I pick up the phone and hold it to my ear, closing my eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. How can I tell her what’s happened? How could I have done this to her?

I open my eyes and dial Sarah’s cell phone number.

The phone rings and rings and then her voice is there. But it’s her voicemail. I consider leaving a message but decide I can’t tell her I cheated on her and I’m now a suspect for my mistress’s murder over voicemail. I turn my back toward Sheriff Stevens and Deputy Hudson. They’re chatting while keeping an eye on me.

“Hurry up, Mr. Morgan,” Deputy Hudson says.

I wave my hand at him dismissively. I redial Sarah. She doesn’t pick up. Damn it. I pull the receiver hook down, and this time I dial a different number.

“Hello,” Eleanor says with apprehension.

“Mom… I’m in trouble. I need your help.”

9

Sarah Morgan

I take a sip of my Bollinger champagne, which I seriously earned after that case. For nearly a year, I worked nights and weekends and traveled back and forth to Texas. Anne is nibbling at naan bread, and Matthew is happily drinking his vodka martini.

“I must say, Sarah. I am impressed. I have not seen you in action since mock trials at Yale.” Matthew holds up his glass. “To Sarah’s sharp tongue.” Anne and I hold up our champagne flutes. We all clink and drink.

“Watching her in action is literally my favorite part of the job. It’s like watching the climax of a Law & Order episode,” Anne says with a laugh and a hiccup. She doesn’t drink much, so one or two glasses usually gets her going. She pats the corners of her mouth with a napkin and goes back to eating her bread to soak up some of the excess alcohol.

“But are you really going to go through with the knick-knack and give up the thrill of law?” Matthew scrunches his eyes while taking a bite of rice.

“I’m not going to give up law. I can do both.” I raise an eyebrow to him.

“You sure about that?” His eyebrow matches mine.

“Yes.” I drink the rest of my champagne and refill my glass.

He lets out a huff. “Fine. Fine. Fine. It appears I’ll be Uncle Matthew after all. Someone is going to need to teach that fetus to be fabulous.” He brings his vodka martini to his lips. “Should I order shots to celebrate?”

“You’re bad,” Anne teases.