.

“My assistant from the DCI, Carlos Varadero.” Ethan Trask indicated the man at his side.

Amanda knew that the Division of Criminal Investigation was the investigative arm of the State Department of Justice. A crack unit, it provided assistance to the attorney general’s office—which meant that she had been correct the first time she saw him: if he was affiliated with Ethan Trask, he was dangerous, smile or no smile.

Amanda shook his hand quickly, as did Peter. For a moment nothing happened. All of them seemed ill at ease. Then Ethan Trask said quietly, “I’m going to file a motion to disqualify you as defense counsel in this case. Since you are the granddaughter of both the defendant and the deceased, I consider your role inappropriate.”

Now it was Amanda’s turn to reel. She blinked at the unexpectedness of his attack. “But...that’s not fair!” she cried.

“Not fair?” Ethan Trask repeated, pouncing on the word. “What you and your grandfather are trying to do is what’s not fair, Miss Baron. The law does not play favorites.”

Amanda blinked again. She took a step back toward Peter. What was the man talking about? She was the one who had resisted representing her grandfather. She was the one who had done everything in the world to avoid her appointment.

Peter spoke for her. “The accused has a right to the counsel of his choice, Mr. Trask.”

“Ordinarily, yes. But this is not an ordinary case.”

“It’s a fundamental right,” Peter insisted.

“We’ll see what Judge Griffen has to say.” Ethan Trask’s attention shifted back to Amanda. “I’m filing the motion,” he said levelly, scorching her with the intensity of his gaze. Then he motioned to Carlos Varadero that they should continue on their way. After a brief nod, Carlos fell into step at his side.

Amanda was still speechless once she and Peter were alone again. She watched the progress of the two men. After consulting what had to be diagrams and photographs pulled from an envelope Carlos Varadero carried, they proceeded to the spot where she and Peter had stood earlier—the site of Margaret’s one-time grave.

Amanda’s emotions were a jumble. Shock and amazement warred with affront.

Peter took her arm and continued to trudge up the hillside. “A rather intense young man,” he pronounced.

“He’s got to be six or eight years older than I am, and I’m almost thirty!” Amanda protested.

“I’m speaking from the great advantage of my years. Once a person passes sixty-five, nearly everyone seems young.”

Amanda stopped, anger having overtaken all her other emotions. “What did he mean, Peter? What does he think Granddad and I are trying to do? My only goal is to mount a successful defense, to be sure that my grandfather doesn’t go to jail for the rest of his life for a murder he didn’t commit!”

“Obviously Mr. Trask thinks you’re placing an unfair burden on the state, and he’s giving you fair warning of what he intends to do. I wondered if he’d latch on to that.”

“You mean you had an idea that he might?”

“If he’s as good a lawyer as everyone says, yes.”

“You might have warned me,” she complained.

Peter smiled. “I didn’t want to frighten you unduly.”

“I’m not afraid of him! At least, not anymore.” Amanda threw a look back over her shoulder toward the two men, who happened, at that moment, to be looking up at them. “Humph,” she sniffed, then she jerked her head around and walked proudly on.

The man had two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth. He was just an ordinary human being, nothing more, nothing less. All she had to do over the next weeks was to keep telling herself that!

* * *

CARLOS NUDGED Ethan’s arm and pointed to the two people making their way slowly up the hillside. A slender young woman with bright chestnut hair and a portly man dressed in a rumpled suit, who walked as if his knees hurt.

At that moment, the woman turned, and for the space of a second, the distance between them evaporated. Ethan again saw those huge, dark blue eyes that seemed to fill her face. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but there was something about her that was arresting. A small, straight nose, firm rounded chin, delicately carved cheeks—her features were a blend of feminine strengths. It was the look in her eyes, though, that had stopped him, forced him to notice her. Besides quick intelligence and a certain pride, there was a freshness about the way she looked at the world. A sweetness and generosity of spirit that Ethan was unused to in the people he dealt with on a day-to-day basis. Then she turned away, and he was released.

“Mmm,” Carlos murmured. “It seems this Amanda Baron is everything we were told she would be.”

“Keep your mind on your work, Carlos.”

“Can you, my friend? Are you able to do that?”

“Easily,” Ethan claimed.

The investigator shook his head. “A man must have more in his life than work. A woman, a child...”

“I don’t see you with a woman or child,” Ethan parried.

Carlos smiled. “It is something I dream of, and one day—one day—I will have it.”

“Which will be a great moment for us all,” Ethan returned sarcastically. “Now, do you think we can get back to the business at hand?” He lifted the police photos he had been studying. “The body was found right about here, and Margaret Ingalls’s room was on the lower floor of the lodge.” Ethan shuffled other photos until he found the ones he wanted. They showed a room empty of furniture and adornment, except for a painting of a woman, a wall mirror and a fireplace. On the far wall, leading outside, were French doors.

Ethan handed the photographs, one by one, to his assistant. Both had studied the glossy prints last night, staying in the Sugar Creek office until well past midnight as they tried to digest as much information as they could about the case.

Ethan said, “It’s a short trip from the bedroom to this point. The gardener—this Philip Wocheck—claims to have picked her up and carried her down here. He says he ‘helped her go.’ Wasn’t that his testimony before the grand jury?”

Carlos nodded. “He also said he saw someone run from the room. It might have been Judson Ingalls and it might not. Do you think he is covering for his old boss?”

“Considering his sudden bouts of forgetfulness brought on by intensive questioning...yes, I’d say he’s covering something.”

Carlos shook his head. “The man is seventy-five years old, my friend. People that old—”

“Can’t be allowed to evade telling the truth! Age is a fact of life, not an excuse. Look at what’s already happened. The local D.A. didn’t press charges against him when, by every count, he should have—for obstruction of justice at the very least, if not for acting as an accessory.”

“He did volunteer the information,” Carlos reminded.

“Yes, but did he tell the whole story or did he evade?”

“The D.A. believed him.”

“I know. But something just isn’t right. I believe he’s hiding something—like the fact that Judson Ingalls ordered him to dispose of the body. Otherwise, why would he—”

“He has no immunity. He did not ask for it.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Ethan agreed. “And when we talk with him, I’m going to remind him of that fact.”

The men moved down to the lake. This was a preliminary visit to familiarize themselves with the murder site. Each knew that they would return, probably more than once. As Carlos looked out over the water, Ethan studied the resort perched on the crest of the hill. The account he had read last night was prominent in his mind. It was a story of wealth, excessive behavior and passions gone awry, the kind of story that Ethan had seen repeated many times. He hunched his shoulders, impatient with delay.

Carlos skipped a rock across the water. “It is very beautiful here,” he said, his accent as soft as his words. “It reminds me of a place I knew in Cuba, not far from my home. I was just a child, of course, but my father would often take me to the water and we would sit and talk. About nothing in particular...just talk.”

Carlos lapsed into a silence that Ethan didn’t break. He, too, remembered a time spent by the water, along the wharves of one of the two great rivers that formed a confluence at Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Only for him there had been no father to sit and talk with. He’d had no father—at least, none that he knew. And the time he’d spent on the wharves had not been idyllic.

Ethan wrenched his mind from the past—from the scruffily clothed boy who’d stood out from those around him, the boy who had never fit in because he couldn’t act as irresponsibly as the others did, the boy who in the end had held himself aloof even though he’d ached to belong.... “Let’s go check out the lodge,” Ethan said in a clipped tone. “And this potting shed we’ve heard so much about.” Then he turned away, from the lake and from his memories.

* * *

AMANDA WORKED through her lunch break. Peter had given her a few helpful directions and then had gone back to Lake Geneva. He was expecting a call from his literary agent that afternoon and didn’t want to miss it. When she had questioned him as to whether he was trying to sell another volume of his memoirs, he had avoided a direct answer and escaped as quickly as he could.

With a mystified smile, Amanda had set to work, and soon was immersed in sorting through the precedent-setting cases and rules of law that she would use in writing her brief for Judge Griffen on the defendant’s right to counsel. She hadn’t expected to be doing this. She hadn’t expected an objection to her relationship in the case.

Margaret’s granddaughter. She didn’t feel like Margaret’s granddaughter. She didn’t feel as if Margaret deserved to be any relation at all. For the family, the woman had been nothing but trouble.

Liza had grown up oversensitive to the fact that she looked so much like the hell-raising party girl from the past, and since people rarely lost an opportunity to speculate on the similarity of their behavior, Liza had eventually begun to act like her, more in a twisted sort of rebellion than because she was like her grandmother. Liza was spirited, but there was no meanness in her.

And Jeff...Jeff had married a woman just like Margaret, as selfish and as insensitive as a rhino. The family had tried to talk him out of it, but Jeff had been well and truly under her spell. Because of a secret fascination with Margaret? The marriage had ended and Jeff had pretended that it didn’t hurt. But Amanda knew that it did.

Then there was their mother. Alyssa had never gotten over Margaret’s abandonment of her as a child. Now it turned out that Margaret hadn’t abandoned her after all, but had planned to; she had left a note. Same difference in the end. Die, walk out...their mother was still scarred for life.

Amanda’s thoughts moved on to the person most hurt by Margaret’s thoughtlessness: Judson. She remembered the pain that burned deeply in his eyes and remembered that throughout her childhood she had acted the fool many times in order to make her grandfather laugh.

For herself, Amanda once had thought she’d escaped untouched. She didn’t look like the Ingalls women—tall, leggy blondes. She looked like her father, Ronald Baron. So did Jeff, except for his inheritance of their grandfather’s commanding nose and chin. Yet she now knew that she had not escaped. For her, fate had played a delaying game. It had waited to spring her grandmother on her at a later date—to be exact, forty-two years. It was no wonder Amanda felt nothing except annoyance with the woman. Margaret was as much a troublemaker dead as she had been alive.

And Ethan Trask thought it unfair that she should represent the man accused of murdering Margaret? If anyone, it should be she! She resented the woman, just as she resented the assistant attorney general’s intimation that she had planned some kind of wrongdoing.

Ethan Trask...

Amanda’s fingers stopped on the pages of one of her law books as unwanted feelings fought their way into her consciousness. She had tried to ignore it earlier, but beneath all her outrage had lurked something else, the fact that on some core level, she found Ethan Trask extremely attractive. She felt herself growing steadily warmer. Then a tap on her door rescued her from further discomfort. A second later, her grandfather poked his head through the opening. “Amanda, honey?” he said. “Tessie told me to come right in.”

Amanda’s greeting was a little more enthusiastic than it normally might have been. She jumped up to give her grandfather a hug.

Judson smiled bemusedly as he patted her back. “I realize the situation is bad, but is it this bad?” he teased.

Amanda didn’t want to let go of her grandfather’s solid strength as memories of her childhood once again stirred. She’d had two men in her life then, her grandfather and her father. She had lost her father, a fact that remained like a huge gaping hole in her life even after ten years. She didn’t want to lose her grandfather, too. She didn’t think he would live very long in jail.

She made herself step back, more because she didn’t want to frighten him than because she was ready. She forced a smile. “No, it’s not that bad,” she assured him. “Only a minor bobble or two.” She hesitated, then plunged in. “Ethan Trask wants me off the case. He’s going to file a motion with the judge. He doesn’t like it that I’m both your and Margaret’s granddaughter.”

Judson’s still handsome features settled into a frown. “Can he do that?” he asked.

“Not without a fight...and I’m going to give him one. That’s what I was doing just now, working up my argument.”

Judson glanced at her loaded desk. “Would you like me to come back later? I can always find something to do at the plant or the lab.”

Amanda shook her head. “No, this is fine.” She showed him to a chair. Her grandfather still held himself with a quiet kind of dignity, but the past year had taken its toll. It was hard for him to ignore the rumors that flashed about town, to ignore the fact that people he had known all his life might think he had killed his wife. Hard to realize that people he had helped could turn against him. His face contained many more lines than it had before; his shoulders slumped, particularly when he didn’t feel on show. Amanda’s heart went out to him. He put on a brave front for the family, especially Alyssa. He didn’t want any of them to worry. But how could they not worry?

Amanda settled behind her desk and folded her hands on top of her paperwork. “This is something we have to deal with, Granddad. First, if I’m disqualified, we have to find you a new lawyer. Possibly Peter could be persuaded...or he might recommend someone.”

“I want you, Amanda.”

Amanda’s hands tightened. “I know. But if that’s not possible, we’ll have to find someone else. We’d appeal the decision, of course, if it went against us. But a decision on such an appeal probably wouldn’t be handed down until after the trial. Not unless you want to put off the trial for a number of months so that the appeals court has time to issue a decision.” Amanda stopped when she felt her grandfather stiffen. “I know. You want to see the end of all of this. So do I. So we go back to filing our appeal while the trial is held. If you lost the case, but we won the appeal, you’d have to stand trial all over again...this time with me as your lawyer.” Her grandfather’s face whitened. “That’s not something we want, Granddad, not either of us. If I were some kind of high-powered defense attorney, I’d say yes...we’d go for that. But I’m not.” She sighed. “What I’m trying to say is...if I get disqualified, I think you should find another lawyer. Someone with more experience than me. Someone we could be sure of—”

Her grandfather broke in softly, “I still want you, Amanda.” Judson Ingalls was a stubborn man.

Amanda murmured, “Let’s face that decision when we need to. It’s still down the road, and we may not even come to it.”

Judson smiled. “That’s right. I think you’ll win, to begin with. There’ll be no need for an appeal. This Ethan Trask...he isn’t infallible, is he?”

“No...” Amanda replied slowly.

“No,” Judson repeated, satisfied.

From experience, Amanda knew when it was time to retreat. She moved to another subject, one she had resisted bringing up before. But they couldn’t put it off any longer. “Proceeding on that assumption...Granddad, I know you don’t like to talk about anything concerning Margaret, but under the circumstances, if I’m to defend you properly, you’re going to have to talk to me. You’re going to have to treat me as if I’m a stranger. You have to be honest with me. Not keep anything back. Tell me things you’d never tell anyone else, particularly a member of the family. Warts and all, I have to know. Is that understood?”

Judson’s white head bobbed.

Amanda continued, “Anything you tell me will be privileged information. It will go no further than your defense team.”

“I understand.”

Amanda relaxed slightly. Her grandfather could sometimes be prickly. At least they had gotten this far.

“Where do you want me to begin?” Judson asked.

“I suppose the night Margaret disappeared.”

A muscle pulled at the side of Judson’s jaw. “We had an argument. I already told the police that.”

“What was it about?”

“Money, her running around with other men, the way she ignored Alyssa...”

“When did the argument start?”

“That morning. It ran on into late evening. It would stop and start. She was having a party—one of her constant parties. They’d go on for days. People were around that I didn’t know...didn’t want to know!”

“When did you see her last?”

Judson was silent. Finally, he said, “About six or seven o’clock. She had some kind of special evening planned with her friends. They were going to play a new game—I don’t know what kind. I didn’t ask. I sure as hell wasn’t going to play!” He paused again, becoming lost in the past. “She told me to get out. She told me she hated me. So I went.” A wealth of feeling lay beneath the flatness of his words. Amanda, who knew her grandfather well, could sense his suffering.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“Out. I walked beside the lake, I don’t know for how long. A couple of hours? When I got back—”

“Did anyone see you while you were walking?”

Judson shook his head. “No.”

“Go on,” Amanda encouraged.

“When I got back...she was gone. I found a note on the mantel. It said she was leaving.”

“What happened then?” Amanda prompted.

Judson looked down at his hands. “I—I went a little berserk. I picked up a perfume bottle and threw it across the room. It broke some things on Margaret’s dressing table...bottles, dusting powder, face creams. It made quite a mess. Then I—” He stopped.

“Then you...what?” Amanda pressed, her voice husky.

“I cried,” he admitted simply. “Like some kind of huge baby, I just stood there and cried.”

Answering tears formed in Amanda’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. If she expected her grandfather to divorce himself from their relationship and talk to her, she couldn’t behave in a manner that would inhibit his confidences.

“Then what?” she asked.

“Then I went to see Alyssa. My little girl was all I had left.”

Amanda allowed him time to collect himself, while she, too, did a little collecting of her own emotions. “Would you like some water?” she asked.

Judson shook his head.

Amanda continued, “These men that Margaret ‘ran’ with. Did you know any of them? Do you remember their names? Do you know if any of them are alive today?”

Again Judson shook his head, but the motion had grown tighter, as if the strain he was under had sharply increased.

“It would help if you could come up with a name or two, Granddad. What about that summer? Was there anyone special?” Liza had already told Amanda about the man Rose Atkins had remembered shortly before she died. Rose had been invited to a few of Margaret’s parties, as she was one of the few people in Tyler Margaret liked. Liza had shown the old woman some of the photos she had found in the attic at Timberlake Lodge, and Rose had recognized one of the men. They were very close, Liza had reported Rose saying. He was probably her lover. “Does the name Roddy mean anything to you, Granddad?” Amanda asked, probing his memory.

At that, Judson jerked to his feet. “That’s enough,” he clipped shortly. “I have to go to the plant. A meeting I forgot. We can do this some other time. Right now I have to—” He didn’t complete his sentence; his jaw clamped shut instead.

Amanda got slowly to her feet. They had barely begun their review. She needed much more detailed information. But it was evident that she wasn’t going to get it. Not right now, not after striking what was unmistakably a raw nerve. She shrugged. “Sure, Granddad. We can talk again later.”

“Good,” he said. Then he pivoted and walked stiffly from the room, leaving Amanda to stare after him in frustration.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN ETHAN OPENED the front door of Marge’s Diner, the hum of cheerful conversation mingled with the smell of hot coffee and cooking food. By the time he made his way to the counter, all conversation had stopped. Knowing himself to be the focus of attention, he hitched a seat on one of the red-topped stools, helped himself to a menu propped next to the salt and pepper shakers and frowned down at his choices for a late lunch. It was always like this when he came to a new town on a prosecution. He was the outsider, the stranger. As with a gunslinging lawman of old, people were both in awe of him and afraid. But Ethan was accustomed to being the outsider. It didn’t bother him. Slowly conversation resumed, though at a much more subdued level.

Minutes later, the door opened again and Carlos entered the establishment. When he spotted Ethan, he came to his side and took a seat. Ethan handed him a menu.

“What’ve you come up with?” Ethan asked.

“Typical stuff. The lady at the post office seems to be the gossip maven. And there is a kid—a Lars Travis—about fifteen, who delivers bits and pieces of rumors along with the local newspaper. I talked with the lady, but the kid is in school.”

“What did the lady say?”

Carlos dropped the menu and fished in his pocket for a notebook. Referring to it occasionally, he said, “A number of people in town think Judson Ingalls did the dirty deed. Most of the same number think Margaret deserved it. She did not fit in here—she was a big-city girl from Chicago who scandalized everyone with her behavior. Judson was thought to be getting the short end of the stick. He was a local war hero, not that anyone remembers much about what he did in the war. After Margaret ‘left,’ Judson raised his daughter, Alyssa, on his own. Ingalls F and M, the family business, has been an important part of the community almost since its inception. It employs a substantial number of the people in and around Tyler. Mr. Ingalls is very active in community affairs. He supports the local high school sports teams, especially the Titans, the football team. His daughter is on the town council and every other committee Annabelle Scanlon—she is the postmistress—can think of.” Carlos paused. “I sense resentment there. She is probably jealous. The Ingallses have always had most of the money in town and most of the class.”

He went back to his notes. “Alyssa Ingalls married one Ronald William Baron—who, incidentally, killed himself about ten years ago when his grain elevator business collapsed financially. The Barons had three children—Jeff, a doctor at the hospital here, Amanda and Liza, who seems to have taken after Grandmother Margaret and was quite a hell-raiser before she married. She shows up in a couple of our reports. She found the rug and turned over the bullet found in Margaret’s room at the lodge.”

Ethan nodded. He looked for the waitress. She was leaning against the far end of the counter, talking with a policeman. Ethan sensed that they were discussing him and Carlos, and he had the hunch confirmed when the policeman’s hard gaze met his. The waitress glanced at him, too, but she made no move to come take their order. Once again she started to talk with the policeman.

Carlos replaced the notebook in his pocket. “Everyone I talked to seems to think highly of Amanda Baron. She is liked, she is respected. I heard no word against her, not even from the postmistress.”

“We’d like some coffee down here, please,” Ethan called, his strong voice cutting into the waitress’s tête-à-tête.

Carlos smiled, amused by Ethan’s direct attack.

The policeman said something, causing the waitress to push away from the counter and come toward them. On the way she nonchalantly collected a full coffee beaker and two cups. After the cups were filled, she started to walk away again, but Ethan stopped her. “We’d also like to order.”

“Cook’s just stepped out,” the woman said, her middle-aged face set uncompromisingly.

Ethan glanced behind the serving counter into the kitchen. “Who’s that in the hat?” he asked.

A flush stole into the woman’s cheeks. By that time the policeman, dressed in the dark uniform of the Sugar Creek Sheriff’s Department, had ambled over. He was a compactly built six-footer with squared features and a no-nonsense edge that was tempered by a friendly smile.

“Serve the men, Marge,” he advised. “Two hamburgers don’t commit you to one side or the other. Judson will understand.”

Color still brightened the woman’s cheeks. “I’m loyal to my customers and my friends, Brick. Judson comes in here every day. And for these men to just barge in and act as if—”

“They’re just doing their job,” the policeman said. “You serve Karen and me when we come in...and we’re the ones who arrested him.”

“That’s different,” Marge claimed.

“No, it’s not.”

Marge looked at the policeman for a long moment, then at Ethan and Carlos. “All right,” she conceded grudgingly, “what do you want?”

Ethan glanced at Carlos, who gave a short nod. “Two burgers. One no onion, one no tomato.”

Marge moved away, leaving the policeman to introduce himself. “Lieutenant Brick Bauer of the Tyler substation,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard you’ve been asking around town today.”

“News travels fast,” Ethan remarked.

“In most small towns it does, but especially in Tyler.” Brick glanced at the people sitting in booths and clinging to stools farther along the counter. He nodded whenever he caught an inquisitive eye. “You’re quite an object of speculation, Mr. Trask.”

“As you said, I’m just doing my job.” Ethan introduced Carlos, who, he saw, did a quick estimation of the policeman.

Brick Bauer sighed. “So are we all, so are we all...but it’s not a nice business sometimes.” He straightened, resting an arm on top of his holster flap as so many of his fellow officers did. “I expect you’ll be wanting to talk with me later?”

Ethan nodded. “We’ll call before we come.”

“Good. Then I’ll arrange to be in.”

With another nod, he ambled off. In no hurry, he paused to speak to people at two tables on the way out the door.

Ethan glanced at Carlos. “What do you think?” he asked.

“A fair man who can put loyalties aside when it comes to telling the truth. He will be a good witness.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

The two burgers were delivered with a clank of glass plate against hard counter. Marge didn’t wait around to ask if they needed anything else.

Ethan’s smile was wintry as he surveyed their meal. “Do you think we should really eat these?”

“We have not been poisoned yet,” Carlos said.

“There’s always a first time,” Ethan murmured, then he bit into the piping-hot burger and instantly decided it was the best he had had in years.

* * *

AMANDA TRIED to go back to the preparation of her brief, but she just couldn’t make herself concentrate. Who was this Roddy and why had her grandfather behaved so strangely at the mention of his name? Had the man been intimately involved with Margaret in the weeks before her death? What did her grandfather know about him?

She got up from her desk and went into the outer office. Tessie looked up from her computer keyboard. “I’m going out for a while, Tessie,” Amanda said. “Just around the square. If anyone needs me, I’ll be back in about—” she checked her watch “—half an hour. Not more than that. I need some fresh air.”

Her secretary nodded and went back to work.

The day was unusually warm for the latter part of September. Sunlight rained through the leaves of the huge old oak trees and onto the grassy square. Even the fall flowers, nicely kept in their beds, seemed to be especially colorful this day. It was as if Nature was giving everyone a second chance at summer before the frigid winds of winter came to call.

Amanda sat down on a wooden bench in one of the sunnier sections of the park and watched as a few young children played nearby. The upcoming trial was like the worst threat of winter to her: an impending time of darkness and cold. That is, if she were allowed to assume her rightful place at her grandfather’s side.

She sighed and, made sleepy by the unusual warmth, let her eyes shut. Mere seconds passed, however, before a huge shaggy dog came lumbering across the lawn to jump on her. “Samson!” Amanda laughed, snapping to attention as the friendly white dog continued to try to lick her cheek, her chin, her nose, her mouth.

“Samson, down!” Pam Kelsey called, hurrying to contain him. She made a grab for his collar. “Sorry, Amanda,” she apologized, once she had gained control. “He’s just been groomed and thinks he’s king of the hill.”

Amanda grinned as she rubbed a fluffy head. “That’s okay. I think he’s king of the hill, too. Any dog this sweet deserves a little spoiling.”

“Actually, we had to get him groomed today because he spent all of yesterday trying to dig his way out of the backyard. I don’t understand why he’s started to do it, but he has. He’s twelve years old. He should know better!”

“Maybe he’s lonely,” Amanda suggested. “You should get him a friend. No, seriously. With both you and Patrick at school all day, and then with you coaching the football team and Patrick helping you...Samson probably feels as if he’s lacking attention.”

“What kind of friend?” Pam asked carefully.

“Another dog. Preferably a female, neutered, of course. Unless you want to have puppies.”

“Good heavens.”

Amanda laughed. “Samson has a few good years left in him. He’s probably not ready yet to hang up his spurs in that department. He could still be a father.”

“Why not get another male and not have to worry about it?”

“Because introducing a male dog at this stage might make matters worse. They might not like each other.”

Pam tilted her head, her brown eyes curious. “How do you know so much about it?” she asked. Then she remembered. “Oh, that’s right. You once wanted to be a vet, didn’t you? Patrick told me.”

Amanda smiled wryly. “Right now, I wish I’d stuck with it.”

Pam’s pretty face lost its smile. “I heard that Ethan Trask and his assistant were asking questions around town today. I took off from school during my free period to collect Samson, and I ran into Annabelle outside the post office. She said a man named Carlos something-or-other had talked to her for almost an hour. So you know what that means...they now know almost everything there is to know about Tyler.”

“By the time this trial is through no one will have any secrets left.”

“Do you really think it will be that bad?”

Amanda looked at Pam and saw her genuine concern. Not for her own sake—Pam wasn’t involved. She hadn’t moved to Tyler until late last summer, around the time Margaret’s body had been found. She had no connection to the town’s past except through her marriage to Patrick Kelsey, the Kelseys having been in Tyler since its founding, just as long as the Ingallses had. Amanda shook her head. “No, I’m exaggerating. I’m feeling a little frustrated right now, so I’m acting theatrical.”

Pam reached out to clasp her arm. “If there’s any way Patrick and I can help, you just let us know. We don’t believe Judson could have done a thing like that. We may not be able to be in court with you because of our commitments at the school, but we’ll be with you in spirit. Tell Judson we support him, okay?”

“Okay,” Amanda agreed. Her spirits lifted just a little. Their family did have friends—the Kelseys, the Bauers...and there were others.

Samson woofed at Amanda, as if to say goodbye, then he jerked, ready to move away.

Laughing, Pam whipped out a leash and connected it in one smooth motion. “He got away from me earlier before I could get this on. I think he spotted you sitting here. Animals like you, don’t they?”

“Usually, yes,” Amanda admitted.

Pam’s brown eyes moved over her. “I think they trust you.”

Amanda shrugged. “They probably see a soft touch.”

“No, I think they sense something more. You’re a lot like your mother, Amanda. The same pure heart.”

Amanda wondered if Pam would still think that if she could see the photo of Ethan Trask in her office, the one with the dart sticking out of his nose.

* * *

ETHAN COUNTED OUT the correct amount tallied on the waitress’s check and added a few dollars more for a tip. Service hadn’t been exactly wonderful, but the woman had come back to refill their coffee cups. As they left the diner, he noticed that most of the same people who had been present upon his arrival remained. Their eyes followed him to the door. Once outside, he wondered whether, if either he or Carlos were to surprise them by opening the door again, they would all be talking at once about the same subject.

They walked to Ethan’s car, a sleek black luxury model that he had allowed himself. As he opened the driver’s door, he asked, “Did you find out anything about the ring?”

Carlos shook his head. “Nothing, my friend. No one knows anything about it.”

Ethan frowned as they settled into their seats. “Judson and Margaret were married in 1941. The ring found with the body is engraved 1941—at least, the segment we can read says that. It has to be his.”

“As far as anyone knows, Judson Ingalls never wore a ring.”

“Keep asking. You may turn up something with one of the older people you talk to. Someone who knew the two of them way back when.”

Ethan started the car and backed out of the parking slot onto the street.

“What about you?” Carlos asked when they pulled forward. “What did you learn?”

“That Judson Ingalls started talking seriously about selling Timberlake Lodge shortly after the body was found. And he sold it to the Addison Hotel Corporation for less than market value.”

“Was the buyer spooked because of the body?”

“Not according to the assistant manager. Addison would have gone higher, but Judson Ingalls didn’t ask it. I think he wanted the place off his conscience.”

“That would not make his troubles go away.”

“Out of sight, out of mind? Remember that painting of Margaret Ingalls in her bedroom? He didn’t ask for it, either. And years ago, after he’d ordered the room locked up, he moved to his house in town and never went back. The man’s pretty good at ignoring what’s unpleasant.”

“He cannot ignore a court date.”

“No.” Ethan smiled. “He can’t.”

Ethan looked away from the street for a second to glance at Carlos. The next thing he knew, Carlos was yelling for him to stop. Ethan’s reactions were quick. Without asking why, he jammed on the brakes and the car rocked to a halt. It was then he saw Amanda Baron. She was inches away from the front grill. She looked back at him, stunned.

Ethan expelled a long breath and made himself get out of the car. “Are you all right?” he asked, hurrying toward her.

Huge blue eyes looked up at him. “I know you want me off the case,” she whispered. “But I didn’t think you’d be willing to go this far.”

Ethan was in no mood for sarcasm, even if it sprang from shock. He answered stiffly, “I assure you, I’ve never yet had to resort to killing the competition.”

“Perhaps I should check your police record.”

“I don’t have a police record.”

Carlos, who had exited the car as well, smiled as he leaned lightly against the front fender. “It is true,” he said. “He is not a wanted man.”

Amanda sent Carlos a look that made his smile grow. Ethan saw that while fright warred with anger in her expression, humor at the situation was beginning to dawn. Her undecided gaze returned to Ethan, and once again he felt himself physically stirred. He was aware of everything about her. The way the beige slacks fitted her slender hips and legs; the way her ribbed scoop-necked top, dyed a dusky rose and worn beneath a casually loose beige jacket, settled against small, but nicely rounded breasts. The way her bright chestnut hair shone in the sun...her flawless skin, the beautiful blue of her eyes, her soft, kissable mouth. He jerked his thoughts away from such undisciplined chaos.

“You stepped out in front of me!” he accused.

“I did no such thing! Look where I am. How did I get this far across the street if I’d just stepped out?” She was standing in front of the driver’s side, not the passenger side closest to the sidewalk. “You were speeding,” she countered.

Ethan shrugged the logic away. It was important for him to keep the upper hand. He had to stay in control. “No, I wasn’t. I never speed. Not in a town.”

“Then you admit you sometimes speed on a highway.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“And if you speed on a highway, it means you might drive over the limit elsewhere...like in a town!”

“Check the skid marks,” Ethan parried. “They don’t indicate high speed. No, you didn’t look. You were in the park, probably distracted—you do have certain things to be distracted about. You decided to go back to your office...” He indicated the sign on her office directly across the street. “So you started off without looking. You were probably walking rather quickly, thinking about all the things you had to do. You didn’t see the car.”

Again, a blend of emotions crossed Amanda Baron’s pretty face. For an instant she looked as if she were about to confess, but her fighting spirit returned, and she taunted, “Prove it!”

Ethan had sensed victory, but before he could return her taunt, a series of claps came from the man who had witnessed their exchange. Ethan looked around. He had forgotten that Carlos was there.

The investigator smiled broadly. He straightened away from the car even as he continued to clap his hands. He looked first at Amanda Baron and then at Ethan, his dark eyes dancing. “Bravo!” he approved. “Magnifico! A wonderful performance! But you are both forgetting. There was a witness, a highly experienced observer—me! I saw everything, and I say you owe each other an apology.” He pointed at Amanda Baron. “You stepped out.” And at Ethan. “And you were not watching where you were going. No one wins, no one loses, no one was hurt. No debate.” Carlos shook his head. “Lawyers,” he grumbled amusedly to himself. “You will argue with a tree!”

Amanda Baron stared at him for a few seconds, then she, too, started to laugh. She was beautiful when she laughed, Ethan thought. Her entire face lighted up. He continued to hold himself stiffly. A smile never cracked his lips.

“I suppose,” she said, “since we do have a highly experienced witness, I’ll have to admit to some responsibility. I was thinking of something else, and I didn’t see the car.” She looked at Ethan, waiting for him to make a similar concession.

Ethan felt Carlos’s eyes come to rest upon him, too. Finally, he allowed, “I agree. It was my fault as well.”

Carlos approved. “Ah, that is good. An understanding!”

In the silence that followed, Amanda Baron shifted slightly and glanced again at Ethan. All Ethan wanted to do was get back behind the wheel and drive away. He was uncomfortable standing in the street with her. Uncomfortable with the unexpected strength of his feelings. All he could think of was that it was a good thing he had filed a challenge against her as defense counsel. He would have hated to go to trial and try to maintain an adversarial role. It would have played havoc with his concentration.

Because he had confidence in the justness of his argument to Judge Griffen, Ethan let a tight smile slip into place even as he maintained, “But I wasn’t speeding. I hold my ground there.”

Several cars passed them and then paused, drivers and passengers curious about what had happened. Amanda Baron returned the salute of one group and called hello to another. She glanced toward her office.

Ethan took the onus onto himself. “If you’re sure you’re all right,” he said, “we’ll be on our way. I’m sorry for any fright you may have experienced.”

“So am I,” she said. Then, surprising him—actually, surprising both of them—she thrust out her hand. She looked down at it blankly, as if the appendage weren’t hers.

Ethan took it. Her hand felt warm and capable, very feminine, very soft. He held it a moment before letting go.

Amanda Baron threw Carlos a quick smile, murmured goodbye to both of them, then hurried the rest of the way across the street and disappeared inside her office.

Ethan had no idea how long he stared at the closed door, how long before Carlos called him back to awareness. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. Yet from the way the investigator grinned once Ethan had resettled in the driver’s seat, it might have been hours.

“I think you have noticed her, my friend,” Carlos teased, referring to his earlier comment.

“I tried to kill her, you mean,” Ethan corrected.

“And I think she noticed you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Even, white teeth flashed. “I only say what I see. I make nothing up.”

Ethan started the car. “She hates my guts. I’m here to send her grandfather to jail.”

Carlos’s shrug was expressive, silently holding to his statement.

“Naa,” Ethan denied.

Carlos’s answer was another shrug.

Ethan laughed shortly. “I think you’d better have your eyes examined when we get back to Madison. Now, to return to business. This Joe Santori, the building contractor who found the body and the bullet—is he willing to see us tomorrow?”

“I arranged a time in the afternoon. I thought you would want me to do a little more digging around here in the morning.”

Ethan nodded. “You’re right. Besides doing a little more probing about the ring, check into Judson and Margaret’s marital troubles. They fought about her having affairs with other men, but see if there was anything else. Also, nose around about the possible police cover-up, both then and now. Let’s see where we stand in that regard. We don’t want any surprises.”

“Do you think any evidence might be tainted?”

“It’s doubtful in this case, but witnesses might be. Who are the two ex-police chiefs? Zachary Phelps and Paul Schmidt?”

Carlos nodded.

“We may need to have both testify. If we do, I want to know which way they’ll go. Also, I’d like you to do a little checking on Philip Wocheck. See what people have to say about him. You might try your postmistress again on that.”

As Carlos nodded again, he started writing reminders to himself in his notebook.

Ethan carefully checked the street for both traffic and inattentive pedestrians before he accelerated. As he did, he glanced across the wide street toward the office that had Amanda Louise Baron, Attorney-at-Law emblazoned on the door. He had known from the beginning that this was going to be a difficult case. Forty-two years had passed since the murder occurred, the accused was a well-respected, wealthy, influential man in the community and the evidence was mostly circumstantial...all hard enough strikes to overcome. But he hadn’t counted on having to deal with someone like Amanda Louise Baron, or her unwanted effect on him.

* * *

AMANDA WATCHED the car pull away. It certainly had taken them long enough! What were they doing? What were they talking about? Her? Her grandfather? The case?

She moved away from her spy’s perch in the corner of the room, letting the vertical blind swing back into place. As usual, Tessie had made the necessary adjustments to keep the afternoon sun from interfering with her computer screen.

Tessie sat at her desk, a silent witness to her employer’s antics from the moment she’d entered the door and scurried to the corner. At last the secretary’s silence came to an end. “We had a call while you were out,” she said. “Judge Griffen wants to set the disqualification hearing for tomorrow morning. You know him—he doesn’t like to let grass grow under his feet. They want a callback as soon as possible.”

Tomorrow morning! Amanda thought of her laden desk. Could she possibly be ready by tomorrow morning? She checked her watch. She had the rest of the afternoon and tonight, and if she made judicious use of every second... “Tell him I’ll be ready,” she said. “What time?”

“Eight-thirty. He has a trial scheduled at ten.”

“Right,” Amanda said. “I guess I’d better get going.” As she started into her office, she felt her secretary’s eyes follow her. Pretending to an innocence she didn’t feel, she paused to ask, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“May I ask what that was all about just now? Or is it some kind of deep, dark secret?”

Amanda shrugged. “Oh, nothing. I just...” She stopped. Tessie would see through her in a second. “I ran into Ethan Trask,” she admitted wryly. “Literally! Well, I almost ran into him. Actually, we almost ran into each other. Neither of us was watching where we were going—him driving, me walking.”

Tessie lifted an eyebrow at her unaccustomed inarticulateness. To complete her humiliation, Amanda felt herself flush. And she was a person who never flushed.

Tessie’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard that he lives up to his reputation. Plus he’s even better-looking than his picture. Must be true,” she decided.

“It’s not that at all,” Amanda declared. “He almost ran me down in his car just now! Anyone would be upset.”

“Would anyone peek out the window to see what he did next?”

“I was merely—”

“Watching to see what he did next?”

“My behavior is strictly in the best interest of my client. Ethan Trask is the enemy. I was conducting a little surveillance, that’s all.”

“Did you learn anything?” Tessie asked dryly.

Had she learned anything? Amanda couldn’t answer truthfully. How did she explain that despite the man’s determination to prosecute her grandfather, she found him fascinating? He was so self-contained, so controlled. He barely ever smiled, and when he did, his lips made only the faintest movement, as if they were unaccustomed to the motion. His decisive intensity acted on her like a magnet, drawing her to him. When he first jumped out of the car to see if she was hurt, she had seen genuine concern in his eyes. But the hard, no-nonsense edge had soon returned. Which was the real man? she wondered. And should she care?

“He signaled properly before pulling into traffic,” she murmured in answer to her secretary’s challenge.

“That must have been a big disappointment.”

“Not really,” Amanda claimed. “Not when I’m looking for keys to his psyche.”

Tessie rolled her eyes. “That’s a bunch of baloney and you know it.”

“It never hurts to be prepared.”

Tessie snorted as she twisted back around. She hadn’t believed Amanda, hadn’t believed anything she’d said. Amanda recognized the fact and knew that she would have to live with it. Just as she knew that, whether she liked it or not, every time she went near Ethan Trask something seemed to happen to her internal balance wheel, and her equilibrium went right out the window.

So...how was she going to spend the next eight to ten hours? By preparing an argument that she hoped would allow her to continue to pit herself against him in a courtroom. Did that make sense? No. But these weren’t ordinary times. And it was her grandfather, not to mention the rest of her family, who would pay if she allowed any kind of reckless emotion to get in the way of what she had to do.

Reckless emotion! Her? Amanda almost laughed. She had always been the steadiest of the Baron crew. The middle child. The one who had never caused anyone a moment’s worry. Good, steady Amanda. Amanda, who had suffered quietly when her father had committed suicide. She still sometimes felt as if she’d never get over his death, yet she hadn’t gone off the rails like Liza and Jeff. Reckless emotion?

Amanda closed herself into the pseudowomb of her office. This was her domain. In here, she was in charge. She had hung every picture, arranged every book.

Her gaze drifted to the newspaper photograph of Ethan Trask. Since she had left the room earlier—how long ago was that, a hundred years?—the dart had fallen from his nose. Gravity had pulled it to the floor.

Gravity, magnetism...

Amanda snatched the photograph from the wall and crumpled it in her fist.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE CONFERENCE ROOM was quiet as all the players involved waited for the court stenographer to load the shorthand typewriter with a long, thin strip of folded paper on which he would record the hearing. The judge, the Honorable Eustace D. Griffen, sat on one side of the long table, while Ethan Trask and Amanda sat on the other.

Amanda’s throat was parched, her palms sweaty. She had talked to Peter before leaving Tyler for the courthouse in Sugar Creek, and he had assured her that her arguments had strength. Still, sitting there, she wasn’t as sure. At her elbow, Ethan Trask looked formidable and efficient in a dark suit, his handsome features serious. He had murmured her name in greeting when they met in the hall and hadn’t said anything to her since.

The court reporter nodded to the judge. Judge Griffen was one of only two jurists who presided over the judicial system of Sugar Creek County. He and Judge Bolt took turns sitting for criminal and civil suits. October was to be Judge Griffen’s month to hear criminal cases. He was a long, thin man with a deeply lined face. Heavy bags hung beneath weary-looking brown eyes, giving him the sad appearance of a basset hound. But anyone fooled into thinking Judge Griffen indolent was in for something of a shock. He tolerated no nonsense in his court, and his mind was as sharp as a razor.

His gaze took in both Ethan and Amanda. “I’ve read your briefs,” he said. “Now I want to hear your arguments. Mr. Trask, you first.”

Ethan stood, accidentally brushing against Amanda’s arm. No one except them took notice of the contact or was aware of the way both instantly withdrew, as if from an electrical shock.

“Your Honor,” Ethan began, his voice giving no hint of his being disconcerted. “It is not the state’s contention that a defendant be denied representation by the counsel of his or her choice. The right to choice of counsel is a vital part of our system of justice. It is the state’s contention that in this instance the defendant’s choice can harm the people’s ability to present their case. It is out of the norm. Amanda Baron is the granddaughter both of the defendant and of the deceased.

“As prosecutor, I am of the firm belief that this representation will place an unfair burden on the state. To have her sit in court day after day at the side of the defendant would influence the jury to believe that she, a member of the family, believes him innocent. By her mere presence she presents herself as a character witness—but a witness I cannot cross-examine.

“In no way is she unique, except as this silent witness. She is not a criminal defense lawyer of any repute. In fact, she has never before been involved in a case of this magnitude. The simple truth is that the defendant has purposely set out to gain a lawyer who would make improper use of the familial relationship, and the state requests that he be directed to choose another.”

The judge nodded and turned his mournful-looking eyes on Amanda. Shakily, she stood as Ethan sat down. She reached for a glass of water to loosen her vocal cords. She was afraid it was all over. The logic of his argument seemed unbeatable. It didn’t matter that she and her grandfather had not planned the situation as he suggested. If it looked as if they had—as it did now—the judge would rule against them. It was up to her to change his perception.

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