Finding Isadora(31)

Gabriel remained standing, but didn’t say another word. He simply dropped his hand to Jimmy Lee’s shoulder. The judge’s eyes followed the hand. I knew what she was seeing. An aging hippie with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses like hers, looking absolutely harmless. It was an illusion, of course, to anyone who truly knew my dad, but I felt a surge of hope. I nudged my mother in the ribs. “I think Gabriel may win.”

“I certainly hope so,” Grace whispered.

And sure enough, the judge said, “I find Mr. DeLuca’s argument persuasive. I’m going to release Mr. Wheeler on an undertaking to appear. Ms. Hodgson, I assume you’d like to see conditions attached?”

The woman popped to her feet. “In light of his dual citizenship and the way he fled the States in 1970, the Crown requests that he be required to surrender his passport. We also request that he be required to stay away from the Cosmystiques building—or, rather, what remains of it.”

Gabriel rose quickly. “Mr. Wheeler agrees to those conditions, Your Honor.”

“Very well. So ordered. Now, Mr. DeLuca, let’s move on to the plea and election.”

In less than two minutes, Jimmy Lee had entered his plea of not guilty and a date had been set for the preliminary inquiry, where the judge would determine if there was enough evidence to commit Jimmy Lee for trial.

The date was more than two months away, which seemed a long way off, but I knew the Crown needed time to analyze the evidence from the fire. Time to build their case against my father.

The clerk called the next case, and Jimmy Lee was on his feet, a free man, at least for now.

“Thank god,” I sighed.

“Goddess,” Grace corrected automatically. “And Gabriel.”

She leaped to her feet as the two men walked toward us. Grace and Jimmy Lee embraced as if they hadn’t seen each other in a year.

“Take it outside,” I muttered, then tugged on Jimmy Lee’s arm and pulled the two of them toward the door.

In the hallway, Grace flung her arms around Gabriel. “Thank you.”

“No problem. We got the right judge. Harminder Sharma is fair and she has some left-wing leanings of her own.”

I hugged my dad, then touched his Grateful Dead T-shirt. “Next time you get arrested, you might want to be wearing a different shirt. Like, maybe, one with a peace symbol.”

“I love you too, baby.” He turned to Gabriel. “What do we do next?”

“We pray that woman in the hospital recovers,” he said grimly.

“I think we should go and see how she’s doing,” Grace said.

“I’d steer clear,” Gabriel advised. “She’s unconscious and likely her family will be there. They won’t be looking any too fondly on Jimmy Lee.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Grace said meekly.

I glanced at my mother. I knew that tone. When Gabriel had spoken about passive resistance, had he realized Grace Dean was a mistress of the art? She and Jimmy Lee would be at the hospital before the day was out. Should I warn their lawyer?

When I glanced at Gabriel, he was staring at me with one of those intense, inscrutable expressions of his. It made my pulse flutter. Suddenly he blinked and said, “I have a client to see. I’ll be in touch later.”

Before I could say a word, he was striding down the hall, moving so fast his suit jacket billowed out behind him.

I let out a breath. The morning hadn’t gone badly at all. Jimmy Lee was free, and I hadn’t said anything stupid in front of Gabriel. In fact, we hadn’t even spoken to each other. The attraction was easier to resist when I didn’t have to interact with him.

Outside the courthouse I said goodbye to my parents then walked the couple of miles home. When I got to my apartment, I dialed Richard. After I told him what had happened in court, he said, “That’s great. You must be so relieved.”

“Hugely. Your father did a terrific job and we were lucky with the judge.”

“Feel like getting together for dinner tonight? I could bring my laptop and we could check online for apartment rental ads.”

“Wish I could, but I have to work. Let’s talk on the phone when we both get home.”

I dealt with my menagerie, ate yogurt and fruit for lunch, then headed off to the clinic. My colleagues surrounded me, demanding to hear the latest about Jimmy Lee, and offering their support. Warmed by their consideration, I settled down to work.

The West End Pet-Vet Clinic was officially open to patients from eight in the morning until eight at night, though occasionally one of the vets or assistants spent the night in order to keep an eye on an animal. The three of us vets—Felipe, Liz, and I—rotated shifts. Today, because of the swap, I’d be working the afternoon and evening.

Days at the clinic tended to follow a pattern. First thing in the morning we got drop-offs from people on their way to work. We offered day-care for our patients, which benefited not only the working owners but ourselves as well because we could schedule the animals for treatment throughout the day at our convenience.

After the initial morning flurry, we’d have an irregular flow of patients—animals belonging to retired people, shift workers, stay-at-home parents, and the occasional nine-to-fiver who took time off work to bring in an animal they were worried about. Most came by appointment but there were always a few emergencies—an animal with the sudden onset of frightening symptoms or one that had been in a fight or been hit by a car.