Weekend Warriors (Sisterhood #1)(25)

Nikki followed Charles through the secret opening and then waited until she was certain it was closed tightly before she said, “Did Myra tell the others about Marie Lewellen? I know Julia knows, but what about the others?”

“She’s going to tell them now,” Charles said, reaching for his keys on the hook by the kitchen door.

Ninety minutes later Nikki marched down the corridor that led to Judge Olsen’s office. She gave her name to his secretary and took a seat, her heart fluttering in her chest. She did her best to steel herself for what she knew was coming.

Ruth McIntyre looked over her granny glasses to stare at Nikki. “The judge has been trying to reach you for hours, Miss Quinn.” The statement clearly said her routine, as well as Judge Olsen’s routine, had been upset with their inability to get in touch with her.

“I was in McLean, Mrs. McIntyre. It was impossible to leave, with the storm and all. The power went out. The phones went down. The battery on my cell phone went dead. I apologize.”

“Mr. Emery was here bright and early. The judge and myself were both here at seven.” The glasses on the end of her pointy nose jiggled with indignation.

Nikki eyeballed the cranky secretary and didn’t flinch. I’m really sick of this crap, she thought. A tiny smile played around the corners of her mouth. It was downright amazing what a group of women hell-bent on securing justice could do to one’s psyche. “Jack Emery can walk from his apartment to the courthouse while I, on the other hand, was over an hour away. I’m here now,” she said tightly.

Nikki continued to stare at the judge’s secretary. She absolutely would not allow this woman to intimidate her. She’s got to be ninety if she’s a day, she thought. She still wore her hair in the style of the 1920s, with its side part and tight finger waves. Pressed powder covered her face and filled the deep trenches alongside her mouth and under her chin. Perfect quarter-sized circles of rouge were painted dead center on her cheeks. Waxy, salmon colored lipstick crept up to and filled in the deep lines over and under her lips. Even from this distance, she could smell her Evening in Paris perfume.

Today the indomitable old bat was wearing a high-necked blouse with a flounce curled around her stringy neck. Nikki knew it was a flounce because Ruth McIntyre said it was a flounce. Myra said she never heard of such a thing, but then Myra was a fashion plate and didn’t hark to the olden days like Ruth McIntyre did. She was in a time warp, bottom line.

“I have a call in to Mr. Emery. I believe he’s somewhere in the courthouse. I had him paged. You’ll just have to wait till he gets here. The judge isn’t going to want to go through this mess twice.”

“That’s fine. After all, it’s not like I have anything else to do, Mrs. McIntyre,” Nikki responded, her reply courteous but sarcastic. She reached over for a battered and tattered copy of National Geographic. She flipped through the curled-back pages and was about to replace the magazine on the table when Jack Emery entered the office.

“It’s nice to see you finally made it, Counselor,” he said. His tone was velvet, edged with steel.

“It’s nice to see your cheery face, too, Counselor,” Nikki said, taking her cue from his tone of voice. She ached to have him reach for her, to put his arms around her shoulders. It wasn’t going to happen. He was pissed, and when Jack was pissed you ran as far as you could to get away from him.

“The judge will see you now,” Ruth McIntyre said. “Remember to be respectful,” she said, wagging a long, bony finger at Jack.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack said.

Nikki ignored the comment and walked through the door ahead of Jack. Her stomach rumbled and she could feel her left eye start to twitch.

She hated this judge. Hated his narrow-minded, sanctimonious attitude toward people and the law. Everything was either black or white. He refused to acknowledge the color gray existed. He went strictly by the book. He should have stood down years ago, but for some unfathomable reason he was still sitting on the bench. She longed for the day when she would see him nodding off in the middle of a trial so she could start a movement to have him retire. Anything. Anything.

“Sit down,” he barked. He reminded her of a bulldog. He’s Ruth’s twin, Nikki thought crazily. The only difference was, where she smelled like Evening in Paris, he smelled like Lava soap and vinegar.

They sat. And they waited while the judge eyeballed them over the rim of his glasses. He fixed his beady, watery eyes on Nikki. He jabbed at the air with his index finger. “You told me Mrs. Lewellen was not a flight risk, that she had deep ties to the community. You managed to get her bail. You lied to me, Miss Quinn.”

Determined to maintain her composure, Nikki resisted the urge to stiffen her shoulders. “No, Your Honor, I did not lie to you. That was what I believed at the time. I had no reason to believe otherwise. These past months as we prepared for trial gave me no indication she would take flight. Furthermore, Your Honor, I only have Mr. Emery’s word that she absconded. She might have gone to visit someone. It is getting close to the trial date. She might have felt the need to get some space around her.”

Jack turned sideways in his chair. “She’s gone. And they didn’t take anything with them, either. We went through the house. Their suitcases are still in the closets. Their toothbrushes are still in the bathroom. There’s food in the refrigerator. They just walked away. That tells me they had to have help.”