Sedona Law 6 by Dave Daren (best non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

a gold hairpin. She was accompanied by another woman, who wore a tailored lavender dress and pumps.

“This is my mother, Carol,” Kelsi introduced us.

“Hi, Carol,” we greeted her and shook hands.

Carol had willowing grayish brown hair that reminded me of my mother. She smoothed her dress as if the conservative attire grated against her tendencies.

“How was the drive out?” I asked.

“Long,” Carol said. “We haven’t driven to Phoenix in...I don’t know how long. There’s too many freeways, it gives me anxiety.”

I laughed. “You should try living in L.A,” I said. “The traffic out here’s like a trip to the grocery store.”

Carol and Kelsi both moaned and shook their heads.

“God no,” Carol said. “I could not handle that. No thank you.”

“Well, you made it,” I smiled. “That’s the important part.”

Kelsi was quiet and wore oversized dark glasses. With all the pieces to this case, I had to remind myself that she was a grieving widow.

“Good to see you Kelsi,” Vicki told her.. “How you holding up?”

“Some days are better than others,” she shrugged.

I nodded and wished I had something comforting to say. There wasn’t much, considering she was about to enter her plea, that would effectively jump start a long and tedious legal battle that could very well end up with her in federal prison.

“Well,” Vicki said. “You look strong and together.”

No, she didn’t.

Kelsi grimaced. “I don’t feel that way,” her voice quivered.

She turned her back to us for a second, and then turned back to us with a sniffle and a fake smile. Yeah, she wouldn’t hold up in court like this.

“Kelsi, you’ve got this,” Vicki held her hands. “You’re a mom. That’s a superpower. Don’t you know that?”

Kelsi laughed, and I smiled. Ah yes, that side of Vicki. Vick had this uncanny ability to launch into this small town mom thing, that always confused and amazed me.

In small towns, people typically married younger and, by the time they were our age, most had already started their families. So, many of our Sedona friends were in a very different stage of life than we were. Vicki, somehow, knew how to channel that energy, and could talk about childbirth plans and toilet training techniques as if she had birthed a minivan full of kids. It was weird, but it always worked in our favor, and seemed to relax our married friends. As for me, I got squeamish if someone asked me to hold their baby.

Vicki went on to calm Kelsi’s nerves, and bring her into the moment, asking about her boys. It worked on Kelsi but it made me wonder a bit. Vicki and I had never really talked about having kids. I guess we spent our lives chasing murderers and zebras and investing in kombucha factories that we hadn’t really had that conversation.

I didn’t know what I thought about kids. I guess, if I had to pick, I wanted what Vicki wanted. I smirked as I realized that. Could I be more in love?

Vicki finally got Kelsi emotionally grounded, and we walked into the courtroom. I shot Vicki a look and she just shook her head. She let Kesli pass a couple of steps in front of us, and then lightly brushed my hand.

We walked into the courtroom, a modern carpeted room with cushioned rows and podiums for the defendant and prosecution. We took our seats in the defendant’s box---a small booth behind a microphone podium.

Opposite us, sat a slim woman with dark hair and glasses, in a smart maroon pantsuit. She sat primly and looked over notes as if this were the fiftieth thing she had on her agenda this morning. I assumed this was Agent Winslow, with prosecutor’s office

Vicki looked over her notes and whispered to Kelsi, who reluctantly removed her sunglasses to swollen and red eyes. Yesterday, I thought she was a cheating scumbag, and yeah, maybe she still was. But, today I felt sorry for her. Alone with two sons. That’s got to kill you.

“All rise for the judge,” the bailiff shouted. “Judge Robert Crenshaw.”

Judge Crenshaw was an older man, he looked to be in his late seventies, with a craggy face and moved with great difficulty. He wore thick glasses, and had a half head of white hair.

We stood as Judge Crenshaw took considerable time getting into the bench.

“You may be seated,” the bailiff finally called out

Our little band of anti-smugglers sat and I looked over my notes. Kelsi was standing by her not guilty plea, and there was nothing I could do about it. We were in for the long haul, and this wasn’t Sedona.  I was dealing with the Department of Justice, and they knew their shit ten times better than I did.

“Thank you,” Judge Crenshaw’s voice warbled, but his sharp green eyes peered at us with a steady gaze.

“This is the matter of the United States versus Kelsi Matthews,” his voice had a slight twang, but his formal tone indicated this was anything but a small town affair. “Prosecution, please state your appearances.”

“Federal Agent Ashley Winslow,” the woman in maroon stated into a microphone.

“Thank you,” Creshaw stated. “And the defense?”

Vicki stood and stated in the mic,“Vicki Park, and Henry Irving, counsel, and Kelsi Matthews the defendant.”

“Thank you,” the judge stated.

I looked over at Kelsi, whom, at this point looked stoic as ever. Some clients handle the emotional roller coaster of court appearances emotionally, others don’t.

“Ms. Matthews,” the judge said. “You have been charged with smuggling of contraband poached wildlife overseas, a third degree felony.”

I heard Kelsi take in a breath at the word ‘felony.’ Yeah, that’s always a difficult one for clients to hear.

“Do you understand these charges?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your honor,” she said.

“How do you plea?” the judge asked.

I found myself waiting with anticipation. I