Murder in Plain Sight. Marta Perry
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talk with you on the weekend.”
She hung up and blew out a frustrated breath as she turned toward her roommate. Sara Davenport was collapsed in their one recliner with her computer on her lap. “My father,” she said in explanation. “He’s heard about the job situation.”
“Don’t let it get to you,” Sara said, her voice warm with sympathy. She was one of the few people who knew how just how rocky Jessica’s relationship with her father was.
“I try.” She dropped onto the sofa, leaning her head back. “I’m going to have to get a motel room in Lancaster County, at least for the next week or so. Driving back and forth is a killer.”
“Don’t you have a date with Brett Dunleavy on Friday?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’d forgotten. I’ll have to cancel.”
“You’d forgotten. Need I point out that that is a sad commentary on your relationship with young Dr. Brett?”
She’d have thrown a pillow at Sara if she weren’t so tired. “Brett understands. Given how busy his residency keeps him, he’s no more eager to get seriously involved at this point than I am.” She’d tried serious. It hadn’t worked.
“Couple of workaholics. Sounds like a match made in heaven.” Sara grinned. “So you’re forgetting your love life. This case must be a stinker.”
“It is, but what makes you think so?”
“If the partners were that ready to pass it off to you, that means they didn’t want to deal with it themselves.” Sara set the computer on the coffee table and shoved her glasses up on her head, using them to hold back her unruly tangle of red hair.
Since Sara had spent two years in a topflight firm in the city before escaping to a legal-aid office where she said she could at least help people who needed it, her advice was usually on target.
“You’re probably right.” Jessica rubbed her aching temples. “Henderson implied that the woman who’s paying for the defense asked for me, but I don’t see how that can be.”
“What’s the case? I haven’t had anything more interesting lately than the usual run of rotten absentee landlords. I spent the day arguing with a housing inspector, trying to convince him to do his job.”
“This would be right up your alley,” Jessica said. “You always like taking on the hopeless cases. I’ve got an Amish kid accused of the beating death of a woman who was apparently something of a party girl.”
“Amish? That is unusual. I can’t remember the last time I saw anything about an Amish person suspected in a crime.”
She hadn’t thought of Sara as a source of information. Maybe she should have. “I take it that means you’ve never represented one.”
“The Amish don’t spend much time in the city. I’ve been on the usual tour of Lancaster County, but that’s about it. Tell me about the defendant.”
“There’s not much to tell at this point.” Jessica rubbed the back of her neck, trying to get rid of the tension there. “He doesn’t trust me enough to talk to me, and I don’t know how to get through to him. His minister wants me off the case, and as far as I can tell, most of the community thinks he’s guilty.”
“What about the person who’s paying you?”
Jessica thought about how to explain Geneva Morgan. She wasn’t sure she could even explain to herself the effect the woman had on her.
“She’s totally convinced that the boy—Thomas Esch—is innocent, but it’s based on instinct, not on facts.”
Sara’s nose wrinkled. “I wouldn’t discount instinct, at least not if you thought her opinion reliable.”
“I’m not sure. Geneva—well, she seemed a bit quirky, I guess. Warmhearted. I can’t say what kind of judge of character she is on one brief phone conversation and an acquaintance of fifteen minutes or so.”
“But you liked her,” Sara said.
“Yes, I did.” There was no harm in admitting that. “She certainly has faith in the boy. And faith in my ability to prove him innocent. As for whether she’s right—well, her son doesn’t think so.”
“Her son? What does he have to do with it?” Sara snuggled into the chair, grinning. “Come on, give.”
“He tried to get rid of me, because he doesn’t want his mother involved in something this nasty.”
“Overprotective,” Sara said.
“Overprotective, arrogant, used to being the boss, I’d guess. And he’s determined to dog my footsteps to make sure I don’t do anything that reflects badly on the family.”
“Sounds like a pompous jerk.” Sara dismissed Trey with a wave of her hand. “If his mother retained you and the client agrees, he has nothing to do with it.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to deal with him.” And besides, Sara had more assertiveness in her little finger than Jessica had in her whole body. “It’s curious that Mr. Henderson is so keen on pleasing the Morgan family. I’d have said they were big fish in a small pond, frankly. Important enough in their little world, but hardly the type to impress Henderson.”
“Let’s see who they are.” Sara straightened, leaning toward the laptop. She looked at Jessica inquiringly. “Geneva Morgan, you said?”
“That’s right. The son’s name is Trey—well, actually Blake Winston Morgan the Third. But I’m not sure it’s appropriate to be looking them up.” It always made her feel like a stalker to do that, but Sara never hesitated to check Google even for casual acquaintances.
Sara’s fingers moved rapidly on the keys. “Hmm.”
“Hmm what?”
Her roommate grinned. “Aren’t you afraid it’s inappropriate?”
“Never mind that.” She crossed the room to perch on the arm of Sara’s chair. “What did you find?”
“Geneva is from a Main Line Philadelphia family—the kind of people who go to the right schools, marry the right people and only appear in the newspapers when they’re born, when they marry and when they die. That’s probably the answer. Maybe she went to the same exclusive girls’ school as your Mr. Henderson’s wife. Those people all know each other.”
Jessica couldn’t help but smile at the description, thinking of Geneva. “She must have been the outlaw, then. She dresses like a ’60s hippie. How did you get all that so quickly?”
Sara shrugged, not bothering to point out that she was a pro when it came to finding information about people. “I went on the assumption that Winston was Geneva’s maiden name. Easy enough to find her birth and marriage record. The rest of it is informed supposition, based on a lifetime of knowledge of Philadelphia society.”
“Come to think of it, she did mention something about Eva Henderson. What about Trey’s father?”
Sara’s fingers clicked on the keys. “Old county family, going right back to the original land grant from William Penn, it looks like. Nobody rich or famous, but solid citizens, all of them. Except…” The sassy tone in which she’d been reciting her research died away.
“Except what?” Jessica leaned over, trying to read the screen.
“Blake Morgan the Second. Your Trey’s father, I suppose. It seems he committed suicide about a year ago.”
“Suicide.” Jessica repeated the word, shocked and saddened. “I didn’t think—well, how could I know?” That would explain why Trey was so protective of his mother.
“The obituary is carefully worded. A newspaper report won’t be as tactful. If I can find anything else—” Keys clicked