table.
Michael sighed and glanced at his tablet. “The hikers are Bob and Amanda Tindale—newlyweds on some kind of back-to-nature honeymoon. They reserved a campsite about eight miles from here for an entire week. They should have come down two days ago, and when they didn’t show up, her parents called the forest rangers. The searchers have been walking an organized grid for two straight days, from dawn to dusk. No sign of them so far.”
Uncle Rick scratched his chin in thought. “Anyone here think there’s any chance they weren’t killed by the strays?”
Heads shook all over the room, and Michael held up his notebook. “Not one in a thousand. She’s an inexperienced hiker. He goes out for a week every fall, as some kind of confidence boost—because he lost his left leg in an accident five years ago.”
Five
A n hour later, I sat in the dining room again, staring out the window. But this time, the setting sun cast a deep reddish light on fall leaves and brown grass. And this time Dr. Carver had the seat of honor. I sat against the wall, between my father and brother. I was allowed to listen to the good doctor’s testimony, but not allowed to open my mouth since I wasn’t on the stand. I didn’t even get to cross-examine him, which I only found out when I overheard my father and Michael arguing over who had to tell me.
To help keep my temper in check, Michael had given me a stress ball painted to look like the earth. I’d excised most of South America when Malone asked Dr. Carver if he knew of any medical reason I seemed “disinclined to breed.”
“How long after Mr. Wallace’s death were you able to examine him?” Malone’s narrowed eyes and cold tone said he didn’t like Danny Carver any more than he liked me. But that was too damn bad, because the doc was an expert witness if I’d ever seen one. Dr. Carver was a coroner . He spent more time with dead bodies than a dog spends licking itself, and ifhis expert opinion was that Andrew’s death was an accident, the tribunal would have to accept that.
Right?
Dr. Carver didn’t hesitate. “Less than six hours.”
“And could you tell the cause of death?”
Harsh, barking laughter burst from my throat before I could stop it, and several disapproving eyes turned my way. They’d called in an expert for that? I could tell them the cause of Andrew’s death. I had told them.
“Yes, in fact the cause of death was rather obvious. Blood loss, from a massive puncture wound on his neck.” Dr. Carver’s expression was appropriately somber, but I thought I saw a spark of humor in his eyes. He’d testified in actual courts of law, and I got the distinct impression our little play-trial didn’t compare.
“How would you say he came by his wound?”
I rolled my eyes at Malone’s phrasing, but Dr. Carver looked like he wanted to smile. “I would say someone shoved a railroad spike into his neck. In fact, it was still lodged there when I examined him.”
“So someone killed him.” Malone glanced expectantly at the other tribunal members. “And by her own admission, Ms. Sanders was the only person present when Mr. Wallace died.”
“I’ve already told you I did it,” I shouted, jumping from my chair. “But it was self—” My father jerked me back into my seat by one arm, just as Michael slapped a hand over my mouth.
Malone tried to look angry, but his satisfied smirk ruined the image. “Miss Sanders, if you lose control of your mouth one more time, we will have you removed from the room.”
“Like it matters,” I mumbled, staring at the battered stress ball clenched in my fist. I can hear just as well from the living room.
Michael pinched my arm hard enough to leave a welt, and I glared at him. I would have pinched him back if I hadn’t seen concern behind the irritation etched across his face.
“I don’t think you understood what I was saying,” Dr. Carver said, shifting attention away from me. “Because I wasn’t
Michael sighed and glanced at his tablet. “The hikers are Bob and Amanda Tindale—newlyweds on some kind of back-to-nature honeymoon. They reserved a campsite about eight miles from here for an entire week. They should have come down two days ago, and when they didn’t show up, her parents called the forest rangers. The searchers have been walking an organized grid for two straight days, from dawn to dusk. No sign of them so far.”
Uncle Rick scratched his chin in thought. “Anyone here think there’s any chance they weren’t killed by the strays?”
Heads shook all over the room, and Michael held up his notebook. “Not one in a thousand. She’s an inexperienced hiker. He goes out for a week every fall, as some kind of confidence boost—because he lost his left leg in an accident five years ago.”
Five
A n hour later, I sat in the dining room again, staring out the window. But this time, the setting sun cast a deep reddish light on fall leaves and brown grass. And this time Dr. Carver had the seat of honor. I sat against the wall, between my father and brother. I was allowed to listen to the good doctor’s testimony, but not allowed to open my mouth since I wasn’t on the stand. I didn’t even get to cross-examine him, which I only found out when I overheard my father and Michael arguing over who had to tell me.
To help keep my temper in check, Michael had given me a stress ball painted to look like the earth. I’d excised most of South America when Malone asked Dr. Carver if he knew of any medical reason I seemed “disinclined to breed.”
“How long after Mr. Wallace’s death were you able to examine him?” Malone’s narrowed eyes and cold tone said he didn’t like Danny Carver any more than he liked me. But that was too damn bad, because the doc was an expert witness if I’d ever seen one. Dr. Carver was a coroner . He spent more time with dead bodies than a dog spends licking itself, and ifhis expert opinion was that Andrew’s death was an accident, the tribunal would have to accept that.
Right?
Dr. Carver didn’t hesitate. “Less than six hours.”
“And could you tell the cause of death?”
Harsh, barking laughter burst from my throat before I could stop it, and several disapproving eyes turned my way. They’d called in an expert for that? I could tell them the cause of Andrew’s death. I had told them.
“Yes, in fact the cause of death was rather obvious. Blood loss, from a massive puncture wound on his neck.” Dr. Carver’s expression was appropriately somber, but I thought I saw a spark of humor in his eyes. He’d testified in actual courts of law, and I got the distinct impression our little play-trial didn’t compare.
“How would you say he came by his wound?”
I rolled my eyes at Malone’s phrasing, but Dr. Carver looked like he wanted to smile. “I would say someone shoved a railroad spike into his neck. In fact, it was still lodged there when I examined him.”
“So someone killed him.” Malone glanced expectantly at the other tribunal members. “And by her own admission, Ms. Sanders was the only person present when Mr. Wallace died.”
“I’ve already told you I did it,” I shouted, jumping from my chair. “But it was self—” My father jerked me back into my seat by one arm, just as Michael slapped a hand over my mouth.
Malone tried to look angry, but his satisfied smirk ruined the image. “Miss Sanders, if you lose control of your mouth one more time, we will have you removed from the room.”
“Like it matters,” I mumbled, staring at the battered stress ball clenched in my fist. I can hear just as well from the living room.
Michael pinched my arm hard enough to leave a welt, and I glared at him. I would have pinched him back if I hadn’t seen concern behind the irritation etched across his face.
“I don’t think you understood what I was saying,” Dr. Carver said, shifting attention away from me. “Because I wasn’t
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