“That’s pretty much it. I can’t blame him. If you’re looking for a defamation of character case, I’m not a good prospect.”

  “What’s he talking about?”

  “Can you stay for a cup of coffee?”

  “For you? Of course.”

  Holt told Skip the full story.

  “It’s been ten years,” Skip said. “The statute of limitations has run out on the charge—”

  “No, I lied to the state patrol officer who interviewed me at the hospital and told him my friend was driving.”

  “Ouch. That would toll the statute. However, I’m still not sure a vehicular homicide charge would stick. There wasn’t a formal investigation, and by now the evidence—”

  “You sound like my lawyer, but that’s not the point, is it?”

  “No, I guess not. At least Ralph doesn’t have jurisdiction. Any prosecution would be up to the DA’s office in your hometown since that’s where the accident occurred. All Ralph can do is embarrass you, and you can bet there will be an article in the local paper this afternoon.”

  Holt winced. The public humiliation was just beginning.

  “Oh, and Ralph put out the word that he’s already working on a replacement—Sheriff Blackstone’s nephew. It looks like our local DA and sheriff are burying the political hatchets.”

  “At least something good will come out of this for Ralph.”

  Skip took a sip of coffee. “It won’t get him my vote. Have you talked to Angelina?”

  “She knows about my past but not the job.”

  “How do you think she’ll react?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I hope it’s better than Mr. Spratt. As soon as the e-mail from Ralph landed in his in-box, he came down to my office and ordered me not to discuss future employment at the firm with you.”

  It wasn’t surprising news, but it nevertheless stung.

  “Sure,” Holt replied, trying not to sound hurt. “I appreciate you stopping by.”

  “Hey, we’re solid. I did tons of stupid stuff growing up. Just nothing—” Skip stopped.

  Holt finished the thought. “That ended up with your best friend dead.”

  48

  After Skip left, Holt drank a second cup of coffee and then turned on his cell phone. Most of the voice-mail messages were sympathetic. Gossip travels with lightning speed in small towns, and the facts were garbled just as fast. A couple of people heard Holt had been arrested. The next to last message was from Tony McDermott.

  “This is McDermott returning your call from the other day. Sorry I stood you up for lunch, but I ran into Butch Clovis outside the courthouse. As soon as he knew why I was in town, he came clean about the Meredith investigation. He showed me video surveillance footage from the residence that corroborated a suicide. They kept the video under wraps to avoid a media request under the state or federal Freedom of Information Act. Looks like you’ll have to wait for another case to make your prosecutorial reputation.”

  McDermott was right, but for all the wrong reasons. A newspaper was more likely to file an FOIA request to uncover his past than anything about Rex Meredith’s death. He called Angelina. She didn’t answer. Her photo was the only one he wanted to see on his phone.

  Midmorning, Holt was sitting on his deck when a call came in from an unexpected source—Trish Carmichael. He let the phone vibrate until the call went to voice mail, then listened to it.

  “I didn’t expect you to answer, and I understand why you don’t want to hear from me. But please, I have to talk to you.”

  Holt had ridden the Trish Carmichael train to the end of the line, and instead of stopping at the station, it had careened over a cliff. He had no intention of talking to the deputy ever again.

  A few minutes later Henry barked and ran over to the gate. Holt left the deck to see who’d driven up to the house. It was Angelina. She didn’t say anything when she got out of her car and walked up to the gate. Holt rested his hands on the fence.

  “Don’t you have to be at the salon?” he asked as she approached.

  “Holt,” she said.

  The tender, kind way she spoke his name communicated everything he needed to hear.

  “What do you know?” he asked, just to be sure.

  “Skip came by the salon and told me. He was really torn up. How are you?”

  “Numb all over.”

  Angelina grabbed Holt’s hands in hers, pulled him close over the top of the fence, and kissed him.

  “Can you feel that?” she asked when their lips parted.

  “Yeah. But I’ve lost my job, which means—”

  “You haven’t lost me. Holt, I’m not in love with a lawyer; I’m in love with a man.”

  Holt glanced down at the ground.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Angelina insisted.

  “Yes.”

  “Then open the gate so we can sit on your deck together.”

  Three days later, Holt returned to Paxton from Atlanta. He told his parents first. His mother was shocked; his father was more upset about Holt losing his job. Holt wasn’t sure how the news would impact their relationship in the future. As bad as that was, he dreaded seeing Calico’s parents more.

  He arrived midafternoon, about the same time he and Calico often ended up at the Morgan house. The three of them sat in the den where Holt and Calico shot pool for pennies and played video games. Calico’s mother cried buckets, which Holt understood. His father listened with his face set like flint. After Holt finished, their responses shocked him. Instead of being furious, they were relieved that Calico hadn’t been directly responsible for his death. They talked quietly for over an hour, mostly reminiscing about Calico. At several points they all cried and laughed. They forgave Holt, which brought the greatest flow of tears.

  “Talking to you today makes me feel closer to Kenny,” Mrs. Morgan said, wiping her eyes.

  “One last thing,” Holt said. “Because I lied to the state trooper, I could still be prosecuted if you ask the local DA to do it. And if I’m indicted, the state bar would begin the process of taking away my law license. I wouldn’t blame you if—”

  Mr. Morgan put his hand on Holt’s shoulder.

  “Wrong as it was, I know you did what made sense to you and for Kenny at the time. We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you now. But thank you for telling us the truth. We’ve all suffered enough.”

  “He was my best friend—” Holt began.

  “Yes.” Mrs. Morgan sniffled. “And he thought the world of you. We want you to succeed. Never look over your shoulder thinking we’re judging you, because we’re not.”

  “Calico is why I became a lawyer and a prosecutor. Before we left the party at the lake, he told me that’s what he wanted to do. I’ve tried to honor his dream, but now—”

  “You need to live your own life,” Mr. Morgan cut in. “Just continue to make it count for good.”

  Shortly after taking his suitcase out of the car, Holt grabbed a basketball and attached a leash to Henry’s collar. The dog danced about Holt’s feet as they walked the few blocks to the church. Holt rolled a ball across the court, and the dog scampered after it. Thirty minutes later, Holt was taking a break from his workout when Bishop Pennington came out of the church.

  “Thanks for taking care of Henry,” Holt said.

  “You’re welcome. One morning I watched him stalk squirrels for an hour. He didn’t get one, but he’s on the mend.”

  “Yeah, I can see it, too.”

  Holt told the bishop about his trip to Atlanta. When he mentioned the words of Calico’s father about making his life count for good, the bishop nodded.

  “I know one way that can happen,” he said. “I’d already been thinking about it, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be ready.”

  “What is it? I don’t have a lot on my schedule right now.”

  “I thought you could begin by telling your story to the youth group at the church. If a few young people listen to you and make a better choice in a similar circumstance, it would be invaluable. How about next Wednesday night at six thirty in the evening? I’ll introduce you, and you can take it from there.”

  “Why so soon?”

  “Fresh bread is always the best.”

  “Okay, and I’d like to bring Angelina to church with me on Sunday. She wants to hear you preach.”

  “Then I’ll try to do my best,” the bishop replied with a smile. “Seeing the two of you sitting next to each other in a pew should get me fired up.”

  Holt looked up as a car turned into the parking lot. “Uh-oh,” he said to the bishop. “Did you set this up?”

  “Yes. I called when I saw you shooting baskets. Give it at least five minutes. Do you want me to stay?”

  “No, I’ll behave.”

  Holt took a long drink of water as Trish’s car approached. She stopped near one of the goalposts and got out. She was wearing her uniform. Henry growled, and Holt picked him up.

  “I’ll put Henry back on his leash,” Holt said as Trish approached.

  “I usually get along with dogs,” Trish replied. “Sometimes better than I do with people.”

  “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  Holt snapped the leash on Henry’s collar and secured it to the goalpost. Henry tugged once, then lay down. Holt and Trish stood facing each other at the free throw line. He cradled the ball in his arm and waited.

  “You were right about the bitterness in my heart,” she said. “And getting you fired didn’t help with that. I know it’s probably too early to ask, but is there any way you can forgive me for what I’ve done?”

  After all Holt had been through during the past few days, he simply didn’t have the energy or desire to hold on to an offense.

  “You got it,” he replied.

  “I do?” Trish’s eyes opened wider. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I just got back from Atlanta. Calico’s parents let me off the hook. How can I leave you hanging?”

  Holt told her what they said.

  “I wish I was more like that,” Trish replied. “If I hadn’t—”

  “Then I wouldn’t have gone to see them. I don’t know how all this is going to end up, but the bishop believes good can come from it. I want that for you, too.”

  “I’m going to get a chance to make that happen this weekend. I’m taking my mother to the Jackson County CI to see the boy who hit their car.” Trish paused. “I’m going to talk to him, too.”

  “When Calico’s parents forgave me—” Holt stopped. “You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

  “What about Greg Stevens?” Trish asked. “He needs to answer for his crime. Where is his confession?”

  “It doesn’t exist,” Holt replied. “I was wrong about that, too.”

  Trish’s eyes opened wider.

  “And don’t ask for details,” Holt added. “Focus on the kids who aren’t getting the support they deserve. That’s a lot more important.”

  Holt took a shot that bounced off the front rim.

  “Do you think you can do better?” he asked, tossing the ball to Trish.

  She took a quick step back and launched a shot that rattled through the goal.

  “Nice,” Holt said. “If you ever want to challenge me to a game of horse, I’m available.”

  “Only if Angelina approves.”

  49

  When Holt approached his house, there was a familiar-looking beat-up car parked in front with the hood up. It was Cecil Burkdale. Holt pulled into his driveway, then got out.

  “Still having car trouble?”

  “Where have you been?” Burkdale demanded. “I’ve been coming by every day since I saw the article in the newspaper. Stevens thinks he’s destroyed you, but we’ll turn the tables on him. All we have to do is—”

  “Greg Stevens didn’t kill Rex Meredith, and he’s not a threat to Valerie,” Holt interrupted.

  “What? We sat in your car and watched the video.”

  “But we didn’t see what happened before the tape started rolling.”

  “Tell me! I have a right to know!”

  “I can’t.”

  Burkdale eyed Holt suspiciously. “How did Stevens get to you? What is he paying you?”

  “No comment.”

  Burkdale’s face reddened. “I believed you were different,” he spit out. “But I was wrong.”

  “No, I was wrong. And I strongly suggest you stop spying on Meredith Enterprises. Otherwise, you might end up in jail.”

  Burkdale got out of his car, slammed the hood shut, and drove off.

  Holt spent the next few days repainting the inside of his house and building a ramp so Henry could run up to the top of his doghouse and survey his domain.

  Late one afternoon, Holt was scrubbing his hands at the kitchen sink and thinking about the future. Angelina had offered to let him open a law office in one of the vacant rooms at the salon. At first Holt laughed at the suggestion, but now he was considering it. Rumors about his past would linger, but a few satisfied clients would help ease the transition. And if business was slow, he could always get a manicure. There was a knock at the door.

  Henry yelped and took off for the foyer. Holt followed, rubbing his hands with a paper towel. It was Greg and Valerie Stevens. Valerie had Peps in her arms.

  “Henry looks great,” Valerie said as the Jack Russell sniffed her foot.

  “He’s making a comeback,” Holt replied. “How are you doing?”

  Valerie leaned over and scratched Henry’s head. “I’m feeling thankful to you,” she said.

  “Can you come in for a minute?” Holt asked. “All I have to offer is a bottle of water.”

  “Sure,” Greg replied. “And I have something for you.”

  From behind his back he pulled out a gorgeous bamboo fly-fishing rod and handed it to Holt.

  “I can’t—” Holt said.

  “Yes, you can, and you will,” Valerie cut in.

  Holt took the rod in his hand and felt the lacquered ridges of the bamboo.

  “Thanks. I’ll finally have time to go fishing,” he said, then paused. “Wait here, I have something for you.”

  He returned from the spare bedroom with the surveillance video and the DVD copies. He handed them to Greg.

  “As far as I’m concerned, these no longer exist,” Holt said.

  Greg took them and glanced at Valerie. She handed Peps to Greg and took a tissue from her purse.

  “Do you think Peps and Henry can play?” she asked after she touched the corner of her eye with the tissue.

  “Let’s hold them nose to nose and see,” Holt suggested.

  The two dogs sniffed, then Henry licked Peps.

  “They can run around in the backyard,” Holt suggested.

  “Isn’t that where Henry killed the snake?” Valerie asked anxiously.

  “Yes, and I’m sure he’d love to show Peps where the fight took place. It’s fenced in. We’ll sit on the deck so we can keep an eye on them.”

  Holt brought out two more chairs, and they watched Henry prance around the yard with Peps trailing after him.

  “Greg and I have been talking,” Valerie said. “And, uh, we’d like to do more than give you a fishing pole.”

  “That’s kind,” Holt replied. “But you can see I don’t live that extravagantly, and I can get by for a couple of months while I decide what to do next.”

  “What we have in mind is a bit more comprehensive than a rent check,” Greg said. “A lot of companies smaller than Meredith Enterprises have in-house counsel. If you’re interested, I’m sure we could come up with an acceptable job description and generous compensation.”

  “I don’t have any experience in the corporate area, and you don’t know why I was fired.”

  “Yes, I do,” Greg answered.

  “How?”

  Greg smiled. “I have my sources. And it doesn’t make any difference to us. I do realize you’re a trial lawyer, and as a second option, I’d like to talk to the partners at Spratt, Ayers, and Goldfarb and see if they might have a position for you. Meredith Enterprises would become one of your clients.”

  “Mr. Spratt made it clear to Skip Patrick that any interest the firm had in me ended when I was fired by the DA’s office.”

  “With the proper persuasion from me, I think the firm would reconsider.”

  “No, I wouldn’t feel right getting a job like that.”

  “Then what about option one?” Valerie asked earnestly. “We really want to help you.”

  “You already have. The fact that you’ve come over here means a lot.”

  They watched the dogs scramble from beneath the bushes and shake off the dead leaves and twigs. Holt told Greg and Valerie about the possibility of opening his own office at Angelina’s place.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Valerie said cheerfully. “Everybody in town would know about it because the women who come to the salon would spread the word.”

  “I hope no one expects legal advice while getting a pedicure.”

  Valerie laughed. It was a sound that made Holt feel good. Henry raced across the yard with Peps on his heels.

  “And it would be great not having to worry about a snake from my past coming out of the bushes to bite me,” Holt said. “Bishop Pennington told me the other day that from God’s point of view, confessed sin is not only forgiven, it’s forgotten.”

  Valerie reached over and took Greg’s hand in hers, then looked at Holt. “And sometimes he uses people to bring that truth from heaven to earth.”

  Reading Group Guide

  1. After the car accident at the beginning of the story, Holt tells the police officer that his friend Calico had been driving the vehicle. He rationalizes that, just because Calico’s life is over, his own doesn’t need to be. Have you ever hidden the truth to avoid getting in trouble? Did the truth end up coming out anyway? If so, what were the consequences?

  2. Holt becomes an assistant district attorney and ultimately desires to become a federal prosecutor because that had been Calico’s dream. Holt has good intentions to honor his friend’s memory by making a difference in the world through his work. Describe a time when you pursued a noble goal as a way of easing your conscience about something wrong you had done.