The Code of the Hills

by Nancy Allen

  “I can’t. Noah’s off tomorrow. We’re going to the movies.”

  “Oh. Him.”

  Marge regarded Elsie in silence for a long moment, peering over the top of her reading glasses. Elsie turned on her side on the couch, and asked, “Do we have any Little Debbie Snack Cakes?”

  Marge looked back to the papers on her lap. “We should have a box of oatmeal crème pies, unless your daddy ate them all.”

  Elsie went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets; to her delight, the box she sought was still half full. Tearing the plastic wrapper with her teeth, she returned to the living room.

  Marge was waiting for her. “The problem with you, Elsie, is you want a fellow who looks like a movie star. You are always going after Brad Pitt.”

  “Mother. I am not going after Brad Pitt. Lord, Mom, Brad Pitt is old. He’s almost as old as Dad.”

  “Brad Pitt is from the Ozarks.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Elsie asked as she pulled the oatmeal pie into two pieces.

  “My point is, what you need, Elsie, is a man with a good heart. Someone who loves you and takes care of you.”

  “Noah takes care of me,” Elsie said, with a hint of devilment.

  Marge looked away. “I don’t want to hear any more of that,” she said adamantly. “In the hills, that’s called starting the honeymoon early.”

  Elsie couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom, you’ve got a nugget of wisdom to cover every situation.”

  Marge’s mouth twitched with a smile she could not conceal. “How about this idea: just stay here tonight. I’ll make a pot roast. With mashed potatoes and cooked carrots. And gravy.”

  “Mom, you’re like a broken record. ‘Sleep here, stay here, eat here.’ You’re going to make me fat. I’ve gained weight this winter as it is.”

  “Honey, you need to put on some weight in wintertime. It keeps you warm, keeps you from getting sick.”

  Elsie decided to give in. What would it hurt to stay overnight? During the past week she’d slept poorly; she always slept better at home. The old brick house was a haven. She felt safe in her parent’s house, felt that she could relax and let her guard down. She relented.

  “Oh, that’s just great,” Marge said, nodding with satisfaction. “And tomorrow we can all go to church.”

  Aw, shit. Elsie pulled the afghan up to her chin and drifted off to sleep on the sofa.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ON SUNDAY MORNING George Arnold drove the short distance to Walnut Street Chris­tian Church in a shiny 2007 Buick sedan. Marge sat next to him in front, pleased as the Cheshire cat to have Elsie along for the trip.

  Elsie rode in the backseat, a little nettled at spending her Sunday morning in church rather than in the pursuit of leisure. Moreover, she was not thrilled with her attire. Because she had not planned to stay over, she was obligated to find something to wear from the choices that hung in the closet of her old bedroom at home, a funny mix of garments from days past. She finally donned an old Christmas frock for want of a better option, but she felt more than a little out of season in a red dress with spangles. Hell’s bells, she thought, it’s January, and I look like I’m in the Merry Christmas Pageant.

  “I look so stupid in this dress,” she complained.

  “You look like the prettiest girl in Barton,” her father assured her, winking at her in the rearview mirror.

  “Honey, you could have gone through my closet to see if I had something you’d rather wear,” Marge said.

  Elsie sat up straight. “Are you trying to say I’m fat?” she asked indignantly.

  Her mother crowed, unoffended, “I most certainly am not. I think you are perfect. And as for me, I’m proud to be fat. I’ve worked hard at it.”

  Elsie’s dissatisfaction lingered. “Why do we have to go to church today? This will waste my whole morning. I’ve got stuff I have to do. Errands.” She crossed her spangled arms over her chest and stared out the window, looking more like a spoiled kid than a professional adult.

  George said, “There’s a new member in the congregation. An engineer. Nice guy. Never been married.”

  “No, no, no, no,” said Elsie.

  “Now, Elsie, we just want you to say hello.”

  “Is this what dragging me to church is about? I already told Mom, I have a date tonight. With Noah,” Elsie said.

  “If you’re going to date a policeman, I wish it was that nice Detective Ashlock,” said Marge. “I’ve been thinking that he would be a good match for you.”

  “Bob Ashlock?” Elsie exclaimed, shocked. “Mother, stop it.”

  “He’s just your type,” her mother insisted. “That he-­man type you like.”

  “Mother, he is a friend.”

  “Daddy and I were friends,” Marge said, nodding at George.

  “Nah,” George said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Men just play along with that friend routine so we can get you in the sack.”

  “George! You didn’t dare talk that way when we were dating. My daddy would’ve got out the shotgun. ‘Code of the hills,’ ” Marge said with an expressive nod.

  “Spare me the goddamned code of the goddamned hills,” Elsie muttered.

  “What, honey?” Marge asked.

  “Nothing. But Ashlock,” Elsie continued, “he’s almost forty, for God’s sake.”

  “Forty is young,” George said as he pulled into the church parking lot. “I’d say this engineer is about forty.”

  Marge twisted in her seat, fighting the shoulder harness to get a good look at Elsie. “Honey, we just want to see you settled. You’ll be thirty-­two on your next birthday. Don’t you want to be a mother someday?”

  “This engineer is a Missouri boy,” said George. “Grew up in Springfield. Nice family.”

  Elsie let out an aggrieved sigh and fell silent.

  The Arnolds walked into the church, a Georgian structure built of red brick, boasting a tall steeple and beautiful arched windows. The hallway leading to the sanctuary was crowded, and Elsie followed a woman ahead of her too closely, stepping onto the back of the woman’s shoe and causing her to stumble. The unfortunate woman was Tina Peroni.

  “Elsie? Are you trying to kill me?” Tina asked, bending over to pull up the leather that folded under her heel. She took in Elsie’s holiday attire and exclaimed, “That’s quite a festive frock you’re wearing.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “What are you doing here? How did Ma and Pa talk you into coming to church?”

  “Hog-­tied me. Want to sit with us?”

  “I’m on my way out. We went to the early ser­vice.”

  “No,” Elsie said in disbelief.

  “Yes, sleepyhead. I’m glad I ran into you, though. Donita wants to see you.”

  “Donita Taney?”

  “How many Donitas do you know? Yes, Donita Taney.” Tina slid past ­people in the narrow hall to reach the exit. As she opened the door to depart, she added, “When she was in to get her food stamps, she said she had something for you.”

  “Huh. Well, I’ll tell Madeleine tomorrow morning. It’s her case. Technically.”

  “You do that.” Tina waved and headed for the parking lot.

  ELSIE’S MIND WANDERED during the sermon. The preacher talked about the Epiphany, and the journey of the three Wise Men to discover the Christ child. Tell me something real. Something I can use, she thought.

  To occupy herself, she picked up the pew Bible and riffled through the wafer-­thin pages, browsing the Book of Genesis. When she caught sight of the Sodom heading, curiosity made her pause. This should make interesting reading, she thought. In Sunday school class the teachers had always skipped over the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.

  Elsie scanned the story of Lot, scowling at the description of his offer to sacrifice his virgin daughter
s to an angry mob. As she read on, she came to verses that made her stop, shake her head and read again. She never realized that the story of Lot had an incest twist.

  30. And Lot went up out of Zoar, and dwelt in the mountain, and his two daughters with him; for he feared to dwell in Zoar: and he dwelt in a cave, he and his two daughters.

  31. And the firstborn said unto the younger, “Our father is old, and there is not a man in the earth to come in unto us after the manner of all the earth:

  32. “ Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, that we may preserve seed of our father.”

  33. And they made their father drink wine that night: and the firstborn went in, and lay with her father; and he perceived not when she lay down, nor when she arose.

  34. And it came to pass on the morrow, that the firstborn said unto the younger, “Behold, I lay yesternight with my father: let us make him drink wine this night also; and go thou in, and lie with him, that we may preserve seed of our father.”

  35. And they made their father drink wine that night also: and the younger arose, and lay with him; and he perceived not when she lay down, nor when she arose.

  36. Thus were both the daughters of Lot with child by their father.

  Lot was a liar, she thought, anger kindling in her chest. She shook her head with disgust, reflecting that the history of incest was long indeed, as was the practice of pinning the blame on the daughters. Some things hadn’t changed in thousands of years.

  Well, she decided, maybe one thing had changed: Lot’s wine-­drinking defense wouldn’t fly in Missouri courts. “Sorry, Lot; intoxication wouldn’t be a defense to the crime in Missouri,” she murmured.

  Her mother gave her a sharp nudge, bringing Elsie back to the present. “Are you muttering to yourself in church? Stop it,” she whispered, with a warning look.

  Elsie flipped through the pages again. Skimming the chapters of Genesis, she looked again at the verses about Lot and his daughters, then closed the book. The text struck an uneasy chord, creating a mental picture of Taney and his daughters. Elsie felt a prickle at her neck and shuddered in the pew.

  When the communion plates were passed, after a moment’s hesitation she took the tiny wafer and sipped her little plastic cup of grape juice. Though she closed her eyes, the image of the Taney daughters at the mercy of their father was locked in her head. With her eyes squeezed shut, she tried to block out the picture by thinking of something else, anything, but the vision persisted. In her mind’s eye she saw Taney advance on Kristy, menacing, as the girl backed away to escape, her face a frozen mask of horror.

  Elsie opened her eyes. When she raised her head, her jaw was set. She knew it was time to quit whining about the challenges of the Taney case. She needed to keep a sharp eye on Madeleine, to ensure that the prosecutor wouldn’t abandon or fumble the prosecution. For the sake of the three Taney girls, she must fight the good fight in earnest. Bring it, she thought, and her spine stiffened.

  When they rose to sing the closing hymn, Elsie stood by her mother’s side, her eyes fixed on the open hymnbook without seeing it. This story will have a different ending, she told herself grimly. Lot’s daughters have an advocate this time.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ELSIE SWIVELED IN her office chair on Monday morning, watching tiny balls of sleet bounce on the pavement of the street below. “I need sunshine,” she whispered. “I hate sleet. I cannot handle sleet today.”

  Turning to her computer, she saw that the weather forecast on the computer screen didn’t predict freezing precipitation. Stupid Weather Channel, she thought.

  When her phone rang, she snatched it up, hoping to hear Breeon’s voice, but it was Madeleine. In her usual frosty tone, Madeleine told her to come down to her office.

  I wish I had the nerve to kick your ass, Elsie thought as she hung up the phone. She still nursed a grudge against Madeleine for deserting her at the Taney preliminary. Given the opportunity, she might have had the chutzpah to voice a complaint last week, when the offense was fresh. But by now too much time had passed to muster the courage for a confrontation.

  Taking a moment to catch her breath, she strode down the hall to Madeleine’s office, opened the door with a quick knock and stuck her head in. “What’s up?” she asked, a shade of curtness in her tone.

  Madeleine was examining a map of McCown County that depicted a breakdown of voter turnout at county polling places. She pushed a lock of lacquered hair behind one ear. “Sit,” she said, and Elsie sat. “Did you bring it?”

  Elsie gave her a blank look. “Bring what?”

  “The file,” Madeleine said with irritation. “Taney.”

  “No,” she replied, wondering why she was supposed to read Madeleine’s mind and anticipate her desires. “Did you want to see me about the Taney case?”

  Madeleine pushed her leather chair back from the desk and crossed her legs. “Give me an update. What’s the status of the case?”

  Elsie related the events of the last week: Al Taney’s failure to appear, the information gained from Kris Taney’s wife and daughters, and the outcome of the court appearances. She made brief reference to Taney’s abuse of her in the hallway, and the chicken parts that decorated her vehicle on Friday.

  Madeleine toyed with a silver letter opener shaped like a dagger. “I know about that. Someone mentioned that chicken prank to me.”

  Exhaling with a sound that was a cross between a wail and a groan, Elsie said, “It was so nasty.”

  Madeleine tossed the silver dagger onto the desktop. “We don’t know that it’s connected.” When Elsie sent her a dumbfounded look, Madeleine added, “To Taney.”

  “No,” Elsie said slowly, “but we know it was connected to me.”

  In a superior tone, Madeleine said, “That kind of thing goes with the territory. You have to rise above it. In this job, there is a certain burden we bear.”

  Elsie clenched her jaw to keep her mouth shut, but she shouted inside her head: Burden we bear? We? Are chicken guts on your car?

  “What else is being done?”

  Elsie cleared her throat, and in as civil a tone as she could muster said, “Bob Ashlock is trying to run down outcry evidence, but there’s not much to go on. Taney had his family under orders to keep their mouths shut about the abuse, and the household was so totally intimidated by him that they were afraid to talk about it.”

  “What about scientific evidence?”

  “We have the girls scheduled for medical exams at the Victims’ Center next week. Children’s Ser­vices should have had exams done when Taney was taken into custody but they didn’t. So that’s about it.”

  “That’s your whole case?”

  Elsie looked at Madeleine with wonder. How could Madeleine be surprised at the scarcity of the evidence? It was supposed to be Madeleine’s file.

  As if explaining sex prosecution to an outsider, Elsie said, “That’s pretty much how these sex cases go. At least in this case the girls can corroborate each other, because sometimes he did things in front of the family. We do have to clear up a problem with the state’s main witness, Charlene; apparently, she got into some kind of situation at school, and I need to get to the bottom of it.”

  “What situation?”

  “Something about a sexual touching by some classmates. I don’t know the details.” She made a mental note to contact the school system.

  “Well,” Madeleine said, and to Elsie’s amazement, her boss looked extremely uncomfortable. “I’ve been thinking. You seem to be handling the case in a competent way.”

  Though her eyes nearly bugged out of her head at the understatement, Elsie stayed mum.

  Madeleine continued, “I’ve been tied up with some important schedule conflicts.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, trying hard not to picture Madeleine in the stirrups.

  “And I
have a lot of pressing engagements coming up. I don’t think I can give this case the attention it deserves. I’m assigning it to you.”

  The realization blossomed in Elsie’s chest: Madeleine was bowing out, the Taney case was all hers. She exulted in the knowledge that she could proceed without the handicap of Madeleine’s negligent oversight. She was glad to have the file to herself; she much preferred working solo to serving an incompetent master.

  But it seemed like Madeleine felt guilty about something. Maybe, Elsie thought, her boss regretted unceremoniously dumping the case on her. Or maybe the case had grown too messy for Madeleine, with its chicken heads and hallway fights and angry evangelical Chris­tians. When the going got tough, Madeleine generally got going—­in the other direction.

  But she was a warrior, Elsie reminded herself. Shrugging off her reservations, she sat straight in her chair and regarded her boss with a friendly expression.

  “No problem, Madeleine. I feel like I’ve established good rapport with the witnesses. I’ll be glad to see it through.”

  “Fine. Let me know how it progresses,” Madeleine said as she picked up a copy of the Barton Daily News and began flipping through the pages, letting Elsie know she was dismissed.

  Elsie stood up to go but then lingered in the doorway. “Anything else?” She wanted to make sure no hidden disasters would blow up in her face.

  “Noooo . . . ” said Madeleine, refusing to look up from the paper; clearly, she wanted her to leave.

  As Elsie headed down the hallway back to her office, a dark thought lurked: Madeleine must think the Taney case was a total loser. Because Madeleine would buzz around a high profile case like a fly on shit, unless it looked weak. Her initial reaction of triumph faded as she realized that State v. Taney was a hot potato that had been tossed into her lap.

  Oh, well, she thought as she sank into her office chair. Things could be worse. Much worse.

  Now she was ready to begin her Monday morning in earnest. She checked her e-­mail and saw a message from Noah. He must be doing reports; otherwise he’d be more likely to text or call. She opened the message. It was short and sweet.