The judge rapped his gavel once and glared at her. She shrugged and blew a discrete little kiss that made the lawyers laugh.
“Is he a good judge?”
Addie slipped the yarn along her needles and turned it to knit the next row. “Now I didn’t say that.”
“For this case, I mean? Is he impartial?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
The room was packed when the hearing started with witnesses being called to testify about Dale and his business. Where he’d grown up, what his connections were, how far he’d risen in the walking horse world. Billie was aware that at some point the courtroom door opened for a latecomer. She turned to look and saw a man in a seersucker suit—his tie open at the neck, a black briefcase in his hand—enter and sit in front of Addie.
“Who’s that?” Billie asked her.
“No idea.”
Witness followed witness, first detailing Dale’s alleged crime, establishing where it occurred, how it was discovered, what was discovered, alluding to an expert witness who would testify even more damningly about the condition of the horses in Dale’s barn.
Eventually, the judge asked the bailiff to bring in the expert witness.
“I’m already here, your honor.” The man seated in front of Addie rose.
“Are you Dr. Michael Spearman, of National Chemical Forensics?”
“I am.”
“Dr. Spearman, you’re not allowed to be here.”
“But sir—”
“Before we began, I informed the attorneys that witnesses would not be permitted in this courtroom before they gave their testimony. That is to keep anyone from hearing someone else’s testimony and adjusting his or her own to match. Were you not aware of this rule?”
“I wasn’t.”
Addie stopped knitting, her attention fixed on the judge. “Ah, shit,” she murmured.
“What’s going on?” Billie asked.
Addie didn’t answer her.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the judge addressed the room, “I regret that we have a mistrial. Mr. Thornton, you are free to go.”
“What happened?” Billie asked as Addie rose.
“Trial’s over.”
“But why?”
“You heard the judge.”
“But why didn’t the witness know? Why didn’t someone tell him? The attorneys knew, right?”
“Exactly.” Addie stuffed her knitting into her bag and headed for the door. “That’s the sixty-four-dollar question.”
Billie jogged to keep up with her, brushing past Richard at the doorway. Briefly, she felt his hand on the small of her back. If anyone saw it, it wouldn’t look like anything, just two people passing in a close space. But it lit her up with memories of their lovemaking.
The performers were gone from the lobby.
Billie saw a reporter grab Richard’s arm. “Comment on the verdict? What do you think of what happened, Mr. Collier?”
Richard pulled away and shoved through the throng, Billie in his wake.
Where had they all come from? When she’d entered the courthouse ninety minutes ago, there had only been a few reporters. Now there were five times as many people pressing forward with microphones, iPads, and cell phones. Most of them obviously didn’t recognize him, but they shouted random questions at him anyway. Once he reached the far side, he turned and looked back. Billie’s eyes found his and he paused. Then he moved on.
Reporters also mobbed Dale, who stood with his back to a wall, head held high, Eudora at his side.
“Because I am innocent!” Billie heard him say.
Outside, thunder cracked overhead, and rain battered the pavement. Billie looked around for Richard but couldn’t see him. Somewhere in the crowd, in the rain, she thought she glimpsed Charley’s grizzled head. When she looked again to make sure, he wasn’t there. She stepped off the sidewalk into a puddle. Water sloshed over the tops of her shoes, soaking her feet.
She spotted Richard ducking into his truck and ran to him. Rivulets streamed down her forehead into her eyes. “Can we talk?”
“Sure,” he said, as if he knew it was the wrong answer.
She waited for him to offer her a dry spot in the truck. When he didn’t, she asked, “Where?”
“Your motel?”
Her pause was infinitesimal, trying to hide her relief. She told him which one.
“Nine tonight okay for you?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said.
As suddenly as it had started, the downpour became a sprinkle, then stopped. A mosquito landed on her elbow. Another whined around her ear. She should have brought bug spray to the press conference. She had some in the car. She wondered if she had time to go get it. Something bit her on the back of her neck, and she swatted at it. Steam rose off puddles left from the downpour, puddles that reflected a huge sign advertising the horse show, and insects of all sizes and appetites zoomed through the sodden air.
Just as she was about to return to her car to look for repellant, news vans pulled up. Most were from local stations and Nashville and Knoxville, followed by a trio sporting logos from ABC, CBS, and NBC. They were followed by a swarm of sedans and SUVs that parked among them, nosed in toward the curb. Reporters and video crews waded through the standing water to set up. There must be at least a couple dozen media types, she realized. She felt like a wallflower, standing alone to the side.
“That’s him!” She recognized Dan Tiger, who anchored the 11 PM news.
Richard got out of his truck and extended his hand. “Hey, Tiger!”
There was a tense pause before Tiger took the proffered hand for a quick squeeze. “Surprised to see you here, Richard.”
A young woman grabbed Richard by the elbow and moved him so he stood under the Big Show sign.
“This is good,” she said. “Stay right here.”
Billie moved in closer.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she heard Tiger say.
Richard gawked at him then a look of outrage overtook his surprise.
“Don’t I remember your riding in this same arena a decade ago, Tiger? On that bay mare your father-in-law bred and raised, and that you trained. If I recall, you sored that horse all the way
