Later that morning, Elsie sat on the hard wooden chair at the counsel table in Judge Calvin’s courtroom. It was an ordinary Tuesday. She was required to chime in on standard traffic charges and small-potato matters only.
The judge listened to a gray-haired defense attorney as he made his bid for leniency in a DWI sentencing. The lawyer, Billy Yocum, stood over his client with a supportive hand on the man’s shoulder as he waxed eloquent on his many virtues.
Elsie slid her hand into her briefcase and pulled out her iPhone. Hiding it in her lap, she entered her passcode and returned to the Google page on Safari. She changed to a different search engine, looking again for the umpteenth time: Marvel Modeling.
She found comic books; software and engineering pages. What she didn’t find was Tony.
“Ms. Arnold?”
She looked up, taking care to cover the phone with her hand. Judge Calvin was staring down at her with an expectant expression.
“Your honor?” she said.
“And what is the state’s position?”
She glanced over at the gray-haired attorney. He smirked at her, looking pointedly at the hand that hid the phone in her lap. She cleared her throat, as she rose from her seat to a half stand. “We recommend shock time in the county jail. Two weekends.”
“I know that,” Judge Calvin said, his tone testy. “I’m asking your position on the submission of these letters from individuals writing on the defendant’s behalf.”
Bill Yocum held a sheaf of pages in his hand. His mouth quirked as he said to Elsie, “Would counsel for the state like to examine them?”
She shook her head. “No need to examine them. Objection, your honor. Hearsay.”
“Overruled. It’s sentencing.” He extended his hand and accepted the sheets of paper that Yocum offered. Elsie settled back into her chair; and as Judge Calvin adjusted his glasses and began to read the letters, she uncovered her phone.
This time, she returned to Google, her old standby, and tried “Tony’s Models.” Nothing. She was getting nowhere.
Judge Calvin spoke up. “Mr. Yocum, there’s a substantial amount of material here.”
“Yes, your honor,” the attorney said with a solemn face.
“I’ll review them in my chambers.” He tapped the gavel. “Court is adjourned for twenty minutes.”
Elsie stood as the judge walked off, his black robe flying. Yocum sidled over to her.
“You young people can’t leave those doggone phones alone. That ought to be contempt of court. That is what’s wrong with the world today.”
Elsie ignored him. She and Billy Yocum locked horns on a regular basis; but she had no time for a pissing match that day. She hurried into the hallway and called Ashlock, wild to know whether progress had been made in the hunt for Desiree Wickham.
When Ashlock didn’t pick up his cell, she dialed his office number. Patsy answered.
Elsie kept her voice casual. “Where is he, Patsy?”
“Elsie? Detective Ashlock is on the run today. He told me not to expect him back before five.”
“Where’s he headed?”
“Out of town. Got a meeting with the highway patrol. Maybe someone from the FBI will be there, too.” Her voice rang with excitement. “Can you imagine?”
“When did he leave?”
“Not long ago. He said he was stopping by the sheriff’s office. See whether Sheriff Earl wanted to join him.”
Elsie heard the ancient ding of the elevator bell. As the door opened, a familiar figure in uniform walked out: Sheriff Earl in the flesh, with a brass star pinned to his tan shirt.
“Thanks, Patsy,” Elsie said, ending the call. “Sheriff!”
He was walking away from her; she hurried after him, calling out. “Sheriff Earl! Hold up.”
He turned with a swagger, regarding her with a curious look. “Miss Elsie?”
She hated that title. It always rubbed her the wrong way when the sheriff played the part of Matt Dillon on Gunsmoke. Elsie had seen enough of Sheriff Earl’s case work to hold a low opinion of his investigative skills. He embodied the old expression: all hat, no cattle.
“Where’s Ashlock?” she asked him, still clutching her phone in her left hand.
“Ma’am?” he said, his eyes shuttering.
“Patsy told me he was going by the sheriff’s office to pick you up; that you’re going to accompany him to an out-of-town meeting with the highway patrol.”
He sucked his teeth before he answered. “I’d best have a word with Ashlock about old Patsy. I don’t believe she’s supposed to share confidential information with a civilian.”
Elsie’s eyes snapped. “Civilian? What is this, the military?”
He studied her for a moment before saying, “If I see him, I’ll tell him you were asking after him.”
“Damn it, Earl; I want to know what’s happening with the Desiree Wickham investigation.”
“Lower your voice.” He bent his head close to her ear. “This is a delicate law enforcement matter. You need to keep your nose out of police business and do your own job.”
“It is my job,” Elsie hissed.
The sheriff laughed.
“That’s what I heard, this very morning. It’s all the talk. You think you’re a dad-blame Nancy Drew.”
She gasped. That was the term Ashlock had used to describe her only the night before. Would Ashlock mock her to the sheriff? Was it even possible?
Eldon, Judge Calvin’s bailiff, opened the courtroom door and bellowed down the hallway.
“Elsie! Elsie Arnold!”
The sheriff nodded in the direction of the courtroom. “You’d best run on down there. Do your prosecutor tricks. Let the lawmen take care of the police work.” He reached out and squeezed her arm, just a little too hard.
“We’ll find her,” he whispered.
Elsie jerked her arm from his grasp. “You couldn’t find your ass with both hands,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice.
Then she turned on her heel and marched back to the court, ignoring the shocked expressions on the faces of people within earshot.