Free A Killing at the Creek by Nancy Allen Page B

Harris. You all ready?”
    Billy Yocum rose slowly from his chair and drawled, “As a courtesy, I’d be glad to give the state the chance to go first.”
    Elsie jumped up, her blood pressure shooting up in response to Yocum’s suggestion. “Your honor, this is defendant’s motion. We didn’t ask for a change of venue. If defendant doesn’t have any evidence in support of his motion, he should say so, and we can free up the court’s time.”
    Yocum turned to her, laughing. “Judge, tell the prosecutor to settle down. It’s too hot to get riled up over nothing. My witnesses are right outside; I’ll be glad to call them. I guess Miss Arnold’s not particularly concerned about inconveniencing the witnesses for the state.” As an aside, he said to Elsie, “Those benches out there are mighty hard.”
    Elsie gave him a sour look. Billy Yocum always knew how to get her goat.
    The judge said, “Call your witness, Billy.”
    Yocum called a Mrs. Cooper to the stand, a pleasant-­looking middle-­aged woman, wearing church clothes. Under examination, she told the court that she had read about the case in the newspaper and seen it on TV, and she’d already made up her mind about defendant’s guilt. Because of the news coverage, she couldn’t be impartial. The man could not get a fair trial in McCown County, she added.
    â€œNo further questions,” Yocum said, favoring the woman with a courtly nod.
    Elsie stood. Advancing toward the witness stand, she asked, “Ma’am, are you acquainted with the defendant?”
    â€œNever met him.”
    â€œHow about his attorney, Mr. Yocum?”
    â€œNo.”
    Elsie paused, puzzled. Yocum would not call a witness to the stand for a change of venue hearing unless she was certain to be in his pocket.
    â€œYou don’t know Mr. Yocum from church? Rotary? From a civic organization?”
    â€œNo,” the woman said, as Yocum objected: “Asked and answered.”
    â€œSustained,” the judge murmured, eyes closed. He looked ready for a nap.
    Elsie studied the witness for a moment. Oozing respectability, the woman was clearly a law-­abiding citizen. She could not be connected to the meth business, or the defendant sitting next to Billy Yocum.
    â€œWhere do you work?”
    â€œI’m a homemaker.”
    Elsie smiled. Gotcha , she thought.
    â€œAre you acquainted with Mr. Yocum’s wife? Peggy?”
    The woman flushed. Glancing at the defense attorney, she said, “Yes.”
    â€œHow do you know Mrs. Yocum?”
    â€œWe’re in PEO together.”
    â€œAh,” said Elsie, nodding sagely, “that’s a sorority, right?”
    Pursing her lips, the woman answered, “It is a philanthropic educational organization.”
    Elsie knew better. And she knew she couldn’t ask what “PEO” stood for; it was a closely guarded secret of the society. The old gal could tell Elsie, but then she’d have to kill her.
    â€œDid Mrs. Yocum ask you to appear today?”
    â€œYes.” She shifted in the chair, as if the seat had become uncomfortable; she knew the cat was out of the bag.
    â€œWhat did Mrs. Yocum say or do?”
    â€œWell. It seems like she showed me the newspaper article, and asked me to read it. We talked about the case a little bit. We agreed he couldn’t get a fair trial here.”
    â€œWhere did this conversation take place?”
    â€œAt the PEO meeting. During luncheon.”
    Elsie glanced out into the hallway. Two other women waited on the bench that the present witness had vacated. They looked like her clones, from their lacquered silver hair, right down to their pantyhose.
    â€œAre you acquainted with any other witnesses who will appear today on defendant’s behalf?”
    â€œObjection! Calls for speculation!”
    â€œOverruled,” said the judge, with a meaning look at Yocum.
    The