the other police, and oh! I’ve lived here for forty years and we ain’t never had a murder!”
That seemed like a pretty big stretch to me, seeing as how we lived in Kettle, Texas, human population: four-thousand; gun population: thirty-four-thousand-three-hundred-fifty six. With all those guns around, there had to have been an incident at some point in the last forty years.
I took Gracie’s arm. She was not going to like hearing that yes, Dr. Schaeffer—her expert witness and the key to winning her case—was indeed dead. He had been scheduled to present critical evidence at a make or break summary judgment hearing twenty-four hours from now. A loss tomorrow would mean the end of our case.
Gracie searched my face and saw the truth before I said a word.
“Oh Lord, a’mighty! What are we gonna do?” she said.
I had a plan, but it was kind of a desperate one—and Gracie didn’t need to know about it, now or ever.
I smiled encouragingly as I carefully omitted the truth. “I’m about to ask Judge Delmont for a continuance. If he says yes, we’ll have enough extra time to find a new witness.”
“Sweet Jesus, Mary, and George W. Bush!” Gracie said. “You know perfectly well he ain’t gonna agree to that! Ever since my husband died, it’s been real lean times. I’m probably gonna lose my house. And I ain’t got all his medical bills paid yet, neither.” Her lip trembled and one big tear welled up and left a streak on her face before it fell to the ground.
Gracie’s husband, Derrick Miller, had died only a month ago from a rare form of leukemia caused by exposure to a toxic chemical called benzene. Derrick had worked his whole adult life in the benzene unit of the PetroPlex oil refinery situated in the middle of town. PetroPlex had never provided Derrick with safety equipment and also had never warned Derrick that benzene would kill him. I was now representing the Millers in a wrongful death suit against the Big Oil industry giant, and tomorrow’s hearing would have been a slam-dunk win if somebody hadn’t offed our expert witness.
“You think it was just a coincidence?” Gracie asked. “Him turning up dead like that the day before our hearing?”
Of course I didn’t think it was a coincidence. The whole situation reeked. If your expert witness dies of a heart attack while surfing in Aruba, that’s life. If he’s murdered the day before he’s set to testify at a hearing that can make or break a case, that’s friggin’ suspicious. But I didn’t see any sense in getting Gracie more worked up than she already was.
“One thing at a time,” I said. Let me go in there and get the judge to move the hearing date back, and we’ll worry about the rest later.”
Like it was going to be that easy.
Gracie nodded. “If anybody can do it, you can. I gotta get back to my cake. I left it in the oven, and the pastor’s wife gets real snarky when I bake ‘em too long. That woman hates a dry cake. It beats all I ever seen.”
“Your cakes are always perfect,” I said.
Gracie beamed. “I got another one mixing up just for you. Strawberry with cream cheese icing—your favorite. You come on by this afternoon and get you a slice, you hear?”
My mouth watered just thinking about it. “That sounds great,” I said, omitting no truth there. I waved goodbye and hurried into the courthouse.
***
Judge Delmont was waiting for me in chambers. When I walked in, he had his arms folded across his chest and a look on his face he reserved for. . . well, me. He didn’t like me too much. I was lucky he’d even agreed to an emergency ex parte conference.
Here went nothing. I mentally willed myself into super-lawyer mode.
We exchanged greetings, and I pulled a motion for continuance out of my briefcase and slid it across his desk.
He took a cursory look and laid it back down. “Look,” he said. “I’d like to help you out, but it ain’t my fault your expert’s dead.”
“Not dead,” I said. “Murdered. There’s a difference.”
Delmont shrugged. “What do you expect me to do about it? I ain’t Jesus. I can’t resurrect him.”
“I just need time to regroup,” I said, pulling some more papers out of my briefcase and sliding them over to the judge. “I already drafted the order for you. All I need is your signature—no miracles required.”
Delmont shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “If you