High Country Fall

knocked over. I straightened them, but there was one extra candle left. I stood it up at the back, so maybe you didn’t notice?”

“We didn’t,” he admitted. “I didn’t.”

“That many candles, why would you? But the missing holder has to be fairly massive because the leftover candle’s one of those tall fat ones and I noticed that Joyce varied them in proportion to the holder. The base is probably six or eight inches in diameter. At least.”

“That would certainly cut a two-inch gash,” he said. He drained his coffee cup and stood to go. “I’ll get the guys back out there. Whoever did this probably heaved the thing as far as they could. God knows where it could have rolled to. Maybe you could adjourn early this afternoon? Ride up with me and show me where the candlesticks were when you noticed them?”

“Sure,” I said.

“That might trigger Mrs. Ashe’s memory. She didn’t think any were missing.”

“My fault. When I set them up, I must have covered the gaps.” I glanced at my watch. Break time was over. “Meet you at four o’clock?”

“I’ll be downstairs,” he said.

CHAPTER 18

I had told William Deeck that I wanted to adjourn at four, and he did his best, but the last case ran a few minutes past. As I gaveled the session adjourned and the handful of people who remained rose to leave, the door at the back of the courtroom opened a crack and May peeked in. Seeing that court was over, she pushed through the door and hurried up to the bench.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t get to talk to you.” She still had on her apron, and flour dusted her copper-colored hair.

“What’s up?” I asked as I finished signing some forms for Mary Kay.

May waited till she turned to go, then whispered urgently, “We heard Norman Osborne’s dead?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. Did y’all know him?”

“Not us, but Carla did.” By now we were alone in the courtroom, and her voice returned to its normal level. “He and her dad used to be really tight and now he’s been killed the same way, right?”

“That’s how it’s looking,” I said.

“So the same person must have killed them both, right?”

“Not necessarily.”

“But two old guys? Friends? The same exact way? Isn’t that enough to undo what you did to Danny yesterday?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, May. It doesn’t work like that. It’s up to the district attorney to decide whether to go forward on his case.”

May drew her small frame up indignantly. “But if the same person—”

“If. That’s the operative word here.” I stepped down from the bench. “Come on back with me so I can get out of this robe.”

She trailed along behind me, arguing as we went that since Danny Freeman could prove he’d been working down in Howards Ford last night, he couldn’t have had anything to do with Norman Osborne’s death. And if he was innocent of that, then anybody with a grain of sense should agree he was also innocent of Carlyle Ledwig’s death, right?

“Well, it’s certainly another argument his attorney can present to the jury when it goes to trial,” I assured her as I unzipped my robe and hung it on a hook behind the door.

When she started huffing in frustration again, I said, “Look, May, for what it’s worth, I think you may be right.”

She brightened. “Really?”

“Coincidences can and do happen, but this is way too similar.”

“Yes!” Her fist punched the air. “I can’t wait till Carla gets out of class.”

“Don’t get too excited,” I warned. “That was a purely civilian opinion and it wouldn’t carry an ounce of weight with the DA.”

“You’re no civilian. You’re a judge.” Her dark eyes flashed with sudden mischief. “And I bet it would too carry some weight with the luscious Lucius.”

I laughed and made shooing motions with my hands. “Don’t you have some bread to make? Go!”

“Time to make the doughnuts,” she droned, mimicking a commercial that was popular when she was a kid. “See you around midnight.”

Up since daybreak, on her feet at the Tea Room since ten, and now she would go mix up the dough for tomorrow’s bread, then waitress at the Mountain Laurel Restaurant till eleven tonight; yet her steps were light as she darted down the hall. I’m still three years away from forty, but just thinking about her schedule made me feel tired.

When I got downstairs, the door to George Underwood’s office was open and I could hear him on the phone as I got closer.

“Okay, honey, let’s hear you spell black … That’s right, it starts off just like blue. Bl-bl-ack … Hey! Good! Now what about yellow? … Green? … Okay, Miss Smartypants, spell chartreuse.”

He was still laughing as I paused in his doorway, and he gave me a wave. “Gotta go now, sweetheart. Tell