The Code of the Hills (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-­One

K
RISTY
T
ANEY WALKED
with her head bent against the wind as she made her way home on High Street. Tiffany followed a ­couple of paces behind, stumbling a little in her big coat. As Kristy neared the peeling white house, Charlene jumped from behind a ragged bush and grabbed her.

“Gotcha,” Charlene hissed.

“Stop it,” Kristy said, twisting away from Charlene's grip on her arm. “That's creepy.”

Charlene laughed, but kept her hold on Kristy. “Come on. This way.”

“No. It's cold. I'm going home. I got homework.” Kristy tried to free herself from her sister's grip, kicking at Charlene's legs.

“Don't go in there. Mama's out.”

“I got a key.” Kristy fumbled in her coat pocket and pulled out a key, fastened to the inside of the pocket by a safety pin. “I can let myself in.”

Tiffany stood in the street, hanging back. Charlene released Kristy from her grasp. Walking over to Tiffany, she knelt and gave her a hug. Over the child's head she told Kristy, “Fine, then. Do what you want. But you ain't gone be alone, Miss Goody Shoes.”

Kristy paused, key in hand. “Is he in there?”

“Yep.”

Charlene whispered something into Tiffany's ear that made the little girl smile. Taking her hand, Charlene said, “Let's run.”

The two of them ran down the street, away from the house. Loose gravel flew underfoot as they dodged the muddy puddles in the road.

After a moment, Kristy followed. “Wait!” she called in a fierce whisper. “Hold up!”

At the end up of the block, Charlene paused and looked back, with Tiffany clutching her hand. Kristy joined them, panting.

“Where you going?” Kristy asked.

“Gas station.”

“How come?”

“Get candy and pop.”

Kristy scoffed. “What with? You ain't got no money.”

“Oh yes I do.”

“Oh no you don't.”

Charlene crossed the street with a swagger, pulling Tiffany along with her. Kristy looked deliberately to the left and right before crossing, then hurried to join them.

“You ain't got no money,” Kristy insisted when she caught up to them.

“Fine. Think what you want.”

After a moment's silence Kristy said, “You lie. You lie all the time. Everybody says.”

Charlene didn't respond. She lifted her chin and walked faster, dragging Tiffany along.

They turned a corner. The dowdy convenience store with its two gas pumps came into view. A plastic grocery bag shrouded one of the gas nozzles with a hand-­printed sign reading:
NO GAS.

Kristy tugged the back of Charlene's jacket. “Okay, then, let me see.”

Charlene shook her head. Eyes narrowed, she said to Kristy, “Take it back.”

“What?”

“Take it back.”

Kristy sighed and looked at her feet; she was standing in an oily spot on the parking lot, so she shifted to the side a step. “I take it back. You ain't either.”

“Ain't what?”

“A liar.”

Tiffany watched her sisters' exchange anxiously, her lips pressed together in an unhappy line. She reached out and took Kristy's wrist with her free hand. Kristy shook her off.

“Your fingers is freezing, Tiffany. Hey, Charlene,” and her voice took a wheedling tone, “let me see.”

Charlene glanced around, taking care to look over her shoulder. She dug into the pocket of her thin nylon jacket and pulled out a handful of change.

Kristy gasped, and Tiffany covered her mouth with her arm. “God,” Kristy whispered, “where'd you get all that?”

“From my teacher.”

“Huh? How'd that happen?”

“They made me sit at detention table at lunch.”

“How come?”

“We had a test today. I told the teacher I didn't have no pen, and she said it was my third strike. I'd like to give her three strikes. Stuck-­up bitch.”

“They give you money for sitting at detention table?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. No. But the detention teacher sent us back to class before the English class got back from lunch. So I figured I'd just get a pen out of her desk. Smart, right?”

Kristy looked suspicious. “And?”

“And when I opened the desk drawer, she had like a million dollars in quarters in there. I didn't stop to think, just grabbed some.”

“That's stealing.”

“Serves her right.” Charlene clutched the coins in her fist and shoved them back into her pocket. “She treats me like shit. Thinks she's better than me.”

She turned on her heel and marched toward the convenience store entrance, then stopped short. “I was so flipped out by the money, I forgot to take her pen. Guess I can buy one now, if I feel like it.”

Inside the warm store, Kristy trailed her sisters with a troubled expression. “You gonna get caught.”

“Not me,” Charlene said. “I'm gonna eat the evidence.”

She and Tiffany roamed the snack aisle. Charlene ran her fingers over the candy bars, picked up the Snickers and the Butterfinger and hefted them in her hands, assessing the size and weight. She picked up a beef jerky stick and sniffed it, then shook it at Tiffany and said, “Them is good.”

Tiffany nodded sagely and followed along.

Kristy picked up a can of barbecue-­flavored Pringles and looked at it with longing, but set it back down.

The clerk at the counter—­a gaunt woman in her thirties with sallow skin and a sparse head of dyed blond hair—­eyed the girls with a frown. “You'uns buying?”

“Yeah, we are. We're just taking our time.”

Charlene stepped over to the refrigerated drink display. To her sisters, she said, “Root beer or Dr Pepper?”

“Dr Pepper,” Kristy cried, in spite of herself.

Charlene nodded with satisfaction, and plucked a twenty-­ounce plastic bottle from the rack. “We can share this,” she said.

With Tiffany and Kristy at her heels, she selected a Slim Jim beef stick, a package of Skittles, and, with a glance at Kristy, the can of Pringles.

As Charlene counted out the change on the counter, the clerk tried to make amends.

“I didn't mean to ride you, sweetie. It's just that you would not believe how many ­people come in here to rip me off.” Smiling, the clerk revealed a mouthful of jacked-­up teeth, with molars missing on both sides.

“Yeah?” said Charlene as Tiffany fingered the energy shots by the cash register.

“Mercy, yes. And kids. I hate to say it. Kids stealing, too.”

Charlene shook her head. “That's a sight. Don't they know? It's a sin to steal.”

“And then who ends up in trouble over it? Me. Well. You'uns have a good day. Stay warm and take care of that little bitty thing.”

“Yep, we will.”

Charlene twisted the cap off the Dr Pepper and handed it first to Tiffany, who raised it to her lips for a greedy swallow.

“I'm taking care of this Little Bit. Someday soon, I'm gonna get my own place so she can be with me. Nothing's going to happen to her if I can help it.”

With a dubious expression, Kristy popped the top off the Pringles can. “How you gonna move out? You ain't but fifteen years old.”

Charlene lifted her chin, smirking at Kristy. “I got plans. I got somebody to get me out.”

“Who?” Kristy asked, but Charlene just shrugged in reply.

Kristy turned to Tiffany. “Quit hogging that pop. It's my turn.”

Tiffany wiped the Dr Pepper off her chin with her coat sleeve. “Lord, that's good,” she whispered.

Chapter Twenty-­Two

J
UDGE
C
ARTER DECLARED
a five minute recess and left the bench, and Elsie flung herself to the door. She'd juggled a furious docket in court that morning with cases called one after another, and the judge had not seen fit to take a break. Clearly, he did not care to use the bathroom facility, but she desperately needed to go. She ran around the rotunda to the third floor women's room, half afraid she wouldn't make it on time.

She heard footsteps echoing behind her and thought someone might be calling her name, but she didn't pause. She tore through the door and into one of the pink metal stalls, tremendously thankful that there had been no line.

Afterward, washing her hands at the restroom sink, Elsie checked her hair in the mirror and sighed. She looked pretty doggone terrible, she thought, but she tried to be philosophical about it. It was a Wednesday, and she'd overslept, and so had done a slapdash job of getting ready. She'd twisted her hair into a claw comb, thrown on an old suit of some drab permapress fabric, and run out the door with a naked face. But she was only doing garden-­variety associate court business today, and didn't expect to be much in the public eye. She also didn't anticipate seeing Noah, fortunately. He might be foolhardy enough to comment on her appearance.

When she exited the bathroom, Josh Nixon was waiting for her.

“Hey, didn't you hear me calling you?” he asked.

“Sorry,” she replied. “I was trying to get to the restroom before I peed my pants.”

He looked somewhat taken aback. “Okay. No problem. Well, I need to talk to you about discovery in the Taney case.”

She checked her watch. The time for the recess was nearly up. “Sure. I only have a minute, though. We're in recess in Associate Division 3.”

With a nod, he said pleasantly, “You look really nice today.”

She stared at him with disbelief. She had checked her miserable reflection a half minute earlier, and it wasn't at all nice. She wondered whether he was mocking her. Or working her.

Hastily, he amended, “I like your suit. It's got a nice shape. Cut.”

She laughed out loud, in spite of herself, but her antennas were buzzing. This was a marked change from their combative relationship. It might be a trick, some new strategy. But two could play that game. With a toothy grin, she said in rejoinder, “Your new haircut looks great.”

Running his hand through his unshorn locks, he said, “I haven't cut it in a while.”

“Really?”

Giving her a look of reproach, he said, “Cheap shot.”

Despite her skepticism, Elsie warmed to him a notch. She was amenable to friendly fencing with Nixon. As long as it didn't undermine her case, it made life easier to regard the defense attorney as a friend rather than a foe. She leaned against the rotunda railing, willing to prolong the conversation, until Judge Carter's bailiff stuck his head out the courtroom door and bellowed, “Elsie Arnold, EL-­seee Arnold, you're wanted in Associate Division 3.”

As she hurried back in the direction of Judge Carter's courtroom, she asked Josh whether he'd picked up his discovery yet. She had watched Nedra reproduce the file, so she knew it was ready for him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Not much to it. I wondered if you were holding out on me. There's no statement from Al. Is he still out of pocket?”

“Yeah. Terribly inconvenient.”

“Terribly
suspicious
, I'd say. So the stuff in that file is all you've got.”

“About that,” she began, and told him about the boxes from the Taney household. “I wasn't sure about it from a discovery angle, whether there would be anything in that box I could use, honestly. It's mostly trash and dirty clothes. But I found what looks like an admission. I'm going to need handwriting samples from your client so that the handwriting guy at Barton P.D. can compare them to the handwriting on the card.”

“What exactly is it that you found?”

“It's a valentine. I think we can prove that it's an admission of sorts.”

“What does it say?”

“You'll need to see it. I'll show it to you.”

“That's a coincidence. I've got something to show you, too.” He opened his briefcase, but she waved him away.

“I'm tied up in court right now.” She opened the courtroom door, then stopped and called to his retreating back. “Stop by my office at noon and you can see. Hey, Josh, that's not all: I think I'm going to have some more witness statements this week in the Taney case.”

He swung around and looked at her quizzically. “When are you going to finish your investigation?”

Good question, she thought, but she didn't respond. As the door swung shut, she heard him shout, “You're supposed to investigate
before
you file.”

I
T
W
A
S
PAST
twelve when Judge Carter declared they could break for lunch. As Elsie hurried to her office to meet Josh, she passed Stacie, eating a Banquet microwave enchilada at her desk.

“That smells pretty good,” she said as she walked by.

“Hey, Elsie.”

“What?”

“There's a witness trying to get in touch with you.”

Elsie paused and turned to face the receptionist, who was sawing the tortilla with a flimsy plastic fork. “Who?” she asked.

“Some guy.”

“What name?”

“Didn't leave a name.”

“What case?”

“Didn't say.”

“That's helpful.”

“Are you trying to be sarcastic?” Stacie asked with a frown.

Elsie shook her head as she walked through the doorway that led to the long hall of offices. Stacie called after her, “He said to tell you he called. And don't worry about missing him, because he'll call back.”

When Elsie reached her office, Josh was waiting outside the door. She turned the key in the lock and pointed out the remaining box of Taney's effects.

“So you found your big admissions in there?” he asked.

“Pretty much.”

“Aren't you making yourself a witness by supplying all this do-­it-­yourself investigation?”

She flipped open a file on her desk and removed stapled pages bearing a photostatic copy of the valentine. Handing it over to him, she said, “Don't give me a hard time.”

“Yeah. When can I have total access to this exhibit? I want to see the original. This is unsigned. My client probably never saw it before.”

“Hmm.” She put on her bargaining face. “If I can get the handwriting samples I need from Taney, you can have access by the end of the week.”

“Okay,” he said, and they stood up. “Nice flowers.”

They both looked at the bouquet sitting on the corner of her desk, a dozen yellow roses arranged with lush greenery in a big glass vase.

“Why, thank you.”

“From someone at the jail?”

She tried to keep a straight face. “Oh, shut up.”

He dug into his briefcase and pulled out a ­couple sheets of paper. “Told you I've got something for you. We'll take it up Friday morning.” He tossed them on her desk.

She scanned the documents as he refastened the buckle on his bag. No surprise, she thought. He'd filed Taney's Motion to Reduce Bond and called it up for hearing before Judge Rountree on Friday. Apparently Taney wanted to be released from jail pending trial.

“When pigs fly,” she said, sitting at her desk.

“How's little Miss Charlene?”

Elsie grew wary. “Fine. I guess.”

“Making lots of nice friends at school?”

Her eyes narrowed. Maybe she didn't like Josh Nixon after all. “You've got Charlene all wrong. If you try to beat her up on the stand, I'll make you look like the bad guy.”

“You think? She's got quite a reputation.”

“That school thing didn't go down like you think. She's a victim.”

He laughed incredulously. “Where do you get your information? She recanted. She lied. She
admitted
it.”

Elsie swallowed, silent for once.

“That's not all. There's more.”

“What?” she asked.

“It's a bombshell.”

“What kind?”

“About your witness.”

“Who?”

“Mom,” he answered with a sardonic grin. “The lovely Donita.”

“Why can't you leave that poor woman alone?”

“You will find that your witness isn't exactly Miss Lily White. You'll see.”

“Oh, fine. Smear the mother next. You're like a broken record.”

“I've got a subpoena.” He pulled a pink subpoena from the file folder he was holding and dangled it in front of her. Suspicious, Elsie lunged from her chair and made a grab for it, but he stuffed it in his pocket.

“What the hell?” she snapped. “If you had anything, you'd come out with it. You're bluffing.”

In a huff, she sat back down.

“As it turns out,” Nixon said, “Donita is a businesswoman. An entrepreneur. She's in manufacturing.”

Elsie looked blank.

“Can't guess?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Meth. Hillbilly heroin.”

Her jaw dropped like a ventriloquist's dummy.

Nixon continued, “Donita's in the methamphetamine manufacturing line. I'm subpoenaing the pharmacy records of her ephedrine purchases. Because you know what they're going to show?”

Elsie was speechless. Nixon prepared to leave, but he was clearly enjoying himself. Before he walked out, he paused and said, “You ever see anyone that skinny who
wasn't
on meth? Hell, this ain't California.”