A Specter of Justice Read Online Free PDF Page B

help.”
    Shirley picked up the cue. “I’m Shirley. I work with Cory and Hewitt and I’m a founding member of Asheville Apparitions.” She smiled at Molly and Lenore who were seated on the other side of Hewitt. “Several of us are here tonight. We not only want to raise money for Jimmy and Johnny Atwood, but also work to bring comfort to the spirit of Heather Atwood who must be grieving for her children.”
    I took a quick glance at the volunteers whom I suspected were not members of the spiritualist organization. In addition to Peterson and Wofford, a woman and man had arrived together and stood by themselves until we were seated. They were casually dressed and appeared to be in their mid-twenties. When Shirley mentioned consoling Heather’s spirit, they looked at each other. The man rolled his eyes, but the woman gave him a sharp scowl. He mouthed, “Sorry.”
    As if sensing the skepticism in the room, Shirley said, “Now we know everyone here doesn’t believe in the spiritual dimension that surrounds us.” Instead of looking at the eye-roller, Shirley zeroed in on me. “But that’s Okay. We’re all working for the same cause and I want to join Cory in offering my thanks.”
    Shirley nodded to Nakayla.
    â€œI’m Nakayla Robertson. Sam and I work in the same building with Shirley and Cory. When we heard about the fundraiser, we knew we wanted to help. I plan to work on ticket sales and sponsorships, and I’ll be hosting one of the buses the night of the event.”
    Jerry Wofford leaned forward to see around Hewitt. “Are you the detectives?”
    â€œYes,” Nakayla said. “The Blackman and Robertson Agency. We were also involved in the Atwood case, and although I’m not sure that the grieving spirit of Heather walks among us, I do want to do right by her. I hope that some semblance of justice will be done for her children.”
    Nakayla spoke with such conviction that everyone sat quietly for a moment.
    â€œSam,” Cory prompted.
    â€œSorry,” I said. “I’m Sam Blackman, Nakayla’s partner. I’m all for the fundraiser, but uncertain I’ll make the best host.”
    â€œAre you on a bus too?” Tom Peterson asked.
    â€œNo. I’m telling Helen’s story up at the bridge on Beaucatcher Mountain.”
    The young couple across from me leaned closer.
    â€œHelen’s Bridge?” the man asked.
    â€œYes. But I won’t be playing Helen.”
    His companion turned in her seat. “What’s Helen’s Bridge?” she asked him.
    â€œWe can discuss that later,” Cory said. “Hewitt?”
    The lawyer stood to speak, an unalterable trait of his professional style. “I’m Hewitt Donaldson. Outside of this fundraiser, I am the lawyer for Heather Atwood’s mother. I’m not gracious enough to be a host, but I’m told I’m persuasive enough to strong-arm some sponsorships and block ticket sales. I plan to stay in the background and let you creative, more energetic people take charge.”
    â€œReally?” Shirley asked. “Stay in the background? I think the only time that happened was when you thought the people in front of you were part of the press corps.”
    Everyone laughed.
    Hewitt sat and said in a stage whisper, “So much for Asheville’s unemployment numbers declining.”
    Shirley bowed. “And that’s why my boss, Mr. Donaldson, always gets the last word.”
    â€œYour turn, Mr. Wofford,” Cory said.
    The gray-haired man shrugged. “I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. I moved here from Denver about nine months ago and traded the Rockies for the Appalachians. I worked for Coors and decided to open my own craft brewery. This is the hottest spot in the country for new beers and I take it as a challenge to compete with the best. When I heard about the tragedy in the courtroom and the