Dread Champion (23 page)

Their conversation was brief. Aunt Chelsea sounded tired, distracted, plus she asked too many questions. Kerra remained vague about how she'd spent her evening, although she sensed that her aunt already knew. Promising to call again tomorrow night, she hung up the phone with relief.

Hurrying into the family room, she flicked on the television to Channel Seven. Commercials. She went into the kitchen for a glass of water and returned. She told herself she was simply curious about the media coverage.What would the station have to say about the jury being sequestered? But deep within, a little warning niggled in her stomach.What if her own defensive anger at the reporter had given her and Brett away?

Kerra stood before the television, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. The news anchorwoman flashed on the screen. “Tonight we have extensive coverage on the Salad King trial,” she announced, “as the case faced a major shake-up this morning.”Kerra's eyes remained glued to the set as the anchorwoman told of the juror phone contacts and sequestration. “And Channel Seven has obtained inside information about the trial that only further complicates this already fascinating case.Here is Milt Waking's exclusive report, filmed at the end of today's court session, to give you all the details.”

Kerra's insides gelled. Milt Waking's disgusting, handsome face filled the screen.Her fingers gripped the glass, her eyes narrowing as she listened to his report about the sequestering. He played up the fact that her aunt Chelsea, “the visions woman from the Trent Park case last year,” was now one of the twelve who would be deliberating. “And in further stunning news,” he continued, “I have learned that the visiting niece of this woman has been attending the trial and has struck up a friendship with Brett Welk, the defendant's son. An inside source has confirmed that the two are having dinner together tonight… .”

Kerra choked out a cry. The glass of water slipped from her hand.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 9

TWENTY-FOUR

Stan Breckshire fumed his way toward the judge's chambers, the morning newspaper clutched in his hand.Media report or not, Judge Carol Chanson was going to hear about this. Maybe the woman would finally admit she never should have allowed that fanatic Chelsea Adams on the jury in the first place. Look at all the trouble Ms.Adams was causing! Stan drew up short in front of the door and banged with his knuckles. Only problem was, it was too late for the judge's admission. Now all she could do would be to call a mistrial, and Stan certainly didn't want that.

“Who
is
it?” Judge Chanson's voice griped from behind the door. She opened it, scowling.

“We need to talk,” he declared. “Summon Terrance and Erica.”

Her features darkened further. “I'll thank you not to take that tone of voice with me, counsel.” Her eyes fell on the newspaper. “What is it now; you know I can't look at that.”

“You
have
to look at it.”

She drew herself up, neck mottling.“Mr
.
Breckshire, if—”

“The niece of our favorite juror, Chelsea Adams, has been attending the trial since day one,” he spouted. “And now she's going out with Brett Welk!”

Myriad expressions crossed Judge Chanson's face. She blinked rapidly, eyes dancing from Stan to the newspaper and back. Finally she drew in a deep breath, hefty shoulders rising. “Find defense counsel and bring them here immediately.” She swung the door shut.

Five minutes later they were all assembled in the judge's chambers. The court reporter stood nearby, machine ready. Judge Chanson had donned her robe. No doubt, Stan crabbed to himself, to remind them all that she was in charge. If that's what she could call it.

The judge eyed all three of them as if they were recalcitrant pupils. She turned to Terrance Clyde. “I suppose you know why we're here.”

T. C. was all pomp and circumspection. “Yes, Your Honor. I saw the paper.Apparently, the print media has picked up the story from one of the—”

“I don't care about who's saying what.” The words kicked across her massive desk like pebbles under an impatient foot. “I want to know if you knew about this relationship.”

“Of course not!” T. C. exclaimed as air puffed from Erica's offended mouth. Erica threw an icy glance at Stan. “I didn't even know the niece was in the courtroom,” T. C. added.

Judge Chanson considered them both. “Who is she anyway?”

T. C. raised a shoulder. “Not sure, but from her description I'd guess she's that young, pretty blond.”

“Not that it matters.” The judge waved a dismissive hand. “I've checked my records as to who was allowed to call Ms. Adams after the jury was sequestered.A husband is listed,who's apparently overseas on a business trip. Also listed is Kerra Fraye, a visiting niece.”

“Well, there you go,” Stan said snidely.

Judge Chanson shot daggers at him. He stuck a hand in his hair and rubbed.

“All right. I'll have to get to the bottom of this. Then I'll decide what to do. Mr. Breckshire”—she aimed laser eyes—“any other thoughts at this time? That are worth sharing?”

Erica snorted. Stan's fingers curled at the sound. The judge glared at her. Erica recovered, managing a delicate cough.

Stan could think of a dozen things, all better left unsaid. “No, Your Honor.”

“Fine then.” A look of regal command settled upon the judge's features.“Mr. Clyde,may I prevail upon you to find Sidney and ask him to bring Ms.Adams to my chambers? The rest of us shall wait.”

A
LUMP SAT IN
Chelsea's chest as she entered the deliberation room. She'd slept intermittently the previous night, her mind swirling with thoughts of Kerra and the trial.

Oh, Lord, Iknow you've called me to pray. But I'm tired this morning, and Istill can't help being frightened for Kerra. She sounded so distant when she phoned last night. Please draw her to you. Protect her.

“Good morning, good morning.” Sidney Portensic bustled cheerily into the room.

“Morning, Sydney,” B. B. and Gloria replied in stereo as others voiced their greetings. Hesta gave him the nod of a queen to a serf.

Sydney's face remained all grins. “I trust you all had a good sleep on the county's dollar.”

“Oh, the best.” Clay's hand slid to his lower back, his face feigning severe pain.

Sydney laughed good-naturedly, then quickly turned all business. “Ms. Adams”—he turned to Chelsea, his voice low—“may I speak with you for a moment?”

Kerra.
Anxiety singed the back of her neck. “Of course.”

He ushered her into the hallway and shut the door. “The judge wants to see you.”

Chelsea stared at him, seeing the concern on his face. “Why?”

“Guess you'll find out soon enough.” His features creased into an empathetic smile. “Come on.”

When Chelsea entered the judge's chambers, the judge, attorneys, and court reporter all were there.Apprehension skidded around her stomach.

Judge Chanson came right to the point.“Ms.Adams, it has come to my attention that your niece is attending this trial. This perhaps is the niece you mentioned during
voir dire?”

All three attorneys stared at Chelsea. She felt like a schoolgirl called before an accusing principal.“Yes. She's visiting from Kansas.”

“Have you discussed this trial at all?”

“Of course not.” Indignation fueled the need to explain. “We'd planned to spend these two weeks together, as I told you. She's been through a tragedy and I wanted to help her. Then when I ended up on this jury, what else was she supposed to do?”

“Apparently, she's found something,” Stan Breckshire burst.

“Counsel!” Judge Chanson smacked her desk. Steam fairly rolled off her shoulders. She turned back to Chelsea. “The media are reporting that your niece has been spending time with Brett Welk, the defendant's son. That they had dinner together last night.As you can imagine, this is most disturbing news.”

Chelsea fought for a breath. She could find no words to say.

“I must ask you again if you have talked with your niece about the trial.”

Her indignation seeped into anger.As if she'd encouraged any of this. “I told you,
no.”

“I see that she is on your list of callers.Did she phone last night?”

“Yes. Finally. It was nearly eleven. I asked where she'd been and she wouldn't tell me.”

For another ten minutes Judge Chanson and the attorneys questioned Chelsea. Did she approve of this relationship? Would it affect her ability to deliberate fairly? Even as Chelsea told herself to remain calm, she could not keep the anger from her voice. Any “relationship” Kerra had with Brett Welk was completely her niece's own doing, and Chelsea was not about to accept the blame.

Finally Judge Chanson leaned her forearms on her desk. “All right. I appreciate your candor, Ms. Adams. Now there is only one thing I can do to save these proceedings. I will have to remove Miss Fraye's name from your contact list. That way, regardless of what she chooses to do, no one will be able to question your veracity in deliberating. Understood?”

Chelsea's throat locked.
God, you can't allow this!
Complete separation from Kerra at a time when her niece's rebellious nature was rearing its ugly head. Chelsea knew her niece all too well.With the entire court frowning upon her friendship with Brett Welk, Kerra was bound to stick to him like glue.

K
ERRA MEEKLY FOLLOWED
the heavy bailiff down the narrow hall. Her ankles shook as they approached the judge's chambers.What was going to happen? Surely this had something to do with Brett. The mere thought of the judge trying to run her life filled her with both fear and indignation. And poor Brett. He was already beside himself with the media reports.When the bailiff had sidled up to her outside the courtroom, saying the judge wanted to see her, Brett's face had paled.

That horrid Milt Waking had watched her every move.

“Just go right on in; they're waiting for you.” The bailiff smiled broadly as he swung open the intimidating door.

They?

Kerra forced herself through the doorway. Five heads turned to stare at her. The judge, all three attorneys, and the court reporter. Her stomach turned over.

“Come in,Miss Fraye.” Judge Chanson beckoned Kerra to stand before her. The attorneys parted to give her room. Kerra had a fleeting thought of the Israelites in the middle of the boiling Red Sea.

Judge Chanson loomed larger than life in her black robe, one arm resting on her expansive desk. She cleared her throat and considered Kerra. A ground-swallowing earthquake would have been most welcome at that moment. “Miss Fraye, it has come to the court's attention that you are the niece of juror Chelsea Adams and that further you have, ah, begun a friendship with Brett Welk. I assume this is true?”

Kerra could only nod.

“I see.” The judge fingered the purple chain around her neck, looking grim.“We have already spoken to your aunt about this matter, so she is aware of what I must do. I cannot tell you not to come to court,Miss Fraye, as this is a public trial. But I am concerned that you would have any contact with your aunt, given this unusual situation. So I am taking your name off her list of callers. You will not be able to speak to your aunt until the verdict has been given and your aunt is released from this court. Understood?”

“Yes,” Kerra squeaked.

Judge Chanson gave her a probing look. “I hope you also understand why I must take this measure. Surely you can imagine that your continued communication with your aunt would bring into question her ability to deliberate fairly.”

“It shouldn't,” Kerra blurted, then drew back, amazed at her audacity.Well, so what? This was ridiculous.Aunt Chelsea had done nothing wrong and neither had she. Defensiveness kicked through her like a sudden dust storm. These people couldn't begin to know the extent of her grief since Dave's death. They couldn't begin to know what it felt like to be attracted to someone again, to feel alive again.What was she supposed to do, turn her back on this chance?

Everyone was staring at her. Kerra felt Erica Salvador's eyes giving her once-, second-, and third-overs.

“What I mean is,” she declared, “I have never talked with Aunt Chelsea about what's happened in the courtroom. I'm sure she told you that.And she is the most honest person you'll ever meet.You're lucky to have her on your jury.”

“I'm sure, I'm sure,” Terrance Clyde soothed.

“Well,” the judge said after a moment, “my decision stands. This is to protect your aunt just as much as the rest of us. It will ensure that her honesty cannot be questioned.”

Kerra focused unseeingly on the sleeve of the judge's robe. The woman was right. This
was
for Aunt Chelsea's protection. Suddenly a burden Kerra hadn't allowed herself to admit lifted from her shoulders. She wouldn't have to call Aunt Chelsea every night. She wouldn't have to worry about her aunt's probing questions.

She was free to do anything she wanted.

TWENTY-FIVE

For the second day in a row, court was late getting started, this time thanks solely to herself and Kerra. Chelsea sank into her jury seat wearily. She was half glad she couldn't read the papers. The media was sure to get wind of the judge's decision to cut her contact with Kerra. Chelsea shook her head. This was all her fault. She never,
ever
should have let Kerra come to the trial.

As if on some twisted cue,Kerra and Brett entered the courtroom at that moment. They sat side by side.

Kerra's eyes drifted to the jury box. Chelsea gave her a wan smile. Kerra nodded back, brows knit. Her expression mixed apology, determination, and … something else.

Anticipation.

Chelsea turned her eyes away.
Lord, Iknow you want me here, but Inever should have allowed Kerra to come. You've promised me that you'll take care of her while I do what you've called me to do. Please keep your promise!