Unintended Consequences - By Marti Green Page 0,47
is. That’s nothing to sneeze at. With money, you could live someplace nice, buy some decent furniture. It’s no shame to make money. Although, I suppose I should be grateful that you’re in medicine. For a while, I thought you’d end up in jail.”
“Phyllis, that’s enough! Eric’s a fine boy. You’re exaggerating his youthful indiscretions.”
Sunny busied herself in the kitchen, making coffee and preparing the dessert. She didn’t want to be part of their conversation, afraid that if she were she’d blurt out something she’d regret.
Eric’s father cleared his throat. “Your mother has a point, son. You remember my friend Dan Edelman, don’t you? His son became a pediatric cardiologist. He’s still working with children but doing something special, not just ordinary, you know what I mean? And he schedules his surgeries. No phone calls waking him in the middle of the night.”
Sunny glanced back into the dining room and could see Eric’s body stiffen, his mouth set in a rigid grin. “Sure, Dad, I know what you mean. A pediatrician doesn’t give you enough bragging rights with your friends.”
“No, no,” came a chorus from both his parents.
Eric’s mother reached over and patted his hand. “Whatever you do, we’re proud of you. You’ve always been too sensitive to our advice. We’re just trying to be helpful.”
“Coffee’s ready,” Sunny chimed in from the kitchen.
All heads turned toward her voice. As Sunny walked into the room with a platter of homemade gingersnap cookies, they smiled at her and then at each other, the picture of a happy family.
CHAPTER
16
Twenty-One Days
The LaGrange County Courthouse stood on a tree-lined street in the center of town. The ornate three-story building with a cylindrical steeple in the center reminded Dani of movies depicting small-town America in the ’40s and ’50s. It seemed as far removed from the clamor of Manhattan as a place could be. She’d been standing outside courtroom 215 for a half-hour, waiting for George’s case to be called.
The hearing on her motion for a court order to exhume the body alleged to be Angelina Calhoun’s was the first case on the morning docket. She and Melanie had arrived in LaGrange the night before. Although just a local superior court, far removed from the majesty and formality of the United States Supreme Court, Melanie had peppered her with questions last night as if she would be arguing before that austere body. And while this lower court was usually not the final arbiter of justice, the right to exhume the dead child’s body might make the difference between life and death for George Calhoun.
Dani had argued motions or appeals dozens of times, maybe hundreds, yet each time she stood before a judge or a panel of judges, she needed to remind herself to calm down. She usually did settle her nerves once she actually started speaking. Even interruptions from the bench didn’t rattle her train of thought. But at the beginning, as she’d rise from her seat, she’d feel the dampness of her hands and the quickening of her heartbeat.
At five minutes before 10, she and Melanie headed into the courtroom. Their motion papers had been submitted, and the LaGrange County prosecuting attorney had filed his objections. Almost immediately after Dani sat at the table in front of the court reserved for defendants’ counsel, a middle-aged man wearing a brown tweed suit that seemed much too warm for the balmy spring day approached her.
“Ms. Trumball, I presume,” he said as he held out his hand. “I’m Ted Landry.”
“That’s me,” she answered as she shook his hand. “And this is my associate, Melanie Quinn.”
“I must say I was surprised to get your papers. It’s a bit late in the game, don’t you think?”
Dani shrugged. “Well, I certainly wish we had more time on the clock. But as long as the clock is still ticking, there’s still time to uncover the truth.”
“Or,” he said with a smile, “to throw monkey wrenches in the path of the truth.”
He turned as the bailiff entered the courtroom. They knew the judge would be close behind him. “Well, good luck to you, Ms. Trumball. May the truth win out.” He headed back to the prosecutor’s table just before Judge Edwards entered the courtroom.
“All rise,” intoned the bailiff, and everyone in the courtroom did as instructed. “You may be seated,” he said after Judge Edwards had settled himself in his leather swivel chair behind the raised bench.