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Eerie, too.
The first witness was called.
“The defense calls Payton Callas to the stand, Your Honor.”
“Motherfucker,” Matt hissed next to me. He shot me a look. “We let her go. She met Quinn and we didn’t say a word.”
Matt leaned forward next to me, his elbows on his knees.
Quinn’s team, not the prosecution, had called Payton. What was happening?
She walked up, and I hadn’t noted what she was wearing earlier. I hadn’t cared. But I sure cared now. A trench pencil skirt. The colors were dark orange. Her blouse was the same color, with a black blazer over the top. Her hair was up in a bun, set behind her head. Her makeup was on, but muted. She had the natural look going on. She was demure.
Then again, Payton was often like that. She was a quiet, in-the-background kind of person and always had been.
That was, until she got on the stand.
When she climbed up there, was sworn in, there was something more to her. A spark? No… I was thinking on it, watching how she looked at my mother and swept her gaze to Quinn. Looking at her sister, her head lowered back down. Her shoulders slumped forward.
“Miss Callas, what is your relationship to my client?”
Payton wet her lips, leaned forward, and spoke into the microphone. “She’s my sister.”
It was the expected answer. The lawyer nodded, looking down for his next question.
“Um…” Payton’s throat moved as she swallowed. Her mask faltered, just for a bit. Some of the strength slipped, but as if she needed to think of something to harden her again, she did. Her whole face grew tighter, more resolved. She cleared her throat, speaking more clearly into the microphone. “We don’t get along.”
The lawyer went rigid.
Someone gasped. A whole buzz went through the room.
Quinn shot forward in her seat, but I couldn’t fully see her face. Two of her lawyers blocked her from view.
I glanced at my mom. Her eyes were trained on Payton. They were narrowed now.
“Excuse me?” This from the lawyer. He clipped out those words. “Can you reiterate?”
“We don’t get along.”
He stared at her, hard.
She stared right back, just as hard.
A power battle was unfolding right before us.
“Miss Callas, didn’t you agree to testify today on behalf of your sister?”
“I did, yes, but that doesn’t mean we get along.”
The lawyer turned, looked at Quinn, then glanced at the rest of his team, which was having a silent conversation about whether he should continue questioning her.
But one of the lawyers gave a small nod, and the questioninglawyer turned back to Payton. “Miss Callas, isn’t it true that you have chronic depression?”
She bit down on her lip before jerking her head in a nod. “Yes, I do.”
“And it’s so bad that you’ve had to be hospitalized a dozen times over the last ten years.”
“Twenty.”
