“I’m meeting with Detective Kimborough in Sanford County about the Casper case,” Jim replied. “And I’d better get on the road.”

  Jim snapped a lid onto his coffee cup and left. Sanford County lay across the Coosawattee River from Ashley County.

  “I’m handling Judge Lomax’s calendar call,” Holt said. “Nothing major. Mostly arraignments, contempt citations, bond forfeitures, traffic tickets, and a few guilty pleas.”

  “What about the Lambert DUI case that was on the trial calendar?”

  “It was continued to the next term because a defense witness wasn’t available.”

  “That’s one of Dirk Rangel’s standard tricks,” Ralph growled.

  “But it was the first time he’d used it in this case. And Rangel had a statement from the man’s doctor stating the witness wasn’t fit to be in attendance at the trial.”

  “What was it? A stent in the guy’s heart?”

  “Yes. How did you know? Has Rangel used that before?”

  “Belinda told me when I called her yesterday from Triplett County.”

  One of the irritating things Ralph Granger did was frequently test the credibility of the people who worked in his office. He would ask a question he already knew the answer to in order to find out what the person would say. It was a good habit for a prosecutor in the courtroom, but it didn’t help office morale. An innocent slipup could result in an unpleasant visit to Ralph’s office for further cross-examination. Once again, the tactic had caught Holt off guard.

  “I was ready to go to trial in the Lambert case, Ralph,” Holt said defensively. “I’m not going to lie to you about it.”

  “Who said you lied?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  Ralph narrowed his eyes. Holt saw a storm coming that he didn’t want to weather.

  “Okay, okay,” he quickly added. “But it would be nice to know you trust me to do my job.”

  “And it’s my job to make sure you do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Arguing with Ralph was like punching a tar baby. It would only get stickier and more annoying. Holt turned away.

  “I’m not finished,” Ralph said. “Did you review the files I put on your credenza?”

  Holt tried to take the emotional edge off his voice as he answered. “Yes, I looked over the new burglary case and read the confession from the eighteen-year-old. It looks solid against all three defendants.”

  “It is. There’s also a work-in-progress folder about a cruelty to children matter that’s still at the investigative stage. I want you to get involved early so it doesn’t get messed up. The man and woman under suspicion are bad news.”

  “Sure, and I saw the old file about Rexford Meredith’s death. What do you want me to do with it? It was ruled a suicide.”

  “That’s not for you to see,” Ralph answered quickly. “Bring it to my office ASAP.”

  “Okay.”

  As steamy as his coffee, Holt went into his office and, in an act of minor rebellion, left the Meredith information lying on his credenza. A few moments later, Belinda Nichols came in with a big stack of files in her hands. The chief administrative assistant had been working in the DA’s office longer than Ralph and knew more about the flow of cases through the office than the lawyers. She was also a good source of information about prospective witnesses and jurors. She plopped the files onto the corner of Holt’s desk.

  “This is what you need for this morning,” she said, straightening the stack with a pudgy hand adorned with multiple rings. “Nothing major. They’re in the same order as the calendar on the bench in front of the judge.”

  “Thanks.” Holt glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Ralph told me he called you yesterday about the Lambert DUI case.”

  Belinda rolled her eyes that were too made-up for a woman who would be sixty on her next birthday. Her hair was dyed an auburn color. “Did he give you a hard time?”

  “A little. I hate it when he goes behind my back.”

  “He’s paid to be suspicious. Oh, there’s a memo on my desk from Trish Carmichael about the child-support contempt files. Her summaries are good enough to read to the judge without changing a word.”

  “She’s sharp.”

  “And athletic,” Belinda said brightly. “Did you know she played basketball in high school? Her senior year the team made it to the state quarterfinals.”

  Holt, who was glancing through the first case on the docket, didn’t look up. “No, but I’m not surprised,” he said. “She’s tall.”

  “And on the homecoming court three years straight.”

  “Good for her, but the case summaries are more relevant for me.”

  Belinda left. Making sure he kept the files in proper order, Holt carefully loaded two catalog cases. Electronic records had come to the federal courts, but Ashley County still lived in a world filled with paper. Holt checked his watch. He needed to leave immediately if he wanted to be early enough to unpack everything in the courtroom. He met Belinda in the doorway on his way out of his office.

  “Here are Trish’s summaries,” Belinda said as she handed him three sheets of paper.

  “Thanks. If Dirk Rangel calls about any of his cases, I won’t be able to get back to him until this afternoon. He’s anxious because the plea deal in the McDonald case expires today.”

  “What are you going to do if Dirk calls your bluff and turns down the offer?”

  Holt smiled wryly. “Get humble and offer him a better deal. As long as Dirk doesn’t know we can’t take the case to trial, I’m going to keep working him. His client is guilty. I just can’t prove it.”

  Holt walked briskly across the parking lot to the courthouse where he joined a throng of people flowing into the building. In a few minutes the courtroom would be filled with friends and family members of the men and women brought over from the jail or required to appear in court to answer pending charges. Judge Lomax was in charge, but it would be up to Holt to smoothly orchestrate the proceedings. He’d been nervous the first few times he handled calendar calls on his own, but he was beginning to feel more comfortable on the courtroom stage.

  Trish had come in an hour before her scheduled shift to spend extra time preparing the memo for Holt. She’d been in court enough to develop an ear for what lawyers wanted to say and what the judge needed to hear. After proofreading the memo for the third time, she’d sent it as an e-mail attachment to Belinda, who was the only person besides Sue Ann who knew about her interest in Holt. Belinda didn’t have to be asked twice to take on the challenge of matchmaker.

  Trish drove the three blocks from the sheriff’s department to the courthouse. She shared use of an unmarked law enforcement vehicle with four other people in the office. As a female deputy, Trish always drew stares and sideways looks from the people streaming into the courthouse.

  “Trish!” a male voice called out from behind her as she neared the entrance to the courtroom.

  Turning around, it took Trish a few seconds to connect the chiseled face and dark hair with a name. It was Donnie Crowder, a star football player who’d earned a scholarship to a small school in Tennessee. He’d been on the same team with Keith.

  “Hey, Donnie,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were back in town.”

  “Hopefully only for a few minutes.” Donnie flashed the smile that had given Trish and her friends chill bumps. “You look great in that uniform.”

  “Yeah, right,” Trish said, blushing. “What are you doing here this morning?”

  Donnie held up a yellow piece of paper. “Speeding ticket when I was driving in to visit my mom a couple of months ago. I live in Nashville and thought about paying the fine through the mail, but the points were going to send my car insurance premium through the roof, so I turned the court date into another excuse to see my family. Do you think I can get the charge knocked down?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. Holt Douglas is the assistant DA running the docket this morning. You’ll have to talk to him.”

  “Could you do it for me? I’m not even sure what to ask.”

  Trish knew she would say yes even if she didn’t really want to. Turning down Donnie Crowder wasn’t an option girls usually chose. He’d never asked Trish out, but she would have accepted, if only for bragging rights of one date.

  “I’ll mention it to him if I get a chance. How fast were you going?”

  Donnie handed her his copy of the ticket. “It’s somewhere on here, but it’s hard to read.”

  Trish tried to decipher the officer’s handwriting, but it was a deputy whose penmanship was deplorable.

  “Is that a nine or a seven?” she asked, holding out the ticket.

  “I’m sure it’s a seven,” Donnie replied. “There’s no way I was going ninety-five in a fifty-five-mile zone. If it’s dropped to less than fifteen over the speed limit, I can avoid the slam on my insurance.”

  Trish looked up. “I thought you didn’t know what you needed to do.”

  “I know that much but not how to make it happen.”

  Donnie was wearing an expensive-looking suit. Trish didn’t know what the former high school heartthrob did for a living, but he looked like he could afford a lawyer. Then she remembered something else about Donnie. He was notoriously cheap. His idea of spending a lot on a date meant ordering two toppings instead of one on a medium pizza.

  “Let me hang on to the ticket,” she said. “I’ll check with Mr. Douglas.”

  “Thanks,” Donnie replied. “And see if it can be taken care of first thing. I really don’t want to hang around all morning.”

  “Okay, but no promises.”

  “You can do it,” Donnie replied, trotting out his smile again. “You were always a winner.”

  As she entered the courtroom, Trish knew she would no longer have any trouble turning down Donnie Crowder, even if he asked her out for pizza with as many toppings as she wanted.

  The court reporter was setting up her equipment next to the witness stand. The judge hadn’t appeared. Holt was sitting at the table used by the prosecutors with his back to her and entering information into his laptop. A bevy of defense lawyers were huddled on the opposite side of the courtroom. Seven or eight prisoners had been brought over from the jail and were sitting in chairs that lined a wall near the defense lawyers. Trish recognized three men who were in court trying to get out of jail on previous contempt orders for nonpayment of child support. Her job was to keep them locked up until they presented a bona fide plan for payment. She tapped Holt on the shoulder.

  “Yes,” he said curtly as he turned around. “Oh, good morning. Thanks for the summary you sent over. It was well done. Anything else I need to know?”

  “Not on my cases.” Trish cleared her throat. “But I ran into an old high school friend who’s here on a traffic citation. He lives in Nashville and wondered if you could take his case out of order and knock down the charge. His name is Donald Crowder.”

  Holt picked up his calendar. “It will be a couple of hours before we reach the traffic matters. What’s his name again?”

  “Crowder.”

  Holt pulled a file from the lower third of one of the two stacks on the table and opened it. “Ninety-five miles per hour in a fifty-five-mile zone. What does he want to do?”

  Trish swallowed. “Reduce it to less than fifteen over. I didn’t know it was that much—”

  “How good a friend is he?” Holt asked, glancing at the door where Judge Lomax would enter the courtroom.

  “Just an acquaintance. We never dated.”

  Trish inwardly kicked herself for mentioning the totally irrelevant tidbit of social trivia. Holt didn’t seem to notice as he continued to study the file.

  “Tell him I’ll talk to him at ten thirty when the judge takes a break,” Holt said as he continued to flip through the file. “Your friend has two speeding tickets in Tennessee within the past year and needs to slow down before he kills himself or someone else.” Holt paused. “At least there’s no indication of alcohol involved.”

  “Thanks,” Trish said as she retreated. “And I’m ready to testify in my cases if you need me.”

  Judge Lomax entered the courtroom and everyone rose to their feet. As the crowd sat down, Trish looked over her shoulder and saw Donnie, who smiled again.

  She didn’t.

  6

  It was 12:30 p.m. by the time the courtroom cleared, and Holt handed Judge Lomax an order revoking bond for a defendant who hadn’t appeared in court.

  “I’m sorry we cut into your lunchtime,” Holt said as the judge returned the signed order to him. “I know this is your day for the Coosawattee Club.”

  “As long as I’m counted present I won’t get into trouble,” the judge replied, standing up and stretching. “It’s not your fault that the wheels of justice were gritty this morning. You did a good job keeping things on track.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You should think about joining Coosawattee,” the judge continued. “I’d be glad to sponsor you.”

  Holt hesitated. Since coming to town he’d kept a low profile. Ralph Granger was a member of the Citizens Club and had been trying to get Holt to join for over a year. The local bar association was split equally between the two groups.

  “I appreciate the invitation,” Holt answered slowly.

  “That’s an offer, not an order,” the judge said with a smile. “I know Ralph has been hitting you up for Citizens. Both organizations are about service and networking.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I won’t bring it up again, but let me know if you’re interested.”

  The judge left the courtroom. Holt turned off his laptop and returned the now-jumbled files to the two catalog cases.

  Commitment to groups hadn’t been a high priority for Holt since high school. He attended rush week in college but turned down pledge offers from three fraternities. He’d lost his taste for hard partying and limited himself to an occasional beer or glass of wine. When he did drink, he never drove. And he always buckled his seat belt.

  Returning to the office, Holt saw the Meredith file on his credenza and read it again. The death of such a prominent citizen hadn’t generated much paperwork. The absence of information, particularly interviews with family members or business associates, made no sense. Holt jotted down on a legal pad some of the steps that should have been taken. It didn’t take long to list almost twenty. Then he read the list, tore out the sheet of paper, wadded it up, and threw it in the trash can. Ralph Granger wouldn’t allow him to waste his time on a theoretical case. Holt stepped down the hallway to Ralph’s office to return the file, but the DA’s door was shut. Since office protocol forbade knocking except in an extreme emergency, Holt returned the file to his desk before leaving for lunch.

  Stopping by a local restaurant with a great salad bar, Holt fixed one for himself and another to take to Angelina. He added smoked turkey for protein.

  “Hey, Holton,” Brittany said when he came through the door. “What’s for lunch? Angelina is starving and in the mood for sushi.”

  “She’s always in the mood for sushi. However, I believe the discovery of fire to cook meat was one of mankind’s most important advances. Why go back to eating raw fish?”

  “Who said it was a man who discovered fire? Maybe it was a woman sitting in a cave waiting for her husband to return from hunting a mastodon.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it. Mastodon sushi sounds gross.”

  Brittany laughed. “I’ll let Angelina know you’re here. She’s finishing up a color and should be free in a few minutes. Go on back to the kitchen.”

  Holt moved past Brittany.

  “And lock the door this time,” she called after him. “I had nightmares after seeing you two kissing. Isn’t there a law against forcing me to witness workplace displays of affection?”

  Holt didn’t answer but smiled for the first time that day. The calendar call had been devoid of humor.

  He didn’t wait for Angelina. Her appointment with the client could stretch out longer than anticipated, and she wouldn’t mind if he went ahead. Sometimes he ate at the salon even when Angelina wasn’t available. The quiet kitchen gave him a midday respite from the pressure and constant interruptions of work. The district attorney’s office was like a fire department in that the tyranny of the urgent often trumped the important. Holt had a big bite of food in his mouth when Angelina came through the door and kissed him on a bulging cheek.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” he managed with his mouth slightly open.

  Angelina set a bottle of water on the table beside her plate. “No onions?” she asked.

  “Right,” Holt said as he swallowed the bite. “Do you think a stout whiff of onion on my breath might convince a guilty man to confess?”

  Angelina smiled. “You’re persuasive with or without onions. But we can’t talk about that right now. I need to get some fuel in my tank if I’m going to make it through the afternoon.”

  During the next few minutes, there was more eating than talking. Angelina wasn’t afraid of silence. She’d told him that other men found her willingness to be quiet intimidating. Holt found it refreshing.

  “Can we get together for dinner tonight?” Holt asked. “I bet you’d like something raw and Japanese.”

  “Sorry, I can’t,” Angelina said and shook her head. “I’m volunteering at the nursing home on Cambridge Avenue. One of the other stylists and I are giving free cuts and perms to some of the residents.”

  “Wow,” Holt replied.

  “Don’t be impressed with me. It was Jessica’s idea. Her grandmother lives there. It will be good PR. A reporter from the newspaper is going to be there.”

  Angelina chugged the rest of her water and gave Holt a quick kiss before heading out of the kitchen.

  “Having lunch with you here in the kitchen makes me feel like we’re an old married couple,” she said with a smile.

  Holt, who was chewing a last bite, raised his eyebrows.

  “Not that I’m hinting,” she quickly added. “And you don’t know if I’d say yes.”