Page 20 of Secrets of the Past (Secrets of Mustang Island #3)

T he words still reverberated through the courtroom like a gunshot.

The firearm was registered to Mrs. Evelyn Reddick.

Derrick’s mother.

Tripp rose slowly, smoothing his jacket, every motion deliberate. He couldn’t afford a flicker of hesitation, not here, not in front of twelve jurors staring at him with wide eyes, waiting to see if the revelation had absolved his case.

He glanced once at the gallery. Evelyn Reddick sat rigid, pearls gleaming at her throat, expression fixed in icy composure. To anyone else, she appeared to be a society matron enduring an inconvenience. But Tripp saw what others might miss: a hard glint in her eyes, the subtle lift of her chin.

Control. Denial. Power dressed in silk.

She reminded him so much of his own mother that it scraped raw against old wounds.

Was it possible?

Could she have done to her son what Tripp’s mother had done to him and Nicole?

He forced the thought down and approached the witness stand. His voice, when it came, was calm and precise.

“Mr. Daniels, you testified this firearm was a .38 revolver, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This type of revolver, is it rare?”

Daniels adjusted his glasses. “No. Fairly standard. There are thousands in circulation.”

Tripp nodded. He wanted the jury to hear that word, thousands. He paced slowly, letting it sink in before continuing.

“And when you examined this weapon for fingerprints, you found the gun had been wiped clean.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said.

“How could you tell it had been wiped clean?”

“There was gun cleaning residue left on the wooden grip of the thirty-eight.”

“It’s possible anyone could have had access to that weapon and fired it that night.”

“Whoever had access to the suspect’s home, yes.”

Tripp turned slightly, letting the jury see his face. Calm. Controlled. “So while the registration showed the weapon was purchased by Mrs. Reddick fifteen years ago, it was found in her son’s possession.”

“Yes.”

He gave a slight nod, then stepped back. “So to be absolutely clear: you cannot tell this jury who fired that weapon on the night Bianca Laurent was killed.”

“No, sir.”

“And you cannot tell this jury when Mrs. Reddick last touched it.”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you. No further questions.”

Tripp returned to the defense table, each step measured, every muscle coiled tightly. He lowered himself into his chair, keeping his face carefully blank.

But his chest burned.

Because Evelyn Reddick’s mask, cold, perfect, untouchable, had cracked for just a second when her name had been tied to the weapon. And Tripp knew that look. He’d seen it in his own mother’s eyes whenever she was cornered.

He forced his gaze back to Derrick, who was pale, eyes darting between his attorney and his mother. Panic radiated off him. Tripp leaned closer, murmuring low so only his client could hear.

“Stay calm. We’ve just planted reasonable doubt.”

Derrick swallowed hard, nodding. But the young man’s gaze slid back to Evelyn, and Tripp knew doubt had started to creep in for him too.

The judge cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “The witness may step down.”

Daniels rose, gathering his notes, oblivious to the storm he’d left behind.

Tripp straightened his papers, keeping his hands steady even as his mind spun. He had done his job, shifted the jury’s focus, reminded them that the evidence was circumstantial, and planted the idea that Derrick wasn’t the only possible suspect.

But the sight of Evelyn sitting there, unflinching, still gnawed at him.

Because while he had defended Derrick with skill, he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe the real danger wasn’t at the prosecution table at all.

Maybe it was sitting in the gallery, wearing pearls and a smile sharp enough to cut glass.

It was time to have a serious discussion with his client. Just as soon as they had a recess.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we’re going to conclude for today.

Remember my admonishments: do not discuss the case with anyone, do not allow anyone to discuss it in your presence, and do not consume any media coverage related to the case.

We’ll resume tomorrow morning at nine a.m. Court is adjourned. ”

As soon as the judge banged his gavel, Tripp turned toward his client. They needed to talk now.

The courtroom hummed with low whispers as the jury filed out in a ripple of dark suits and wary eyes.

Tripp sat rigid at the defense table, his pen motionless above his legal pad. He’d defused what he could in cross, but the echo of those words still thundered in his chest.

The murder weapon was registered to Evelyn Reddick. He’d known that since he took over the case, but it wasn’t until he sat here in the courtroom, surrounded by silence, scrutiny, and the weight of what was at stake, that the truth hit him like a punch to the gut.

He’d convinced himself she’d given her son the gun to protect him, to keep him safe. But what if that wasn’t it at all? What if she hadn’t handed it over… but had been hiding it? What if she never meant for anyone to find it?

But that didn’t make sense.

The police were going to accuse Derrick, because he was the boyfriend, the text messages, and the fight they’d had. Why would she put her son at risk?

Beside him, Derrick leaned forward, his voice a low hiss. “What the hell was that? They’re going after my mother now?” His eyes were wide, panicked. “She didn’t do this, Tripp. She couldn’t have.”

Tripp kept his expression steady, his voice low. “Listen to me. All that matters right now is the jury. They just heard there’s another possible suspect. That helps us. It doesn’t convict her. It creates doubt . And that’s what we need.”

“But why her?” Derrick’s hands shook on the table. “Why even drag her into this? The gun was mine. She gave me the gun when I moved out. That’s why it was in my closet.”

Tripp’s head snapped toward him. “She gave it to you?”

Derrick swallowed hard. “Yeah. Said it was for protection. I never even loaded it, I swear. I didn’t think she—” He stopped, shaking his head. “She’s not a killer.”

“Does she have a key to your apartment?”

Derrick’s face went white, and he coughed. “Yes.”

Tripp’s jaw tightened. He’d heard that tone before, the blind insistence of a son unwilling to see what his mother might be capable of. His gut churned, memories clawing their way up.

Nicole. That sundress. His mother’s lies.

Before he could respond, movement in the gallery caught his eye. Evelyn herself was rising, sweeping past the curious stares like a queen moving through her court. She paused at the bar, waiting, every inch of her composed, immaculate.

“Son, I need a word with your lawyer. You’re going to beat this. I just know it,” she said with a smile that felt cold to Tripp.

The young man got up and walked out of the courtroom.

“Mr. Masterson,” she said.

Tripp ground his teeth. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with a woman who mirrored every cold instinct he’d grown up with. But refusing her here, now, would only create more whispers. He rose, buttoned his jacket, and followed her out into the marble hallway.

The air was cooler out there, quieter, but still heavy with tension. Evelyn turned to him, her posture flawless, her perfume a cloying mix of roses and steel.

“You allowed them to drag my name through the mud,” she said, her voice low but seething.

Tripp held her gaze, his own voice clipped. “I didn’t allow anything. The evidence speaks for itself. Your son is on trial. I’m defending him. Your name is on the register for the gun. Your son is my only concern.”

Her eyes flashed. “My son is innocent.”

“Then this evidence shouldn’t concern you. It shows that there could be more than one suspect. Anyone who knew about that gun in Derrick’s closet is now a suspect.”

A pause. Just long enough for the lie to glitter between them.

Evelyn stepped closer, lowering her voice.

“You’re clever, Mr. Masterson. Clever enough to know how dangerous this line of questioning is.

The prosecution is trying to use this to destroy my son.

He will do everything in his power to protect me, and that means even admitting to this murder to save me. Don’t let him.”

Tripp studied her, the mask she wore so carefully. He thought of the jury’s faces when they heard her name tied to the weapon. Some had leaned forward, hungry. Others had gone pale. Evelyn was right about one thing: her presence in the case had changed the tide.

And then, like a match struck in the dark, the thought came.

If Evelyn Reddick truly believed she had nothing to hide…then put her on the stand.

Tripp’s pulse steadied, a dangerous kind of calm washing over him. It was a gamble. A huge one. But it might also be the only way to show the jury she wasn’t the shooter or, if she slipped, to expose the truth once and for all.

He let the silence stretch before speaking. “If you want the jury to see you as blameless, Mrs. Reddick, then you’ll have to tell them yourself.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You mean testify?”

“Yes.” His voice was measured, but inside, something twisted. “You take the stand. You explain why the gun was in Derrick’s possession, and you do it calmly, credibly, so the jury sees this for what it is, a red herring.”

Evelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. For a flicker of a moment, her composure cracked. “I do not belong on that witness stand.”

“Then we let the jury imagine what you’re hiding and believe that your son fired the weapon.”

She bristled, then glanced away, her gaze sweeping over the polished floor as if she could find another path. When she looked back, her mask was in place again. “If that’s what it takes to protect my son, then I’ll do it.”

Tripp gave a single nod, though his gut twisted harder. Putting her on the stand could either save Derrick…or destroy him.

He turned back toward the courtroom doors, his thoughts a storm. Nicole would shred Evelyn on cross if she sensed blood in the water. And God help him, he wasn’t entirely sure Evelyn wouldn’t bleed.

As he reached for the door handle, Derrick walked up beside him, his voice desperate and shaky: “She didn’t do it, Tripp. Tell me you don’t think my mom could do this.”

Tripp closed his eyes for a beat, jaw tight. She reminds me of my own mother, he thought grimly. And I know exactly what women like that are capable of.

When his eyes opened again, he let out a slow breath. The gamble was set.

“Derrick, get some rest. Tomorrow could be a rough day.”

The prosecution should rest tomorrow. Then he would tell Derrick the plan.

They were calling Evelyn Reddick to the stand.