“What’s he supposed to do with this coffee?” Nix asked.
“Drink it.”
“We have our own, Florry.”
“I’m sure you do, but Pete is particular about his coffee. Goes back to the war, when he couldn’t get any. It has to be Standard Coffee from New Orleans. That’s the least you can do.”
“If we serve him Standard, then we have to serve the same to the rest of the prisoners, at least to the white ones. No preferential treatment here, Florry, you understand? Folks already suspect Pete’ll get a special deal.”
“I can accept that. I’ll haul in all the Standard Coffee you want.”
Nix held up the coffee mug. It was ceramic, off-white in color, with light brown stains, obviously well used. Before he could say anything, Florry added, “That’s his favorite mug. They gave it to him at the military hospital after his surgeries while he was convalescing. Surely, Nix, you will not deny a war hero the simple favor of drinking coffee from his favorite mug.”
“I suppose not,” Nix mumbled as he began placing the items back in the bag.
“He’s not your typical prisoner, Nix, remember that. You’ve got him locked up back there with God knows who, probably a bunch of thieves and bootleggers, but you must remember that he is Pete Banning.”
“He’s locked up because he murdered the Methodist preacher, Florry. And as of right now he’s the only murderer back there. He will not be given special treatment.”
The door opened and Pete walked in with Red behind him. He looked stone-faced at his sister and stood erect in the middle of the room, looking down at Nix.
“I suppose you want to use my office again,” Nix said.
“Thanks, Nix, that’s mighty nice of you,” Pete said. Nix grudgingly stood, picked up his hat, and left the room with Red. His gun and holster hung from a rack in a corner, in plain sight.
Pete moved a chair, took a seat, and looked at his sister, whose first words were “You idiot. How could you be so stupid and selfish and shortsighted and absolutely idiotic? How could you do this to your family? Forget me, forget the farm and the people who depend on you. Forget your friends. How in the world could you do this to your children? They are devastated, Pete, frightened beyond belief and absolutely distraught. How could you?”
“I had no choice.”
“Oh, really? Care to explain things, Pete?”
“No, I will not explain, and lower your voice. Don’t assume they’re not listening.”
“I don’t care if they’re listening.”
His eyes glazed as he pointed a finger at her and said, “Settle down, Florry. I’m in no mood for your theatrics and I will not be abused. I did what I did for a reason and perhaps one day you will understand. For now, though, I have nothing to say about the matter and since you don’t understand I suggest you watch your words.”
Her eyes instantly watered and her lip quivered. She dropped her chin to her chest and mumbled, “So you can’t even talk to me?”
“To no one, not even you.”
She stared at the floor for a long time as his words sank in. The day before they’d had their usual fine Wednesday breakfast with no hint of what was to come. Pete was like that now: aloof, distant, often in another world.
Florry looked at him and said, “I’m going to ask you why.”
“And I have nothing to say.”
“What did Dexter Bell do to deserve this?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Is Liza involved in this?”
Pete hesitated for a second and Florry knew she had touched a nerve. He said, “I have nothing to say,” and went about the deliberate business of removing a cigarette from a pack, tapping it on his wristwatch for some unfathomable reason, as always, then lighting it with a match.
“Do you feel any remorse or sympathy for his family?” she asked.
“I try not to think about them. Yes, I’m sorry it had to happen, but this was not something I wanted to do. They, along with the rest of us, will simply learn to live with what has happened.”
“Just like that? It’s over. He’s dead. Too bad. Just deal with it as life goes on. I’d like to see you trot this little theory out in front of his three beautiful children right now.”
“Feel free to leave.” She made no movement except for the gentle dabbing of her cheeks with a tissue. Pete blew some smoke that settled into a fog not far above their heads. They could hear voices in the distance, laughter coming from the sheriff and his deputies as they went about their business.
Finally, Florry asked, “What are the conditions like back there?”
“It’s a jail. I’ve seen worse.”
“Are they feeding you?”
“The food’s okay. I’ve seen worse.”
“Joel and Stella want to come home and see you. They are terrified, Pete, absolutely frightened stiff, and, understandably, quite confused.”
“I’ve made it very clear they are not to come home until I say. Period. Please remind them of this. I know what’s best.”
“I doubt that. What’s best is for their father to be at home going about his business and trying to keep a fractured family together, not sitting in jail charged with a senseless murder.”
Ignoring this, he said, “I worry about them, but they are strong and smart and they’ll survive.”
“I’m not so sure about that. It’s easy for you to assume they’re as strong as you, given what you went through, but that may not be the case, Pete. You can’t just assume that your children will survive this unscarred.”
“I’ll not be lectured. You are welcome to come visit, and I appreciate it, but not if you feel the need to deliver a sermon with each visit. Let’s keep things on the light side, Florry, okay? My days are numbered. Don’t make them worse.”
Chapter 6
The Honorable Rafe Oswalt had been the circuit court judge for Ford, Tyler, Milburn, Polk, and Van Buren Counties for the past seventeen years. Because he lived next door in Smithfield, the seat of Polk County, he had never met either the defendant or the deceased. Like everyone else, though, he was intrigued by the facts and eager to assume jurisdiction over the matter. During his unremarkable career on the bench, he had presided over a dozen or so rather routine murders—drunken brawls, knife fights in black honky-tonks, domestic conflicts—all crimes of rage or passion that usually ended in short trials followed by long prison sentences. Not a single murder had involved the death of such a prominent person.