Bobby Ashe frowned. “But aren’t there legitimate reasons for people to know what race you are? Entitlement programs? Or what about medical reasons? Sickle-cell anemia, for instance?”
Sam Tysinger gave him a sardonic look. “And every Jew should write down his religion in case he develops Tay-Sachs?”
“I don’t think Dr. Ledwig was worried about sickle-cell anemia, or Tay-Sachs either,” said Liz Peters. “He was a bigot, pure and simple.”
“You’re bad-mouthing a good man who’s not here tonight to defend himself,” Norman Osborne protested. “Look at all the good he’s done for Cedar Gap. The hospital. The geriatrics clinic. He’s building a new senior center, too.”
“Another one?” asked Tysinger with a puzzled look on his face.
“He’s building
She squeezed his arm and he patted her hand affectionately.
“Right you are, darlin’.” He gave a rueful smile. “Always opening my mouth at the wrong time.”
“Ah, Sam’s still mad because Carlyle got the planning board to rule against his sign,” said Lucius Burke.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Joyce Ashe. “Come on, Deborah. If they’re going to start rehashing that, let me introduce you to some people with more interesting things on their minds.”
“What was that about a sign?” I asked as we filled our plates at the buffet table a few minutes later.
“Sam owns several gem mine attractions around the county.”
“Really?” I couldn’t help smiling. I still have the little half-carat ruby I’d found in my bucket of mine tailings when Mother and Aunt Zell and I tried our luck at “mining” for gemstones. It cost Daddy more than it was worth to have it cut and set in a silver ring that we gave Mother for her birthday and which came back to me at her death, but I treasure its associations and said so.
“They’re popular with the tourists,” Joyce agreed, “but some of the seasonal people think they’re tacky. They were grandfathered in when the new land use rules took effect, but Sam had a big ol’ ramshackle billboard right where this one Florida man had to look at it every time he drove out of his driveway. Sam couldn’t prove the man helped that sign fall down during a thunderstorm this summer, but it’s a fact that the man did make a big donation to the hospital’s building fund, and permission to put a big one back was denied. Now, you be sure and get you some of this chopped broccoli and raisin salad. I don’t know what the caterer puts in her dressing, but it’s delicious.”
I followed in Joyce’s wake as she worked the room, introducing me to several people along the way. It could have been a meeting of the Cedar Gap Chamber of Commerce. By the time we got out to the terrace, I had exchanged names with the owners or managers of most of the stores along Main Street. I had also met a dean from Tanser-MacLeod College who vaguely remembered the twins, the owner of an independent bluegrass label, and a heart surgeon from Long Island who was considering a second home that was listed by the newly formed Osborne-Ashe High Country Realty.
“See?” said Joyce, as we moved on. “Not all the seasonal people are from Florida.”
As we approached the edge of the terrace, she was called back inside by one of the white-jacketed servers to attend to a minor domestic crisis. Most of the nearby tables were taken by people who were already in deep conversation with one another, so I set my plate on the wide wooden railing and looked out over the tops of descending trees that were a hazy blue in the moonlight.
“Enjoyin’ the view?” drawled a voice behind me.
“It’s lovely,” I said, smiling up at Norman Osborne, who joined me with a drink in his hand. “Do you ever get tired of it?”
“Never. It’s not just about buying and selling either.”
“There’s gold in them thar hills?”
“There is. No denying that, but these hills are like the seashores. They belong to everybody in the United States and it’s up to us to develop smartly so we can preserve it for the generations to come.”
I must have given an unladylike snort because he grinned and said, “We don’t talk about it, Ledwig and me, but for every acre we’ve developed, we’ve put an equal parcel into the land conservancy.”
“You must really miss him,” I said.
“Who?”
“Dr. Ledwig. His death must have been a huge blow.”
He looked out over the vista for a long silent minute while the party went on noisily around us, then glanced at me with a rueful smile. “Sorry, but I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“Judge Knott,” I said. “Deborah Knott.”
“From?”
“Over in Colleton County.”
“Knott? Colleton County? You wouldn’t happen to be kin to a man down there named Kezzie Knott, would you?”
“My father,” I said, already knowing where this was going.
“Really? I’ll be damned!” He chuckled. “And you a judge!”
He wasn’t the first one to find it amusing that the man who’d once run the biggest bootlegging operation in eastern North Carolina had sired a judge for a daughter.
“Don’t worry, darlin’, your secret’s safe with me.”
