Holidays at Crescent Cove Read Free Page B

de grace. “You’re no daughter of mine.”
    She walked out the door. That was the last time she had spoken to her father or seen him. And that was four years ago.
    And now Sonny-boy Cavanaugh was back in court, and her father’s firm was defending him again. A man Grace had put back on the streets. A man who had killed and who her father’s firm had put back on the streets to kill again.

Chapter Three
    G RACE HEARD THE knock on the door. She knew it would be Margaux, coming to see why she freaked out. She appreciated the friendship, the loyalty, but she was too angry to talk coherently. She was so angry that she was afraid she might take it out on her friend. And that would be so unfair.
    Another knock. “Grace, are you in there?”
    Grace stood, indecisive.
    â€œI’m not going away.”
    Grace felt some of her anger slip away. She was really lucky to have friends who cared.
    â€œDo I have to call Bri to come break this door down?”
    Grace felt her mouth pull up into a smile. She knew Margaux would do it. And Bri was completely capable of breaking down her door if she wanted to. The childhood friend whose main activities had been tossing her long blond hair at the boys and never doing anything that might break a nail, the ex-model who never ate and went everywhere by limo had developed some serious survival skills since returning to Crescent Cove.
    â€œGrace-ieee.”
    Grace opened the door.
    Margaux stepped inside and the two women stood looking at each other.
    â€œI guess this is about that guy in the newspaper.”
    â€œHarrison ‘Sonny’ Cavanaugh.” Grace turned and stalked back to the table and the newspaper whose pages were crumpled from where she had gripped them. She picked it up and shook it in Margaux’s direction.
    â€œWhat is wrong with these people? He killed a man and he’s already out of jail? And he didn’t even go to a real jail. One of those white collar golf-course places. Justice isn’t just.”
    She saw Margaux smile.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou remind me of those days when we were kids and dreaming about what we were going to be when we grew up. You were always about justice.”
    Grace dropped her hand. “That’s when I believed in justice for all.”
    â€œAnd you don’t now?”
    Grace sighed, her rage threatening to turn to tears. “I do. I’m just not sure that it exists.”
    â€œI guess we just have to take the bad with the good?” Margaux walked past her and into the small kitchen off the living room. “I’m making coffee,” she said, her words muffled as she looked in the freezer for the espresso beans.
    â€œIt’s not just that.” Grace said, watching her pull out the coffeemaker and fill the carafe with filtered water.
    Margaux looked up. Stopped what she was doing. “I’m listening.”
    Grace’s throat seized up. She couldn’t even bring herself to say it. “My fa—my father.” Her mouth twisted; she willed her emotions into submission. Lawyers, especially courtroom lawyers, had to always be in control. Use emotions as persuasion, not a betrayal of weakness. “How could he do it?”
    Margaux stepped toward her, her arms open, and Grace walked into a hug.
    â€œGod, sometimes I hate him.”
    Margaux gave her a squeeze. “I know, but maybe he thinks he’s doing the right thing. Innocent until proven guilty and all that?”
    Grace pulled away. “That’s all fine and good. But this guy is guilty, was guilty twice before. Nobody can believe in his innocence. He isn’t innocent.”
    â€œHe deserves a trial, though, right?”
    â€œSometimes I wonder.” Grace pulled away, walked over to the window and looked down onto the street and the row of quaint shops that lined the sidewalk. “I didn’t mean that. Everyone deserves a trial. And I know all the arguments for defending