Читать книгу The Rancher's Christmas Promise - Allison Leigh - Страница 12

Chapter Three

“Ryder Wilson towed your truck?”

Greer tucked her office phone against her shoulder. “Hey, Maddie. Hold on.” She didn’t wait for her sister to reply, but clicked over to the other phone call while she scrolled through the emails on her computer. It was Monday morning. She wished she could say it was unusual coming in to find fifty emails all requiring immediate attention. The fact was, coming in to only fifty emails was a good start to a week.

“Mrs. Pyle, as I explained to your son last week, Judge Donnelly has refused another continuance in Anthony’s case. He’s already granted two, which is unusual. Your grandson’s trial is going to be on Thursday and my associate Don Chatham will be handling it. He’s our senior attorney, as you know, and handles most of the jury trials.” After she had handled all the other steps, including negotiating plea deals. Which the prosecutor’s office wasn’t offering to Anthony this go-round.

Not surprising. It was an election year.

“I know Judge Donnelly.” Doreen Pyle sounded tearful. “I can’t be in court on Thursday. If I just went to him and asked—”

She shook her head, even though Doreen couldn’t see. “I advise you not to speak directly to the judge, Mrs. Pyle.”

“Then schedule a different date! You know how unreliable my son is. Anthony needs his family there. If his father would have told me last week, I could have made arrangements. But I have to work!”

Doreen Pyle worked for Ryder Wilson.

Greer pressed her fingertips between her eyes to relieve the pain that had suddenly formed there and sighed. The only adult Anthony truly had in his corner was his grandmother. “I’ll see what I can do, Mrs. Pyle. I’ll call you later this afternoon. All right?”

“Thank you, Greer. Thank you so much.”

She highly doubted that Mrs. Pyle would be thanking her later. “Don’t get your hopes up too high,” she warned before jabbing the blinking button on her phone to switch back to the other call.

“Sorry about that, Maddie.” She sent off a two-line response to the email on her computer screen and started composing a new one to the prosecutor’s office. She wouldn’t present a motion to the court until the prosecutor agreed to another delay. “You all recovered from the baby shower?”

“The only thing that’ll help me recover fully from anything these days will be going into labor. About Ryder—”

“Yes, he towed my truck.” She switched the phone to her other shoulder and opened the desk drawer where she kept her active files. “I suppose Ali told you?” She’d caught their father before he’d made a needless trip out to Devil’s Crossing but she hadn’t told him the finer details of who’d taken care of the chore.

She pulled out the file she was seeking and flipped it open on her desk. Anthony Pyle. Seventeen. Charged with property destruction and defacement. It was his second charge and he was being tried in adult court. Anthony and his grandmother had good cause for worry since he was facing more than six months in jail if convicted.

Greer doubted that his father, Rocky, cared all that much about what happened. He provided for the basic needs of his son, but beyond that, the troubled boy was pretty much on his own. Rocky had told Greer outright that Anthony deserved what he got. Didn’t matter to his father at all that the boy had consistently proclaimed his innocence. That the real culprit was his supposed friend—and the son of the man who owned the barn that had nearly burned down.

“Ali? No.”

Greer held back a sigh. If Grant had told his wife that he’d seen Ryder with her, there was no way that Ali would have stayed quiet about it. And the fact that Grant hadn’t told Ali just meant that he was still conflicted over everything that had happened with his sister.

“You know how news gets around,” Maddie said.

In other words, Mrs. Gunderson had told someone she’d seen Ryder towing her car, and that someone had told someone, and so on and so forth.

Greer forestalled her sister’s next question, knowing it was coming. “Ryder didn’t have Layla with him.”

“I heard. Did you know that his latest nanny quit on him?”

Greer’s fingers paused on her computer keyboard. Doreen hadn’t mentioned that. “That’s the fourth one.”

“Third,” Maddie corrected. “Ray has been keeping track.”

Greer spotted Keith Gowler in the hallway outside her office and waved to get his attention. He was one of the local private attorneys who took cases on behalf of the public defender’s office because they were perpetually overworked and understaffed. “Is Ray concerned?”

“Not that he’s said. We have no reason to think Layla’s not being properly cared for.”

“That’s probably why Ryder was anxious to get moving the other evening, then. Doreen must have been watching Layla.” And that was why she was upset about not being available for her grandson’s trial.

“She’s got a lot on her plate, too.”

Greer glanced at Anthony’s file. Despite the jurisdiction of the case, he was still a minor, which meant the case also involved Maddie’s office. “Did you get notice of the trial date?”

“Thursday? Yes. I can’t be there, though. Having another ultrasound at the hospital in Weaver and Linc will have kittens if I say I want to reschedule it.”

“Everything okay?” she asked, alarm in her voice.

“Everything’s fine, except I’m as big as a house and due in two weeks. And don’t you start acting as bad as my husband. He’s turned into a nervous Nellie these last few weeks. Driving me positively nuts.”

“He’s concerned. You’re having your first baby.”

“And I’m already thirty and yada yada. I know.”

Keith stuck his head in her doorway. “Got the latest litter?”

She nodded at him and glanced at the round, schoolroom-style clock hanging above the door. It had a loud tick and tended to lose about five minutes every few days, but it had been a gift from one of her favorite law professors what felt like a hundred years ago. “Listen, Maddie, I’ve got a consult, so I need to go. But I want to know more about the ultrasound. We’ll talk—”

“—later,” her sister finished and hung up. At least Greer and Maddie were almost always on the same wavelength. It was too bad that Greer couldn’t say the same about Ali.

She made a note on her calendar to call her. Maybe if Greer were the one to plan dinner next Monday, she’d get herself back in Ali’s good graces. The three of them usually tried to get together for dinner on the first Monday of each month, but their schedules made it difficult. And when it came to canceling, Greer had been the worst offender. The fact that next Monday wasn’t the first Monday of the month was immaterial. With Maddie ready to pop with the baby, this might be their only chance for a while.

Keith tossed himself down on the hard chair wedged into Greer’s crowded office. “How many assignments this week?”

She closed Anthony’s file and plucked a stack from the box on the floor behind her desk. “Too many. Take a look.”

“I won’t be able to take on as many as usual,” he warned as he began flipping through the files. “Lydia and I have set the wedding date next month.”

Even though she’d half expected the news, Greer was still surprised. It hadn’t been that long since the lawyer was moping around from the supposedly broken heart Ali had caused him when they broke up, before she met Grant. Then he’d met Lydia when he’d taken on the defense case involving her son. “Congratulations. You’re really doing it, huh?”

“I’d have married her six months ago, but she wanted to wait until Trevor’s case was settled. Now it is and we can get on with our lives.” He glanced up for a moment. “How’s the Santiago case coming?”

“Pretrial motions after Labor Day. Michael has the investigator working overtime.”

“I’ll bet he does. Because your boss wants the case dismissed in the worst way.”

“We’ll see.” Stormy Santiago would be the jewel in the prosecutor’s reelection crown. She was beautiful. Manipulative. And charged with solicitation of murder. “Don’s already prepping to go to trial on it.”

“I’ll bet he is. He gets her off and he’ll be onto bigger pastures, whether he’s best buddies with your boss or not. Mark my words.”

Greer couldn’t imagine Don wanting to leave their department, where he was a big fish in a small pond. “You think?”

Keith shrugged. He slid several folders from the stack toward her. “I can take these.”

It was up to her to ensure the assignments were correctly recorded and submitted to the appropriate court clerk. Between municipal, circuit and district courts, it meant even more paperwork for her. “Great. See you in court.”

Morning and afternoon sessions were held daily every Monday through Thursday, with Greer running between courtrooms as she handled arraignments and motions and pleadings and the myriad details involved when an individual was charged with a criminal offense. Occasionally, there was a reason for a Friday docket, which was a pain because they all had plenty of non-court details to take care of on Fridays. And increasingly on Saturdays and Sundays, too. Most of those days, Greer was meeting clients—quite often at the various municipal jails scattered around their region.

Such was the life of a public defender. Or in her case, the life of a public defender who got to do all the prep but rarely actually got to defend. It was up to Greer to prepare briefs, schedule conferences, take depositions and hunt down reluctant witnesses when she had to. She was the one who negotiated the plea deals that meant Don typically only had to show up in the office on Thursdays, when most of the trials were scheduled. She’d gotten a few bench trials, but thanks to Don and his buddy-buddy relationship with Michael Towers, their boss and the supervising attorney for the region, her experience in front of a jury was limited.

She also photocopied the case files and made the coffee.

But if Don were to ever leave...

She exhaled, pushing the unlikely possibility out of her mind, and sent off her message to the prosecutor. The rest of her email would have to wait. She shoved everything she would likely need into her bulging briefcase, grabbed the blazer that went with her skirt and hurried out of her office.

Michael was sitting behind his desk when she stuck her head in his office. “Any news yet on a new intern?” Their office hadn’t had one for three months. Which was one of the reasons Greer had been on coffee and photocopy duty.

He shook his head, looking annoyed. Which for Michael was pretty much the status quo. “I have three other jurisdictions needing interns, too. When there’s something you need to know, I’ll tell you. Until then, do your job.”

She managed not to bare her teeth at him and continued on her way. She didn’t stop as she waved at Michael’s wife, Bernice, who’d been filling in for the secretary they couldn’t afford to hire, even though she hopped up and scurried after her long enough to push a stack of pink message slips into the outer pocket of Greer’s briefcase.

“Thanks, Bunny.”

Greer left the civic plaza for the short walk to the courthouse. It was handy that the buildings were located within a few blocks of each other. It meant that she could leave her car in the capable hands of her dad for the day. Carter Templeton was retired with too much time on his hands and he’d offered to look at it. He might have spent most of his life in an office as an insurance broker, but there wasn’t much that Carter couldn’t fix when he wanted to. Which was a good thing for Greer, because she was presently pretty broke.

She was pretty broke almost all of the time.

It was something she’d expected when she’d taken the job with the public defender’s office. And money had gotten even tighter when she’d thrown in with her two sisters to buy the fixer-upper Victorian—in which she was the only one still living. She couldn’t very well start complaining about it now, though.

The irony was that both Maddie and Ali could now put whatever money they wanted into the house since they’d both married men who could afford to indulge their every little wish.

Now it was just Greer who was holding up the works.

She’d already remodeled her bedroom and bathroom when they’d first moved in. The rest of the house was in a terrible state of disrepair, though. But if she couldn’t afford her fair third of the cost, then the work had to wait until she could.

She sidestepped a woman pushing a baby stroller on the sidewalk and jogged up the steps to the courthouse. There were thirty-two of them, in sets of eight. When she’d first started out, running up the steps had left her breathless. Six years later, she barely noticed them.

Inside, she joined the line at security and slid her bare arms into her navy blue blazer. Once through, she jogged up two more full flights of gleaming marble stairs to the third floor.

She slipped into Judge Waters’s courtroom with two minutes to spare and was standing at the defendant’s table with her files stacked in front of her before the judge entered, wearing his typically dour expression.

He looked over his half glasses. “Oh, goody.” His voice was humorless as he took his seat behind the bench. “All of my favorite people are here. Actually on time for once.” He poured himself a glass of water and shook out several antacid tablets from the economy-sized bottle sitting beside the water. “All right. As y’all ought to know by now, we’ll break at noon and not a minute before. So don’t bother asking. If you’re not lucky enough to be out of the court’s hair by noon, we’ll resume at half past one and not one minute after.”

He eyed the line of defendants waiting to be arraigned. They sat shoulder to shoulder, crammed into the hardwood bench adjacent to the defendant’s table where Greer stood. After this group, there was another waiting, just as large.

Judge Waters shoved the tablets into his mouth. “Let’s get started,” he said around his crunching.

All in all, it was a pretty normal morning.

* * *

Normal ended at exactly twelve fifty-five.