Legacy of Masks

by Sallie Bissell

  Kayla fingered the red mark on her cheek. “I don’t know. But somehow I’m going to find out.”

  Suddenly a bright new world of possibility opened for Avis. In her books, ordinary people solved mysteries all the time. Nancy Drew, Frank Hardy, even dotty old Miss Marple. Why could the name Avis Martin not be added to their number? If she solved the mystery of Bethany Daws’ murder, then Kayla would be her friend for life. She could start school eating lunch with one of the most popular girls in town!

  “You know, we could work on that together if you wanted to,” Avis said, locking the balcony door behind her.

  “Work on what?” asked Kayla.

  “Finding out who killed your sister. I’ve read enough mysteries to know that sometimes ordinary people can figure out things when the cops can’t. They know the victim so well that they can find clues that policemen overlook.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” said Avis, brimming with confidence. “We’ll go over to your house first thing in the morning. I bet we can find a bunch of stuff the cops missed.”

  For a moment Kayla looked at her as if she were crazy, then, for the first time ever, Avis saw her truly smile. “Okay. We’ll have to work fast, though. Ridge’s trial begins tomorrow.”

  21

  “So are we still on for Aunt Little Tom’s birthday?” Jonathan’s voice sounded tinny through the phone lines.

  “Absolutely. I’m just going with Deke out to Bear Den. I told him I needed to be back by five.”

  “Bear Den, the luxurious gated mountain community?” Mary could hear his derision as he parodied the billboards that advertised Keener’s newest development.

  “That’s the one,” she answered sharply. “It pays my rent and keeps Mr. Turnipseed on his quixotic quest for water on my farm.”

  “I just can’t help but wonder who Keener’s gating out at thirty-eight hundred feet,” said Jonathan. “Larcenous gangs of mountain goats?”

  Mary had to laugh. Jonathan had a valid point. At that elevation, B&Es would be the last thing the residents of Bear Den would need to worry about, yet Deke proudly touted his manned guardhouse as if home invaders roamed the mountains like bushwhackers, sniffing out relocated New Yorkers to pillage and plunder. Jonathan had teased her about it ever since the first ads went up. “Since I’m now running a noncriminal practice, I have to represent my clients in their legal matters, regardless of how I feel about it,” she said. In truth, she hated Bear Den, hated real estate work, hated driving all over creation with Deke Keener, listening to his CD of music that had been hot when they were in high school—INXS, U2, the Georgia Satellites. Still, she’d promised Jonathan no criminals, and she intended to keep her word.

  “Okay, okay,” he said as if realizing he’d jabbed too hard. “So, it’s Bear Den this afternoon, Aunt Little Tom’s tonight. What are you up to this morning?”

  “I’m going to the courthouse. Ridge’s trial starts today.” She wondered if, after his Bear Den comment, he would have the nerve to object.

  “Oh, really?” His tone revealed nothing.

  “Yes. I want to speak to Hugh, wish Brendle good luck. I’ll leave at the first recess.”

  “Say hello to Hugh for me, then,” he said. “Tell him I hope the boy gets off.”

  “Thanks.” Her smile returned as their relationship recovered from its brief wobble. “I’ll meet you at Aunt Little Tom’s around six. Okay?”

  “Lily and I will be waiting.”

  She hung up the phone and returned to the window. For the past hour she’d watched a procession of people making their way to the courthouse, ambling in the way of Southerners on a hot summer morning, yet proceeding with a kind of grim purpose as well. Bethany Daws’ murder had not slipped from Hartsville’s collective consciousness. Though the downtown merchants had weeks ago replaced their black window drapes and somber floral displays, a heaviness still hung in the air, as if a massive thunderstorm was rumbling around the mountains that encircled the town. Every morning Mary read the day’s paper while eating breakfast at Layla’s, and every day both the editorial page and her fel-low diners were of the same opinion—that Ridge Standingdeer, the Cherokee witch, deserved a fair trial, but when they found him guilty, they should slide the needle in his arm, pronto.

  “You’d better get going,” she told herself. Slipping on the jacket of her beige linen suit, she grabbed her purse and opened her office door. As she headed for the stairs, she heard airy flute music coming from Dana’s office, while the Smoky Mountain Defenders’ stood locked and silent, mail stacked up against the door. Ravenel and his little Cherokee sidekick must be out on some expedition, she decided, then hoped, uncharitably, that maybe it would be one from which they didn’t return.

  She stepped out into the already hot morning. All of Hartsville seemed to be heading for the courthouse, scurrying like ants up the steps toward Johnny Reb. As she joined them, she was reminded of a short story she’d read in high school, where every June 27 the ordinary residents of an ordinary town drew lots and stoned one of their neighbors to death. Once again, she thought of Ridge. Though the young man’s stoic demeanor had not cracked for the past six weeks, she wondered if he regretted ever laying eyes on the beautiful Bethany Daws.

  She fell into step behind Carl Matheny, the pastor of the Baptist Church, and old Abe Sutton, hardware magnate. The two men trudged up the hundred-and-five-step climb just ahead of her, leaving a wake of Aramis cologne and civic chitchat behind them.

  “I’ve never seen the town quite like this,” Brother Matheny was saying. “After church, all anybody talks about is Indian witchcraft and satanic rituals. It’s got everybody spooked.”

  “I’ve sold more deadbolt locks and bedside pistols in the past two months than I have in the past two years.” Sutton wiped the back of his neck with a white handkerchief. “I hate to say it, but this little gal’s murder’s been mighty good for business.”

  “I know what you mean,” enthused the preacher. “Attendance in church is up like crazy, too.”

  Mary passed the pair as soon as they reached the top of the steps. No point in going into the courtroom behind them, she decided, uncomfortable with the avarice she’d heard in their voices. She already knew what Hartsville thought of Ridge Standingdeer. She didn’t need to have it reconfirmed just moments before his trial began. She entered the courthouse and, bypassing the crowd waiting for the elevator, headed for the stairs. Pisgah County’s single criminal courtroom was on the third floor, a beautiful old room wainscoted in preblight chestnut, with twelve-foot ceilings and a portrait of Thomas Jefferson behind the bench. Soon the Honorable Barbara W. Wood, one of Irene’s old tennis partners, would take that bench. Soon the case of North Carolina v. Ridge Standingdeer would begin.

  Her heart thudding, she reached the third floor and stepped into a noisy hall packed with people. A news crew from the TV station in Asheville was filming; a pretty, diminutive reporter was already taping her intro in one corner of the hall. Mary skirted them and started to worm her way through the crowd, toward the courtroom. When she finally reached the entrance, she pulled open one of the heavy oak doors and squeezed inside. Though the big, square room felt like an oven and one deputy accidentally jabbed her with his sidearm, an electric pretrial tingle zinged up her spine. She grinned. For the first time since she’d moved back here, she felt as if she’d come home.

  “I’m afraid this courtroom’s full, ma’am,” one of deputies whispered.

  “I’m assisting defense counsel,” she informed him, fudging just a bit with the truth. She wanted to wish Ridge and Brendle good luck, then she would try to squeeze in beside Hugh.

  “Go ahead, then.”

  She hurried down the long center aisle of the courtroom. Hugh and young Turnipseed were sitting together on the left, while on the right, Deke sat beside Glenn and Paula Daws. As Mary passed, she noticed that the people behind her began to stir, and a murmur of whispers followed her wave-like to the front of the roo
m. Loganites, she told herself. No doubt appalled that the half-breed lawyer who’d ended the career—and the life—of their beloved Stump was now cozying up to the Cherokee bastard who’d smashed Bethany Daws’ skull with a tomahawk. She squared her shoulders and walked with her head held high. She had nothing to be ashamed of with regard to either Stump Logan or Ridge Standingdeer.

  She’d planned to give all her good wishes before everything got started, but Judge Wood entered the courtroom just as she slipped through the gate. Quickly, Mary went over to stand beside Ridge. He was wearing the Armani suit she’d bought him with Hugh’s credit card and the bewildered look of some beautiful, wild creature captured by dwarves. Timothy Brendle’s chair was empty.

  “Ridge?” she asked, stunned. “Where’s Brendle?”

  The boy started to answer when suddenly someone tapped her on the shoulder. Assuming it was Brendle scooting in just as the bailiff called the court to order, she turned to wish her colleague good luck. Her jaw dropped. Timothy Brendle wasn’t arriving late to defend Ridge Standingdeer. It was the Great Smoky Mountain jackass, Sam Ravenel!

  “Good morning, Miss Crow,” Ravenel greeted her acidly.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a savage whisper. “Where’s Timothy Brendle?”

  “His father died last night.” Ravenel dropped a battered briefcase on the table. “I’m filling in.”

  “Filling in?” Mary couldn’t believe her eyes. “Are you even a lawyer?”

  “I’m a member of the Western North Carolina Defense Bar,” he replied huffily. “Which leads me to ask why you are here? I thought you were Deke Keener’s dirt lawyer!”

  Mary was about to tell him why she was there when she suddenly grew aware of a silence in the courtroom. She looked up. Judge Wood, George Turpin, and no doubt everyone else in the courtroom were staring at her and Ravenel.

  “Well?” Judge Wood asked, puzzled about which of them to address. “I repeat my question. Which one of you is representing the defendant?”

  “I am, Your Honor.” Mary answered in exact unison with Ravenel, her voice back to its old courtroom strength.

  “Ms. Crow, I’m confused,” Barbara Wood said. “I know you were cocounsel at Mr. Standingdeer’s arraignment, but I thought you’d turned this case over to Mr. Brendle. Now you’re back. Will you or will you not be part of this case?”

  Before Mary could reply Ridge touched her arm. Though he said not a word, he gazed deep into her eyes with a look of such despair that her heart broke.

  “Hawazah,” he whispered. “Please help me.”

  “Well, Ms. Crow?” Judge Wood impatiently fingered the dozen small gold bracelets she wore on her left wrist.

  Mary paused. An invisible road seemed to fork ahead of her. Going one way would mean dull days with Deke, but amazing nights with Jonathan. Going the other way could mean the loss of both and even more enmity from the town that she longed to call home. She considered her answer for as long as she dared, then she chose the road from which she knew there would be no return.

  “I’m co-counsel, Your Honor. For Mr. Standingdeer’s defense.”

  For an instant, Deke Keener wanted to leap from his seat and rip the chestnut paneling from the courtroom walls. What did Mary Crow mean, she was co-counsel for Mr. Standingdeer’s defense? Hell, he’d intentionally hired her away from this case. They were supposed to confer about Bear Den at one o’clock this afternoon, yet here she stood, striding into the courtroom as if she were God’s own lawyer, come to save Ridge Standingdeer from death row. Jesus Christ, she’d flummoxed him again, just like she had in high school! He looked over at Glenn. He was clenching his fists so hard his knuckles had gone white.

  “What the hell is going on?” Glenn glared at Deke with angry eyes. “I thought she was your real estate girl.”

  Deke shrugged to let Glenn know he was equally at sea. “I thought she was, too.”

  He sat back, watching as Mary Crow talked first with Standingdeer, then with that fool, Ravenel. Goddamn, he raged. Would this mess never be over? The day had started out so well—Standingdeer was going to trial, almost certain to be convicted of the murder of Bethany Daws. They would sentence the Indian to either death or life in prison and after that, everything would start getting back to normal. People would stop obsessing about this case, asking all too many questions that had no real good answers. But no! His asshole classmate Mary Crow had to barge in at the last fucking goddamned minute! Now she would turn that great brain of hers loose on this case and God knows what she would come up with. Christ, he thought, sinking in his seat. Too bad his wasn’t one of the companies rebuilding Iraq. He could have sent Mary Crow to look at property in Baghdad.

  Sick inside, he returned his attention to the front of the courtroom. Now Sam Ravenel, whom Deke had never known to do anything beyond carp about environmental rapists and file nuisance suits against Keener Construction, was standing up, yammering something about bail.

  “Your Honor, could we discuss bail again? My client is a lifelong resident of North Carolina with no criminal record whatsoever. He works for and lives with Mr. Hugh Kavanagh, as his farm hand. I ask that the court take pity on this young man, and at least set some figure for bail.”

  “Your Honor . . .” Turpin leapt up as if he’d been stuck with a pin. “The accused was remanded to custody six weeks ago. . . .”

  “Calm down, Mr. Turpin,” said Judge Wood. “Sorry, Mr. Ravenel. I’m not going to set bail now. Your client is still remanded.”

  “Then I need to ask for a continuance, Your Honor. I got the call to take this case only three hours ago. I haven’t had time to go through any of Mr. Brendle’s notes.”

  The judge peered at Mary. “What about you, Ms. Crow? Are you up to speed here?”

  “No, Your Honor,” she answered. “I’m sorry.”

  Judge Wood cast a slightly disgusted look at the spectators cramming her courtroom. “Okay. As ready as everybody else seems to be for this trial to begin, two of the most important participants are not. Since this is due to circumstances beyond their control, I’m setting the trial date for one month from today. That should give Mr. Ravenel and Ms. Crow ample time to prepare.” She looked at the three attorneys standing before her. “Anything else?”

  “No, Your Honor,” all three answered at the same time.

  “Then we’ll try this again Monday, August 27. Court stands adjourned.” Judge Wood gave a swift tap with her gavel, then disappeared through the door behind her chair. For an instant the courtroom was silent, then like children released from the charge of a stern teacher, everyone stood up and started talking at once.

  “Goddamn Cherokee bitch!” Glenn Daws looked at Deke. “Did you see Turpin’s face when she came in? He looked like he pissed himself.”

  “Oh, Turpin’s not scared of her, Glenn,” Deke lied, craning to catch a glimpse of Mary through the crowd.

  “The hell he’s not! You can smell it from here!” Daws ran a hand through his sun-bleached hair. “Man, I don’t get it. My little girl gets murdered in her bed and the bastard who did it gets Mary Crow for his lawyer.”

  “Come on, y’all.” Deke put his arms around Glenn and Paula, lest the DA himself hear the criticism. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go get some lunch.”

  “I don’t want any fucking lunch.” Glenn’s voice cracked. “I want my daughter back.”

  “I do, too,” Deke said softly. “But let’s go, just the same.”

  He steered Glenn and Paula toward the door, sweat suddenly pouring off his forehead. Never would he have dreamed of Mary Crow’s abrupt about-face, or that she would form some kind of dream team with Ravenel. Though the guy acted like a deep-fried version of Paul Bunyan, Deke knew he was plenty smart and came from some big-time Charleston family. Once again he looked back over his shoulder, toward the front of the courtroom. Mary had disappeared, he guessed to talk with her new client. That left him alone, with land still to acquire for Bear Den, the grieving Daws to a
ttend to, and Bethany’s murder to firmly affix upon Standingdeer before somebody found those goddamn tapes.

  22

  “Mom, can you drive us over to Kayla’s house?”

  “Kayla’s house?” Darlene Martin looked up from the kitchen sink. Avis and her new friend had been so quiet while she’d gone about her morning chores that she’d almost forgotten they were upstairs. Now her daughter was standing in front of her, asking to visit a house where a girl’s head had been cracked open while the poor thing slept.

  “I don’t know, honey. The Daws have had a lot of trouble, I wouldn’t want you to disturb them.”

  “I wouldn’t disturb them, Mama. I’d be real quiet. And Kayla wants me to come.”

  As if on cue, Kayla appeared in the doorway, as eager to go as Avis. “I called my mom, Mrs. Martin. She said it’s okay.”

  Still, Darlene Martin was reluctant. “Can’t you two find something to do here?”

  Avis shook her head. “Please, Mom. We really want to go.”

  Mrs. Martin glanced around the kitchen. She’d gotten most of her morning’s work done. She supposed she could take the girls over to the Daws’ house, although the prospect sent a chill down her spine. Her child, so close to where all that horror had taken place. Yet, what was there to fear now? The police had caught the young man responsible. He now sat in jail, his trial, she thought, scheduled to start any day now. Plus, Avis had been through a hard time of her own this summer. The child deserved to have some fun, to make a new friend. Why should she stand in her daughter’s way, just because the Daws’ tragedy gave her the willies?

  “You’re sure it’s okay with your mom?” she asked Kayla.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The girl nodded briskly. “She won’t even know we’re there.”

  “Well, okay.” Smiling, Mrs. Martin wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Let me gather Chrissy up and I’ll drive you over there.”

  Avis noticed that her mother turned off the radio as soon as she turned in Kayla’s driveway and slowed the car to a crawl, as if they were driving into a funeral parlor instead of a two-story brick home with an American flag proudly flapping in the front yard. When she let them out of the car, she again asked Kayla if she was positive her mother had agreed to her having company.