Braving the Boneyard

Chapter 5-2

Jerome wasn’t exactly a peach of a guy, and I was starting to think he didn’t fall far from the pain in the ass tree. Jerome’s mother had agreed to meet with me after I saw Jerome at WFC, but when I returned to the car there was a message on my cell phone saying she’d have to reschedule. She was very sorry. Yeah, well, I was very sorry, too. Sorry I’d forgotten to check my messages. I reviewed the directions I’d printed to her home—piece of cake.

Cordelia Jennings lived in a small town just outside Hendersenville, the city where the crime had occurred and where I would (I hoped) find most of my witnesses. Her neighborhood wasn’t “rich,” as Kevin had indicated, but it was solidly middle class. Her two-story home fell right in the middle of the bell curve—neither the fanciest nor simplest, the best-kept nor the worst-kept. The leaves from the bare deciduous trees had been raked. A couple of pink camellia shrubs had been trimmed to resemble small trees themselves. The border gardens flanking the entrance had resilient purple- and white-flowered sage and several colors of snapdragons rising above beds of creeping white alyssum. The mid-morning sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I was feeling optimistic. A late model Honda sedan was parked in the narrow driveway. I blocked it in rather than parking on the street, then grabbed my purse and headed quickly for the front door. The less time Mrs. Jennings had to think, the better.

The doorbell echoed in the house, but I couldn’t hear any other sounds. I was about to ring the bell again when the door opened.

“Yes?” A short, black man with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses stood before me. “Can I help you?”

“Mr. Jennings?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m here to see your wife, Cordelia. I’m afraid I’m a few minutes late, but she’s expecting me.”

“Who did you say you are?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” I said, handing him a card. “I didn’t say. I’m Sydney Brennan, and I’m an investigator working on Jerome’s case.”

He grunted and pulled the door shut behind him, then patted the jacket of his dark gray suit. Satisfied, he said, “Well, she’s not here. I’m sorry, you’ll have to come back another time.”

“Maybe you could help me.”

“I doubt it. I can count the number of times I’ve been in the same room with Jerome on one hand. I married Cordelia in spite of her son, certainly not because of any connection I have with him.”

“He can be a little challenging,” I said.

Mr. Jennings may not have cared for his stepson, but he still wouldn’t say anything against him to a stranger. “If you’ll move your car, I have to get back to work.”

“Oh? I thought maybe you were retired,” I said.

He laughed, a small, lonely sound. “I wish. I’ll be sure to tell my wife you dropped by, but I really have to be going.”

I backed my car out and pulled alongside the curb on the street to let Mr. Jennings pass while I checked in with Roger.

“We get a trial date?” I asked.

“December 6th.”

“Of 2004?” I asked, disbelieving. “That’s only a month away!”

“Twenty-eight days,” Roger said. “So I hope you have something exciting.”

My mind reeled, calculating how much time I’d have to spend on the road and which other jobs I’d have to shuffle. I pushed down the panic as best I could and focused on the present. “Possibly exciting, and at the very least interesting. Jerome says Trevor Rose gave him the gun.”

“The third co-D? The one who testified that he didn’t even know Jerome had a gun?” Roger asked.

“That’s the one.”

“What are the odds Jerome is telling the truth?”

“I don’t know odds, but percent-wise, I’d say seventy percent. Maybe even a little higher.”

“That is interesting. And our Assistant State Attorney put Rose on as the star witness in the previous trial. You know anything about her?”

“Teresa Hart?” I asked. “Not a thing.”

“Me either,” Roger said. “She was aggressive in court today. She’s ambitious, so maybe she’s playing fast and loose with the rules, or maybe Rose is pulling one over on her. Did Jerome tell his previous lawyer about the gun?”

“No. He says the guy never asked.”

Roger let out a disgusted sound; whether it was directed at our client or his former counsel I couldn’t say. “Okay, we’ve got a Motions hearing next Wednesday, and we have to hit the Trevor Rose angle hard. If nothing else, this’ll make it more difficult for the judge to deny us the chance to depose their star witness. I’ll get Ralph to go through the files again, do a little reading between the lines and figure out what else the State could be hiding. In the meantime, see what else you can dig up on our friend Mr. Rose.”