Underwood looked at his notes. Tina Ledwig drove a silver Lexus. “What kind of car was it?”
The driver shrugged. “I don’t keep up with the makes. It was a luxury sedan, though. White.”
“I don’t suppose you noticed the license plate?”
“Sorry. I don’t remember the numbers, but the first three letters were S-U-N.”
Underwood, who had been leaning back in his chair, came upright. “You sure about that?”
“About the letters? Sure, I’m sure.”
Underwood swung around to his computer. “I’m going to type up your statement, and while I’m doing that, Detective Fletcher here will need to get your fingerprints so we can eliminate them from the packages.”
Now, the deliveryman was on his way back to Asheville and Underwood took his signed statement into Sheriff Horton’s office.
“You saying Sunny Osborne was at the Ledwig house that afternoon?” asked the sheriff.
“She’s tall, blond, middle-aged, and the license plate on her white Lincoln has the word ‘SUN’ followed by the date she and Osborne were married. They say she swings a mean tennis racket, too,” Underwood told him.
“Jesus!” said Horton. “You serious? You really think she killed Ledwig?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that she was there that afternoon and she didn’t see fit to tell us.”
“Osborne’s body’s still in Chapel Hill. She do him, too?”
He shrugged. “Our DA and Judge Knott both say she was playing a dulcimer the whole time before Osborne went missing.”
Horton’s face brightened. “That’s right. So if she didn’t kill her husband, she didn’t kill Ledwig. She was probably scared to say she was there. Afraid we’d jump to the same conclusions we almost did. You go talk to her, George. Be easy with her. I bet she’ll tell you what really happened.”
“I’ll give her a call. See if I can run up there now.”
On the way back to his office, Underwood paused at the dispatcher’s station. “Any word on Proffitt yet?”
The owner of the Trading Post hadn’t shown up yesterday morning, and when a deputy went to collect him today, he was not to be found.
The dispatcher shook her head. “Nobody’s seen him since night before last. Faye says his shotgun’s still there, but if he went hunting, nothing’s in season for another week. Course that wouldn’t stop ol’ Proffitt, but his truck’s still parked out back. You reckon he’s skipped town?”
“In what?” asked Underwood. “Don’t make it official, but I’ll send somebody out to check his house, and you tell everybody to keep a stray eye out for him, okay?”
“Sure, Captain.”
He went on down to his office and called the Osborne house. The housekeeper who answered said she thought that Mrs. Osborne and her daughter had gone to a funeral home in Howards Ford. “To make the arrangements,” she said with a catch in her voice.
He left his number and asked her to tell Mrs. Osborne to call when she got back.
THURSDAY, 4:30 P.M.
The intercom on Lucius Burke’s desk gave a preliminary crackle, then his secretary’s voice said, “Billy Ed Johnson on line two, Mr. Burke.”
He pressed the right button. “Hey, Billy Ed! How can I do you?”
“Well, I was just wondering if that lady judge is still around the courthouse?”
“Judge Knott? I’m not sure. You want me to have somebody check and see?”
“Well, I’d appreciate it. She was supposed to meet me up here at Eagle Rest, but looks like she’s running late. Only she’s not answering her cell phone either.”
He gave Burke his number and said, “Call me back, hear?”
“Sure thing.” Burke cut the connection and touched the intercom button. “Suanna? Would you see if Judge Knott’s still in the courthouse?”
Out in the anteroom, that young woman rolled her eyes, but pushed back from her computer and went down the hall to the courtroom the visitor had used today. The lights were out. The light was also out in Judge Rawlings’s chambers, but Suanna was nothing if not diligent. She took the stairs down to the lower level and peered out over the parking lot. “Anybody know what kind of car that judge drives?”
Fletcher, on his way back from flirting with the evening dispatcher, said, “Captain Underwood might.”
“Might what?” Underwood called, having heard his name.
“Know what kind of car your judge friend drives,” Fletcher called back.
Underwood came to his doorway. “Who wants to know?”
“Mr. Burke.” As the DA’s secretary, Suanna usually took notes on his calls unless he specifically told her to get off the line. “She was supposed to meet somebody at Eagle Rest at four o’clock and she’s not answering her phone, so they want to know if she’s left yet.”
“Eagle Rest? That’s what? Eighteen, twenty miles?” Underwood went over to the wide glass doors and scanned the lot, but didn’t see her black Firebird. “Mary Kay Kare said she left around three-thirty. She should be there by now.”
He accompanied Suanna back to Burke’s office and was soon dialing the number Billy Ed Johnson had given
