Текст книги "Native Affairs"
Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 37 страниц)
Chapter 1
The dark man was watching her again.
Marisa Hancock squared off her stack of notes and fastened the pages neatly on the clipboard before her, ignoring the intense gaze focused on her. Staring at the opposition’s table in order to unnerve its attorney was an old lawyer’s trick and she wasn’t going to fall for it. She turned slightly sideways so she wouldn’t have to see him and concentrated on the task at hand.
They were deep into the third week of arguments and things were not going well for Marisa. A property and land grants attorney retained for the case by the federal government, she had taken over from another lawyer at the last minute and found herself plunged into a controversy for which she was not prepared.
Outside the windows the mild sun of a Florida winter shone down on the pale green leaves of trees barely visible through the beveled glass. She knew that the protesters were still lined up along the sidewalk outside, flanking the impatiens beds with their signs, but their chanting was not audible in the fourth floor courtroom. Marisa sighed and tried to concentrate on the droning of the court clerk’s voice, but she still felt the keen gaze on her face and, yielding to impulse, she turned and confronted the man who was staring at her.
He gazed back at her, unperturbed. She knew his name, of course: Jackson Bluewolf, the founder and President of Natives for Nature, a coalition of Native Americans fighting for conservationist issues, especially the preservation of American Indian shrines and cultural sites. Bluewolf and his group were in Florida trying to block the federal takeover of an ancient Seminole burial ground. The government wanted the land to connect two sections of an interstate highway, and the Indians wished to keep it and open a museum and cultural bookstore on the site.
“Ms. Hancock, do you have anything to add to your argument before I rule on your motion for summary judgment?” Judge Lasky said briskly, interrupting her reverie.
“Yes, your honor,” Marisa replied, rising from her seat. “I would remind the court that the savings to the taxpayers of this state if the government’s plan is implemented would be substantial—in the neighborhood of eight million dollars.”
“Thank you, Ms. Hancock. I have given due consideration to your motion and I now rule that it is denied.”
Marisa returned to her seat, keeping her face expressionless, feeling the heat of Bluewolf’s gaze on her back. The two forces had been squaring off for almost a month, and during that time Bluewolf had not said one word to her. He merely watched her with his peculiar intensity, and it was making her very ill at ease. Her discomfort was increased dramatically by the growing conviction that she was representing the wrong side.
Bluewolf’s group wanted to prevent the government from exercising its rights under “eminent domain”– a doctrine permitting the takeover of any land deemed necessary to further the public interest. Marisa had flown south from her home and practice in Maine to handle the case when another lawyer in her firm was forced to bow out of it. When she showed up for the preliminary hearing at the last minute she had to fight her way through a crowd of protesters outside the courthouse. Bluewolf had noticed her distress and cleared a path for her, unaware that she would be his adversary. And since that moment it seemed he had never taken his eyes from her.
Marisa had resigned herself to a long stay in Florida when she lost round one and the injunction to halt the highway was granted. Her explanation that the government had no desire to destroy a cultural site but merely wanted to save taxpayers money had carried no weight with the judge. It would cost a fortune to go around the cemetery rather than through it. She had outlined in detail the government’s plan to make monetary reparation to the tribe, but it all went for naught. The NFN’s argument that money could not make up for the loss of history and tradition that would result from the destruction of the three hundred year old burial ground had carried the day. And Marisa knew that Jackson Bluewolf, the NFN lawyer’s chief adviser, had been its architect.
Now she had the almost impossible task of convincing the judge to remove the injunction and let the construction begin. It would be an uphill battle and, like it or not, she was committed to it. She too thought that the Indians should be allowed to keep their land, but she could never reveal her feelings. Professional ethics required that she represent her client to the best of her ability, and she was fully prepared to do so.
“Ms. Hancock?”
Marisa looked up at the judge, then rose, clearing her throat.
“Are you prepared to continue?” the judge asked.
“Yes, your honor,” Marisa said firmly. Then she gathered her papers and put them into her briefcase.
Bluewolf’s gaze never wavered as she crossed diagonally in front of his table on her way out of the courtroom.
* * *
Several days later, Jackson Bluewolf watched Marisa as she spoke clearly and logically, her arguments cogent and well prepared, as always. It wasn’t her fault that local sympathy, among the populace and in the media, was heavily in favor of the Seminoles, or that any lawyer representing the government in the lower courts had a Herculean task from the start. She was losing on points day after day, but she was doing a hell of a job and he had to admire her for it.
He’d been aware of her from day one, mostly because of her looks; she was exactly the sort of tall, slender blonde who usually caught his eye. It had come as something of a shock when he learned that she was the attorney for the other side, but her behavior throughout the trial had only made her more attractive to him, despite the fact that she was gunning for the government. She never lost her composure, never betrayed disappointment even when the calls went against her, as they frequently had. And she acted as though she didn’t know he existed, which intrigued him. Maybe she didn’t, maybe she was so focused on her job that his almost palpable interest in her had failed to register. Well, he was going to find out shortly. Today, in fact.
He watched her now, dressed in a tailored navy suit with an ivory silk tie blouse. Her high heeled shoes were polished, her pale hair was confined in a stylish chignon, her gold knot earrings matched a gleaming brooch on the lapel of her jacket. She was always like that, tightly controlled, neat as a pin and as finished as a dressmaker’s hem. Oh, how he longed to mess her up, to see that shining hair falling loose on creamy, naked shoulders, those lady lawyer clothes piled in an irreverent heap on the floor. His floor. He suddenly realized what he was thinking, swallowed hard, and tore his gaze away from her.
This would never do. When he was in the courtroom he had to concentrate on the case. There would be time enough to pursue her when the session was over for the day. That day.
He could wait no longer.
* * *
Marisa was walking down the marble floored corridor of the courthouse that afternoon on her way back to her hotel when she heard a man call her name.
She knew who it was before she looked. She took a deep breath and then turned and faced him, her expression calm.
“Jackson Bluewolf,” he said, extending his hand.
“I know who you are, Mr. Bluewolf,” Marisa said dryly, grasping his fingers briefly.
“I wonder if I might speak with you.”
“Go on,” Marisa replied evenly, looking up at him, thinking that he must be very tall. She was wearing heels and he still topped her by several inches.
“Not here,” he said. “Where are you staying?”
Marisa hesitated.
“I merely thought we could have a drink in the lounge,” he said mildly, his lips curving slightly.
“At the Fillmore,” Marisa said, feeling foolish.
“Good. There’s a comfortable bar on the lower level. May I walk you over there?”
“Why?”
“I want to talk to you. Concerning the case, of course.”
“I think we’re covering everything we need to say in the courtroom,” Marisa said.
“It will just take a few minutes. Please.”
“All right,” Marisa said reluctantly.
He fell into step beside her, saying, “May I take that for you?” He indicated her briefcase.
“I’m used to carrying a bag, Mr. Bluewolf,” Marisa said.
“Call me Jack,” he said, and smiled.
Be careful, Marisa, she thought. At close range his charm was overwhelming, a combination of his arresting good looks, his physical grace, and the easy smile which revealed beautiful, slightly uneven white teeth. He was wearing a taupe pinstriped suit which complemented his dusky skin and gleaming black hair. His eyes, she noticed, were not the dull brown of ordinary eyes but an intriguing amber, the color of fine sherry or very old, very expensive Scotch.
Yes, be very careful indeed.
“So what is this about, Mr. Bluewolf?” she said briskly.
He chuckled.
“What?” she said, startled, looking over at him.
“Jack,” he reminded her gently.
Marisa shrugged. There was something about him that made standing on ceremony seem ridiculous.
They emerged from the building into the balmy late afternoon air. The hotel was just across the main street and he took her elbow as they traversed the intersection. Marisa felt herself stiffen and then relaxed deliberately. Really, she was acting like a child.
The hotel bar was thronged with happy hour revelers. Jack greeted the host familiarly and they were shown to a secluded corner, away from the noise and confusion.
“Your friend?” Marisa said, nodding toward the departing man.
Jack made a deprecating gesture. “I’ve been in Ponte Azul for several months now, working on the case. This place is convenient to the courthouse; Ben and I have been in here quite a bit.”
Ben was Ben Brady, the NFN lawyer, and the mention of his name reminded Marisa why she was there.
“Well?” she said.
He raised his brows.
“The case.”
“Oh, yeah, the case. I was wondering if it has occurred to you that you’re working for the wrong side.”
This statement so accurately reflected what she had been thinking that she froze, stunned. She waited for a long moment and then said smoothly,“I’m not going to discuss politics with you, Mr. Bluewolf.”
“Politics?”
“The goals of the NFN, while they may be laudable, are a political matter. I am here to represent the federal government to the best of my ability in a court case, and that I intend to do. It would be unprofessional and unethical of me to do anything other than my level best to win the case for my client.”
“Well said,” Jack observed, watching her face.
A waitress arrived to take their order.
“What will you have?” Jack said, looking at her.
“Club soda with lime.”
“And a bourbon for me. Thanks.” He waited until the woman had departed and said, “You’re a last minute replacement, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“The papers your firm filed indicated that somebody named Arthur Winston was going to be representing the feds. Then you showed up at the preliminary hearing. Even before I heard the judge address you by name I would have bet good money that you weren’t Arthur Winston.”
“Arthur was in a car accident and I had to take over when it was clear he wouldn’t be able to continue.”
“I see.” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “I’m going to be frank with you, Ms. Hancock. There is much more at stake here than a cemetery or a highway. The Seminoles are using this hearing as a forum to air a long history of unfair treatment by the government. The protesters, the editorials in the local papers, the tempers flaring all over the county have little to do with the court case. They have much more to do with the poor conditions of reservation living which have left all of the Indians in this area bitter and malcontent.”
“I’m aware of that,” Marisa said evenly.
“You’re now at the center of this whirlpool, the most visible representative of the government and therefore identified with its position. Do you realize this could be dangerous for you?”
Marisa met his eyes levelly across the tiny table. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Bluewolf?” she asked quietly.
His face went blank. His drink came at that moment and he gulped about half of it before he replied.
“You’ve got me wrong,” he said huskily. “I was only trying to warn you to be careful.”
“I’m sure it won’t shock you to learn that a warning like that could be viewed as intimidation.”
“You’re jumping to the wrong conclusion, Ms. Hancock.”
“Possibly, and if I am, I apologize. I’m merely basing my reaction on my past experiences. You wouldn’t be the first person to try scare tactics when I turned out to be a little more formidable than I look. Some threats are more subtle than, ‘Catch the next plane out of here, lady, or you’ll be sorry.‘“
“Do you really think that of me?” he said softly, holding her gaze deliberately.
“Mr. Bluewolf, I don’t know you. I do know that my arrival here was not exactly good news for your organization, and even though my case has not been going well lately each day I keep on fighting. It would be much easier, and cheaper, to drive me out of town than to bear the expense of countering every motion that I file. If I’m terrified into dropping the case, you win. If I’m terrified into leaving it to someone else, the confusion and delay caused by replacing me can only work to your advantage. Am I making my position clear to you?”
“Perfectly,” he said tightly.
“Good,” she said, rising smoothly. “I’m so glad that we understand each other.”
He shoved his chair back and stood also, his eyes blazing.
“Thank you for the drink,” she said primly, leaving it untouched at her place as she turned and walked away.
Jack drained his glass as he watched her go, then slammed it onto the table so hard it cracked.
Damned impossible woman. She had completely misinterpreted his intentions. But somehow, instead of turning him off her cool, determined response had only gouged the hook in deeper.
He could hardly wait to see her again the next day.
* * *
Marisa unlocked the door to her hotel room, feeling very satisfied with herself. Did Bluewolf actually think she would fall for that tired old bullying routine? And even if the man was sincerely concerned for her safety she had shown him that she wasn’t going to turn tail and run.
The message light on her telephone was flashing and she called the desk. Charles Wellman, the head of the litigation department at her firm, had called while she was at court.
Marisa looked at her watch. Charlie often worked until six and would probably still be in his office.
“Charles Wellman,” he said, after two rings.
“Answering your own phone?” Marisa said teasingly.
“Margaret’s left for the day. How’s it going down there?”
Marisa sighed heavily.
“That bad?” Charles said glumly.
“Oh, come on, Charlie, you knew what this would be like when you asked me to take Arthur’s place. The courthouse is ringed with protesters every day, the editorial page of the local paper is filled with commentary about the big bad feds moving in to destroy a revered cultural site, and the judge is up for reelection next spring. How do you think it should be going?”
“Are you holding your own?”
“I guess so. Judge Lasky even ruled in my favor today. Once.”
“Remember what I said. Lean heavily on how much money the taxpayers are going to save if the highway goes through the cemetery.”
“I have, I have. But it’s a political football, Charlie. Even if there are some people who would rather save the money than the site, nobody is going to say so. Not out loud, not around here. Oh, and I forgot. The head honcho of the NFN asked me to have a drink with him this afternoon and then gave me a nice little speech about how concerned he was for my safety.”
“Jackson Bluewater?”
“Wolf. Bluewolf. The very same.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘your safety’? Are you getting hate letters or anything?”
“No, no. I guess it’s possible that a few of the protesters could get carried away or something, but I personally think he was just trying to rattle me.”
“Did he succeed?”
“Please. You’re talking to the woman who went up against Big Jim Lafferty and the United Dock Workers last year. I’m fine.”
“What’s he like, Bluewolf?”
“About what you’d expect. Lots of teeth and charm. I’m sure he’s a very effective spokesperson for his cause, the wattage from his smile alone must be good for quite a few petition signatures.”
“And Ben Brady?”
“The NFN lawyer? Very good, as befits a full partner of Henner, Wilson and Drumm. Did you know they were doing the whole thing pro bono? Very good publicity. It’s mentioned in the papers about three times every day, how the noble NFN legal team is working for free, along with speculation about the outrageous amount the evil feds are paying us to do their dirty work.”
“Sounds like it’s getting to you.”
“It isn’t the first time I’ve been unpopular.”
“Well, anyway, I’m sending you some help.”
“You’ve resurrected Clarence Darrow?”
“Next best thing. I’ve arranged for Tracy Carswell to take her exams early so she can fly down there and assist you with the case. She doesn’t have to be back at school until the end of January so you’ll have her at least until you break for the holidays.”
“Charlie, that’s wonderful! I could sure use a research assistant. I’m trying new things practically every day and barely have time to look up the precedents.”
“She’s yours. She’ll be there tonight. Margaret already booked the room adjoining yours—it opens into a suite.”
“Best news I’ve had since I got here. Tracy’s a terrific intern. Things are looking up, suddenly.”
“Keep the faith, kid. The firm’s not expecting miracles, we just have to show the government guys that we put up a decent fight for them. If the decision goes against you no one will be shocked.”
“Or disappointed?”
“That I can’t promise. It would be wonderful if you could pull this one out of the hat.”
There was a long silence. Then Marisa said resignedly, “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will. I’ll be in touch. Take care.”
“Goodbye.” Marisa hung up the phone just as someone knocked on her door.
“Yes?”
“Delivery,” a man’s voice said.
Marisa opened the door and was handed a small wicker basket covered with green glassine florist’s wrap.
“Are you sure this is for me?” she asked, puzzled.
The delivery man looked down at his manifest. “Marisa Hancock, Room 213?”
“Yes.”
“It’s for you.”
Marisa fumbled in her handbag for a tip and then closed the door. She ripped off the wrapping and saw a small white card nestled in a bed of fragrant local orange blossoms.
“You have misjudged me. Give me another chance,” was scrawled in bold handwriting, covering most of the card. It was signed, “Jack.”
Typical egotism, Marisa thought. As if he were the only Jack in the world. She lifted the basket to her nose and inhaled the heady, haunting perfume. Then she set the basket on the end table next to the phone and picked up the room service menu to order dinner.
* * *
Marisa was reviewing her notes from the day’s proceedings when there was a knock at her door followed by Tracy’s voice calling, “Yoo-hoo, it’s me!”
Marisa pulled the door open to admit Tracy, who was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with “Welcome to the Sunshine State” and a straw hat decorated with plastic lemons and limes.
“Your research department has arrived,” she announced, and threw herself full length on the bed.
“And costumed for the part,” Marisa replied, laughing.
“I bought this stuff at the airport. I’ve never been to Florida and so I thought I’d get into the spirit. Not exactly Maine, is it? At home the temperature was twenty-eight degrees.”
“And how are things in Bar Harbor?”
“Frigid. I can’t believe old Charlie decided to fly me down here. You must have convinced him it was time to send in the marines.”
“We’ve been talking every day.”
“I see. Well, I can’t say that I was depressed to hear that I was about to depart the frozen tundra and arrive in lotus land.”
“Don’t get too happy. You won’t have time for the beach. You’ll be working.”
“What about weekends?”
“Weekends, too.”
“You can’t spare Sunday afternoons for two hours? I can’t go back without a tan, nobody will believe I was ever here.” Tracy rolled over on the bed and spied the flowers on the table. “What’s this?”
Marisa made a dive for the basket but Tracy got there first. “Give me another chance,” she murmured. “Jack. Who’s Jack?”
“Nobody, forget it,” Marisa said, snatching the card away.
“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Tracy muttered. Her expression brightened. “That’s the NFN leader, Jackson something, right? I just saw him on TV last week.”
“Coincidence,” Marisa said, not too convincingly.
“It is not,” Tracy said, grinning. “You’ve been here three weeks and you’ve got the head of the opposition team sending you flowers. Why is it these things never happen to me?”
“You’re making too much of it. I hardly know the man. He thinks I misunderstood something he said and this was his way of...”
“Courting you?” Tracy supplied.
“Don’t be ridiculous. He was trying to apologize, I guess.”
“I suppose you haven’t noticed that he’s gorgeous.”
“Tracy, give me a break. I’ve been far too busy to ogle anybody at the opposition table.”
“Oh, I see. You’ve been struck blind.”
Marisa threw Tracy a look which would have silenced anyone else, but Tracy was more persistent than the average busybody. “So what did you misunderstand?” she inquired.
“He asked me to have a drink with him...”
“Aha!” Tracy said triumphantly, sitting up alertly.
“To warn me that my high profile defense of the federal government’s position might be dangerous for me.”
“Oh. That was nice of him.”
Marisa stared at her.
“What?” Tracy said, turning her hands palms up innocently.
“That was just a little more sophisticated form of intimidation, Tracy. Letting me know, under the guise of concern, that there was definitely something to be worried about.”
“Marisa, you’re paranoid.”
“Am I? Do you know how many times during the Lafferty trial one of those goons took me aside for a little friendly chat, warning me, very nicely and politely, that if I kept on with the case I could wind up in a pair of cement shoes?”
“They actually said that?” Tracy muttered, aghast.
“Of course not. They were more subtle about it, though none quite approached the smoothness of our man Bluewolf. He practically oozed solicitude.”
“Maybe he was sincere, Marisa.”
Marisa rolled her eyes.
Tracy shook her head. “You’ve been spending too much time around hoods, prosecuting these federal cases.”
“Maybe so. But I’m a little too old to fall for Mr. Bluewolf’s practiced charm.”
“So he is charming, you admit it.”
“If you like the type.”
“What type?”
Marisa shrugged.
“The handsome, sophisticated, politically correct type?” Tracy suggested, grinning.
“Shut up, Tracy,” Marisa said wearily. “It’s time for us to get to work.”
“What?” Tracy said, outraged. “I don’t even eat dinner first?”
“We’ll order you a burger from room service.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Marisa handed her a manila folder with a computer printout stapled to its cover.
“What’s this?” Tracy said, fingering the sheet.
“A list of all the eminent domain cases decided in the state of Florida in the last fifty years.”
“Gee, how thoughtful.”
“I knew you wouldn’t want to waste a minute.”
Marisa handed Tracy the phone and pointed to the house extension for room service.
* * *
The next morning in court Marisa moved to gain access to the Seminole tribal records detailing the number and location of the graves in the burial site to determine the cost of moving them. She was stunned when Judge Lasky granted the motion, and so was the press corps, which departed en masse for the phones. By the time the morning session ended they were lined up in the corridor, waiting for her comments on a development that was sure to incense the Indian community and provide some juicy quotes from both sides. She stared through the courtroom doors in dismay at the milling crowd, wishing that she hadn’t sent Tracy to the library that morning. She would have appreciated the company.
“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you,” Jack’s voice said behind her.
“It’s probably not a good idea for you, either,” Marisa replied dryly, turning to look at him. He was wearing a beige lightweight wool suit with a tobacco brown shirt that turned his amber eyes to gold.
“I know a shortcut through the lower level,” he said.
Marisa eyed him warily.
“I’m only trying to help,” he said innocently.
“Is that so?”
“Through that door,” he said, pointing. “You’ll avoid the pack of vultures and exit in the parking lot.”
Marisa sighed and nodded.
They went to the back of the courtroom and then down a flight of fire stairs, Jack leading the way. They came out into what was obviously a basement, with pipes running overhead and cement floors. As Jack turned toward another door marked “Service,” two people Marisa recognized as reporters rounded a bend and headed toward them.
“Oh, oh,” Jack said.
“I guess you weren’t the one only who thought of this brilliant maneuver,” Marisa observed.
“They haven’t seen us. This way,” he said, grabbing her hand.
Marisa didn’t have time to protest as he dragged her back the way they had come and into a side corridor, yanking open the first door he saw. They dashed through it and Marisa stepped into a bucket, which clanged loudly.
“This is a broom closet,” she said, removing her foot.
“I see that.” He pulled the door closed and the motion disturbed a mop stored behind it, which tipped forward and struck him on the head. Marisa covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh.
“So what do you think of my dashing rescue?” he said, removing a mop string from his eye.
“Very impressive,” she said, giving way to giggles.
“Hey, did you avoid the reporters, or what?” He replaced the mop in the corner and turned to face her. They stared at each other in the confined space as their smiles faded and the silence lengthened.
“They’re probably gone by now,” Marisa finally said.
“What?” he said, seemingly dazed.
“I think it’s safe to go,” she observed.
“Oh. Right.” He nodded and reached for the doorknob, stepping back to let Marisa precede him through the door. Once they were back in the hall they looked around cautiously, but the coast was clear.
“I guess we cut those varmints off at the pass,” he said dramatically, and she smiled again.
“That’s a nice change,” he said. “I’m so used to having you glowering at me that I was beginning to wonder if you knew how to smile.”
Marisa didn’t know what to say.
“Did you get the flowers I sent?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“I meant what I said on the card.” He put his hand on her arm. “My warning was well intentioned. Some of these activist kids can get carried away. They get caught up in situations like this one and lose sight of the big picture.”
“What is the big picture?” she asked quietly.
“Well, let’s just say that it’s not going to do our cause any good to persecute an attorney who’s merely representing the opposition in a legal case. Personalities shouldn’t enter into it.”
“But not everyone in your NFN group sees it quite that way,” she said softly.
He shrugged. “They’re frustrated and angry because you’re doing a good job. Getting the tribal records unsealed was a coup for your side and it’s going to cause trouble. Up until now there have been rumblings, but the case has been going against you. They don’t want to see it turn the other way, however slightly.”
“So will my hotel room be firebombed?” Marisa asked lightly.
“Not if I can help it,” he replied huskily.
Marisa realized that he was gripping her wrist tightly. She looked down at his hand and his fingers relaxed, letting her go.
“I have to get to my car,” she said hastily. “There are some notes there I need for the afternoon session.”
“May I take you to lunch?” he asked, his eyes on her face.
“No, I need the time to prepare. I was going to skip lunch.”
He shook his head. “All that dedication. Do you think the feds deserve it?”
“Any client deserves my best representation,” she said flatly.
“Oh, don’t frost over again, Ms. Hancock. I was teasing. I’ll walk you to your car.”
They ascended a set of steps from the basement and walked out into the noon sunshine.
“There’s my car,” Marisa said. “Thank you.”
Jack looked at the economy rental and said dryly, “For what the government is paying your firm you’d think they could have sprung for a more luxurious model.”
“This is fine for me.”
“Simple tastes, eh?”
“Bad driver. Those ritzy cars with the elaborate instrument panels look like you need a pilot’s license to drive them. I like the ones that say, ‘drive’ and ‘neutral’ and ‘reverse.’ More than that scares me.”
“Now I would have guessed that very little scared you.”
“Anything mechanical sends me into a frenzy.”
He took the keys from her hand and opened the door for her. Marisa reached into the back seat and extracted her leather overnight bag.
“Here it is,” she said.
He saluted.
“See you in court,” he said, and sauntered away.
Chapter 2
“Bad news,” Tracy said, dropping the morning paper on Marisa’s breakfast tray.
“Is there any other kind?” Marisa said wearily.
“Today there are two kinds. That headline says there was a brawl last night at one of the downtown bars. It was between a group of the Indian kids and some of the locals who want the government plan to go through for the jobs it will provide. One of the Seminole ringleaders, an eighteen-year-old boy, was killed.”
“Oh my God,” Marisa whispered, turning pale. The piece of toast she was holding fell to her plate.
“And as if that weren’t enough, we’ve been assigned an ‘adviser’ by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. A Mr. Randall Block will be arriving sometime tomorrow to aid in the handling of the case. We’re to give him our ‘fullest cooperation.’” Tracy dropped the message on top of the newspaper and faced Marisa glumly, her hands on her hips.
“Maybe it’s good that he’s coming, he might be able to give me some advice,” Marisa said quietly. “I never counted on anyone being killed, Tracy. This is just awful.”
“The paper says it was an accident. It seems the boy got into a shoving match with some guy and when his opponent pushed back the kid fell and hit his head.”
