Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

UNLAWFUL TRESPASS

Jack

H olly’s face softens as she talks about her job, and empathy peeks out from behind her brisk, business-like facade. I’m taking in the transformation, when the door swings open and a guy straight out of rich guy main casting stops, stock still, holding the door open and staring at Holly. Thick dark hair slicked back like he escaped from 1990s Wall Street, a chiseled jaw, striped prep tie, wingtips polished to a high shine—the whole deal.

After he croaks out her name and she greets him with his full first name, he blinks and clears his throat. “I’m going by Anders now.”

She acts as if she hasn’t heard him. “Anderson, this is my client, Jack Bell.”

He squints at me for a moment then turns his attention back to her. “Anders,” he repeats.

She dismisses this with a wave of her hand. “Let’s work this out so we don’t have to waste Judge MacIntosh’s time.”

“Waste his time?” he scoffs. And then, seemingly realizing he’s been standing in the doorway, he steps inside, letting the door swing closed behind him. “You’ve got to be kidding, Holly. I’ve got your client dead to rights.”

Her blue eyes flash. “Dead to rights doing what ? Donating books to a little free library? You’re the one who must be joking.”

“Afraid not. Vicky Swanson didn’t invite him onto her property. She’s insisting I file criminal trespass charges and, frankly, I can see her point.”

“You can see her point?” Holly’s head snaps and her chin juts out. “Please, illuminate me because I can’t see it.”

His voice is smooth, almost soothing, when he says, “The Swansons are older. They live in a remote area without nearby neighbors. Imagine Mrs. Swanson’s fear and surprise when a stranger driving a vehicle with out-of-state plates stops in her driveway and creeps through her garden under cover of darkness?—”

“Come on, the sun was coming up!” I blurt.

They both turn to look at me. Holly gives her head a subtle shake.

“So the sun hadn’t fully risen?” The ADA presses. “You’re admitting you went there in the dark?”

“My client isn’t on the record.”

“Are you telling me he’s lying?”

She closes her eyes and takes a breath and it reminds me of nothing so much as my second-grade teacher, Mrs. Skyler, who would visibly gather her patience before dealing with a recalcitrant boy. Sometimes that boy was me. Usually, it was me.

“Anderson,” she says levelly, sounding very Mrs. Skyler-like. “The early morning, just before sunrise, is not the cover of darkness. It’s civil twilight, but let’s leave that aside for now. Why do the Swansons have a little free library if they don’t want people to use it? Its very existence is an invitation to come onto their property.”

“I don’t see it that way. Neither does Vicky.”

Her jaw tightens. “And what about Mr. Swanson? Does Pete support this miscarriage of justice?”

“Mr. Swanson’s out of town, hauling back the Christmas tree for the town square from White Pines Farm,” he informs her in a satisfied voice. “A fact that makes the intrusion even more frightening. Imagine an isolated, frightened old woman?—”

“Ha! I’d like to see you call Victoria Swanson an old woman to her face.”

He bobs his head at this as if she has a point but soldiers on. “A senior citizen, home alone, sees a strange man skulking around her garden before the sun’s come up. You’re lucky I’m not seeking stronger charges.”

“Like what?” She snorts.

“Attempted burglary.”

“Anderson.” She pauses for a beat. “He didn’t take any books. He added some books. Do you want to charge him with good Samaritanism? Civic responsibility? Attempted do-gooding?”

He presses his lips into a firm, thin line and flares his nostrils at her needling.

I’m no legal expert, but I don’t think this is going to settle before court.

Holly must realize the same thing because she shakes her head and flips her portfolio closed with a snap. “This is a waste of my time. Let’s go, Jack.”

He places a hand on her arm to still her. “Holly, wait.” His voice is low, a rasp.

She stares at his hand and swallows hard. After a long moment, she raises her eyes to meet his gaze with an even look. “What?”

“I wish … I mean … it’s good to see you.”

Her expression shutters. “Remove your hand from my arm. Now.”

She sweeps past the assistant district attorney and I hurry to catch up with her.

“See you in court!” Anderson yells behind her in a transparent bid to regain the upper hand.

She snorts, maintains her pace, and doesn’t turn around. When she mutters “he really frosts my cookie” under her breath, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.