“Then Vautrin arrived, looking like someone told him his dog had died. And instead of reading the verdict, he said he was recusing himself.”
I almost drop my spoon. “You’re serious?”
“Personal reasons.”
I squint at her.
She shrugs. “That’s all he said. No elaboration. Case adjourned.”
“How strange…”
“If you ask me, he looked shaken, scared even,” she says. “Maybe he or his wife was diagnosed with something nasty and given a month to live?”
“Maybe.” I lean back, processing the implications. “So… We’re in limbo.”
“For now.”
She sips her water, then leans in with a sly glint in her eyes. “But I’m about to make your day even better.”
I arch a brow.
She sets her glass down with a tap. “Replacement judge is already on the rotation list. Adelia Sarrazin.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Pauline drinks coffee, grinning.
The suspense is killing me.
“Should I be impressed?” I ask.
“You should be relieved.”
“Explain.”
“Sarrazin is the anti-Vautrin of judges,” she begins. “Less pedantic. Less obsessed with precedent. Less a statute recitation machine, more a human being.”
“And that’s good for us, right?”
She pauses for effect, then proclaims. “Better than good, Eva! She’s perfect. If I could choose the judge, she’d be my pick.”
“Really?” Her joy is contagious, and I perk up cautiously.
Pauline’s grin widens. “Did I mention she’s a mother to a teenage daughter, and a feminist?”
“No, you didn’t.” My smile is as broad as hers now. “A feminist, huh?”
She does a gleeful shimmy, shoulders and bust shaking. “Cha-cha-cha! Adelia Sarrazin has been known to roast male colleagues in open court for interrupting her.”
“You think she’ll be more sympathetic?—”
“I don’t think, Iknow.” Pauline points at me with her spoon. “Sarrazin will consider your arguments through current legal philosophy, not just weigh them against a sixteenth-century statute long overdue for repeal. She’ll see you, and she’ll see Millie.”
The pressure in my chest eases, and my fingers tremble. I set my cup down before I spill it.
“What was Derek’s reaction when he heard Sarrazin’s name?” I ask.
She gloats, “Picture him frozen mid smirk like his brain crashed or he ate a rotten egg. I wish I’d filmed it! Could’ve sold tickets.”
