“It was the one beside the refrigerator?”
“Yes.”
“The one with the coupons, the scissors, and”—he lifted the photo a little—“what appears to be three separate packs of butterscotch candy.”
The courtroom chuckled.
Mrs. McIntyre brightened. “Those are for my bridge club.”
“Of course they are,” Reid said gravely.
Even Judge Harlan’s mouth threatened movement.
At the defense table, Eleanor looked down at her notes so no one would see the corner of her mouth.
Reid went on.
“You trusted the defendant enough to let him work in your home alone?”
“Yes.”
“And you had no issue with him until the money disappeared?”
“That’s right.”
He stepped a little closer—not crowding, just drawing the room with him.
“When you discovered the cash was gone, who had been inside your home that day?”
Mrs. McIntyre hesitated. “Nolan.”
“And anyone else?”
“My niece dropped off soup.”
“Anyone else?”
She frowned. “The cleaning lady came that morning.”
“And your neighbor?”
“Well, yes, Mavis came by, but Mavis doesn’t count.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the benches.
“No?” Reid asked mildly.
“No,” Mrs. McIntyre said with complete certainty. “Mavis only steals gossip.”
The courtroom laughed outright.
Reid smiled, slow and warm, exactly the kind of smile that made people forget they were under oath.
April glanced at Eleanor with that look.
See?
Eleanor gave her a flat stare that said she was not dignifying any of this with a response.
