I shrugged. No point in arguing what a jury would have made of it. It was ancient history now. “He left the area not long after. So that was the end of it, see? They dropped it.”
Loucilla poured more whiskey. We both drank. I confess, with every sip it was getting easier to swallow that liquid fire.
I relaxed in the chair. Let out a deep sigh. That was probably the whiskey. I could smell the liquor on my own breath. Good thing I wasn’t driving anywhere. And my chores were done, livestock fed, tractor put away.
“Loucilla, I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed in the guest room.” Loucilla wouldn’t be fit to drive, either.
“Good. I’ll help you.” She knocked back another swig. “My cat can live without me for one night.”
I was glad she was staying. I felt vulnerable, didn’t want to be alone.
She got to the heart of it. “So you never got justice. And younever got over it. And this case is triggering you. Because of the child, Nova Jones.”
I toyed with the glass. “When I look at Nova Jones? I see myself. Me at fifteen. Nova’s younger, but still. The trauma she’s going through, I feel like it’s me, back when.”
That was when I heard my rooster crow. In the twilight, just getting dark. Foghorn did that sometimes, when he was startled. By a predator. Or a light coming at him. Like headlights from a car.
I listened. Got up, walked to the window. Didn’t see anything.
I walked back to my chair. Shook off the paranoia. The rooster had a brain the size of two peanuts. No way I’d let him throw a scare into me.
Lou’s voice was soft, reasonable. “Mary. Have you ever thought of pulling out of the case?”
I sat up straight in that kitchen chair. “Loucilla! Hell no. I got to see this through.”
“But that’s just the thing, Mary. My point exactly. You don’t have to do it yourself. You are not the only circuit judge in the state of Alabama.” She raised her hand, palm up, like she knew what I was going to say. “You’re the best, that’s for certain! But there are other judges who can step in.”
“Well, here’s the problem with that. I don’t want to turn it over to anyone else. I don’t trust anybody in the world with this case. It’s got to be me.”
“But if it’s eating you up, Mary—”
“I’m a grown woman. An experienced judge. I can set my personal feelings aside and do my sworn duty in the courtroom. My duty to all parties involved.”
As I spoke of setting feelings aside, I swung my arm, making a dramatic gesture. The whiskey again.
We wouldn’t be making a run for dinner, not that night. And there was no food delivery service out in the country in rural Alabama. No Grubhub, no Uber, no rideshare.
I checked the freezer. Two frozen chicken potpies. Kardea Brown’s brand, my favorite. Excellent. Good save.
I popped them in the oven on a cookie sheet, because crust browns better in an oven than a microwave. Set the oven at 350 degrees, didn’t take trouble to preheat. My oven ran hot.
“We’ve got forty minutes until dinner is ready.” I gave the bottle a questioning look. “You want another drink?”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
Good. Me too.
CHAPTER
54
Mary Stone
BULLOCK COUNTY COURTHOUSE UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA
Showtime.
Standing in my chambers, I opened the door to the courtroom. Ross had been waiting for the cue. My bailiff called out, “All rise!”
