Deadline (Sandra Brown)

Are you coming down?” Then she paused and asked, “Something wrong?”
    Amelia picked up the watch and turned to her. “I found my watch.”
    “Great! Where was it?”
    That wasn’t the response Amelia had hoped for. If Stef needed to ask where she’d found it, then she hadn’t put it on the porch railing, either.
    *  *  *
     
    Dawson glanced down at the LED of his jangling cell phone. Headly. He answered dispiritedly. “Hey.”
    “What’s up?”
    “Why ask me? You’re the one taking Viagra.”
    Headly snorted. “I don’t need it.”
    “If you say so.”
    “Where are you?”
    “In my room.”
    “What are you doing?”
    “Just hanging out.”
    “Working on the story?”
    “I don’t have a story yet.”
    “You heard Amelia Nolan’s testimony.”
    “And I’ll hear her cross-examination on Tuesday. Between now and then, there’s nothing much for me to do, is there?”
    “Rough draft?”
    “I talked myself out of that. I don’t want to write something only to have to scrap it and begin again if the defense attorney destroys her testimony.”
    “Which is unlikely.”
    “Still.”
    “So you’re just hanging out.”
    “Watching the grass grow.”
    “Any leads on her current address?”
    “The last one Glenda could dig up was the townhouse on Jones Street. As I predicted, she no longer lives there.”
    “Maybe she moved into her dad’s mansion.”
    “No. Glenda learned that she’s donated it to the state. It’s closed up, but will possibly open next spring as a museum. That’s under consideration with the historical society. Something like that.”
    “Well, she’s gotta live somewhere,” Headly said with impatience.
    “Wherever that somewhere is, it’s under wraps. A bailiff hustled her from the courtroom. I assume the same bailiff will escort her in on Tuesday at nine o’clock. Over the long weekend, the lady is keeping a low profile, and who could blame her?”
    “Damn! I’d hoped you could have talked to her by now.”
    “As if she would talk to me.”
    “How do you know she wouldn’t?”
    “Because she’s not talking to any media.”
    “The news outlets down there are full of stories about the trial. I’ve been following online.”
    “Then you should have noticed that there aren’t any quotes from her, except what she was quoted as saying on the witness stand. The state prosecutor—”
    “Lemuel Jackson. I understand that he’s highly regarded.”
    “He held a brief press conference outside the courthouse immediately after court was adjourned on Wednesday. I listened from a distance. He didn’t say anything about Ms. Nolan except that her testimony had been compelling. Nothing’s happened since then. Dullsville. So there you have it, an up-to-the-minute report. How about your end? Anything from Knutz?”
    “About the Wessons of Ohio? Not yet. This damn holiday.”
    “Hmm. Let me know when he gets back to you. Right now I gotta go.”
    “If you’re only watching the grass grow, what’s your hurry?”
    “I gotta pee.”
    Dawson hung up, dropped the cell phone onto the cluttered table, and walked into the bathroom. At least he hadn’t lied to Headly about having to go.
    When he was done, he lingered for a moment at the sink, staring at the disheveled guy in the mirror who had haunted-looking eyes surrounded by shadows. Arms braced stiffly on the rim of the sink, he silently asked himself what the hell he was doing here, why he was putting himself through this, why he should give a fuck about Jeremy Wesson.
    Arriving at no satisfactory conclusion, he turned on the cold-water tap and splashed his face several times, then dried it, and was doing up his zipper as he walked back into the other room.
    Where he uttered a startled sound and drew up short.
    Amelia Nolan was standing not ten feet from him, a can of pepper spray aimed directly at his face.
    “Tell me now who you are. Because after getting a face full of this, it’ll be a while before you can talk.”

Chapter 5
    H e raised his hands, palms out. “I swear I’m no threat.”
    “Like hell you’re not.”
    With her free hand, she gestured to the table behind her where the incriminating evidence was on display.
    Shit!
    Scattered across the table were dozens of photos of her and her sons playing on the beach. He’d taken the shots with his cell phone, enlarged them on his laptop, and printed them out. Standing on the windowsill were the binoculars through which he’d been watching