Greed and a Mistress Read online

  Michael puffed out his chest a little “You best let the men go in first. She sounds dangerous.”

  The closer they got to the lodge that looked more like a log cabin from the outside than a modern building, the louder the woman’s voice grew. Michael slowly opened one of the double doors, and then motioned for Jackie to go in first.

  “My hero,” she whispered.

  The screaming woman didn’t seem to care that she had an audience. The young woman wearing jeans and a t-shirt had her dark hair tied back and one hand on her hip. She slammed a picture down on the counter and shouted, “That’s him! Do you know him or not?”

  The calm clerk didn’t have to look at the picture for very long. “Look, lady, I can’t give you that kind of...”

  She reached in her purse and pulled out five one hundred dollar bills. She spread them out on the counter and then waited for his response.

  Carl moseyed over to the stone fireplace and pretended not to be paying attention. He tried, but unfortunately, he couldn’t get a good look at the picture.

  The woman picked up the picture, held it up, and then shoved it in the clerk’s face. “Do you know him or not?”

  Nonchalantly, the man pushed her hand away. “I might.”

  The woman’s rage had turned her face red. “How much will it cost to restore your memory?” she barked.

  The man glanced at the strangers, and then lowered his voice. “How much do you think he would pay me not to tell you?”

  Defeated and furious, the woman covered her face with her hands. “Just tell me – was he here the night his mother was murdered?”

  Jackie quickly found a chair to sit in and a magazine to pretend to read, while Michael rushed back outside. He raced around the car, crouched down, pulled out his cellphone and got ready to take pictures. Not long after that, the woman came storming out, climbed into a red Mercedes-Benz, started the engine, and then peeled out of the parking lot. Michael stood up, checked his pictures, and then headed back inside the lodge.

  Carl was at the counter asking about a good place to eat when Michael came back in and sat near Jackie. The grin on his face couldn’t have been wider. “Bet you think that was Slone’s wife.”

  “It wasn’t?” she asked.

  “Nope, that’s Barbara Lockhart, and she is married to Atticus.”

  Jackie’s jaw dropped. “Atticus? It looks like we have three husbands who were not home that night – Mark, Slone, and now Atticus.”

  “Was he here?” Michael asked.

  “The clerk wouldn’t tell her, but wherever he was, he wasn’t with his wife.”

  THE THIRD DAY OF THE trial began much like the other two, with reporters and cameramen lining both sides of the marble courthouse steps. With no other way to get inside, Jackie hurried through the gauntlet, managed to avoid getting her picture taken, and produced her ID for the guards. She sent her purse through the x-ray table, stepped through the metal detector and retrieved her purse. Next, she put her earpiece in, the medallion back on, and closed her purse. Even though she probably had a guaranteed seat, she got behind the line of people waiting to get inside the courtroom. A moment later, Holly came around the corner and got in line with her.

  “You look very nice today,” said Jackie. “I like that you wear colorful clothing. I should do that more often myself.”

  “I like you just the way you are,” said Michael. He was in a good mood. Not only did Jackie and Carl let him drive home, they spent hours trying to figure out which of the four children had their mother killed. In the end, they decided they needed more information, but it was just the kind of discussion all three of them thoroughly enjoyed.

  Holly glanced at the people standing nearby who seemed interested in what she had to say. “I’ll tell you why later.” She raised her voice just a touch. “Three men got blown up last night. I loved every minute of it.”

  Jackie giggled. “I bet you did.” She ignored the shocked look on the face of the lady in front of her.

  As soon as they were let inside and walked to the front row, Holly whispered, “Mark’s attorney told me to dress conservatively.” She glanced down at her flower print dress and grinned. “Think this is conservative enough?”

  “I think it’s perfect.”

  “Mark tried to call collect last night, but I wouldn’t take the call. How do you suppose he knew where I was?”

  Jackie was afraid Holly hadn’t heard. “It was on TV last night.”

  “Oh no,” Holly moaned. “The brown van must have gotten fixed.”

  “Probably so,” said Jackie, “I’m starting to hate brown vans.”

  “Me too. I’m thinking it’s time for their website to go down,” said Carl.

  “Good idea,” Michael agreed.

  “I can’t afford to change hotels,” Holly whispered.

  “You shouldn’t have to. When you get back, talk to the manager and make certain no one else is told which room you are in.”

  “I already did and he profusely apologized. He said it wouldn’t happen again. I hope not, I sure don’t want reporters knocking on my door.”

  The courtroom filled quickly, and soon the attorneys came in, followed by the other officers of the court. Mark looked neither rested, nor pleased when he was brought back into court. Again, Holly refused to look at him.

  As soon as he was seated, he turned in his chair. “Baby, I’m sorry...” Mark managed to say before his attorney grabbed his arm and made him turn back around.

  “Well, that should make the news,” Holly whispered to Jackie.

  Jackie half covered her mouth with her hand, “Sorry for what? Lexi, killing Mrs. Lockhart, or sorry that he got caught?”

  Holly was about to answer when her in-laws arrived. Mr. Barrett stood in the aisle beside her, and glared until Holly finally turned her knees to the side. He inched past her, paused again until Jackie did the same, and then remained standing until his wife passed him and sat down. He turned to glare once more at Holly before he sat down, but she had her face turned away.

  Soon, the court was called to order and the judge resumed his place at the bench. “Mr. Livingston, is the defense ready to proceed?”

  Livingston stood back up. “Your Honor, at this time, the defense makes a motion for a directed verdict.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Insufficient evidence, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Davis?”

  “Your Honor, two witnesses saw mark Barrett in the vicinity of Mrs. Lockhart’s house, he left a fingerprint, gave Lexi Hamilton a stolen necklace, and has no alibi for the night of the murder. There is more than enough evidence to convict.”

  “I agree, motion for a directed verdict is denied. Bailiff, you may bring the jury in.”

  “Sidebar, Your Honor,” Livingstone said.

  “Granted.” The jury filed in while the DA and Livingston approached the bench, and again, the three of them talked in hushed tones.

  While they waited, Jackie concentrated on the alternate who was seated after juror number four was removed. Stylishly dressed, the woman appeared to be in her thirties. She wore her brown hair short and flipped out on the sides in a style that was becoming more and more popular. Her makeup was flattering, her hands appeared to be neatly folded in her lap, and she didn’t look particularly interested in what the judge and the attorneys were saying. Instead, she looked at the spectators, one at a time, as though she was searching for someone.

  Jackie wondered who – a family member, a husband, a friend...or someone she didn’t want to see? The answer came sooner than she expected. The alternate juror found who she was looking for and instead of smiling, she quickly lowered her gaze. As discreetly as she could, Jackie turned to look behind her and rested her eyes on a man who still stared at the juror. She turned back around, lifted her medallion up as though she was examining it, and turned the camera toward the man.

  “Who is that?” Michael asked. “Blue shirt?” He watched as Jackie turned her medallion
a little more to her right. “Oh, the one in the gray suit?” When she put the medallion down, he knew that’s what she wanted. Curious, he rewound the video, complements of the camera in the back of the courtroom, and tried to see what was wrong. It was not until he spotted the alternate juror’s reaction that he understood. “I don’t recognize that guy, but I’ll keep an eye on him. With only one alternate left, we don’t want anyone messing this thing up now. By the way, the brown van’s crime website has a screwy little error message on the home page. I wonder how that happened.”

  Judge Blackwell waited until the attorneys returned to their tables before he said, “Mr. Livingston, is the defense ready to proceed?”

  “We are, Your Honor.”

  “Very well, call your first witness.”

  “The Defense calls Norma Childers back to the stand.”

  “Beautiful,” said Michael, “I was starting to miss our good friend, Norma.”

  Michael wasn’t the only one happy to hear her name. The jury seemed to perk right up too, and even the judge had a tiny bit of a smile on his face. Holly looked straight ahead, but Mark’s parents looked back and watched Norma walk up the aisle and take her seat in the witness box.

  “Miss Childers, I remind you, you are still under oath,” said the judge.

  “Okay by me,” she answered. She was wearing a different dress and shoes, and although she looked a little more relaxed, she again confidently held her head up.

  “Good morning, Miss Childers,” said Livingston.

  Happy to be questioned by him instead of the District Attorney, she practically beamed when she said, “Good morning.”

  “Would you please remind the jury who you are, and what you did for a living?”

  She turned to look at the jury. “I am Norma Childers and I was Mrs. Lockhart’s housekeeper two days out of every week.”

  “Thank you. Would you say you and Mrs. Lockhart were also good friends?”

  “Yes, I would. Sometimes, I would just sit with her and talk. She wasn’t very messy and there wasn’t that much to do on some days.”

  “Now, did Mrs. Lockhart seem upset about anything that Tuesday, the last time you saw her alive?”

  “Well, Slone had come to ask for more money, and that always made her sad. Slone was a football star and the apple of his father’s eye until the big blowup. He wanted ten thousand, I believe it was.”

  “Objection,” said Davis, “Foundation?”

  “Sustained.”

  Livingston looked only mildly annoyed. “Miss Childers, were you in the room when Slone Lockhart asked his mother for money?”

  “I didn’t have to be, that’s what he always wanted. He has some grandiose car dealership and pretends he doesn’t make enough to pay his employees.”

  “Your Honor,” Davis complained.

  “I agree,” said the judge. “Miss Childers, please answer only the questions you are asked.”

  “I thought I was supposed to tell the truth?”

  The judge smiled. “You are, but we try to confine ourselves to the matter at hand. Otherwise a trial could last for months.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Norma.

  The judge said, “The clerk shall read the last question, and this time, please answer yes or no.”

  The court reporter read: “Miss Childers, were you in the room when Slone Lockhart asked his mother for money?”

  Norma was about to elaborate, but decided against it. “No.”

  “Ask the next question, Mr. Livingston,” said the judge.

  Livingston quickly asked, “Did Mrs. Lockhart have a safe?”

  “Yes, sir. It is in her office.”

  “To your knowledge, did Mrs. Lockhart keep her will in the safe?”

  “She couldn’t. Mr. Lockhart never told her the combination, so she couldn’t open it.”

  “So if she left a will, it wouldn’t be in the safe?”

  “Oh, she left a will all right – originally there were two of them. The one she had made up after her husband passed, and the one she had done about a year before her death.”

  “Did you ever read the first will?”

  Norma smirked, “I did. It left everything to her four, adorable, wonderful children.” She narrowed her eyes and glared at Slone. “Your mother wised up after that.”

  Davis started to object, and then sat back down.

  “Miss Childers, you said there was a later will, is that correct?”

  “There was, ‘er is, I was there when she signed it, although, I couldn’t be a witness since I was named in it, you understand. She left me more than enough to tide me over for the rest of my life.”

  “Where did she keep the second will?”

  “She asked me to keep it at my house with instructions on what to do when she died.”

  “Did you think it an odd request?”

  “Not really. She knew I would take care of things if she passed and the will gave me permission to arrange her funeral and such.”

  “By the way, didn’t Mrs. Lockhart have a security system?”

  “She did,” Norma answered, “but she was forgetful and often didn’t turn it on when she went to bed.”

  “I see. So anyone with a key could probably get in without setting off an alarm?”

  “Yes. I worried over it, and reminded her each time I left, but there was nothing more I could do.”

  “Did Mrs. Lockhart’s will specify any other arrangements she wanted you to make?”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “What were those instructions?” Livingston asked.

  “I was to notify the museum right away, which I did. I called Mr. Johnson, the curator, and faxed him a copy of the will.”

  Livingston went to the evidence table, picked up a copy of the will, showed it to Davis, asked to approach the witness, and handed a copy of the will to Norma. “Do you recognize this as Mrs. Lockhart’s last will and testimony?”

  She only briefly scanned it. “I do.”

  “Do you recognize the signatures of the witnesses?”

  Norma flipped to the last page. “I watched them sign, but I don’t know either of them personally. They worked in her attorney’s office.”

  “I see.” Livingston took the will from her and handed it to the clerk. “The defense wishes to have exhibit ‘G’ entered into evidence, Your Honor.”

  “So noted,” said the judge.

  “Miss Childers, is that the will you turned over to Deputy Musgrave?”

  “Yes, sir, I gave a copy to him the very next day.”

  “Your Honor,” Davis objected, “I do not see the relevance of the wills to this case against Mr. Barrett.”

  Livingston was ready for that question. “Your Honor, it goes to establishing a shadow of a doubt. The defense is trying to show that her children had more reason to kill her than the defendant.”

  “I’ll allow it, but tie it all up, Mr. Livingston.”

  The defense attorney nodded and then took a moment to think before he asked, “Miss Childers, to your knowledge, did the sons and daughters of Mrs. Lockhart ever receive a copy of her most recent will?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I certainly didn’t give them one.”

  “So, it is possible they did not know that their mother cut them almost entirely out of her will?”

  Davis shot up. “Objection. The witness cannot know what they knew or did not know.”

  “Sustained,” said the judge.

  “Was Mrs. Lockhart afraid of her children?” Livingston boldly asked.

  Davis wearily said, “Objection, calls for an opinion, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained. I suggest you move on, Mr. Livingston.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. How much money did Mrs. Lockhart leave you?”

  “Five-hundred thousand. The land, the house, and everything in it goes to the museum.”

  “She didn’t leave anything to her children?”

  “Just ten thousand dollars each. I suspect she didn’t want them to have enoug
h to contest the will.”

  “Opinion, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained. Miss Chiders, please confine your answers to the questions asked.” He didn’t really expect a sign of compliance, and the housekeeper didn’t give him any.

  “Miss Childers,” said Livingston, “are you acquainted with Melissa Lockhart Dunlap.”

  “I am. She’s the youngest and the worst of the children. Melissa came once a month to ask for money and sometimes twice. She said her husband would beat her if she...”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” the DA moaned again.

  “Overruled. Mr. Davis, let her finish her answer and then you can object.”

  “You were saying, Miss Childers?” asked Livingston.

  “Well, she claimed her husband beat her if she didn’t bring him money.”

  “Objection, hearsay.”

  “I’ll withdraw the question,” said Livingston,

  “Move to strike the question...and the answer,” said Davis.

  “So ordered,” the judge said.

  Annoyed, Livingston looked at Davis and mumbled, “What law school did you go to?”

  The judge was not pleased. “Mr. Livingston, you will refrain from speaking directly to the District Attorney.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Now, Miss Childers, did you ever see any bruises on Melissa when she came to see her mother?”

  “Objection,” Davis forcefully said.

  “Overruled,” said the judge. “You may answer, Miss Childers.”

  “I never saw any, but Mrs. Lockhart loved her children, and couldn’t bear the thought of one of them getting hurt. Too bad they didn’t return the favor.”

  Livingston waited for the DA to object again, and when he didn’t, the defense attorney paused to study his notes for a few seconds.

  “I’m beginning to think it’s a conspiracy,” said Michael. “Livingston knows better than to antagonize a jury that obviously favors the DA. Could be he wants to lose this case.”

  Livingston put both his forearms on the lectern and folded his hands. “Kaydence Lockhart Bristow is Mrs. Lockhart’s oldest daughter, is that correct?”

  “It is. Kaydence has a bad temper, real bad. I think she has brain damage.”