The Judge's List (The Whistler #2)(11)

At the western edge of town, away from the Capitol and the campus, she pulled into an old shopping center, parked, and at 8:05 entered Bonnie’s Big Breakfast, a local hangout with no students, no lobbyists. As always, it was crowded with salesmen and cops. She picked up a newspaper and found a seat at the counter, not far from the kitchen window where the waitresses chirped at the cooks, who snapped back their own colorful comments. The menu offered a poached egg on avocado toast that was legendary, and Lacy treated herself to it at least once a month. As she waited, she checked her email and texts and was pleased that all the important messages could be put off for twenty-four hours. She sent a note to Darren with the news that she would not be in.

He replied quickly and asked if she was quitting.

Such was the mood around BJC these days. Those still hanging around were suspected of planning their escapes.



* * *



—

At 9:30, Lacy was on Interstate 10 going west. It was March 4, a Tuesday, and each week on that day at about that hour she expected a call from her older brother and only sibling, Gunther. He lived in Atlanta where he was a player in the real estate development business. Regardless of the market, he was always upbeat and on the verge of another major deal, conversations that Lacy had grown weary of but had no choice but to endure. He worried about her and usually hinted that she should shuck her job and come make some big bucks with him. She always politely declined. Gunther lived on a tightrope and seemed to relish borrowing from one bank to pay another, always one step ahead of the bankruptcy lawyers. The last career she could imagine was building more strip malls in the Atlanta suburbs. Another recurring nightmare was having Gunther for a boss.

They had always been close, but seven months earlier their mother had died suddenly and the loss made them even closer. And, Lacy suspected, so had her pending lawsuit. Gunther believed she was due millions and had developed the irritating habit of tossing around investment advice for his kid sister. She was not looking forward to the day when he needed a loan. Gunther lived in a world of debt and would promise the moon to secure more of it.

“Hey Sis,” he said cheerfully. “How’s it going down there?”

“I’m fine, Gunther. And you?”

“Got the tiger by the tail. How’s Allie? How’s your love life?”

“Pretty dull. He’s out of town a lot these days. And yours?”

“Not much to report.” Recently divorced, he chased women with the same enthusiasm as he did banks, and she really didn’t want to hear about it. After two failed marriages she had encouraged him to be more selective, advice he routinely ignored.

“You sound like you’re in the car,” he said.

“I’m driving to Pensacola to chase down a witness. Nothing exciting.”

“You always say that. Are you still looking for another job?”

“I never said I was looking for another job. I said that I’m getting a bit bored with the one I have.”

“There’s more action up here, kid.”

“So you’ve said. I don’t suppose you’ve talked to Aunt Trudy lately.”

“Not if I can help it, you know?”

Trudy was their mother’s sister, a real busybody who was working too hard to keep the family together. She was grieving over her sister’s sudden death and wanted to share her misery with her niece and nephew.

“She called two days ago, sounded awful,” Lacy said.

“She always sounds awful. That’s why I can’t talk to her. Strange, isn’t it? We barely spoke to the woman until Mom died, and now she really wants to be pals.”

“She’s struggling, Gunther. Give her a break.”

“Who’s not struggling these days? Oops. Look, got another call. It’s a banker who wants to throw some money at me. Gotta go. Will call later. Love you, Sis.”

“You too.”

Most of their Tuesday chats ended abruptly when he was besieged with other, more important calls. Lacy was relieved, because he usually asked about her lawsuit. She called Darren at the office just to say hello and reassure him that she would indeed be back tomorrow. She called Allie and left a voicemail. She turned off her phone and turned on the stereo. Adele Live in London.





5


Thanks to GPS, she found the Brookleaf Cemetery in an old section of Pensacola and parked in the empty lot. Just ahead was a square, bunker-like building that could only be a mausoleum, and beyond it were acres and acres of tombstones and monuments. It was a slow day for burials and there was only one other car.

She was ten minutes early and punched in Jeri’s number. She answered with “Are you in the copper-colored Subaru?”

“I am. Where are you?”

“I’m in the cemetery. Go through the main gate and past the old graves.”

Lacy walked along a paved trail lined with weathered monuments and family tombs, the last stops for the prominent from other centuries. With time the tombs lost their significance and yielded to elaborate headstones. Quick looks to both sides dated burials to mere decades ago. The trail turned to the left, and Jeri Crosby appeared from behind one of the few trees left standing.

“Hello, Lacy,” she said with a smile.

“Hello, Jeri. Why are we meeting in a cemetery?”

“Thought you might ask. I could say it’s privacy, a change of scenery, other reasons.”