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A bathroom with fluffy white towels and a surprisingly large tiled shower took up the back portion of the cabin, and Lily wandered back into the main room, noting that the bottom bunk was taken. The beds looked handmade, wider than typical bunks, with a wooden ladder that connected the two levels. A small brass lamp was attached to the wall beside each, and both were outfitted with fluffy green duvets and plaid sheets. Lily shrugged off her vest and rubbed the ache from her forehead with the tips of her fingers.
“Well, I’m certainly not in LA anymore.”
“No, ma’am.”
Lily looked up to see Alex striding through the door in board shorts and a Speedo swim top, shaking the lake water from her dark hair and sweeping Lily from top to bottom with the same intense gaze. “Welcome to Havana.”
Chapter Four
“Murphy?” Sam strummed the steering wheel of her Land Rover with her thumb as she swept past the speed limit sign just outside the resort. “Can you stall the judge for five more minutes? I got caught up at the camp. I’m on my way in now, though.”
Sam didn’t wait for an answer, just clicked her phone off and tossed it on the seat beside her. She had a headache the size of a Kansas tornado threatening to explode and not a single Advil in sight. Or at least, none she could spot in the glove compartment while she took the last curve into McCall on what felt like two wheels. Her truck finally skidded to a stop at the station as Sam leaned over to take a last look for the bottle that should be there, but no luck. She’d pilfered her stash too many times in the previous few weeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t have a headache. Between being promoted to chief and supervising the development of the retreat center, Sam felt like she hadn’t downshifted once in the last three years.
The station’s main doors were still unlocked, and Sam jogged to her office, tucking a manilla file she’d prepared earlier into her bag, then sprinted up the hill from the station to the small courthouse at the end of the main street. A hurried glance at the dark windows as she passed Gus’s Place told her that Sara was likely on her way home.
They’d had a brief conversation earlier. Sam had called her with the story about what had happened in Moxie Java just as Sara closed up the restaurant. She’d given as many details as possible, then had tossed out the thought she hadn’t been able to shake all afternoon. Even with a mountain of positive thinking, her idea was rough at best or, more realistically, fraught with potential disaster, but it was’t going anywhere, so the only thing to do was put it out there.
Sam had waited as Sara’s initial shock had settled into a long pause on the other end of the line. She’d resisted the urge to throw words into the silence to shape and sand the edges of it to make the idea seem plausible. She’d only rubbed her temples and waited, listening to the familiar sounds of the restaurant staff in the background closing up the kitchen for the night.
Sam had spun a pen in her fingers, still waiting for Sara to answer. Her plan was rash, random at best, and she was asking her wife to agree to it with virtually no background information and an almost nonexistent chance of success. Sam had put the pen back on her desk closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts. It was starting to seem like she had no choice but to go in a new direction.
“Of course, baby.” Sam had felt Sara smile on the other end of the phone and had realized she’d been holding her breath. “Of course we can do that. I would have come up with the same idea.”
Sam had breathed a sigh of relief, and they’d made a few quick plans before Sara had to finish closing up. As she’d hung up the phone, Sam had remembered again how lucky she was to have married a woman who could roll with an unexpected punch like that, how lucky she’d been to have married Sara.
She rounded the last corner in front of the courthouse and spotted her brother-in-law’s truck in the parking lot. “Jesus, what have you been doing?” Murphy grinned and jumped up to hold the double glass doors open. “Get your ass in here!”
Sam rolled her eyes playfully and passed him at double speed, turning around and running backward as she asked in a low voice if everyone was still in the courtroom.
“Nope, they’re in chambers now, but I stalled them for you. I got Sara to bring Judge Hanson one of those steak sandwiches he loves. He’s still chowing down, I think.”
“You’re a genius, man. I owe you one.” Sam slowed as she approached the judge’s chambers, knocking lightly and opening the door only when she heard a muffled invitation to enter.
Judge Hanson was just finishing one of Sara’s flame-grilled steak sandwiches, washing it down with what looked like Sara’s famous Savannah sweet tea. He wiped his hands on his napkin, motioned Sam in, and nodded toward one of the tweed chairs across from his desk.
Sam sat quickly with a nod in Moxie’s direction, who was sitting stiffly in the other chair, holding a white paper bag from Gus’s Place on her lap with both hands. She was pale and nervously tucked her chin-length dark hair behind her several times, her eyes focused only on her hands.
The judge finished clearing the last of his dinner off his desk, and Sam smiled at Moxie, whispering behind her hand. “Relax. It’s going to be okay.”
Moxie nodded, her grip on the white paper bag in her lap tightening by the second. “Is he really a judge?”
“I really am a judge.” Moxie jumped as the judge cut in with a warm smile. “Although, I understand the confusion there. This is an unusual meeting, to be sure. Chief Draper asked me to stay late today and hear your case.” He leaned back in his leather desk chair, thumbing through the folder Sam had placed on his desk as she came in.
Moxie looked like she might be sick, and Sam noticed a sheen of sweat had broken out on her upper lip. She looked up, and Sam held her eyes with a quiet steadiness, which, surprisingly, seemed to help. Moxie drew a breath and loosened her grip on the bag as the judge started to speak.
“So I understand from the chief we had an incident at the coffee shop this morning?”
Moxie nodded, lifting her chin slightly and meeting his gaze.
“And you relieved the deputy transporting you of his gun?”
Her reply was so soft it sank in the air, but she didn’t lower her eyes. “Yes, sir.”
The judge was silent again, stacking the papers and sliding them back into the folder as he turned to look at Sam. “Chief, you gave me some information this afternoon that led to a few phone calls regarding Deputy Wilson and his service record. I’ll make sure there’s an investigation regarding his performance today, specifically the racial slurs he aimed at you, Maria. There is no excuse for that.” Judge Hanson paused, leaning forward on his elbows and lowering his voice. “And just for the record, I see here that your first name is Maria, but the chief called you Moxie. If you prefer that, I’ll note that on your file.”
Moxie looked at Sam, but Sam just nodded in the judge’s direction. “Yes, sir.” Moxie said, refocusing her attention on the judge. “I mean, Your Honor.”
“Just out of curiosity, how did you get that gun? They’re almost impossible to pull from the holsters if you’re not wearing them.” Judge Hanson sat back and waited, watching as Moxie gathered her thoughts before she answered.
