Читать книгу Trial Courtship - Laura Abbot - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER DROPPING NICKY at school the next morning and barely catching the inbound Rapid, Andrea dashed into the jury room. The bailiff directed her to the coatrack, then lined up the jurors.

“Girl, you look frazzled.” Shayla patted Andrea’s shoulder as they entered the courtroom. “Take a deep breath and calm down.”

“I was afraid I’d be late. I had to get my nephew off to school.”

“Mornings are hectic at my house, too. Rousting my teenagers outta bed takes an act of Congress.”

As the panel settled into their seats, Andrea stole a look at Tony Urbanski, who sat back in his chair, knees apart, studying the ceiling while Arnelle Kerry whispered into his ear. He looked distractingly handsome in a pale green button-down shirt, paisley tie and camel blazer. But who was noticing? When they rose for the judge’s entrance, she had the feeling his eyes were fixed on her.

The ballistics expert took the stand then, and Andrea forced herself to pay attention. The man clearly knew his stuff but, even with charts and photographs, he had a difficult time making the arcane comprehensible. Details about angle of bullet entry and weapon caliber were hard to follow, but she did grasp that the police had found and identified the weapon that evidence showed had, indeed, killed Mr. Bartelli. When photos of the entry wound were flashed on the video screen, among the spectators, a tiny gray-haired woman with an olive complexion gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. The widow? Beside her, a younger woman, perhaps her daughter, consoled her.

Somehow with that tiny gasp, the dry recitation of evidence took on painful reality. That bullet from that gun had robbed a family of their loved one.

Andrea glanced at the defendant, his white shirt more wrinkled today, wondering what would possess a teenager, whose future lay before him, to kill someone. Well, she wasn’t naive. Maybe he was involved in a gang or had been high on drugs or simply had made a stupid mistake. The way he sat, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed, reminded her of a cowering animal. She’d like to think that, as the defense had suggested, he’d been framed. How? By whom?

After the defense attorney finished her cross-examination of the ballistics expert, the judge called a recess. Dottie Dettweiler followed Andrea into the rest room. “I can’t believe it took that man forty-five minutes to tell us about guns. Why do I need to know about the patterns of powder bums? Why don’t they just tell me that gun is the murder weapon and get on with it?”

Andrea stood at the mirror fluffing her hair. “Careful, Dottie. We can’t discuss the case. Basically, though, the prosecution has to prove everything to us.”

“Holding us captive, more’s the like.” Dottie, in a huff, disappeared into a stall.

What would happen when the jurors finally deliberated? Would people like Dottie try to rush a verdict? A few minutes ago Chet had groused, “Fifteen dollars an hour it’s costin’ me ta sit aroun’ here listenin’ to this garbage.”

Andrea shuddered and turned away from the mirror. A jury of your peers. Among the five scariest words in the English language.

Outside in the hall, Andrea wandered to a window overlooking downtown. A brisk wind roiled the surface of Lake Erie and pedestrians scurried between buildings.

“I brought you a soda.” Andrea looked up. Shayla extended a can. “Hope you like Sprite.”

“Thanks, I do. What do I owe you?”

“Forget it. You can return the favor this afternoon.” Shayla perched on the window ledge. “I also brought news.” Her eyes sparkled. “About our fellow juror.”

Andrea lifted her lips from the can. “Oh?” Shayla’s body language was obvious—she was practically salivating. “Who’re you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, girl. Him.” She nodded toward the pay phone where Tony Urbanski stood deep in serious conversation.

“Shay-la.” Andrea drew out her name chidingly. “I warned you about matchmaking.”

“Honey, we gotta do somethin’ besides listen to those lawyers. I’m takin’ good care of you.” She set her soda down and folded her arms. “Now, you wanna hear what Shayla discovered?”

The heck of it is, I really do. “You’re going to tell me anyway, right?”

Shayla chuckled. “Listen up, missy. Mr. Tony Urbanski works for Great Lakes Management Group. He has a cushy job and a flat in one of those pricey warehouses over by the river. He grew up in Detroit and got a university education at Michigan State. He’s been here two years. And now for the best part—” She picked up her drink and took a maddeningly slow sip.

Andrea pursed her lips and threw Shayla an accusing look. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”

“I’ve gotta have a little fun, too.”

“Okay.” She enunciated very clearly. “What is the best part?”

“He’s single, never been married, and—” She arched her eyebrows suggestively and leaned forward.

Andrea couldn’t help herself. “What?”

“He asked me all about you.”

Having fair skin was a detriment at times like this. A blush made it impossible to look neutral. But, then, she didn’t feel particularly neutral.

When she turned to walk toward the courtroom, Tony, the phone still clamped to his ear, a broad grin creasing his face, followed her with his eyes.

TONY SPRINTED TO THE BANK after lunch to set up the wire transfer of the five hundred dollars. It had always been like this. His father made good money as a forklift operator, but what he didn’t gamble away, he drank. Early on, Tony had devised a game plan. If he wanted to get ahead, he couldn’t expect help from Pops. He’d have to rely on himself, bust his butt and make it happen. It hadn’t been easy, but he took quiet satisfaction in his success.

Crossing the square on his way back to the courthouse, Tony set aside unpleasant reminders of his past and concentrated on Andrea Evans. With all the subtlety of a battering ram, Shayla Brown had invited him to lunch with her and Andrea. Not that he’d minded. Quite the contrary—the perky blonde was easy to look at Like an inquisitive bird, she had a way of cocking her head when she listened that made him feel as if she really cared, and she exuded...not naiveté exactly...more a zest for life rarely seen in adults. When his eyes strayed, from time to time, to her delicious curves, he felt rather like a ravening wolf creeping up on an unsuspecting lamb.

He’d learned she’d grown up in Shaker Heights, had majored in marketing at Miami University and owned her own toy store. Not bad for such a young woman. A car honked at him, and he stepped back up on the curb. Since moving to Cleveland, he’d had little time for a social life, unless you counted the occasional party like the one Kelli’d had at Halloween. The few women he’d dated had tended to be executive types with an attitude. Andrea’s softness was a definite contrast. A welcome one.

He chastised himself. He hadn’t gotten where he was by worrying about his personal life. Besides, a workaholic like himself shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts about any woman, no matter how temptingly attractive.

That decided, by the time he reached his place in the jury box, he was able to settle back and listen, first to the coroner and then to the fingerprint expert, who established that the print on the murder weapon matched the defendant’s. By the time the judge adjourned for the day, he was beat. Did these people have to pass a nerd test to qualify as expert witnesses?

Outside, sunshine faded to dusk and adjacent office buildings disgorged workers into Public Square. Inexplicably, despite his earlier resolve, he found himself rushing to catch up with Andrea and Shayla. “Hey, what’s your hurry?”

Andrea spun around, the red of her woolen scarf complementing her rosy cheeks. “Oh, hi, Tony. I’m trying to get to the store before my manager closes.” Shayla stood to one side, a knowing look on her face.

“Do you have a minute?” What in the world was he doing? He could almost hear Kelli laughing and saying, “Okay, big boy, what now?” He fumbled for a coherent comment.

Shayla didn’t have any trouble finding something to say. “Funny how circumstances have thrust us all together, isn’t it? I mean, how else would the two of you have met? And if you’ll pardon my interference, I think you should make the most of it.” She grinned smugly.

“I beg your pardon?” Tony said.

“Shayla—” Andrea protested.

The older woman ignored them both and hurtled on. “Never a good idea to ignore Lady Luck.” With her thumb and forefinger, she picked up Andrea’s wrist and held it out for inspection. “Tony, this skinny little gal needs fattening up. Why don’t you take her to dinner?”

Andrea shifted uncomfortably, pulling her arm away. “Really, Shayla, I’m sure Tony has plans of his own.” She looked pointedly at him. “Don’t you?”

A conference with Barry, letters to sign...but he’d be through in an hour or so. “Actually, no,” he found himself saying. “How about it, Andrea?” Was he out of his mind?

Shayla beamed. “Well, then. That’s settled.” She glanced up at the Terminal Building clock. “Oops, gotta run or I’ll miss my train.” And she was gone.

Andrea edged after her. “Wait.”

Tony stopped her. “I’m serious.”

“Tonight?”

“I’m free. How about you?”

She fingered the strap of her shoulder bag. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

“Do I need a character reference?”

She smiled. “No, Shayla’s checked you out. It’s not that—”

“Then what?”

“This jury thing.” She wrinkled her nose. “I mean, it would be fraternizing. I don’t think we should compromise the process.”

She hadn’t turned him down...yet. And this was one argument he could handle. “I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t planning on discussing the case.”

“No, of course not. The judge made that very clear.”

“So—” he tucked her arm in his and started toward the Rapid station “—I don’t see what harm there would be in some off-duty socializing.” Harm? Hell, he couldn’t wait.

She glanced up at him, her expression wary. “You promise you won’t bring up the case?”

He crossed his heart. “I promise. I can pick you up at seven.”

“Because of the short notice, the ‘you’ will have to include Nicky.”

“Nicky?” Who the hell was Nicky?

She seemed to be enjoying his bewilderment. “Nicky’s my nine-year-old nephew and he’ll make a wonderful chaperon.”

Oh. “That’s great.”

“We’ll be at Never-Never Land.”

“’Scuse me?”

“Never-Never Land.”

“Should I fly in?”

She laughed merrily. “That won’t be necessary. I forgot. You don’t know. That’s the name of my store in Shaker Square.”

He cracked a wry smile. “What a relief. For a minute there I was afraid you and Peter Pan had flitted off to Honalee along with Puff.”

As they neared the ticket booth, she gave him the address. Then she turned and laid a hand on his arm. “You’re sure this is okay?”

He covered her hand with his and hoped he wasn’t fibbing. “Positive.”

“You’re on, then.” Her eyes twinkled. “Seven o’clock.”

As he walked briskly toward his office, Tony had to laugh at himself. After all, he, who made his living as a master of interpersonal communication, had just been adroitly maneuvered by not one, but two women! He plunged his hands into his pants pockets. Nicky, huh?

ANDREA PICKED UP NICKY at the Porters’ and made it to the store ten minutes before the six o’clock closing time. Phil, dressed in his Uncle Wiggly costume, was advising a little girl picking out a birthday present for her best friend. Meanwhile, the child’s exasperated mother kept frantically checking her watch. Andrea smiled. Phil was a whiz at the financial end of the business, but his real talent was relating to kids.

Many men would have been uncomfortable wearing a costume, but Phil and her other employees loved the theatrical touch of dressing as storybook characters. Andrea had to admit the idea had been a stroke of marketing genius—that, along with a carefully selected inventory of books and toys, had been a significant factor in attracting and keeping customers. The store had exceeded all her financial projections for this first year, and a strong holiday season would cap things off nicely.

She picked up the cash register receipts and retreated to her office to tally the day’s sales. In the corner Nicky lounged in a red beanbag chair reading. Fortunately, he was patient about spending time at the shop and amused himself well. Andrea ran the adding machine, then studied the totals on the tape. Not bad for a weekday. Phil, now in his street clothes, stuck his head in the door. “I’ve locked up. Okay if I leave now?”

“Sure. I have a few more things to do.” After Phil departed, she put the cash into a bank bag and stored it in the small office safe, then glanced at the clock.

“Nicky, may I interrupt?”

With his finger marking the page, he closed his book and looked up.

“I hope you don’t mind, but a friend is coming by to take us to dinner. What do you feel like having?”

“Not broccoli.”

“A cauliflower veggie burger, then?”

He made a gagging noise. “Pizza. Let’s have pizza.”

“Giorgio’s?”

His head was already back in his book. “Uh-huh.”

Her friend Daisy Whitcomb, who made all the costumes for the employees, had delivered the new Christmas items Monday, but until now Andrea hadn’t had a chance to examine them. She went into the storeroom. Two forest-green elf costumes for their part-time seasonal help; an immaculate uniform—complete with epaulets and gold braid—awaiting only the bearskin headgear to transform Phil into a nutcracker; and her own flowing white gown with attached buckram wings and a glittering halo. Because of her short stature, she was to be The Littlest Angel.

She decided to try on the costume quickly to see if any alterations were necessary. Because of her jury duty, she didn’t know when she’d have another chance. She stepped out of her brown tweed skirt and pulled the beige turtleneck over her head before carefully donning the angel robe. Stretching and craning, she finally managed to zip up the back and arrange the wings, which seemed to have a will of their own. Then she gently laid the halo on the crown of her head. Picking up the skirt, she returned to the office to check the effect in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

Nicky adjusted his glasses with a forefinger, then stared at her.

She pirouetted. “Well, what do you think?”

“It’s okay. Don’t spill anything on it.”

He was right. Anything and everything would show. She’d need to be careful. Not easy to do amid the Christmas rush. Yet it was fun to look in the glass and see an angel reflected. Her gaze went to her feet. The low-heeled brown suede boots spoiled the effect. She’d have to dig out her white hose and shoes. But the length was about right—

“What’s that?” Nicky looked alarmed.

“What?”

“That sound.”

Then Andrea heard it. Someone knocking on the plate glass at the front of the store. “Oh, dear. That’s Tony. I need to let him in.” She dashed to the entry, disarmed the alarm and opened the door. “I’m so sorry. The time got away from me.”

Tony just stood there, staring. An amused grin spread over his face. Finally he spoke. “First Never-Never Land, and now heaven?”

“No, not the Elysian fields, just a workplace where we wear seasonal costumes—in this case, Christmas.” She adjusted the halo, which had tilted during her rush to the door, and stepped aside. “Come on in.”

He entered and looked around dazedly. “This is quite a place.” He removed his gloves, stuffed them in his coat pockets, then picked up a jack-in-the-box from a floor display. He turned the handle and laughed aloud when a clown jumped out to the tune of “Pop Goes the Weasel.”

“Make yourself at home. I need to change.”

He set down the toy and reached for her hand. “Not for me you don’t. I’ve never had a date with an angel.”

The warmth of his hand enclosing hers sent a shock through her, along with decidedly unangelic thoughts. “Giorgio might not understand.”

“Giorgio?”

“The pizza chef.” She withdrew her hand.

Tony seemed puzzled. “Pizza?”

“Yes, Nicky and I thought that would be best.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

She suspected that, despite what he’d said earlier, the idea of a third party wasn’t appealing. Just then Nicky sidled up alongside her. She put an arm around him. “Tony, I’d like you to meet my nephew, Nicholas Porter. Nicky, this is Tony Urbanski.”

Nicky averted his eyes as he shook hands with Tony.

She started toward the rear of the store. “If you two will excuse me, I—”

Nicky trailed her. “I thought you said we were going to dinner with a friend,” he whined.

Andrea faltered. He was not happy. And Tony had to have overheard. “Tony is a friend.”

They reached the office. Nicky stood, sullen, his hands deep in his pockets. “But he’s a man.”

“Does that bother you?”

He shrugged. “I dunno.”

She placed her palms on his shoulders. “Tell you what. Why don’t you give him a chance? We’ll check him out together. What do you say?”

“I guess.” He turned away and started stuffing books into his backpack.

In the storeroom as Andrea removed the costume and hung it back on the hanger, she couldn’t help thinking about Nicky’s possessiveness and the approving glow in Tony’s eyes when she’d opened the door. She would most definitely need a guardian angel tonight!

WHEN TONY HAD FIRST seen Andrea—her flaxen hair loose around her shoulders, the diaphanous gown barely concealing her lush body—he couldn’t help but think of ravishing that angel right there on the floor. A Never-Never Land fantasy, all right.

He wandered around the store. Train sets, jigsaw puzzles, magician’s kits, an entire section of games—he’d had no idea there was this much stuff available for kids. Hell, he’d been lucky to have a secondhand Tonka dump truck and a rusty red wagon. He picked up a pioneer character doll and examined the price tag. The merchandise wasn’t cheap either. It must cost a fortune for parents to put on Christmas these days.

He replaced the doll and strolled to the substantial reading corner. He ran a finger along the spines of the books—Babar, Curious George and Horton the Elephant. He supposed most adults had associations with these characters. Not him. He couldn’t remember anyone reading to him, except his teachers, after his mother died when he was five. All that came to him was a dim recollection of sitting on her lap playing with the shiny buckles on her overall straps while she told him about a big, bad wolf who “huffed and puffed” and blew down the houses of three little pigs. He’d found the notion of pigs living in houses startling. He and his parents lived in a metal trailer. Could the big, bad wolf blow it down?

He picked up Goodnight Moon and thumbed through the pages. He might’ve been better off to stay at the office, instead of submitting to the very thing that hours earlier he’d vowed to avoid. The possibility of a relationship.

“Ready?”

He hadn’t heard Andrea approach. He closed the book and returned it to the shelf. “Whenever you are.”

“Nicky, let’s go.”

While he held Andrea’s coat for her, he watched the kid drag his backpack toward the door. “Where to?”

“Giorgio’s. It’s just down the block. That way you won’t have to move your car.”

“That’s fine with me.” He and Nicky waited outside while she set the alarm. “What grade are you in, Nick?”

“Fourth.” He glared holes through Tony. “Nobody calls me Nick.”

“Mind if I do? Nicholas sounds too formal, and you don’t seem like a Nicky to me.” He studied the boy—stooped shoulders, longish black hair, goggle glasses, scuffed loafers. “Yeah, definitely more a Nick.”

“What’s a Nick like?” Tony could tell the kid had debated with himself whether to ask the question.

“You know. Tough. Grown-up.” For a fleeting moment, Tony thought he saw the boy stand straighter, but then the shoulders drooped again.

“I dunno. I guess ya can call me whatever ya want.”

“Fair enough.”

When Andrea emerged, he threw an arm around Nick’s shoulder and cupped her elbow as they walked down the sidewalk. “Nick and I have been talking. We may have to order an extra-large supreme.”

“But Nicky doesn’t like vegetables on—”

“Andie, I’ll try it.”

The smile she turned on Tony warmed him clear through. Under her breath, he caught her words. “You’re a miracle worker.”

The restaurant, with its red-and-white checked tablecloths, hanging ropes of garlic and candles flickering in empty wine bottles, was stage-setting Italian, right down to the Neapolitan music piped through the sound system. Giorgio himself, a voluble little man, greeted Andrea and Nick familiarly before ushering them to a booth, where Nick promptly plopped down beside his aunt. The boy wasn’t too young to be territorial. At least Tony’d have the pleasure of looking at her during dinner. But he’d rather have been able to touch her.

After they placed their orders, Tony turned to Nick. “So what’re your favorite sports?”

The kid looked blankly at him. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

“Tennis, I guess.”

“You play?”

“A little.” Nick stirred the tip of a bread stick in the saucer of garlic oil. “At my grandfather’s club.”

“What sports do you like on TV? Pro football, basketball, hockey?” Tony felt a foot gently prodding his leg beneath the table. He looked up into Andrea’s troubled eyes, then glanced at the boy. The poor kid was stymied for an answer. He continued, “Me, I’m a big soccer and basketball fan. Baseball, too.”

“Do you play?” Nick asked in a small voice.

“Yeah. City league soccer. Softball in the spring. Maybe you’d like to come with me to one of my games sometime.” Now, why had he said that? The last thing he needed was some droopy kid on his hands.

Nick bit off the end of the bread stick and with a full mouth managed a weak “Yeah, maybe.”

Looking ill at ease, Andrea changed the subject. “Shayla told me she talked with her brother. He used to be a police detective. He said the trial could last anywhere from three or four days to a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks!”

“I know. It’s a long time. At the shop we’ll be right in the middle of the holiday rush.”

“You don’t sound that upset about it.” Lord, he was supposed to be in New York by then.

“Well, there’s not much we can do about it. I hate putting this kind of pressure and responsibility on my manager and the clerks, but what choice have I?”

“You’re a heck of a lot more patient than I am.”

“A young man’s life is at stake,” she said quietly.

“I know, but—”

“Tony—” The tangy aroma of the pizza preceded the waiter as he placed the hot pan between Nick and him. Andrea put her napkin in her lap as she was served her spinach salad. She waited until Tony dished up the pizza before continuing. “We are blessed to live in a free country. Somebody has to be on juries. It can’t always be the other person.”

“I wish I could view this thing as positively as you do. I know you’re right, but it’s the timing—”

“Would there ever be a right time?”

He paused, his fork halfway to his lips, then grinned. “Probably not.”

She laughed at his grudging admission. “Then hush up and eat your pizza.”

Over dinner he found out a great deal about her store. She’d taken a chance launching the business in such a high-rent location. But, as she explained, to make money, you had to do market research, believe in your vision and be willing to venture. Funny, she hadn’t struck him as a risk-taker—more as a softly feminine, tenderhearted and undeniably sexy woman. But tonight he was hearing another side. She was also one smart cookie. That business of hers was no cinch. And even though this evening hadn’t gone according to plan, he’d decided to ask her out again. This time without her “chaperon.”

“How’s the pizza, Nick?” he asked.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Good.”

Andrea gave Tony a go-figure look. “Tony, I—”

“I’ve been thinking—” He gestured at her with his hand. “You first.”

The candle flame underlit her face, making her eyes luminous. “I wondered...I mean, tonight this probably wasn’t exactly what you had in mind... Would you let me cook you a meal tomorrow night at our place?”

His heart raced, then his brain engaged. “Our place?”

“Nicky’s and mine.”

“Nicky’s?” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the boy shaking his head and thought he heard him mumble something that sounded like “Dumb.”

“Nicky lives with me,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m his guardian.” She found his eyes as if to warn him not to ask any questions.

“Well, I...sure. That’d be good.” Watch it. Don’t get in over your head. He became aware Nick was studying the two of them intently. “Maybe Nick and I can talk some soccer.” The kid looked simultaneously guarded and pleased.

Later, strolling back toward his own vehicle after walking Nick and Andrea to theirs, he replayed the evening. Nick was a complication. And whatever had happened to his parents was obviously a sensitive issue.

Did he want to pursue this? What did he know about kids? Or want to know? But Andrea—she was something else. And, hey, this wasn’t the romance of the century or anything.

For the first time, he found himself wishing the trial would last more than a few days.