Despite all that I had on my mind, I applied myself just as diligently as Cyl DeGraffenried, the ADA who was prosecuting that day. I kept our mid-session recesses to ten minutes and allowed only forty-five minutes for lunch. We got through everything except a small handful of defendants represented by Zack Young, who seemed to have disappeared even though he’d been in and out of my court all afternoon. I sent the bailiff out to look for him and asked my clerk to call his office, but I knew as well as Cyl that both would come back empty. When Zack doesn’t want to be found, nobody’s seen him.
“On behalf of the court, I apologize,” I told his waiting clients, “but because Mr. Young can’t be found, you’ll have to come back another day. I’m here, Ms. DeGraffenried is here, you’re here. But your attorney isn’t and we can’t proceed without him. Come on up after I adjourn and she’ll reschedule your appearance. If this is an inconvenience, if you’re mad because you’ve wasted the whole day sitting here, don’t blame the court, blame Mr. Young. This court is adjourned.”
“Oyez, oyez, oyez,” said the bailiff.
Out of curiosity, I left the door of my chamber open. It wasn’t two minutes before Zack Young sauntered past.
He nodded to me, pokerfaced. “Judge.”
“Mr. Young.” I play poker, too.
He continued on down to the courtroom to oversee the rescheduling of his clients, and it was hard for me not to chortle out loud.
Zack’s probably the best criminal lawyer in the state. If I ever get charged with anything serious, he’s the one I’ll retain in a heartbeat.
He had entered Not Guilty pleas for every one of those clients left waiting at the end of the day, but he clearly didn’t want to argue their cases before me.
It was the first time he’d ever gone judge-shopping when I was the one scheduled to hear his cases.
Hot damn!
I went by Dwight’s office to tell him about the promissory note between Mr. Jap and Dick Sutterly which Allen and I had found in Mr. Jap’s burial papers. He wasn’t there so I scribbled the details on his scratch pad and left it on his desk.
It was still chilly when I left the courthouse and headed for my car, but warmer weather was predicted by tomorrow morning. In the car just exiting from the parking lot, I saw a familiar face, but he didn’t seem to see me even though I waved.
Adam.
And there getting into his own car was Dick Sutterly. He must have thought I was waving at him for he waved back and waited, beaming, till I came up to him.
“Was that my brother who just left?”
“Oh, yes indeed, Judge!” He grabbed my hand and shook it enthusiastically. “And let me say how pleased I am. You know, when we were talking the other day, I got the impression that you opposed my plans, but Adam—Mr. Knott—said I must have misunderstood. I really do appreciate y’all’s cooperation.”
In his euphoria, his cheeks were pinker than I’d ever seen and his eyes glowed with visions of the future. “I know people throw off on some of the places I’ve built, but this is going to change their minds. This is going to be my Carolina Trace! My Fearrington Village! A self-contained clustered village with lake and shops and—” He suddenly seemed to realize that his tongue was running away with him and he looked around warily. “But not a word to that Allen Stancil or Merrilee Grimes, okay? We don’t want any talk of Phase One to get out before we can get a lock on the land for Phase Two.”
It was as if the ground had begun to open up beneath my feet. Somehow I managed to keep my face friendly and my voice normal. “So you and Adam were able to come to terms?”
“He drives a mighty hard bargain,” Sutterly said ruefully, “but I won’t register this deed either, till after disposition of the Stancil land. We’re still hoping not to have to pay top dollar, so not a word now!”
“My lips are sealed,” I told him.
My car was an icebox and I sat there a long moment chilling out and trying to put all the pieces together.
A clustered village? Shops? Something as upscale as those two developments Sutterly had mentioned?
After watching Jerry Upchurch’s restaurant take off, I wasn’t about to predict what could succeed and what would fail out here in the country, but unless Dick Sutterly was blowing soap bubbles, this could be a multimillion- dollar operation. So who was the “we” with the big bankroll? G. Hooks Talbert and his hunting partner, the well- barbered Tom?
“I won’t register this deed either,” Sutterly had said, which implied more than the single deed to Adam’s land. Phase One must be Leo Pleasant’s farm and Talbert Nursery, with Adam’s 2.9 acres as the crucial connector. Right there was enough land to make a huge start.
If Phase Two were the Stancil farm…?
Mr. Jap had let slip last Friday that he was planning to sell some of his land as soon as he had title to it, a plan confirmed by that promissory note he’d signed to Dick Sutterly.
What if Mr. Jap’s murder wasn’t about stolen corn money or unsigned wills? What if it was really about selling land that bordered Daddy’s along Possum Creek? Mr. Jap had told me not to tell Daddy, but why did Daddy himself tell Adam and me to keep quiet about any land deals? Did he suspect Adam was selling us out?
I should have broken my word to Adam. I should have warned Daddy and rallied my brothers to buy Adam’s land for whatever it took, instead of letting Dick Sutterly buy it.
Sixty thousand—the going value of a mess of pottage these days.
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