I blinked back tears as I leaned into him.
Oh, Lord, it’s not supposed to be like this! Then I added, Please change his mind!
EIGHT
I walked into the Amhearst police station at about eight-thirty Wednesday morning and asked for Sergeant Poole. My stomach was a mass of knots and I had a throbbing headache from lack of sleep. In my purse I carried the equivalent of a ticking time bomb.
That’s what I got for reading someone’s private diary.
But how could I not?
I stood in the small entry hall beside the Coke machine. The dispatcher looked at me from behind his wall of bulletproof glass and in a metallic voice that emanated from a speaker over my head told me he’d see if the sergeant was available.
I hadn’t even finished reading the second wanted poster tacked to the bulletin board near the station’s front door when William appeared. He looked especially solemn as he led me into the bowels of the building where the offices were.
“How are you this morning, Merry?” he asked when we were seated in his office.
I smiled wanly. “I’m well,” I managed. “How are you?”
I’d worn a V-neck T-shirt and a linen big shirt, both a lovely rose shade that made my cheeks look nice and pink, on the theory that the bright color would give me courage. It wasn’t working. I just don’t do well with guilt, mine or a friend’s. I jumped on a subject that would put off the topic of my visit a few more minutes.
“Did you know that Martha Colby’s mother is in Amhearst after thirty or so years?” I thought of the stricken face I’d seen last night at Ferretti’s.
He nodded. “She came barreling in here yesterday evening, demanding to know what had happened to her baby.”
“Her baby?” This from a woman who had stayed away for so many years?
“Yep.” William’s mouth curled cynically for a moment, then eased into its normal line. “I do think she was very distressed in spite of the strange situation.”
“Why did she come back? Did she say?” I eyed him. “I’m sure you asked.”
“I did, but you know I can’t talk about an open case with you, Merry.”
“Yes, but isn’t it strange that she’s here when the murder happened? I mean, after not being here all those years?”
He held up a hand in a halt gesture. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Just because she’s in town doesn’t mean she’s automatically connected with the crime.”
“Well, I think the timing is a bit suspicious.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Just another little mystery to go with the one you might be able to help me with.”
“Yeah?” I sat up straighter, immediately off balance. William usually told me to step back, not give him help.
“Yesterday when Officer Schumann went to Martha Colby’s home, she met a very irate neighbor.”
Mrs. Wilson. Oh, boy.
“This neighbor, a remarkably agile, clear-minded woman of eighty-three years, told Officer Schumann about a ‘housebreaker’ whose name she couldn’t quite remember, but she thought it might be Joy. She said that the woman was, and I quote, ‘a bad un.’”
Housebreaker? A bad un? I almost wished I had my own burglar bar. Then I could challenge Mrs. Wilson to a duel for the slur to my character and she and I could have crossed bars as cavaliers used to cross rapiers.
“Have you any idea who this woman might be?” William looked at me, his craggy face stern.
I swallowed. “Is this woman in trouble?”
“It depends on whether she broke any laws.”
I thought of how I’d wandered through all the rooms. “Like what?”
“Did she break and enter? Steal anything?”
I thought of the diary burning a huge hole in my purse. “I’m certain she didn’t break and enter. She knocked on the door and it flew open.” Okay, flew might be an exaggeration, but it was definitely not closed. “She called hello and when no one answered, she went in to be certain everything was okay.” Just a good neighbor doing a good deed. That was me. It
Oh, Lord, it’s not supposed to be like this! Then I added, Please change his mind!
EIGHT
I walked into the Amhearst police station at about eight-thirty Wednesday morning and asked for Sergeant Poole. My stomach was a mass of knots and I had a throbbing headache from lack of sleep. In my purse I carried the equivalent of a ticking time bomb.
That’s what I got for reading someone’s private diary.
But how could I not?
I stood in the small entry hall beside the Coke machine. The dispatcher looked at me from behind his wall of bulletproof glass and in a metallic voice that emanated from a speaker over my head told me he’d see if the sergeant was available.
I hadn’t even finished reading the second wanted poster tacked to the bulletin board near the station’s front door when William appeared. He looked especially solemn as he led me into the bowels of the building where the offices were.
“How are you this morning, Merry?” he asked when we were seated in his office.
I smiled wanly. “I’m well,” I managed. “How are you?”
I’d worn a V-neck T-shirt and a linen big shirt, both a lovely rose shade that made my cheeks look nice and pink, on the theory that the bright color would give me courage. It wasn’t working. I just don’t do well with guilt, mine or a friend’s. I jumped on a subject that would put off the topic of my visit a few more minutes.
“Did you know that Martha Colby’s mother is in Amhearst after thirty or so years?” I thought of the stricken face I’d seen last night at Ferretti’s.
He nodded. “She came barreling in here yesterday evening, demanding to know what had happened to her baby.”
“Her baby?” This from a woman who had stayed away for so many years?
“Yep.” William’s mouth curled cynically for a moment, then eased into its normal line. “I do think she was very distressed in spite of the strange situation.”
“Why did she come back? Did she say?” I eyed him. “I’m sure you asked.”
“I did, but you know I can’t talk about an open case with you, Merry.”
“Yes, but isn’t it strange that she’s here when the murder happened? I mean, after not being here all those years?”
He held up a hand in a halt gesture. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Just because she’s in town doesn’t mean she’s automatically connected with the crime.”
“Well, I think the timing is a bit suspicious.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Just another little mystery to go with the one you might be able to help me with.”
“Yeah?” I sat up straighter, immediately off balance. William usually told me to step back, not give him help.
“Yesterday when Officer Schumann went to Martha Colby’s home, she met a very irate neighbor.”
Mrs. Wilson. Oh, boy.
“This neighbor, a remarkably agile, clear-minded woman of eighty-three years, told Officer Schumann about a ‘housebreaker’ whose name she couldn’t quite remember, but she thought it might be Joy. She said that the woman was, and I quote, ‘a bad un.’”
Housebreaker? A bad un? I almost wished I had my own burglar bar. Then I could challenge Mrs. Wilson to a duel for the slur to my character and she and I could have crossed bars as cavaliers used to cross rapiers.
“Have you any idea who this woman might be?” William looked at me, his craggy face stern.
I swallowed. “Is this woman in trouble?”
“It depends on whether she broke any laws.”
I thought of how I’d wandered through all the rooms. “Like what?”
“Did she break and enter? Steal anything?”
I thought of the diary burning a huge hole in my purse. “I’m certain she didn’t break and enter. She knocked on the door and it flew open.” Okay, flew might be an exaggeration, but it was definitely not closed. “She called hello and when no one answered, she went in to be certain everything was okay.” Just a good neighbor doing a good deed. That was me. It
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