The Saturday Morning Girls’ Hike…
“So, did they arrest her?” Ginny called back over her shoulder as they climbed uphill.
“I don’t know. They just came and took her away.” Amanda was bringing up the rear, while her mother and Ursie were up front as they entered the last mile of what was intended to become a new tradition: The Saturday Morning Girls’ Hike.
“Well, did they read Sara her Miranda rights?” her mother panted. It seemed that she would become the leader of these hikes, with more energy than the two women who were twenty-some years younger.
“I didn’t hear them read her rights, but they might have done it in the car.” Amanda was exhausted from her ordeal the day before and worried about Sara. “What happens next?”
“Depends on the evidence,” her mother said. “If the police and district attorney feel like they have enough to go for a conviction, the DA will call a grand jury and try to get an indictment. If they get an indictment, the accused can plead guilty and get a plea bargain, or not guilty and go to trial.”
“You’re a legal encyclopedia, Mom. Did you learn all that from the TV crime shows?”
“Believe it or not, Amanda, your mom has been in court several times. Dad says she’s a crime show waiting to happen.” Ginny smiled proudly. “And if this past week is any indication, you’re following in her footsteps.”
The only footsteps Amanda cared to follow were the ones on this hike. As she brought up the rear, Lake Norman glistened to her right while undeveloped forest rose on the hillside to her left. The perfect summer morning was a direct contrast to the past stormy weekend at Metrolina, where she’d witnessed the fight on Saturday then learned about the stolen letter and found a dead body on Sunday. It seemed impossible that a person’s life could change so drastically in one short week.
Her companions had promised that this vigorous hike would sweat out her stress and clear the cobwebs from her mind. Amanda hoped so, because her sleep-deprived body and cluttered brain required a complete overhaul.
Yesterday, before Detective Molerno and his sidekick took Sara away, they’d read the riot act to both Amanda and Sara’s parents for obstruction. Amanda had wanted to defend Sara by explaining how her fingerprints got on the murder weapon, but she didn’t want to volunteer that information on the off chance they hadn’t been found. So in the end, she kept quiet.
Before they took her away, Sara had begged unsuccessfully to change from her grubbies to street clothes, clinging to a modicum of pride in the face of indignity. She’d seemed so small, shrunken even, when the cops marched her down the stairs. In the meantime, poor Juan was impotent to protect his daughter, and Sofia wept.
Sara had never once met Amanda’s eyes as they left, and once she was gone, Juan had accused Amanda of leading the cops to their door. She’d told him that was impossible. No way had they followed her. Yet by the Orlandos’ expressions, they didn’t quite believe her, and that was a cruel cut indeed.
“Was she in handcuffs?” Ginny asked as they all paused at the top of a rise.
“No, they did not use handcuffs.”
“So, is Sara a good friend of yours now?” Her mother was curious.
“I hope so, Mom.” But in truth, Amanda was more confused than ever about their relationship. Before the cops came, she’d felt sure something momentous was about to happen between them, but then she’d been wrong before when it came to those things.
“Yeah, Mandy, how’s it going between you and Sara?” Ginny teased.
Amanda shot her a warning look. The last thing she needed was more sexual innuendo from Ginny, especially in front of her mother. Luckily, a cell phone rang, disrupting the moment. Her mother and Ginny always carried their phones, but Amanda seldom did, so it took several rings before she realized the clamor was coming from her own pocket. She’d brought the phone today hoping to hear from the Orlandos, but when she answered, a vaguely familiar male voice came on the line.
“It’s Peter Smith from Wells Fargo. Do you remember me?”
She didn’t remember his name, but she sure as hell remembered the offer. This was the older of the two guys, the one with the mustache, who had expressed an interest in commissioning a large sculpture.
“Of course I remember you, Mr. Smith.”
“Well, we showed your little sailboat to the boss lady, and she was quite impressed. We’d like to commission that twelve-foot sculpture for our new branch office. If the price is right, we’ll sign a contract. When can we meet?”
Amanda was speechless. She had never landed a substantial commission on her own. She’d always relied on Rachel to make those connections for her.
“Bankers don’t work on Saturdays, do they?” she asked.
Peter Smith laughed. “No, they don’t, but I’m not a banker. I’m in charge of art acquisitions, so it’s weekends when I’m on the prowl. Why don’t we meet this morning, your booth at Metrolina?”
Amanda glanced at her phone. It was already ten o’clock. She needed a quick shower and an hour of travel time. “Would noon work for you?”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s a date. See you there.”
This could be just the distraction she needed, not to mention a money transfusion when her finances were on life support. Besides, she needed a good excuse to return to the scene of the crimes. With luck, she’d run into Marc Orlando and get an update.
“Guess what?” she exclaimed. Her mother was doing stretch exercises and Ginny was filing her nails. “That was the guy from Wells Fargo. I got the commission!”
“That’s wonderful, honey!” Her mother gave her a big hug.
Ginny said, “Very cool. How much are they paying you?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’m meeting the man at noon, at Metrolina, so I’ve got to hurry.”
“I’m coming with you,” Ginny said. She still hadn’t forgiven Amanda for being excluded from yesterday’s adventure.
“No, you are not going,” her mother interrupted. “We are shopping for your wedding dress today, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
Ginny was crestfallen, but everyone knew there was no arguing with Diana Rittenhouse. Amanda was glad, because from now on she wanted to fly solo.
“Race you to the cottage!” she hollered, and took off ahead of them, fueled by a burst of new energy and purpose.