The secretary paused long enough to blow a bubble of gum and, after it popped, said, “Yeah.” Then she turned back to the typewriter, her fingers flying over the keys.
Shenandoah asked, “May I see him?”
Squinting at Shenandoah as she continued to type, the secretary motioned with her head. “That’s his office.”
“Thanks.”
The minute Shenandoah laid eyes on Baxter Hargrove, she remembered him. Even as a child, Baxter had seemed like an old man. He walked when others ran. He seldom smiled. Laughter never slipped past his lips. His clothes were always clean, his shirttail tucked neatly into his pants, and you could see your image reflected in the shine on his shoes. His pencils lay in a row on the top of his desk in perfect alignment, and his script, carefully crafted, made his words appear as if they’d been printed on a typewriter. Now, with a graying fringe circling the base of his skull, a pot belly, and a double chin, Baxter Hargrove looked fifty-two instead of thirty-two. Deep lines in his forehead and crow’s feet around his eyes gave him a look of constant worry. Thick bifocals sat on the bridge of a short and stubby nose, and a cigarette dangled from his lips.
Glancing at Shenandoah, the prosecutor said, “Busy—can’t talk.”
Shenandoah crossed the space between them and extended her hand. “I’m Shenandoah Coleman, Baxter. Don’t you recognize me?”
The little man squinted at Shenandoah with pig eyes and shook his head. “Do I know you?”
“We went to school together, first grade through twelfth.”
“Coleman,” he said. “You from Beulah Land?”
“One and the same.”
“What the hell do you want?” he asked, wrinkling his forehead.
“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes about Dr. Kate Marlow.”
“I’m busy, woman.”
“I can come back.”
Baxter pulled a large gold watch from his pants pocket and glanced at it. “A few minutes, that’s all.”
“May I sit down?”
“That chair.” He motioned toward it. “What’s your interest in Katherine Marlow?”
Shenandoah settled into the chair and crossed her legs. “I’m with the Memphis Express, and I’ve come up to cover the trial. I’d like your take on the indictment, how you see the trial unfolding, that sort of thing.”
Baxter Hargrove stubbed out his cigarette in a glass ashtray and then pulled a pack of Camels from his shirt pocket. After tapping one out, he placed it in his mouth, tore a match out of a booklet, and lit the tip. He said, “Kate Marlow is accused of murdering Lillian Johnson. It’s as simple as that. I know she did it, and the attorney general and I are going to prove it. Case closed. She’ll spend a few years in the state penitentiary. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned.” The prosecutor’s face was flushed, and Shenandoah thought she noticed a slight tremor of his hand.
“Why would Dr. Kate murder Lillian Johnson?”
“Army Johnson.”
“I find that hard to believe. Kate and Army went together in high school, but they broke up when Lillian moved to town. Army married Lillian, not Kate,” Shenandoah said with a slight smirk.
“They’ve been carrying on an affair for years. Everyone knows that.”
“Gossip, or proof?”
“Proof enough for me,” Baxter said, his eyes narrowing.
“Kate told me a syringe with her fingerprints on it was found at the scene. That all the evidence you’ve got?”
“She can’t account for her activities that day, and she’s been placed at Lillian’s house. There’re other issues that I won’t discuss with a reporter.”
“Who’s going to prosecute the case, you or the attorney general?”
“McArthur Neal is the attorney general. He’s going to handle the trial.”
“What’s he like?”
“Tough as nails. Thorough. Seldom loses a case.”
“The judge?” “Judge Grant. He’d be a hanging judge if we still had hangings in this county. Travels a circuit.”
Shenandoah waved Baxter’s smoke away from her face. “What’re your personal feelings about Kate?”
Baxter’s cigarette ash hung precariously from the tip, and just before it fell in his lap, he flipped it into the ashtray. He spoke in a low voice. “She’s headstrong—independent to a fault—does what she damn well pleases, regardless of what other people think. Besides, she’s a nigger lover—treats the coloreds same as whites. That doesn’t set well in this community. We believe in separate but equal.” His breath came in short, agitated bursts.
“You know as well as I do that there’s no equal,” Shenandoah replied with a frown.
“I’m surprised to hear a Coleman defending the coloreds. I thought you people hated niggers.”
“I’m not a racist like you and my clan.”
“You might want to mind your own damned business. I think you should leave now. In fact, why don’t you go back to Memphis? You’re sure as hell not welcome here.”
“Can you at least tell me who found Lillian?”
“The victim’s younger sister.”
“What’s the sister’s name? I don’t remember her.”
“Trudy Underwood. Works at the drugstore. She would have been a little kid when you lived here.”
Shenandoah took a spiral notepad out of her shoulder purse and scribbled the girl’s name across the top of one page. Then looking up at the prosecutor, she asked, “How long you think the trial will last?”
“Four or five days. We’ll get a conviction. She’s long overdue. Most bull-headed, difficult woman who ever walked the face of the earth. I can’t wait to see her behind bars.” Then pulling out his watch, and glancing at it, he said, “Time’s up. You really should go back to Memphis and get your nose out of my business.”
Chapter 3
As Shenandoah stepped out of the courthouse, the sun beat down from a cloudless sky. The temperature had to be in the high nineties. Maneuvering between the whittlers, she headed for Bradshaw’s Drugstore. Her blouse was already wet at the back and underarms. When she opened the drugstore door, a blast of frigid air hit her in the face. She wrapped her arms around her wet blouse and gave a shiver. Row after row of various patent medicines, some looking like holdovers from the nineteenth century, filled the small store. A soda fountain ran along one wall, and in the back the pharmacist, Mr. Bradshaw, stood filling a prescription.
Shenandoah sat on one of the stools, and a young woman of about eighteen, pretty in a country girl sort of way, slipped behind the counter. She was thin and well endowed. A headband held her light brown hair back from her face, and her cheeks were naturally rosy. She wore just a hint of lipstick. Shenandoah got the impression that the girl had no sense of her own sensuality.
“What can I get you?” she asked.
“A milkshake,” Shenandoah said.
“Chocolate, strawberry, what?”
“How about a chocolate malt?”
“Two scoops or three?”
“Better make it two if I want to keep my figure. What’s your name?”
“Trudy. What’s yours?”
“Shenandoah Coleman.”
The girl dropped the scoops of ice cream into a metal container, added malt, a splash of milk, and chocolate syrup, and placed the container on a mixer. While it whined away, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Shenandoah.
In a slow drawl she asked, “Where you from, lady?”
“Originally Beulah Land, now living in Memphis.”
“Really? You’re from Beulah Land?”
“Yes.”
“You ain’t even drunk.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
“If you’re living in Memphis, what’re you doing in Round Rock?”
“The trial.”
Trudy frowned, turned away, and took the malt off the mixer. She poured it into a large glass, stuck a long teaspoon and a straw in it, and set it on the counter.
“Tria
l ain’t ‘til Monday,” she said.
“I’m a reporter. I came early to see what I could learn before the trial.”
“A reporter. I ain’t never met a reporter before. Who you report for?”
“The Express in Memphis.”
“That a paper?”
“Yes.”
“Why would a big-city paper be interested in a trial way up here in Round Rock?”
Shenandoah took a spoonful of the malt, savored it and, after swallowing, said, “You’d be surprised how interested people are when it comes to things like murder. You’re Trudy Underwood, I think—Lillian Johnson’s sister. Any chance you could answer some questions for me?”
“Yeah, I can give it to you straight. Dr. Kate’s got most folks around here fooled. They don’t know her like I do. This time she’s bitten off more than she can chew, I can tell you that.”
“You’ve obviously got strong feelings about her.”
Trudy leaned against the counter. “She lies, simple as that. Puts on a front. She’s got one face for the public and one for real. I know the real face, and it ain’t nothing like the other.”
“Give me an example.”
“Know what Dexedrine is?”
“I think it’s a stimulant.”
“Keeps you awake.”
“So?”
“So, she eats them like candy.”
“Why?”
“She wanders around the county day and night making house calls. That’s how she stays awake while she does it. She’s charged up on Dexedrine. Being a doctor, she can get all she wants. She acts goofy sometimes, too. You know, like she don’t know where she’s at. Wakes up on the side of the road and don’t know how she got there.”
Shenandoah scribbled the name of the drug in her notes. “Do you think she’s a good doctor?” she asked Trudy.
“No, she ain’t. People die.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“She let my daddy die in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. She killed my sister ‘cause she’s sweet on Army Johnson. She’s been after poor Army since high school.”
“You think Dr. Kate and your sister’s husband are having an affair?”
“I’m sure of it. She’s tricked Army into it somehow.”
Shenandoah wondered: How would you trick someone into an affair?
“I was told that you were the one who found Lillie,” she continued. “Could you tell me about that?”
“I always went home for lunch. Lillie and I ate together. When I got to the house, I found Lillie slumped over in her wheelchair, dead. One of Dr. Kate’s syringes was on the floor, so I called the sheriff. Lillie told me before I went to work that Dr. Kate was gonna make a house call that morning. She was nervous because she was going to have it out with Dr. Kate about Army.”
Just then, a pimply-faced young man of about fourteen approached the fountain and sat on the stool next to Shenandoah.
Shenandoah asked Trudy, “How much do I owe you?”
“Fifty-five cents.”
Placing two quarters and a nickel on the Formica top of the counter, Shenandoah said, “Perhaps we can talk again.”
Trudy shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe.”
* * *
Leaving the drugstore, Shenandoah glanced at her watch and saw that it was lunchtime. She wasn’t hungry, but the heat and humidity coupled with the ice cream had made her drowsy, so she decided to drop by the City Café for a quick cup of coffee.
The place was full of farmers and businessmen from stores around the square. Dorothy had been the proprietor since Shenandoah was in grade school, and she stood behind the cash register ringing up sales. A short order cook flipped hamburgers at the grill as black smoke escaped up the exhaust fan. The smell of melting fat permeated the whole room. The lone waitress rushed from table to table refilling glasses of iced tea.
Spying an empty table in the back of the café, Shenandoah worked her way through the crowd. Halfway across the room, she passed Jasper Kingman and two deputies. As she approached their table, Jasper said, “If it ain’t Shenandoah Coleman. Look here, fellows. This old girl thinks she’s going to get in the doc’s pants—get her a little pussy. Won’t do you no good, Shenandoah. Little old Kate’s gonna be behind bars for a long time.”
Looking down at Jasper, Shenandoah asked, “What’s the penalty for beating the shit out of a sheriff?”
Jasper pushed his chair back so fast that it fell to the floor. Towering over Shenandoah, he snarled, “If you were a man instead of a bitch, I’d take my badge off and beat the shit out of you, smart-ass.”
Shenandoah laughed. “I’m not afraid of you, Jasper. You couldn’t fight your way out of a paper sack. I stopped you from picking on me when we were children, and I can do it again. Wouldn’t be the first time I beat the shit out of you.”
The big sheriff glared at Shenandoah but said nothing. After glancing around the room at the people staring at him, he picked up his chair and sat down. Shenandoah continued to the back of the room.
Just before she reached the vacant table, a hand shot out and caught her by the arm. Shenandoah wheeled around, expecting a blow, but the hand belonged to the high school coach, Lyle Brown.
“Have a seat, Shenandoah. Be careful with Jasper. He was a Golden Gloves champion in high school, and no matter what he says, he’s not above slapping a woman around.”
Shenandoah was glad to see the coach, one of the few teachers who had treated her well when she was a student. He was a small man who even in his twenties had had salt-and-pepper hair. He had been a quarterback for the University of Tennessee in the early thirties, and unlike many aging athletes, he’d managed to keep himself in good physical condition. His belly was as flat as Jasper Kingman’s.
“Thanks for reminding me, Coach,” she said, smiling. “But I’m not afraid of Jasper. I could always beat him up when we were kids. Besides, the army taught me a few tricks that dumb-assed Jasper Kingman never heard of.”
“Were you in the WACs?”
“WASP. I was a ferry pilot. Flew B-24s and Mustangs.”
“What brings you back to Round Rock? Most folks who get away from here don’t come back—particularly if their name’s Coleman.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m with the Express in Memphis. I came up to cover Kate’s trial.”
“A reporter? That’s interesting. You must be the only Coleman with a college education. Any education would be my guess. Kate’s in some real trouble. I’m worried about her.”
“I am too,” Shenandoah said.
The waitress walked up and asked Shenandoah, “What you want, honey?”
“Coffee.”
“We got some good chess pie.”
“Just coffee, black.”
The waitress placed a mug of steaming coffee on the table, and Shenandoah blew across the top. “What do you think about all this business with Dr. Kate? I can’t believe she murdered Lillian.”
“I can’t either. Just doesn’t fit her personality. She’s independent and headstrong, but she’s not a killer,” the coach said.
“She is headstrong, and stubborn as a mule. Remember the state tournament when Round Rock won the championship?”
“How could I forget? She fell and twisted her knee during the last game. But she continued to play even when it swelled double. I saw tears streaming down her face as she threw the ball at the basket from mid-court. It dropped through just as the clock ran out. The place went wild.”
“They had to carry her off the court on a stretcher. But she was smiling like a Cheshire cat,” Shenandoah said.
“Dr. Walt was furious. He thought she’d ruined her knee,” the coach said.
Shenandoah finished her coffee and waved to the waitress for a refill. As the woman topped Shenandoah’s cup, the coach scooped up the last of his green peas. “Kate pretty much approaches life like she did that basketball game,” he said. “Full steam ahead. I’m worried about her, though. I can tell you that.”
“She’s asked me to talk to some folks. Try to find her some character witnesses. She thinks it’ll help to have people on her side,” Shenandoah said.
“Like anyone, Kate has her supporters and detractors. She’s a complicated individual.”
Shenandoah set her coffee cup down and glanced around the periphery of their table. “I know the Coleman clan isn’t very popular around here,” she said in a low voice, “but can you think of anyone who might have it in for me personally?”
“Something happen?”
“I’ve got a new Chevy, and when I went to my car this morning, all four tires were slashed. Had to buy new ones.”
The coach shook his head. “I have no idea. Who knows that you’re helping Kate? Could have something to do with that.”
“I have a suspicion that it’s more about me. I was never too popular around here.”
“If anything else happens, swallow your pride and ask Jasper for help. He’s an ass, but in truth, he’s a pretty good lawman.”
Shenandoah shook her head. “Can’t do that. Kate suggested I talk to Jimmy Joe Short.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Enough about my problem. Let’s get back to Kate. Didn’t her family go to the First Baptist Church?”
“I think so.”
“Think I’ll go talk to Brother Abernathy. Surely he’ll have good things to say about Kate.”
* * *
After finishing her coffee, Shenandoah slipped behind the wheel of the Bel Air and drove to the First Baptist Church on Main Street, three blocks from the square. The red brick building with its white steeple looked exactly as she had remembered it. She entered the church proper, but no one was there, so she walked to the adjoining building, which housed the Sunday school and reception hall. She found the preacher there, climbing the stairs to his office.
“Afternoon, Brother Abernathy. Could I talk to you for a few minutes?”
The preacher, a thin man with short black hair and bushy eyebrows, squinted at her. “Sure. Let’s go to my office.”
Once there, Brother Abernathy sat behind his desk and motioned for Shenandoah to sit in a worn leather chair opposite it. He leaned back in his swivel chair and asked, “What can I do for you?”
The Trial of Dr. Kate Page 4
