A Creed in Stone Creek - Linda Lael Miller [77]
“Whoa,” Steven said. “Everybody has a right to counsel. Or were you out sick when they covered the fundamentals the first week of law school?”
Melissa jerked her elbow free, in no mood to be reasoned with. “Yes,” she agreed tartly, “everybody does have the right to counsel. But before you take on any more clients, you might want to take the trouble to find out what kind of people they are!”
“It doesn’t matter what kind of people they are,” Steven replied moderately. “The law is the law.”
She took a step back. “Pete Ferguson’s father was the last sheriff,” she said. “Before that, it was his grandfather, and before that, his great-grandfather. The Fergusons are some of the finest people in this community—”
Steven leaned in, so his nose was nearly touching hers. “Beside the point, counselor,” he said. “If your friend, Deputy Ferguson, gave Nathan Carter a working over, I’ll nail him for it.”
For a long moment, they just glared at each other.
Then Steven turned and walked away.
Melissa didn’t move until he’d disappeared through the outside doorway. It took her that long to calm down enough to set foot inside her office.
She was immediately met with a whole new Andrea. Gone were the jeans, the hair spikes, the too-tight T-shirts, the heavy eye shadow and the white lipstick. She was wearing a nice skirt, a white blouse and modest makeup.
Melissa couldn’t help staring. “What happened to you?” she asked.
The girl straightened her spine and lifted her chin. The expression in her eyes was completely earnest, and she held Melissa’s direct gaze without looking away. “I’m turning over a new leaf, that’s all,” she replied, with a little sniff. “Byron says it’s important to look professional.”
Melissa barely kept herself from smiling at that one. “Oh?”
Andrea nodded and then pushed back her chair and stood. “I even made coffee. It should be ready by now.”
Melissa raised both her hands, palms out. “Sit down, Andrea,” she said. “I was only teasing before. Making coffee really isn’t in your job description.”
“Can’t a person do something nice for somebody?” Andrea asked. Her lower lip was wobbling now, and her eyes misted over.
“Sit down,” Melissa repeated, but gently.
Andrea sagged into her chair.
“What’s this all about? This big transformation, I mean?”
“I almost ran over you yesterday morning,” Andrea burst out, and a tear slid down her cheek. “I—I guess I’m just trying to—well—make up for what could have happened to you, at least partly, if—if—”
Melissa felt a burning sensation behind her own eyes now. “You’ve apologized,” she reminded her assistant. “You’ve promised to be more careful in the future. You don’t need to do anything more, Andrea.”
Andrea absorbed that in silence, looking straight ahead. Her hands rested on the surface of her desk, fingers tightly interlaced.
Melissa waited a few moments, then asked, “Were there any messages?”
“Mrs. Brady called,” Andrea said, turning her head. “So did Mrs. Hillingsley. They agree on one thing, anyway, that the Parade Committee meeting didn’t go very well.”
Meeting? It was a beat before Melissa recalled the great toilet-paper debate, and how she’d suggested that the committee gather right away to settle it.
“Oh,” she said.
“Half of them want to let Mrs. Hillingsley decorate the Chamber of Commerce float any way she pleases,” Andrea went on, a smile creeping over her mouth as she spoke, no longer gazing off into the beyond, “and the other half say there’ll be hell to pay if she embarrasses the whole town of Stone Creek by decking the thing with miles of toilet paper.”
Melissa muttered under her breath. If troublemakers like Nathan Carter didn’t give her a migraine, the Parade Committee would. “Did anyone else call?”
“Mr. Blake left a voice mail,” Andrea said. “It was so long that I thought it’d be better if you just listened to it yourself, instead of me trying to write it all down. You know how he rambles on.”
Oh, indeed she did.
“More space aliens landing in his cornfield and scaring his sheep?