Free The Devil's Interval by Linda Peterson Page B

when Josh was three, every summer night he’d want to lie outside on the front lawn with Michael, and try to find Orion, which he pronounced Orizon, and how I loved that he saw a “horizon” in the sky—all the meaning I poured into that one boy and his use of that one word.
    â€œWhat do you mean tight ?” I said, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. “Her son’s on Death Row, of course she’s obsessing about him.”
    Isabella was silent. “Maggie, I’m a mother, too. I know what it means to be protective. I’m not talking about why she’s fighting for Travis now. I just keep wondering if she decided she didn’t like Grace for any number of reasons…”
    â€œAnd killed her?” I said. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    â€œI know, it seems unlikely. But, you asked me what the look was about—and I’ve got to be straight with you. There’s always been something about that relationship that bothers me. Can you imagine trying to get between Travis and his mother?”
    I didn’t answer. “No,” I said reluctantly. “I can’t.”
    â€œAnd that stroke,” said Isabella. “I know it was real. You can’t fake a cerebral event. But it sure didn’t advance anybody’s cause that Ivory can’t remember much about a critical time in the case.”
    â€œShe had an alibi,” I said. “That’s what it said in the file. She was at a late movie with a friend until nearly midnight. They must have had stubs or something.”
    â€œBetter than stubs,” said Isabella. “An off-duty cop from the homicide squad saw them at the movies. He noticed Ivory because he thought she was, and I quote, ‘a silver fox.’”
    â€œSo, she seems like a dead end.”
    â€œI know, I know,” said Isabella. “But still.”
    â€œIsabella,” I said, “you’re convinced Travis Gifford is innocent, right? No doubts?”
    â€œHey,” she said, “I’m in the business of doubt, and shadows thereof.”
    â€œAnswer the question, please.”
    â€œI am convinced,” she said. “I’ve been doing this work a while; I started when I was still in law school. These Death Row appeals are my tofu and drink, and I am convinced.”
    â€œAnd not because of some hinky hunch you’ve got about Ivory?”
    â€œNo, that’s just something I still wonder about. It’s those vehicles at Grace’s. I believe nosy, old half-blind Mrs. Lomax. I believe there were two other cars there that evening. Or maybe just one, if she was seeing double.”
    â€œYou’re not falling under the Limo Lothario’s spell, are you?” I asked.
    â€œNot my type,” said Isabella. “Not even close. And it’s not that I don’t believe he’s capable of killing someone. I think we all are. But from what I know about Travis, it makes no sense to me. None at all. What makes sense is that if he did kill someone, he’d be smart enough not to leave the body in his car. In his garage. From the very beginning, I knew that was off.”
    â€œHope you’re right,” I said. “I share your opinion and I have very little idea why. Frankly, right now, I feel as if I’m working for Ivory, and that’s good enough for me.”

CHAPTER 8
    T ravis remembered what one of his mother’s boyfriends had said to him when he was a sullen teenager: “Be nice to your mom. She’s a class act.” He thought about the inmates he’d see in the exercise yard, bulked-up guys with Mom tattooed on a bicep, surrounded by rippling hearts and roses. Travis thought about Ivory as something much tougher than a rose. A diamond, maybe. Beauty with a flinty edge, something sparkly and valuable pulled from throwaway coal. Gave him some confidence she’d end her latest romance. At any rate, he didn’t