Page 106 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
“I need you to get access to some phone records. Can you do that before Monday?”
“Um, I can request them. Before Monday, though? That’s going to be tough. Why?”
I took a deep breath. If Maisy wouldn’t hear of my past, I’d at least tell her attorney. So that’s what I did. I spent the next thirty minutes confessing my secrets to Stuart Redhill.
Secrets that were going to destroy Maisy’s trust in our relationship.
But secrets that would keep Coby out of Eleanor Carlson’s grasp.
Maisy
“This chair is uncomfortable,” Dad grumbled.
“Mine has a squeak. See?” Behind me, Mom wiggled her chair so hard the wooden legs clacked on the floor and the squeaking—which hadn’t been all that noticeable earlier—echoed throughout the room.
I opened my mouth to scold my parents but Beau beat me to it. “You’re not helping.”
“Sorry,” Dad muttered at the same time Mom stilled. “We’re just nervous.”
Nervous. Jittery. Edgy.
There wasn’t a word strong enough to describe my level of anxiety. I was coming out of my skin.
Sitting in the small room at the county courthouse, I drummed my fingers on the wooden table in front of me. Stuart was on my right. Mom, Dad, Beau and Sabrina were in the row behind us. Jess, Gigi and Michael were behind them. There was only one empty seat on my half of the courtroom.
The seat where Hunter’s perfect butt was supposed to be sitting.
I glanced over my shoulder, looking at the door for the hundredth time in the last half hour. Where was he? He was never late. Was he mad because of this morning?
Hunter had tried earlier to—once again—unload whatever was on his mind about his past. And—once again—I’d dutifully shut him out. I’d kissed his pleading lips good-bye and shut the door on his face. Whatever he had to tell me could wait until after the hearing. Whether it was about his family or an ex-girlfriend or our relationship, it could wait.
Coby’s hearing came first.
But even if Hunter was mad, he could at least be here on time.
I sighed and turned back to the front, taking in the other half of the room. Eleanor Carlson’s side was barren. The devil herself, her witnesses and her attorney had yet to arrive.
I glanced up at the white clock on wall behind the judge’s bench: 8:50 a.m. The hearing would start in ten minutes and the key players had yet to arrive, including the judge. The only other person in the room was a stenographer setting up her machine at the front. Didn’t the others believe in being prompt? Was there anything wrong with starting things a few minutes ahead of schedule? Because if this hearing didn’t start on time, the chances of me flipping out completely were really, really high.
But at least I wouldn’t be alone when I went berserk. I could feel Dad’s tree trunk of a leg bouncing on the floor and Mom was squirming in her squeaky chair again.
“Where is Hunter?” Mom whispered.
I just shrugged. Good question. Where was Hunter?
“He’ll be here,” Stuart told Mom.
I turned to look at the wooden doors again, wishing for one to open with Hunter on the other side. He was my calming presence, my steady hand to hold, and I desperately needed some steady right now.
Open. Open. Open.
I stared at the doors for another second as I willed them to open, but the dark mahogany stayed shut.
Turning back to the front, I surveyed the décor for the twentieth time. Was it a requirement that all courtrooms be decorated in wood and only wood? Was it supposed to be comforting and calming? If so, it was having the opposite effect
on me. I felt trapped in this wooden chair behind this wooden table in this wooden room.
Dark paneling covered the walls from floor to ceiling. The judge’s oak bench towered above us. The wooden seat at his side was bracketed by wooden spindles. The only thing in the room that wasn’t wooden was the freshly waxed linoleum floor, which shined under the florescent lights above.
