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within. Lonnie at the reception desk looked up from his paperwork long enough to wish her good morning; otherwise, the place seemed empty. She could hear the faint strains of the radio from beyond the door to the cells, and a stiff wave of disinfectant told her that it was cleaning time in the pens. She resolved to make her visit as brief as possible. Her client didn’t require much counseling, anyway. It was a nothing case, almost certainly a plea bargain. That’s why they had tossed it to her, the newest lawyer on the list.
    â€œI’m here to see Tug Mosier again,” she called out. “I’m his attorney.” She was always careful to wear her most conservative blue suit, low-heeled pumps, and only the tiniest gold earrings for her trips to the county jail. Powell would never have admitted her nervousness to Bill or to any of her male colleagues; she hoped it didn’t show. The best course seemed to be to do her job despite her fears and assume that sooner or later the anxiety would go away. A person could become used to anything, she reasoned; even to being locked in with dangerous felons.
    â€œTug Mosier, huh?” Lonnie whistled. “That’s going to be some case.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? It’s just worthless checks. Though I admit that he shouldn’t havetried to post bail with another bad check. I may be able to get him off with time served.”
    â€œYou mean you haven’t heard yet? The finance company repossessed Tug Mosier’s car yesterday because he made his car payment with one of his rubber checks.”
    â€œThat’s too bad, but it won’t make any real difference to the case—”
    â€œDon’t bet on it, counselor. The finance company found Tug’s girlfriend in the trunk. What was left of her.”
    A. P. Hill sat down on the waiting room bench without even remembering to dust it off first. She felt cold and out of breath at the same time.
Hot damn!
she thought, hugging her briefcase.
I’ve got my first murder case.
    Â Â Â When Edith Creech returned from the courthouse, Bill was tidying his office. He had stacked his legal pads neatly on the corner of his desk. He had alphabetized the contents of his bookshelf. Now he was trying to dust the black-robed mascot Flea Bailey with his handkerchief.
    â€œHello! You’re back!” said Bill. “Can you send dead groundhogs to the dry cleaner, do you think?”
    Edith rolled her eyes. “They’re gonna put you and Mr. Trowbridge in matching straitjackets. I got your paperwork here.” She tossed a sheaf of photocopies onto Bill’s just-dusted desk.“The house goes back to a Colonel Phillips in the late eighteen hundreds, and he left it to the Home for Confederate Women. It’s all in there. Is that what you wanted?”
    â€œYes. Thanks! I already knew all that, but we had to have the documentation for the buyer. Just a formality. Oh, and while you were out, Powell called in to report her big news. Her bad-check guy just turned into a murder case.”
    â€œAnd A. P. Hill is defending him?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œGood,” said Edith. “It’s about time they stopped being soft on criminals around here. How are your cases going?”
    â€œI’ve sent Mr. Trowbridge the kitten question, and I’m waiting for his next salvo. I show the Home for Confederate Women to the first prospective buyer on Wednesday.” Bill laughed. “The buyer, Mr. Huff, wants me to meet him at the airport with a sign that says HUFF , so he can find me. I assured him that wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. Remind me to make the sign between now and Wednesday.”
    â€œI’ll do it,” said Edith. “I print neater than you do. If he’s picky enough to want a sign, he might as well have a good one.”
    â€œThanks. Let’s see: what else have I got done? Oh, I’ve filed Civil Action Number