When she arrived, everyone looked up. A few eager reporters hastily grabbed their digital recorders and made a move to approach, but the glare she blasted their way froze them on the spot. They seemed to rethink the matter and sat down again.
She looked around the dining room and silently beckoned to the people she did want to speak with, and they followed her into Rocky’s quiet office.
Once the door was closed behind them, she told them what the sheriff had shared with her about the investigation, and his recommendations. “Trent, I want you to find us a cutting-edge security system, and I don’t care how much it costs. Lil, get a hold of the fire chief over in Franklin and tell him we need guidance on purchasing two fire trucks, and what we need to do to get the trained personnel to man them. There’ll never be another fire in this town that we have to fight with fire extinguishers.”
She saw nods of agreement. “As soon as the police are done with their investigation, I want that lot razed and redone. Same for the lights.”
She turned to Reverend Paula. “Get in touch with the Sandersons’ family and find out if they need any help in any way—whether it’s funeral costs, college fund, whatever—and get back to me.”
Marie was next. “Get yourself a new car and send me the bill. Lily, you too. Both of you need wheels today. Monday at the latest.”
Before either could voice a protest, Bernadine turned to Mal. “Babe, I need you to get me the names of the sixteen people who lost their vehicles in the fire. Tell them I’ll be adding ten grand to whatever they get from their insurance companies.”
She looked around. “If anybody thinks of anything else we may need to address the fallout of this insanity, let me know. Now, I’m going back out there to have a quick press conference, and then breakfast.”
That said, she left.
She was on point about the brevity of the press conference. The reporters sensed she was too angry to answer nonsensical questions such as “Did she want to give the arsonist a message?” so they stuck to basic information like the state of the injured, how many town residents had lost cars in the fire, and how soon she planned to rebuild the parking lot.
And when it was over, she sat with Mal and ordered breakfast and they left her alone so she could eat in peace.
But she couldn’t escape the news reports on the Dog’s multiple big-screen TVs. Right in the middle of her eggs came a shot of the fire blazing like a movie from hell. She understood last night’s event was the news du jour and tomorrow something else would be at the top of the hour, but she didn’t want to see it again. Without being asked, Mal got up, pointed the remote, and preempted the news with Mighty Mouse cartoons.
Diners laughed and cheered. After bowing at the waist, he returned to the booth and met her smile.
“Thank you.”
“It’s Saturday morning. We’re supposed to be watching Mighty Mouse.”
“I can always count on you to save the day.”
“Pretty good at beating up cats, too. Just so you’ll know.”
She laughed, and it felt good.
Last night’s tragedy had stolen some of the joy tied to the groundbreaking for the new Henry Adams African Episcopal Church, especially since it would be built in the open field adjacent to the rec center. One had only to look over and see the parking lot strewn with charred automotive remains and the swarm of law enforcement people still gathering evidence.
Thirty people showed up, however. Add to that the large number of media who’d seemingly given up on getting anything further out of Bernadine but were looking to cover something until she offered more, or until the Cletus hearing on Monday, and you had a good-size crowd.
The event was low-key. Reverend Paula opened with a prayer for the Sandersons and the people who had been injured. She next offered a few remarks about the importance of Spirit, and her hope that everyone in the area, regardless of religious affiliation, would look upon the church as home.
“This can be a church for Baptists or Catholics or AME. The liturgy may be different, but not the touch and presence of the Holy Spirit.”
Her next words were drowned out by the passage of a noisy car caravan filled with sign-holding sillies in pig masks screaming, “Long live Cletus!,” “Cletus rocks!,” and other Cletus-based nonsense as they drove past.
The media instantly swung their cameras toward the cars. Some reporters ran to their rental cars to give chase, while others put on their anchor faces and began speaking into microphones to send breaking news about this latest development back to their individual home stations.
Bernadine sighed angrily at their lack of respect. The arched eyebrow of Reverend Paula and the irritation on the faces of everyone else seemed to mirror her feelings. She couldn’t wait until the crazies left town.
Once the FUFAs were no longer in sight, Reverend Paula finished speaking, and everyone prepared for the ceremonial groundbreaking.
Trent was present in his role as mayor, so Sheila handed him and Reverend Grant each a shiny new spade with a beautiful blue silk ribbon wrapped around the handle. Lily, videotaping the ceremony for the Henry Adams Archive Project, moved into position. Reverend Paula, wearing brand-new black-and-silver cowgirl boots, pushed her spade into the earth. Beside her, Trent did the same. The first spades of dirt were turned, and a vigorous round of applause split the late-morning air. In spite of all the turmoil, Bernadine’s heart swelled. This would be the first new house of worship erected in Henry Adams in decades, making it yet another milestone on the town’s journey to recovery. The reality of that further brightened both her mood and the day.
Usually after such events they convened at the Dog for a good time, but out of respect, Trent suggested it be postponed. He offered instead the idea of a celebratory cookout next weekend after all the injured came home, the Sanderson funeral had been held, and the FUFA hoopla around Cletus’s hearing was over, and everyone agreed.
As the groundbreaking broke up, Bernadine saw Lily separate herself from Marie and Genevieve and make her way through the thinning crowd to her side.
“Where are you headed?” Lily asked.
“Office. Want to get Paula caught up on what’s been going on while she’s been away, and wait around for Jim Edison. He’s flying in this afternoon.”
The attorney who’d handled the lawsuit against Leo’s company would be representing Bernadine in the suit being brought against her by the city of Franklin. For the life of her, she still couldn’t figure out how the Franklin powers that be expected to prevail with no evidence to support their claim, but she’d let him and Judge Davis sort it out on Monday. She and Edison were meeting to discuss strategy. With all that was going on, she was not happy about having to take the time to prepare for Mayor Wiggins and his silliness, but it couldn’t be helped.
Lily looked at her watch. “Trent and I are supposed to pick up the kids at the library in a few hours. I’ll stop by the fire station and see if the chief’s in, so I can get started on the trucks and all.”
“Make sure you start looking for a car.”
“Will do. Not being able to get around is not fun.”
While Lily moved on, Bernadine waved good-bye to a few locals getting into their cars, then waited for Reverend Paula to finish her visiting. Once that was accomplished, they made the short walk up the street to the Power Plant.
In her office Bernadine gestured Paula to a seat, got coffee for both of them from the urn in the lobby, and after taking a seat at her desk, filled the reverend in on the past week’s drama. She began with the visit of Preston’s grandmother, then told her about the threatening calls, the Big Box mess with the city of Franklin, and the electronics lockdown earned by the kids. Only after did she relate the confrontations with Al and Odessa Stillwell.
Paula shook her head. “The devil’s been a’dancing—as the old folks say.”
“Up and down the street.”
“Personally, I think trying to make amends with the Stillwells was the right th
ing to do, but we can’t force people to accept our generosity, be it in spirit or in cash. And right now, the family is too angry and probably a bit scared, knowing what they’re facing. Sometimes that makes people act in ways that aren’t, shall we say, Christian. Jesus said love thy neighbor, not pull a shotgun on them.”
Bernadine had been in dire need of a dose of the priest’s up-front way of looking at life.
“Keep leading with your heart, Bernadine. Nothing wrong with that.”
“You’ve helped me a lot.”
“Then my job here is done,” she said, smiling and getting to her feet. “I’m going home to catch up on my jet lag and finish my sermon for tomorrow’s service.”
“Thanks for listening.”
“That’s what I’m here for, and thanks for catching me up. Call me later, if you want.”
A short while later, the lawyer Jim Edison arrived for their consultation on the Franklin lawsuit, and she gestured him to a chair.
“I saw the fire on the news. My condolences on the deaths.”
She thanked him and got down to business. They spent the better part of an hour talking strategy. She was pleased that his evaluation of the suit mirrored hers—Franklin didn’t have a leg to stand on.
When their conference concluded, he closed his laptop. “This will be a preliminary hearing, and it shouldn’t rise to the level of a trial. Let’s just hope the judge agrees.”
“Judge Davis knows her stuff.”
“I’ll be counting on that.” He stood. “I’m rooming at one of the hotels on 183 until after the hearing. If you need legal advice on any of this madness, give me a call.”
Thankful for his offer, she watched him leave the office and turned to her computer to learn what she could about purchasing fire trucks.
At 4:00 P.M., Jack and Rocky rolled up to Trent’s garage. They’d had such a good time on their first date looking at trucks that Jack had put a down payment on a sleek silver Chevy he planned to take possession of just as soon as he got rid of his sling. “Thanks for the help with the truck.”
“No problem. Trucks, I know. Romance, not so much. You’re going to have to be patient with me.”
He liked her honesty. “I’ve plenty of that.”
She leaned over and gave him a kiss.
“I had a great day, Professor.”
“Me, too.” He ran a slow finger down her cheek. “Talk to you later.”
She drove away, and he walked inside.
“Hey, you made it,” Trent said, smiling. Gary was with him.
“I did. Hey, Gary.”
“Hey. Heard you and Rock went on a date.”
“We did, and I even bought a truck.”
Trent laughed. “What?”
“Silver Chevy. I’ll pick it up soon as I can dump this sling.”
“You know this makes you an official Henry Adams townie, right?”
“And I’m glad to be. So, what are we singing? Have you decided?”
Trent replied, “Thought we’d see who’s got the strongest voice first and go from there. Sing something.”
Jack paused to think about what song he’d do. With their eyes on him, he was admittedly a bit self-conscious, but he ignored that and began the opening lines to Bruce Springsteen’s “My Hometown.”
By the time he reached the bridge, both men looked impressed. He sang on, and when he was done and the last note faded away, they applauded.
Trent declared, “We have our lead singer, boys.”
“Oh yeah,” Gary said, chuckling and clapping.
“Hell of a voice, Mr. James.”
Jack was embarrassed by the praise. “Thanks.”
Trent said, “Now, let’s find a song so we can win this Idol thing.”
After a few minutes of back-and-forth, and viewing a bunch of old-school R&B male groups on YouTube via Trent’s laptop, they narrowed it down.
“I say we go with the Temptations,” Jack said.
The decision was unanimous. They decided on which song they’d do and, with help from the videos, began rehearsing.
Chapter 20
On Monday morning, Riley arrived at the courthouse and was pleased by all the activity going on out front. Chanting demonstrators carrying signs featuring Cletus’s picture and slogans supporting his case marched up and down the sidewalk, while scores of media people took pictures and did interviews. Vans bearing the logos of news outlets from as far away as Lawrence were parked along the curb. Heather Quinn promised him FUFA would get Cletus some publicity, and damned if they hadn’t. He’d paid particular attention to his attire for the hearing. His suit was cleaned and pressed, and he’d dusted off his fake red carnation and placed it in his lapel. In his mind the day would be a momentous one, and when it was over, he was certain he and his hog would be reunited and he’d need to look good on the national news.
After parking his truck in the lot, he got out. There stood Ms. Quinn, waiting for him, just as she’d said she’d be when they talked on the phone last night. He assumed the tall older woman with the short gray hair standing with her was the FUFA lawyer she’d also mentioned.
Quinn nodded a greeting. “Good morning, Mr. Curry. I want you to meet Pat Starks, our lawyer.”
Riley shook her hand, and they exchanged a few pleasantries and began the walk to the courthouse. As they mounted the steps, they were swarmed by the press. Riley stopped to take questions, only to be pushed ahead by a strong hand he assumed belonged to the lawyer. “Mr. Curry has no comment at this time!” she announced crisply.
He glared at her over his shoulder. She glared right back, so he kept moving. As soon as the hearing was over, he planned on holding a press conference, whether she approved of him doing so or not.
The lobby was almost as crowded as it had been outside. There were no demonstrators marching around, but there were plenty of media folks, uniformed deputies, and a number of people lined up to take seats once the courtroom’s doors were opened. He saw a contingent of Henry Adams people in the center of the line, chief among them his ex-wife Genevieve, who shot him a withering look, but he pretended not to know her and turned away. He assumed she’d be testifying on behalf of the county. He hoped she knew she had to tell the truth.
The doors opened a few minutes later, and everyone filed in. He took a seat at one of the tables up front with Heather and the unsmiling lawyer Starks, who leaned over and said, “Don’t say anything unless you’re directly asked, Mr. Curry.”
Liking her less and less, he responded with a terse nod.
At the other table were the county people, and Dr. Keegan was with them. None of them said hello, so Riley didn’t either and instead thought about the judge. Although he and Cletus had been on the lam at the time, he’d heard through the grapevine that the presiding judge for the hearing, Amy Davis, was the same judge who’d let Bernadine Brown’s junior felons off the hook the night they carjacked Mal July’s truck during their first summer in town. She’d also approved the legal adoptions of the little hoodlums by their bleeding-heart foster parents. Granted, none of that had anything to do with Cletus’s case, but it made him think she might be more inclined to side against his hog because she obviously liked Ms. Brown and her people, and none of them liked Cletus. He was counting on Heather Quinn and the lawyer to make sure there was no judicial hanky-panky.
The court bailiff, a hefty woman in a brown uniform, made everyone stand, and Judge Davis entered the room. Davis took her seat, and those in attendance followed suit.
She looked around the packed courtroom. “Now, before we start these proceedings, let me say to the lawyers, since this is not a formal judicial hearing, I will allow some leeway, but I expect decorum from both sides at all times.”
She then addressed the courtroom. “And anyone causing a ruckus will be escorted out. Am I clear?”
Everyone nodded, including the FUFAs wearing the pig masks and the ones sporting rubber hog noses.
“All right, the county may present its cas
e for the euthanization of the hog owned by Mr. Curry.”
“His name’s Cletus, Your Honor,” Riley called.
Snickers were heard.
“Thank you, Mr. Curry. Cletus,” she said, amending herself.
The FUFA lawyer shot him a look of disbelief, but he ignored it.
The assistant prosecutor, a young man named Matt Mingus, stood and laid out the facts surrounding the demise of Morton Prell. He referenced the coroner’s report that found asphyxiation to be the cause of death. “Mr. Prell died from being crushed against the living room wall of the Currys’ home by the hog. Here are pictures taken by the first responders of how Mr. Prell looked when they entered the home.”
“Did you give the defense copies of these?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
She viewed the three pictures of what Riley knew to be Cletus, lying against the wall with the dead Prell hanging over his back, limp as a rag doll. If the sight impacted the judge, it didn’t show on her face.
Mr. Mingus continued. “The hog has a nasty temper, Your Honor, corroborated in the sworn statement of Mr. Curry’s ex-wife, Mrs. Genevieve Curry.”
He handed her the statement, and she looked out and said, “Mrs. Curry, stand, please.”
As Genevieve complied, Riley’s lip curled distastefully.
“This says the hog bit you. Was this often?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Very often.”
“It was your perfume!” Riley cried, jumping to his feet in challenge.
Genevieve shouted back, “Say that to me one more time, Riley Curry, and I swear I’ll hit you so hard, they’ll find you in China!”
The cheers of her supporters were countered by FUFA boos, and the judge banged her gavel. “Quiet!”
You could hear a pin drop.
“Another outburst, and I’m clearing the courtroom.”
When she seemed certain that everyone understood, she turned her attention back to Genevieve. “Thank you, Ms. Curry. You may take your seat. Now, Mr. Mingus, why did the hog sit on Mr. Prell? Was it an accident?”
“He hit Cletus over the head with a chair leg,” Riley told her before Mingus could reply. “And every sentient being has the right to defend itself when faced with violence.”