“Thank you, Scarlett,” he said. “I appreciate that.”
The door opened, and I glanced up. Felt a sense of discomfort in my gut. Judge Kendall walked in with his wife. He was a large man with a round belly. Balding with a short white beard. His eyes swept around the restaurant, pausing on our table for a moment. His wife clutched a little yellow handbag and kept her eyes on the floor. He nudged her forward, and she shuffled ahead of him to a table.
I’d always felt a bit odd seeing Judge and Mrs. Kendall. They didn’t live in Bootleg Springs year-round, but spent their summers here. Even kept on after Callie had disappeared. I felt bad for them. Felt bad they had to face the place their daughter was last seen—probably where she’d died. I wasn’t sure why they kept coming back to Bootleg year after year. But maybe facing it helped them, somehow. Hard to be sure.
My siblings chatted over breakfast, mostly about tomorrow. There was a lot going on in Bootleg for the Fourth, and Scarlett wanted to make sure we’d all turn out for the festivities. I’d go, but I doubted I’d be in the mood to celebrate any more than I was in the mood for my waffles this morning.
Clarabell left Judge Kendall’s table, and he rose from his seat. Walked over to us, and stood next to our table.
Whatever Scarlett had been about to say died on her lips as she looked up at the judge.
“Pardon the interruption,” Judge Kendall said. His voice was low and smooth—almost soft coming from the big man. “I just wanted you all to know that I don’t hold your daddy responsible for what happened to my daughter. I’m aware of what was found in his home, but my wife and I harbor no ill will against your family.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bowie said. “We appreciate hearing that.”
Judge Kendall nodded. “Truth be told, we’d like it if they stopped the investigation all together. It’s so difficult on my wife. She’s in a fragile state, and this has brought up painful memories.”
“I’d imagine so,” Bowie said.
The rest of us stayed silent, allowing Bowie to speak for us.
“My daughter was… troubled,” Judge Kendall said. “I’ve told the police many times. It runs on her mother’s side of the family, I’m afraid.” He glanced back at his wife who sat staring at the table. “We tried to get her help, but even Bootleg wasn’t enough to cure her.”
Callie Kendall had been my age, but I hadn’t known her well. Talking to girls, other than Leah Mae, hadn’t been my best skill in those days. But she’d been around at the lake or wherever us kids had been hanging out during the summer. Troubled wouldn’t have been a word I’d have used to describe Callie, although you never knew what people were hiding. Pensive, maybe. Anxious, sometimes. But also sweet and friendly. Her father had always maintained that she’d committed suicide, and there was something about that I couldn’t quite swallow.
Of course, if the alternative was that my father had killed her, I wasn’t sure which was worse. Suicide was a terrible, tragic thing. But finding out my father really had murdered a sixteen-year-old girl would have been horrifying.
“I guess we’ll see what the police decide about all of it,” Scarlett said.
Scarlett thought the judge was wrong about Callie. I could see it in her eyes. She was a fireball, but smart enough not to start trouble with Judge Kendall. But I could tell she was itching to say more.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your breakfasts,” Judge Kendall said. “I just didn’t want to let the silence between us stretch on any longer than necessary. What Callie did was tragic, and I hope the police will let it lie so my wife and I can have some peace.”
“Thank you, Judge,” Bowie said. “Y’all take care.”
With a tilt of his head, Judge Kendall went back to his table.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Scarlett said in a low voice.
“I guess that means he won’t be pushing to search Dad’s property again,” Bowie said.
“You should all still keep your distance,” Devlin said quietly. “Just go about your business, and let the Kendalls go about theirs.”