“If you’re not going to finish them—” Skip said.

  “Don’t misinterpret what I mean. My comment is like the non-questions you used to ask witnesses. You know, the ones that had such an obvious answer it made the members of the jury roll their eyes.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “State v. Grover. You were cross-examining a country guy named Lickety—”

  “Don’t bring that up. I’m enjoying my lunch,” Skip cut in. “Tell me something else complimentary Mr. Kirby said about me.”

  “Uh, he can understand your well-crafted opinion letters.”

  “Who else was there besides Stevens and Kirby?”

  “Larry Morris and Ben Porterhouse.”

  “Big financial hitters,” Skip replied.

  Holt sipped his tea. “Speaking of big financial hitters, what do you remember about the investigation into the death of Stevens’s father-in-law?” Holt asked.

  “Rex Meredith?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not much. Ralph handled that directly. I don’t think the case was open for more than a month or so. He huddled up a few times with the detectives who worked the investigation, then issued a press release confirming it was a suicide. One evening when I was alone at the office, I peeked at the photos of the scene. It was ugly.”

  “There were pictures?”

  “At least ten or twelve. Why?”

  “Ralph left the file in my office the other day. All it contained was the death certificate, a diagram of the scene, and a two-page report by one of the detectives. It seemed kind of skimpy for such a high-profile situation.”

  “Who was the detective?”

  “Butch Clovis.”

  “That sounds right. But he wasn’t the only one who worked the case. There was another officer involved who left the sheriff’s department before you came to town.” Skip paused. “What was his name?”

  Holt ignored his food while he waited.

  “McHenry or McReynolds. Something like that. He quit after a few months. I’m not sure where he went.”

  “But he was a detective?”

  “Yeah, and he wasn’t a young guy. He’d worked in law enforcement before. Belinda can tell you. She remembers stuff like that. Why are you interested? Are you treating it like a cold case?”

  “Not really. I was just curious, especially when I’ve seen thicker files in trespassing cases.”

  “Well, the photos may have been shredded when no charges were filed. The family wouldn’t want pictures like that getting posted on the Internet.”

  Their waitress returned. “Room for peach cobbler or banana pudding?” she asked.

  “Not here,” Skip said.

  “Me either,” Holt added.

  “And give me the check,” Skip said. “My friend here only makes what the taxpayers give him.”

  “The taxpayer who owns this place already told me to comp his meal,” the waitress replied as she motioned to HC, who was running the cash register. “You’re the only one who has to pay.”

  Holt smiled at Skip and shrugged. “Cops and firemen get free meals,” Holt said. “Why not a lowly assistant DA?”

  “Hey, I’m happy for you,” Skip said. “When our firm runner goes to the courthouse tomorrow, I’ll have her drop off the gift card for the steak house. Make sure Angelina knows it came from me. If the two of you ever break up, I want to be first in line outside her door.”

  “I can tell where you ate lunch,” Belinda said, wrinkling up her nose. “You smell smoky enough to dip in barbecue sauce and put between two pieces of white bread.”

  “If I had to try a case this afternoon, would that help or hurt me with a jury?” Holt asked.

  “Probably help. There aren’t many vegans in Ashley County.”

  Holt glanced toward the door to Ralph’s office. It was closed. “Where’s Ralph?”

  “Triplett County. He’s telling the home folks they aren’t going to have to pony up as much money for his reelection campaign as they did last time and reassuring them that he hasn’t sold out to the Ashley County crowd.”

  “Sounds like a tightrope walk. That’s a suspicious crowd over there.” Holt paused. “Do you remember a detective who worked for the sheriff’s department a few years ago named McHenry or McReynolds? Skip was trying to remember his name at lunch.”

  “McDermott. He’s probably thinking of Tony McDermott.”

  “Skip said he quit. Do you know why?”

  “No. He was only a few years from retirement, and I thought he was going to ride it out here and then move to a place he had in the mountains. He’d worked for years in Atlanta and came here thinking it would be less stressful. He told me one time he’d seen too many of his buddies shot or killed right before they quit and didn’t want to become a statistic. He was recently divorced; his wife married another police officer.”

  “Where did he go from here?”

  “I’m not sure, but his vacation house was on Lake Burton. He carried a picture of it in his wallet. It wasn’t much to look at, but he’d built it himself and was real proud of it.”

  Belinda picked up a sheet of paper from her desk and handed it to Holt. “Samuel Byers’s lawyer dropped this off while you were at lunch. His client wants to accept the plea. If you like, I can squeeze it onto the arraignment calendar set for tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, Thursday’s fine.”

  Holt went into his office and called Bishop Pennington. The preacher wasn’t available, so Holt left him a message about the sentencing the next day. Swiveling in his chair so he was facing his computer screen, he opened a search engine whose use was limited to law enforcement personnel.

  He typed in the name “Tony McDermott.”

  11

  What are you up to?” Ralph Granger asked as he stuck his head into Holt’s office.

  Holt quickly closed the window on his computer. “Nothing important. Do you need me?”

  “Yeah, I just got back from Triplett County. There’s a case over there I’m going to pass off to you. The defendant is my second cousin. Jules is a lot younger than I am, and even though we don’t know each other very well, I shouldn’t be involved in the prosecution of his case.”

  “What’s the charge?”

  “Growing marijuana next to his tomato plants. Folks on that side of the family don’t think the government has the right to tell them what to do on their property. Years ago Jules’s grandpa and great-uncle were moonshiners.”

  “How much pot did they seize?”

  “Fifteen pounds.”

  Holt raised his eyebrows. The criminal statutes were more lenient for amounts under ten pounds. Once that threshold was crossed, it became a more serious felony.

  “Any evidence of intent to distribute?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I shut down the conversation with the detective when I found out who was involved. Jules was probably smoking as much as he could with his buddies and getting his wife to make brownies with the rest.”

  Holt held out his hand for the file. “I hope she wasn’t selling the brownies.”

  “I don’t know. The detective said Jules was pretty scared when they hauled him off to jail.”

  “Maybe I can convince him to say he’s sorry and promise to plant watermelons next year.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Ralph said with a look Holt interpreted as a silent request for leniency.

  After Ralph left, Holt read the investigative report. It seemed people bought fresh produce from Jules’s garden on Saturday mornings. While waiting to make a purchase, a deputy sheriff looked over the fence and saw a row of enormous marijuana plants at the rear of the property. Behind that row was another. Initially, Jules claimed the marijuana was a form of bamboo that had sprouted on its own, but shortly after he arrived at the jail he confessed and signed a statement. His signature looked like the work of a fourth grader. Holt made a note of the arraignment date.

  “I’m going to handle a case for Ralph in Triplett County on the twenty-sixth,” he said, standing in front of Belinda’s desk. “How big is the calendar? Maybe I can cover all of it.”

  Belinda hit a few buttons and checked the screen on her computer. “Only six cases. Both the economy and crime are down over there.”

  “But the soil is rich enough to grow prizewinning marijuana plants.”

  Trish, Sue Ann, and Candace left the discount store. Trish was pushing Candace in a shopping cart filled with diapers, jumbo jars of applesauce, soft drinks for Mark, and a cute Sunday outfit Trish insisted on buying for the little girl. Sue Ann was an expert at pinching pennies, and everything except the outfit was on sale.

  “I’m just concerned about Mama’s savings and whether the church can keep growing,” Trish said. “Later, she told me I needed to be more respectful of Brother Carpenter, even if I was only talking to her. Paxton isn’t like places in other parts of the country where people don’t go to church at all. How many people do you know who never go to church?”

  They reached the car, and Sue Ann popped open the trunk.

  “Several of the guys who work with Mark spend Sunday mornings getting ready to watch football. And I don’t think Kay and her husband are in a church. They go rock climbing on Sunday or run in marathons.”

  Kay, a former high school classmate, was deep into personal fitness. She was ridiculously skinny except for muscular calves.

  “Where does Holt Douglas go?” Sue Ann asked as she hoisted Candace out of the shopping cart.

  “Belinda says he doesn’t.” Trish paused. “I’d like to reach out to him about it, but it’s hard to see him at my church, whether we have a new building or not.”

  Trish pushed the shopping cart to a corral. She’d been upset since the supper at the church and was having trouble shaking it. She returned to the car, got in, buckled her seat belt, and let out a big sigh.

  “It all made me think a bunch about my daddy,” Trish said to Sue Ann.

  Sue Ann turned sideways in her seat and put her hand on Trish’s shoulder. “How?”

  “You know how bighearted he was. And when I listened to myself talking to Mama, I know he wouldn’t have approved.”

  Trish paused as a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Sue Ann squeezed Trish’s shoulder, then released it and handed her a tissue. Trish blew her nose.

  “It was another one of those grief moments,” Sue Ann said softly. “You can’t keep them from happening. And you really don’t want to.”

  Trish nodded. “Even though it hurt, it made me feel close to him again.”

  “Tish!” exclaimed Candace from her car seat behind her.

  “I’m here, baby.” Trish turned sideways and gave the little girl a teary-eyed smile.

  Trish held out her index finger, and Candace grabbed it in a tight fist before letting go. Candace put her chubby hand to her mouth and blew Trish a kiss.

  “You and Candy are so awesome. You can read me like a book, and she always cheers me up. You’re too big, but I need to bottle her up and keep her in my purse.”

  Sue Ann put the key into the ignition. “Along with diapers, wipes, and hand sanitizer.”

  Working second shift at the sheriff’s department was part of Trish’s normal schedule. People in danger of criminal prosecution didn’t always make themselves available during regular business hours, and evening was the only time she had a shot at tracking down some of the hard-to-locate defendants who were part of her caseload. When she finished her prep work, it was too early to eat the salad she’d brought from home. Most of the clerical staff at the sheriff’s department were gone for the day, so Trish, who had been sitting at her desk for a couple of hours, got up to stretch.

  “Hey, Lynn,” she said to a woman stationed near Sheriff Blackstone’s office. “Expecting a busy night?”

  “Part of it depends on you,” the middle-aged woman replied. “Are you going to arrest anyone?”

  “Hopefully. Nick Watkins and I are going to try to catch a guy who’s been dodging us for months. I got a phone call from his ex-wife that he’s going to be in town tonight to pick up a car from a guy on Highland Drive. We need to pick him up instead.”

  “Be careful. That’s a rough area.”

  “Nick is a big boy. I’ll let him go first.”

  Lynn smiled. “Two of you could hide behind Nick.”

  Trish rested her hand on a filing cabinet. There was a label on the front with an “M” written on it. She thought about Holt Douglas’s question.

  “Were you working here when Rex Meredith died?” she asked.

  “Yes, but back then I was a part-time receptionist at the jail.”

  “Where’s the investigative file for the case?”

  “In the storage room if it’s not been taken off-site. Why?”

  “Someone from the DA’s office was asking me questions about it the other day, and I didn’t know the answers.”

  “Do you want me to look for it?” Lynn volunteered. “I don’t have anything to do right now.”

  “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Lynn got up from her desk, and Trish returned to her computer. While away from her desk, she’d received an e-mail from the ex-wife of the man they wanted to arrest, confirming that he’d arrived in town and would pick up the car at 8:00 p.m.

  “Here it is,” Lynn said as she deposited a file on the corner of Trish’s desk. “It doesn’t look like there’s much there since it was a suicide.”

  “Thanks.”

  Trish waited until Lynn was out of the room and then dialed the number that rang directly into Holt’s office. The young DA answered.

  “Hey, Holt. This is Trish Carmichael. I’m glad I caught you.” Trish felt her face flush. “Do you remember asking me the other day about Rex Meredith’s death?”

  “Sure.”

  “I have our file in case you want to look at it.”

  “Yes, I do. When can I see the file?”

  Trish looked at the clock on her computer. “I’m leaving at seven with one of the deputies to make an arrest. I can take a break in a few minutes if you want to come and—”

  “I’m on my way,” Holt interrupted. “I’ll phone your desk when I get there so you can buzz me in.”

  “Okay.”

  Trish rushed into the women’s restroom and checked her hair and makeup. As she brushed her hair, she reminded herself of the Bible verse that said a woman’s inner beauty is more important than her outward appearance. The phone on her desk was buzzing when she returned from the restroom. She grabbed it.

  “Hello,” she said, slightly breathless. “I’ll be right out.”

  “What?” a male voice asked. “Is this Deputy Carmichael?”

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “Nick Watkins. Any chance we could leave now? I’m back early from a call.”

  “No!” Trish responded more emphatically than she intended before taking a deep breath. “It has to be timed exactly. If we’re early, the defendant may not be on the scene, and he won’t stop if he sees a patrol car.”

  “Okay, no problem. I’ll take a supper break.”

  “I think you should.”

  Trish rolled her eyes at her suggestion. Nick could miss a week of meals and barely affect his waistline.

  “See you at seven,” she added. “Thanks for checking in.”

  After she hung up, a flashing light on her phone indicated she’d missed a call. She didn’t bother to listen to it but walked straight to the lobby area. Holt was standing outside and peering through the door. There was a switch beneath the receptionist’s desk that triggered the electric lock on the front doors. Trish waved and pressed the switch that released the locking mechanism. Holt came inside the building.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I had a call from the deputy who’s taking me out later. Not on a date. He’s assisting with the arrest.”

  “Okay.” Holt gave her a slightly puzzled look.

  Trish knew her face was red. She quickly turned away and led the way to her cubicle.

  Holt positioned a chair so it was close to the corner of Trish’s desk. She handed him the folder. Sitting this close to the handsome assistant DA made her feel tingly.

  “Does anyone know you have this?” he asked before he opened it.

  “Lynn Braswell pulled it for me.”

  “Did you tell her I wanted to see it?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Let’s keep my interest in this between us, okay?”

  “You’re in the DA’s office. You have a right to look into things. That’s your job.”

  “Yes, but I’d still like to keep this confidential.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Great.”

  Trish glanced past Holt. “Lynn is in the next room,” she said. “If she comes in—”

  “Are any of the detectives here?”

  “No. Detective Atwood is the only one working this shift. He’s in the field interviewing witnesses until later tonight.”

  “Let’s go to one of the interview rooms.”

  Her heart pounding a bit faster, Trish followed Holt to one of the windowless rooms where detectives conducted interrogations. Holt flipped on the light and closed the door with a heavy thud. There was a single table in the middle of the room surrounded by four chairs. Holt sat down and opened the file. Trish sat across from him and watched his face. Holt had curly brown hair that probably didn’t respond to combing. He rubbed his jaw as he flipped over a sheet of paper with a large right hand that could definitely palm a basketball.

  “McDermott was involved in the investigation, but there isn’t a report from him in here,” Holt said. “No photos, either.”

  “Photos?”

  “Of the crime scene. I mean, of the corpse and the room where Meredith died. It says here he was in the study of the house on Magnolia Avenue.”

  “I remember that from the newspaper articles,” Trish commented.

  “Take a look at this.” Holt slid a piece of paper across the table to Trish. “It’s a transcript of the 911 call that came in on the evening of Meredith’s death.”

  Trish read out loud:

  “911. Is this police, fire, or medical?”