High Country Fall

“Judge Knott, is it?” asked the lawman in plain clothes who held the door for me as I approached.

I looked at him more closely. Late thirties, slim build, about five-ten, brown hair, a gray corduroy sports jacket that didn’t quite hide the gun on his belt. “Have we met?”

“No, ma’am. I’m with the detective squad here. George Underwood. Major Bryant told me to keep an eye out for you.”

An unexpected spurt of happiness suddenly bubbled up inside. “You know Dwight?”

“Well, I can’t say as I really know him. I think we might’ve met at one of the training sessions down in the Raleigh area. He and a good buddy of mine are friends, though, and Jack must’ve told him I work up here. Anyhow, he called to say hey and to tell me you were holding court in Cedar Gap this week. Guess he wanted some boots on the ground in case you needed anything.” He grinned. “Or something like that.”

“Or something like that,” I agreed, smiling back.

“Anything I can do for you, you just let me know.”

I assured Detective Underwood—“Call me George”—that I certainly would, and for starters had him point me toward the elevator.

Mary Kay was just bringing a fresh carafe of coffee when I got to Judge Rawlings’s office. I still had about fifteen minutes before court convened, and I used it to call Dwight.

There was a time when learning he’d phoned someone like Underwood would have annoyed the hell out of me. Today, for some reason, it only amused me. Amused me, but also gave me an strange sensation I couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t like feeling protected, exactly … more like cherished.

Cherished?

I’ve been loved a time or two, and guys have brought me flowers and candy and even an occasional piece of jewelry, but cherished? I found myself remembering something Minnie once told me when we were talking about romantic gestures.

“Your brother Seth’s not one for mushy talk,” she said, “and he might forget my birthday or our anniversary, but I’ve never once left the yard to drive somewhere overnight that he hasn’t checked the oil and fluid levels in my car. In all these years we’ve been married, I’ve never had a radiator belt break on me or had to change the wipers or pushed the washer lever and found it empty. And you know something, Deborah? I must not be very romantic either, because that means more to me than any big bunch of roses.”

The phone rang twice.

“Bryant here.”

“Hey,” I said.

“Deb’rah? Well, hey yourself, shug. I got your e-mail and just sat down to write you back. How’s it going?”

“I met your friend George a few minutes ago.”

“Oh?” From the wary tone of that one syllable, I knew he thought I was fixing to chew his hide.

“You checking up on me?”

He heard the laughter in my voice and relaxed with a warm chuckle of his own. “The eyes of a lawman are everywhere.”

“No escape?”

“No point in even trying.”

“So how are things down in the flatlands?”

“Same as when you left. Let’s see now … Mama and I had Sunday dinner with Rob and Kate, then your dad and I aggravated some bass right before dark. Let ’em all go, though. And yesterday we set a few roadblocks around Widdington.”

“Because of the increased drug activity they’ve had lately?”

“Yeah. It was the usual DWIs and expired licenses, but we did pick up a few ounces of this and that. Caught one guy with eighty thousand dollars in his trunk.”

“And of course he didn’t have the least little clue as to how it got there, right?”

“And since he said it wasn’t his, we took it off his hands,” Dwight agreed. “Maybe it’ll buy a new school bus or two on down the line. Everything going okay up yonder in the hills? Seen much of your cousins?”

“Late and soon,” I said and told him about yesterday’s probable cause hearing, the twins’ partisan defense of Danny Freeman, his unexpected presence at breakfast this morning, and how they hoped to uncover other suspects.

“You’re not getting involved, are you?” he asked with a touch of his old bossiness.

“Don’t worry. It’s absolutely nothing to do with me.”

An attorney from yesterday’s court appeared in the doorway with an order that needed a judge’s signature, so I told Dwight I’d see him Saturday morning and reached for the document.

Lucius Burke was passing in the hallway and stopped to say hello.

“Norman Osborne get home okay last night?” I asked, sliding my arms into the sleeves of my long black robe.

He shook his head. “And Sunny’s already called me twice because the sheriff doesn’t want to put out a missing persons report on him yet. I’m going down now to talk to him about it.”

I zipped up my robe. “Could I ask you something?”