Bodie: “Did you see the defendant strike Dale Cranston?”
Milo: “Not exactly.”
Bodie: “Yes or no, Officer Patitucci.”
Milo: “No.”
Moore tried to eviscerate Milo’s testimony, but he recited the details exactly the same, no matter how Moore tried to twist up the facts.
Sensing his case shredding, Moore called two character witnesses on behalf of Dale Cranston: Harry Smith, mayor of SeaBlue Beach, and Lloyd Boyd, head of the chamber of commerce. Moore’s questions and their answers were perfunctory and boring. Expected.
“The state rests, Your Honor.”
Judge Harris glanced down at Bodie over the top of his spectacles. “Mr. Nickle, call your character witness. Let’s get this done. All this talk of the Blue Plate is making me hungry.”
“The defense calls Harlow Hayes to the stand.”
Harlow?
The courtroom doors opened, and she strutted into the courtroom and down the aisle like it was a Paris runway. She owned the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and every breathing person in the room. She moved gracefully, eliciting a chorus of oohs and aahs. Her hair with golden highlights flowed over her shoulder in loose curls. She wore slacks and heels, with a blue jacket that turned her eyes into a cloudless sky.
Hubba hubba. Matt was a goner. No way back. Guilty of heart-palpitating love, Your Honor. Give him life without parole.
After the bailiff swore her in, Harlow glanced his way for the first time.
“Bodie,” he whispered, “why’d you call Harlow? She was at the diner. She can’t lie.”
Bodie scribbled on his legal pad.HUSH!
If asked outright, “Did Matt Knight hit Dale Cranston in the Blue Plate Diner?” she’d have to say yes. He didn’t know what she saw at the rink, but at the diner she had a front row seat.
Don’t lie under oath for me, H.
Bodie went to work. “You’re Harlow Hayes of 321 Sea Blue Way and formerly of 432 Park Avenue, Manhattan, New York?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell us about your career?”
“I was a model with the Icon Agency for twelve years. More recently, I have been employed at the Starlight.”
“Objection.” Marvin Moore was a hot poker fresh from thefire. “What is the purpose of this line of questioning? The state concedes Ms. Hayes is a famous model who owns a residence here in Sea Blue Beach. Can we move on?”
“Sustained,” Judge Harris said. “Move on, Mr. Nickle.”
“Harlow, can you tell us about the day at the diner and the punch in question?”
Her eyes glistened as she swiveled toward the jurors.Oh, H, brilliant move. “Life is never easy, is it?” The women nodded, and the men stared. She was composed, confident, exuding all of her HH qualities.
“I’m sure everyone knows my big heartbreak of ’85.” The redhead with freckles on the end wiped her eyes. “All my life I wanted to be a mom. Not very hip these days, right? Today women are supposed to want careers, to break glass ceilings, but I wanted to be a mom with a bunch of kids. My mom started me young in modeling, and while I’m grateful for the opportunities it gave me, I missed being a part of a family. I never felt my life was my own.”
Moore slowly stood, adjusting his tie and jacket. “Ms. Hayes is not on trial here. Must we continue with the world’s smallest violin playing ‘My Heart Bleeds for You’ in this emotional manipulation?”
Marvin Moore had just made a fatal mistake. The women scorned him, and the men appeared perturbed. For sure Amos Luckenbach, at seventy-eight, had never heard Harlow’s story. The man lived on a boat.
“Overruled,” Judge Harris said. “Go on, Ms. Hayes, but do get to the part about the defendant.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” She couldn’t be more sincere and humble. Something had happened to her. Matt leaned for a deeper look. She was different. Brighter. “Anyway, I first met Matt on the set ofTalk to Me Sweetly, and—”
