Page 52 of Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“Thirty-three.”

“Just under the wire for the Marshal Service.”

Andrea nodded. The cut-off was thirty-seven. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to ma’am me, Andrea. We’re not in my courtroom and we’re well north of Savannah.”

Andrea forced herself to smile back. Bible had obviously given the judge her CV. That made sense. Andrea was in the family’s private space. They were trusting her to protect them. Anyone would want to know more.

Esther said, “My granddaughter tells me you have an unexpected appreciation for art.”

Andrea nodded, but she felt her body go on alert. Was there a warning in the judge’s tone? If Franklin Vaughn picked up on it, he didn’t say. His good eye still stared blankly ahead.

“Judith is extraordinary,” Esther said. “Her mother had an artistic bent. Of course, you know what happened to her mother.”

Again, Andrea settled on a nod.

“Tragedies can break a family apart,” Esther said. “I’m fortunate that it brought mine closer together. And Guinevere is the icing on the cake. Though don’t tell her I said that. She gets embarrassed when I praise her. I imagine you were the same at her age. Your mother must’ve had her hands full.”

Andrea resisted the urge to gulp down all of the saliva that had flooded into her mouth. The judge was fishing for information. She couldn’t know anything about Andrea—not anything that mattered. Esther Vaughn wasn’t a mind reader. She did not have access to Andrea’s file in the Witness Security database. Not even the president of the United States could unmask her true identity without a damn good reason. The only way Esther Vaughn would know something was off was if Andrea said something stupid.

She tried very hard not to say something stupid. “I’m glad for you, ma’am. That you’re close to your family.”

Esther picked up her teacup. She silently drank, not dismissing Andrea but not addressing her, either.

Andrea concentrated on keeping her breathing steady. She recognized the judge’s game. They had practiced it at Glynco during fake interrogations. Nobody liked long silences, but guilty people were particularly susceptible to them.

“Dr. Vaughn?” A woman in a nurse’s uniform broke the standoff. “I’ll take you up for your bath. Judge, do you need anything?”

“No, Marta. Thank you.” Esther leaned over and kissed her husband on the side of his head. “Goodnight, my dear.”

If Franklin Vaughn was compos mentis, he didn’t have the ability to show it. His gaze remained fixed as the nurse tucked in the blanket, disengaged the wheelchair brakes and rolled him out of the kitchen.

Andrea had stood to get out of their way. When she went to sit back down, she realized that she was better off standing.

Esther had straightened her spine. Her shoulders were squared. The effect made her seem twice the size of the old woman who had offered Andrea tea. The imperious, intimidating, indomitable Judge Esther Vaughn had entered the room.

“Andrea, sit back down.” Esther’s lips were pursed. She waited until her order was followed. “You must excuse my probing questions. Your sudden appearance in my life interests me.”

Andrea tried to dial down her own temperature to match the ice cube in front of her. She quickly found out that there wasn’t a number inside of her that was low enough. She summoned her old friend, Miss Direction. “I’m very sorry about the death of your daughter, ma’am. I can see how not having a definitive answer about the identity of the perpetrator might weigh on you.”

Esther stared so openly that Andrea felt like her brain was being dissected. Guilt flooded through the almost surgically filleted chunks of gray matter. The urge to confess turned her fidgety. She endeavored to maintain her composure, but the silence eventually became unbearable.

“Ma’am?” Andrea shifted in her chair. “Is there something else?”

“Yes.” Esther pinned her down with the word. “I’ve worked alongside Marshals my entire federal career. I’ve never seen one fast-tracked into service the day after graduation. Particularly, if you’ll excuse me for saying, a woman.”

Andrea felt her stomach clench. She had met people like Esther Vaughn before. They pushed you until you either quit or pushed back. Old Andy would’ve folded immediately. New Andrea was pissed off that this lady thought she’d be so easy.

“No need to excuse yourself,” she told the judge. “I’ve been called a woman before.”

Esther’s chin tilted up. She was finally realizing this wasn’t going to be easy. “I gather being engaged to another Marshal has its advantages.”

Andrea was going to take a hammer to Mike’s balls if she ever saw him again.

For now, she shrugged.

Esther said, “I don’t like it when people maneuver their way into my orbit. It makes me question their motivations.”