My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(56)

“He does have a temper.” She glanced at the television. “Hang on. That’s Vanpelt.”

Maria Vanpelt stood on the sidewalk outside the Cascade County Courthouse, the bronze letters on the sandstone visible over her right shoulder. Dan followed Tracy to the couch, picked up the remote, and hit the “Mute” button as Vanpelt strolled toward the courthouse steps while noting how she had been the one who “broke” the story of Tracy Crosswhite’s involvement in securing Edmund House a hearing.

“She makes it sound like Watergate, doesn’t she?” Dan said.

At the base of the courthouse steps, Vanpelt pivoted and faced the camera. In the background, Tracy detected multiple news vans parked along the street nearest the courthouse entrance, staking out territory.

“It seems it is not just Edmund House on trial here, but the entire town of Cedar Grove. The question remains—what really happened all those years ago? The disappearance of a prominent doctor’s daughter. A massive search. The dramatic arrest of a paroled rapist. And a sensational murder trial that may have put an innocent man behind bars. Neither side is talking tonight, but we’ll all know soon enough. The hearing of Edmund House begins tomorrow morning, and I’ll be there, inside the courtroom, bringing you up-to-the-moment reports on the day’s events.”

Vanpelt looked one last time over her shoulder to the courthouse before signing off.

Dan muted the television again. “It looks like you’ve managed to do what no one else could.”

“What’s that?”

“Make Cedar Grove relevant again. It’s been mentioned on every news show and in every major newspaper in the country. And, I’m told, every hotel between Cedar Grove and the courthouse is full. People are renting out rooms in their homes.”

“I think she’s got more to do with that than I do,” Tracy said, referring to Vanpelt. “She’s wrong about the trial having been sensational, though. I remember it as almost boring. Vance Clark was methodical and plodding, and I recall DeAngelo as competent but subdued, like he was resigned to the outcome.”

“Maybe he was.”

“In fact, I remember a strange detachment by the whole town, as if no one wanted to be there but felt an obligation to attend. I’ve often wondered if my father had something to do with that also, whether he made some calls so the judge and jury would see the support for Sarah and the impact the crime had on the town.”

“Like he wanted to ensure the jury didn’t hesitate when it came time to sentence House.”

She nodded. “He didn’t believe in the death penalty, but he wanted House to get life without parole. I remember that. But he seemed more detached than anyone.”

“How so?”

“My father was a note taker. I remember he’d take notes of even casual phone conversations. During the trial he kept a notepad on his lap, but he never wrote a single word.” Dan glanced at her. “Not one,” she said.

Dan ran a hand over a day’s growth of stubble on his chin. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

He seemed to give her answer consideration. “You never let your guard down, do you?”

“I don’t have a guard up.” She stepped to the kitchen, clearing cartons from the table to make room so they could get back to work.

Dan leaned against the counter, watching her. “Tracy, you’re talking to a guy that had his guard up for two years so no one would see how much my ex-wife had hurt me.”

“I think we should concentrate on the case and psychoanalyze Tracy some other time.”

He pushed away from the counter. “Okay.”

She set down a carton. “What do you want me to say, Dan? Do you want me to go to pieces and break down and cry? What good is that going to do?”

He raised both hands in mock surrender, pulled out his chair at the kitchen table, and sat. “I just thought it might help to talk.”

She stepped toward him. “Talk about what? Talk about Sarah’s disappearance? Talk about my father putting a shotgun in his mouth? I don’t need to talk about it, Dan. I lived it.”

“All I asked was how you’re doing.”

“And I said I was fine. Do you want to be my psychiatrist, too?”

His eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t. I don’t want to be your psychiatrist. But I would like to be your friend again.”

Dan’s answer caught her off guard. She approached where he was sitting. “Why would you say that?”

“Because what I feel like is your lawyer and that’s causing me enough ethical turmoil. Be honest. Would you have given me the time of day if I hadn’t told you I was a lawyer that day at Sarah’s funeral?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t personal.”

“I know. You’ve made that clear also.” He opened his laptop.

She moved her chair closer to his and sat. She’d known this moment would come, when they would try to clarify their relationship. She just hadn’t thought it would be the night before the hearing. But now that it was before them, she saw no reason not to get it said and done. “I didn’t want to give anyone in Cedar Grove the time of day, Dan. It wasn’t just you. I didn’t want to be back here.”