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the reference. It was a plausible way to kill time while his witness’s pertinent statement took root in the minds of the jurors.
    Before he could pose another question, Amelia Nolan asked for a glass of water. While she was taking the short break, the judge invited everyone to stand up and stretch. Dawson used the time to send two texts. The first went to Headly.
    Wesson’s ex testifying. Very effective. Used the Viagra yet? I want salacious details.
    The second text was sent to a researcher and fact checker who’d been at NewsFront since the magazine’s first issue was published thirty years ago. She was scrawny, cranky, and always smelled of the cigarettes she claimed she no longer smoked, but Dawson trusted her speed, accuracy, and most of all her discretion. Every Christmas he corrupted her with a five-pound box of chocolate-covered cherries and a case of equally sweet wine.
    Glenda, sweetheart: Amelia of the GA Nolans? Why “honorable”? Facts desired asap, please.
    He used an app to tack on hearts and flowers at the end of the text.
    No sooner had he pressed Send than the judge tapped her gavel and instructed everyone who’d stood to be seated. When everyone had resettled, she instructed Jackson to continue with his witness.
    The prosecutor was ready. He set his legal tablet on the table and approached the witness box. When he addressed her, his tone was somber. “Ms. Nolan, how did this scene that you described eventually pan out?”
    “One of the other parents called nine-one-one.”
    “The police responded?”
    “Two officers arrived in a matter of minutes. But Jeremy and the Strongs had left before they got there.”
    “They left without further incident?”
    “Grant was wailing. Hunter was cowering against one of the fathers there. I think their frightened reactions bothered Jeremy. And he was aware that everyone was witness to his grip on my arm, the shaking. I think he might have felt ashamed. I’m guessing. I don’t know. In any case, he let go of me.
    “When Mr. Strong told him he ought to do something about me and my ‘smart mouth’—that’s a quote—Jeremy told him to shut up and to mind his own business. With an expletive. Then he opened the front door and shoved Mr. Strong out onto the porch. Mr. Strong cursed him, and I believe he would have retaliated if—”
    “Objection.”
    “Sustained.”
    Jackson asked quickly, “Did Mr. Strong retaliate to Mr. Wesson’s shove?”
    “No. He was too unsteady on his feet. He staggered off the steps and nearly fell down. Jeremy grabbed Mrs. Strong’s hand and pulled her behind him through the door. The two men were angrily pushing and shoving each other as they made their way to Jeremy’s car parked at the curb. I shut the door and didn’t see anything more. When the police arrived, they were gone.”
    Jackson returned to the table to once again consult his notes, probably unnecessarily. He was letting his witness take a breather and giving the jury time to imagine the scene and the antagonism that obviously had existed between the two so-called friends.
    Ms. Nolan took a sip from her glass of water. Even from the back of the room where Dawson sat, he could see that her hand was trembling.
    As Jackson walked toward her, he frowned and slid his hands into his pants pockets, looking rueful, as though regretting the direction his questioning was about to take. “Ms. Nolan, you had a second encounter with Willard Strong, is that correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “When was that?”
    “The third of May last year.”
    “Again, you remember the exact date.”
    “Yes.”
    She lowered her head, causing a loose strand of hair to fall against her cheek. Absently she reached up and tucked it behind her ear. Dawson wondered if that was a nervous gesture, specific to these circumstances, or if it was an unconscious habit with her. He would bet the latter.
    “Ms. Nolan, why do you remember that date with such clarity?”
    When she raised her head to answer