Morgan closed the fridge. “Are you going to tell me I’ve just made the worst decision of my life?”
Grandpa dropped into a chair. “Have you thought about this?”
“Honestly, no.” She faced him, crossed her arms, and leaned on the counter. “No one else is going to believe he’s innocent. No one. Bud doesn’t have much money. If he finds another attorney who’s willing to take the case pro bono, it’s going to be for the publicity. Nick’s case is media fodder. And no media-pandering lawyer is going to put Nick’s needs first. It’ll be a show.”
The case had all the earmarks of a publicity rampage.
“What about your job with the prosecutor’s office? Bryce Walters isn’t going to be happy.”
Morgan closed her eyes for a second and swallowed. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
“You’re willing to give up your entire future for Nick? You don’t even know what evidence they have against him,” Grandpa pointed out. “Your whole career is based on putting criminals in jail, not getting them off. Most people arrested and charged with crimes are guilty.”
“Do you believe he’s guilty?” Morgan asked.
Grandpa sighed. “No. But I’m relying on emotion here, not fact. You could be throwing away your whole career.”
“I know. But I don’t have a choice. What if he’s innocent? Do you know what prison will do to a young man like Nick?”
The kid would be part of the most vulnerable set of prisoners. Young, good-looking, and a little naive, he’d be prey among the general population.
“That doesn’t mean he’s innocent,” Grandpa said.
“That’s why I’m going to find the truth.” Morgan eased into the chair facing her grandfather. “Are you disappointed in me?”
“Why would you ever think that?”
“Because I feel like I’m switching sides. Everyone else in the family devoted their lives to putting criminals away, and here I am trying to get a man off a murder charge.”
“No one in our family would want an innocent man put in prison.” Her grandfather put one thin, blue-veined hand over hers. “Danes fight for justice. This is no different. Nick deserves the best counsel he can get, and I know that’s you. No one will fight harder for him.”
“I feel like I’ve been a slacker for the last two years.”
“A slacker? You’re kidding, right?” Grandpa sounded irritated. “Your husband died and left you with three children to raise on your own. You took time off to get your kids and yourself through grief no one should have to face at your age. You and John should have had another forty years together.”
“But we didn’t. Life isn’t fair. It’s time to accept that and move on.” Which sounded easier than it was. “You don’t think Dad would be disappointed that I’ve moved to the other side of the courtroom?”
“He’d be proud of you no matter what you did. You’re taking a stand here. You’re making a personal sacrifice in the name of justice.” Grandpa squeezed her hand. “I’m damned proud of you. Your dad would be too.”
A noise from the street caught their attention. Morgan got up and went to the window. A police car sat in the street outside Bud’s house. “I’m going to make sure everything is all right.”
She went out onto the front porch. A crowd had gathered in the street.
Oh. No.
Chapter Twelve
There was no sneaking up on the Barone family.
Two large German shepherds barked from the end of their chains as Lance stopped his Jeep in front of the house.
Red Noneofyourfuckingbusiness, aka Robby Barone, lived with his parents on a small working farm on the edge of town.
A small satellite dish topped the roof of the two-story basic-blue farmhouse. The lawn was mostly clover but freshly mowed. There were no flowerbeds, no wind chimes. No furniture adorned the weathered gray porch. Instead of children’s toys or a swing set, two clotheslines and a neatly planted vegetable garden filled the rear yard.
A barn and multiple outbuildings were clustered together at the rear of the property. A dozen chickens occupied a fenced run and large coop. A second pen held two pigs, and three cows grazed in a small pasture enclosed with barbed wire. A stock trailer and an old school bus were parked alongside the barn.
Everything about the place said function over frill. There was an air around the house that felt too stark, even for a farm.
The pungent scent of manure coated Lance’s throat as he went up the wooden porch steps. He closed his mouth and rang the doorbell. When he didn’t hear a ring inside the house, he knocked on the doorframe.
The breeze shifted, bringing the welcome smell of herbs to Lance’s nose. Flower pots filled with plants had been lined up like soldiers under a double window. Curtains moved behind the glass, and he caught a brief glimpse of a human shape. The wooden door cracked, and a woman peered around the edge.
Lance smiled through the screen door. “Good morning. Are you Mrs. Barone?”
She nodded. “What do you want?”
The woman assessed Lance. Robby had gotten his red hair, small stature, and freckles from his mother. Mrs. Barone wore a white apron over a flowered cotton dress of washed-out pale blue. Her hair was bound in a thin, tight ponytail. Below the knee-length hem, her feet were bare. She was probably in her mid-thirties, but hard living and ruddy, dry skin made her look older.
Lance smiled and tried to look nonthreatening, which wasn’t an easy task for a man his size. “I’d like to talk to Robby. Are you his mother?”
Robby’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but one of the outbuildings appeared to be a garage, and the overhead door was down.
“Yes. Is he in trouble?” Her grip on the doorknob tightened.
“No, ma’am. I was just hoping he could help me.”
Her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Lance continued. “I’m looking for Jamie Lewis.”
He didn’t mention the video. If Mrs. Barone didn’t know about the party in the woods, then Lance’s squealing on Robby wouldn’t help gain the kid’s cooperation.
“So this isn’t about Tessa Palmer?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.”
Why would she think it was?
Mrs. Barone squinted, lines clawing at the corners of her eyes as she focused over his shoulder and searched the dirt driveway. “Are you with the police?”
“No, ma’am.” Lance slid a business card out of his pocket. “I work for Sharp Investigations. Jamie’s parents have hired us to look for her. I’m interviewing all the kids who might know Jamie.”
Liar.
He told his conscience to shut up. He wasn’t lying. He would interview them all if he could identify them.
Lance looked over Mrs. Barone’s shoulder at the interior of the house. Through the open door, he could see into the living room. The furniture leaned toward worn and weary, but in the background a news show played on an LED TV. A new-looking laptop computer sat open on the coffee table. Clearly, the Barones spent money on electronics.