2

A week later, the recount which Dirk had threatened, demanded, and received revealed the truth.

I had won.

It wasn’t even close. I beat him by a few hundred votes, which in a small community was a landslide. Or at least that’s what people claimed.

As for the loser himself, he hadn’t been seen since the Friday after Election Day. Grace said he went off to sulk in a trailer he had on Lake Shelby. He must have been in a terrible mood to tolerate the getaway site because Grace said he’d been avoiding his little lakeside retreat for weeks due to a skunk infestation over the summer.

“And out of respect for all skunks, I will refrain from commenting on the company they like to keep,” she said.

Cal Crittenden, the Bain County Sheriff, called me that Tuesday at my office. As a member of the county elections board, it was his job to inform candidates of the results.

“I’m sure you’ve already heard the outcome,” he began. “Just want to make sure you’re there in your office so I can execute my duty.”

Five minutes later, the sheriff was in my tiny, windowless room in the cramped quarters of the Bain Commonwealth Attorney’s office across the street from the courthouse and a few doors down from The Trillium.

At almost 6 feet and 5 inches tall, Sheriff Crittenden was an incredibly imposing presence. He was the first African American sheriff in the history of our county, and had served a total of almost twenty years in the sheriff’s office, the last four as the elected sheriff. He looked too young to be in his mid-fifties. A slight graying of his short hair along his scalp line was the only indication of his true age.

Standing in front of my desk and taking up what seemed to be half the space in my office, he handed me an envelope.

It contained a short letter from the elections board describing the results of the recount, and formally advising me of my election as Bain Circuit Court Clerk.

“Congratulations,” he said after I had read the letter. I invited him to sit, but he declined. “Gotta go deliver the same letter to Dirk if I can find him—well, his letter won’t have that part about winning. You happen to know where Dirk is? I tried to deliver his letter to his house here in town, but he’s not there.”

I related what Grace had told me about Dirk’s whereabouts.

“Better get out there or he’ll accuse me of playing favorites,” the sheriff said. “I actually tried to notify him first, but he was nowhere to be found around town.” He sneezed several times then pulled a tissue from his pants pocket to wipe his nose. “Maybe I’ll have Dalton go out there instead. Blasted allergies.” He turned to leave but stopped. “Oh, just so you know—we’ll be certifying the results to the state election board within a few weeks. You’ll be sworn in on the first Tuesday in January.”

All I could do was nod. The sheriff cocked his head slightly, noticing my less-than-enthusiastic response.

“You don’t seem real happy about this,” he said.

“I don’t know what to think. I never really thought I’d get elected.”

“You thinking of turning it down?”

“Dirk’s threatened to sue me. I don’t need that.”

He flashed a lovely smile. “So what? Doesn’t mean he’ll win.”

I went home for lunch, hoping to get some peace and quiet. People had started calling me at work to offer their congratulations. The repeated expressions of good wishes exhausted me, and I hoped to take a short nap before returning to the office.

Lunch was canned chicken noodle soup and a ham sandwich. Hardly interesting, but familiar and comforting, both of which I guess I subconsciously craved. As I took the last bite of a decidedly dry sandwich, my cell phone rang. I checked the number, expecting to see an unfamiliar one, indicating that I could safely ignore the intrusion.

But I did recognize the number.

“Henry’s my new boss,” Lillian said immediately after I answered.

I had met Henry Alton when he had come to Bain County the previous summer with Lillian to interview witnesses in a notorious case. At that time, he was an assistant attorney general in the special prosecutions division but was acting as a special counsel with Lillian.

Both had witnessed the shooting incident on the courthouse lawn. And according to Lillian, Henry had helped subdue the shooter.

“That’s great! When does he start?”

“Very soon, around the beginning of December,” she said. “And, yes, I’ve already talked to him about you coming back. Said he’d love to have someone in here who knows how this place operates and can hit the ground running. We’d just have to get the GRC’s approval. He also told me to say that he understood if you wanted to stay there and take office.”

After I called my parents on Election Night to tell them the news, Lillian had been the second phone call I made. She was more like big sister than a cousin.

“My parents certainly want me to stay,” I told her.

“No surprise there. But what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Dirk has threatened to sue me, and I’m sure he’ll follow up on that threat. I need a lawsuit like I need another hole in my head. And there are some people down here who don’t care for me because of what happened with Lester.”

“People are mad at you because you caught Lester in a lie?”

“Yeah, I think even Lester’s law partner is mad at me, from the way he’s given me the cold shoulder the past few months.”

“Well, Pete Claiborne’s got his own problems,” Lillian snapped. “Stay tuned on that.”

“Ah, let me see if I can figure it out,” I began and I put my index finger to my chin. “I’m sure Lester got charged with the lie I discovered and reported to you. That charge led to an escrow account audit. And you found lots of problems there. Like missing money. Which begged the question as to why Pete didn’t notice or, if he did notice, why he didn’t report.”

Lillian laughed. “You still know your stuff. We sure could use you here.”

“No wonder Pete has been giving me the evil eye every time I see him. If the word gets out he’s been funny with other people’s money, he’s done for in Devil Springs.”

“But those kinds of allegations never seemed to hurt Lester,” Lillian pointed out. “You once told me he’s always had a good client base, even though I’m sure people down there know Lester’s had tons of complaints about fees and missing money. Why would the same stuff hurt Pete but not his law partner?”

“Different client base. Pete has been the school board attorney for years. That’s been his best client. But if the Board gets wind of any money problems, they’ll dump him in an instant. A few years ago a secretary at the central office embezzled a bunch of school funds, so they’re really sensitive to money issues. The school superintendent almost lost her job over the scandal.”

“Didn’t know all that. Sounds like a hornet’s nest of problems in Bain County.”

“Exactly. And me becoming clerk would be the equivalent of taking a stick and poking around inside that hornet’s nest just to see what happens.”

Lillian and I talked for a little longer and I got the sense there was something she wasn’t telling me. I didn’t press her for details, but it I had a feeling it was about Henry.

I had seen them together that past summer and wondered if anything had been going on between them. In retrospect, I don’t think there was at the time.

But that didn’t mean the same could be said several months later.

Once back in my office after lunch, I set to my designated task for that afternoon, which was going through all my files and doing a memo for John in each one. I wasn’t doing it so much for his sake as the cases.

I cared what happened even if John didn’t. He hadn’t asked me to brief them, but I knew it would be helpful for him to have synopses of the cases with which he was unfamiliar.

Which was all of them.

Since I had come to work for him, he had greatly reduced his time in the courtroom. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time he attended an arraignment or sentencing. I had been working the entire caseload. He’d set himself up for a rough transition by not keeping up, but that was his problem, not mine.

I had only been into the files for about ten minutes when I was interrupted by a call. Out of habit, I picked it up before I remembered that I was avoiding most calls.

“Hi, it’s Audrey Giles from the Courier Journal,” came a slightly breathy and girlish voice.

This twit was the reporter who had reported on my non-existent arrest by using Don Odom’s blog as her “source.” Needless to say, my respect for her professional abilities was nil.

“Hello,” I said in the most neutral tone I could fake.

“Congratulations on your election, first of all,” she chirped.

“Thanks.”

She was not going to get nice conversation from me. Or any conversation, for that matter.

“I was wondering if you would care to give a statement about your election?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Look, I was hoping that we could put the past in the past,” she said without any hint of regret and every indication of impatience. “So, again, I was wondering whether you’d like to make a comment about your election or the possible election challenge that your opponent may file.”

“You’re right, all that is behind us. I can guarantee it,” I told her.

“Good, then can you—”

“But that doesn’t mean I have anything to say to you.”

I hung up, and the noise the receiver made as I jammed it back into the cradle was exquisitely satisfying. I was so not in the mood to be forgiving, patient, or mature, especially to the likes of her.

Especially as I sat and did what felt like someone else’s job.

After drafting several memos for the files, I had to focus on writing a response to a suppression motion that Frazier Lynch had filed. It was due that day, so I worked it up as best and quickly as I could and headed across the street to file it.

Once there, I looked for Judge Winslow’s car in his reserved parallel spot on the left side of the courthouse toward the back. It was there, and I debated whether I should go and talk to him about what to do.

Should I accept the office of Bain Circuit Court Clerk? Return to the Office of Attorney Regulation? Or go back to clerking for the judge?

I was confused, but grateful.

Because at least I had options.

The rain started up again and I dashed inside, my destination the clerk’s office. I had avoided the spot since the election because I didn’t want the chance encounter with Dirk, who I hadn’t seen since Election Night. Happily, my vanquished opponent wasn’t around.

Brock was at the counter talking to Grace, who was handing him a stack of subpoenas. Sophie was standing over a table against the far right wall, looking at a file she had open before her. Sid Wooten and Nellie Nash, the two other deputy clerks, seemed occupied, with the former on the phone and the latter processing a check and some other materials.

Nellie was quite young, in her twenties, blonde and pretty. Sid was a middle-aged fellow, nearly bald, and soft spoken. Both had been hired by Dirk in the past few years. I didn’t know them that well, but they were always very nice to me. Grace had her tough attitude to deflect Dirk’s lack of civility, but I could not understand how more sensitive souls like Nellie and Sid could stand to work for the man.

“Grace,” Nellie said, “this check came back. Insufficient funds.” She waved a large yellow check in the air.

Grace left Brock standing at the counter and walked over to Nellie’s desk, which was right outside Dirk’s office.

“Let me see that,” Grace demanded. She snatched the check from Nellie’s hand as I came up to the counter. “Good lord,” Grace exhorted. “On Pete Claiborne’s escrow account.” She handed the check back to Nellie. “Call Pete and tell him his check came back and that he needs to come pick it up. But make a copy of it before you give it back to him. You’re going to have to report it to lawyer discipline, of course.” She turned to me. “You got something to file?”

I nodded and she walked back to her desk to get her stamp. Grace handled most of the criminal files, so when I had to file something, I gave it to her.

“Still no Dirk?” I glanced to my left into his darkened office.

Grace took the copies of my pleading and placed them on a flat work area below the counter on her side. After spreading them out, she pounded each with the date stamp, sending jarring thuds radiating through the counter. The noise startled Brock, who dropped a few of the subpoenas he had been perusing.

“Nope. But he’s pulled stunts like this before,” she said, handing me back one copy. “He often went off and sulked a bunch during his divorce from Ginger, wouldn’t tell us he wasn’t coming in. That happened all the time. He’s even gone on vacation before and not let us know.”

Sophie gathered the file she had been reviewing and came back to the spot at the counter where I was standing with Grace.

“Thanks,” she said as she handed the file back to Grace.

Sophie was about to leave when Brock asked her to wait. He pulled out a familiar-looking piece of mail from the bottom of the stack of subpoenas. I moved away from the counter, leaving the two of them to talk.

“I’m not sure what to do with this,” Brock said to Sophie, who took the large white envelope.

Brock’s radio crackled to life.

“10-52. I see him, boss,” said Dalton. “He’s on the floor. Been pounding on the door. I can’t get his attention. He’s not moving.”

I saw Sophie’s chin quiver as she took the envelope. She turned red and looked down at the floor.

“Sorry,” Brock said.

“No need. You’re just doing your job,” she replied.

“Get in there,” the sheriff said.

“10-33,” Dalton warbled. Only few seconds passed before he was back on. “10-78. Boss, still no response. On second thought, make that a 10-79. Repeat. 10-79.” Dalton said. “Lordy, it smells terrible in here,” he added.

I gasped as Brock’s head snapped around, his attention completely diverted from Sophie.

“Get out, son,” the sheriff ordered. “Get out now.”

“Already gone,” Dalton replied.

Brock ran out of the clerk’s office, leaving a startled Sophie standing alone and clutching the white envelope to her chest. Grace had turned a ghostly pale and was eerily subdued.

What’s happened?” Nellie asked. “Where was Dalton?”

“He went out to Dirk’s to give him notice of the election results,” I said, locking eyes with Grace.

Sirens began to shriek outside.

“So tell us! What’s going on?” Nellie cried.

“10-79 is the code to call the coroner,” I revealed.