Heir

Chapter 3-1

3

JJ tugged at her pantyhose, praying the run her thumbnail had started at her left butt cheek this morning didn’t make a sudden break for her knee. Her skirt would cover it that far. Except for the walking slit in the back. God, she hated skirts. But that’s what one wore when facing an asshole across the aisle, and hopefully not one behind the bench.

She glanced at her watch, a delicate gold timepiece she never wore. Had her ex-husband Marcus given it to her? JJ felt an instant’s panic (Would he notice? Take it as some kind of signal?) before remembering it had been a gift from her mother. She should have known. It wasn’t JJ’s style, but it did have a style. Well-made and probably not cheap, it couldn’t have come from Marcus.

The county courthouse was mostly empty. JJ didn’t know if that was normal or not. Other than a field trip as a kid, she’d only ever spent any significant time in the hideous brick building when she’d gotten her divorce. (That may have colored her opinion of its architecture.)

Where the hell was Faith Callaway? The lawyer had asked to meet her at the courthouse before their hearing, and JJ had been watching the clock for hours, ever since Adam woke her. That is, when she wasn’t watching her daughter.

She’d been doing that when Evie woke, but in a rare moment of mother-daughter rapprochement, Evie hadn’t complained. JJ hadn’t discussed the upcoming hearing with her daughter, but Evie knew it was happening today. Of course, JJ’s wardrobe would have been a dead giveaway. And Evie must have felt JJ’s anxiety. The child even said her mother looked pretty, when JJ knew she really wanted to tell her she looked “weird.” She said that any time JJ wore anything other than jeans, sweatpants, or scrubs.

And there was her attorney, in a navy blue skirt suit, looking impatient with the elderly security guard who held her up. JJ rushed down the hall to meet Ms. Calloway, ankles wobbling the slightest bit in her unfamiliar heels. Finally…

She must have spoken her frustrated relief aloud. Ms. Callaway raised an indignant brow while adjusting the bag on her shoulder and tucking her bobbed, brown hair behind one ear.

“Sorry,” JJ said, wiping her sweaty hands on her skirt. Fortunately, Ms. Callaway didn’t offer to shake. “My nerves are a goddamn mess.”

JJ regretted her words as soon as they’d left her mouth. Now she’d gone and taken the Lord’s name in vain. Not that she thought the Lord cared, but plenty of his followers did, and having only met the woman once, she didn’t know if her lawyer was one of them. “Sorry,” JJ said again.

The woman’s face softened and she said, “Let’s go over there,” pointing JJ to a bench.

Ms. Callaway settled her bag next to her and patted the hard wood for JJ to sit. JJ did so carefully, clutching her purse on her lap. Paranoia about her pantyhose, the zipper in her skirt, the buttons on her blouse, and any other potential wardrobe malfunction made it difficult to focus on her attorney’s words.

“Normally you wouldn’t have an attorney for this kind of thing. Well, maybe from legal aid, but not from our office,” the woman admitted.

“But Jeffrey appreciated everything I’d done for his mom while she was in the hospital,” JJ said of the public defender.

“Mr. Lewis said that?” Her lawyer’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, well, that might be true, but my boss also has his eyes on the cameras. And he doesn’t want your case to blow up in our faces.”

“Which case?” JJ asked.

“Excellent question,” her lawyer acknowledged. “You know Sheriff Mason asked the State Police to take over the investigation into the officer-involved shooting.”

JJ nodded, although “Sheriff Mason” always made her think of Grant’s father Ulysses, the old Sheriff.

“You have not yet been charged, and you may not ever be. Here in West Virginia,” the lawyer continued, “we have the Castle Doctrine. Broadly, that means you can use force to protect yourself or your family against an intruder, including deadly force.”

“Sounds right,” JJ said.

Ms. Callaway raised a finger. “Except, you have to have had a reasonable fear that you were in imminent peril of being killed or greatly harmed. That’s when things get complicated, because the man you shot was on your property but not on your porch or in your home, and he was a law enforcement officer.”

JJ squeezed her purse harder to keep her hands from shaking. “But I didn’t know he was a cop.”

Ms. Callaway rested her hand on JJ’s arm. “None of this is insurmountable, and the fact that they didn’t identify themselves works in your favor. If it comes to it, we’ll also argue that they weren’t acting in performance of their official duties, that they had no authority to be there—they weren’t even Beecham County deputies—and we’ll bring in the prisoner escape.”

She paused, considering.

“Although if it gets to that point, they might try to remove me as your counsel, since I was Virgil Rutledge’s lawyer, too.” Ms. Callaway waved a hand through the air dismissively. “Sorry. I’m just giving you the context. The fact that you’d been threatened and that you applied for a protective order the day of the shooting, these are all relevant to whether your actions were reasonably made in self-defense. That’s why I’m here, to make sure nothing crazy happens with your protective order that could adversely affect your criminal case, if you’re charged. Okay?”

JJ took a deep breath. “Clear as mud.”

Her lawyer opened her mouth to follow up, until something behind JJ caught her eye. Ms. Callaway’s mouth closed and hardened. JJ’s neck twinged as she turned too quickly to look.

Marcus approached the door to the courtroom. Slicked back, his thick hair was closer to brown than blonde, heavy with some kind of gel but the right side of sleazy. He wore tan pants and a white Henley shirt, not quite snug across his broad shoulders. The least her ex could do was grow a beer gut. His eyes turned toward JJ, but a man in a suit stepped between them, cutting off her view.

“Looks like he got himself a lawyer,” JJ said.

“That he did,” Ms. Callaway said, rising and heading toward the courtroom, still looking as though (JJ’s father would have said) someone had s**t on her car seat. “Let’s go.”