SUNDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 22
“I am astonished to see you here this early,” Ekaterina said. “I assumed you would stay in bed to recover from your ordeal. And here you are—in spite of the snow! Which I know is difficult to cope with for you Southerners.”
Although Ekaterina had been born in Russia, her family had emigrated when she was very small, so I wasn’t entirely sure she remembered all that much about her homeland’s legendary winters. But every time it snowed, she made a great show of being undaunted by it, and sympathizing with the native Virginians around her, as if we were beautiful but fragile hothouse flowers.
“It’s not so bad,” I said. “And I wanted to come and help wrap things up—make sure all the guests who are leaving get off on time, and help Cordelia pack up before the second round of snow hits.”
“Yes.” She smiled with satisfaction. “The next storm looks as if it might produce a satisfactory amount of precipitation.”
Although I was tempted, I didn’t ask “satisfactory to whom.” Six inches wasn’t apt to be satisfactory to very many people in town. Nor did I point out that she was running a luxury hotel, not a ski resort, and that very few of her guests came to Caerphilly in search of snow.
“I also wanted to catch the church service,” I said. Which wasn’t an official part of the conference but had been a hit with most of the attendees. The Reverend Robyn Smith of Trinity Episcopal and Father Donnelly of St. Byblig’s had conducted an ecumenical service, with the assistance of Deacon Washington of the New Life Baptist Church. Not to mention Ezekiel Blaine reading one of the lessons and thirty members of the New Life Baptist Choir singing Christmas hymns.
“Very moving,” Ekaterina said. “And I also hope to attend the final panel—it should be most informative and inspirational.”
I nodded my agreement. The final panel would actually be a two-hour-long question-and-answer session, featuring most of the experts who had spoken during the weekend—Festus, Horace, Kevin, Chief Burke, Dad, Grandfather, and several representatives from the Innocence Project. We’d allowed an hour-long gap between the end of the church service and the start of the final panel, so anyone who wanted to could pack up and be all ready to leave when it ended. And so all of us could enjoy a generous continental breakfast of gourmet pastries and fresh fruit. I was nibbling on a croissant and sipping the Diet Coke that Ekaterina had added to the tea and coffee.
“Have you and Kevin figured out what you’re going to do to improve hotel security?” I asked.
“We are working on it,” she said. “As Kevin pointed out, the Inn is not a penitentiary, and his mission was never to make it escapeproof. Only burglarproof. We will be discussing the costs and logistics of adding a few additional cameras and other devices to the system, but in a way that still respects the privacy of our guests. Are Michael and the boys not coming? I did not see them at breakfast.”
“They’re taking advantage of the snow to get in a little cross-country skiing,” I said. “Which the boys wouldn’t have wanted to do if Kevin hadn’t promised to set up a camera and video the final panel for them.”
“Excellent,” she said. “Now—what is he doing?”
She frowned, and then dashed across the Gathering Area. The door to the lobby was just closing. I wasn’t sure what had caught her attention—a feckless staff member? A wayward guest?
Whatever it was, she’d deal with it. I took another bite of croissant, and then another sip of my soda, and sighed with contentment.
“Recovered from your ordeal?”
I turned to find Chief Burke, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a bear claw in the other.
“Mostly recovered,” I said. “It would help complete the healing process if you told me that Amber Smith is still in jail and likely to remain so for the indefinite future.”
“No question of that,” he said. “I rather doubt if any Caerphilly judge would agree to giving her bail. And we’ll be sending her back to Virginia Beach in the morning. She was only out on bail, remember—and getting arrested’s grounds for revocation.”
“Especially getting arrested for another murder,” I said.
“Yes.” Then his face grew somber. “Such a waste. A beautiful, intelligent young woman who could have done anything with her life.”
I nodded. I didn’t feel much sympathy for Amber. But yes, I could agree about the waste part. And what about Godfrey Norton? All his curiosity, passion, and boundless energy—what if he’d put it to some good use?
I imagined, for a moment, a happier ending to the conference. What if Norton had actually been swayed by some of the panels? What if he’d seen the light and realized that sometimes the system did fail innocent people? What if, like Ebenezer Scrooge, he’d transformed completely and gone home a better person? Just for a moment I imagined the Gadfly apologizing to the Keepers and the Redheads and setting up a GoFundMe to give Ezekiel a nest egg for starting his new life.
Evidently the chief’s mind was running along similar channels.
“‘For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: It might have been!’” he quoted. “I bet back in high school I could have told you who said that.”
“Whittier, I think,” I said. “But don’t quote me on that. We’ll all find out for sure when the boys hit high school. And yes. It’s sad.”
“Don’t let it get you down,” he said. “I think a lot of good will come out of this conference. And I take back what I said—this was a good time to hold it. A time when people are thinking about the meaning of the season.”
“And when the new year is just around the corner,” I added. “And people might be thinking about their resolutions and plans.”
“Here’s hoping quite a few of them go home fired up to do something meaningful,” he said. “And now I’m going to go find your grandmother and see what she wants me to do in this final panel.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I said.
He strode off. I spotted Ezekiel, sitting nearby, with Ruth at his feet. I strolled over and wished him a good morning.
“Enjoyed your performance last night,” I said to Ezekiel. “And the reading this morning. And I don’t even have to say again how I feel about the rescue in between.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “It was wonderful, not just to be singing again but to be doing it as part of such an excellent choir.”
“Minerva Burke is going to be devastated when you leave town,” I said. “She’s been looking for a bass of your caliber for years.”
“And I have no desire to cause unhappiness to such a gracious lady,” he said. “So it looks as if I’ll have to stay around for a while. Good thing I found me a job.”
“Awesome,” I said. “Where?”
“Working for Dr. Clarence Rutledge, the town vet,” he replied. “His current assistant is going to be leaving sometime this spring, and the doc wants to start training up his replacement.”
“That’s—wait. Lucas is leaving?” I rather liked Clarence’s young assistant.
“Just got himself accepted to law school,” Ezekiel said. “At the University of Virginia, no less.”
“Go Lucas!” I exclaimed. “I like that he chose my alma mater. And that’s not exactly an easy law school to get into—I’ll have to drop by and congratulate him.”
“He’s over the moon,” Ezekiel said. “And I expect Clarence will be inviting you to what he’s calling Lucas’s victory party. Anyway, the plan is for us to swap digs. Lucas has a truck, so he doesn’t mind living outside town. He’s going to move into the apartment over Festus’s garage until it’s time for him to head down to Charlottesville for his classes, and I’ll take over the room where he’s been staying at the veterinary clinic. Which will be handy. Festus suggested that I might try to get a driver’s license, but I’m not sure either my eyes or my reflexes are up to it anymore. So it’s nice that just about everything I might need will be within walking distance.”
“And when you find something that isn’t, there are plenty of us who can give you a ride,” I said.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He chuckled. “I already owe a lot to your family—first Festus and your granddaddy, getting me out of prison, and then your grandmama, inviting me to her conference and helping me find a new life when I wasn’t sure it was possible. She keeps telling me not to worry, she’s found a charitable organization that’s happy to help cases like mine. She won’t tell me who, though.”
“Isn’t there something in the Bible about not boasting about your charity?” I asked.
“There is indeed,” he said. “‘So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets.’ I just hope she passes along my gratitude to whoever’s helping me out.”
“I’m sure she will.” Cordelia was probably thinking of Caerphilly Cares, a social service organization that took on a wide range of worthwhile projects. Unless, of course, she’d succeeded in founding a similar group in Riverton. Or maybe she’d brought Ezekiel’s case to the attention of the Ladies’ Interfaith Council, which united the women of Caerphilly’s churches and temples to carry out good works. Or perhaps the New Life Baptist Church had stepped up to help their newest bass and were using Cordelia as cover to avoid any embarrassment Ezekiel might feel at accepting charity from his new congregation. Or Festus might be doing the same thing.
Or, knowing Caerphilly and its residents, all of the above would pitch in, politely but relentlessly jockeying to be the ones to help Ezekiel. I might never know, and he certainly wouldn’t.
“Lucas is an exoneree himself, you know,” I said, by way of changing the subject.
“I didn’t know that.” Ezekiel’s face lit up.
“He was framed for a murder, and Festus managed to get his conviction overturned. I have a feeling I know what kind of lawyering Lucas will be doing when he graduates.”
“There’s plenty of it for him to do,” Ezekiel said. “And Festus can’t do it alone, though he does try, bless him. And good for young Lucas. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take Ruth out to the dog park before this big final panel starts.”
“I’ll see you at the panel,” I said.
I spotted Kevin, going out of the door into the lobby. His slouched posture and shambling gait suggested that he wasn’t in a particularly festive mood, so I followed him to see if I could cheer him up.
“I gather Ekaterina will be keeping you busy with enhancements to the hotel security,” I said.
“Not all that busy,” he said. “I think I’ve convinced her that she wouldn’t like it if we turned the Inn into an armed fortress. We’ll add a few more cameras to cover the ways the boys found to sneak out, and that should keep her happy.”
“You don’t exactly look happy yourself,” I said.
“Not really.”
I wasn’t sure he was going to say anything else, so I stood, sipping my soda, nibbling my croissant, and looking expectant.
“I guess we all owe an apology to the Virginia Beach police,” he said finally. “They were right about Amber after all.”
He still looked a little shaken. I wondered how long Amber would be on Kevin’s mind, dammit.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you liked her.”
“I liked who I thought she was,” he said. “Who she was pretending to be. Kind of relieved she showed her true colors before … er.”
“Before you got too deep into trying to get justice for her,” I finished, to spare him having to admit that he might have been interested in her. And I pretended not to notice that he was—quite uncharacteristically—blushing. “How were you supposed to know she’d already gotten justice—and didn’t much like it?”
“If the Gadfly were still around, I guess I’d have to apologize to him. He had her pegged.”
“Even a broken clock tells the right time twice a day,” I said.
Kevin chuckled softly at that.
“Yeah,” he said. “And when you come down to it, he’s kind of like the boy who cried wolf, isn’t he? When you spend all your time arguing that everybody’s guilty, no one is going to believe you when you come up with someone who actually is.”
“And Norton didn’t get everything right,” I went on. “Maybe you and Casey were wrong about her being innocent, but you were right about something else.”
“Like what?”
“She didn’t get a fair trial,” I said. “The cops did hide potentially exculpatory evidence. They did focus on her and ignore other equally valid suspects. All the things you covered in your podcast, the things her appellate attorney used to overturn her conviction. They really did happen.”
“You know,” Kevin said. “That might be a good theme for a podcast. I can think of a couple of other cases like that. Guys who definitely didn’t get a fair trial but who I’m pretty sure weren’t innocent. A couple of them were really stone-cold killers.”
He looked more cheerful. Nothing like coming up with a new podcast idea to lift his spirits. Although I hoped he wouldn’t start trying to tell me about all the cases he planned to include. I wanted a moratorium on talking about stone-cold killers until after the holidays.
“And why are we talking about stone-cold killers?” came a voice from behind us. We turned to see Festus joining us. “Can’t we find a more cheerful subject? The upcoming holiday celebrations? Our plans for the new year?”
“Good idea,” Kevin said. “Now that Ezekiel’s free, you need to decide whose case to take on next.”
“That’s right,” I said. “So is it the Keepers or the Redheads or someone else entirely? Have you decided?”
Festus sipped his coffee. I knew a deliberate dramatic pause when I saw one, so I let Kevin be the one to ask, “Well? Have you?”