“Oh, they’ll be surprised, all right.” I looked at Copper Top. “May, right?”
She smiled and nodded.
“Although,” said June, “we’re not really sure. I could be May for all we know.”
“Huh?”
“Right before we came back here in August, we put Band-Aids on our faces so they couldn’t see May’s scar—”
“—and we challenged Mom and Dad and Phil to say which was which—”
“—and they couldn’t,” both girls chorused, reminding me all over again how attuned to each other’s thoughts they were.
“There was wine,” said June.
“Mom got a little tipsy,” said May.
“And she confessed that she used to mix us up when we were babies.”
“Then Dad said he had, too.”
“And even Phil said he used to switch us in our high chairs just to see if Mom would notice. Sometimes he forgot to switch us back.”
“So for all we know,” said May, “I might really be June.”
They didn’t seem to be very upset about the possibility.
“Oh, well,” I said. “‘What’s in a name?’”
“Credit cards?”
“Driver’s license?”
I had forgotten how literal-minded they could be.
“‘That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet,’” I quoted.
They looked at each other blankly.
“Dickens?” May ventured.
“Don’t tell me you never read Romeo and Juliet,” I said.
June’s face brightened. “Shakespeare!”
May shrugged. “I think we were sick that day.”
I laughed. I had never been a scholar, but compared to these two?
“So why are y’all up here goofing off instead of studying in the library down at Tanser-MacLeod?” I asked, getting serious for a moment.
“We’re not goofing off,” June said indignantly. “Mom and Dad are paying us to paint the place.”
“I hope they’re not paying by the hour,” I said. “Those brushes have been in that bucket so long that at least an inch of water has evaporated since the last time they were touched.”
“We’ve been really, really busy.”
“Studying.”
“Midterm exams.”
“Yeah, and papers were due.”
“But we were going to get on it this weekend—”
“—only something came up.”
“Some thing or some one?” I asked.
“Um, well … see, we’re earning extra money by waiting tables up here.”
“But we don’t want Mom and Dad to know because they think we should spend every minute hitting the books,” June explained.
I held up my hands. “Hey, I’m not up here to rat you out.”
“So why are you here?” asked May.
I told them about the judges trying to swap courts for a week and how I’d been asked to substitute for the one who was subbing for the Beaufort judge, only he—They started to look blank again.
“Never mind,” I said glancing at the clock. “It’s late. I want to be down at the courthouse by nine and you need to get to bed, too, if you’re going to make your first class.”
“It’s not until ten,” May said hastily, “but you’re probably tired. We’ll be quiet tonight if you’ll be quiet in the morning.”
“You’re spending the night here?”
“Yeah, late as it is, we’d just wake up everybody in the dorm if we went back now.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I said. “Somebody named Carla left a message for y’all to call her.”
“The phone’s fixed?” asked June.
“Cool,” said May. “It hasn’t been working since Friday night.”
I decided there was no point in telling them it always helps to put the receiver back on the hook rather than on the floor.
“See you in the morning,” I said, lying back on the pillow.
June switched off the lamp and they tiptoed from the room as if I were already asleep.
Minutes later, I was.
CHAPTER 5
Neither twin made it up before time for me to leave next morning. I rapped on the door of one bedroom and stuck my head in. The face beneath purple hair blinked at me groggily, rolled over to tilt the bedside clock so she could read it, then moaned, “Just another half-hour, okay?” and pulled the quilt back over her bare shoulders.
“Will I see y’all again before the end of the week?” I asked.
“Mmmff,” was my only answer.
Happily it was none of my business whether or not they got to class on time.
With my judicial robe slung over one arm and the strap of my laptop looped over the other shoulder, I let myself out into a fall morning so picture perfect it had probably been ordered up by the Cedar Gap Chamber of Commerce: turquoise blue sky, one puffy white cloud, and a bit of a breeze so that brown, gold, and orange leaves floated down and swirled around my feet as I crossed the drive. The air smelled fresher and cleaner than the fusty humid air I’d left in Colleton County and its slight nip of fall encouraged me to walk briskly down the steps to Main Street. I was feeling virtuous as hell by the time I reached the courthouse.
The Lafayette County Clerk of Court wasn’t around at the moment, but someone in her office had been watching for me.
“Judge Knott? I’m Mary Kay Kare,” said the woman, who looked to be about ten or twelve years older than me. “I’ll be clerking for you this week.” Short and blond, she wore a bright yellow cardigan over black slacks and a white shirt, with a string of purple beads around her neck.
“Is it Mrs. Kare or Ms.?”
“Well, it’s Mrs., but you can just call me Mary Kay.” She was as cheerful as sunshine as she handed me the day’s calendar. “Is there anything else you need?”
“A cup of coffee?” I said hopefully.
“Already waiting for you,” she said, beaming as she led me downstairs.
Most courthouses are built up. Lafayette County’s was built down. Entering at street level got you the usual Register of Deeds, Board of Elections, Clerk of Court, and so on, then the building literally went downhill from there. The lobby outside the two courtrooms on the level below had floor-to-ceiling glass walls that overlooked breathtaking vistas.
The bottom level housed the sheriff’s department and county jail, Mrs. Kare told me.
I followed her through a door marked “Official Personnel Only” and down a hallway to an office behind the courtroom I’d be using. An insulated carafe sat on the desk with a business-size mug. “Judge Rawlings drinks coffee all day long, so we’re in the habit of keeping it full for him.”
She pointed to a tiny refrigerator built into a low bookcase. “There’s half-and-half, if you use it.”
“I don’t, but thanks.” A photograph of a chubby middle-aged white man and an equally chubby woman and boy stood on the desk. I thought he looked familiar from various conferences we’d probably attended together, but he wasn’t someone I could say I knew. “Is that Judge Rawlings?”
She nodded and her blue eyes misted over. “Bless his heart, this is the first vacation he’s taken since his wife and son died.”
“Died?” Startled, I looked again at the photograph, my automatic condescension washed away by the tears in Mary Kay Kare’s eyes. Yes, it was a picture of three Teletubbies, but from the way the two adults smiled at each other, the photographer had also captured an aura of love that seemed to wreathe them.
“She was broadsided by a drunk driver two years ago, taking their boy to Little League practice. Guy ran the stop sign. Both of ’em were wearing seat belts, but they were still killed instantly.”
“What about the driver?”
“Barely scratched. He’d been cited before, though, so this time it was prosecuted as vehicular homicide and he’ll be in prison another few years. What made it so bad for Judge Rawlings is that he’s the one that turned the kid loose with community service the last time he was up for DWI. Felt sorry for him. Two weeks later—”