“Well, hey, stranger,” said Sherry Cobb, the firm’s office manager, when we entered the reception area. Small and dark-haired, she flashed me a smile that was genuinely welcoming.
For a moment, a wave of regretful nostalgia swept over me, even though Sherry used to drive me up the wall with her bossiness and incessant chatter when I was in practice here. Except for a year in the DA’s office, this had been my home from the time I passed the bar till I was appointed to the bench, and a lot of good memories were housed in these rooms.
Now she handed me the draft of the wills and gave John Claude a list of the calls he needed to return.
He kissed my cheek with a cousinly sweetness and said, “Now you let me know if there are any changes you want,” then went into his office and closed the door.
I paused to chat with Sherry for a minute and to hear about her newest boyfriend. As she shut down her computer and tidied her desk, I suddenly remembered what had been nagging at the back of my mind since reading Linsey Thomas’s files on Sunday.
“Greg Turner,” I said.
Sherry stooped to retrieve a paper clip from the floor. “What about him?”
“Wasn’t he opposing counsel on one of John Claude’s civil cases last year?”
“Hockaday versus the Town of Black Creek,” she said promptly with a slightly sour expression on her face. “He was the town’s attorney in a zoning change. Mr. Hockaday was fighting the change from residential to industrial, remember? He didn’t want his old homeplace to wind up in the middle of a strip mall.”
“And he lost, right?”
Sherry gave a small tight nod. “He lost. It was real frustrating to Mr. Lee. He thought he had a good chance of winning, but it was like every single argument he made, Greg Turner was there with a sharp answer. Mr. Lee said it was almost like Turner was standing behind him and reading over his shoulder.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” I said. “He did it to me the last case I argued against him. He’s one sharp attorney, all right.”
By then it was almost five, so I walked back to the parking lot, got in my car, and switched on my phone to see if I’d missed any calls. Candace’s flash drive was burning a hole in my purse and I couldn’t wait to plug it into a computer, but I had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen any time soon, not if I was committed to a ball game that evening.
Like it or not, I needed to sit on my curiosity until I knew I would have some alone time at home. I’ve always been open with Dwight about almost everything and it bothers me that I can’t tell him about this, but I certainly don’t plan to in this lifetime. Confession may be good for the confessor’s soul, but it can play havoc with the heart and soul of the person forced to hear that confession. I’ve seen a lot of good marriages collapse because the husbands or wives were driven by their guilty consciences to confess to a single aberrant fling.
I can rationalize from now till the trumpet blows that I’ve tried to be worthy of the office and to act ethically; that I haven’t taken bribes and that my judgments have all been based on the law and a sense of what is right and fair, not from self-interest or to benefit someone belonging to me. Nevertheless, come Judgment Day, I will have to look my rationalizations in the eye and admit that my first appointment was tainted.
Till then, it’s a matter of “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” I had let Daddy squeeze G. Hooks Talbert with my eyes wide open, so I don’t get to unburden my soul on Dwight’s.
Whose number popped up on the screen as soon as I switched on my phone.
“Hey,” he said. “Did I catch you before you left town?”
“Just got in the car,” I told him.
“Good. Cal and I are fixing to ride in with Zach and his kids. Why don’t you meet us by the concession stand at the ball field? I’ll treat you to a hot dog all the way.”
“All the way” means coleslaw, mustard, onions, and Texas Pete chili.
“Make it two and you’ve got a deal,” I said and asked him to bring me a T-shirt and sweater. I keep sneakers in the car, but two hot dogs and an evening of cheering for Jackson would probably wreck the beautiful turquoise silk shirt I was wearing.
CHAPTER 22
I wish I could have been there when they courted.
—The Persimmon Tree Carol, by Shelby Stephenson
By the time my guys arrived at the Dobbs High School ball field, I was hungry enough to gnaw on the back leg of a rabbit hound. It didn’t help that Will and Amy kept offering me bites of their chili dogs, although I did let Will buy me an iced Pepsi. I was early enough to get a hug from Jackson before his team took the field to warm up. He’s tall and rangy like all the Stephenson males from Mother’s side of the family and he loped across the field like a young pony feeling his oats.
We staked claim to some lower rows of seats between third and home where we could cheer for his every play.
My niece Annie Sue arrived a few minutes later, pushing her daddy’s wheelchair. Herman is Haywood’s twin, one of the “big twins,” as opposed to Zach and Adam, the “little twins,” so called because they’re several years younger even though they’re actually taller. But Herman and Haywood are a lot broader, although Herman is a little thinner now that he’s confined to a wheelchair.
Like his twin, Herman has no inhibitions and as soon as he spotted us, a big grin broke across his broad face. “Guess what, y’all?” he hollered.
“Oh, Dad!” Annie Sue protested.
“What?” Amy called back.
“She’s got her ’lectrician’s license!”
We erupted from our seats in hugs and laughter and congratulations. There had been a time when Herman was less than thrilled at the idea of his baby daughter following in his footsteps, but it finally penetrated his thick skull that she was the only one of his four children with a natural talent for electricity and a real love for the work. Immediately after high school, she had enrolled at the community college and taken all the necessary courses to become a licensed electrician herself, acing the tests and graduating at the head of the department.
“So are you changing the name of your business to Knott and Daughter?” Amy asked with a mischievous grin.
“Naw, she won’t let me,” said Herman.
Annie Sue shrugged her sturdy shoulders. “No point rubbing Reese’s nose in it.”
“Hell, girl,” said Will. “He’s gonna be working for you someday, idn’t he?”
“I hope it’ll be a partnership, Uncle Will. We sure don’t want him to quit. He’s a good electrician and he’s pulling his share of the load. This way, he can work off my license, too, now.”
Herman’s oldest child, Edward, is a white-collar office worker out in Charlotte. Ditto Denise in Greensboro. Reese and Denise are twins and Annie Sue was an “oops” baby. Reese is still single, but he’s never been one to crack the books. As long as he can earn enough to pay for his truck, his trailer, and his tall ones, it doesn’t seem to much matter to him who’s higher in the pecking order. All the same, it was so like Annie Sue to consider his male pride. If and when Herman turns the business over to them, I’m sure it’ll be on equal terms.
Dwight and Zach arrived in the middle of our spontaneous celebration and offered to treat her to the supper of her choice—hot dogs, popcorn, ice cream, or tacos. I took the T-shirt Dwight had brought me and headed to the restroom to change.
When I got back to the hot dog stand, I saw Dwight in conversation with his deputy, Mayleen Richards. Standing beside her was a good-looking Latino in jeans, hand-tooled boots, a large silver belt buckle, and a black Stetson. Without the boots and hat, he was probably only about a half-inch taller than she, but he had an easy air of confidence that was at odds with her self-conscious awkwardness.