A Judgment of Whispers Read Online Free

Bar Association, the Health Initiative for the Quallah Boundary, and the board of directors of Pisgah-Cherokee Sports Park.” Yvette paused to smile at Mary. “She’s also a very good tennis player and makes a mean peach cobbler.”
    The audience laughed politely and started to applaud. Mary rose from her seat. As she made her way to the microphone, she looked out at the crowd. Most were female and white, though there were a couple of tables of Cherokee ladies. At the back of the room sat the people who’d gotten her into this—Ginger Cochran, Emily Kurtz, and Anne Babcock. You’d make a great DA, they’d said. You could do so much good in that office. People are so over Turpin. Go for it, Mary. The time is right!
    That she could do better than George Turpin, she had no doubt. Convincing the voters at the Chat N Chew was something else—particularly since Turpin was sitting just one table over, ready to give out free bottles of his prize-winning barbeque sauce.
    She thanked Yvette for her introduction, smiled at Victor Galloway, who had sneaked into the back of the room, then began. With only ten minutes to speak, she decided to tell the voters who she was and why she thought she’d make a good DA. Negative campaigning had turned her off since the days of the first George Bush, and she was determined to keep things positive.
    â€œFirst, let me say how proud I am to be here,” she began. “It reflects highly on the voters of Pisgah County that they would consider a Native American woman as a candidate for District Attorney. When my mother was born in the late forties, North Carolina had only recently guaranteed us Cherokees the right to vote, so I consider it a particular honor to be here running for office.”
    The audience clapped, pleased to be considered progressive in their political thinking. She went on, telling them about growing up on the Quallah Boundary, working as an ADA in Atlanta, and being dubbed “Killer Crow” by the Atlanta newspapers because of her perfect record in capital murder trials.
    â€œThat nickname may seem a bit harsh,” she said, “but when I was a senior in high school, my mother was the victim of a homicide. That incident marked me for life. Never have I forgotten what it feels like to lose someone you love to violence. Though the courts can’t return the person who was taken from you, they can ensure fair trials and stern punishments for those found guilty. As DA, that would be my goal and my total commitment to the voters of this county.”
    She ended her speech quickly after that. The audience looked at her questioningly, shocked, she guessed, that an eighteen-year-old kid would make avenging a murder her life’s work. She nodded her thanks to enthusiastic applause, taking her seat as Victor gave her a thumbs-up from the back row. So far, so good , she thought. My first stump speech. And nobody threw any tomatoes.
    Next up was perennial candidate Prentiss Herbert, a small, slender man who wore bow ties and reminded Mary of an earthworm wearing glasses. He had a small defense practice in town, advertising on billboards that he was the man to call next time the cops collared you for DUI. To Mary’s knowledge, he’d never worked a capital case. She tried to look interested as he rambled on about how the framers of the Constitution believed in liberty and justice for all. From the glazed looks on the audience’s faces, they were as bored with Herbert as she was. She caught a flicker of motion from the corner of her eye. She turned to see Victor hurrying out the door, cell phone to his ear. That’s a business call, she thought. Somebody must need the SBI, double quick . Unless, of course, Victor had just called his own number so he could escape Prentiss Herbert.
    Finally the little man finished. Though everyone clapped, there was an unspoken sense of relief in the room. Maybe the audience figured almost