Read Online A Real Basket Case by Beth Groundwater - Free Book Online
Authors: Beth Groundwater
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Garden of the Gods and just saw a climber fall.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No, he was smart. His rope saved him. He was climbing in a group and had gear.” Unlike the handful of tourists who managed to kill themselves each summer scrambling up the rock with no ropes, hardware, or brains . “Back to what we were talking about. Tell Mr. Peters that Roger’s arraignment is this morning, so he should be released on bail today. I’m sure Roger will contact him right away.”
“But—”
“Roger said you gave him a message that I called yesterday. Do you have a record of it?”
“It should be in my message book, on the carbon copy.” The phone carried the sound of pages flipping. “It’s not here. Oh, I remember. Our new receptionist took the message and gave it to me.”
“Could you transfer me to her?” Claire sat down on the knee-high rock wall next to the trail.
“I guess so.” The secretary said it reluctantly, as if the last thing she wanted was to give up the chance to question Claire some more.
A moment later, a girlish voice said, “Hello?”
“This is Claire Hanover. I understand you took a phone message yesterday for my husband that supposedly came from me.”
After a delay, during which Claire heard paper rustling, the girl said, “I took the message at eleven-fifteen and gave it to Mr. Hanover’s secretary a few minutes later.”
“What did the woman say?”
“It wasn’t you?”
“No.” Claire drummed her fingers on the ice-cold rock next to her.
“Goodness. I just assumed it was you, since you, I mean the caller, said ‘This is Mrs. Hanover.’ ” The receptionist paused. “You . . . she said she needed Roger at home, it was an emergency, and he should be there by noon. I had a little trouble understanding you . . . her. She may have been on a cell phone.”
“Do you remember what she sounded like?”
“I couldn’t tell much with the static. The voice was definitely an older woman’s voice. Older than me, I mean. I know that much for sure, but something was different from the way you sound now.”
Heart beating faster, with the prospect of freeing Roger with this new information, Claire struggled to remain patient with the girl. “What? How was the voice different from mine?”
“The woman had an accent, like she was from Mexico or South America. Does this have something to do with—”
“Thanks for your help.” Claire hung up.
As she rose and headed back to the car, she wondered who had called Roger, and why. Someone had wanted him to find her with Enrique, but did that someone do it to hurt Roger, Claire, or Enrique? In any case, she had succeeded on all three counts. And Roger’s life was hanging in the balance just like that climber’s.
But now Claire had hope; new information to give the police. Maybe Enrique had told someone about his appointment with her, a woman perhaps . . . with a Hispanic accent.
SIX:
GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY?
Claire reached the city courthouse at ten-fifteen and found the courtroom a few minutes later. She slipped through the door and searched for Dave Kessler, Roger’s interim attorney and Ellen’s ex-husband. The cavernous room smelled of dark oak, lots of it, polished with lemon-scented wax. The somber hush made her slow her steps so her heels wouldn’t click on the hard floor. She’d ditched her usual jeans and athletic shoes for a skirt and low-heeled pumps, hoping the image of a respectful wife might help Roger.
Up front, a rail separated rows of audience benches from the raised judge’s dais, two tables, and an empty juror’s box. A tall, orange-suited young man, with a swastika razored into his close-cropped hair, stood defiantly before the judge while his lawyer droned.
Claire spied Dave sitting near the front. He had put on a few pounds since she last saw him, but he still had his full head of wavy salt-and-pepper hair.
She slid onto the bench beside him and whispered a nervous hello.
He placed a finger
“Is he hurt?”
“No, he was smart. His rope saved him. He was climbing in a group and had gear.” Unlike the handful of tourists who managed to kill themselves each summer scrambling up the rock with no ropes, hardware, or brains . “Back to what we were talking about. Tell Mr. Peters that Roger’s arraignment is this morning, so he should be released on bail today. I’m sure Roger will contact him right away.”
“But—”
“Roger said you gave him a message that I called yesterday. Do you have a record of it?”
“It should be in my message book, on the carbon copy.” The phone carried the sound of pages flipping. “It’s not here. Oh, I remember. Our new receptionist took the message and gave it to me.”
“Could you transfer me to her?” Claire sat down on the knee-high rock wall next to the trail.
“I guess so.” The secretary said it reluctantly, as if the last thing she wanted was to give up the chance to question Claire some more.
A moment later, a girlish voice said, “Hello?”
“This is Claire Hanover. I understand you took a phone message yesterday for my husband that supposedly came from me.”
After a delay, during which Claire heard paper rustling, the girl said, “I took the message at eleven-fifteen and gave it to Mr. Hanover’s secretary a few minutes later.”
“What did the woman say?”
“It wasn’t you?”
“No.” Claire drummed her fingers on the ice-cold rock next to her.
“Goodness. I just assumed it was you, since you, I mean the caller, said ‘This is Mrs. Hanover.’ ” The receptionist paused. “You . . . she said she needed Roger at home, it was an emergency, and he should be there by noon. I had a little trouble understanding you . . . her. She may have been on a cell phone.”
“Do you remember what she sounded like?”
“I couldn’t tell much with the static. The voice was definitely an older woman’s voice. Older than me, I mean. I know that much for sure, but something was different from the way you sound now.”
Heart beating faster, with the prospect of freeing Roger with this new information, Claire struggled to remain patient with the girl. “What? How was the voice different from mine?”
“The woman had an accent, like she was from Mexico or South America. Does this have something to do with—”
“Thanks for your help.” Claire hung up.
As she rose and headed back to the car, she wondered who had called Roger, and why. Someone had wanted him to find her with Enrique, but did that someone do it to hurt Roger, Claire, or Enrique? In any case, she had succeeded on all three counts. And Roger’s life was hanging in the balance just like that climber’s.
But now Claire had hope; new information to give the police. Maybe Enrique had told someone about his appointment with her, a woman perhaps . . . with a Hispanic accent.
SIX:
GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY?
Claire reached the city courthouse at ten-fifteen and found the courtroom a few minutes later. She slipped through the door and searched for Dave Kessler, Roger’s interim attorney and Ellen’s ex-husband. The cavernous room smelled of dark oak, lots of it, polished with lemon-scented wax. The somber hush made her slow her steps so her heels wouldn’t click on the hard floor. She’d ditched her usual jeans and athletic shoes for a skirt and low-heeled pumps, hoping the image of a respectful wife might help Roger.
Up front, a rail separated rows of audience benches from the raised judge’s dais, two tables, and an empty juror’s box. A tall, orange-suited young man, with a swastika razored into his close-cropped hair, stood defiantly before the judge while his lawyer droned.
Claire spied Dave sitting near the front. He had put on a few pounds since she last saw him, but he still had his full head of wavy salt-and-pepper hair.
She slid onto the bench beside him and whispered a nervous hello.
He placed a finger
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