“I want you to interview a man named Troy Blevins. He teaches band at your old high school.”

“Thought you’d want dirt on Eugene Loach.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He let Mrs. Vega die. Lamar filed a formal complaint against him for dereliction of duty. Loach has to be involved somehow.”

“Maybe he is. I still need you to ask this band teacher some questions.”

“Text me a list.”

“Already did. Check your phone.”

A patrol car rolled past me and hit its lights. It swung into the parking place a few slots ahead of Lamar. Deputy Mercer climbed out. He wore the same mirrored sunglasses and carried a ticket book tucked under his arm.

“Got to go, Doc,” I said. “There’s a situation here. Anything else?”

“Just one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I need you to draw five hundred dollars out of my bank account and bring it down to Galax tomorrow morning.”

“Five hundred bucks? What for?”

“Bail money,” he said, sounding very pleased with himself. “I’m in the Allegheny County jail.”

8

Before I had hung up, Abner admitted he was locked up for interfering with a police investigation. He wouldn’t go into details, except that there was no need to hurry because the arraignment wouldn’t happen until morning. I agreed to wait, even though I hated the idea of leaving him in a cell overnight.

When I got back to the truck, Mercer was finishing a parking ticket and a noise ordinance violation.

“Wait just a cotton picking minute,” Lamar told him. “You’re a county deputy. You can’t write me up for a city ordinance.”

“Tell it to the judge.”

“We’re both in public service,” Lamar said, his voice rising. “How about a little professional courtesy?”

“Professional courtesy is for professionals.” Mercer clicked his ink pen. “You volunteers ain’t real firemen. Just overgrown boys playing with your hoses.”

Mercer sauntered back to the prowler and pulled right in front of a logging truck, which had to lay on its brakes to keep from pancaking him.

“Almost wish that truck had kept going,” Lamar said when I got in and he pulled out behind the logging truck. “I’ve got to talk with Hoyt about that boy. Power’s gone to his head.”

“Mercer knows how to spread the love around,” I said.

Lamar clicked the radio on. A commercial was playing for a new development, Autumn Hills, the same one that I had seen in Landis’s office.

Lamar shook his head. “Building in the flood plain. Hope they know how to swim.”

“Isn’t that illegal? How did they get the permits?”

“Autumn Hills Development Company has Trey Landis on the board. That’s the only permit they needed.”

“I thought Mom was the family cynic.”

“When you’re born and bred in Allegheny County, it ain’t cynicism. It’s called the Way Things Work.”

I leaned forward to turn the volume lower when an Emergency Broadcast System message came in.

“Authorities in Allegheny County,” the computer-generated voice said, “have issued a Silver Alert for Henry James Meeks. Last seen in Galax North Carolina wearing overalls and a light blue shirt. Anyone knowing his whereabouts, contact the Allegheny County Sheriff’s Office.”

Lamar shook his head in disbelief. “There’s a stretch if I ever heard one. That’s not a Silver Alert. It’s a statewide APB. Hoyt’s using the system to catch Stumpy for him.”

“Why would he do that?”

“So he can arrest him, of course.”

“Hoyt thinks Stumpy’s involved with with the fires?”

“That’s what I’m guessing. A man reports one fire, so they assume he started the second one. As if Stumpy could stay sober long enough to plan his next meal.”

“I thought Stumpy gave up drinking.”

“Stumpy’s given up drinking more times than I can remember.”

“So what’s next?”

“Next is your Mama’s protest at the County Council.” Lamar hit the accelerator. The speedometer climbed. “We better not be late, if we know what’s good for us.”

9

Lamar and I arrived just in time for the meeting. In the parking lot across from the courthouse, I spotted Cedar and Luigi.

“Catch you later,” I told Lamar and jogged over to met them. “Fancy meeting y’all here.”

Cedar gave me a peck on the cheek. “When I heard about your mom’s protest, and I had to come watch the fireworks.”

“You made poor Luigi come along?”

“I volunteered,” he said. “ I want to see American democracy in action."

“Probably, you won’t see much democracy,” I warned him. “Not much action, either. These County Council meetings are pretty much a sham. All the decisions were made during backdoor deals.”

“Is that not illegal?” Luigi asked.

“To paraphrase the county historian, welcome to North Carolina.”

We followed a group of protestors with homemade signs into the courthouse. The Council’s planning commission met on the second floor in one of the rooms adjacent to the courtroom. When we entered, the room was standing room only.

I counted fourteen rows of seats, twenty chairs per row. Every one of them was filled with a person holding a placard. Behind the chairs and alongside the rows, dozens more people stood. They had placards, too, stapled to yardsticks to make protest signs.

We found a place to stand on the back wall.

In front of the room, separated from the gallery by velvet rope were two tables. The one facing the audience seated the seven members of the Allegheny County Planning Commission, all of whom shared the same deer-in-the-headlights look.

Mom sat at the table facing the Commissioners, with her back to the crowd. Mom’s attorney sat at her right elbow. I recognized him by his rumpled suit.

A third person sat the other end at the table. He had slicked backed hair and wore a pinstriped dark suit with a crimson square tucked into the breast pocket of the jacket.

Even from the back, I knew it was Trey Landis.

He leaned over to speak a silver-haired man sleeping in a wheelchair. The man raised his head, nodded twice, and fell back asleep.

“Who’s that?” Cedar whispered.

“George Deems Landis himself,” I said. “I’m surprised they brought him out tonight. His health is pretty fragile.”

The gavel came down, and the meeting came to order. The first and only item on the agenda was the discussion of a planned community in the western area of town, a mixed-use neighborhood that would feature homes, shopping, nature trails, and a championship golf course called Autumn Hills.

Mom’s attorney leaned over to whisper something in her ear.

Landis waved at several people in the crowd, and their placards vanished. One look from the man, and the signs went down. It wasn’t even a threatening look. It was a smile, wide, with gleaming teeth that could be only gotten from a dentist’s chair.

On the surface, it was a friendly gesture, but the smile was a threat.

The chair of the commission was a portly man in a pink dress shirt. “I believe this proposal is pro forma. We discussed this in closed session, as you know. The county engineer’s read over the plans and—“

“Point of order,” Mom interrupted. “I believe you skipped a step on the agenda. You’re required to begin the meeting with public input.”

“Sorry, didn’t see you.” The portly man covered his eyes to shield the bright lights. “Is there anybody, ah, here who’d like to comment?”

The crowd burst out in laughter.

“I take that as a yes.”

More laughter.

Even Trey Landis smiled.

“I’ll go first,” Mom said, “since I’m already sitting at the table.”

The chair pulled at his collar. “State your name for the record, ma’am.”

“You know my name, Charlie. I treated your dog for mange last week.”

The crowd hooted.

“Let’s stick to the subject, Dr. Rivenbark,” Charlie the chair said. “We don’t need an unruly puppet show here.”