Star Witness Page 6

  She combed her hair and threw on jeans, a tank top and a red, long-sleeved shirt before going to the door. Harte, Officer Field and Detective Kaye all turned to look at her. Field was dressed casually today, but the paddle holster at the small of his back ruined his careful suburban image.

  “Good morning,” Harte said, with that smile on his face. “We’ve been talking about you.” This morning he looked more like the man she was accustomed to seeing. He was dressed in a gray suit, a snowy white shirt and a multicolored designer tie. He was clean-shaven. Mr. Prosecutor was back.

  She shot a glance at Michele, but she couldn’t read her expression. She looked back at Harte. “Should my ears be burning?”

  “Michele brought up the obvious security issue with the windows in your room. We won’t be moving you, but I’m going to have a motion-activated floodlight installed just outside your windows. It might be inconvenient if a cat walks across the yard and triggers it, but you’ll know if there’s anyone outside your window at night.”

  She winced at his reference to cats. Had Michele told him? “Great,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll have warning that someone is about to crash through the windows and kill me.”

  Harte gave her a hard look, but Michele and Ronald exchanged a glance. Ronald’s eyes twinkled. Michele’s face remained immobile.

  “It’s the best option,” Harte said dismissively.

  Dani threw up her hands. “Fine. Fine. You obviously know best.” She looked toward the kitchen, sniffing the air. “I smell coffee, thank goodness. Is there anything to eat?”

  “I saw bagels and sweet rolls in the refrigerator,” Michele said.

  “The manager isn’t here this week,” Harte added. “Since we took over the entire house. He told me he’d left some breakfast items in the refrigerator. I feel sure you can make do.”

  Dani groaned as she poured a cup of coffee. Harte Delancey might be easy on the eyes, but he was really hard on the patience. And the fact that she’d gotten a good night’s sleep hadn’t made him any less annoying.

  Harte nodded to Michele as she left, then turned to Field. “How did things go yesterday? Any problem with Ms. Canto?” he asked, eliciting what sounded like a snort from the kitchen. He ignored it.

  “No, sir. We went straight to the courthouse and back. We brought two boxes of files and papers back with us.”

  Harte nodded. The rookie officer was impressively earnest. Harte had no doubt that he would defend Dani’s life with his own if necessary. “Want some coffee? Ms. Canto and I are going to talk about the upcoming case.”

  “No, sir. I’ll take a look around the house and up and down the street while you’re here.”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  As Ronald left, Harte turned to the kitchen. Dani was dressed in the same jeans she’d worn the day before. He hadn’t missed how well they fit her long sleek legs and trim, curvy backside. They looked even sexier today. How was that possible? He watched her retrieve a sweet roll from the microwave and set it on the small table. When she looked up and frowned, he realized he was staring.

  “What?” she said, jerking the chair out and sitting down.

  He walked over and picked up her coffee mug from the counter and set it in front of her. “Forgot your coffee,” he said lightly, then turned to pour himself a cup.

  “I guess Michele told you about my silly reaction to the cats?” she asked as he sat down across from her. She cut a wedge of cinnamon roll.

  “Yes, but I don’t think it’s silly. You need to tell her or Field any time you think you hear something outside your window. I don’t want to take any chances with your safety.”

  “Well, thanks.” She gestured with her fork. “These rolls are surprisingly good. You should have one.”

  He tore his gaze away from her and sent a halfhearted glance toward the package. What he wanted to have was a chance to taste the little dollop of icing off the corner of her mouth. He swallowed. “I came by to tell you that the judge called me this morning. He apologized for the trial date being moved forward. Said he’d put it on the docket last week, but he’d been out of town. I’m thinking Drury must have seen the date on the docket. If he told Yeoman that the trial was moved forward, that could be why Yeoman has been trying to frighten you. You should be happy that the trial is starting. The earlier it starts, the quicker it finishes.”

  “I guess so,” Dani said. “But that doesn’t leave much time for prep.”

  “Right. We’ll be working on that all this weekend.”

  “But Tuesday—I’m not sure I’m ready,” she said, setting her fork down.

  “Of course you are. You know the process. It doesn’t matter that you’ve never testified in a trial yourself. You’ve tried plenty of cases. You know what to expect.”

  She shook her head, and a couple of strands of her dark hair fell across her face. She shoved them back with an impatient hand. “I haven’t been...” She paused, then started again. “I haven’t talked about that night with anyone—I mean, other than the police and someone from the D.A.’s office back when it happened. Whenever I think about it...” Her voice cracked.

  Harte watched her. He’d sat with lots of witnesses as they talked through their grief. Violent death was a cruel and heartless way to die. It left family and friends not only grief-stricken but guilt-ridden, wondering if they could have done something to prevent their loved one’s death. He always felt tremendous sympathy for those left behind.

  But the feelings niggling their way through his chest right now were more than just sympathy for Dani as a grieving granddaughter. He felt protective of her. He had an unprofessional urge to hold her close and ease her pain.

  No. Not hold her close. He hadn’t meant that. He didn’t want that. He was merely concerned about her safety and state of mind. He needed to make sure that by Monday, she could clearly and succinctly describe what had happened the night Freeman Canto died. That was all.

  Her voice interrupted his thoughts. He tried to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “It’s funny. I was okay at the funeral too. But ever since—” Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked and looked down at her hands.

  Harte leaned his forearms on the table. “It’s no wonder that you’re upset now. You were almost run down by a car yesterday. Not to mention being uprooted from your home, which you shared with your granddad until he was murdered. I suspect that hearing those cats last night was the last straw. You’re in a much more vulnerable state than you’ve been so far since your granddad died.”

  Her brows drew down. “Vulnerable state? You make me sound like a Jane Austen character. Trust me. I am not prone to fainting on couches.”

  He couldn’t suppress a smile. “No, I’m sure you’re not. Now, about the windows. I want you to pay attention to the things you hear and see while you’re here. Nothing that frightens or startles you is silly. Tell the officers. It’s their job to check out anything that looks, sounds or even smells suspicious. I don’t care if you call them a hundred times about cats fighting.”

  She gave a small laugh. “I promise, despite the surroundings, I’m really not a hypersensitive Victorian maiden.”

  “You’re doing fine,” he said, patting her hand.

  Immediately, her expression hardened and she drew her hand away. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Prosecutor.” She gulped a large sip of coffee and picked up the cinnamon roll with her fingers. “So, are we ready to prep?” she asked, then bit into the gooey roll, leaving a bigger dollop of icing on her lip this time.

  Harte’s insides ached at the sight of her tongue slipping out to catch the sugary frosting. She was fascinating. Haughty as a runway model one second, stuffing her face like a college kid the next. He looked at a point somewhere behind her head and forced himself to ignore her unconscious sensuality. He swallowed. “We’ll start this evening. Unfortunately, you don’t have a lot of evidence to testify about. Not that your testimony is not important. Just the opposite. I believe we migh
t have a chance to put Ernest Yeoman behind bars for the first time ever. I merely mean that your testimony probably won’t take that long. Still, I want to make sure you’re comfortable enough with what you’re going to say that you come across as earnest and likeable.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” she retorted. “You know, every bit of what I told you and the police is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” She stuck her chin out defiantly, although since she was still chewing, it made her seem like a stubborn kid.

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m not questioning your honesty, but you know as well as I do that if a witness is nervous or too emotional, it doesn’t matter if she’s telling the truth. What matters is the jury’s perception of her. And I want the jurors to see you as the grieving granddaughter who is bravely holding it together, even though her heart is broken.”

  “Wow. Queue the violins,” Dani said sarcastically. “Think you can pull that off?”

  Harte grimaced at her tone. “I’m not implying that you’re not. I know how much you loved your grandfather,” he said. “All I’m trying to do is—”

  “Right. Save it for your closing arguments.” She got up and took her dishes to the sink and turned on the water.

  He sat there staring at her back. He prided himself on doing a good job of easing the pain of grieving loved ones, but somehow, he’d managed to screw this up. She sounded contemptuous, just as she’d been back when they’d faced each other across the courtroom as opponents. But he’d heard a catch in her voice.

  He wished...hell, he didn’t know what he wished. Maybe that she’d trust him to keep her safe and get her through the trial.

  He looked at his watch. “I’m due in court soon. I’d better go.” He stood and picked up his mug, preparing to take it to the sink, but she whirled and snatched it out of his hand.

  “I’ll do that.”

  He pressed his lips together. “Okay. I’ll see you this evening.”

  “What time?” she asked, then shook her head. “Oh, right,” she said sarcastically, “it doesn’t matter. I’ll be here.”

  “It depends on when the judge in my case recesses for the day. I hope it’ll be by six at the latest. Want me to bring you something for dinner?”

  She eyed him narrowly. “I’ve been craving jambalaya. And the best jambalaya in the world is Mama Pinto’s.”

  “Where is that?”

  “You’ve never had Mama Pinto’s jambalaya? Oh, your mouth is going to thank you! It is seriously the best in the world.”

  “And it’s—?”

  “Oh, just off Tremé. It’s only about three miles from here.”

  “Tremé? Seriously? You want me to navigate through the area where they’re filming the TV series during rush hour? It’ll take me an hour to get from the courthouse to there and from there to here. And that’s if Hollywood South is done filming. If they’re still on-site, it’ll be longer. I tell you what. There’s a café that makes killer jambalaya about three blocks from here on Tchoupitoulas,” he said hopefully.

  “Okay, never mind,” she said, her voice dripping with disappointment.

  She didn’t fool him. He knew what she was doing. She was baiting him. But that was okay. He’d virtually imprisoned her. She had a right to a little revenge.

  “I’ll go to Mama Pinto’s. I can’t guarantee what time I’ll be back, though.”

  “Get me some wine too, please. A good Chardonnay. I’ll leave the brand to you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he retorted, and touched his forehead in a mock salute. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  * * *

  IT TOOK HARTE more than an hour to drive to Mama Pinto’s, pick up two orders of jambalaya and get back to the B & B. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, the sky was dark with low black clouds. It looked as if any minute they would burst open and dump torrents of rain on the entire New Orleans area. As he reached for an umbrella from under his passenger seat, his cell phone rang.

  “Delancey.”

  “Harte, where y’at? It’s Dawson.”

  “Hey,” he said to his cousin. “Just got to the B-and-B with a delivery of jambalaya for my witness.”

  Dawson laughed. “Lucas told me you’ve got a tiger by the tail with Canto’s granddaughter.”

  “She’s a little stubborn, but I’ve got it under control.” You wish, he told himself. “Got something for me?”

  “Could be. My C.I. looked up a guy he knows who used to run errands for Yeoman.”

  “Errands?” His brain immediately took the single word and raced through the possibilities—loan collector, drug dealer, hush money.

  “My C.I. armed himself with a newspaper that had an article about your upcoming trial and used it to start a conversation about Yeoman with the errand boy at a bar. He kept buying the guy beers and finally he opened up. He ended up telling my C.I. that the biggest part of his job was delivering envelopes and packages to an aide who worked for several legislators.”

  Harte’s pulse went through the roof. This could be it! If he could connect Yeoman to Stamps and bring them both down, a small percentage of the corruption in New Orleans would be cleaned up, and Dani could feel safe in her own home. Not to mention that the win could catapult his career. “Well?” he said.

  “Well what?” Dawson responded. Harte could hear the amusement in his voice.

  “Come on, Daw. Did he say who the legislators were—and what was in the packages?”

  “Nope. He didn’t. But my C.I. gave me the errand boy’s name. Well, gave isn’t quite the right word.”

  “I’ll pay you back. Just let me have it. This could be huge.”

  “I tell you what. Sounds like you’re pretty busy with your witness, so while you’re babysitting her, I’ll have a talk with the guy and see what he’s willing to spill and how much it will cost.”

  “Thanks, Dawson. But remember, anything you find out has got to be able to be confirmed. I can’t use unverified information. I definitely owe you one.”

  “You definitely do.” His cousin hung up.

  It had started to rain while they were talking. Harte grabbed his umbrella and hurried inside.

  What he saw when he entered surprised him. Dani and Michele were sitting at the kitchen table, mugs of coffee in their hands, laughing. They looked up in unison. Dani’s smile faded and Michele set her mug down and stood.

  “Hi,” Harte said, amazed at how effectively he’d doused their good time just by walking in. “Don’t stop on my account.” He set the food and wine on the kitchen counter and took off his damp coat and tie. “Where’s Field?”

  “Today is his wedding anniversary. He left early and I’m covering.”

  Harte frowned. “He didn’t tell me that.”

  “It’s not a big deal, sir. One of us will be here twenty-four-seven.”

  Harte wasn’t sure he liked not knowing exactly who would be here at any given time. He nodded reluctantly.

  “I was just about to do my walk-around,” Michele said.

  “Take your slicker or an umbrella,” Harte advised.

  Dani and Michele both looked toward the front window.

  “Wow,” Dani said. “It got dark out. The weatherman said it was going to rain, but this looks ominous.”

  “Yep,” Harte agreed. “I just heard on the news that there’s a tornado watch and a severe thunderstorm watch for the entire area. They’re warning about hail and funnel clouds.”

  Michele grimaced and looked at her watch. “Mom was going to take the kids to a school play at seven. I need to call and tell her not to go out.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Harte commented, just as a low rumble sounded in the distance.

  Michele took out her phone and looked at the display. “I don’t have any service.” She stepped over to the window. “Still none. That’s odd. My cell service is usually excellent.”

  “Try the landline,” Dani said, pointing to a table by the sofa.

  Michele stepped over to the p
hone and dialed. She stood there a moment, then pressed the disconnect button, listened, then dialed again. Finally, she set the receiver on its cradle with more force than was necessary.

  “That phone doesn’t work?” Dani asked.

  “It works, but all I’m getting is that fast beep, you know?”

  “It means all the circuits are busy,” Harte said. “Try mine.”

  “Thanks,” Michele said. She took his phone and walked back over to the window.

  Dani turned toward her bedroom. “I’ll check mine too.” She ducked into her room and then came out again. “How long is this storm supposed to last?”

  “They couldn’t say. They seemed worried that it might stall over the gulf because of a low front. If it does—”

  Dani blew out a frustrated breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Harte asked.

  “Nothing,” she said shortly. “I just don’t like storms.”

  Harte heard Michele talking. “Mom? Hello? Mom!” She listened for a few seconds, then handed his cell phone back to him. “Thanks, but you’re not getting any service either.”

  “My phone’s showing no bars too,” Dani said, watching the display as she moved toward the window, then across to the kitchen area. She stuck it into her pocket.

  “Your mom wouldn’t take the kids out into a bad storm, would she?” she asked Michele.

  “No, but it might not be bad over there yet, and I doubt she’s been listening to the weather. She likes to play games with them, rather than just sit and watch TV.” She looked at her phone one more time. “She heard me at first, because I heard her say Michele? She’s going to be worried now.”

  “Harte, don’t you think it would be okay if Michele ran by to check on her kids while you’re here?” She turned to Michele. “How far away do you live?”

  “Ten to fifteen minutes, but no. This is my assignment. I’m not supposed to leave my post until I’m relieved.”