The Code of the Hills (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-­Two

W
HEN
E
LSIE ARRIVED
at Breeon's party on Saturday night, she didn't bother to knock. Hearing music and revelry inside, she pushed the door open and walked right in. She was ready to cut loose in a big way. Since leaving Donita Taney's apartment on Friday, anxiety had dogged her. Spooked by Mayfield's ominous presence, the resistance of her witnesses, and the signs of abuse in the household, her head was about to explode.

A night under her parent's roof had provided a measure of relief. She'd rested soundly, lulled into sleep by a bellyful of ham and scalloped potatoes and the knowledge that her mother and father were watching over her. But when she awoke on Saturday morning, her problems remained: Our Earthly Fathers might be plotting their next move; trial was fast approaching; and Charlene's reputation for truthfulness was still an issue. She also feared that Charlene was at risk.

Because Elsie was a mandated reporter under Missouri statute, she was obliged to report the signs of abuse to Social Ser­vices, and she had done so the day before. Tina assured her that they would investigate, but Elsie felt a personal responsibility for the girl's safety. Maybe if she had confronted Donita about JoLee's revelations, the black eye would not have been inflicted.

Elsie spent the daytime hours on Saturday working out of her parents' house, combing the Taney file and preparing for other felony hearings she would handle in the coming week. But now it was Saturday night. She decided that taking a few hours off would do her good; she couldn't solve all the world's ills in one night anyway.

It was time to pour some alcohol on her problems. Armed with a bottle of red wine, she would drown out the Taneys and the chickens and the trial and Charlene's bruised face.

Elsie squeezed through the mass of party guests in Breeon's living room, exchanging shouts of greeting. It looked like the whole courthouse had turned out. Stacie and some women from the Circuit Clerk's office were packed like sardines onto the sofa. When Stacie leaned over to shout something to the girls next to her, they screamed with mirth as Stacie collapsed on the shoulder of the closest woman.

The crowd parted just enough for Elsie to push her way through to the kitchen. She needed a corkscrew and a glass without delay, because everyone was way ahead of her. In the kitchen, she found Breeon pulling a tray of hot wings out of the oven.

“Hand me that platter,” Bree ordered. As Elsie found the dish for her friend, Bree shouted over the din, “Where have you been?”

“Working like a dog. Glad to be here, I promise you.”

“Can you give me a hand with the food? They're eating like they've never seen a cocktail wienie before.” She pointed out the pretzels and chips. Elsie swigged wine from a plastic cup while she poured the chips in a bowl.

As she leaned over to filch a chip for herself, someone grabbed Elsie's rear end. She shrieked, turning on her heel to see Doug, a young assistant prosecutor fresh out of law school. He obviously had too much to drink; his eyes were nearly crossed.

“Doug, that's not funny,” she warned. “Don't mess with me. I'll snatch you bald, son.” He was so out of it that she felt a little sorry for him. “You go sit down somewhere. Maybe someone should take you home.” She was relieved to see him stumble into an available chair and close his eyes.

Ashlock appeared at her shoulder. “Is that guy bothering you?”

“Oh, Bob, he's just a drunk kid,” she said. Ashlock gave Doug the evil eye as the boy nodded in the chair. Elsie gave the detective an impulsive hug. “I am so glad to see you here. You don't generally make it to these wild Hollywood parties. Hey, what's up with my valentine?”

“Only partial prints, but the handwriting matches the samples given by the defendant.”

“Great! That's wonderful news. Thanks for elbowing your way over here to tell me.”

He took her arm and led her to a corner of the kitchen where they could talk without shouting. “I want to talk to you. Why didn't you tell me about the trouble you've been having?”

She was perplexed for a moment; she'd been juggling so many problems lately that she wasn't sure which one he referred to. “What didn't I tell you?” she asked.

“Good God, girl, how about those church ­people heckling you and protesting and vandalizing your car? Why did I have to hear about that secondhand?”

“Oh,” she said, leaning against the counter and taking a sip from her cup. “I didn't want to sound stupid.”

He looked like he hadn't heard her correctly. “Stupid?”

“You know. Chicken.” She laughed at the irony of her word choice. “Ha ha. A pun.” When he shook his head in disagreement, she reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “I wanted to handle things myself. I didn't want to look like I was afraid.”

“Did it occur to you that I might be able to help you?”

“Lord, Ashlock, you're a most fabulous friend, but I can't expect you to serve as my constant protector, like a bodyguard or something.”

“Yeah, well, I can help you call off the dogs. With that church group, those ‘dads' rights' ­people.”

He had her complete attention. She even set her cup down on the kitchen counter. “How?”

Ashlock had a relative who worked in the Pentecostal church who was familiar with the congregation in Barton whose members had rallied around Taney. “He says they're not bad ­people, they're just mistaken about the facts on this one. That guy, Webster, who's hooked up with the Earthly Fathers thing, he's a member of the church, and he's fed them a bunch of baloney about Taney being the victim of a plot cooked up by an unfaithful wife. Did you know Webster's related to Taney?”

“Yeah, they're cousins: I stumbled onto that. Still, it's strange to me that Webster would throw all that public support to Taney. Webster looks pretty clean.”

“Well, they're blood kin: it's the code of the hills. And since he's a leader in that little Pentecostal church, he's managed to get everyone worked up over this case. It's not that hard to convince ­people of a big bad government conspiracy these days.”

“You know, I'm Missouri Ozarks born and bred, and all my life I've heard ­people talk about the ‘code of the hills,' but no one has ever outlined it for me.”

“Miss Elsie,” Ashlock drawled, “if you don't know the code of the hills, I don't believe I can explain it to you.”

Elsie gave him a little shove. “But the church ­people. What's your buddy say we should do?”

“My uncle. It's a done deal. The church has lay clergy that preaches most Sundays, because they're so small. But they have a traveling preacher who comes in once a month. It's a guy my uncle knows. He's talked to him about it, and the preacher is going to try to shut the Taney stuff down. Tomorrow.”

Jubilant, Elsie flung her arms around Ashlock's neck and gave him a hearty squeeze. “You're the best, Ash. The best.” She gave him a resounding kiss on the cheek before she let him go. She backed away with regret—­Ashlock was built like a brick shithouse. “Let me get you a drink. We should celebrate that piece of news. You don't know how those ­people have been flipping me out.”

He stopped her before she could go in search of refreshment. “One more thing. He thinks we should be there.”

Her smile dimmed as she asked, “Be where?”

“At the church. Tomorrow morning. He thinks it would help.”

“Go to church? Tomorrow? Their church?”

He locked his eyes with hers. “Do you want to put this to rest or not?”

She made a face, but nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I'll pick you up at ten-­thirty.”

A woman appeared at Ashlock's shoulder. “There you are,” she said. “I thought I'd lost you.”

He smiled at her. “We've been talking business. The Taney case.”

“Oh, Taney,” she said, slipping her hand around Ashlock's arm. “I read about that in the paper.”

Scrutinizing the woman, Elsie recognized her. She was a family law attorney from Lawrence County, down the highway from Barton. Elsie stuck out her hand. “Elsie Arnold.”

Ashlock looked sheepish. “I should've introduced you. Elsie, this is Caroline Applegate.”

Politely, Elsie said, “Nice to meet you,” as she tried to scope her out without being obvious.

“You, too. Bob's told me all about your case. Thank goodness you all are locking that man up. I do a lot of guardian ad litem work, so I know how tough those cases are.”

Ashlock's date was nice, Elsie admitted to herself grudgingly. She was attractive, too, with dark eyes and an impressive rack.

The woman tugged at Ashlock's arm. “You promised me dinner.”

“I'm ready,” he agreed. To Elsie, he said, “Tomorrow morning, don't forget. I'll pick you up.”

“I'm staying at my mom and dad's,” she said, feeling absolutely infantile.

But Ashlock nodded with satisfaction. “I'm glad to hear it. I'll see you there.”

As they walked away, she assessed Caroline Applegate's butt, glad to see it was no smaller than her own. Instantly, she chided herself; she was competing with Ashlock's date when she had no right, like the classic dog in the manger.

Well, shit, she thought, I think I'm going to get drunk. She took a massive swig from the plastic cup.

Trying to make her way back into the living room, she bumped into Bree, who responded by grabbing her in a fierce hug and kissing her on the forehead.

Bree said, “I just want to say, you're a great friend, and I love you. I just wanted to say that.”

“Honey, I know that,” Elsie replied.

“I know you do. How do you like my party?”

“Great.”

“Where's the jackass?”

Though Elsie felt she should rise to Noah's defense, she laughed. “Night shift.”

“Good. Bet you're having more fun without him.”

She couldn't deny it.

Bree went on, “What do you need? Your glass is low. Let me get you some more wine.”

Bree scooted through guests and made her way to the kitchen counter, where she found Elsie's wine bottle and poured her a brimming refill. “Here you go,” she said, and then stopped short. “What's that?” she asked, looking around her.

Bree pushed her way into the living room, demanding, “Who's smoking in here?”

On the sofa, Stacie was cozied up to a man holding a cigarette.

“I told him I didn't see any ashtrays,” Stacie said. She gave the man a little smack on the knee as he dropped the cigarette into an empty beer bottle. The smoke wafted up the bottle and out the neck. “Maybe next time you'll listen to me.”

Breeon announced that she did not allow smoking in her home, reminding those within earshot that she had a young daughter and she did not intend for her child to sniff residual cigarette smoke.

“Sorry about that,” the man said, rising from the couch cushions with a grunt and a chastened expression. “I'll take it outside.”

The smoker headed out the front door with Stacie in tow, and Elsie followed. It would be nice to get out of the crowded rooms for a minute. Outside, she joined them as they sat on the front steps.

“Elsie, this is Scott,” Stacie said, giving the man an adoring look. “I brought him to the Christmas party at Madeleine's house. We went to high school together in Sparta.”

Elsie didn't remember him, but she said, “Nice to see you again, Scott.”

“Yeah. Nice to meet someone who's not psycho about cigarette smoke. ­People are crazy these days. I can't even smoke in my own office since they passed that city law.” He lit a fresh cigarette with a Bic lighter. With a look at Elsie, he extended the pack of Marlboros. “Want one?”

She hesitated, then took it. Sometimes she smoked a cigarette in a party setting, just for the heck of it. It seemed racy and daring. Tonight she was in a reckless mood.

Stacie gaped at her. “I cannot believe you smoke.”

“I don't. Not really. I smoked some in undergrad, when I was drinking. Which was frequently,” she confessed with a grimace. “But I haven't smoked in years,” she assured them, which was a lie.

Shivering on the steps, she inhaled the smoke. It burned her throat like a hot poker and tasted terrible. She took a slug of wine to mask the lingering flavor. “Scott, this is vile. Don't be mad if I pitch it. I don't want Phillip Morris to get their hooks in me.”

Scott winked at Elsie and blew a smoke ring. She laughed, the alcohol kicking in, and said, “I can do that.”

Stacie gasped. “You cannot.”

“Watch me,” Elsie said. Her first attempt was unsuccessful; it had been a while since she'd done the trick. But she took another stab at it by coaxing the smoke over a curved tongue, and a cloud of smoke emerged in a relatively circular shape.

“Better,” Scott said as he blew a series of rings, one after another.

Laughing out loud, she said, “Stacie, your friend is a show-­off.” This is fun she thought as she took another drag and tried to inhale again. It still tasted awful, but she was starting to get a nicotine buzz in addition to her alcohol glow.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” demanded a voice from the street.

Startled, she looked up to see Noah bearing down on her from the front walk. Feeling instantly guilty, she dropped the cigarette and ground it out with her shoe, before she thought to question her reaction. Why would she need to act like smoking a Marlboro was a hanging offense?

Stacie, failing to register Noah's demeanor, said, “Elsie, your man's here. Yay for you.”

Elsie regarded him with caution. His face was like a thundercloud. Taking a sip from her cup, she tried to appear nonchalant. “What are you doing here?”

He took on an expression of disbelief and responded, “That's great. What a really sweet way to say hello.”