Fatal Judgment. Andrew Welsh-Huggins
him.”
My business card had the usual effect on her, which is to say the look on her face matched the expression people get finding half a bug in their house Caesar salad.
“So why are you here?”
I explained about finding the receipt.
“I can ask my manager,” she said doubtfully.
“Thank you. Also—?”
“Yes?”
“Could you warm up the pie?”
As she disappeared around the corner, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of “Welcome to the Jungle” emitting from my back pocket. My heart sped up. The judge? I extracted the phone, and swallowed my disappointment when I saw it was Bonnie calling.
“That was fast.”
“Sure, not counting the nap I just took. Anyway, that license? Gary Phipps from Missouri? He’s not showing up anywhere, other than a Wikipedia page about retired motocross racers. It’s probably fake.”
“I should have figured. He just didn’t have the ring of truth about him. Any connection to the realty company? Or the judge?”
“None that I could find.”
“Anything on Rumford itself?”
“Not a whole lot. Looks like a medium-sized business, headquarters in Hilliard.” The fast-growing suburb on the northwest side of Columbus was a booming conglomeration of subdivisions, big box stores, and vanishing farmland. No wetlands to speak of. “They do a lot of small retail plazas. Not a huge player, as far as I can tell, but not small either.”
“And that’s what’s planned for Mendon Woods?”
“Hard to say. They want commercial zoning, but there’s nothing concrete beyond that. Pretty vague.”
Carefully, I said, “And this judge. Laura Porter—the one overseeing that case. She’s supposed to rule soon?”
“Relatively soon, yes.”
“Meaning what?”
“She delayed things recently at the state’s request. They wanted to do another survey on this bird.”
“What bird?”
“Hang on.” I heard the click-clacking of keys. “It’s called a coastal tanager.”
“Right.” I remembered the marker at the park along the walkway. “What’s the survey about?”
“To see how many are left. Apparently Mendon Woods is one of their last habitats in Ohio.”
I recalled Deanna Fleischer’s timely appearance at the pond as Tear Drop prepared to do his worst. Is that what she’d been up to—conducting a new count of coastal tanagers?
I said, “What did the survey show?”
“It hasn’t come back yet. I guess she’s still waiting for it. That guy’s not happy about it, according to one article I read.”
“Which guy?”
“One of the lawyers.”
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