One Night With You
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“Did you see a white plastic bag at your place?” he asked her, as if she had imagined that tense moment.
“About like this?” She held out her hands to suggest a space of about fourteen inches wide.
He nodded. “That could be it.”
“I think I saw it on the kitchen counter.”
He put on his leather jacket and walked out with her. When they reached the curb, a caravan of motorcycle riders approached, and he grabbed her hand, restraining her. “Let’s wait till the last one passes,” he said. “Sometimes they’ll observe this crosswalk, but usually they won’t.”
She prayed in silence, “Please turn loose my hand.” The last motorcycle passed, and he released her hand, as unceremoniously as if he’d never touched it. She had an urge to smack him.
“I’ll get your bag,” she said as they entered the house.
“Thanks. I’ll wait right here.” She brought the bag that obviously contained a tablet of some kind. “Why didn’t you come back for it?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you. Thanks.” He had his hand on the doorknob and a grin on his face when he said, “Good luck tomorrow, Your Honor,” and treated her to a wink. As usual, he didn’t waste his breath saying more, but turned and left.
“I wonder what a full dose of that man’s charisma would be like,” she said aloud, “but I am not anxious to find out.”
Chapter 2
Kendra locked her front door and sat down on the sofa in her living room, contemplating the enigma that was Reid Maguire. He didn’t want an involvement with her, and probably not with anyone else, but if, as she suspected, he hadn’t had a woman in his life for a while, he’d be as tempted as she was. Those were not terms that she cared for.
“I’ve got two problems,” she said aloud, “and I’ll probably solve my relationship with this community before I get Reid Maguire out of my blood.” It didn’t help that he was starting over, as it were, struggling to reach the pinnacle of his profession. That meant that she would empathize with him because, in some respects, she was doing the same. She went up to her bedroom, took a black robe from the closet and examined it. Deciding not to wear a lace collar with it, she chose a white satin open-collared dickey. Her eight-year-old black patent leather boots would have to do because she’d broken a heel on her more presentable ones. Where was that box of jelly beans? She found it in a kitchen drawer, filled a plastic sandwich bag with some of the beans, put them into her briefcase, and considered herself equipped for work. She seldom allowed herself to be without a bag of jelly beans.
She reread the background information that the clerk had sent her on the first case, the suit of a woman who had bought a diamond bracelet over the Internet, had had it appraised and been advised that it was worthless. Unfortunately for the woman, she’d paid heavily for it. Either the buyer or the seller would learn a lesson.
She awakened the next morning after a restful night, got ready for her first day at work, made coffee and her thoughts immediately went to Reid who, she knew, had to settle for a cup of instant. She walked up Albemarle Heights thinking that she was fortunate to have found a house so close to her work, and so her mood was bright and cheerful when she entered the courthouse and showed her badge to the guard. The man nodded, but she wasn’t sure toward which direction.
“Where is chamber 6A?” she asked him, and he pointed to his left with his thumb much as one uses the thumb to hitch a ride.
She could feel her temper rising. “I am the judge in charge of this court,” she told him, “and nobody who works here should be rude to me and expect to keep his or her job. If you’ve got your behind on your shoulder because I bought a house in Albemarle Gates, it tells me how foolish you are. I came here looking for a house, found one and bought it. Neither you nor anybody else in this town put an ad in the paper or a sign near that property advertising your objection to that housing. So show me your best face and tell all of your colleagues to do the same, or this courthouse will have a completely new slate of employees. And soon! Now, where is chamber 6A?”
She had never seen a colder stare. “Yes, ma’am. Right over here, ma’am,” he said and walked with her to the elevator. “Sixth floor, and turn right.”
“That wasn’t difficult, was it?” she said and got on the elevator without waiting for his answer.
Fortunately, her clerk showed better judgment. “Good morning, Judge Rutherford. I’m Carl Running Moon Howard, your clerk. Court begins at ten, unless you’d like the time changed, and ends at three. We have an hour for lunch. Here are the keys to your chambers. How do you like your coffee?”
“Good morning, Carl. I’m delighted to meet you. That’s the warmest greeting I’ve received since I came to Queenstown. I like it black without sugar. Thank you.”
“I know, ma’am. It’s too bad you didn’t know about those burial grounds. It’s gotten to be political, and people are taking sides. I hate this kind of thing, ma’am.”
“So do I, Carl. I saw ads in the papers for the houses, came here and drove throughout the city looking to see what else was available, and that suited me best. I had no way of knowing what that builder had done. I’d give anything if I hadn’t bought there, but I am there, and I’ve put my money in it. So I’m staying.”
“People will soon know what kind of person you are, ma’am. I’ll get you some coffee. Incidentally, the previous judge had a little microwave oven, mini-refrigerator and coffeepot in that little storage room over there. It came in handy I don’t know how many times. Your cases for today are in that black incoming-mail box.”
He brought the coffee, and she studied her morning cases until she’d satisfied herself that she understood them and the hoopla surrounding them. The clerk had included half a dozen newspaper clippings about the cases she would hear that morning.
The jury had already been selected, and the morning session began normally enough, but within the hour, she found it necessary to put the defendant’s attorney in his place.
“Would counsel approach the bench,” she said after he ignored her mild reprimand.
“What may I do for you?” he asked.
Shocked, she quoted to him a section of the law that specified the conditions under which a trial lawyer may be cited for contempt. “I won’t hesitate to do it,” she said. “In fact, I’d enjoy doing it. It’s best not to play with me. Your client’s in bad enough trouble as it is. Do I make myself clear?”