Harvest Moon

  “I will need Coalie to testify.” David began to pace. “God knows I don’t want to put a child on the witness stand, but I know Jeremy Cook. I know what he’s going to do.” He paused. “Judge Emory is presiding, and Jeremy Cook is going to try to use Emory’s notions about women to his advantage. He’s going to paint Tessa as a fallen woman, a saloon girl who thought nothing of murdering a man.” He gazed at Mary, silently pleading for her to understand his position. “I’ve got to offset that image of Tessa with something else. I’ve got to get the jury’s sympathy, and Coalie’s the only character witness I’ve got.”

  Mary moved to stand next to her brother. She reached up and patted his shoulder. “You can do it, David. I know you can.”

  David snorted. “You apparently have more faith in me than Tessa does.” He repeated Mary’s earlier words.

  “She’s angry now, and scared,” Mary said. “When she’s thinking more clearly she’ll understand.”

  He sincerely hoped so.

  David didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the inescapable irony of his situation. He’d finally fallen in love. He had finally found the woman he’d been searching for all his life. He’d found her in the Peaceable jail, charged with the brutal murder of one of the saloon patrons. Tessa Roarke, a beautiful Irish colleen. Every man’s dream.

  And every attorney’s nightmare.

  The gods did have a sense of humor, for David Alexander was both man and attorney, and at the moment he felt the gods were toying with him. If he was to have Tessa for his very own, he had to fight her. And then fight for her.

  To save her he had willfully damaged the trust she was beginning to feel for him. Then, because she’d hurt him, he’d flung hurtful words at her, words he couldn’t take back. But once the trial was over, the results would be worth all the pain and effort. Once Tessa and Coalie were free and safe, David knew he could make things right. He had to. He was desperately, hopelessly in love with Tessa Roarke. And he wasn’t about to lose her.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Hear ye, hear ye. The November term of the district court of the territory of Wyoming, county of Laramie, city of Peaceable, is now in session. Judge Harland Emory presiding,” the bailiff intoned. “All rise.”

  The case of the Territory of Wyoming vs. Tessa Roarke on the charge of murder began in earnest.

  David glanced at his pocket watch as he listened to the closing portion of Jeremy Cook’s opening statements. Thank God it was coming to an end. Jeremy had been more long-winded than usual, rattling on and on for over twenty minutes.

  “And so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the territory of Wyoming will prove that Tessa Roarke did willfully murder Arnie Mason in a fit of rage. The territory of Wyoming will prove that the defendant not only knew Arnie Mason but knew him intimately. Though she sits here pretending to be a lady, we know her for the murderess she is, a jealous, scheming girl from the Satin Slipper who killed a man for no other reason except that he refused to marry her and give her boy a name.”

  David grimaced as the prosecutor finished with a dramatic flourish, his voice rising with each word like that of a fire-and-brimstone preacher. David now knew what to expect. Jeremy Cook didn’t have much of a case and knew it. He planned to convict Tessa on the basis of rumor, innuendo, and sensationalism.

  David jotted down a note on a sheet of paper, folded it, and motioned for one of the clerks. He waited until the clerk had read the note and exited the courtroom before he stood up to begin his opening statement. David walked toward the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I know you’ve all listened carefully to Mr. Cook’s remarks. I’m not going to repeat them, nor will I refute them point by point. I’m simply going to tell you that Tessa Roarke did not kill Arnie Mason or anyone else.” He leaned closer as if confiding in the jurors. “I know it looks bad. Mr. Mason was killed in Miss Roarke’s room at the Satin Slipper. Everyone in town knows that, but I caution you to remember that looks can often be deceiving. Innocent people are sometimes caught in compromising situations through no fault of their own. Miss Roarke is just such a person. She’s innocent, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, and I intend to prove it. Thank you all. I know you’ll be fair and do your best.” David nodded toward the jury, then walked back to the defense table and sat down next to Tessa.

  “Is that all you’re going to say,” Tessa whispered, “after everything he said about me?”

  “That’s it,” David whispered back.

  “But—”

  David explained his strategy. “Tessa, the jury is tired of listening to that windbag rattle on. I said what was important, and I did it quickly. There’s no sense antagonizing the jury by forcing them to endure another endless monologue.”

  “All right, Mr. Cook,” the judge said. “Call your first witness.”

  Jeremy Cook called Deputy Harris to the stand. The deputy repeated the oath, then sat down and began to answer the prosecuting attorney’s questions.

  “Deputy Harris, will you tell the court what you found when you entered Miss Roarke’s room on the night of the murder?”

  “I found Arnie Mason lying on Miss Roarke’s bed. He was bleedin’ from a cut across his throat.”

  “What was Miss Roarke doing?”

  “She was sitting on the corner of the bed, screamin’ for help.” Deputy Harris scratched his head, thinking. “She was all bloody. There was a knife on the floor. All the girls were sayin’ she’d killed Arnie Mason.”

  “What girls?”

  “The whor…uh…the women who work at the Satin Slipper.”

  “Did you believe them?” Jeremy Cook settled into his routine, walking around the courtroom, gesturing from the witness stand to the defendant’s table, and to Tessa.

  “Course I did,” the deputy replied. “Who wouldn’t? Seeing all the blood and everything.”

  “Then, in your professional opinion, Tessa Roarke stabbed Arnie Mason?”

  “Not just stabbed,” Harris replied. “Cut his throat. Split his gullet just like butcherin’ a hog.” The people in the courtroom gasped in collective horror. Deputy Harris drew a line across his throat with one finger, illustrating the point.

  “Is this the weapon you found in the defendant’s room?” The prosecuting attorney held up a wicked-looking knife for all to see.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No more questions, Deputy Harris,” Jeremy Cook concluded.

  David took over. “Deputy Harris, you say Miss Roarke was sitting on the corner of her bed screaming for help. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have any idea why Miss Roarke was screaming for help?”

  “I guess because Arnie Mason was lyin’ half on top of her. When I got there, she was tryin’ to kick his body off her.” The deputy gazed at David. “He was bleedin’ all over her.”

  “So Mr. Mason was lying face up?” David asked.

  “No, sir,” Deputy Harris corrected. “He was lyin’ face down.”

  “Didn’t you find that unusual?”

  “No, sir. Not at the time. But now that you mention it, it does seem strange, seein’ as how she cut his throat.”

  “Thank you, Deputy Harris. No more questions for now.” David scribbled several notes on his tablet.

  The prosecuting attorney called several more witnesses: the undertaker, the doctor, the sheriff, and two women from the Satin Slipper. Jeremy Cook hastily built his case. David carefully unraveled it.

  “The territory of Wyoming calls Miss Charlotte Winston.”

  Charlotte the Harlot took the stand. She echoed the deputy’s testimony to the letter. Cook completed his questioning. Charlotte got to her feet, preparing to leave.

  “One minute, Miss Winston.” David stood up and walked around the defendant’s table. He moved within a few feet of Charlotte. “I have a couple of questions.”

  The crowd in the gallery laughed.

  “Miss Winston, will you tell us what happened after the deputies came to Mi
ss Roarke’s room at the Satin Slipper?”

  Charlotte smoothed a lock of brown hair away from her forehead and straightened her hat—a hat covered with bows and lace and dyed bird feathers, David noticed. “Well, the deputies took Tessa—I mean, Miss Roarke—outside. Then they took her to jail.”

  “Then what happened at the Satin Slipper?” David asked softly. “Was Miss Roarke’s room locked to keep people out?”

  “No, sir. There ain’t any locks on the doors at the saloon, except Myra’s.”

  “Go on.” David leaned closer to her. “Tell us what happened next.”

  “Myra…” Charlotte paused, licking her lips nervously. “I mean, Miss Brennan—”

  “Owner of the Satin Slipper Saloon,” David interjected for the benefit of the jury. “Please continue.”

  “Yes, sir. Miss Brennan told some of the girls to go get a mop and some rags and fresh bed linen.”

  “Then what happened?” David prompted.

  “Well, after we cleaned up the mess, Miss Brennan told us to help ourselves.”

  ‘To what?”

  “To Tes…Miss Roarke’s belongings.”

  David paced, measuring the distance between the witness stand and the defense table. “I see.” He turned to face Charlotte. “Did you help yourself to any of Miss Roarke’s things?”

  “Yes, sir.” Charlotte shifted in her chair, sitting up straighten

  “What did you take?”

  “I didn’t take anything,” Charlotte said. “It wasn’t like we were stealing. Miss Brennan gave it to us.”

  “It wasn’t Miss Brennan’s to give,” David said. “Now, please answer the question. What did you take?”

  “I got some of her dresses. The yellow one and the green one. And I got a couple of nightgowns and a silver and black necklace,” Charlotte answered. “I lost it, though. Too bad. It was real pretty.”

  David ground his teeth at Charlotte’s description of Tessa’s rosary. “Did Miss Brennan give Miss Roarke’s room to anyone else at the Satin Slipper?”

  “Yes, sir. That morning.”

  David pinched the bridge of his nose. Getting Charlotte to volunteer information was next to impossible. “Do you know who got the room?”

  “Mr. Alexander, you know who got her room,” Charlotte reminded him.

  “Yes, I do,” David admitted, “but I’d appreciate it if you’d tell the rest of the people here who got the room.”

  “I did,” she mumbled.

  “Louder, please, so everyone can hear.”

  “I did.”

  “Thank you, Miss Winston,” David said. “Now, I have just one more question. Did you like Tessa Roarke?”

  “Huh?” Charlotte seemed genuinely puzzled by the question.

  “Did you like Miss Roarke? I mean, she was one of you. You worked together. You both went with the gentlemen customers—”

  Tessa gasped aloud.

  “I don’t know whether I liked her or not,” Charlotte answered honestly. “I didn’t really know her. She kept to herself. She and her boy. She didn’t whor…go with the gentlemen, like the rest of us. She just served drinks. That’s all.”

  “Thank you again, Miss Winston. I have no more questions at this time.” David held out his hand. “You may step down.” He helped her down from the stand, then walked back to the defense table and sat down.

  Tessa reached out and placed her hand on top of his.

  David looked at her.

  She didn’t speak. She simply squeezed his hand in a gesture of approval and encouragement and love and a dozen other emotions she couldn’t put a name to.

  David’s heart thumped at her touch. He smiled at her.

  “The territory of Wyoming calls Miss Myra Brennan to the stand.” Jeremy Cook made the announcement.

  The spectators in the courtroom recognized drama when they saw it. Almost everyone in town had witnessed the confrontation between Myra and David Alexander on the sidewalk the day Tessa Roarke was released from jail. And nearly everyone in town had seen Tessa dash into the saloon, intent on reclaiming her property.

  Dressed in an exquisite black satin moiré dress in the latest Paris fashion, Myra Brennan walked to the front of the courtroom, raised her right hand, and repeated the oath. She carefully seated herself in the chair Charlotte had vacated.

  “Please state your name and your occupation for the record,” Jeremy said.

  “Myra Belle Brennan. I’m the proprietor of the Satin Slipper Saloon here in Peaceable.” She spoke softly, carefully.

  “Do you know the defendant, Miss Roarke?” Jeremy Cook strolled over to the table where David and Tessa sat and pointed a finger at Tessa.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And did you know the victim, Mr. Arnie Mason?”

  “He came into my establishment fairly often,” Myra answered. “I suppose you could say I knew him.”

  “Will you tell the court how you met Miss Roarke?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Myra moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “She came to my place of business a month or so ago looking for a room to rent.”

  “And you rented her a room?”

  “Of course. I felt sorry for the girl.”

  Sitting beside Tessa, David felt her body stiffen in reaction to Myra’s statement.

  “Was Miss Roarke alone?” Cook asked.

  “No.”

  “Who was with her?”

  “The kid,” Myra replied. “I mean, her little boy. She’d just come from Chicago.”

  “Did anyone travel with her besides the boy?”

  “Well, I don’t know for sure…” Myra paused dramatically. “But I think maybe Arnie Mason did. He’d just come from Chicago, too,” she hinted slyly.

  “Objection!” David stood up.

  The judge rapped his gavel on the desk. “Overruled. Continue, Mr. Cook.”

  “Did Miss Roarke ever work for you?” Jeremy asked. “You’ve told us that you gave her a room at the Satin Slipper out of the kindness of your heart.”

  “I paid for the room,” Tessa whispered to David.

  “I know,” David whispered back.

  Tessa nodded toward the jury. “Make sure they know,” she told him, whispering furiously. “I don’t take charity from anyone, especially her.”

  “Mr. Alexander?” Judge Emory spoke from the bench.

  “Yes, Your Honor?” David glanced at Tessa, warning her to keep silent.

  “Does your client have a problem?”

  Tessa nodded.

  David shook his head. “No, Your Honor.”

  “Then cease your whispering,” the judge ordered. “Please excuse the interruption, Mr. Cook, and continue your line of questioning.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Jeremy’s smug expression irked David. It was the expression of a boy who delighted in tattling on other children. “Now, Miss Brennan, did Tessa Roarke ever work for you?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “How was she employed?”

  “She served drinks to the patrons of my establishment.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “Well,” Myra began, “that’s all I required her to do. What she did with her men friends after she finished work was her business.”

  Tessa squirmed in her chair. David shifted his weight, deliberately sitting on her skirt to keep her still.

  “One last question, Miss Brennan. Did you ever see Miss Roarke in conversation with Arnie Mason?”

  Here it comes, David thought. Let her get too confident. Let her make a mistake.

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” Myra sat straight in her chair, smiling at the jury, enjoying her moment in the sun.

  “Will you tell us about it?”

  “I once saw her arguing with Arnie about the boy. I saw her talking to him on numerous occasions.”

  “When did the argument take place?” Jeremy was practically licking his lips in anticipation.

  Tessa kicked David under the table, hard enough to
leave a bruise on the side of his leg. “She’s lying!” Tessa whispered.

  “I know,” David replied. “Now, shhh!” He nudged her foot with his.

  “A day or so before the murder,” Myra replied. “I don’t remember for sure.”

  “But you did see the defendant in conversation with the victim?”

  “Well, yes,” Myra told him. “I distinctly remember seeing her hand Arnie Mason a note a few hours before she killed him.”

  Tessa kicked David again. “Aren’t you going to stand up and object again?” Tessa’s angry whisper was barely audible.

  “No,” David whispered. “Let’s give her enough rope to hang herself. Be still!” He closed a hand over Tessa’s. “Listen.”

  Jeremy Cook, sensing victory, asked a final question. “Do you know what the note said?”

  “No, I don’t.” Myra smiled at Tessa. “She got quiet when I passed by, but I’m sure I heard her say something like ‘Don’t be late.’”

  “You’re positive?”

  “Absolutely.” Myra gazed at David Alexander, then very slowly placed a fingertip against her lips and kissed it.

  “Clever,” David muttered, “but not clever enough.”

  “Thank you, Miss Brennan.” Jeremy Cook turned to David and inclined his head. “I’ve finished with this witness.”

  Judge Emory spoke to David. “Any questions for Miss Brennan, Mr. Alexander?”

  “Not at the moment,” David answered.

  “What?” Tessa gasped.

  “But I’d like to reserve my right to cross-examine Miss Brennan at a later date.” David ignored Tessa’s outburst.

  Judge Emory did not. “As we’ve been at this for quite a while, I suggest we recess for a late dinner.” He checked his watch. “We’ll reconvene at two o’clock.” He fixed his eagle-eyed gaze on Tessa. “And, Mr. Alexander, I suggest you speak to your client about courtroom etiquette.” He stood up.

  The people in the courtroom all rose.

  “David,” Tessa demanded before Sheriff Bradley made his way across the room, “you aren’t going to let her get away with saying those things, are you?”