Rituals of the Season

picture?”

“There were, of course, others with whom he’d fought, and we did put that fact before the jury, but the two most probable had alibis and the rest were tangential.”

Brix Junior left the partnership shortly after I joined it, and we didn’t work together long enough for me to be familiar with his courtroom procedures. I myself always wanted to know if my clients did what they were accused of. Some attorneys, though, feel they do a better job if they can maintain at least a pro forma belief in their client’s innocence, so unless said client insists on pleading guilty, they don’t want to be told differently. I hadn’t realized that Brix Junior fell into that category.

Dwight was looking skeptical. “So you never asked her?”

“About other suspects?”

“No. About whether or not she killed him?”

“That’s not the way I worked.”

“But you thought she did it,” I said.

“Her guilt or innocence was irrelevant to the defense we presented.”

“Oh come off it, Brix,” I said impatiently. “You’re not in practice any longer, but she was your client and she got death. The execution’s scheduled for next month. If she really was guilty, what was Tracy Johnson’s interest and why the hell won’t you give us a straight answer?”

“Good luck,” Reid muttered from behind me.

Making sure that I was aware that he was totally annoyed with me, Brix Junior swallowed the last of his pre- lunch sherry and set his glass firmly down on the buffet tray. “I though we were up this weekend to celebrate your forthcoming wedding, Deborah. I was not aware that I’d be facing an inquisition.”

“And Tracy wasn’t aware that she was going to be killed,” I retorted.

“Do you seriously think the two are related?” His question wasn’t for me, but for Dwight, who shrugged and said, “Too early to tell. It might be coincidence, but then again—”

“Oh, very well,” said my cousin, turning back to me with a petulant air. “Do I think that Martha Hurst did, with malice aforethought, take her baseball bat to Clarence Hurst and beat him to a pulp fore and aft? Damn straight. Never once—during the trial or before—did she show any remorse or regret. No, she didn’t confess, but she did say more than once that he needed killing and that whoever did it did the world a service. Unfortunately, ‘needed killing’ quit being a defense in this state around the turn of the last century.”

As Jane, Aunt Zell, and Uncle Ash brought in bowls and platters of steaming food, Brix Junior said, “And now could we please drop this subject and talk about more pleasant things? Do you play golf, Dwight?”

Sunday dinner proceeded decorously and cordially after that. Butter wouldn’t have melted in my mouth when I told Aunt Zell that the minister out at Sweetwater Church had asked after them. And so he had when I ran into him at a gas station in Cotton Grove two days earlier. Dwight kept a straight face while Jane gave me an approving smile and inquired about the arrangements for our champagne reception at the Dobbs country club. The check she and Brix Junior had given us as a wedding gift had been specifically earmarked for decent French champagne instead of the sparkling California wine Dwight and I had originally budgeted for, and wedding talk carried us safely through coffee and Aunt Zell’s warm apple crisp.

CHAPTER 9

Avoid exclamations; they are in excessively bad taste and are apt to be vulgar words. A lady may express as much polite surprise or concern by a few simple, earnest words, as she can by exclaiming “good Gracious!” “Mercy!” or “Dear me!”

Florence Hartley, The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette, 1873

Sunday’s thin sunlight had disappeared beneath dreary gray clouds and the temperature had begun to drop again by the time we gathered on Aunt Zell’s back porch to wave good-bye to Jane and Brix Junior. We were only a few days away from the winter solstice, so here at three o’clock, it was already beginning to feel like twilight.

“We should get moving, too,” I said, giving Aunt Zell a thank-you hug.

Dwight’s known Aunt Zell even longer than I have, and as he bent to kiss the cheek she offered, she reached up and patted his. “Have I told you how happy Ash and I are about you and Deborah?”

“No, ma’am,” he said. “Not exactly.”

“Well, we are. And I know Sue would be, too. She thought the world of you, Dwight, didn’t she Ash?”

“She did,” Uncle Ash said solemnly, laying his hand on Dwight’s shoulder. “Miss Zell and I were talking about it last night. You won’t remember this, son, but we were out at the farm one day and you young’uns—you boys anyhow—had a dodgeball game going and Deborah wanted to play. The others said she was too little, but Seth went ahead and picked her for y’all’s team and every time one of the others aimed the ball at her, you or Seth would snatch her out of the way. Sue said you had a kind heart.”

“Awww,” I said, slipping my hand into Dwight’s. “My hero!”

He, of course, had gone beet red as he always does when he’s complimented to his face.

Reid grinned. “Even then he knew.”

He, too, kissed Aunt Zell good-bye, then said to us, “If y’all want to follow me over to the office, I’ll see if I can find Dad’s files on that Hurst woman.”

“Well—” said Dwight.

“Okay,” I said.

The partnership of John Claude Lee and Reid Stephenson, Attorneys at Law, occupies a white clapboard house half a block from the courthouse. According to the historical plaque on the front, it was built in 1867 by my mother’s great-grandfather, who was also John Claude’s great-grandfather; and when the family built a larger house away from the center of town, it eventually passed to John Claude’s father, who started the partnership with Brix Junior’s father. Although the exterior is an authentic example of nineteenth-century vernacular architecture, right down to the original wavy glass, black wooden shutters, and gingerbread porch trim, most of the interior has been remodeled completely out of the period.