“That’s true,” he said, his voice dripping self-satisfaction.
“And I’m over here in Williams County, doing a solo practice. I’ve got a case going to trial really soon. My client is a young man, and I’ve just got to get him into a suit. I wondered, you know—could I maybe use one of your castoffs? Something you don’t wear anymore?”
Now the phone was silent on his end.
I said, “It would be a real kindness on your part, Lee. An act of charity.” To lighten the tone, I added, “You’d be racking up points in heaven.”
In a suspicious voice, he said, “What kind of clientele are you representing? What man can’t put clothes on his back? Oh, my God, don’t tell me—is this a criminal case?”
I should have figured he’d react in just this way.
“Yes. A criminal case.”
“What’s the charge?”
If I thought I could get away with it, I’d have lied through my teeth. But he could easily check my veracity; all he had to do was go online. “Murder. A murder case.” Hastily, I added, “He’s innocent.”
He laughed with genuine mirth. “Oh, they’re all innocent, definitely. Every inmate convicted in Mississippi swears he wouldn’t hurt a fly, it was someone else who ‘done it.’ What on earth are you doing with a murder case?”
“I got appointed.”
“Well, that’s a hoot. So tell me about this client of yours who doesn’t have a stitch of clothing.”
I hesitated. It wouldn’t advance my cause with Lee to reveal Darrien Summers’s race. Lee and his family made no secret of their innate sense of superiority to others. The list of people who were beneath their notice was long. As I held the phone, I wondered yet again how I had ever been drawn to him.
“Lee, you don’t really want to hear the details. I’d surely appreciate it if you’d do me a solid. It’s not so much to ask, right?”
“Um, don’t think I can, Ruby. I really don’t relish the idea of a criminal trudging into court in chains, sporting my clothes.”
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out the Nicorette box. Chewing down on the tablet, I thought: I tried to be nice. It’s time to play dirty.
“Lee, I’ll make you a deal. You help me out, and I won’t tell your mama the real reason I broke off the engagement.”
I could hear a sharp intake of breath on his end of the phone. “You know, you always had a mean streak, Ruby. Ruthless. I tried to ignore it, but it was always there, right under the surface.”
I didn’t suppose that Lee had shared the real story with his mother, the incident that caused our relationship to end. But I certainly hadn’t forgotten it. At our engagement party, I’d walked in on him in a bathroom stall with a kneeling woman. So much for the fairy-tale romance.
“You want to blackmail me. Well, you can’t play me. I’m not giving you a suit.”
“You sure about that?”
He exhaled. “How about a compromise? I’ve got someone who might be disposed to help you out. My aunt Suzanne practices in Barnes County. Aunt Suze has a soft spot for charity cases.”
I frowned into the phone. He was making it complicated. “But I don’t even know her.”
“Sure you do. You met her one Christmas. Six feet tall, silver hair, two hundred and fifty pounds. Never saw a buffet she didn’t like. She’ll probably lend you a hand with your clothing crisis.”
“Why would your kinfolks want to help me, when you won’t do it? How am I supposed to beg a favor from your aunt?”
His voice had regained its confident drawl. “Give her a call, you’ll see. Aunt Suzanne is the black sheep of the family. Because she has a taste for trash.”
Chapter 8
WITH TWELVE DAYS to go before trial, I should have been dealing with truly pressing matters. Evidence. Witnesses. Research. Trial strategy. Instead, I continued to obsess about getting Darrien into a decent suit for court. So I drove to the next county to meet with Suzanne Greene. Her secretary had said she had some time free before noon.
I recognized Lee’s aunt Suzanne the moment I walked into her office and saw her behind her desk. We had shared a cigarette on the side porch of the Greene family homestead when I’d been invited for Christmas during the courtship. Aunt Suzanne had been the only member of Lee’s family who didn’t act like they should double-check the silver forks to make sure none were missing.
She waved me into her office. “Sit on down, hon, and let me finish up this letter. It’ll just be a minute.”
I sat, grateful that she hadn’t kicked off our meeting by mentioning the broken engagement. But despite Lee’s indication that she might help me out, I was nervous.
While Suzanne worked at her computer, I stole a glance around her office. Her desk had piles of papers and files, scattered legal pads bearing handwritten scrawls. Her walls were adorned with certificates: her license to practice in Mississippi, her diploma from the University of Chicago Law School, and her certificate of membership in the ACLU.
I did a double take, squinting to ensure my eyes didn’t deceive me. When I ascertained that the certificate did in fact declare Suzanne Greene to be a member of the American Civil Liberties Union, I felt such a rush of relief that my shoulders sagged.
She turned away from the computer screen and faced me. “All righty, then, Ruby. Tell me what’s cooking.”
I said, “I have a predicament. Just this week, Judge Baylor appointed me to represent Darrien Summers on a capital murder charge in Williams County.”
She rubbed the end of her nose. “The Jewel Shaw murder. It’s been all the talk around here for weeks.”
“They wanted him to plead guilty, but he wouldn’t. Mrs. Greene, he swears he didn’t do it.”
“That’s Ms. Greene, hon. I kept my maiden name. Burned my bra, too, back in the 1970s.” Her face lit up with a grin. “But it’s a more important source of support these days. Now, Ruby, I do recall hearing some scuttlebutt about your client. Wasn’t a story going around that Summers beat up the public defender?”
I grimaced, though it didn’t surprise me to learn that the story had made the rounds of courthouse talk.
“He didn’t hit him. Just swung at him.”
Suzanne folded her arms on her desk and took a long look at me. “So the public defender pulled out, and Baylor appointed a little old girl who’s fresh out of school and green as grass.” She made an impatient noise with her tongue and shook her head. Pointing a finger at me, she said, “You watch out for Baylor. I went to undergrad with him at Ole Miss. He was a sneaky asshole then, and he hasn’t changed a bit.”
Here was a new wrinkle. This case was my worst nightmare. “Okay. Thanks, Ms. Greene; I’ll be careful. I called you because there’s something I need to get for my client. He doesn’t have—”
She cut me off. “Tell me about their evidence. Give me the state’s case—nutshell version.”
I laid it out for her: the text; Jewel Shaw in the cabana with thirteen stab wounds; my client discovered by her side, covered in her blood.
“What was the murder weapon?”
“No weapon was found, but Jewel’s phone was in the cabana, containing a variety of photos depicting a sexual relationship between Darrien and the deceased.”
“How bad are they?”
“The selfies? Pretty shocking, I’m afraid.”
“Let me take a look.”
I was glad I’d brought the file along. I fished out the photocopies for her inspection. She lifted the reading glasses that dangled from a chain around her neck and held them like a magnifying glass.
Suzanne held up the picture from the billiard room. “Look at this. Jewel looks like she just won a blue ribbon at the county fair.”
It was true. Jewel was grinning from ear to ear.