I say, not trying to look at my father, “Papa was threatening to send Woody away, so more than ever I needed to find Mama.”
Mr. Stockton asks, “So you set out to find your mother and then what happened?”
“I gave up almost immediately.”
“Why?”
I don’t know if I can go through with this. Papa is looking at me with woeful puppy eyes.
“Shenny?” the attorney asks. “Why did you stop searching for your mother?”
I draw in a breath, fix my eyes on my mama and sister, and say, “Because my papa told me that she was dead.”
Mr. Bobby Rudd shouts “Objection” over the mumbling and grumbling the courtroom observers are making.
Judge Whitmore says, “Overruled. You may proceed.”
Mr. Stockton nods and says, “Well, we know now that your father told a lie, don’t we, Shenny? We can see that your mother is alive.”
All heads swivel her way. Mama doesn’t acknowledge them. She’s only got eyes for me.
“Did anyone else tell you that your mother was dead?” the attorney asks.
“Yes, sir. My grandmother.” This is the easy part. I don’t feel bad at all telling him and everybody else, “Gramma told me she killed my mother.”
There is no reaction in the courtroom. This is old news.
“And did you believe your grandmother when she told you that?”
“No, sir. I thought her nerves were breaking down again. But then she showed me a picture of her standing over Mama in the clearing near our woods and my mother looked dead.”
Mama isn’t smiling anymore. She’s holding a hankie up to her eyes.
Mr. Stockton asks, “Do you have anything else to add?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you may step down.”
When I go back to my seat, past their table, Papa is not scowling nor is that vein bulging in his temple the way it would be if he was mad. He gives me his I’m-sorry smile again and that is the hardest part of all. My head knows that it’s wrong to forgive him, but my heart knows no such thing.
Woody gets sworn in next and when Mr. Lloyd Riverton asks her, “So help you God?” she nods.
Judge Whitmore, who is as lean as beef jerky and has the reputation of being just as tough, says to the court reporter, Maddie Gimbel, “Let the record reflect that the witness has nodded her head yes and that all further nods or shakes of the head are to be so noted.” Then to Woody he says, “Please be seated.” The judge knows that my sister still doesn’t speak so good. Everybody does. He has thoughtfully provided Woody with a pencil and a piece of paper to write her answers if she needs to because she is an extenuating circumstance. Mama and I told Mr. Stockton that Woody’s hearing is real sensitive and not to raise his voice to her under any circumstances. And to keep his questions to a bare minimum on doctor’s orders.
Mr. Stockton approaches the witness box. “Did you see somebody hurt your mama the night of June the eighth, 1968, Jane Woodrow?” he asks nice and quietly. “And if so, who was it? Take your time.”
My twin looks at me and then at Mama. She doesn’t reach for her pencil and pad of paper. She shocks us by saying her very first regular word in over a year. “Gramma.”
It is chilling.
The attorney asks, “Do you mean Mrs. Ruth Love Carmody?”
Woody nods.
“Did you see anyone else back there that same night?”
Woody lifts her finger and points first at my father, who has hunched in his chair. Then she fingers my grandfather, and finally, Uncle Blackie, who are sitting ramrod straight, unbent by what they have done.
Judge Whitmore says, “Let the record reflect that the witness has pointed to each one of the defendants.”
“That’s all, Jane Woodrow. Thank you. You may step down now.” Mr. Stockton helps her out of the witness box.
My sister and I are allowed to stay and hear Curry Weaver, aka Lieutenant Anthony Sardino from the Decatur, Illinois, Police Department, answer the questions that I already know the answers to. I want to hear what he has to say in case I missed something.
After Curry lifts his hand off the Bible and gives all his credentials, Mr. Stockton asks him, “How is it, Detective Sardino, that you came to our fine city to investigate the disappearance of Mrs. Evelyn Carmody?”
Curry, who looks extremely intelligent in a tan suit and shirt, answers, “The disappearance of Mrs. Carmody was first brought to my attention by Mr. Sam Moody. He asked for my assistance.”
“Why did Mr. Moody feel that was necessary?” the lawyer asks. “Did he have misgivings about Sheriff Andy Nash’s abilities to thoroughly investigate the disappearance of Mrs. Evelyn Carmody?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Curry takes a sip of water that has been provided. “Mr. Moody understood the power the Carmody family wields over the town. He felt that the sheriff was being stonewalled by them.”
Bobby Rudd calls out, “Objection, Your Honor. Prejudicial.”
Judge Whitmore says, “I’ll allow it.”
“After you arrived in town, did you establish a relationship with Sheriff Nash?” the state’s attorney asks.
“Yes,” Curry answers. “As a professional courtesy, I identified myself to the sheriff and we agreed to try our best to get to the bottom of things together with the help of Mr. Moody.”
“Miz Carmody was gone for almost a year. What led you and the sheriff to believe that she was still alive?”
“It wasn’t so much that we believed that she could be alive, but for the sake of her children… well, we hoped she was alive,” Curry says. “Her body hadn’t been found, and in these types of cases, it usually is.”
“Please tell the court how you proceeded in your search for Miz Carmody.”
“The sheriff and Mr. Moody suggested that I work undercover. They were concerned that my asking questions about Mrs. Carmody’s disappearance… well, I was a stranger in town. They were afraid that might make people reticent to speak to me. And that my nosing around might get back to the Carmody family. Sam Moody suggested that I stay up at the hobo camp.”
“And were you able to use this subterfuge to your advantage?” Mr. Stockton asks.
Curry smiles at Woody and me. “Yes, the camp is where I had the opportunity to meet the Carmody children. And Miss Dagmar Epps.”
Over at the defendants’ table, a hurried conversation is going on. Mr. Bobby Rudd is whispering something into Uncle Blackie’s ear.
That doesn’t stop Mr. Stockton from asking Curry, “And how did the Carmody children and Miss Epps figure in your investigation?”
“After becoming friendly with the children, I learned more about the relationship between their parents.” He’s talking about our trestle-sitting conversations. “Miss Shenandoah Carmody was also kind enough to answer my questions about a few other people who I suspected might have something to do with Mrs. Carmody’s disappearance.”
“You also mentioned meeting Miss Dagmar Epps up at the camp.” The lawyer comes in closer. “What does she have to do with Miz Carmody’s disappearance?”
Curry looks to the back of the room and says, “Something Miss Epps told me led me to believe that there was a chance Mrs. Carmody was still alive.”
I crane my neck back and see E. J. standing next to Dagmar near the courtroom doors. He is holding her hand. Curry asked our mountain man to accompany her this morning.
“And what did Miss Epps tell you that led you to believe Mrs. Carmody might still be alive?” Mr. Stockton asks, not able to hide his excitement.
“Objection, Your Honor. Hearsay,” Attorney Rudd calls out.
Judge Whitmore says, “This is a hearing, Bobby. I’ll allow it. Go on, Detective Sardino.”
“Miss Epps made me aware of the fact that Judge Carmody had the propensity to commit what she described as ‘problem people’ to the hospital,” Curry says. “When I asked her what she meant, she told me that ten years ago she had conceived a child with Blackie Carmody and that he’d had his brother, Walter T. Carmody, arrange for her
