Page 91 of The River We Remember

“Congratulations, Scott,” she said. “A heroic thing you did yesterday. Read all about it in the paper. Nice photograph, too. Pretty girl.”

Scott looked down and spoke to the floor. “Thanks.”

“How’s Mr. Bluestone this morning?” Charlie asked because she’d become aware that over the past few days the boy and the prisoner had struck up a kind of friendship. Noah Bluestone’s tone changed whenever he mentioned Scott, went from granite, which was how, from behind his bars, he usually addressed everyone, to something softer.

“He’s good, Miss Bauer. Could I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“He told me that a good man died on Inkpaduta Bend. A man worthy of respect.”

“Mr. Bluestone said that to you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Worthy of respect?”

“That’s what he said. I didn’t know Mr. Quinn, really, but I’ve never heard anybody say anything like that about him.”

“Nor have I, Scott.”

“So you don’t know what he meant?”

“No. But I intend to find out.”

“I hope it was okay I told you.”

“It’s just fine, Scott. I’m his lawyer. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He didn’t move and Charlie thought he wasn’t quite finished. “Something else?”

“Mom says you used to work in California defending poor people. She said you defended them against bullies.”

That brought a smile to her lips. “That’s an oversimplification, but I suppose it’s essentially true.”

“Why did you leave California?”

“The honest to God truth is that I got tired and I got lonely. When you’re tired and lonely, home’s a good place to head for. Jewel has its problems but it’s the only place I’ve ever thought of as home.”

He nodded as if that was something he could understand. Then he said, “Bullies, huh?” and gave Charlie a parting look of approval.

Hank Evans let her into Bluestone’s cell and she sat, as she always did when she met with him, at one end of his cot while he sat at the other with his back rigid against the stone wall.

“I talked with our county attorney this morning,” Charlie said. “He’s moved pretty quickly. Your psychiatric evaluation is scheduled for next Tuesday.”

“Think I’m crazy, Charlie?”

“What I think doesn’t matter, Noah. But I’m sure you’ll be found fit to stand trial. Something else. Read this. Then I want to ask you a question.”

She gave him the editorial Sam Wicklow was intent on publishing in the Clarion. He looked it over, handed it back, and said, “Wicklow’s a fool.”

“A damn fine one.”

“He’s just asking for trouble.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”