“Shucks,” Hattie said, waving her hand, “it weren’t nothing. But I do like your kitchen. I think I’d be happy just spending all day cooking in there.”

  Judy laughed. “And if you did, I’d be as big as a barn.”

  “Don’t want to make you big,” their guest said, smiling, “but Miss Judy, you could stand to gain a few pounds. You’d blow away in a good wind.”

  While Hattie’s first visit to his office might have set Coop on the road to being rejected by those he’d known all his life, it also opened the door to better understanding what his father spent years unsuccessfully preaching from the pulpit. This woman was special, and Coop would have never fully known it if she hadn’t come into their home.

  “Mr. Coop,” Hattie said, breaking into the lawyer’s thoughts of the past and present colliding, “would you mind if I told you and Miss Judy a private story?”

  “Please do,” he answered quickly, sitting back in the chair while Judy grabbed a spot on the couch.

  “My daddy was a really special man,” Hattie began, her face glowing with pride. “I was one of seven kids, and my mama died when I was just six. Daddy raised us all by working, cutting down trees for the lumber mill. On Sundays and Wednesdays he’d preach at the same church I goes to now. But back then, it was just a log building. They hadn’t moved the old white Methodist church across the tracks for us yet.”

  Hattie smiled, her eyes misting up, before dropping her chin and continuing, “He was a fine man, just as fine as any man, white or black, whoever walked this earth. He taught us right from wrong, and also taught us forgiveness was far more important than hating. He could quote Scripture, and my, how he could sing! And he was a good-looking man, too. Looked a lot like a darker version of Calvin.”

  “He sounds special,” Judy chimed in.

  “Oh, yes, and more,” Hattie assured her. “Anyway, we kids was all grown, and most of my folks had moved up north to work in Chicago and Detroit when Daddy started to fail. It came on kind of sudden. He was just sixty-three, but something just grabbed him and wouldn’t let go. One week he was preaching strong, and the next he could barely climb up to the pulpit. We didn’t have no money, so even though folks kept telling us he needed to go, he didn’t see no doctor. And one day he just didn’t get out of bed. I could see in his eyes he knew the end was near, and we was both powerful scared.”

  She dabbed a tear from her eye before picking up her story. “I went to work that day cleaning up the Methodist church and told your daddy, Reverend Abe, about my father. We sat there on the front pew in the church and talked for at least an hour. I went back to work then headed down the street to clean two other houses before heading home. When I got to our little house in colored town, I saw a car parked out in front. Naturally, fear gripped my soul. I thought sure my daddy had gone to Heaven and I hadn’t been there to hold his hand when he drew his last breath. So I almost had the chilling kind of shakes as I went running up the steps into our house and back to his room. And you know what I found?”

  She glanced over at Coop. “Your daddy was there holding my daddy’s hand. Reverend Abe came to the wrong side of the tracks to visit the bed of a washwoman’s father. You don’t know how much it meant to me. For five hours, Reverend Abe held my daddy’s hand, and they talked about children and life and God. Your daddy kept telling my daddy what a blessing he’d been to the world.”

  Hattie, tears now streaming down her face, took a deep breath and whispered, “Reverend Abe sensed my daddy’s time was near, and he leaned close to his old black face and said, ‘I’ll always be there to take care of any needs your family has. Don’t you worry about it.’ ”

  “Daddy’s eyes opened big and he stared at me and then back to Reverend Abe. He smiled, and it was like angels were in the room. I swear things got brighter than they had ever been, even in the middle of a summer day. Then just when I thought singing was going to break out from Glory, Daddy squeezed your daddy’s hand, looked right in Reverend Abe’s eyes, and smiled.”

  Hattie’s throat tightened. She tried to catch her breath but couldn’t. Dabbing her eyes with her dress sleeve, she whispered, “When my daddy died, the last person he saw was your daddy.”

  Hattie choked back a rush of tears and forced a smile as she said, “Your daddy came to the wrong side of the tracks to take the last earthly steps with a colored man he’d never met. It don’t get no finer. And then, just by his actions, he showed my daddy that a white man can love a colored man and respect him, too. For maybe the first time in his life, my daddy felt like he was an equal in Reverend Abe’s eyes. It was likely the best gift anyone ever gave him. He left this earth feeling like a white man thought he was just as good as him.”

  She paused, took a deep breath, and pushed herself off the couch. “If you will excuse me, I is going to make sure I got everything unpacked in the room you’re letting me stay in.”

  When she was out of earshot, Judy looked over to her husband. “That pretty much tells me all I need to know about your father.”

  Coop nodded, but held his thoughts. His dad didn’t just speak the lessons of life; he lived them. And it must have been why he preached the story of the good Samaritan so often. Maybe most of those who heard it never fully understood what he was trying to say back then, but for Coop the lesson had finally taken full root. And it was a colored maid who had been the instrument to his becoming what his father dreamed he would be.

  Chapter 27

  27

  Monday, July 6, 1964

  He’d been at his desk for almost two hours when he heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to his office. Coop checked his watch, 10:24, got up and moved toward the entrance. The guest didn’t bother knocking. As the door swung open, John David Maltose’s tall, wide-shouldered form filled the entry.

  “John David, what brings you to my humble side of the planet?” Coop made sure the visitor caught his sarcastic tone by adding a smug look.

  Not waiting for an invitation, Maltose strolled into the office and took a short look at the modest surroundings before pointing to the open door behind Coop. “Is this where you do what bit of business comes your way?”

  “It’s modest,” the lawyer quipped, “but I like it.”

  As if he were calling the shots, the visitor pushed by Coop and marched into the inner sanctum. After quickly surveying the office, he took a seat in one of the green leather chairs in front of the desk.

  Coop was amused as Maltose drummed his fingers on the chair’s arm while staring at the wall behind the desk. The lawyer, enjoying his control, intentionally waited almost two minutes before asking, “Would you like me to join you or is this a private dance?”

  Without looking around, the big man barked, “I didn’t come here to sit; I came to talk turkey.”

  “I guess it’s better than talking to the turkey.” Coop walked into his office and moved to the empty chair where his guest’s eyes were fixed. After studying Maltose a few seconds, noting the starched white linen shirt and pressed gray slacks, he took a seat. “Now, John David, what can I do for you? Do you need someone to draw up your will?”

  The man didn’t waste any time. “I already have someone working on a new will. I don’t need you to do it. But let me take a moment and lay my cards on the table. Cooper, you need to end the charade. You and I both know you can’t get a jury here to find a Negro innocent of murdering a white person—much less a white teenage girl. So what you’re doing is not just a waste of your time, it’s political suicide. You’ll never have another paying job in this county again.Besides, the boy will die and we don’t want that to happen.”

  Coop picked up a pen from his desk and began to twirl it through his fingers. The writing instrument made three full passes between every finger on his right hand before he finally asked, “So?”

  Shaking his head, Maltose continued, “You would commit career suicide over a black kid?”

  “If it means seeing an innocent person get a fair shake, I sure would. Sleeping is very important to me, and I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t at least try.”

  The visitor’s face defined frustration as he spat, “You’re a fool.”

  “Maybe in the world’s eyes, I am,” Coop admitted.

  Maltose shook his head in disgust. “I could give you all you have ever dreamed of. I have the connections to do so. I even have the power to get the kid out of the death penalty.”

  “And you have the power,” Coop added, “to pay to have me killed. But I’ll hand it to you, at least you warned me you were going to do it.”

  The words seemed to catch Maltose by surprise. A confused expression framed his face as he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Coop smiled, dropped the pen, leaned forward, rested his elbows on his desk, and explained, “At Lovers Park you told me you’d kill me if I continued with this case. I wish I could remember your exact words, but the sentiment and the promise were clear. Then just a few days later, one of your men tried to run me down with an old blue pickup as I walked in the street in front the Methodist church.”

  The visitor leaned back in the chair, crossed his right leg over his left knee in a move revealing a pair of shiny eelskin loafers. After folding his arms across his chest, he spoke, “I was actually talking about your career being killed, not stopping your heart. And I don’t know anything about a blue pickup truck trying to run you down.”

  “Are you denying that one of your workers drives one?” Coop asked.

  “Maybe they do,” Maltose shot back, “but I employ scores of people, and I certainly don’t keep track of what they drive.”

  Coop raised his eyebrows as he leaned in further and drew a bit closer to his guest. “This would be the same guy who evicted Hattie Ross from her house last week.”

  “The woman was evicted?” John David asked.

  “As if you don’t know.”

  Coop leaned back and watched his guest seemingly attempt to come up with a way out of the trap the lawyer had sprung. As the seconds ticked by, it was obvious Maltose was at a complete loss for words. Finally, rather than pursue a verbal road he likely believed he couldn’t successfully navigate, the man pressed on with his original agenda.

  “Listen, Coop, I still have the power to make good things happen for you. I can still use my power to make you look noble for the work you have done. And I can get Calvin a way out of dying in the chair. And the money we talked about the other day is just chicken feed. I can do all of it and so much more if you will just drop this matter and accept a plea bargain today. That’s all it would take.”

  “Why would you do all this for me?” Coop asked as he lifted his arms off the desk and leaned back in his chair. “What’s in it for you? You own this county and a lot more, too. You even own enough legislators so you can get what you need at the capitol. You already have enough local stooges, and the lawyers you use are from New York City firms. Nothing I can give you would be worth anything. So why are you trying to buy me off?”

  Maltose shrugged. “I see something in you I believe is worth saving.”

  “No, you don’t,” Coop barked as he rose to his feet. “What I am is just what you don’t want in this town. I’ll stand up to you. I will fight for the very ones you want to beat down. What you see as business, I see as evil. The fact that you’re trying to make a deal with me means I’ve hit a nerve going much deeper than business. This is about something you are afraid will come out. This is about something that might just ruin you. I don’t know what it is yet, but I might stumble across it, and therefore it might come out in the trial. It’s why you’re trying to buy me off, because you are scared!”

  Coop wagged his finger toward his guest and grinned. “Imagine, a preacher’s kid has a member of the Maltose family scared. No matter how you look at it, the irony is even funnier than a Jonathan Winters comedy routine.”

  Maltose leaped off the chair, turned, and quickly headed toward the door. Just as he was about to reach for the knob, he glanced back to Coop. “You’re making a mistake! You’re playing in a league you shouldn’t be in. When all this is over, the money you could have had and the life could have lived will haunt you for as long as you walk this earth.” He paused before adding, “And the innocent colored boy, the one I tried to help you save with a plea bargain, will be executed. And his last few seconds in the electric chair will stick with both of us until our dying days.”

  The big man pulled open the door, stepped out into the stairwell, slammed the door, and marched down the stairs. Once more Coop was alone with his thoughts.

  Chapter 28

  28

  A blind man could see that the most likely key to unlocking this whodunit was finding out why John David Maltose was so interested in buying the lawyer off. Yet the information was not in any evidence files, and few in Justice were willing to visit with Coop about Maltose or anything else. So where could he look and who could he ask to dig a bit deeper into the millionaire’s fear and motivation? As he mentally rolled over the big man’s history, he remembered something he’d once overheard his parents speaking of in hushed tones when they thought he was asleep. Could his old childhood memory lead him to pay dirt? A short trip might well give him the answer he needed.

  Locking his office door, Coop crossed the street, strolled into the courthouse and down the hall, and walked into the office of county records. When the secretary ignored his ringing the bell on the front desk, he simply invited himself into the adjacent file room and scanned rows of cabinets until he came to the one he needed. Five minutes later, he had jotted down the information and turned up the volume on his parents’ almost-forgotten hushed words.

  After a quick trip back to the office to make a call to the state capital and take a few more notes, Coop rang up Judy, informed her that he had to make a quick trip up to Brandice and wouldn’t be back in time for supper. Jumping into the yellow and green Studebaker President, he eased out of his parking spot in the alley and pushed the car east. An hour later, he was at 607 Bellford Street in a small, sleepy town of 307 that time had seemingly forgotten. After ringing the bell, he only had to wait a few seconds for a redheaded woman in her midthirties to peek through the glass and then open the door.

  “Whatever you’re selling,” she said, her tone registering somewhere between perturbed and apathetic, “I’m not buying.”

  “My name’s Coop Lindsay, and I’m not selling anything. But I would like to visit with you for just a few minutes. If you don’t feel comfortable letting me into your home, we can sit outside.”

  She considered his offer before pointing to the end of the porch where two white cane chairs had been set. He led the way and took the one closest to the railing; she grabbed the one nearest what was probably the living room window.

  “Make it fast,” she demanded. “I’ve got some soup on the stove I don’t want to scorch.”

  He nodded and looked into her almost violet eyes. She’d likely been beautiful once, but time had not been kind. Though not heavy, she nevertheless was soft and out of shape. She had the skin of someone who spent way too much time in the sun. The rhythm of her speech gave hints that she was either extremely tired or sick. As a hacking cough suddenly grabbed her causing her whole body to shake, Coop assumed that maybe it was a bit of both. When she was finally over her spell, Coop had taken a full inventory of the woman and began his explanation of why he needed to speak with her.

  “I’m from Justice.”

  “Too bad.” Her tone indicated her revulsion for his hometown.

  He smiled. “It can be a trying place to live.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said. “I grew up there, lived there until I was twenty-five, then turned my back on it and I’m never going to look back.”

  Coop nodded sympathetically. “I understand. I believe your name was Molly Thornton before you got married.”

  “Yeah,” she answered. “You know I was the homecoming queen my sophomore year.” She paused and then looked over to her guest as if she was studying him real hard. When lightning suddenly struck, she snapped her fingers and happily exclaimed, “I bet you’re Reverend Lindsay’s son. Sure, I remember when you were a kid.” She smiled, “Your folks were sure sweet people. How are they?”

  He shook his head. “They’re both dead now. Dad died about seven years ago. Mom passed over the winter.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “A lot of folks miss them.” Coop answered. “But I’m not really here to talk about old times; I want to know how you feel about the man you married.”

  “The man I was forced to marry,” she bitterly corrected him.

  “So you didn’t love him?” Coop asked.

  “As much as anybody could,” she explained. “He was a couple of years older, from a rich family, and my folks didn’t have anything. When he paid just a little bit of attention to me, I fell hard. He was a charmer and could talk me into doing anything and it’s how I ended up pregnant. When I refused to get rid of the baby, his parents made him marry me. And it’s how I become a Maltose. A few months later, Travis was born and I was convinced everything was going to be all right. We were going to make this work. But in spite of living like a queen and having servants cater to my every whim, it didn’t take me too long to get tired of being trapped in luxury. You see, John David’s dad was practically a jailer. I couldn’t leave the house without his permission. His servants were spying on me all the time. I somehow stuck it out for nine years before I had enough and got a divorce. Old John David was more than happy to get rid of me, but freedom came with a steep price.”

  “And what was that?” Coop asked.

  Molly sadly shook her head. “They bought me a house here in Brandice. As you can see, it is the nicest in town, and they gave me money, too. But the family kept Travis. I’ve only gotten to see him a few times since I left Justice.”