The Trial of Dr. Kate (19 page)

“As they should. Just look at the poor Negroes. God only knows when we’ll get rid of this awful segregation. I blame the Republicans for all our postwar troubles.”

Shenandoah laughed and said, “I assume you’re referring to the War of Northern Aggression.”

“True, though I prefer to call it what it was: a war to preserve the union and to abolish slavery.”

“I’ve always been amazed how southerners tend to live in the past. My God, that war’s been over for almost ninety years,” Shenandoah said.

“The South was occupied. That’s the difference. We still find Minié balls on this farm, and a lot of people can remember a great-grandfather who was killed by the Yankees.”

“The only war I want to forget is the last one,” Shenandoah said. She leaned forward. “I’m trying to help my friend Kate Marlow. Tell me how you feel about her.”

“She’s a wonderful doctor,” Frances said. “I don’t think she took Lillian Johnson’s life. I don’t know what happened to the poor woman, but I just can’t believe Dr. Kate had anything to do with it. What do you think?”

“I agree, but there are some bothersome questions.”

“There always are.”

“The trial starts Monday. Are you going?”

“Jake Watson has asked me to be a character witness. I’m sure the place will be packed. Morbid curiosity is a human trait.”

Shenandoah stood and extended her hand. “I have to go now, Miss Frances, and I’m sure you have more important things to do. Please tell Persifor I’m sorry I missed him. He was always good to my father and me.”

“I’ll show you to the door, Shenandoah. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your visit. Please stay in touch, and send me a copy of that book when it’s published.”

* * *

Shenandoah ate supper at the Beacon Restaurant in Cookeville and returned to Round Rock around seven that night to find Hattie Mae and Mr. Applebee sitting in the swing on the front porch. Hattie Mae was fanning herself with a paper fan from Walton’s Funeral Home, and Mr. Applebee was taking deep breaths, his massive tongue hanging out.

“Lord have mercy, Shenandoah, this heat is about to kill us. Poor Mr. Applebee can’t even sleep at night, and when he does, the little dear snores so loud I can’t sleep myself.”

“It’s hot. That’s for sure.” Shenandoah sat on the top step. “I saw Mr. Sloan over at the hardware store today. He’s a nice fellow.”

“He’s one-half of the Golden Boys.”

“I remember. Sheriff Jeb was the other one.”

“That’s right. Abel Sloan and Jeb Marlow—Kate’s uncle, you’ll recall—were up at University of Tennessee and played football on Coach Neyland’s first team. Darn good at it too. That would have been in 1926, when they had an eight and one record. Vanderbilt beat them twenty to three.”

Suddenly, Hattie Mae sat bolt upright and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, Shenandoah, I darn near forgot to tell you! Jake Watson come by here looking for you around five or so. Said he wanted you to come by his house after supper—something about a car and some men. I swear, the old fool talks so fast that sometimes I can’t understand nothing he says.”

Shenandoah looked at her watch. “It’s five after seven. Think it’s too late to go?”

“I reckon not.”

Jake’s house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac at the top of a long hill. It was the only dwelling on the street, surrounded by a dense forest of maples, oaks, and hackberry trees. A blue Victorian with white shutters, it stood three stories with a porch in front and along both sides. White gingerbread trim adorned the top of the porch and each window. The yard, beautifully landscaped, featured a large gazebo to the right of the house.

Shenandoah knocked and soon heard footsteps on a hardwood floor. Jake opened the door and motioned her in. “Glad you could make it. I wasn’t sure Hattie Mae got my message straight.”

“As a matter of fact, she said you wanted to talk to me about a car and some men.”

“God love her, Hattie Mae is a sweet old thing, but she’s not too bright. She looks like she was hit with an ugly stick, as well. How’s living there?”

“Interesting. She’s kind of taken me under her wing. Seems I remind her of her daughter. I’m even warming up to Mr. Applebee.”

“Come back to the library. I’ve got something to show you.” Shenandoah followed Jake down a long hallway past a beautiful spiral staircase that reminded Shenandoah of a scene from
Gone with the Wind
. They walked into a majestic room with real walnut bookcases, filled to capacity. A walnut ladder on rollers sat in front of the shelves. A large brick fireplace took up one end of the room, and over it hung an oil portrait of a man who resembled Jake. Two regal red leather chairs with matching ottomans faced the fireplace. On the opposite side of the room, a large walnut cabinet that housed a series of loudspeakers sat next to an expensive-looking turntable.

“This is a spectacular room,” Shenandoah said. “I’ve never seen so many books. Are they legal volumes?”

“Heavens, no. The law books stay at the office. This is my collection of novels, histories, and biographies. A good number of them belonged to my father.” Pointing to the portrait, Jake said, “That’s him when he was on the Tennessee Supreme Court. Have a seat, Shenandoah. I want you to hear something.”

Lowering the stylus onto a 33 1/3 record, Jake said, “I was going to have us listen to
Carmen
, but I just got a new recording of Maria Callas singing Puccini’s
Tosca
. It was recorded live on September 14 last year in Rio de Janeiro.”

Suddenly, the room filled with the overture to
Tosca
. Shenandoah felt the bass ranges vibrate her chair. It was the most fantastic sound she had ever heard from a recording.

Jake said, “This is something new. It’s called high fidelity recording, hi-fi for short. I heard it last winter when I was in Chicago.”

The door opened, and a petite woman entered the room carrying a silver tray that held a silver coffeepot, matching cream and sugar containers, and a plate of cookies. The woman looked to be around forty, and had light, milk chocolate skin, fine, sharp features, and extremely short curly hair. She carried herself with a subtle grace. As she set the tray on a table between the chairs, Jake said, “Shenandoah, this is Yolanda, my housekeeper. Yolanda, Shenandoah.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Shenandoah,” Yolanda said.

Shenandoah nodded and said, “Likewise.”

“When I lost my wife a few years back, Yolanda stepped in to take care of the house and cook my meals. I couldn’t get along without her.”

“If you don’t need anything else, Mr. Jake, I’ll be in my room.”

“We’re fine. I’ll see you in the morning.” Turning back to Shenandoah, Jake said, “I thought we’d listen to part of the first act and then talk a little. Help yourself to the coffee.”

Shenandoah picked up the silver pot and poured a china cup full of a very rich, dark coffee. She passed the cup to Jake, poured herself one, and then handed Jake the plate of cookies.

“I hope you like chicory,” Jake said. “I got addicted to the stuff when I was doing some postgraduate work at Tulane.”

“I love chicory. This is a fantastic house. How old is it?”

“My father built it around the turn of the century. I inherited it when he died.”

They relaxed, drank coffee, and listened to
Tosca
. After twenty minutes or so, Jake turned off the system and walked to the bookcase. He pushed on a book, and that whole section rotated into the wall to reveal a small bar. He turned to Shenandoah and asked, “Brandy, bourbon, scotch—what’s your poison?”

“Jack on the rocks.”

Jake filled a small crystal tumbler with ice and poured it full of Jack Daniels. After handing it to Shenandoah, he poured himself a small amount of Pinch scotch. “I like mine neat.”

Shenandoah asked, “Does Army Johnson keep you supplied?”

Jake laughed. “Army doesn’t deal in quality whisky, but he’ll do a special run to Atlanta for me about once every six months or so.”

Shenandoah took a sip of her Jack Daniels and gave a deep sigh. “I do enjoy Mr. Motlow’s liquor.”

They sat and drank in silence for a few moments, and then Shenandoah said, “You know, Jake, even though I was raised in the South, I find it a puzzling place. Here we sit in a dry county drinking hard liquor. Hattie Mae says Army Johnson makes a good living flaunting the law.”

Jake put his legs up on the ottoman, leaned back in his chair, took a long sip of his drink, and laughed softly. “Can’t legislate morals. We southerners are a bit hypocritical—say one thing and do another. You comfortable, Shenandoah?”

Shenandoah put her feet up as well. “Absolutely. You know I’ve been going to see Kate every morning since I got here.”

“She told me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she had a drinking problem?”

“It’s a well-known secret. I don’t believe it’s ever interfered with her work.”

“I hate to disagree. The fact that she’s had blackout spells and can’t remember where she’s been should tell you something.”

“You’re an expert?”

“I’ve done some research on the subject because of my family. At least she’s got herself off the stuff while she’s in her cell. If she gets through the trial unscathed, I hope she’ll stay off it.”

“It’s my job to get her through the trial. I plan to defend her with everything I’ve got. But there’s a new twist. McArthur Neal had a massive stroke Thursday, and he won’t be able to prosecute the case. Baxter Hargrove talked the state into assigning a special prosecutor to take McArthur’s place. Thelonius P. Flatt is the man’s name. He’s a well-known defense attorney in Nashville—ran for lieutenant governor two or three years ago.”

“Who would you rather go up against: Neal or Flatt?”

“Neal. At least I know him. Flatt’s an unknown quantity.”

“How’re you planning your defense? How’re you going to deal with the fact Kate can’t remember where she was that day?”

“I’m working on it.”

“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” Shenandoah said as she sat up straight in the chair and faced Jake. “You think Lillian could have killed herself?”

Jake nodded. “I believe that’s what happened,” he said. “I’m not sure how she got the drug and syringe, but somehow she must have.”

“You know that she asked Kate to take her life.”

“That’s what makes me believe that Lillian figured out how to do it herself once Kate told her no.”

“You don’t think Kate would have given her the medicine and syringe?”

“She swears she didn’t. I have to believe her.”

“What if she can’t remember doing it?”

“Just one of the many problems I have to deal with. What can I say? It’s not going to be easy.”

“Well, I’m going to try and figure out how Lillian did it. If I come to any conclusions, I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get. More Jack Daniels?”

“I’m fine. I need to get back to Hattie Mae’s. She doesn’t like me coming in late. Thanks for everything, Jake,” Shenandoah said as she stood and placed her empty glass on the table.

“I always like to share new toys with my friends. Come back after the trial and I’ll play you the first act of
Carmen
.”

Jake walked her to the front door, and Shenandoah asked, “Where can I find Jimmy Joe Short? I need to get some advice.”

“He’s got a small office in the courthouse. He’s mostly on the highway looking for speeders. Best time to catch him is early in the morning.”

“Thanks. I’m going Monday. This Dodge pickup thing is beginning to make me nervous.”

* * *

Shenandoah walked back to her car and returned to Hattie Mae’s. The landlady and Mr. Applebee were still on the porch. As she climbed the steps, Shenandoah said, “I thought you and Mr. Applebee would be in bed by now. How are you feeling?”

Hattie Mae shifted her considerable bulk in the porch swing and said, “I ain’t pert, but I’m a little better than common. It’s just this darn heat that’s killing us both. We may stay out here all night. How was your friend Mr. Watson?”

“He was fine. I met his housekeeper.”

“Yolanda?” Hattie Mae winked at Shenandoah and gave a little chuckle. “I hear tell she’s a mite more than a housekeeper.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Shenandoah, I wonder about you sometimes. You don’t seem to know nothin’ about human nature. What I’m saying is they might be sweet on each other.”

“It’s none of my business,” Shenandoah said. “I’m off to bed—got a big day tomorrow.”

* * *

The next morning Shenandoah awoke to a man’s deep voice. “Harvey Castle had a bad heart attack last night and passed away in his home on Elm Street. The body can be seen at Walton’s Funeral Home—” She reached over and hit the off button of her new clock radio. Rolling out of bed, she could see an imprint of her body on the crumpled, sweat-stained sheet. Since her arrival in Round Rock, the mercury had never dipped below 80 degrees Fahrenheit.

She drove to Livingston and had breakfast at the Blue Dot Café. When she reached the jail, Kate was in the small room waiting for her.

“You know I’m not particularly religious, Shenandoah,” Kate began, “but I’ve been wanting to go to church. Does that make any sense?”

“We always want what we can’t have. Yeah, it makes sense.”

“How’re you today?”

“I’m fine. Bobby Johnson and I are taking Wally to the lake for a picnic. I haven’t met the boy yet. I guess he’s one of your patients.”

“Wally’s a handful, but you’ll enjoy him.”

“It’s hard for me to think of Bobby as a father.”

“I’ve always been impressed with Bobby. He’s a good father.”

“I’m worried he’s going to get killed, doing what he does,” Shenandoah said.

“Let’s hope not.”

Shenandoah nodded. “I was listening to the Cookeville station on the way over and heard General Eisenhower make a statement about the Korean War—or police action, as Mr. Truman calls it.”

“I’m sure Mr. Eisenhower is a wonderful man,” Kate said, “but I think we’ve had enough generals for a while. Have you ever found it strange, Shenandoah, that most of our statues are of generals? How many statues of poets or scientists—or doctors, for that matter—have you ever seen?”

“I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. I’ve never seen a statue of anyone but a general. Still, people are afraid of the Russians. I think that’s why Ike will win the presidency in the fall.”