Gray Mountain

“Where would I go?” she asked. “I’ve lost my car.”

“You just sit down and keep quiet.” She sat in a plastic chair and he disappeared through the door. Evidently, the walls were quite thin because she heard him say, “Got a girl from New York out there, picked her up at Du

A male voice responded sharply, “Oh come on, Romey, not again.”

“Yep. Nailed her.”

“You gotta stop that crap, Romey.”

“Don’t start with me again, Doug.”

There were heavy footsteps as the voices grew muted, then disappeared. Then, from deeper in the jail, loud angry voices erupted. Though she couldn’t understand what was being said, it was obvious that at least two men were arguing with Romey. The voices went silent as the minutes passed. A chubby man in a blue uniform walked through the jail door and said, “Howdy. Are you Miss Kofer?”

“I am, yes,” she answered, glancing around at the empty room.

He handed back her license and said, “Just wait a minute, okay?”

“Sure.” What else could she say?

From the back, voices rose and fell and then stopped completely. She sent a text to her mother, one to her father, and one to Blythe. If her body was never found, they would at least know a few of the details.

The door opened again and a young man entered the waiting room. He wore faded jeans, hiking boots, a fashionable sports coat, no tie. He offered her an easy smile and said, “Are you Samantha Kofer?”

“I am.”

He pulled over another plastic chair, sat with their knees almost touching, and said, “My name is Donovan Gray. I’m your attorney, and I’ve just gotten all charges dismissed. I suggest we get out of here as soon as possible.” As he spoke, he gave her a business card, which she glanced at. It appeared to be legitimate. His office was on Main Street in Brady.

“Okay, and where will we be going?” she asked carefully.

“Back to get your car.”

“What about that constable?”

“I’ll explain as we go.”

They hurried from the jail and got into a late-model Jeep Cherokee. When he started the engine, Springsteen roared from the stereo and he quickly turned it off. He was between thirty-five and forty, she guessed, with shaggy dark hair, at least three days’ worth of stubble, and dark sad eyes. As they backed away, she said, “Wait, I need to text some people.”

“Sure. You’ll have good service for a few miles.”

She texted her mother, father, and Blythe with the news that she was no longer at the jail and things seemed to be improving, under the circumstances. Don’t worry, yet. She felt safer, for the moment. She would call and explain later.

When the town was behind them, he began: “Romey’s not really a cop, or a constable, or anyone with any authority. The first thing you need to understand is that he’s not all there, got a couple of screws loose. Maybe more. He’s always wanted to be the sheriff, and so from time to time he feels compelled to go on patrol, always around Du

“Why doesn’t someone stop him?”

“Oh we try. Everybody yells at him, but you can’t watch him twenty-four hours a day. He’s very sneaky and he knows these roads better than anyone. Usually, he’ll just pull over the reckless driver, some poor guy from New Jersey, scare the hell out of him, and let him go. No one ever knows about it. But occasionally he’ll show up at the jail with someone in custody and insist that they be locked up.”

“I’m not believing this.”

“He’s never hurt anyone, but—”

“He fired a shot at another driver. My ears are still ringing.”

“Okay, look he’s crazy, like a lot of folks around here.”

“Then lock him up. Surely there are laws against false arrest and kidnapping.”

“His cousin is the sheriff.”

She took a deep breath and shook her head.

“It’s true. His cousin has been our sheriff for a long time. Romey is very envious of this; in fact, he once ran against the sheriff. Got about ten votes county-wide and that really upset him. He was stopping Yankees right and left until they sent him away for a few months.”

“Send him away again.”

“It’s not that simple. You’re actually lucky he didn’t take you to his jail.”

“His jail?”

Donovan was smiling and enjoying his narrative. “Oh yes. About five years ago, Romey’s brother found a late-model sedan with Ohio tags parked behind a barn on their family’s farm. He looked around, heard a noise, and found this guy from Ohio locked in a horse stall. It turns out Romey had fixed up the stall with chicken wire and barbed wire, and the poor guy had been there for three days. He had plenty of food and was quite comfortable. He said Romey checked on him several times a day and couldn’t have been nicer.”

“You’re making this up.”

“I am not. Romey was off his meds and going through a bad time. Things got ugly. The guy from Ohio raised hell and hired lawyers. They sued Romey for false imprisonment and a bunch of other stuff, but the case went nowhere. He has no assets, except for his patrol car, so a civil suit is worthless. They insisted he be prosecuted for kidnapping and so on, and Romey eventually pled guilty to a minor charge. He spent thirty days in jail, not his jail but the county jail, then got sent back to the state mental facility for a tune-up. He’s not a bad guy, really.”

“A charmer.”

“Frankly, some of the other cops around here are more dangerous. I like Romey. I once handled a case for his uncle. Meth.”

“Meth?”

“Crystal methamphetamine. After coal, it’s probably the biggest cash crop in these parts.”

“Can I ask you something that might seem a bit personal?”

“Sure. I’m your lawyer, you can ask me anything.”

“Why do you have that gun in the console?” She nodded at the console just below her left elbow. In plain view was a rather large black pistol.

“It’s legal. I make a lot of enemies.”

“What kind of enemies?”

“I sue coal companies.”

She assumed an explanation would take some time, so she took a deep breath and watched the road. After recounting Romey’s adventures, Donovan seemed content to enjoy the silence. She realized he had not asked what she was doing in Noland County, the obvious question. At Thack’s Bridge, he turned around in the middle of the road and parked behind the Prius.

She said, “So, do I owe you a fee?”

“Sure. A cup of coffee.”

“Coffee, around here?”

“No, there’s a nice café back in town. Mattie’s in court and will likely be tied up until five, so you have some time to kill.”

She wanted to say something but words failed her. He continued, “Mattie’s my aunt. She’s the reason I went to law school and she helped me through. I worked with her clinic while I was a student, then for three years after I passed the bar. Now I’m on my own.”

“And Mattie told you I would show up for an interview?” For the first time she noticed a wedding ring on his finger.

“A coincidence. I often stop by her office early in the morning for coffee and gossip. She mentioned all these e-mails from New York lawyers suddenly looking for do-gooder work, said one might show up today for an interview. It’s kind of amusing, really, for lawyers like us down here to see big-firm lawyers ru

“I wasn’t pla