“That’s crazy. Dad!” Sarah exclaims.
“Woogie wouldn’t eat a kitten!”
I am not so sure. We need to keep in mind that Woogie is not Sarah’s ugly little brother who couldn’t find any sugar cookies lying around and went outside looking for a snack.
“He is a dog,” I say, bending down to check him for signs of cat hair.
Woogie coughs suspiciously as Sarah strokes his head.
Amy, who has followed us into the kitchen, giggles.
“Move over, Sherlock. Gideon Page is on the case.”
Annoyed, I say, “I’ll call Candice tonight. She wouldn’t make something like this up.”
“Dad!” Sarah shrieks.
“You can’t just take her word for it.”
“Well, for God’s sake! What are we supposed to do?” I ask.
“Look for hair balls? We can’t cut his stomach open.”
Woogie yawns as if he had just finished a big meal and ambles over to his favorite corner in the living room and closes his eyes. The phone rings, and I pick it up, fearful that we have a serial cat killer asleep on our rug. It is my sister Marty, calling to wish us a Merry Christmas. I haven’t talked to her since I went out to her house almost two months ago.
“Marty,” I say, without preliminaries, “how’s Olaf these days? I didn’t see him around when I was out there last time.” Olaf was a big-chested boxer whose only trick was to pretend to devour your hand.
“Olaf?” my sister says, accustomed to my rudeness.
“Since he’s been dead for three months, I’d have to say he’s been pretty quiet.”
Have I got a dog for you, sister.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say politely.
“Listen, we may need to find Woogie a new home….”
The next morning, after drawing up a power of attorney for Gordon Dyson’s wife, I drive north on Highway 5 to Heber Springs, passing through towns with such wonderful names as Romance and Rose Bud, on my way to interview Jenny Taylor, Sarah’s other source of information about Robin’s affair with her professor. I feel depressed and edgy, knowing today is Rainey’s wedding day. How can she be marrying someone else?
Tonight will be sad, too. Sarah and I are taking Woogie to live with Marty. His dark deed has been confirmed by Fred’s wife, and Woogie will be the newest canine resident of Hutto, the dog capital of the western hemisphere, according to my sister. Last night after the arrangements were made I could hear Sarah talking to Woogie in her room, next to mine. Woogie has been her only brother for twelve years, but it is for the best, I told her. With his bladder going the way of all flesh, Woogie needs open spaces. Fred, when he is boozed up, is fully capable of killing him, too.
Without Amy, the day would have been a complete disaster. Usually, part of each Christmas Day has been spent with Rainey for the past three years. Amy filled in nicely. Nothing stays the same forever, I told my daughter, before we went to bed, whether we want change or not. With that truism out of the way, I went to sleep and dreamed about the day Rosa, Sarah, and I got Woogie as a puppy from the animal shelter. It served me right for trying to be so stoical.
In little more than an hour I am standing on the wraparound porch of Jenny Taylor’s home, a three-story red brick structure only two blocks from the Clebume County Court House. I rap hard on the door, hoping Jenny is home by herself, but it is her mother who opens it. Mrs. Taylor, who looks remarkably like my own mother with her prematurely gray hair and straight Ro man nose, invites me in and calls her daughter from up stairs.
“She should never have gone to the university,” Mrs. Taylor says, leading me into her living room.
“I shouldn’t let her go back next semester. That school is nothing but trouble.” She points to a chair and sits on a sofa across from me.
I sit down and look around the living room and notice a water stain on the ceiling. Though the house is large, it is not in good condition and could stand a paint job. The Christmas tree, in the process of being taken down, is a small and scraggly spruce. There may be another reason why Jenny should transfer. By the time you pay for all the extras at the University of Arkansas, the family bud get has been depleted.
“Ma’am, I’ve got a daughter up there, too,” I say, trying to ingratiate myself.
“I know exactly what you mean. All I’m trying to do is find out what your daughter knows about Robin’s relationship with her professor. If my client is guilty of rape, he’ll be punished.
But if he isn’t, that should come out.”
“Of course, he’s guilty!” Mrs. Taylor shouts.
“What girl is going to lie about being raped? It’s not worth the hassle. What upsets me is that if the damn state didn’t care so much about sports, there wouldn’t be any blacks up there in the first place. They’re not up there to get an education, and don’t you try to tell me any different. My husband and I moved from Forrest City to get away from them, but there’s only so much you can do.”
Eastern Arkansas. I can’t seem to get away from it either. If this is the kind of racism that Dade is going to face from his jury. God help him. I wonder if Jenny is sit ting on the stairs listening.
“Ma’am, the more I know now about what happened, the better I can advise my client. If I find out he doesn’t have a chance, I might ad vise him to plead guilty in the hope he’ll get a lighter sentence
Mrs. Taylor gives her head a vigorous shake.
“They damn well better have a trial. I know how you lawyers do. You want to sweep this under the rug like everything else that happens up there. A jury ought to string that boy up by his you-know-what.”
At this moment Jenny Taylor comes down the stairs and pleads, “Mom, please.” Jenny Taylor looks so much like her parent that I have the feeling I am looking at my own mother as a college girl. She must have been pretty.
Jenny is a brunette with big gray eyes and a full mouth. I introduce myself, and she smiles. Sarah must have been kind. She sits down by her mother on the sofa and says tentatively, “I don’t know much about this at all.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” I say, wishing her mother would go clean the bathroom or something.
“I just need to hear what you know about Robin’s relationship with Dr. Hofstra. I understand you’re in the same sorority house with her.”
“Not much,” Jenny says, nervously running her hands up and down her jeans.
“Robin told me during the summer that she was having an affair with him, but she broke it off before she came back this fall. I asked her about it after she had been raped, and she said he didn’t even call.
That’s all I know.”
Damn. This is what I was afraid would happen.
“What if I told you,” I say, before Mrs. Taylor can get in her two cents, “one of the cheerleaders said that Robin was still having an affair with him as recently as a week before the incident with Dade.”
“Who was it?” Jenny asks, her gray eyes narrowing.
“Lauren Denney,” I answer, thinking it must not be easy to be a girl.
Her young face becomes hard.
“Lauren’s the biggest liar at the university. She hates Robin and every girl up there who is as pretty as she is. Robin wouldn’t tell her that anyway. She couldn’t stand Lauren after this summer.
I’d be surprised if she said two words to her this fall.
Lauren was lying if she said that.”
I try not to sigh. Her mother gives me a look that makes me feel as if I were out scouting for guests to be on Geraldo Rivera. Sorority girls who lie. We talk a few more minutes, but I get nothing I can use. I tell her that I won’t be needing her as a witness and leave.
To keep the trip from being a total waste of time I drive across Greers Perry Dam and get out of the Blazer at the overlook to stare at the massive structure and think about the hearing next week. If Binkie Cross knows about Jenny Taylor, I’ll have no chance. As it stands now, I have no idea what the judge will do. If he doesn’t let Lauren testify, Dade is going to have an uphill battle. If it comes down to a question of nothing more than whom the jury believes-Dade or Robin-I can’t imagine an acquittal.