Read Online West of Paradise by Gwen Davis - Free Book Online

eyes heavenward so the jury could see he was about as fed up with the refrain as they had to be.
    Oliver Crowley, the defense attorney, was a tall, fair-skinned man with wheat-colored hair and eyes so light it was surprising the darkness they could give off when they flashed with contempt, as they did now. But he was careful to make sure his back was to the judge. “Please answer the question.”
    â€œI don’t remember what it was,” said Jessup.
    â€œI don’t wonder,” murmured Crowley, so low that the judge might not hear his disdain.
    â€œObjection,” said William Arnold, the plaintiff’s lawyer, older by decades than his adversary, but no less energetic.
    â€œWell, if your client would stop making speeches—”
    â€œMr. Crowley, I must warn you,” the judge said.
    â€œI’m sorry, your honor. But I’m sure all our patience is wearing a little thin.”
    â€œI’ll determine how forbearing we must be. Would the clerk read the question?” Usually the judge dozed through civil cases, but this one had kept even him awake.
    â€œHow soon after Miss Nash’s book appeared did you become ill?” Part of the damages Jessup had sued for were based on his claim that he had been thrown into a crippling depression, suffered physical ailments, and become incapacitated because of what she had written.
    The expression on Jessup’s freckled face was absent the jauntiness that had characterized his opening testimony, nearly four weeks before. There were sunken pockets below his high-boned cheeks. “Before it was even published. Someone at one of the book clubs slips us early looks at manuscripts … like … advance men in armies.”
    â€œTelling you where the battles are going to be waged?”
    â€œIn a way. Alerting you to books you might have to fight over.”
    â€œWell, you certainly picked up your cue,” said Crowley.
    â€œObjection!” Arnold said, at the very moment the judge made his admonition.
    â€œMr. Crowley…”
    â€œI apologize. Please continue,” he said to Jessup, with a veneer of politeness.
    â€œShe swore to me I would be no part of the book. That she would leave me out of it. That was the only reason I consented to give her a lot of the information.”
    â€œInformation?”
    â€œThe insider stuff that nobody knew.”
    â€œAnd you were willing to spread that gossip?”
    â€œYour honor,” Arnold said.
    â€œDon’t make me warn you again, Mr. Crowley.”
    â€œWhat would account for that generosity?” Crowley said.
    â€œShe was on her ass. Nobody would make a picture with her, because she spelled trouble. I tried to make her a part of some of my deals, because that’s the kind of friend I was. But nobody would come near anything I had if she was attached. Her only hope was that book. She gave me her solemn promise…” His hands started to shake. “When I read the galleys, I had to be hospitalized. They thought it was a heart attack.”
    â€œA heart attack?” The hospital records had been submitted during the discovery preceding the trial and showed Jessup had been treated for gastroenteritis.
    â€œWell, I got diarrhea, too.” He furrowed his brow.
    â€œWhat else besides diarrhea?” Crowley said it a little scornfully, like the television commercials that ask “Do you mind if I say a few words about … diarrhea?” and a viewer wants only to throw a shoe at the set and scream “Yes!”
    â€œI couldn’t sleep. I still can’t. I’ve lost more than twenty pounds. She betrayed me. She made me think if she said anything about me, it would be sympathetic.”
    â€œYou were not trying to promote yourself personally? You are not a publicity seeker?”
    â€œObjection!” William Arnold was dressed in a well-cut, pinstriped blue suit, a typical Grand Old Man attorney, with just