woman was succumbing. He could see it in her face. Then she sat up a little straighter, clutching her legal pad as if it were a shield.
“I’d better speak to the young man before doing anything else.” She rose. “If you’ll just give me directions—”
“Of course, of course.” His mother glanced at him. “But there’s no need for directions. Trey will be delighted to take you.”
JESSICA SUCKED IN a breath, trying to think of a polite way to say she’d rather walk. But she wouldn’t need to say anything, surely. Trey Morgan had made his feelings only too clear. He wouldn’t touch this situation with a ten-foot pole.
“Mom,” he began, looking harassed.
Geneva swung on him. “Blake Winston Morgan, don’t you dare argue.”
He lifted both hands. “I’m not.” He turned to her. “If you’re ready now, we’d better get into Lancaster before the traffic gets bad.”
She doubted Lancaster traffic would bother her. “There’s no need for you to accompany me. I’m sure I can find the county jail without help.”
He took her elbow and piloted her toward the door. “Trust me, if you want to see Thomas and get back to the city today, don’t start an argument with my mother.”
She waited until they were out on the porch and presumably out of earshot before she spoke. “I know you don’t want to be involved in this—”
“If my mother’s involved, I am.” His tone was curt. He nodded toward a dark green pickup. “I’ll drive you. It’ll be easier than giving directions. You can pick up your car afterward and head back. It’s not out of your way.”
Obviously the sooner she left Lancaster County, the happier he was going to be. Still, what he said made a certain amount of sense, and maybe she could get some information about the case from him on the way. She hated going into a situation blind.
She climbed into the high seat, trying to pull her skirt down at the same time. This suit was definitely not made for riding in pickup trucks. Come to think of it, she’d never been in a pickup before in her life.
She eyed Blake as he swung easily into the seat and started the vehicle. “So, do you prefer that I call you Mr. Morgan, or Blake or Trey?”
His jaw tightened. “Trey.” He bit off the word.
“I take it you don’t agree with your mother that Thomas Esch is innocent.” She knew the answer to that, but she wanted to hear him articulate his reasons.
“I think he’s guilty as sin.”
“Why?”
The tight jaw was very much in evidence. “Do you know anything about the Amish?”
She scoured her memory. “I think I saw that movie with Harrison Ford once.”
“Great.” It was almost a snarl. “Well, to condense a lot of culture into a brief summation, Counselor, the Amish believe in living apart from the world. That means no electricity, no television, no movies or video games or all the other things kids take for granted. They don’t believe in going to the law. They settle problems with the help of the church, not the courts. They even have their own language, a Low German dialect, although the kids learn English in school.”
She thought briefly of the accented English of the young couple in the buggy. “Fascinating, but what does it have to do with the case?”
“Everything. You can’t possibly defend Thomas if you don’t understand what he comes from. Amish kids live a sheltered life, but in their late teens, they’re allowed more freedom. They’re supposed to be socializing with each other with a view to finding a mate, but plenty of them want a taste of the outside world before making the decision to be baptized into the Amish church and give it up forever. That period of running around is called rumspringa. That’s what Thomas was doing when he got involved with Cherry Wilson.”
She pondered that explanation, trying to fit it into a possible defense. “How old is Thomas?”
“Nineteen. But a young nineteen in the ways of the world.”
“And the woman—Cherry Wilson, you said?”
His lips moved in an expression of distaste. “Cherry was in her mid-twenties. Had a reputation of liking to party. She worked as a waitress at the inn in Springville. You probably passed it on your way to the house.”
She hadn’t, since she’d gotten lost instead. “What was she doing alone in a barn with a nineteen-year-old? She sounds a bit old for teen parties.”
“Rumor has it she got a kick out of partying with younger kids. I don’t know how she hooked up with Thomas.” He frowned a little, as if getting past his initial distaste to actually think about the case. “That is odd. The Esch family has a farm not far from our place. A close family, I’d say. Thomas always seemed a bit shy, but maybe that made his reaction all the worse.”
“What do you mean?” She didn’t like the idea that he was taking it for granted that her client was guilty. He seemed a reasonably intelligent man, behind the slightly tyrannical attitude of his. If he thought the boy guilty…
Well, her job was to provide the best defense she could, regardless. Since she’d taken the position with Henderson, Dawes and Henderson, she’d certainly defended clients who’d have been the better for a guilty plea. Things had been a lot clearer, in a way, when she’d been a prosecutor.
Trey’s forehead knotted, and his hands moved restlessly on the steering wheel. “Take a kid like that—inexperienced, shy—and put him in a situation where he’d been drinking with a woman who led him on. He might, I guess, get carried away, not knowing what he was doing.”
“Carried away enough to batter her with a hammer? It still seems out of character for the person your mother described.”
His frown lingered. “Maybe. It’s hard to say what happened. All we have are the facts, and they don’t look good for Thomas.”
No, they didn’t. If she ended up trying to plea-bargain the case, Geneva would be disappointed in her. She’d be disappointed in herself, for that matter, but she’d do what was best for the client.
“When did this happen?”
“They were found in the early hours of Sunday morning in a barn outside of town.” Trey negotiated the narrow streets of Lancaster with ease. “Thomas was passed out, drunk. Cherry had apparently been dead for several hours, if the rumors are true, and they usually are.”
“He’s been in custody over twenty-four hours?” Her voice rose. “Without an attorney?”
“Relax, Counselor,” he said. “A local attorney has been handling the situation, basically advising the boy to say nothing. The local man doesn’t want to continue with the case, though.”
Trey sounded as if he didn’t blame the man.
In fact, if Trey was right, the entire community was convinced of the boy’s guilt. Everyone, apparently, except Geneva Morgan.
A
