Holt and his girlfriend were sitting at the next table along the wall. Angelina Peabody had her back to Keith. Trish had never met Angelina, but she knew more and more women were going to her salon. Holt smiled at Trish and raised his wineglass in greeting. Trish felt herself blush. The assistant district attorney pushed his chair away from the table and stepped over to them. As he did, Angelina turned sideways in her chair. She was wearing a black dress that made her look like she’d stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. She was stunningly beautiful. Her hair didn’t look like it needed any extra swipes of a brush to make it glisten.
“Hey, Holt,” Trish managed.
“Hello.” Holt smiled. “It’s nice to see you in something other than a deputy sheriff’s uniform.”
Trish felt herself blush again. She hoped the dim light in the restaurant hid her embarrassment. Angelina got up and came over. Trish was surprised how short she was.
“Keith,” Trish managed, “this is Holt Douglas. He’s one of the district attorneys I work with.”
Keith stood and the two men shook hands. Seeing them together brought out their contrasts. Holt was taller and leaner with more chiseled features. Keith was stockier but handsome in his own way.
“And this is Angelina Peabody,” Holt said.
Angelina smiled and extended her hand to Trish. Angelina’s nails were also flawless. Her hands were tiny compared to Trish’s.
“You have gorgeous hair,” Angelina said.
“You’re kidding,” Trish replied.
“Don’t argue with her,” Holt said. “It’s her business to know about that. She owns the All About You Salon and Spa.”
“I know. Everybody is talking about your place,” Trish said. “It’s the biggest thing to hit Paxton in a long time.”
Angelina laughed. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound.
“You should check out the salon,” Angelina said. “If you have to put up with Holt on a regular basis, you deserve a discount.”
“Oh, he’s great,” Trish said. “I mean as a lawyer.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Trish wanted to crawl under the table.
“You’re the one who makes me look good,” Holt replied, not seeming to notice. He turned to Keith. “Trish is superorganized. She prepares such excellent summaries of her cases that I can read them verbatim to the judge. It makes my job a lot easier.”
“I’m not surprised,” Keith said. “But don’t play chess with her. She’ll blow you off the table before you realize what hit you.”
“I’ll remember that.” Holt put his hand on Angelina’s shoulder. “Enjoy your dinner. I recommend the rib eye, medium-rare with red wine sauce.”
After a waiter took their drink orders, Trish and Keith went to the salad bar. Trish’s emotions were in turmoil as she absentmindedly fixed her salad. She was having trouble getting the image of Holt’s hand on Angelina’s shoulder out of her mind. When they returned to their table with the salads, Holt and Angelina were gone.
“That was quite a compliment the lawyer gave you,” Keith said as they sat down. “Maybe you should consider going to law school.”
“Are you serious?” Trish asked.
“Everyone knows how smart you are. All you lack is confidence.”
The way Keith spoke about her lack of confidence didn’t sound like a put-down. Trish had secretly considered the possibility of law school but hadn’t mentioned it to Marge or Sue Ann.
They sat in silence as they ate their salads.
After taking a drink of tea, Keith asked, “Are you familiar with the piece of property for sale on Cockburn Road? It’s not far from the Eakins place.”
Trish nodded. The property was about two miles from where she and her mother lived. A faded real-estate sign out front described a five-acre tract.
“Yes. It’s a soybean field with a little creek running along the side.”
“That’s right. I’m thinking about buying it and building a house there.”
“What about the creek? Doesn’t that make it a floodplain?”
“The land rises toward the rear of the property, and I don’t think the water would be a problem if that’s where the house is located.” Keith became more animated. “I mean, it wouldn’t be smart to put in a basement. I talked to Mr. Eakins and asked him the same thing. He’s lived next door for forty years and has never seen the creek flood the little hill I have in mind. And I thought having flowing water on a piece of property would be nice. I’ve been looking at house plans, and a couple of weeks ago I installed a program on my computer that lets me play around with designs. It’s cool how the program automatically adds the things I would forget. Would you like to see some of the concepts I’ve come up with?”
“I guess so,” Trish responded slowly. “I mean, I can give you an opinion, but you’re going to have to decide what you want in a house.”
“What you think is very, very important to me.”
Trish was chewing a bite of salad and suddenly had trouble swallowing it. She took a quick sip of water to help the food go down. The waiter brought their food.
“This looks good,” Trish said as she eyed her steak, a petite fillet.
Keith had taken Holt’s advice and ordered a rib eye. The waiter placed a steaming dish of creamed spinach in the center of the table.
“You could grow an awesome garden on the property,” Keith said. “It’s all bottomland, and the creek runs year-round in case there’s a drought. It’s been in soybeans for years. They put nitrogen back into the soil.”
Trish was chewing a bite of steak while Keith talked.
“Try your steak,” she said. “Mine is delicious.”
The steak got Keith’s mind off the property beside the creek. Like Holt, he’d gotten the red wine–reduction sauce. Trish dipped a piece of her meat into the sauce. It had deep, rich flavors.
“Wow,” she said. “Holt was right. This is very good.”
“He seems like a nice guy,” Keith said. “How well do you know him?”
Trish suddenly wished Keith would change the subject back to creekfront property and soybeans.
“Uh, he’s from Atlanta and came here two years ago. Some people say he’s the best trial lawyer in the DA’s office.”
“And Angelina is his girlfriend?”
“Yes.” Trish licked her lips.
“Is there any chance he and his girlfriend would come to church if you invited him?”
“I have no idea,” Trish replied with surprise.
The possibility of sitting in a pew with Keith, Holt, and Angelina on a Sunday morning sounded like something from a low-budget reality TV show.
“Our church isn’t very sophisticated,” Keith continued, “but Brother Carpenter is a good speaker. I think he could relate to a lawyer.”
Trish wasn’t so sure. “Maybe. Did Brother Carpenter get in touch with you to talk more about the building program? He came by the house and talked with my mom when I wasn’t there.”
“Not yet. We’re supposed to meet for lunch again next week. I’m only going to be on the road Monday and Tuesday. The rest of the week, I’m working from my home office.” Keith smiled. “Which is the same bedroom I’ve had since I was eleven years old. What’s your shift this week? Maybe we could get together so I can show you my house plans.”
“I’m on first all week.”
“Great. Late in the afternoon would be perfect for me. How about Wednesday?”
“That would probably work. I’ll let you know.”
With a satisfied look on his face, Keith focused his attention once again on the steak on his plate. Trish took small bites and chewed thoughtfully.
Saturday morning, Holt woke up early and took Henry out for a morning run. The dog’s short legs were built for quick bursts of speed rather than a long jog, so Holt followed a course that looped back around to the house after about a mile. Henry was breathing rapidly when Holt took him off his leash and released him into the yard. Henry pattered over to the deck and buried his face in his water dish. For the next few minutes the neighborhood squirrels wouldn’t have to fear for their lives.
Holt continued his run at a faster pace. This early in the day the air was cool and the humidity low. He ran down Magnolia Avenue. As he passed Rex Meredith’s mansion, he saw a man on his knees working in a colorful flower bed. It was the caretaker whose name Holt couldn’t remember. Holt slowed and walked up the brick pathway that led to the long porch.
“Good morning,” he said to the man who still had his back to him.
The man spun around and held a garden trowel out in front of his chest like a knife. He was wearing a dirty denim cap and soiled overalls. Wisps of white hair stuck out from beneath the cap.
“Sorry,” Holt said and held his hands up in the air. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Mr. . . .” Holt waited for the man to fill in the blank, but instead the caretaker glanced down at the trowel and flicked off a piece of dirt. “I was out for a run and stopped to see the flowers.”
“Be that what,” the man said. “It be that.”
“Pardon?” Holt asked.
The man motioned with the trowel for Holt to move on. There was no misinterpreting the message. Holt backed up a few steps and jogged to the main sidewalk. He continued into town, where he circled the courthouse and retraced his steps. When he reached the Meredith place, the caretaker wasn’t in sight. Holt tried to get a better view of the small house where the man lived, but except for a corner of the building, it was hidden behind the main dwelling.
Holt’s route took him past the Paxton Apostolic Church. He saw Bishop Pennington leaving through the side door near his office. The bishop motioned for Holt to come closer.
“I’m going to keep my distance,” Holt said, stopping a few feet from the minister. “I got steamed up the last mile.”
“I’ve never quite figured out the reason for jogging,” the minister replied. “I guess I worked so hard when I was a youngster that I looked forward to a rest, not a workout.”
“I’d probably feel the same way if I had to break a sweat for a living.”
The bishop rubbed his hand across his gray hair. “I visited Jamal and his mother the other day. She promised to bring him to church tomorrow. I think she was just waiting for someone to show up and ask her. It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been playing ball with those boys.”
“You could have come out and talked to them.”
“Maybe, but I suspect they’d have taken off when they saw me. Even though I’m old and slow, people still believe they need to run from me.”
Since their conversation about the absence of a statute of limitations for sins, Holt could identify with that feeling.
“I just had a guy run me off. Do you know the man who takes care of Rex Meredith’s house on Magnolia Avenue? I tried to say something to him, and all I got was a hostile attitude and nonsense.”
“Oh, Sonny has a speech problem. What do they call it when a child sees the letters jumbled up in a sentence?”
“Dyslexia.”
“Right. That’s the way it is for Sonny when he talks. He understands you well enough, but he has a lot of trouble making himself understood. Did he have a writing pad with him?”
“No, he was digging in the flower beds.”
“When he goes to the store, he’ll write down what he wants. He can do that well enough to make clear what he needs. But he’s not much for socializing with anyone. Sonny is happier being left alone.”
“How do you know him?”
“We’re about the same age. He played with us when we were little because the white kids made fun of the way he talked.”
“And the black children didn’t?”
“Not when my older brother was around.” The bishop smiled. “When we were growing up, nobody messed with Jessie. He told everyone to treat Sonny nice and made it stick.”
Holt glanced past the bishop to the front of the church. The bishop wiped his forehead with a clean white handkerchief.
“Was Sonny at the house the night Rex Meredith died?”
“Unless he was off running an errand, Sonny was usually on the property. But I don’t recall if he was inside the house when they found Mr. Meredith’s body or not. I sat next to him at the funeral. He didn’t say anything, of course, but the tears rolled off his cheeks. Mr. Meredith was a hard man, but I think he had a soft spot in his heart for Sonny.”
“How did you get along with him?”
“Members of my family were sharecroppers on Meredith land for generations.” The minister shrugged. “I’m not sure he ever saw me as anything except a sharecropper’s son.”
“What about enemies? I’m sure there were people who didn’t like him.”
“Yeah, plenty of people he took advantage of in business. But you could start with his ex-wives. He got married before they had those prenup things. His first wife ran off with someone else and disappeared. His second wife raised a huge stink when he put her out of the house. They had a big fight over money. The newspaper didn’t write about it, but that didn’t keep people from talking. It’s hard for me to know what was true; however, there isn’t much doubt in my mind that Mr. Meredith was a mean drunk.”
“How mean?”
“Mean enough to hit a woman. I’m not sure about his first wife, but the second one had pictures of the bruises he left on her. I heard he had to give her a big cash settlement before she would turn him loose.”
“Did you see any of those pictures?”
“No.”
“And there weren’t any criminal charges?”
“I doubt it, but you should be able to find out if she ever filed a complaint against him. Her name was Rose. She was from Moultrie and had a high opinion of herself. I heard she hit him, too. Isn’t that something? People can have everything the world thinks is important and be as miserable as two wet cats tied up in a burlap sack.”
“No children?”
“None of his own. Carrie, the third wife, brought Valerie along with her when she came to town. Carrie was real quiet and kind of shy. She opened a dress shop and rented a space from Mr. Meredith.”
“How old was Valerie when her mother and Meredith got married?”
“I guess she was twelve or so. Carrie died a year or so before Mr. Meredith; some kind of blood clot in her brain burst.”
A car pulled into the church parking lot. Bishop Pennington turned away from Holt as the vehicle stopped, and five people piled out.
“Bishop!” a large woman called out. “We were on our way to Savannah, and I told Bobby we had to get off the highway and see if you were here.”
“I’ll check with you later,” Holt said as the minister stepped forward to greet his visitors.
“Do that,” the bishop said and spread his arms wide toward the people getting out of the car.
Holt jogged the last few blocks to his house. Revived, Henry greeted him by jumping up and down at the backyard gate.