A Judgment of Whispers Read Free Page B

had come in; some anonymous benefactor had two cadaver dogs flown in from New York.
    Wilkins turned and scowled back at the tree. “We searched under that tree more times than I can count. Teresa Ewing’s body was not there.”
    â€œAnd then it was,” said Saunooke, the case etched in his brain as indelibly as the paragraphs of the Miranda rights. “A jogger found her there. He thought somebody had put a jacket under the tree. Turned out to be a body.”
    â€œAnd we’ve all looked like fools ever since.” Wilkins kicked at a clump of dirt.
    â€œYou know, people still talk about her,” said Saunooke.
    Jack gave a bitter laugh. “Last week somebody on the golf course asked me if I knew who did it.”
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œNothing. Oh, I’ve got some ideas. But I can’t prove ’em. No point in talking about what you can’t prove.”
    â€œI guess not.”
    The two men turned. They’d just headed back toward the bulldozer when the dog began to bark, loud and frantic.
    Wilkins said, “Sounds like your pal’s found something interesting.”
    Saunooke looked around. “Where did he go?”
    â€œHe’s over there.”
    They walked toward the ancient tree. The Spanish Oak was famous in its own right, having supposedly saved the Cherokees from Desoto’s conquistadors. Lately someone had nailed on a little bow tie of a label, proclaiming it a “Quercus Alba” and had dumped new manure and potting soil around the old roots. Flowers and some kind of ground cover had been planted around it, all protected by a perimeter of low plastic fencing. On the forbidden side of the fence was the dog, digging at the tree’s roots, barking like mad.
    â€œShit!” said Saunooke. “He’s messing all that landscaping up.”
    He ran over to the fence, whistling for the dog. “Come on, boy. Come on over here.”
    But Saunooke’s command only made the dog dig faster.
    â€œDamn it!” cried Saunooke.
    Jack said, “He’s probably got a chipmunk trapped. Come on, I’ll help you pull him out.”
    They stepped over the fencing. The dog was still digging, still throwing dirt in the air, when suddenly his tail started wagging like a buggy whip. As he backed out of the hole, his front legs and paws were caked with dirt, but his eyes were shining. He turned to Saunooke with what looked like a greasy plastic sandwich bag in his mouth.
    Jack Wilkins laughed. “Looks like he dug up someone’s lunch.”
    â€œDrop it, dog,” ordered Saunooke.
    The dog refused to drop the bag, but he did allow Saunooke to pull it from his mouth. Saunooke held it up, thinking he would find some construction worker’s moldy sandwich. Though the outside of the bag was smeared with grease, it held a piece of clothing, folded neatly inside.
    â€œWhat the hell?” said Saunooke. Turning to Wilkins, he opened the bag, pulling out a pair of girl’s underpants, pink flowers printed on a field of dingy white. As strange as that was, what stopped his heart was the faded letters of a laundry marker that spelled out, along the waistband of the garment, Teresa E. Cabin 8.

Two
    â€œLadies and gentlemen, it’s my special pleasure to introduce our second candidate, Hartsville attorney Mary Crow.” Yvette Wessel adjusted the microphone that stood in the corner of the Chat N Chew Restaurant. Fifty Pisgah County voters had just consumed a breakfast of rubbery eggs and cheese grits, now they were going to hear from the people running for District Attorney.
    â€œNot only is Mary a graduate of Emory law school and former special prosecutor for Governor Ann Chandler,” said Yvette, “but she’s the first candidate for any Pisgah County office who’s also an enrolled member of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee Indians. She serves on the Domestic Violence Committee for the North Carolina