Marta Perry - Murder in Plain Sight

“Trust me, you’re not getting near the house,” Trey added. “I doubt your producer really wants the bad publicity involved in bailing you out of jail.”

It hung in the balance for a moment. Then, muttering and discontented, the reporters straggled toward the road. He kept his eyes on them until the last vehicle disappeared.

Then he let out a breath of relief and grinned at Jessica. “Not bad, Counselor. You vanquished them.”

She grinned back, eyes sparkling. “Not bad, yourself. You did as much as I did.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, sensing the awareness that tingled between them. They’d no doubt be arguing again soon, but at the moment they were a team.

JESSICA SLID OFF the motel room bed, stretching her back, which had acquired a few more aches in the past hour. Working at a laptop while reclining on that bed was an exercise in torture. Leo Frost had been kind enough to offer her a desk in his office for the duration of her stay. Tomorrow she’d take him up on that. As he’d said, her superiors didn’t need to know a thing about it.

The day had gone downhill after the triumph of routing the reporters at the Esch farm. The D.A.’s office had stonewalled her on the subject of discovery, saying the documents weren’t ready yet. If that happened again in the morning, she’d have to go to the judge. Thomas’s defense was entitled to see every piece of evidence the prosecution had.

And then there had been a call from the senior partner’s assistant, wanting to know why she hadn’t wrapped up a plea bargain yet. She’d danced around that, not wanting to get into a long-distance argument.

Frowning, she rubbed the back of her neck. Given the delicate situation she was in with the office, it seemed unlikely she’d get much help there. Sara had been interested in this case-she’d probably be willing to put in a few unofficial hours of research time to help her roommate.

She glanced at her watch. Sara ought to be back at the apartment by now. She picked up her cell phone.

“Hi, Jess.” Sara was the only person in her life who called her that, ignoring Jessica’s protests or saying that it was better than calling her Jessie. “How are things in the wilds of the country?”

“Moving slowly. I might almost think the D.A.’s office was being deliberately obstructionist.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Amusement filled Sara’s voice. “You should know. You used to be one.”

“Only a lowly A.D.A.,” Jessica reminded her. “We were too unimportant to worry about politics. It seems the D.A. is running for reelection in the fall.”

“And he wants to make some political hay on this case.” Sara completed the thought for her. “Sounds as if you could use a little clout of your own. Maybe a call from the head honcho at Henderson, Dawes and Henderson would shake up the D.A.”

“I don’t think Dwight Henderson would extend himself for me right now. He just expects a quick plea bargain and an expression of gratitude from the Morgan family, but those two things aren’t going to go together anytime soon.”

“So the Morgans still think the boy is innocent?”

“Geneva does.” She found she was thinking about Trey’s face when he’d confronted the reporters. “It’s possible that Trey-Blake Morgan-is coming around, too.”

“Trey, hmm.” Sara’s grin seemed to come through the telephone. “So tell me, this Trey. Is he married? Engaged? Otherwise involved?”

“I don’t…how would I know that?”

“Girlfriend, you can’t fool me. You’re interested, aren’t you?”

“No. Well, maybe, but I’m certainly not going to pursue the man. Way too complicated. Besides, I get the feeling he’s the kind to get serious over a relationship.”

“Jess, there’s nothing wrong with getting serious when it comes to the right guy.” Sara’s tone softened. “You ought to relax a little. If something’s going to develop, let it.”

“I can’t.” For a very long list of reasons. “Listen, let’s forget about my love life, or lack of one, for the moment. I called to ask a favor.”

“Sure thing. What?”

“I need someone to do a little research for me. Given the situation in the office, I don’t think I can count on them.”

She heard the sound of papers shuffling and pictured Sara searching for her pen, which was probably behind her ear. “Okay, shoot.”

“I need any information you can find about previous cases involving the prosecution of an Amish person for a crime. Also anything else relating to a case like this one, where someone who lives in a sheltered religious community has been tried.”

“You’ve got it. Anything else?”

“That’s all I can think of at the moment. Listen, thanks so much. I know you’re busy-”

“This is ten times more interesting than anything I’m working on now,” Sara said. “You’re trying a murder case involving an Amishman, while I’m still pursuing absentee landlords. I’m living vicariously through you.”

That made Jessica laugh, which was as good a reason as any to call Sara. She said good-night, still smiling.

The motel room was too quiet once she’d hung up. It was too late to do anything else, and too early to go to bed. She stood, stretched and bent over to get the kinks out. If she didn’t get some exercise soon, she’d stagnate. Maybe she could fit in a run tomorrow.

She started toward the television remote then stopped, listening. Footsteps, pacing quietly along the walk in front of the motel units. She took a quick look to be sure there weren’t any gaps in the drapes. She’d never have taken a first-floor room if there’d been any option.

No gaps. No one could possibly see in, and she’d double-bolted the door when she’d come back after supper. She was perfectly safe. It was just another guest, heading for his or her room.

The footsteps stopped. On the other side of the window. It could be perfectly innocent. Someone looking for a room number, or stopping to admire the sky, or looking at his watch, or lighting a cigarette. All perfectly innocent reasons for someone to be standing on the other side of that window, inches away from her.

She could pull back the drape. Her hand reached for it and stopped before she touched the fabric. She couldn’t. And anyway, she shouldn’t. Common sense dictated that she do nothing to stir up unwanted attention.

She realized she was holding her breath. Waiting. Was he holding his breath, too? Looking at the window? Anyone could have found out where she was staying, and the thought of that knife in her tires sent a chill down her spine.

Call the desk clerk. That was the sensible thing to do, regardless of whether he thought she sounded like an idiot. She took a step toward the phone. The person outside moved, too, walking quickly away.

Receiver in her hand, she moved back toward the window. If she parted the drapes just an inch, she might be able to see whoever it was. Her fingers closed on the fabric, and she leaned close.

The fixture was on outside her door, casting a semicircle of sickly light on the walk. Her eyes, accustomed to the lamps she’d turned on inside, couldn’t make out much in the parking lot.

She leaned closer, forehead touching the cool glass, and tried to look down the row of units. Nothing.

A movement from the parking lot caught her eye, but it was nothing more than a flicker of shadow against shadow. Suddenly something black hurtled toward her. She stumbled back, heart racing, as it thudded against the glass.

Silence. Nothing moved out there. Fingers shaking, she punched the button for the front desk.

“This is Ms. Langdon in Room 112.” Amazing that her voice sounded so calm when she was trembling inside. “Someone just threw something against my window.”