“Uh-huh . . . And what time was that . . . ? About eight last night? That’s when the dog started barking?” He held up one finger, indicating that he was about through with his call, then waved them into the two molded-plastic chairs tucked between his desk and a partition separating his space from the next cubicle. “Don’t worry. We’ll look into it,” he promised the person on the phone, then hung up and shuffled his papers to one side of the desk. “Stephen. Ms. Santini. What can I do for you?” he asked. He leaned back in his chair.

“Stephen has something he wants to tell you.”

“Is that right?” Ted Pearson’s smile wasn’t the least bit friendly. “Good. Since the keys we found on Stephen yesterday fit into the ignitions of several of Isaac Wells’s cars, I think it’s time we had a chat.” He raised his voice. “Jack, you want to come hear this?” he asked and a tall rangy man appeared from behind the partition. “This is Detective Ramsey. He’s been working on the Wells case.”

“Call me Jack.” He shook hands with Tiffany and Stephen.

“Mrs. Santini, and her son, Stephen.”

“Tiffany.” She shook hands with the tall man and wished her palms hadn’t begun to sweat.

His smile seemed sincere. He swung a leg over the corner of Pearson’s mess of a desk and said, “Okay, Stephen, let’s hear it. Shoot.”

“Wait a minute.”

J.D.’s voice rang through the offices.

Tiffany froze. Now what? Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as J.D., his limp hardly noticeable, made his way along the short hallway until he was standing beside her. “I’m the boy’s uncle. What’s going on here?”

“Who invited you?” the detective asked.

J.D.’s smile was cold and there was a spark of challenge in his gray eyes. “I invited myself. J.D. Santini.” He thrust out his hand. “And I guess I should mention, I’m an attorney.”

Jack eyed him warily. “A criminal attorney? The boy doesn’t need representation.”

“Good.” J.D. stood right behind Stephen as if to shield him from an attack to his backside. “As I said, I’m Stephen’s uncle and his attorney if he needs one. So.” He rubbed his hands together and pinned both officers with his harsh gaze. “Now, what’s this all about?”

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

“You are not a criminal attorney,” Tiffany said under her breath as J.D., in his new role of concerned uncle, escorted them outside the courthouse. A hot summer breeze blew through the streets, causing dust to swirl and rustling in the leaves of the maple trees.

“They don’t know that.”