Something in the Way (Something in the Way #1)(87)

Shit, shit, shit. This wasn’t good. The arraignment was in less than three hours. The recording beeped, and I realized I had no idea what I wanted to say. “Hello, Mr. Grimes,” I started.

Tiffany pounded on my door, and I jumped a mile high. “What are you doing?” she asked.

I put my hand over the receiver. “Go away.” I lowered my voice. “Sorry, Mr. Grimes. I’m calling about a client of yours, M—Mr. Manning Sutter. I have information about the night he got in trouble.” I paused. How much should I tell him? I needed to see what he already knew, figure out if I could trust him. “I can’t say it in a message, but it might help him. Please, please call me back when you get this.” I hung up and immediately realized I hadn’t left a number. Or a name. My hand sweat around the receiver. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I needed to. For Manning. I hit redial, stood, and paced the room, back and forth, as far as the cord would allow. “Hi, Mr. Grimes. I just left a message but I forgot to give you my information. I’m Lake. Like the body of water.” I cringed. I hadn’t introduced myself that way since I was a kid. “Lake Kaplan. When you call back, if I don’t answer, please don’t mention what this is about. I live with my family, and they can’t know I’m calling. But it’s really important what I have to tell you.” I relayed my phone number twice and my name again.

I dropped the receiver into its cradle, flopped onto my bed, and looked up at the ceiling. I practiced breathing with my diaphragm as if I were back on the lawn at USC. I tried forcing myself to appreciate what I had around me like Gary had taught us to do. But Manning only grew bigger in my mind.

I had no idea about arraignments. My dad would, but I couldn’t ask him. It’d only been three days. Maybe that was good—I wanted Manning out of there—but it almost seemed too soon. Was an arraignment the same as a trial, like the ones I’d seen on TV shows? In class, we’d watched To Kill a Mockingbird last year. Some of my classmates had fallen asleep, the movie black-and-white, slow-moving, but if the trial scene had been happening in front of my eyes, it would’ve felt fast, with words meant to confuse. Overwhelming. My heart began to race just thinking of Manning in there all alone. Did he even know what to do in an arraignment? How could he, in only three days? If I had information that could help, shouldn’t I be there just in case he needed me?

I sat up quickly, went downstairs, and found Tiffany in the kitchen. “We have to go to Big Bear,” I said.

She pulled her head out of the refrigerator. “What?”

“We need to drive there for the arraignment. Now.”

She took out a carton of orange juice. “Are you kidding? Dad would kill us.”

“Then we won’t tell him.”

She raised a manicured eyebrow as she put the OJ on the counter. “Wow. Since when do you lie to dad?” she asked, unscrewing the cap. “Must really be important to you.”

“You said it yourself—Manning’s all alone. He has no family. You told me,” I swallowed, “you said his sister died. So who’s there with him?”

She took a glass from the cupboard, set it on the counter, and looked back at me. “Nobody, I guess. But he . . .”

“What?” I asked. “Why are you acting so flippant about this? What has he ever done to you besides be nice? You said he was a gentleman.”

“He was.”

“So? That’s not good enough for you?”

“He’s innocent,” she said, staring at the empty glass. “Why does it matter if we go? They’re just going to release him.”

I didn’t have time for this. I had to make a choice. Nothing would happen to Manning; he hadn’t done anything. I had to believe that. But if there was even the slightest chance he might turn and look for me . . . if he needed me to speak up, and I wasn’t there . . .

“Fine.” I turned to leave the kitchen. “But I’m taking your car.”

“What?” She followed me upstairs. “You don’t even know how to drive.”

“I know enough,” I said on my way into my room.

“You’re such a brat,” she said through the door.

I ignored her and changed into the nicest sweater and slacks I owned. I found a pair of pumps in my mom’s closet. They were a size too big, but I put them in my purse. By the time I’d brushed out my hair and attempted a little makeup, Tiffany was downstairs waiting by the front door.

“You’ll come?” I asked.

“He’s going to need a ride back anyway. Like I’d ever let you drive my car,” she said, opening the front door.

She acted annoyed, but I knew my sister well enough to recognize the look in her eyes. She was just as nervous as I was.





26





Manning





Forty minutes before my arraignment, a brown-haired man in his early forties entered the courthouse interview room and slapped a briefcase on the table between us. “Manning Sutter?”

“That’s me.”

I stood to shake his hand, but he stopped me. “No time for formalities. I’m Dexter Grimes, your public defender.” He pulled out a handful of manila file folders, put on his glasses, and rifled through them. “Richards, Rosenblatt, Stephenson,” he muttered, reading them off. “Here we are—Sutter.” He opened my file and frowned. “No, this is wrong.” Fanning them out on the table, he picked one labeled Sweeney and swapped the contents of our files. “There we go. Sweeney was in Sutter, and Sutter was in Sweeney. It happens.”