Dread Champion (14 page)

Brett stuck his hands in his pockets, wondering what to do for lunch.His eyes cruised the hallway, taking in the reporters, the attorneys, the folks who'd come to watch. Anger rose within him as he spotted the reporter who'd cornered him that morning about the strange juror.
“Are you worried she'll see the truth?”
Brett shuddered.

A blaze of red caught his eye, and instinctively he turned his head toward it, blinking, his breath catching. It was only the jacket worn by the television reporter from Channel Four. Still, the fleck of color propelled him back to that moment when he'd first seen Shawna's blouse stained with blood. Brett swallowed, turning away. That moment would haunt him for as long as he lived.

Brett took a deep breath, stilling himself.At times like this he had to focus, bring himself to the present. Get through the next minute. That's what life had become lately—enduring one minute at a time.

He leaned an arm against the wall. A newspaper reporter sidled over toward him. Brett waved a hand. “I'm not talking to anybody.” Amazingly, she eased away.

Brett rode the escalator to the first floor and left the courthouse. Rounding the corner of the building, he caught sight of Kerra, perched on a bench as if waiting for someone.He wondered who that might be.And what she was doing at a murder trial in the first place. She wore navy pants and a light blue top that reflected the translucent color of her eyes.Her hands rested on the edge of the bench, her face serious, as if she were contemplating the end of the world.
Lost
was the word for her, Brett thought for the second time that day. It was in the way she held her body, in the way she'd talked with him during break, as if her mind had been only half present. Brett knew that feeling well enough. He gazed at Kerra, then with the mindless movement of a milkweed seed on the wind, drifted toward her.

When he caught her attention, she gave him a sad smile.“Hi.”

“Hi. You waiting for someone?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head at him, offering no further explanation.

“Oh.Well. I'd better go get some lunch.”He turned to leave.

“No,” she said, surprising him, and from the look on her face, herself as well. “You don't have to go just because of that.Why don't you wait with me until she comes?”

She.
The word pleased him more than he would have expected.

He gestured, “Why not?” then slid onto the bench. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his legs. An awkward moment passed as he struggled for something to say.

“Are you okay?”

Her hesitant words flickered in his chest. It had been a long time since any female had seemed to care a whit about him.He bounced his laced fingers. “Yeah. Thanks for asking.”

“Sure.” She paused. “I didn't know if I should, but I just feel … ”

He looked at her, seeing the embarrassment in her eyes. She'd almost said the word.
Sorry.
Brett leaned back, trying to appear at ease. “So what brings you to this trial?”

Kerra hesitated. “I'm visiting my aunt. She ended up having to be here. I figured I might as well come along. I didn't know what else to do with myself.”

“Is she the court reporter?”

“No, actually—” She inhaled quickly. “She's an alternate on the jury.”

Brett took a moment to process the news. There were only two alternates, and one was a man. His eyes bugged at her.

“Believe me, she didn't
want
to be,” Kerra blurted, then looked horrified. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I mean, I know your dad needs a jury.”Her words dangled. She blinked, as if amazed at her own stupidity.

“That's okay.” Brett forced calm into his voice. “I'm sure it's no fun sitting up there, either.”

Kerra's glance shot right through him. She fingered her purse. “Do you think we shouldn't be talking?”

Oh no,
Brett thought. “I don't see why not. Your aunt's not supposed to talk to anybody about the trial, including you, so—”

“Oh, she's not,” Kerra interjected. “She wouldn't do that.”

“Well then?” Brett raised a shoulder.

Kerra nodded slowly, then considered the sidewalk.

Brett searched for a way to keep the conversation going.“Are you in college?”

“I just graduated in June.”

“Oh.What are you going to do next?”

Pain danced across her face. “I'm supposed to start teaching math this fall in a junior high back home in Kansas. I've committed to a year.”

“Doesn't sound like you're too excited about it.”

“I guess I'm not.”

Brett wanted to ask why but decided not to press.

“There's Aunt Chelsea,” Kerra said suddenly.

Chelsea.
Yes, that was the name Milt Waking had told him.

“Oh, great. She's with that chatty Irene Bracken again. I bet that woman's invited herself to lunch for the second time in a row.”

Brett's mouth opened before his brain had a chance to stop it. “Well, don't go with them. Go with me.”

She swung a surprised look at him.What a blunder he'd made.

“I mean, if you want to.”

“Well.” She seemed nonplussed. “Let me see what's happening.” Kerra rose and met the two jury members out of earshot. The aunt stared at Brett. He looked away, feigning indifference. A moment later Kerra returned.

“Guess what,” she said, as if not quite believing her own words. “Irene's all geared up to go with Aunt Chelsea. The woman seems to have latched on to her. I don't think Irene will care a bit if I'm not along. So I guess you're stuck with me.”

Brett pulled to his feet, both awkward and pleased. “What about your aunt? She didn't seem too happy.”

“Well, she isn't.” Kerra laughed at her own candidness. “But she won't have time to think, with Irene talking her head off.”

“Okay. If you're sure. Uh … Most people walk down Broadway. But I found a coffee shop yesterday across the tracks. It's only a few blocks.”

She smiled at him, and warmth spread across his shoulders. “Let's go.”

“S
O.
W
HY DON'T YOU
want to start your teaching job?”

Shaded by a large green umbrella, Kerra sat across from Brett at a glass-topped table outside the coffee shop, toying with a French fry. Brett had placed himself in full sun, barely squinting, as if he were born to the outdoors. One arm was hitched over the back of his chair, his body at an angle toward her.His deep-set eyes regarded her steadily.

“It's not that I don't want the job; it's just that I don't know how I can manage it. I'll have six classes a day and well over one hundred students. I'll have to teach them, keep order in the classroom. I'll have to
think

His eyebrows knit. “Isn't that what teaching is all about?”

“Yes, but I just don't know if I'm up to it.”Anxiety rose in Kerra at the very thought. She'd done nothing since graduating but hang around her parents' house, mourning. June twenty-second had been a nightmare. She'd mourned so deeply that day and all the days surrounding it, not to mention the entire year before, that she'd become used to the weight of it.Grief had become a familiar wrap, the blanket she spread upon herself by night and the cloak she donned by day. Sometimes she felt as if the grief were stitched to her. Shedding it would pull off a part of herself.

“You want to tell me why?”

Brett's voice sounded so kind. His concern, and her thoughts of his own pain, pushed aside Kerra's reticence to talk. She laid the French fry down, eased her plate away. “Forty-six days ago, June twenty-second, was supposed to be my wedding day. My fiancé, Dave, and I had set the date early last year when we got engaged. Then in May of last year he was killed in a car accident. I was with him. I wasn't hurt much. But I watched him die.”

Brett leaned forward in his chair, eyes piercing hers as he struggled for words.Kerra could see the rise and fall of his chest.“I'm sorry. I had no idea.”

Kerra fiddled with the edge of her plate.“Well. I should hardly be telling my troubles to you. Seems like you've got a few of your own.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a moment. Kerra was dying to know if he'd read the morning papers, but didn't know how to ask.What would he think if he knew that the “visions woman” was her aunt?

“Tell me about where you live,” she prompted. “How far away is it?”

“About an hour and twenty minutes with no traffic,” he said. “Salinas is in Monterey County. It's a farming area in a valley.” His face softened. “Absolutely beautiful place.”

“And your family owns a farm?”

“Actually, it's called a ranch. Three hundred acres. It's one of the most productive ranches around.We grow lettuce, broccoli, cauliflower, celery, spinach,mushrooms, artichokes.You name it.”Brett's pride was evident.

“So your dad is pretty well known there?”

“Yeah. He's very respected for his business skills. In fact, Dad's called the Salad King. You know those prepackaged salads that are in all the grocery stores now? Dad was one of the main inventors. He's also one of the main inventors of the precut broccoli and cauliflower and other vegetables. When the ready-to-go products hit stores, sales went way up. Even sales of the stuff we already sold a ton of, like lettuce.”

Dozens of questions swirled in Kerra's mind. “Are you running the ranch right now?”

“We have a foreman. I've been helping him. I'll go back this weekend to check on things.”

“Oh.” Kerra couldn't think of anything else to say. She took a drink of water.

“Tell me about your aunt,” Brett said.

Uh-oh.
She set down her glass with care. “What about her?”

“She's the one the papers talked about, right? She had a vision about a murder last year?”

Kerra could hear no accusation in his voice. Just curiosity. And perhaps uneasiness.

“She's a wonderful person. So supportive after Dave was killed. She kept calling me again and again. She invited me here, hoping she could help me get over things.”

“No wonder she didn't want to end up sitting in a courtroom.”

Kerra nodded, warmed that he would be so empathetic, given his circumstances.“You don't have to worry about her, Brett, if that's what you're thinking. She's really just like anyone else. Most of the time anyway.”

“She sounds very religious.”

“No, not religious; she's a Christian.” The words popped out before Kerra had time to think.
Terrific.
She really didn't want to get into a discussion about God.

He frowned. “What's the difference?”

Oh, great; try getting out of this one.
She shifted in her chair.“Well, the way I've heard it explained is that religion is any sort of belief system that man invents to try to reach God. Christianity is God reaching out to man. Through Christ.”

His chin puckered. “Do you believe that? About God reaching out to man?”

Sure, for all the good it had done her. “Yes.”

Brett nodded slowly, as if the concept were brand-new to him. Then suddenly he glanced at his watch. “It's almost one.We need to be getting back.”

Kerra scraped back her chair, relieved. “Thank you so much for paying for my lunch.”

“You're welcome. Hope your aunt didn't mind.”

Kerra made a face. She may feel protective of her aunt Chelsea, but the woman could hardly tell her what to do. “I
am
an adult.” Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she fell in step with Brett toward the courthouse.

“H
EY
, R
OGELIO, COME WITH
us for lunch, man.”

Rogelio wiped the sweat off his face and shook his head. “Can't. I've got some stuff to do.”

“What you got to do now?” Carlos asked.

“He's got responsibilities you know nothing about.” Their boss, Chester, a man in his forties with six kids, waved a dirty hand at Carlos. “Leave him be.”

The two of them drove off in Chester's dusty truck as Rogelio slid into his hot Chevy and headed for a small park around the corner. He didn't have anything to do; he just wanted time to think.

Rolling up to the curb by the park, he grabbed his lunch box.He walked a short distance, then heaved himself on the ground by a tree. Scooting back to lean against the trunk, Rogelio closed his eyes for a five-minute siesta. Vague red images moved across the insides of his lids. Kristin yelling at him to get out. Mama Yolanda clutching a baby's sleeper to her eyes and crying.His hand trembling over a document, then suddenly, fiercely, signing.

“Relinquishment,” the document was headed in bold capital letters. “I do hereby relinquish and surrender … ” The words were branded into his brain.When Kristin had handed him the paper, all the information had already been filled in for him—his name, the date, the Welk Adoption Agency name and address.

All, that is, except his signature.

“I'm making a copy of this, Kristin,” he'd declared after signing it. Self-loathing already churned in his chest.

“Just give it to me now.”Her arm had shot out to grab it.

He'd whisked the paper out of her reach.“No! I'm going to make a copy of it.”His voice had turned acid. “At least I should have some proof. Just in case I don't see the money.”

“You'll get your money, I told you! As soon as you give me that paper, I can get it.”

Rogelio squeezed his eyes against the memory. Part of him thanked God in heaven that he'd taken the time to make a copy. Without it he would have no clue where to look for his baby. But the other part of him cringed at the guilt it caused. All that time he'd taken to make the copy, he could have changed his mind. He could have torn up that paper at any time.

Instead he'd torn up his grandmother's heart.