by fog. Only the nearest trees were visible and even they looked like artsy photographs taken through gauze.
Matched my mood.
I smelled bacon and coffee and heard Dwight’s voice mingled with the twins’. The nurse had said ice packs for seventy-two hours, so a hot shower probably wasn’t recommended. Nevertheless, the water seemed to soften and ease my muscles, and by the time I dried off and dressed, I could almost move normally as long as I didn’t push it.
May and June were all over me when I entered the kitchen.
“Omigawd! Your face!”
“I’ve seen it,” I said. “Don’t remind me.”
They touched me gingerly, giving me soft little pats instead of hugs.
“Are you okay?”
“You could have been killed.”
“Should you be up?”
“We were going to bring you breakfast in bed.”
“Did you know Jason Barringer?” I asked them.
“Just by reputation,” said June.
“It wasn’t a very good one,” May added quickly.
They seemed to intuit what I was feeling.
“Here, have some coffee,” they said and gave me more reassuring pats.
Dwight eyed the way I was dressed. “You’re not planning on court, are you?”
“Of course I am,” I said firmly. “If someone will drive me, that is. I don’t have a car anymore and I bet there’s no place closer than Asheville to rent one.”
“We’ll work something out,” Dwight told me.
At the courthouse, we both stopped by George Underwood’s office first. I wanted to know what, if anything, was being done about my car. Dwight had promised to retrieve all my personal items from it, including the title and registration. I had already put in a call to my insurance agent back in Colleton County.
“The wrecker’s out there now pulling up the Barringer kid’s truck,” said George. “Soon as I let them know where you want yours hauled, they’ll come back and get it, too.”
When Dwight said he’d take care of it, I didn’t argue.
I left them discussing logistics and went on upstairs, where Mary Kay greeted me with sympathy for my bruised face and coffee for my sore spirits. Everyone knew what had happened and several stopped in chambers to express concern and regret for my ordeal. I thanked them all politely, but it was a relief to get back into the courtroom and have the bailiff call the place to order.
Friday is usually cleanup day for the odds and ends that were delayed earlier in the week, the emergency orders, the documents that need a judge’s signature before they could be put into play. Today was no different. With William Deeck prosecuting, cases moved along at a brisk clip.
I took only a minimum break in midmorning, and Mary Kay came back bringing the freshest gossip. Sunny Osborne had been questioned and had sent for her lawyer. Rumors were starting to circulate about Bobby Ashe, and about Simon Proffitt as well. Deputies had been looking for him for three days now, but he seemed to have vanished.
“They’d be out with search parties except that his truck’s still parked by the Trading Post and his shotgun’s there in his office.”
It all felt very anticlimactic.
Unfortunately for my plans to be finished by lunchtime, we hit a few snags, and when it became clear that there were at least another three hours to go, I adjourned for lunch at twelve-thirty.
There was no sign of Dwight downstairs, so I took the elevator back up to the first level and walked along Cedar Gap’s pristine Main Street down to the Tea Room. The fog or cloud or whatever it was had retreated from the higher peaks, but the lower elevations were still swathed in white and the damp air definitely held a touch of coming winter.
As usual, there was a line, but by now Carla Ledwig was so used to my walking in and out of the kitchen that she just gave me a wave and kept on with her hostess duties.
“You should have called,” said June. “We’d have brought you lunch.”
“I need to walk,” I said. “It helps with the stiffness.”
I watched them fix me a salad, then said, “Is Simon Proffitt your landlord?”
“Where on earth did you get that idea?” asked May, not quite meeting my eyes.
“Something Carla’s mother said Tuesday. She said she was glad her husband hadn’t known about this business venture because he couldn’t stand Simon Proffitt.”
“Well, yeah,” May admitted. “It’s his building.”
“Did you know that he’s been missing ever since Captain Underwood asked him to come in and answer some questions about his threats against Ledwig and Osborne?”
“Simon didn’t kill them,” said June. “The sheriff and the DA are just looking for somebody to hang it on now that they don’t have Danny anymore.”
