Murder in the Courthouse (32 page)

The two made their way out of the jam-packed country club parking lot and past the gatehouse. “So, the Jackie O look-alike wife has political ambitions . . . for her husband, anyway.” The squad car was baking. Billings rolled down his window.

“And I'm afraid Elle Odom could've just been a speed bump along the way.” Hailey did the same as Billings, rolling down the window to let the breeze fill the cruiser.

“Hey, Chase, let's go check out the courthouse cafeteria. I just want to figure out the logistics of entries, exits, where the coffee bar is situated . . . you know . . . the general lay of the land.”

“Wow. That's a major development.” Billings didn't look away from the two-lane in front of him as he talked.

“Are you kidding? Wait . . . is that sarcasm? You don't think Elle was poisoned? You think it was what . . . an accident? Almond milk was accidentally put in the milk container at the coffee bar? Or do you think a direct dose into her coffee cup is logistically impossible?”

Billings turned to look at her across the front seat and smiled. “No . . . I wasn't talking about Eleanor Odom.”

“Then who
were
you talking about?” Hailey looked at him, confused.

“You.” His eyes went back to the road. “I was talking about you, Hailey Dean.”

“Me? What major development has to do with me?”

“You called me Chase.”

“Yeah . . . and? I don't get it . . .”

“I don't know . . . I think it's pretty major. That's the first time you've ever called me by my first name.”

For one of the few times in her life, Hailey searched for words. None came. It was too simplistic to say she was a little embarrassed. It was more than that. She'd let her guard down. And it was completely unintentional.

This guy, this . . . Chase Billings . . . was like a friend, someone who got her . . . someone who knew her history, understood where she was coming from, and didn't want her to be anything more . . . or different . . . than what she was. Plus, he was funny, smart, a consummate lawman. He knew sports, fishing, cars, and every dirt road and farmhouse in Habersham County in the Georgia mountains and the very beginning of the Appalachian Trail straight down to Glynn at the shore. And he wasn't afraid of a Broadway play or, more important, her win record in court.

But out of the blue, he saved her. “Hey, I know it's no big deal, but it was to me. I don't mind if you do it again someday.”

He was met with silence, and Hailey looked out the window instead of at him. “You know, you said you were going for a jog earlier. I've got a change of clothes and I need to get my blood pumping. Let's see if I can outrun Hailey Dean. How about, uh . . . wanna go to Forsyth Park and see the fountain? How about the Waving Girl down by the water?”

“Isn't the Waving Girl a little sad? Isn't she waving good-bye to her dad or her brother or her sweetheart . . . something like that?”

“I always thought she was waving hello.” Billings took his eyes briefly off the road and looked at Hailey. In that moment, they locked eyes and something, she wasn't sure what exactly, clicked inside her, almost like a key turning a lock. She could practically hear it.

“I'm pretty sure she's waving hello, Hailey.”

“Yes . . . let's go there, then.” The moment had passed, fleeting as it was, but the feeling did not.

The water on the river rippled in the morning breeze as they set off on foot, jogging along a brick path winding along beside the dark water. The waterfront still seemed sleepy, the Friday night revelers still in bed.

The party crew might still be asleep, but River Street vendors were wide-awake. The minute Hailey got out of the car, she was hit by the smells of Cajun food, caramel pralines cooking, and funnel cakes frying. Larger-than-life tall ships glided by on sun-dappled ripples.

Then Hailey spotted her, the Waving Girl, her arms held up in the breeze, waving a bittersweet message with her kerchief at the towering ships passing. Hailey paused to look at the young girl, her face to the horizon, and a deep sadness washed over her. A sense of longing, of loss, of yearning for something she couldn't name filled her chest.

Billings jogged up behind her and stopped as well. Intuitively, he remained silent beside her.

“She's lovely, right?” Hailey broke the silence.

“She is,” he responded simply.

“Who is she exactly? Do they know?”

“Oh, yes. She's a celebrity of sorts, around here anyway. She's Florence. Florence Martus. She was a sergeant's daughter, used to live in a cottage with her brother at the harbor entrance, but then he got lighthouse duty over at Elba Island. It's pretty remote. She started waving at every single boat with a handkerchief, a tablecloth, whatever she could find . . . she was fascinated with the ships . . . at night she'd wave a lantern. She did it for over forty years. The story is, she fell in love with a sailor who never came back.”

“What ever became of her?”

“I guess she kept waiting . . . but in the end . . . she died alone. They buried her over at Laurel Grove Cemetery, next to her brother, I think.”

A girl who waited her life away. The story tugged at her heart and even though she'd never met the girl who was now buried not too far away from where they stood, tears sprang into Hailey's eyes. She had no idea why. Turning away, she called over her shoulder, “Where to?”

“Straight ahead and around the curve.” Billings took off jogging.

They headed up River Street and then beyond. After about forty minutes, they turned and walked back, laughing, commenting on the sights and sounds as the clock ticked on. There was no more mention of Florence, the Waving Girl.

“I'm starved. Do you like creole . . . Cajun?”

“I love it! I love to make a big pot of crawfish etouffee, but it takes me so long! So I hardly ever do it.” Hailey was smiling again. The run had done her good. The Waving Girl, the home on Victory Drive, Elle's suspicious death . . . it all went to the edges of her mind, and instead the day was about the sunshine, the river, and all things light and bright.

Hailey followed Billings as he climbed a wooden flight of stairs up the side of a building. “Hey, you sure you know where you're going? Is this a fire escape?”

“Ha! It is not a fire escape. Tip-off—it's made of wood, number one. And number two, yes, I think I know where I'm going.” He opened a door for her, stood aside, and gestured her in.

The moment she walked in, Hailey agreed with him—it smelled incredible! “It smells just like the street food on Jackson Square . . . in New Orleans! Or Galatoire's!”

“Wait a minute. You've been to Galatoire's? That's my favorite.”

“Me, too. It's old, but awesome. Have you ever had the turtle soup? More sherry than turtle, huh? I love it.” They both started laughing and settled into a booth looking out onto the water.

They sat, eating crawfish etouffee, fried crawfish, and gumbo, telling courtroom war stories and laughing. She couldn't remember a time she'd laughed more than she did that afternoon. They sat down at two o'clock and the clock ticked on unnoticed.

It was finally almost six when the waiter politely edged the check on the table and Hailey noticed the crew was changing to prep for dinnertime.

“What time is it?” She scanned the room for a clock.

“Believe it or not, it's almost six o'clock.”

“Six o'clock? I can't believe it! I must have been under the influence of crawfish pie! What about the courthouse?”

“You don't have to go. Remember, I radioed back to the courthouse. They emailed me back. I got your answers right here.” He patted his iPhone, which was facedown on the table.

“Well, what does it say?”

“Pretty much what we thought. The cafeteria has two public entrances. One's the ramp you said Eleanor Odom came down along with jury members. The other is directly across the cafeteria. It takes you on kind of a winding route out toward the street on the other side of the courthouse.”

“You said
public entrances
.”

“Good catch. There are two employee-only entrances. One is from a courthouse service elevator. Need a key card for that one because it leads through all the food stores, freezers, machinery. There's also an entrance into that same kitchen area from the hallway, but it takes a key card too.”

“Hmm. So two public, two employee. Someone could enter a public entrance or if the perp's an employee, they have a key card. Although somebody could always scoot in behind an employee with a key card. What about the coffee bar?”

“Well, it's portable. They can roll it around. It gets stocked every morning. The cabinets underneath it include mini-refrigerators. That's where all the milk for coffee is stored. Creamer, soy milk, skim, whole, 2 percent, cashew milk, and almond milk. So there you have it.”

“So anyone could reach down, get the almond milk, and slip it into the milk canisters? What about cameras? Any surveillance?”

“Yep. Thank you for reminding me. There are two cameras where all the food is stored, one camera trained on the register lines, and
two cameras trained on the tables in general. Nobody knows yet whether the coffee bar was in the surveillance shot that day. Does that answer all your questions?”

“Almost. Last question. When are you going to pull the surveillance video?”

“Hailey. I may look like a hick. I might walk like a hick. I might even talk like a hick. But once in a while, I do manage to think like a lawman. I ordered it right after you ran out on me at Williams Seafood. It's coming in this week.” The smile on his face was real, not sarcastic.

“I never said you're a hick! Never!”

“Well, maybe I just added two and two. You have been living in Manhattan for several years now. I know how those folks feel about all of us below the Mason-Dixon Line . . .”

“Well, then, you can't add. Don't forget, I grew up on red clay, drinking well water.”

“Ha. OK. I won't forget it.”

The waiter appeared again. He stood lingering at the corner of the table and finally spoke, clearing his throat first. “Lieutenant, it's on the house. To thank you. I don't know if you remember, but we were robbed at gunpoint last year. You got the guys. They're doing twenty at Reidsville right now. Thanks to you. My fiancée was working that night. The man held a gun in her face. I owe you, man.”

“I remember, it was uh . . . Henry Hamilton. That was his name,” Billings answered and smiled. “He was a piece of work. A mean SOB, too. Career criminal. His brother too. It's a miracle they didn't kill anybody.”

“That's right! Henry Hamilton! I can't believe you remembered his name.”

“Yep. They stick with me for some reason. Don't know if that's good or bad. But anyway, thanks for the offer, but you don't owe me a thing. It's my job.”

Billings stood up and laid down several twenty-dollar bills on the table. “Thanks anyway, man.”

The waiter smiled. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe. Have a good evening.”

Hailey and Billings walked out into the cooling air.

“Hey, let's walk back to your hotel.”

“But what about your car?” Hailey asked.

“It'll be fine where it's parked. I'll walk back and get it. I want to stretch my legs.”

“Me too. We can walk past everything on River Street. I want to send my dad some of those pralines I was smelling before we went running. He loves them.”

“They're in Macon, right? About an hour or so south of Atlanta?”

“Yep. An hour and a half.” They walked along a narrow sidewalk, looking through all the windows into the brightly lit shops full of candles, souvenirs, bake shops, ice cream parlors, clothing boutiques, and sea-town treasures.

“I bet they're proud of you.”

“I hope so.” Not really wanting to talk about herself, Hailey changed the subject. “You know what's funny?”

“What's that?”

“I love window shopping but hate actually shopping. I'd rather try a murder case than go into a shopping mall.” Billings let out a laugh. He put his hand on her shoulder and steered her into River Street Sweets, where at that very moment, the candy makers were pouring out hot caramel mixed with pecans. The smell was incredible.

“This is the place if you want pralines for your dad.”

“Oh my stars. It smells so good! My mom will kill me. My dad has to keep his sugar down, so he never gets any at all. But he loves it! Two pounds of the pralines, please. With pecans. Thanks.”

“Obviously, you're not
that
worried about your mom getting mad.”

“I'll risk it. Plus, I won't be there when he opens it! I'll be here!”

A bell on the door tinkled as they left and they strolled the streets for the next few hours. They finally reached the lobby of her hotel.

“Thanks for the Cajun. It was awesome.”

“Hailey, the pleasure was all mine. I'll see you in court.” And with that, he smiled, nodded his head good night, turned on his heels, and walked off into the night.

And he didn't even turn around once. Hailey knew because she watched practically without blinking until Billings disappeared totally around a bend in the street.

Hmm. He didn't even
try
to kiss her good night this time. Not even a peck on the cheek. She surprised herself . . . she actually felt miffed.

Shaking it off, Hailey headed up the elevator to her room. She found it all nice and clean with the pillows fluffed up. One light was on beside the bed and she could see the dark night above the river outside.

Her legs were aching, so she headed straight for a hot bath. She thought briefly of ordering hot tea but was afraid the tiny bit of caffeine would keep her awake. She turned off the bedside lamp and sank into the pillows, not bothering to pull the curtains, choosing instead to look out into the dark.