Presumed Guilty

Richard didn’t print the article. It would’ve exposed his own father-in-law. And brought the family’s dirty linen out into the public eye.”

Miranda shook her head. “We’ll never prove it. Not after Noah’s lawyer gets through with the smoke and mirrors. You’ve been away from this island too long, Chase. You’ve forgotten how it is. The DeBolts, they’re the equivalent of gods in this town.”

“Not any longer.”

“Then there’s the matter of evidence. How do you prove he killed Richard?” She sighed, an admission of defeat. “No, I’m the convenient suspect. The one they’ll convict.” She sat back wearily. “The one they’ll put away.”

“That won’t happen, Miranda. I won’t let it happen.”

Their gazes met. For the first time she saw what she’d been longing to see in his eyes. Trust. “Then you think I’m telling the truth.”

“I know you’re telling the truth.” He touched her face. As his hand stroked down the curve of her cheek she closed her eyes and felt herself melting, flowing like warm liquid against him. “I think I’ve known it all along. But I was afraid to admit it. Afraid to consider the other possibilities….”

“It wasn’t me, Chase. It wasn’t.” She slid into his arms and there she found warmth and courage, all the courage she’d somehow lost in these past soul-battering days. Believe me, she thought. Never stop believing me.

They were still locked in that embrace when Evelyn Tremain walked in the station door.

Miranda felt Chase stiffen against her, heard his sharp intake of breath. Slowly she raised her head and turned to see Evelyn and the DeBolt family attorney, Les Hardee, standing a few feet away.

“So it’s come to this, has it?” Evelyn said quietly.

Chase said nothing.

“Where is my father?” said Evelyn.

“In the room down the hall,” said Chase. “He’s talking to Lorne.”

“Without me?” cut in the attorney. He headed swiftly down the hall, muttering, “A clear violation of rights….”

Evelyn hadn’t moved. She was still staring at them. “What sort of lies are you spreading about my father, Chase?”

Slowly Chase stood to face her. “Only the truth, Evelyn. It may be hard to take, but you’ll have to accept it.”

“The truth?” Evelyn let out a disbelieving laugh. “An officer calls me, tells me my father’s been arrested for assault. Assault? Noah DeBolt? Who’s lying, Chase? My father? You?” She looked at Miranda. “Or someone else?”

“Lorne will explain the charges. You’d better talk to him.”

“Because you won’t? Is that it? Oh, Chase.” She shook her head. “You’ve turned your back on your own family. We love you. And look how you hurt us.” She turned, faced the corridor. Softly she said, “I just hope Lorne has the good sense to know the truth when he hears it.” Taking a deep breath, she started down the hall.

“Wait here,” Chase said to Miranda.

“What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer. He just kept walking away, in pursuit of Evelyn.

Stunned, Miranda watched him vanish around the corner. She heard a door open, then close behind him, shutting her out. She wondered what was going on in that room, what words were being exchanged, what deals forged. She had no doubt there would be deals, declarations of Noah’s innocence. His attorney would do his best to twist the story around, make it seem like some crazy misunderstanding. Somehow they’d manage to make Miranda look like the guilty party.

Please, Chase, she thought. Don’t let them sway you. Don’t start doubting me again.

She stared down the hall and waited.

And she feared the worst.

“The charges are preposterous,” said Evelyn. “My father’s never broken a law in his life. Why, if he gets too much change back from a clerk, he’ll go across town to return it. How can you accuse him of assault, much less attempted murder?”

“Mr. Tremain here has the bruises to prove it,” said Lorne.

“So does my client!” cut in Les Hardee. “All that proves is, they traded blows in the dark. A case of mistaken identity. Two men blindly duking it out. At the very worst, you can accuse my client of idiotic behavior.”

“Thanks a lot, Les,” grunted Noah.

“The point is,” said Hardee, “you can’t hold him. The damage—” he glanced at Chase’s bruised face, then at Noah’s face, even more bruised “—appears to be mutual. And as for that nonsense about trying to kill Miranda Wood, well, where’s your evidence? She was facing a jail term. Of course she was depressed. Of course she’d consider suicide.”

“What about the fire?” pointed out Chase. “The car that almost ran her down? I was there, I saw it. Someone’s trying to kill her.”

“Not Mr. DeBolt.”

“Does he have alibis?”

“Do you have evidence?” Hardee shot back. He turned to Lorne. “Look, let’s call a halt to this farce. I’ll take the responsibility. Release Mr. DeBolt.”

Lorne sighed. “I can’t.”

Evelyn and Hardee stared at the diminutive chief of police.

“I’m afraid there is evidence,” said Lorne, almost apologetically. “Ellis found a bottle of chloroform behind the garage. That kind of argues against suicide, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing to do with me,” said Noah.

“Then here’s some more evidence,” cut in Chase. It was time to gamble, time to shoot the wad. He was going to make a guess here; he only hoped it was the right one. “You know that money from the Bank of Boston? That hundred thousand dollars used to bail out Miranda Wood? Well, I had a banker friend of mine slip into the computer. Match that money transfer to an account.”

“What?” Lorne turned to Chase in surprise. “You know who paid the bail?”

“Yes.” Here goes, thought Chase. “Noah DeBolt.”

It was Evelyn who reacted first, with a rage that transformed her face into an ugly mask. The look was directed at her father. “You did what?”

Noah said nothing. His silence was all Chase needed to back up his hunch. Right on target.

“It can be officially confirmed,” said Chase. “Yes, it was your father who paid the bail.”

Evelyn was still staring at Noah. “You let her out?”

Noah’s head drooped. In an instant he’d been transformed into a very old, very tired-looking man. “I did it for you,” he whispered.

“For me? For me?” Evelyn laughed. “What other favors have you done for me, Daddy?”

“It was for you. Everything was for you—”

“You crazy old man,” muttered Evelyn. “You must be going senile.”

“No.” Noah’s head shot up. “I would’ve done anything, don’t you see? I was protecting you! My little girl—”

“Protecting me from what?”

“From yourself. From what you did….”

Evelyn turned away in disgust. “I don’t know what the hell he’s raving about.”

“Don’t turn your back on me, young lady!”

“You can see he needs a doctor, Lorne. Try a psychiatrist.”

“This is the thanks I get!” Noah roared. “For keeping you out of prison?”

Instant silence. Evelyn, white-faced, turned to confront her father. “Prison? For what?”