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“I guess money,” she says.
“Did he know that you weren’t in the will?”
“He might have. Dana knew.”
“And he believed since you were cut out of the will, you might want to kill your lover to ensure your good job continued to pay.”
“I don’t like how that sounds,” Martha says. “I didn’t want a payday.”
“Everyone just thought you did,” Reese comments.
“Objection,” Milton shouts. “Again. Is there a question?”
“Did everyone think that you wanted a payday?” Reese asks, rephrasing.
“I don’t know,” she says.
“What did you tell Reginald when he offered you money to help kill your lover?”
“I told him I’d think about it. I was scared of him. I was afraid to say no.”
“To clarify,” Reese says. “You said you’d think about killing your lover, the deceased, who was murdered?”
“I—it wasn’t—”
“Yes or no?” Reese presses.
“I was—I—”
“Yes or no,” the judge demands.
“Yes.”
“I’m through with this witness,” Reese says and walks back to his table. Milton doesn’t cross-examine. He can’t. Anything he’d ask would just make Dana look more innocent.
Reese has won this case long before the trial ends.
Lauren leans close. “He made that look easy.”
I smile, pride filling me. “Yes. He did.” I lean close and whisper. “That’s the father of my baby.”
She grins. “Yes, he is.” She reaches in her purse. “I got you this to give him.” She hands me a long, narrow box that might be a pen box. I open it to find a cigar that has pink and blue ribbons on it. Girl or boy. Which will it be? Which will he want?
My stomach knots. What if he doesn't want this now? If he's shocked, if he's hesitant, this isn't the birthday present I want it to be. He won't be hesitant. Will he? I need to feel him out before his birthday. I have to know he wants this.
Chapter eighty
Reese
The minute I finish with Martha and return to my table, Dana is tugging on my arm. “What just happened?” she whispers leaning in close. “Did Reginald do this?”
Milton stands up. “I’d like to request a short recess, judge.”
“Once again,” the judge says, “I imagine you do. Fifteen minutes.” He pounds the gavel and the room erupts into more of the noise Martha’s testimony delivered.
“What’s going on?” Dana demands again.
“Let’s go to our private room,” I say.
