This end of the barn was a wide corridor flanked by stalls and boxes. Several of Judge Jane’s Morgan horses or prize Guernsey cows peered over the stall doors as if interested in the proceedings going on at the far end. I started slightly when I heard a duck quack almost underfoot, but it turned out to be a large buff-colored duck—presumably one of the Saxony ducks I’d heard Judge Jane raised, rather than yet another refugee from St. Byblig’s.
Judge Jane was sitting in state on the judge’s bench, which was formed by putting an antique captain’s chair on the bed of an old farm wagon. The chair was pulled up close to the raised driver’s seat, so the judge would have a place to stow any documents she needed close at hand—and more importantly, so she’d have a good solid surface on which to pound her gavel, which she tended to do a lot when presiding.
A dozen or so of the judge’s black-and-brown hound dogs lay sleeping in piles of hay, either in the bed of the wagon or on the barn floor, as close as they could get to the judge’s feet. The dogs weren’t fond of loud voices, overlarge gestures, or anything they suspected was a threat toward their mistress. Their menacing stares and occasional low growls usually kept most defendants and attorneys from getting anywhere near a contempt of court citation. Judge Jane called the dogs her assistant bailiffs.
Rob was already sprawled on one of the hay bales that served as seating, talking quietly to Caleb Shiffley and Ronnie Butler, and absently petting a couple of the hounds. Nearby, I recognized Ronnie’s and Caleb’s parents, huddled on several other hay bales, looking anxious. I tried to imagine what I’d feel if I were in their place—if Josh or Jamie had committed what he thought was a harmless prank only to have everything go so completely wrong.
Judge Jane was reading a document with a fierce scowl on her face, Chief Burke and several of his deputies were waiting nearby.
Chief Burke looked up and saw me. He pursed his lips and shook his head with a sad expression on his face.
Did that mean that he was sorry, but he didn’t believe the conversation I’d repeated to him, the one that seemed to clear Caleb and Ronnie of everything but the first two pranks? Or that he did believe it and was telling me to shut up because this was all part of a plan—perhaps a plan to scare the boys straight, or smoke out the person who’d really committed the last few pranks, or maybe both?
I strolled over and sat on the other end of the chief’s hay bale.
“Do you have any idea how much longer you’ll be keeping Trinity closed off as a crime scene?” I asked. “Not that we’re trying to hurry you or Horace or anybody, because we completely understand that you need to process all the evidence to catch whoever killed Mr. Vess, and we can work around whatever timeframe you give us—”
“But you have a whole bunch of Christmas events coming up and it would be nice to know if you can hold any of them in your church,” he said. “I understand.”
“It’s the sanctuary we need the most,” I said. “We could live without the undercroft if need be.”
“The what?”
“Sorry,” I said. “The basement. Mother and the rector and a lot of the gung ho parishioners seem to prefer the medieval term ‘undercroft.’”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Getting back to opening up the church—I discussed that very issue with Horace not half an hour ago. He’s working to finish up in the main floor within a couple of hours. We’ll probably keep the basement—er, undercroft—a little longer, till tomorrow, at least.”
“That helps. Thanks.”
He seemed to be preoccupied, so I retreated to a bale farther back and tapped out a quick text message to Robyn. I had just finished sending it when Judge Jane rapped her gavel nine or ten times on the wagon seat. All the dogs woke up—a few of the younger ones scrambled to their feet—and they stared out at the rest of the courtroom as if daring us to get up to something.
“All stand,” the bailiff bellowed, and we all bolted to our feet—even the remaining dogs—and stayed there while he continued with his rapid fire chant. “Oyez, oyez, oyez! This honorable court is now open and sitting for the dispatch of its business. God save the state of Virginia and this honorable court. Judge Jane Shiffley presiding. You may be seated.”
The dogs kept a keen eye on the rest of us until we’d all seated ourselves on the hay bales. Then they began the traditional canine ritual of turning around three times and settling down again in the hay. The judge waited until the prolonged rustling had stopped before continuing.