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forgotten.”
    Connor shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
    His cell phone buzzed, so while he answered it, I took the opportunity to escape. I trotted up to the rear door of the courthouse and stepped cautiously inside, hoping I wouldn’t get trampled by another mob. I was halted by a courthouse security guard with cookie crumbs in his shaggy moustache; he wanted to check my driver’s license and have me scanned for weapons.
    The guard and the scanner were new. No longer could I simply dash up the wide staircase or risk taking the ancient elevator to get to the floors above. Now I had to show ID and step through an X-ray machine before I could go anywhere in the building. Sad to say that even in a cozy little town like mine, fear prevailed.
    “Nature of your business?” the guard asked stiffly as I pulled out my wallet.
    “Delivery. Attorney Hammond.” I separated the two to avoid a direct lie.
    “Hammond’s office is across the street,” the guard said, pointing toward the back door.
    “Actually, his office is on Lincoln”—I pointed toward the front—“which is that way.”
    He shone a light over my driver’s license to make sure it wasn’t a forgery, and suddenly he was all smiles and warmth. “Hey, you’re Sergeant Knight’s kid, aren’t you? Knew you by your red hair and freckles. You sure take after your old man. Great guy, your dad. Everybody liked him here. Shame what happened to him.”
    The guard was speaking as though my dad had passed away, when actually he’d merely retired. He’d had to retire because a drug dealer had shot him in the leg during a drug bust, and the surgery to remove the bullet caused a stroke, which, in turn, caused paralysis in his legs. In true Irish spirit, Dad was making the best of it, but I was still trying to deal with him being forever confined to a wheelchair while the drug dealer had been released after serving a short sentence.
    Looking over the guard’s shoulder, I saw Dave coming down the large central hall toward me. “Never mind,” I said, and stepped aside so the next person in line could pass through.
    Poor Dave had a grim look on his face, something I had rarely witnessed. I waved to catch his attention, but before he could reach me, a stocky, balding man in his sixties, clearly incensed about something, cut him off. The man was followed by a thin, pale, sad-eyed woman with salt-and-pepper hair curled into a tight flip, a look I’d seen only in photos from the sixties.
    “Is Andrew’s case being thrown out?” the man demanded, getting in Dave’s face, his big hands clenched at his sides. “Is it?”
    I glanced over at the security guard and saw him stop what he was doing to watch the proceedings.
    “Calm down, Herb,” Dave said quietly, putting a hand on the man’s arm. “The case hasn’t been dismissed.” The man had to be Andrew’s grandfather, Herbert Chapper.
    Dave’s words seemed to incite him further. Throwing off Dave’s hand, Mr. Chapper said through clenched teeth, “I didn’t bring this case to you to defend so you could let that devil-in-disguise Lipinski outsmart you.”
    “Haven’t I always done a good job for you?” Dave asked.
    “That’s not the point!” Mr. Chapper bellowed as his wife tugged on his arm.
    “Herbert, you know Mr. Hammond’s always done right by us,” the woman said in a meek, beseeching voice, only to suffer a furious look from her husband.
    “You have to trust me on this one, Herb,” Dave said.
    “Our grandson’s future is at stake,” Mr. Chapper cried. “It’s all we can do for him, understand? You’ve got to win this suit.” He gripped Dave’s coat. “You can’t let that fraud Cody Verse get away with his sneak offense. You can’t let Lipinski win this battle.”
    “I understand, Herb,” Dave said, loosening his hands. “Let’s meet back at my office in fifteen minutes. I’ll explain everything then.”
    Mrs. Chapper tugged her husband’s arm and, in a pleading