Hot Water (16 page)

Elizabeth’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “Fifty thousand? Your Honor, that’s outrageous! Mr. Miller has no criminal record, has ties to the community and presents no flight risk—”

“Really? Where will he reside?” the DA countered. “Surely not back with Mrs. Hightower. And if he has no home and no job, then what’s to keep him tied to our community? He has no family here—perhaps he has some other special relationship that would keep him here?” He leered suggestively at Jeremy, challenging him to bring his sexuality into the public forum.

Publicity whore and racist, homophobic pig,
Elizabeth cursed mentally even as she fought to keep her face impassive. “Your Honor, we resent the prosecution’s highly prejudicial implication—”

“Save it for trial, counselor. Bail is set at $50,000, cash or bond.” The judge’s gavel banged. “Next case.”

SEVENTEEN

I turned onto the drive leading into Colleton Landing just before nine. Tomorrow was Friday, so this would be my only full day to solve Grandel’s problem.

The protestors were already gathered, which was good because I wanted to talk to them, get some idea why they were protesting, who had organized the protests, and what they wanted. I was surprised to see that the only ones actually picketing were Vincent’s people—led by Paul, his assistant. Despite the heat there were more women here today, wearing heavy long-sleeved, high-collared black dresses and walking beside the men dressed in black slacks and white shirts.

The cynic in me wondered if Vincent did that on purpose, was maybe even arranging for media coverage if there was another fainting episode. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted Liam lurking around the edge of the trees with a handheld video camera.

The other protestors had taken advantage of Grandel’s hospitality, sitting on lawn chairs in the shade of the blue canopy, drink coolers stacked around them. There were two new additions since yesterday: twin industrial-sized fans positioned over large galvanized tubs that held bales of hay soaked with water. The protestors looked pretty comfortable, maybe even a bit annoyed when my car pulled into sight, forcing them to their feet to do their job. As soon as I pulled off the road and parked, they sank back into their chairs.

“Morning,” I called out as I joined them. “You all are committed, coming out here on a hot day like today.”

It was already ninety-two according to the thermometer in the SUV, and the humidity was enough to stick my shirt to me before I walked three steps. D.C. sometimes got like this, an oppressive heat trapped by the buildings. Here, close to the river, with so many trees, it seemed unnatural, like Mother Nature should have figured out a solution already.

Made me glad for the cold air under the canopy when I joined the protestors. Behind us, Vincent’s people began singing a hymn as they linked arms across the road, swinging their hands as if playing Red Rover with an unseen enemy.

I looked around. There was no media presence—except for Liam recording their antics. The video would surely be on You Tube and a dozen other sites within the hour. If there was one thing Yancey knew about, it was the power of going viral.

I sat down beside a young couple in their early twenties who politely made room for me at their picnic table and introduced themselves.

“Why are you out here?” I asked. The woman, Elise, was pregnant, barely showing but self-conscious enough that she kept rubbing her belly as if to make sure her baby was still there. “It can’t be easy coming out in the heat every day.”

They exchanged glances. “It’s important,” her husband, Nate, said.

“For the baby.” The woman patted her belly again.

“You think the plant puts your baby in danger?”

Another shared glance. “Uh, yeah.”

“From what? What are you worried about?”

They squirmed uncomfortably. “The radiation?” Elise finally answered.

Nate had had enough. He stepped in front of Elise protectively, lowered his voice. “Look, Miss, we really need this job. Could you please ask someone else your questions?”

Before I had a chance to ask him about his “job” or if their paycheck was signed by Vincent, a familiar voice called out from the road.

“Hey y’all,” Morris said, waving and smiling at several of the protestors as if he knew them. Maybe he did because they smiled back. “AJ, did you see the swamp coolers I rigged up? Not bad for solar powered. The fans force an increased evaporative—”

“Nice job,” I assured him, not wanting to get lost in the science so early in the day. “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, I spotted you on my Kermit when you pulled in the drive.” He pulled out what looked at first glance to be an over-sized lime-green cell phone with a Kermit the Frog sticker gracing its back. It had a touch screen as well as a sliding keyboard. Morris tapped a few keystrokes and the screen split into several views from security cameras, all revealing my car pulling in and driving toward the plant. “We own the property out to the highway, so we monitor it.”

“Then why are the protestors here? You could have them removed for trespassing.”

“We’d never do that. They have a right to speak their minds.” He slid his “Kermit” back into his messenger bag, leaned close, and whispered, “Besides, Owen says better they’re here where no one can actually see them.”

“So you came to make sure I made it to the plant?”

He grinned, then fidgeted with the strap on his bag. “Kind of. I thought, if you wanted, we could go in together.” He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me escorting you.”

Who could resist those puppy dog eyes? Especially when I noticed Liam sidling closer, scowling when he heard Morris’s suggestion. “Of course. It would be a pleasure.”

He took my arm like we were prom dates. “Bye now,” he called to the protestors. “Let me know if y’all need anything.”

“Bye, Morris,” several called back, waving.

I just shook my head. Coming from West Virginia mining country where protests and strikes were often violent confrontations pitting brother against brother, this polite and cordial Lowcountry way was nothing less than surreal.

At least Vincent’s people maintained their rigid, angry postures—reaffirming my faith in human nature.

By the time Elizabeth finished with the bail bondsman and his paperwork, cutting him a check for $5,000 and putting her house up as collateral for the rest, she was running late for Judge Mabry and their meeting with Hunter about Masterson’s visitation case.

Part of the requirements for Jeremy to be released was that he have a residence to return to, so she’d given her address as Jeremy’s and sent him and Ty to move his things from Flora’s house to hers.

So much for having the place to herself. But hopefully it wouldn’t be for long.

She rushed into Judge Mabry’s chambers feeling flustered and not at all prepared to take on Hunter. As soon as the judge was seated at his desk, Hunter wasted no time in launching his attack.

“Judge Mabry, we are concerned that while the plaintiff and defendant are represented, there has been no advocate appointed for the child in question. We request that be rectified as soon as possible so that we can move forward with the proceedings.”

Elizabeth stepped forward. “Your Honor, my client was hoping that her son would not need to be dragged into these proceedings. After all, as you can see by my response to previous motions, there is ample precedent negating Mr. Masterson’s right to mandatory visitation.”

“But none here in the state of West Virginia. And if your Honor has read the Supreme Court’s decision in
Troxel v. Granville
he’ll see that—”

“That six of the nine justices disagreed with each other on the interpretation of the Washington State law,” the judge said dryly. “I’ve done my homework, thank you, Mr. Holcombe.”

He rustled a few papers on his desk and looked up over his glasses. “Given that West Virginia statutes state that visitation shall not substantially interfere with the parent-child relationship, I think it reasonable to hear from all parties, including the child. Therefore, I am ordering that a court-appointed special advocate be provided for the minor in question.”

“Thank you, your Honor. And now I’d like to amend Mr. Masterson’s petition for visitation to one for emergency custody.”

Elizabeth jumped. “What? You can’t be serious—”

The judge glared at her and she reined in her anger and surprise. “On what grounds, Mr. Holcombe?”

“On the grounds that Ms. Palladino has abandoned her son—”

“She left for a business trip,” Elizabeth interjected, “she’s only going to be gone a few days and David is under the supervision of capable adults chosen by his custodial parent.”

“Capable adults,” Hunter implied finger quotes with his tone, “such as the defendant’s own attorney, Ms. Hardy. Placing the child in her custody, even temporarily, can provide her with opportunity to exert undue influence on such a young mind.”

“I would never—” Elizabeth sputtered, her anger flaring again. Back in Philly she’d been known for her courtroom cool, but Hunter knew all too well how to turn her own words into weapons against her. How dare he make this personal? Especially with David’s future at stake. “Your Honor, I resent counsel’s implication—”

“He has a point, Ms. Hardy. Surely there are actual family members capable of assuming custody until Ms. Palladino returns?”

“Of course.” She opened her mouth and closed it again. Hunter, damn him, knew exactly what her dilemma was and he enjoyed letting her stew in front of the judge. “Ms. Palladino left David in the care of myself, her grandmother Flora Hightower, and Mrs. Hightower’s personal care assistant who is a licensed practical nurse.”

“A grandmother who is seventy-three and blind and currently in the hospital, placed there because of negligence from her personal care assistant, your Honor. And even if that man was capable of caring for the child, he’s hardly a fit custodian. Hence the need for an emergency hearing.”

“Go on, Mr. Holcombe.” The judge’s interest was piqued—always a bad thing in a judge.

Hunter was practically drooling as he dragged out AJ’s family’s dirty laundry for the judge to examine. “The young man in question is a homosexual, your Honor—”

“Irrelevant, your Honor!” Elizabeth interrupted.

Hunter merely stood there, face placid except for a slightly tweaked eyebrow that implied all sorts of salacious possibilities if young, innocent David were to spend any time alone with Jeremy. “And he’s currently in jail—”

“Incorrect.”

“Excuse me. Mr. Miller is out on bail, awaiting trial on charges of medical negligence and assault.”

The judge raised both eyebrows and gave a
hurhumph
. “I have to agree. Hardly a fit parental substitute for custodial supervision of a minor. What about the grandparents?”

“Mr. Masterson would happily allow David to come stay with him until the mother decides to return, whenever that may be,” Hunter said, as if granting a boon.

“Wait, what about AJ’s parents? They have just as much right to custody as Masterson.” Too late, Elizabeth realized that she’d opened a door—one that Hunter, damn him, had been waiting to shove his foot into.

“Is their house wheelchair accessible?” he asked. “Mr. Masterson has renovated the first floor of his domicile to accommodate his grandson’s special needs. He’d be happy to open his residence to an inspection by the court, if your honor would like.”

Elizabeth blanched at the thought of the court sending an inspector to AJ’s parents’ house. “And Mr. and Mrs. Palladino would be happy to move into David’s current domicile so that he would not be forced to leave his home. Much less disruptive for a child, I’m sure you’ll agree, Judge Mabry.”

The judge paused, and for a sinking moment Elizabeth was certain he would rule in favor of Masterson. Hard to send a kid home to a rickety farm building when you could send him to a mansion where he’d get everything money could buy.

But then the judge nodded in her direction. “Very well. If Ms. Palladino’s parents move in with the child and assume care until she returns, that will be suitable. But,” he glanced at Elizabeth before she could begin to relish her victory, “there will be no contact between the minor and this personal care assistant. And I’d like Ms. Hardy to minimize her contact to what is required to assist the child’s court-appointed advocate in his duties.”

“Thank you, your Honor,” Elizabeth said. Technically she’d won, but it didn’t feel at all like victory. Instead it felt like the prelude to disaster.

Hunter cemented her premonition with his next words. “Your Honor, we’d like to move forward with a formal hearing as soon as possible. My client has no desire to prolong this or to cause his grandson further distress.”

“Distress? It’s your client’s manipulation that’s causing David distress—”

“Counselor.” The judge shook his head at her. Elizabeth shut up. He flipped through his calendar. “I have an opening tomorrow, three p.m. I’ll see all parties then, ready to proceed.”

“Your honor, my client may not be back by then—”

The judge raised an eyebrow. “If she values retaining custody of her child, she will be.”