Thirty-three

Mary was desperate to follow him and explain. Nick Stratton is innocent, I couldn’t turn him down. I’m turning the case over to Dave Loveman. I have emails to prove that. But she couldn’t leave. Court was still in session, and though Laura Bagwell was currently finished with her, she might be recalled to the stand. Reluctantly, she took Jonathan’s seat at the defendant’s table.

“Where did he go?” she leaned over and whispered to Alex.

“Out for air, probably. Don’t worry—Sam will take care of him.”

That calmed her a bit. Jonathan would need to walk off his anger, settle his nerves. Sam would bring him back when he calms down.

She returned her attention to court, where Bagwell was about to start her summation.

“Your Honor, I think we’ve painted an extremely clear picture of this case. On one hand, you have Fred and Dulcy Moon—two decent, hard-working, long-married people who want to raise their daughter’s only child in a healthy environment of love and honesty.” She walked over and pointed toward Mary. “On the other hand, you have Jonathan Walkingstick and Mary Crow—two people who have scoffed at marriage, scoffed at adoption, scoffed at being honest with Lily about her mother’s tragic death. Even now they scoff—Ms. Crow by flaunting a broken promise in a national tabloid, Mr. Walkingstick by storming out of court when the most important decision of his life is about to be rendered.”

Damn, Mary thought, why did he have to leave?

Bagwell walked slowly back to the plaintiff’s table. “True, Fred and Dulcy have had their difficulties in the past. But they realized their mistakes and they’ve struggled hard to overcome them. For years they’ve been sober, upstanding members of their church, their tribe, and their community.” Bagwell held out her hands, pleading. “It seems particularly unfair that these good, hard-working citizens must not only grieve for their daughter, but must also live, every day, with the knowledge that their daughter’s killer is now raising their only grandchild.”

“I didn’t kill Ruth!” Mary whispered to Alex. “The woman had a gun pointed at my heart!”

“I know.” Alex grabbed Mary’s arm in a death grip. “Shut up!”

“All we are asking is that Fred and Dulcy Moon be allowed to bring up this beautiful little girl in a stable environment of love and respect, rather than the duplicitous, secret-ridden world of Jonathan Walkingstick and Mary Crow.”

Bagwell went on for a few more beats, extolling the virtues of the Moons, the proximity of other close relatives, the sense of tribe Lily would enjoy in Oklahoma, then she sat down. Now, it was Alex’s turn. Mary watched, nervous, as her leggy friend rose from her chair. She walked straight over to the Moons, and gave them a brilliant smile.

“Your Honor, I have absolutely no doubt that Fred and Dulcy Moon are people who have sought to better themselves. It takes an enormous amount of courage to dry out and remain sober, if you’re an alcoholic. An equal amount of discipline to start resolving conflicts with your words rather than your fists. I can empathize with their grief at losing their daughter at such a young age; I can also understand their desire to raise their grandchild in what they consider a healthier atmosphere. What I don’t believe the Moons have is the wisdom to discern what is best for this child.”

Her heart thudding, Mary watched as Alex walked back to their side of the courtroom.

“American jurisprudence has always sought to keep biological families together. And what is best for this particular child is to remain with her biological father in North Carolina. Though the Walkingstick-Crow family may not be a traditional one, it is one of love and devotion to Lily Bird Walkingstick.” Alex walked over and picked up a sheaf of papers. “Lily is a straight A student at John Ross Elementary school, she’s the co-captain of her soccer team, and was the top seller of Girl Scout cookies for Brownie troop 112. Worthy achievements for a nine-year-old, would you not say?” Alex turned to look at the Moons. “Even her grandparents are smiling at that. Worthy achievements that indicate Lily is smart, Lily is well-liked by peers, that Lily is developing a strong sense of responsibility. This shows me that Lily is a happy child, a product of a happy home. Not a home built of lies. Not a home full of guilt or deception. Certainly not the home Ms. Bagwell portrayed.”

Alex moved to block the sight of Jonathan’s empty chair and pointed to Mary. “In this case, much has been made of Mary Crow’s jealousy of Ruth Moon. I think not enough has been made of
Ruth Moon’s jealousy of Mary Crow, and her own actions that night. Ruth Moon had already drugged Jonathan Walkingstick into a stupor and had attempted to drug Mary. Though she was mentally unbalanced at that tragic time, she clearly intended that Mary Crow die. She pointed a loaded pistol at Mary Crow’s chest, at point-blank range. And as heartsick as the Moons are over their daughter’s death, they need to remember that their Ruth was the perpetrator of this terrible act. Mary Crow was simply defending herself against a woman who had gone, sadly, insane.”

Mary held her breath. Never had she heard Alex speak so eloquently.

“We maintain that both Jonathan Walkingstick and Mary Crow have provided a caring, nurturing environment that has given Lily strong roots. We respectfully ask the court to allow them to continue doing just that, so that Lily Bird Walkingstick can grow equally strong wings and soar into a happy, productive adulthood that both her parents and grandparents can be proud of.”

Alex returned to her seat. Mary reached over and squeezed her arm. “Perfect,” she whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Let’s hope the court is so moved,” Alex whispered back.

They turned their attention to the judge, who was pecking on her laptop. The moments stretched out, longer and longer; finally she looked up.

“This case is not an easy, clear decision. Both sides have strong arguments, and I feel like I’ve been asked to choose between reason and passion. Though this is not a tribal court, there are tribal precedents and traditions I’d like to take into consideration. That being said, let’s reconvene at ten tomorrow morning.”

After that, court adjourned. Everyone rose as Haddad left the bench and returned to her office. Mary stood there, frozen in place. Though she had risen for judicial egress probably a thousand times in her career, this time it felt different. This time she wasn’t just a hired gun in the proceedings. This time, she had skin in the game. A lot of it. She turned to Alex.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

Alex began gathering up her papers, a look of disgust on her face. “I was so hoping Haddad would call it today. Now it’s one more night on pins and needles.”

Mary looked around the courtroom. Jonathan was still not there. “I wonder where Jonathan went.”

Alex turned to her, an odd look in her eyes. “You didn’t tell him about Fiddlesticks, did you?”

Mary shook her head. “The right time never came along … ”

“That’s a shame,” said Alex.

“Why? Did he say anything?”

“He didn’t have to. I just watched his hands. His fists were clenched so hard his knuckles went white.” Alex snapped her briefcase shut. “Come on, let’s go.”

Mary stared at the vacant bench, bracketed by Old Glory and the blue flag of Oklahoma. By this time tomorrow they would know. By this time tomorrow maybe he could start to forgive her.

She and Alex turned and headed for the door. Though most of the Moon entourage had filed out of the courtroom, Fred and Dulcy remained seated at the plaintiff’s table, talking softly with Laura Bagwell. Mary considered going over there, telling them how sorry she was about Ruth’s death, apologizing for whatever role they thought she’d played in it. She started toward them, then stopped. She was sick of apologizing. To the Moons, to Jonathan, to herself. She was a good attorney, a good person who’d nearly been killed by a crazy woman. Screw the Moons.

Alex nudged her. “You ready to go? Or do you want to gaze at Fred and Dulcy a few more minutes?”

“I’m way past ready,” said Mary, turning her back on the couple. “Let’s get out of here.”

They left the courtroom together. Since they saw no one waiting for them, Alex guessed that Sam Hodges had taken Jonathan back to Tulsa. “I had Sam waiting just for this situation,” she explained. “I figured I might need to keep Jonathan corralled.”

“Good thinking,” Mary agreed. She turned to her friend. “Listen, your summation was brilliant. Whatever else happens, I thank you for putting those words in the record.”

Alex frowned. “If I’d been all that brilliant we’d have a judgment now.”

Mary knew how she felt, from hundreds of her own summations. “You did a superb job, Al. Like I said, whatever happens, happens.”

They sped back to the motel in a comfortable silence. They both knew from experience that there was no point in re-hashing the court proceedings. Bagwell had scored some blows; Alex had scored some counter-punches. Now it was all up to Judge Haddad.

“What do you want to do this afternoon?” asked Alex as she pulled into the motel parking lot.

“I guess I’d better have that talk with Jonathan,” said Mary. “I’d also like to see Lily.”

“They’re probably at the swimming pool.”

Mary followed Alex through the lobby, then out to the pool. Though the aqua water glistened in the sun, it was empty of swimmers, empty of people altogether, except for Lily’s pal Cecilia, who lay on a chaise lounge, reading. She looked up when she saw Mary and Alex coming toward her.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. “How did it go?”

“We won’t know until tomorrow,” said Alex. “Where are Jonathan and Lily?”

“Lily scraped her toe on the bottom of the pool. Jonathan took her up to their room to put some medicine on it.”

Alex turned to Mary. “Maybe now would be a good time for you to go up there. Talk to them alone.”

Mary nodded. “Good idea. I’ll see you two in a little while.”

Leaving Alex with Cecilia, Mary headed for the elevator. Jonathan, she knew, would be angry over her murder case. How Lily now felt about her she had no idea. Two months ago, she would have said the child loved her as her own mother. But that was two months ago—a lifetime for a nine-year-old. She pressed the elevator button, wondering what tack she should take. Apology? Appeasement?

“Just see how she feels, first,” she said to herself. “Then you can start your fence-mending from there.”

The elevator carried her up to the third floor. She walked down the thickly carpeted hall, past her room, finally coming to the suite that Jonathan and Lily shared with Alex. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. The door swung open a bit, as if the latch hadn’t caught. Opening it farther, she called to them.

“Jonathan? Lily? Are you okay?”

No one answered. They must be in the bathroom, she thought, opening the door a little wider.

“Jonathan?” she called again. “Are you guys okay?”

Again, she heard nothing. Holding on to the doorknob, she peeked inside the room. “Jonathan?”

The only thing she heard was a slight rattle as the air conditioning unit came on. She stepped into the room. Though the beds were made and damp towels hung over the shower curtain rod, the room was empty. No Jonathan. No Lily. No luggage, either. Nothing except a note underneath the telephone, scribbled in Jonathan’s hand. She picked it up, trembling as she read his words.

I can’t let the Moons have Lily. I hope you understand.

—Jonathan