“Mr. Granger’s not being charged with assault?” I asked Deeck.
“No, Your Honor. It was clearly an accident.” He paused, then added dryly, “The State feels that had Mr. Granger been aiming at Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith would probably be missing a head now, not merely an ear.”
“I thought I was up there all by myself,” Granger volunteered, nodding vigorous agreement. “Right when I was pulling the trigger, Hank here popped up like a full-blown rhododendron. I do purely hate it happened like that, ma’am.”
I suppressed a smile and told Granger he’d have a chance to speak his piece later.
As Deeck continued questioning Smith, Granger leaned over and spoke into his court-appointed attorney’s ear. They conferred for a moment, then the attorney rose and said, “Your Honor, at this time, my client would like to change his plea to guilty with mitigating circumstances and throw himself on the mercy of the court.”
“Very well,” I said. “You may step down, Mr. Smith. Mr. Granger?”
The man stood to address me with simple dignity. He wore a denim jacket over a flannel shirt and jeans. Jacket, shirt, and jeans had been washed so often that they were thin and faded, but they were immaculate and had a just-ironed look to them. Seated on the bench behind him was a woman with a worried face. Her hair was almost completely white and her black slacks were as faded as his jeans, but her soft blue cardigan looked brand- new. It had mock pearl buttons and pearl beaded flowers around the yoke. If asked, I’d have to say it was probably a gift from a dutiful relative who didn’t see her very often. It reminded me of the sort of sweater some of my older brothers would give Aunt Zell for her birthday or Christmas.
“Your Honor, ma’am, my wife’s got a bad heart and I ain’t been able to work myself since I hurt my back at the chip mill three years ago. They didn’t have no insurance on anybody there and the government says I ain’t entitled to workman’s compensation, so the onliest way we got to feed ourselves is from our little garden patch and with what I can catch or kill. Now I know it’s against the law to shoot turkeys in September, but, ma’am, it’s got to where it ain’t legal to shoot nothing but crows from May to October and I ain’t never been real partial to eating crow.”
“Me either,” I told him sympathetically.
I thought of the Tuzzolinos from yesterday’s court. A Coral Gables dentist and a Lafayette County mill worker. Both men disabled, but what a difference in the way they tried to provide for their wives. No key-man insurance for the Grangers of the world. No health insurance, precious few safety nets.
Okay, so maybe Deeck was trying to manipulate my emotions, but he didn’t really need to. I’m a softy for self- reliant throwbacks like Granger. Squirrels and rabbits kept my daddy’s family alive when he was a boy, and he still fumes about the foolishness of slapping a season on what he calls “tree rats.”
Instead of a fine or jail time such as I’d given the Tuzzolinos, I gave him a PJC—prayer for judgment continued—on condition he not kill turkeys out of season and that he pay the hundred-dollar court costs.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said the attorney.
Deeck didn’t thank me but a small satisfied smile lurked in the corner of his mouth as he called his next case.
CHAPTER 24
When I passed the dispatcher’s station on my way through to the lower-level parking area, George Underwood was there and he walked out into the late- afternoon sunshine with me.
“Any luck with that bartender?” I asked.
“Not really. He’s ready to swear on any Bible I want to hand him that Tina Ledwig was definitely there by five minutes past two the day her husband was killed. Says he remembers because he ran out of her favorite brand of vodka the day before and they didn’t get in another shipment till the next morning. He even showed me the invoices.
“Sounds pretty conclusive,” I said.
“Yeah. He had to comp her a couple of free Smirnoffs to stop her bitching, which is another reason he remembers. Unless he’s a real good actor, he was still pissed about it, too, if you’ll excuse my French.”
“So when will you talk to the UPS guy again?” I asked.
“He’s not due back up here till sometime after lunch tomorrow. I left word down in Asheville for him to come by.”
“Do you suppose that automatic dater on his computer was off?”
Underwood shrugged. “Who knows? One thing’s for sure, though—somebody’s screwed up somewhere, ’cause if Mrs. Ledwig was sitting at the bar in the Rabbit Hollow Country Club at two-thirty-eight, then she certainly couldn’t have been taking delivery from a UPS driver.”
“Let me know how it comes out,” I told him as I went on over to my car.
Once I had my key in the ignition, though, I hesitated about where to go. I’d already damaged my credit card too much to embark on another round of Cedar Gap shopping, yet it was only five-thirty and much too early for dinner.
Dwight’s always telling me not to get involved in things that don’t concern me, and had he been waiting for me at the condo, maybe I’d have gone straight there.
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