OFFICER EMERSON STOOD and opened the door as we all began to gather our things.

“Alexandria!”

I turned to the familiar face of Ralph Porter. He’d been at the party Saturday night; however, before that it had been years since I’d seen him. Most of the contact I’d made with Hamilton and Porter regarding my trust had been with Natalie, one of their assistants.

I nodded. “Ralph?”

Granted, in proper society, a man Ralph Porter’s age, probably older than Alton, deserved the respect of the use of his last name. Nothing I’d discovered about Ralph Porter, from the archaic will of my grandfather to the loss of my trust fund, deserved my respect.

He lifted his hand toward me, beckoning me out of the room.

When I didn’t move, he said, “Officers, if you’ll excuse us. I need to speak to my client.”

Standing directly behind Ralph was Isaac. His head and shoulders loomed higher, dwarfing the man who’d forever been my mother’s as well as Alton’s and Bryce’s counsel.

“Are we done?” Mr. Owen asked Detective Means and Officer Emerson.

“Yes, thank you,” the detective said as they both stepped from the room. Mr. Owen, Chelsea, and I had yet to move.

After a backward glance at Isaac, Ralph stepped inside and shut the door. “My dear, I saw your picture on the news and rushed over. You shouldn’t be here without counsel.”

My smile grew. Tilting my head toward the side, I said, “Ralph, I’m sure you know Daryl Owen. I’m represented. Thank you for your concern.”

His wrinkled face paled, or was it grayed? Confusion clouded his eyes. “I don’t understand. I dropped everything when I saw you enter this place. Dear, you’re a Montague. Hamilton and Porter has represented the Montagues exclusively since… well, since your grandfather.”

Perspiration dotted Ralph’s upper lip. He had thinning gray hair that was thicker toward the base of his head, wrapping around like a white horseshoe. In the fluorescent light of the interrogation room, even the top of his head seemed to glisten.

“Actually, Ralph,” I said, “Mr. Owen has been a big help, not only to Chelsea and me but also to my friend Lennox Demetri.” I pursed my lips. “Seeing as you represent Bryce and well, my stepfather, I didn’t want there to be a conflict of interest.”

“No conflict of interest. Dear, we’re all on the same side. We all have the same goal. We all want to see Bryce acquitted of this ridiculous charge. As his wife—fiancée, that is your goal?”

I took a step forward. “What happened to the marriage license you showed Mr. Demetri?”

“I-I,” he stuttered. “I didn’t show anything to that man.”

“No, you gave it to me,” Mr. Owen said. “Complete with the court’s approval. Yet now it seems to have been voided. Was there a problem?”

Ralph looked at me. “Alexandria, please, we need to talk privately. There is more at stake here than a marriage license.”

I lifted my brow. “Forgery?”

“No, dear.” He turned to Chelsea. “Miss Moore. We’re so pleased you’ve returned to Savannah. Seeing as you have testified on Bryce’s behalf in the past, we’ll need your continued support.”

When she didn’t respond, he added, “We’ll require it.”

“Thank you, Ralph, for hurrying down here. As you can see, we’re fine and now we’re done.”

“Alexandria, come to Hamilton and Porter and talk to us. Let’s get things straightened out. Don’t leave Georgia without learning your options.”

“My options? What are you talking about?”

“Dear, you’ve seen the will.” He leaned close. “I can’t let Montague fall from the rightful Montague heirs without a fight. As I said, I represented your grandfather… your father, Alexandria. I was with Adelaide when he died. I’m here for you now and for her.

“I know where you were in New York. Please tell me that Adelaide is there or at least that you know she’s safe.”

He deserved an Academy Award for the performance he was giving. It was heart-wrenching and sincere—and it was total bullshit. However, years of addressing a jury had served his acting skills well.

We’d talked about this with Nox and Deloris. The fire was burning hotter under Alton’s world. Since he didn’t know that we knew about the codicil, we’d expected a power play. Was this meeting it?

“Ralph, I really need to get back to New York. Despite all of this, I’m still a student. The semester will end soon. Once it does, I’ll have more time.”

He reached out for my hand. “I remember you as a little girl. Always so inquisitive and so intelligent. You’ll make a wonderful attorney. Perhaps there’s a future for you at Hamilton and Porter?”

As if that should be enticing. I pulled my hand away. “Goodbye, Ralph.”

“I can’t make you stay, but we can make her,” he said, nodding his head toward Chelsea.

“What?”

“You’ve testified. You’ve given information under oath, Miss Moore. Bryce is going to need you to continue to corroborate his story. Perhaps,” his voice slowed, “you were with him on Saturday? I believe you two have an agreement.”

“Mr. Porter,” Mr. Owen said, “Miss Moore is now my client. She is free to travel until she receives orders from the court saying otherwise. I hope you’re not suggesting that you have the authority…”

Ralph’s hand went in the air. “I only need a signature.”

“Make sure it’s legal,” I said.

“You’re correct,” Ralph nodded toward us. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Miss Moore, please come to my office tomorrow and I’m sure we can get a statement. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that will allow you to leave Savannah until the time is necessary for you to return to testify.”

She looked to Mr. Owen.

“You are under no obligation to cooperate,” our attorney said. “However, the court can insist on your return.”

“What kind of statement?” Chelsea asked.

“The truth,” Ralph said. “Just as you’ve done in the past, just as you did in Evanston. Just as your agreement articulates.”

RETURNING TO HAMILTON and Porter required another night and day in Savannah. I didn’t want to be there, but at least it allowed me a chance to speak with Jane. She met me at Leopold’s, just the two of us—and Clayton. Slipping under the radar—me in a baseball cap, wearing jeans and a vintage Bill Elliott t-shirt—we met at a table near the back.

With my bodyguard at the table to my side, I nibbled on a bowl of chocolate raspberry swirl and scanned the crowd. It didn’t take long until I saw her, working her way through the tables to me.

Her big brown eyes glistened as we hugged and she sat across the table. At her place setting I had a bowl of lemon custard. It was the flavor she always ordered when I was young.

She shook her head. “Child, you remembered?”

“Of course I did!”

“I’m so glad you got a message to me.”

“Yeah, Aunt Gwen has been more of a help than I ever imagined.”

She nodded toward my shirt. “He was your daddy’s favorite.”

“Awesome Bill from Dawsonville,” I said with a grin. “I really don’t know anything else about him, but I saw the shirt in a shop and decided I needed to have it.” I shrugged. “I remember your telling me that he was my dad’s favorite NASCAR driver.”

“You safe? Your momma, she’s safe?”

I nodded.

“Oh praise Jesus.” Tears spilled onto her round cheeks as I reached across the table. “Child, I prayed all night and day. It was a mess here.” She shook her head. “I just kept thinking, what would Miss Adelaide say about this spectacle? Oh, Lordy, what would Miss Olivia say?”

I squeezed her hand. “Momma wants to see you, but we think we need to wait.”

“Wait?”

“She needs to get stronger before she faces… him.”

Jane nodded then leaned across the table. “He didn’t do it, Mr. Spencer.” She looked up from the custard. “Did he?”

I lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. I was with you most of the day.”

“He wasn’t happy when he called you. I heard his voice. Not his words,” she clarified, “but his tone. He was mad.” She took a bite. “I wasn’t trying to listen. That room, it was small.”

“It was, and he was.”

“But not mad enough to do that?”

“Jane, I don’t know. I really don’t. If the police question you, please be honest. It’s all we can do. If he’s not guilty, then honesty is his best defense. If he is guilty, Melissa deserves our honesty.”

“I can’t. I can’t say nothing about what I see. It’s part of my job. It always has been.”

“I think,” I said, keeping my voice low, “they can still call you. I think they can still question you.”

“But I can’t say nothing. If I do, Mr. Fitzgerald will be angry.”

“The law is more powerful than Mr. Fitzgerald.” Even as I said the words, I heard my uncertainty. Legally what I said was true. No private agreement could supersede the law. The law always won. Just like the song said. And then I recalled another old song, one Jane used to listen to. The singer had red hair, Vicky someone. She sang about a ‘backwoods judge in Georgia who had bloodstains on his hands.’ I even believed that Reba McEntire did a cover of the song. Suddenly it had new meaning.

“I think you should talk to my attorney.”

Jane shook her head. “I’ll just keep quiet.” She feigned a smile. “Will you come back to the house, or can I bring your momma some of her things? I know she’ll be missing them.” She clutched her chest. “I miss both of you. I ain’t never had you both gone.”

“No, I’m not going to the manor. I can’t. Especially after Bryce is out on bail.”

Her eyes widened. “They’re going to let him out?”

“Probably. You know Alton. If he wants it.”

“But if Mr. Bryce done that to that girl, he shouldn’t be out.”

My eyes continued to flit around the room. Though the restaurant was busy, no one seemed to be paying any attention to us.

“My attorney? If you get a call from the police or Mr. Porter, will you please call my attorney?”

“Mr. Porter?”

“No. Mr. Porter is Alton’s attorney. He’s Bryce’s attorney. Daryl Owen is my attorney’s name. Please don’t talk to Mr. Porter without him.”