Duck the Halls(58)

“He and the boys went to pick up his mother at the airport,” Rob said. “They’re going to keep her out of your hair until this evening.”

“Did he actually say that?”

“No,” Rob said. “But that’s what he meant.”

I called Michael anyway.

“We’re just waiting for Mom’s luggage,” he said. “And once we get her settled at the house, she wants to take the boys down to the pond, so we can start teaching them to ice-skate. Want to join us?”

“I do, but my shoulder doesn’t,” I said. “I’ll see you back at home later.”

I hung up and turned to Rob, who was glancing at his watch and dancing from foot to foot.

“I assume if you’re out there representing Caleb and Ronnie that the chief is out there, too.”

“Far as I know,” he said.

“Good,” I said. “I need to talk to him, so I’ll take you out there. Assuming the roads are clear that far.”

“Awesome,” he said. “Let’s go.”





Chapter 26


Maybe Rob thought I was kidding about the roads. I wasn’t. Judge Jane Shiffley’s farm was about as far as you could get from the center of town and still be in Caerphilly County. To go there, you drove along the Clay County Road to within a mile of the county line, then turned off onto a smaller, gravel-paved road for several grueling miles, and then onto an even smaller dirt road for the final stretch. I was fully expecting the plowed roadway to end long before we reached the county line.

But I was surprised. The main road continued clear until we got to the point where we turned off on the gravel road to Judge Jane’s farm. After that, I could see that we’d have needed a sleigh to continue on the main road, but fortunately the gravel road was as neatly and thoroughly plowed as the main road had been up to the turnoff.

“Well, why not?” Rob said when I pointed this out. “After all, why would anybody want to go to Clay County at the best of times?”

“Someone could want to go through Clay County,” I suggested. “To Tappahannock, maybe?”

“Then they’d be out of luck when they hit the county line,” Rob said. “I don’t think Clay County has working snowplows anymore. They figure anyone who can’t be bothered to buy a truck with four-wheel drive can just wait till it thaws.”

He had a point. But here in Caerphilly, even the final stretch of dirt road was pretty clear—obviously the Shiffley clan, who had the plowing contract, took good care of their aunt Jane. Or maybe they’d gotten into the habit of plowing her road this way a few years ago when the county had temporarily lost possession of its town hall and Jane’s barn was the only courthouse available—just as she was the only judge not either in jail or under indictment.

I could recall summer days when court was in session in her barn and the entire dirt road would be lined with cars. You could see lawyers and their clients pacing up and down in the pastures, since that was the only way to have a private conversation, given the absence of conference rooms. People waiting for their cases to be called would often picnic by the side of the road, and a couple of deputies would patrol the area, making sure defendants and the witnesses against them weren’t thrown too close together. Some of the local churches and civic organizations set up stands to sell lemonade and sodas, while the children took turns riding the several gentle old horses Judge Jane kept around for her own grandchildren.

Even though the town had reclaimed its courthouse, the judge still often preferred to hear cases in her barn, and most of the time, nobody much minded.

Things were slow today, no doubt in part because of the weather. Only a few cars and trucks were parked in her farmyard, mostly patrol cars and the chief’s blue sedan.

I saw two figures, both heavily bundled, pacing up and down in the snow nearby. One I recognized as a local attorney who specialized in representing drunk drivers. He appeared to be lecturing the other figure, and I noticed a deputy standing just outside the barn door, watching them. This time of year, the lack of conference rooms made for some pretty brisk attorney-client meetings.

Rob nodded to the deputy and hurried inside. I stopped to say hello—it was Vern Shiffley.

“She in a good mood?” I asked, nodding toward the barn.

“With one of her own family arrested for something like this?” Vern shook his head. “Man, will I be glad to get out of here.”

I braced myself and stepped inside.

The interior of the barn was warm, and humid from the breath of all the two-and four-legged creatures within. I inhaled the rich farm odor, a composite of hay, feed grain, and manure.