Nancy Grace - Murder in the Courthouse

How could she afford all that on a secretary’s pay?

Hailey couldn’t help but ask the question again in her mind. And then, in an instant, her plans changed.

Hailey had intended to go jogging in Forsyth Park. One block south of the Johnny Mercer house, the park was a lush thirty-plus acres of live oaks, historical monuments, old park benches, and, the jewel in the crown, the famous three-tiered cast-iron fountain that served as the backdrop for the movie Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil . But all that could wait.

Maybe it was stirring the milk in her tea. Or maybe it was the “Bill Regard for Governor” sign stuck in the dirt on the corner at the red light… or the photo in the Savannah Morning News . Hailey wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but suddenly going to the home of the judge’s secretary seemed a lot more interesting than a morning jog.

Wait a minute. That was Cloud at the courthouse. Now she remembered his boots when he hurried off after she called out to him. Wonder what was up with him? She didn’t have long to wonder; the light turned green and Hailey hit the gas. Ardsley Park it was.

Hailey checked the address again. Could this be right? The address she had was 7768 Victory. Driving by slowly, Hailey peered through her window.

There had to be a full acre of front lawn, carefully manicured and boasting beds of azaleas, palmetto, and laurels, with a large, perfectly formed circular driveway leading onto the street. On both sides of the two street entrances were large stone mounts with eighteenth-century Versailles-type lanterns atop them.

Beyond that rose the house. It was lovely. Judging from the street, it was likely a five-bedroom. Out of curiosity, Hailey ran a quick Google search on the address. Within seconds, an article popped up in the Savannah Seasons , a glossy, but boring, magazine catering to the doings of Savannah’s high society.

Sadly, to get to the scoop on the antebellum behemoth she was spying on at that very minute from her rental car, Hailey had to scroll down through the magazine’s table of contents. Let’s see… “Distinguished Speaker Series with Georgia’s First Lady, Betty-Lou Talmadge”… “Heitzler Cellars Wine Dinner with Third-Generation Winemaker Hendrickson Heitzler”… oh dear… the implications. Hailey’s lips subconsciously pursed as she tried to scroll down with her right hand while still driving with her left. She finally pulled into a side street, Washington Avenue, and maneuvered to one side, putting the car in park, engine still running.

Ugh. She was stuck in some sort of a dinner menu… Passed Canapés, Seared Sea Scallops, Prosciutto-Wrapped Trotters (what was a “trotter”?), Grass-Fed Beef Tenderloin, and Dark Chocolate Mousse with Crème Chiboust and Cassis Coulis.

She was obviously dining in the wrong circles. Hailey smiled at the thought of suggesting this menu to Fincher. Staring at her screen, she saw each item was paired with a different wine, so obviously she was still stuck in the Heitzler Cellars Wine Dinner event. She kept scrolling.

Let’s see… there were two full pages dedicated to honoring the life and legacy of world-famous golf course architect Bobby Trent Jones, a ladies golf session, and a golf greens aerification tutorial, as well as hydrostatic body fat testing, a book club discussion, and a dining article featuring something called a Pinot Palooza.

What alternate universe were these people living in? Hailey let out a silent breath of laughter. On the other hand, Hailey thought to herself, if they spent a day in Hailey’s iPhone or emails, they’d probably think her world was nothing but wonky.

Hailey had no idea how much of high society revolved around golf and wine. Maybe if they didn’t hit the bottle so much they’d have better golf scores. Whatever. In any event, she managed to locate the feature on Eunah Mabry’s family home.

Hmmm… the article had a shot of the front of the home. There was no mistaking it… a large upper balcony was built into the front porch on the home’s second floor and situated between two white Doric columns. A quote from the article ran under the photo, “… a trophy house by grand architect Olaf Ottoman off Ardsley Park’s renowned Washington Avenue…”

Well, that could only mean one thing. She looked up at the street sign to confirm. She was in fact on the “renowned Washington Avenue.” She shook her head and kept reading.

“… a quiet location, the white-columned manse features a front foyer grand staircase, graceful double parlors, and a glass sunroom. Exquisite outdoor spaces showcase a formal garden with a ceramic fountain and covered gazebo.”

Wow. That was it, all right. Taking a deep breath, Hailey U-turned the car in the middle of Washington Avenue, turned right onto Victory, and slowly pulled into the circular driveway that cut an elegant swath through the home’s front lawn. Hey, Hailey didn’t see a “no trespassing” sign, so why not? She repeated this phrase in her mind over and over in case the police were called.

Parking directly in the front behind a silver Audi also parked at the front steps, she got out, closed the car door gently, and made her way up the steps. Hailey pressed the perfectly round doorbell. Through the door, she could hear the bell ringing inside.

No movement. Hailey leaned to the side and peered through clear panes of glass surrounding the front door. Just to the right of the front door in the “entrance foyer” sat an intricately carved Royal Baroque table. Standing on two ornate scrolled legs, the piece was fraught with elaborate foliate scrollwork. It had an equally carved matching mirror over it. Hailey saw in its reflection that an identical table and mirror were positioned directly across the foyer.

But what set the table closest to Hailey apart from its twin across the foyer was the empty wine glass sitting on it. Hailey could see the smear of burgundy still at the bottom of the clear cut glass and lipstick on the rim.

Still no movement. Hailey rang the buzzer again. Nothing. Just then, Hailey caught a movement in one of the twin mirrors, but because they mirrored each other, she didn’t know from which side parlor it came.

Eyes trained, Hailey kept watching… for what… she didn’t exactly know. Hailey watched in the mirror as a woman made her way, slowly, gingerly, across the parlor to Hailey’s left and toward the door.

Steadying herself with the back of an elegant sofa, Eunah Mabry paused. Was she ill? Hailey quickly surmised she was likely not ill, but Hailey turning up on the front mat must have woken Mabry up. But the bedrooms, according to the article anyway, were upstairs. Did the woman spend the night on her sofa?

Mabry finally entered the foyer and, glancing at the door, gave a weak smile that did not extend to her eyes. The clinking of locks being undone and then, the door swung open.

“Good morning. May I help you?”

“Good morning, Ms. Mabry. I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Hailey Dean.”

Eunah Mabry gave a confused look as if trying to place Hailey in her own mind. She bent down to retrieve the morning paper off the front stoop and rising, paused. Eunah looked from the paper back to Hailey and then repeated the comparison.

“Well, at first I must say I did not, but now, of course, seeing the morning paper, I do. How can I help you, Ms. Dean?” Her tone was more hollow than frosty, Hailey thought for a split second.

This wasn’t exactly how Hailey wanted their introduction to go, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Since when did people get their newspapers on their doorsteps? Guess you had to pay extra for that.

“Right. The paper.” Hailey gave the woman her best smile, under the circumstances, and with the words of the sheriff the day Elle died, lashing out at Eunah Mabry, ringing in her ears, Hailey searched for the right words to say. Stupidly, she hadn’t planned her intro.