Luke: A West Bend Saints Romance (52 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

TEMPEST

I sat outside on one of the rocking chairs on the front porch, sipping a cup of coffee and doing internet research on the mining company my grandmother had mentioned.  It wasn't a large outfit, so there wasn't a whole lot of media presence, but they'd gotten into some trouble a few years ago, an accident that was settled out of court.  There was an article in a small town newspaper that quoted the wife of one of the miners who had refused to settle, accusing the company of the usual stuff - unsafe conditions and so forth.  I made a note of her name, but the case seemed pretty straightforward.

I wasn't finding much in the way of evidence that the company had been accused of anything nefarious in the past, although it would be a lot easier if I had Emir's internet-sleuthing capabilities.  I contemplated calling him, but then I would have to explain what I was doing in West Bend, and that was the last thing I wanted to do.

I was so lost in my thoughts, I jumped when my cell phone rang.  "Hello?"

"Tempest?  Is that you?  It's hard to hear with the noise in the background here."  It was my grandmother's voice, and I could hear the din of voices in the common area at the nursing home, out by the nursing station.

"Yeah, Nana, it's me," I said.  "I was just about to head your direction to visit.  I took a look at the paperwork you gave me.  It looks like a straightforward offer to purchase your house.  There's nothing hinky about that, at least."

"Oh, honey, that's lovely of you," she said.  "But I'm not calling about that."

"What's wrong?"  I asked.

"It's about the Saint brothers," she said.

I groaned.  Why the hell she would call to bring up Silas, especially when I'd gone an entire morning not thinking about him, was beyond me.  "Nana, I don't want to talk about Silas Saint."

"You need to hear me out," she said, then her voice was muffled.  "Tell him I'm going to play bridge in five minutes."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Not you, honey," she said.  "I'm talking to Michael, here."

"I'm going to stop by soon, Nana," I said.  "I'll see you in a few minutes and we can talk about it then."  I wanted to distract her from whatever nonsense she had in her head about Silas.

"No, Tempest," she said.  "That's what I wanted to tell you.  You shouldn't come here."

"What?  Why not?"

"We were listening to the police scanner," she said.  "The girls and I."

"Jesus, Nana," I said.  "The police scanner?  Really?"

"I like it," she said.  "It keeps me apprised of what's going on in this town.  You can't rely on the newspaper, you know.  I like my information up to the minute.  Besides, there are some truckers I talk to on the CB radio.  They have some filthy mouths on them, too, like to give me their best sexy talk."

I choked back a laugh.  "I don't need to hear about you talking dirty to truckers, Nana."

"Did I say I was talking dirty to truckers?" she asked.  "They talk dirty to me.  I like to listen.  Don't be lecturing me on my hobbies, either.  I'm an old woman."

"An old woman, my ass," I said.  "You're worse than someone a third of your age."

She laughed.  "Growing old is freeing, dear," she said.  "As it should be."

"Okay, Nana."  I tried to get her back on track, thinking I was surely going to regret my next question, but unable to keep myself from asking.  "What did you hear on the police scanner?"

"Oh yes.  The scanner.  Well, that's the thing.  The sheriff- I don't think you know him, Jed Easton -"  She didn't wait for my response.  "He's a real piece of work.  As dirty as a pig in shit, always has been.  I never liked him, even when he was a kid.  Jed called in an incident at the Saint house."

"Okay.  So what?"  I asked.  My voice was nonchalant, but my heart was caught in my throat.  Silas wasn't even here, I told myself.  He was in Vegas.

"So," she said.  "I thought you knew the Saint brothers, Silas in particular.  So I thought you might be interested.  There was apparently some kind of altercation, and Jed Easton arrested one of them.  It was a few hours ago."

"Did they say which one?" I asked.

"Of course not.  Just 'the suspect' this, and 'the suspect' that," she said.  "But I thought, it possibly being someone you know, you might be interested in going down to the jailhouse and offering your assistance."

"I knew them a long time ago," I lied.  It had been days since I knew Silas.

In the most biblical of ways.

Heat rose to my cheeks at the thought of Silas' breath on my neck, his hands pinning my wrists above my head.  My heart beat rapidly.

What if it were Silas who had been arrested?

No,
I told myself.  The thought was ridiculous.  I'd just left Silas in Vegas.  Even if he were staying in West Bend, the likelihood that he was here right now was infinitesimally small.

Still.

"Uh-huh," Letty said.

"What kind of assistance am I going to offer at the jailhouse, anyway?" I asked.

"Well, Molly," she said, using my alias.  "I don't know.  But I figure you can work that out for yourself, being a hotshot attorney from Los Angeles and all."

"Nana," I said.  "How did you get that information?"  This was classic Letty - so impaired when it came to technology she couldn't use a damn internet search engine, yet able to find out everyone's business the moment anything happened in this town.

"What?" she asked.  "I can't hear you.  My ears, they don't work so good anymore."

I laughed.  "You heard me just fine," I said.

"Oh, I've got to go.  My girls and I, we're about to play some bridge.  I won't expect to see you here this afternoon, dear."

I sighed at my grandmother's not-so-subtle hint that I should go down to the jail.  "Don't have too much fun, Nana."

"I won't," she said.  "I have to make sure my ticker still works.  I would hate to keel over and leave all these men here ripe for Ethel's picking."

I hung up the phone, reeling from what she'd said.

It wasn't Silas who's gotten himself arrested.  He was still in Vegas.  He would have mentioned it, if he were returning to West Bend.

The same way I'd mentioned I was coming here?

Silas was part of my past.

I told myself that, even as I put together what I would need to go down to the jailhouse.

***

"You're fast," said the woman in uniform behind the desk, her hair pulled back tightly in a bun.  "I didn't know we had ambulance chasers in West Bend.  Did you, Daryl?"

A man in uniform with a stomach that protruded well over his waistband sat at a desk across the room, checking sports scores on his computer.  He grunted a response without looking away.

I gave her my most professional smile.  "That's what happens when you have an attorney on retainer," I said.  "And I'd like to know what my client's being charged with."

"Well, Ms. McAdams," she said, leaning forward, her arms on the desk.  "Being an attorney, you know that it takes time to process the prisoners.  Silas Saint is not processed yet."  I exhaled when I heard his name
.  So it was Silas.
  The way she talked about him made him sound like a turkey in the oven, like he wasn't finished cooking.  "You haven't even shown me your credentials.  And you don't look old enough to be a lawyer.  And you're wearing jeans."

"Well, Ms. Edwards," I said, reading from her nameplate and mimicking her tone.  "Imagine being on vacation from LA, here in this idyllic little town, enjoying a croissant and the escape from the constant demands of your law firm.  Then, imagine you learn that a client of yours - a dear client, one of your best clients - has a brother in law who's been unjustly arrested."

"You're River Andrews' attorney?" she asked, glancing behind her at Daryl.

"Don't ask for help from Daryl, Officer Edwards," I said.  "I'm simply asking you to rely on your powers of imagination.  Imagine what you would think, as that attorney.  Perhaps you'd surmise that this is a larger campaign of harassment against your client and those who are important to her.  Perhaps you'd even begin to think about the various and sundry ways you could bring suit against the sheriff's department for their denial of Mr. Saint's Constitutional rights.  Perhaps you'd even consider the personal lawsuits you could file.  Can you imagine that scenario with me, Officer Edwards?"

The woman looked nervous, turning again to Daryl, and I hid a smile as I reached into my wallet and drew out my bar card, the fake that was a part of Molly's identity kit.  I said a silent thank you to the grifter gods that I'd chosen this particular identity.  Molly had never used her fake bar card that identified her as an attorney, but there was a first time for everything.

I set it down on the counter, and she looked at it.  "Now, you know that my client has a right to counsel.  I'd hate to think that you were infringing on his rights.  I'd also hate to think that I'd have to call a friend in the media.  They do so love these stories about small-town abuse of power."

When in doubt, invoke media threats.

I hoped I sounded enough like an attorney to be passable.

Daryl finally looked up from his computer.  "Come on, Ruby," he said.  "Let her talk to him.  You know he's done gone through processing.  We don't need any bullshit."

The female officer scowled.  "Daryl, you know Sherriff Easton brought him in himself.  You want to deal with him when he finds out you okayed a big-city lawyer coming in here?"

"Don't worry, Daryl," I said.  "I see you being cast in the newspaper articles as the dedicated officer who held strong against rampant abuse of power and corruption in the sheriff’s department.  The story virtually writes itself."

Daryl ignored me.  "Just let her back there, Ruby," he said.  "You know we ain't got nobody else in there except Mr. Jenkins, and he's in the drunk tank.  Silas Saint is going to get bailed out anyway now that his brother's with that movie star."

I leaned forward, my arms on the counter.  "He is, Ruby."

Her expression softened, and she sighed.  "Fine."  She paused for a moment, and then leaned in closer.  "So you're River Andrews' attorney, then?  I bet you know a lot of movie stars, right?"

I shook my head, raising a finger to my lips.  "I can't answer that question, Officer Edwards," I said.  "Attorney-client privilege and all."

I couldn't even remember if attorney-client privilege applied to this scenario, if it was similar to how shrinks couldn't tell you if someone was their client.  But Ruby seemed to buy the answer.

She stood up, stepped away from the counter, a disappointed expression on her face, so I decided to throw her a bone.

"Although, just between you and me," I said, lowering my voice conspiratorially, "I might know someone who represents that big movie star, the one who was just arrested for having sex with a prostitute in London a few weeks ago."

Ruby's eyes widened.  "I just couldn't believe that," she said.  "He always seemed like such a nice guy in his movies.  I guess you never really know whether people are pulling one over on you."

"No, Ruby," I said, shaking my head.  "You certainly do not.  There are a lot of deceptive people in this world."  I slid my fake bar card back into its place in Molly's wallet.

"You don't have to tell me that," she said. “I'll bring you back.  You'll have to leave your purse and cell phone here.  Pen and notepad only."

Fifteen minutes later, Ruby was leading me down the hallway to a room.  "We don't have all the bells and whistles like the bigger places," she said.  "But this one of our interrogation rooms.  It doubles as a visiting room.  The sound is off, obviously, so we can't listen in, legally speaking.  But you'll be on the closed-circuit video up front, just in case anything goes wrong."

I looked through the small square window at the top of the door, where Silas sat in a jumpsuit, his hands cuffed and resting on the aluminum table.  "Can the cuffs be removed?"

She shook her head.  "Sorry, Ms. McAdams," she said.  "We have to follow protocol.  I'll be up front if you need anything.  The panic button is on the wall.  Keep yourself closest to the door; the prisoner remains in the seat furthest from the door.  Don't give the prisoner anything, even a pen.  I'm sure you know all of the rules already - it's all standard stuff."

"Of course," I said, looking at the window again.

She pulled open the door.  "Saint," she said.  "Your attorney is here."

To his credit, Silas remained poker-faced.

"Thank you, Ruby," I said, walking to the table, pen and paper in hand.  The door slammed closed behind me.

"Attorney?" Silas asked.  "Is that what you are?"

"When it suits me," I said.  "And sometimes when I have to get a friend out of a jam."

"Friend?"  Silas asked.  "Don't call me that shit.  We're not friends, you and I."

I bristled at his statement.  "That's fucking hateful, Silas," I said.  "We used to be friends, a long time ago."

Silas leaned forward.  "I never wanted to be just friends, Tempest," he said.