My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(55)

“Edmund House was your last trial, wasn’t it?”

“I haven’t seen the inside of a courtroom in twenty years, and I don’t intend to ever see one again.”

Steam whistled from the spout of the kettle, and Finn shuffled about to fill both mugs. Tracy declined cream or sugar. Finn set the mugs on the table and sat across from her dunking his tea bag. The mug shook when he raised it to take a sip. “Millie’s health had already been in decline. I hadn’t intended to take any more trials.”

“Why did you?”

“Judge Lawrence asked me to defend Edmund House as a favor. No one else would. When the trial ended, I came home. Millie and I thought we’d share a few years together, do those things we’d put off because I was always in court. Travel a bit. Life doesn’t work out the way we plan, does it?”

“Do you remember the trial?”

“You want to know if I did my best for that young man.”

“You were a good lawyer, DeAngelo. My father always said that about you.”

Finn gave her a wry smile. Tracy could not help but think it held a secret—and the knowledge that no one was going to force an eighty-eight-year-old man with a bad heart and emphysema to testify. “I have no guilt or misgivings about how I handled that matter.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“We’re not always entitled to the answers.”

“Why not in this instance?”

“Because the answers can be hurtful.”

“My family’s gone too, DeAngelo. It’s just me.”

His gaze lost focus. “Your father always treated me with respect. Not everyone did. I didn’t come from one of those prestigious law schools and I’m not exactly cut from the textbook image of a trial attorney, but your father always respected me and he was so very kind to my Millie. I appreciated that, more than you will ever know.”

“Enough to throw your final case if he asked?”

It had always been her theory that her father, not Calloway or Clark, had orchestrated Edmund House’s conviction. Finn didn’t flinch. He placed his hand atop hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. Finn’s hand was small and spotted with age. “I’m not going to try to dissuade you from what you’ve come back to do. I understand there is a part of you that clings to your sister and to a different time. We all cling to that time, Tracy, but it doesn’t mean we’re going to get it back. Things change. As do we. And many things changed the day your sister disappeared, for all of us. But I’m so very glad you stopped by this afternoon to visit.”

Tracy had her answer. If Finn had been part of a conspiracy to frame Edmund House, he would take it to his grave. They made small talk about Cedar Grove and the people who’d lived there for another twenty minutes. Then Tracy pushed back her chair. “I appreciate the cup of tea, DeAngelo.”

Finn walked her through the mudroom to the back door, and she stepped out onto the small porch, feeling the discrepancy between the warm house and the cool air and smelling the rich odor of the fertilizer DeAngelo had been adding to the soil. She thanked him again, but as she turned to leave, he reached out and rested his hand on her arm.

“Tracy,” he said. “Be careful. Sometimes our questions are better left unanswered.”

“There’s no one left to hurt, DeAngelo.”

“But there is,” he said, and he gave her that gentle smile again as he stepped back and shut the door.



Tracy picked at a carton of chicken in black bean sauce with chopsticks. Reams of paper, yellow legal pads and trial transcripts, lay strewn across Dan’s kitchen table. They’d taken a break to eat and to watch the evening news. Dan had muted the sound while they talked.

“He didn’t even disagree with me,” Tracy said, recounting her conversation with DeAngelo Finn again. “He just said he had no guilt or misgivings.”

“But he didn’t say he defended him to the best of his abilities.”

“No, he definitely didn’t say that.”

“We don’t really need him to prove he did not defend House to an acceptable standard,” Dan said, reading an article on the front page of the Seattle Times on the impending hearing. The Times had run a comprehensive story, along with Sarah’s senior year class picture, a twenty-year-old photo of Edmund House, and a more recent photograph of Tracy. The Associated Press had picked up the story and run it in dozens of newspapers across the country, including USA Today and the Wall Street Journal.

“There was something more there, Dan.” She spiked her chopsticks in the carton and sat back. Rex padded over and stuck his head in her lap, a rare sign of affection. “You need some attention?” she asked, rubbing his head.

“Careful. He’s a master manipulator. What he wants is some chicken.”

She scratched Rex behind the ears. Sherlock, not to be left out, attempted to nuzzle Rex out of the way. “Are you still thinking about opening with Calloway?”

Dan folded the newspaper and set it on the table. “Right out of the chute.”

“My guess is he’ll feign a lack of memory and refer you to his testimony at trial.”

“I’m counting on it. I intend to pick apart his testimony.” Dan snapped his fingers and pointed, and the two dogs dutifully went into the family room and lay on the rug. “The more he evades answering my questions the better. I just need to pin him down and let the testimony of the other witnesses discredit him. And if I can get under his skin, he might just say more than he otherwise would.”