Rich Blood (Jason Rich #1)(77)

He wanted to go home, but he also knew that sometimes what he needed and wanted were two different things. He drove to Guntersville High School and took his place in the circle in room 21. When his turn came, he shared that the stress over the trial was triggering him to drink. He used to always have a few after a deposition or hearing. This was his first trial, and he’d just spent seven hours picking a jury for the first time in his life. He badly wanted a couple of beers or a whiskey drink to take the edge off. There were sympathetic looks and words of encouragement along with advice for getting past the trigger. Go for a walk. Talk with friends. Get to bed early.

All of it made sense, but Jason knew he was easing away from the trigger by simply being present and checking this box. He’d made one meeting a week now for two months and was nearly halfway to finishing the twelve steps. He was currently on number five, admitting his wrongs to himself and another person. He was moving slow, but everyone had their own pace.

When the meeting was over, several folks slapped him on the back as he walked to his car, his mind drifting to his neighbor. Jason hadn’t seen Chase at any of the meetings since his first one. She’d told him that she needed to go to another class, so she went on Wednesdays, and he went on Mondays. They held each other accountable, but they also kept things separate. Jason knew the reason for the separation, but it still hurt him.

I’m a trigger for her, he thought as he drove home to Mill Creek.

Home. Jason wasn’t sure if that was the right sentiment or not. He was on a bridge between two lives, and the outcome of Jana’s trial was going to determine whether he crossed to the other side or returned to where he’d been.

He wanted to cross, but he was afraid. Fear had always been a motivator for him. Of failure. Of embarrassment. Of disappointment.

With the trial looming in his consciousness, he realized he was scared to death.



Jason, Nola, Niecy, and Chase had dinner together on the patio. Niecy had made spaghetti, which was delicious, while Nola peppered him with questions about the trial. Was he happy with the jury? How long would it last? Who would be the state’s first witness?

Jason answered as best he could, though for most of her questions, the response was “I don’t know.” Since the girls were potential witnesses, they would be excluded from the courtroom up until they were called to the stand. Chase had volunteered to stay with them tomorrow, and Jason was grateful for her help and presence.

When it was time for bed, Nola gave Jason a big hug and thanked him for all he was doing. She cried a little, and then went downstairs to bed. Niecy also gave him a hug. She’d been noticeably warmer since the assault by Cade’s men. As she, too, took the stairs, she looked back and asked him the question that hung in the air all the time.

“Do you think my mom killed my dad?” Simple. Direct. No bullshit. It was a dagger, and Jason wondered how many times both girls would ask that question the rest of their lives. To themselves. Their friends. Therapists. Whether the case was won or lost this week, the question would remain.

“No,” Jason said.

She looked as if she was going to say more, but she didn’t. Her eyes glistened, and then she continued to walk down the stairs.



Jason walked Chase across the short distance to her house, and they stopped outside the door.

“Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” He slowly leaned in for a kiss, and she did as well. Then she turned away and closed the door. Their relationship hadn’t escalated since dinner at the Docks. They talked. They took rides on the Sea-Doo and kayaks. And they kissed.

But nothing more.

Jason wasn’t sure if a relationship with Chase was part of his crossing or not, but he hoped that it was.

But for now, as with his career and everything else in his life, they were on the bridge.





63


At five minutes past nine the following morning, after bringing the jury in and giving a few words of greeting, Judge Conrad announced, “The parties will now give their opening statements. Ms. Lankford, are you ready?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” she said, standing and walking with purpose toward the jury railing.

“On the Fourth of July, our country celebrated its independence. In Marshall County, there were fireworks displays, barbecues, and family get-togethers. But out on Buck Island, one of the nicest areas in all of the state, a woman was plotting to commit murder. The defendant, Jana Rich Waters, conspired with a man named Waylon Pike to kill her husband, beloved local physician Dr. Braxton Waters. She hired him to kill her spouse, and when the deed was done, she gave Pike $15,000 in cash.” Lankford paused. “While many of you as well as myself and most of Marshall County were enjoying our holiday, Braxton Waters was shot to death out by his boathouse on Buck Island, and his body was then dumped in the lake. And while Waylon Pike, who you will hear testify in this trial, used the instrument to kill Dr. Waters, it was the defendant, Jana Waters, who pulled the strings.”

Jason watched the faces of the jury as Shay made her accusations. Several were shooting stares at Jana—the “stink eye,” as his sister had called it—and Jason figured there would be a lot of that during the state’s case in chief. He scribbled a note on his pad and put it in front of Jana.

Stay calm and cool.

He felt her hand on his for a moment, and he looked at her. In his life, he’d rarely if ever seen his sister scared, but he saw abject terror in her eyes now. The fear that could only come when your fate was out of your hands.