Mountain Top(68)

THAT NIGHT, MIKE LAY AWAKE WHILE PEG SLEPT PEACEFULLY beside him. He’d been able to get his mind off Sam’s case during supper and a quiet evening, but once he turned off the lights, various courtroom scenarios began flashing across his mind. He wasn’t sure of the best approach to take in defending the case, and trial strategy without focus was the grist of nightmares. So, he stayed awake, not wanting to process in an unconscious state what he couldn’t sort out while alert. It had been so many years since a criminal case kept him up at night that he’d forgotten the churning feeling produced by responsibility for the freedom of another human being.

And he’d never represented someone like Sam Miller. He and Muriel shared one primary goal—they didn’t want Sam to go to prison.


MIKE SPENT A BUSY MORNING AT THE CHURCH. TIME WORKING on the Miller case required more efficient performance of his duties as pastor.

“Delores, write the announcements for the bulletin after contacting the chairpersons for the finance, worship, and building and grounds committees.”

“I’ve never done that in the past,” she protested.

“You’re smart enough to handle it. I’ll proofread the text before we send it to the printer.” Mike checked his watch. “I’m late for a meeting in town at noon. Don’t forget to include notice of the session meeting on Tuesday.”

Mike heard Delores grumbling under her breath as he passed her desk but didn’t take time to slow down and unruffle her feathers.


BRAXTON HODGES WAS STANDING AT THE OUTDOOR TABLE unwrapping his food when Mike pulled into the parking lot.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Mike called out.

“Take your time. I don’t like to talk with my mouth full of hamburger and onions.”

Mike entered the restaurant. It was packed with customers. He waited at the counter behind a large bearded man with “Paul” embroidered on his blue work shirt.

“Three hamburgers all the way, an order of fries, and tea,” Paul said.

“Not hungry today?” asked Dusty.

Paul pulled at his beard. “I had a snack a couple of hours ago.”

Mike placed his order and waited. One of the twins was manning the grill while the other cooked fries and poured tea. After paying for his food, Mike went outside. Hodges was on the last bite of his hamburger. Several other men, including Paul, stood along the long wooden table. Eating rather than talking was the priority, and the table was quiet.

“Eat,” Hodges said. “We’ll sit in my car for a few minutes after you finish.”

Hodges tossed his empty bag into a fifty-five-gallon metal drum. Mike ate as fast as he could and still enjoy his food. Hodges gave him a status report about the high school baseball team.

“They have two strong pitchers,” the reporter said, “but no middle relief, and once they get into the play-offs and need a third starter, there isn’t much there. The shortstop, a scrawny kid named Charlie Martin, will be the leadoff batter. I wouldn’t be surprised if he bats over .400. He’s impossible to strike out. The younger Hinshaw boy will get his share of home runs. His older brother was a brute, and he’s about the same size.”

“Who have you been talking to?”

“Coach Gott. I’m going to do a big feature on him since he’s retiring after this season.”

Mike ate his last french fry and took a sip of tea.

“I’m ready,” Mike said.

Hodges pointed toward his car.

“This is kind of a reverse of Woodward and Bernstein, isn’t it?” Mike asked as they walked across the gravel parking lot. “You’re the source; I’m the one needing information.”

“If you want to play that game, my code name is ‘Hamburger Chili.’”

Mike opened the passenger door of the plain-looking Pontiac and pushed aside a stack of old newspapers so he could sit down. The backseat was cluttered with notepads, envelopes, empty coffee cups, and individual scraps of paper.

“Sorry about the mess,” Hodges said. “In my world, deadlines come before either cleanliness or godliness.”

The reporter reached into the backseat and retrieved a brown envelope.

“What do you know about the Cohulla Creek watershed?” he asked.

“Uh, it’s one of the most beautiful areas this side of the Blue Ridge and a good place to catch trout on Thursday if the State Game and Fish warden stocks it on Wednesday.”

“Who owns it?”

“Part utility company, part state, with a little in the hands of private investors.”

“Did you know that in the 1930s there was a plan to dam the creek and create a lake at Horseshoe Bottoms to generate hydroelectric power?”