In the buffet line, Steven shadowed the judge and luckily found a seat next to her. With thirty lawyers in a dining room the conversation was guaranteed to be lively. Most of them talked as they were eating, either about their latest exciting cases or college basketball. The guest speaker was a lawyer from Jacksonville who was swamped with immigration cases, and he managed to hold their attention for about ten minutes. Unfortunately, he went on for thirty more. As soon as he finished, his audience virtually stampeded out of the room.
Judge Salazar turned to Steven and said, “Are you in a hurry?”
“No, it’s a pretty slow Monday.”
“Got time for coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll get us some.”
“Black, please.”
“I may have a small slice of the caramel cake. You?”
“Great idea, but very small.”
When the dining room was empty, they turned their chairs to face one another and had dessert. After two bites she said, “I’ve reviewed everything in the Dark Isle case and I find Lovely’s story troubling. I’ve read her book and I’ve studied her deposition. I’m sure you know there are plenty of discrepancies.”
Steven was hoping for a quiet word with Her Honor about the need to visit the island. His idea was to hire experts to search for the cemetery, and, if found, try to secure samples from the human remains that could be used for DNA testing. If the DNA from the old bones matched Lovely’s, there would be no doubt that the important parts of her story were true. Steven still believed her, but Tidal Breeze and its lawyers were casting plenty of doubt. Such an expedition into the jungle would require Her Honor’s cooperation.
This, though, was a curveball he did not see coming. It was virtually unheard of for a judge to want a private chat about a pending case. He’d spent his career in federal courts and had handled only a few cases in the local courthouses. He’d never met a federal judge who would remotely consider talking about a case. Maybe the rules were different on Main Street, but he didn’t think so.
Flabbergasted, and cautious, he wasn’t sure how to respond. He said, “Well, she’s eighty years old and maybe her memory is not so sharp.”
“Do you really believe she lived out there? And all that stuff about her family? What troubles me is that she didn’t claim the island until the developers showed up. She waited over sixty years, if you can believe her story. And how could she possibly have known to hire an environmental lawyer?”
There was little doubt that Her Honor was not buying Lovely’s story. Steven was stunned and scrambled for something harmless to say. He didn’t want to argue but he was curious as to how far the judge might go. He said, “Oh, I believe her. Why else would a woman her age bother with the fight?”
“Money, perhaps.”
“I’m not sure we should be discussing this,” Steven said.
“You’re right. I should not have brought it up. I’m just troubled, that’s all.”
Steven took a large bite of the cake and worked on it slowly as the seconds passed. He couldn’t think of anything fitting to say at the moment, but since she was in such a talkative mood, he wanted to give her some more rope.
“Let’s pretend we never had this conversation,” she said.
“Okay.”
Fat chance of that. Judge Salazar had already decided the case. To make bad matters worse, Steven got the clear and troubling impression that she suspected he and the other tree-huggers were just using Lovely as their first line of defense against Panther Cay.
Rattled and reeling, he excused himself and made a clumsy exit. Hers was just as awkward. He ducked around a corner and disappeared in an alley. When she’d had enough time to walk back to the courthouse, he returned to his office. Diane was at her card-table desk in the kitchen. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said. She missed nothing.
“You look pale,” she replied.
“Let’s go for a long drive.”
For the past fifteen years or so, Noelle had sold French Provincial antique furniture and furnishings to Aurelia Snow, a delightful lady and friend who lived four blocks away in one of the many handsome Victorians in central Santa Rosa. Her home was the only one Noelle coveted, and though it would soon go on the market, Bruce had made it clear that he was not moving. Virtually every rug, lamp, chandelier, and piece of furniture had come from Provence by way of Noelle’s Antiques on Main Street, next door to Bay Books. The house was packed with armoires, wine-tasting tables, daybeds, poster beds, cabinets, buffets, vanities, and much more, all selected by Noelle for every room and corner of the house. The project had been challenging and rewarding, and Noelle and Aurelia had made several trips to France over the years searching for the right pieces.
