Cold River - Carla Neggers [52]
“He’d put you through your paces in a courtroom, wouldn’t he?”
“Without a split-second’s hesitation.”
“Are you looking forward to becoming a full-fledged lawyer?”
“Most days. Some days I dread it.”
“Is today a dread day?”
“In more than one way,” she said half to herself, then angled a smile at him. “I mean my brothers and their California adventure in addition to figuring out my career. I don’t mean you, Sean.”
“Hannah, I don’t want to add to your stress—”
“It’s okay,” she said.
He almost told her he didn’t believe the insults about her sex life that Derek Cutshaw and his friends had shouted at O’Rourke’s back in March, but he figured that would just remind her of them, as well as be an admission that he’d been thinking about that night himself.
He followed her up the steps to the Robinsons’ front door. Statues of Dickens-style carolers—fully dressed in Victorian garb—stood next to the glass front door. Ginny Robinson was known in town for her elaborate Christmas decorations.
Hannah rang the doorbell, positioned below a simple pinecone wreath. “I’ll have more time and space to study with Devin and Toby off in California,” she said. “I could be admitted to the bar before Toby gets back.”
“Then on to becoming a prosecutor?”
“That’s the plan. We’ll see what happens.”
Everett Robinson opened the door. He was in his early sixties, a stocky man with a gray beard and thinning gray hair in perpetual need of a trim. His wife, a homemaker, was generous and patient with her husband’s sometimes black moods after twenty years on the bench and forty years practicing law.
“Help, help,” he said cheerfully, leading his guests into the comfortable house. “Ginny tried new, heart-healthy hors d’oeuvres, and I don’t want to be the first to take a bite.” The judge stood back and frowned at Hannah. “Good heavens. What happened to you?”
She smiled. “I learned the hard way never to get into a fight with a rock.”
He didn’t press for more details. Given his position, he would easily be able to find out about the incident at the cemetery. Hannah started to pull off her coat, but Sean helped her, careful of her bruised wrist. He then shrugged off his own coat and hung both on a coat tree surrounded by the Robinsons’ winter gear.
The judge led his guests down a hallway decked out in Christmas decorations and into a comfortable living room with a fire in a brick fireplace and more Victorian carolers on the mantel. Lowell and Vivian Whittaker had already arrived and were seated opposite each other by the fire. Ginny Robinson, who barely skimmed five feet, joined them with a silver tray of marinated mushrooms, sardines, toasted pita points and a few other things Sean wasn’t sure he wanted to identify.
“Looks wonderful,” Hannah said with a sideways smile at the judge.
He grinned at Sean. “See what a good prosecutor she’ll make? Fearless.”
Ginny glanced at Sean, her eyes wide with surprise as she turned to Hannah and mouthed something that he suspected amounted to “Is he your date?”
Hannah smiled and shook her head.
Everett settled into a worn leather chair. Sean helped himself to a mushroom and a glass of wine and sat on the couch. Hannah stayed on her feet. He sensed her restlessness and wondered if she might bolt at any moment. The judge lifted a glass of wine from a nearby side table. He had a friendly, open face, but the way he narrowed his eyes on his protégée was a reminder of the keen mind behind them and the many tough decisions he’d had to make in his long career.
Vivian Whittaker nibbled on a sardine on a pita triangle. “Hannah, your face—did you have an accident at the café?”
Lowell leaned forward with his wine. “I met with Bowie O’Rourke a little while ago. He’s doing some work for us. He told me about the incident in the cemetery. He feels terrible. Vivian, I didn’t think to tell you.”
“What incident?” she asked sharply.
Her husband relayed Bowie’s rendition of what had happened. The judge sat back, listening intently, Sean thought, but saying nothing.