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No. It’s not a good fucking thing. I don’t want my mom within a hundred yards of a courthouse until I know there’s no chance a jury could ever convict her.
And right now? With the evidence built up against her?
I can’t count on that.
Clutching the phone with both hands, I try not to let her hear the sharp, uneven breaths that fall from my lips as I work to get my emotions under control.
Shit. This can’t be fucking happening.
Linc’s been trying to get something on his dad, trying to pinpoint the conn
ection between him and Iris—but he hasn’t been able to find the paternity test I stumbled upon in Samuel Black’s drawer all those weeks ago, or anything else so far.
“Oh, and Judge Hollowell isn’t the one assigned to my case,” Mom adds with a slight grimace. “Maybe it’s for the best, anyway. He’d probably have to recuse himself since we went out a few times.”
I sit up straighter, my grip on the phone tightening.
“That is better. Now that you know he won’t be presiding over your trial, there’s no reason you can’t reach out to him. Just for advice, Mom,” I add, leaning forward, my whole body taut with tension. “I know Scott means well, but he’s not—”
Good enough. Tough enough.
Connected enough.
Alexander Hollowell is a respected judge in Fox Hill, and the fact that he’s been invited to several of the Black family’s cocktail parties means he’s definitely well connected.
He might be able to talk to the right people, nudge things in the right direction, and give mom a fighting chance here. If she had to go on what sounded like two pretty “meh” dates with him, maybe she can at least get some legal help out of it.
“Oh.” Mom shakes her head, waving a hand like she’s brushing the thought away. “No, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s a good idea. I was just grasping at straws before.”
“So grasp! Grasp!” I blurt the words so loudly that the guy having a quiet conversation with the prisoner behind the glass partition several feet away glances over at me. I bring my volume down but scoot to the edge of my seat, leaning my elbows on the little counter in front of the pane. “Now’s not the time to play it cool or worry about imposing, Mom. If there’s even a chance he could help you, even a little bit, you have to take it!”
She considers my words—I can see her turning them over in her mind—but then she shakes her head, a sad, patient smile tilting her lips. “I don’t think it’s worth it, Low. We didn’t have a love connection. It was just a couple dinners. Even if he remembers who I am, why would he want to help me?”
“Of course he remembers who you are, Mom, come on!”
She dips her head, acknowledging that I’m probably right about that, but then she shakes it again. “I still don’t know why he’d want to help. Even if it’s allowed, it’s probably some kind of ethically gray area. I don’t want to put him in that position.”
I blow out a breath, puffing my cheeks. She may be right, but I still wish she’d try. The amount of faith she still has in this system terrifies me.
Then again, maybe that’s because she doesn’t know she’s been actively set up, that this isn’t all just some massive misunderstanding waiting to be cleared up. She’s behind bars because someone—a cold-blooded murderer—framed her.
I wish I could fucking tell her. But if Mr. Black got even a whiff of an idea that she knew she was framed, that she might tell her lawyer and have him look into it, I don’t know what he’d do.
As long as she’s in here and he’s not, she’s safe. She’s alive.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
That’s all that matters.
As long as that doesn’t change, we can figure the rest out.
Samuel Black heard my rant that night. He was one of only a few people who came outside from the party and witnessed me screaming at Detective Dunagan. But he also saw the detective dismiss my words, saw the boys claim they had no idea what I was talking about.
Now we’re stuck in a catch-22. As long as he doesn’t think we’re poking around, we’re relatively safe. But we need to poke around to find some tangible evidence linking him to Iris’s death.
And in the meantime, my mom’s going to be tried for murder in two months.
Fucking hell.
