ending with a recognition that he was concerned about maintaining his reputation in the community. Caterra smiled at me, as though it was our little secret that he was going to win this case, but I ignored his manipulation.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “it seems that there’s a lot more to talk about, but we can’t do it tonight. It’s eight o’clock, and the center is closing. Can we come back next week, same time, same place, and pick up where we left off?”
I expected grumbling from Smith, and he didn’t disappoint me. In the end, though, they both agreed to return to try to work things out.
My day had been longer and filled with more surprise challenges than I’d anticipated. And it wasn’t over yet.
B. H. Hovanian didn’t look anything like I’d imagined. His brown hair was cut short enough to qualify as military, his strong nose and wide mouth were just right to balance his cleft chin, and his long-lashed dark eyes softened the hard edges of his face. His six-foot-four frame was sturdy; he either had great genes or he worked out regularly. A couple of years the far side of forty, he gave the appearance of being someone who strode instead of walking, who guffawed instead of laughing, who wept instead of crying.
He listened while I told him in detail about coming home to find the rifle, leaving the house, calling the sheriff’s office. He offered one piece of news—Marjorie Mellon’s car had been found in the town parking lot. He asked all the same questions as Michele Castro, about where I’d been and who had seen me, and then he probed in a different direction.
“What was your relationship to Marjorie Mellon?” The challenge in his gaze didn’t diminish as he leaned back and watched my face.
“Relationship? We didn’t have one.” This part was easy. Telling the truth, letting my frustration give my voice a slight edge. He was supposed to be on my side, not trying to catch me in a lie. “I might have met her, let’s see, two times. Once at the Santa parade last year, and once when I was looking for a book that I’d misplaced and went to Seth Selinsky’s office after hours when she was cleaning. I didn’t say hello to her at the casino meeting. I’m not sure she even knew who I was.”
“You made public statements that you oppose the casino. Is that right?” He sat with his back straight and his hands folded on the marble top of the café table, an untouched cup of double espresso to his right.
“Me and at least three hundred other people. I don’t think it’s a good idea. But, actually, I didn’t get up and speak against it, not yet.” I watched as he lifted his cup, sipped noisily, and then set it down again. This was a man who understood timing, and I was growing impatient with the interview. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re after here. I haven’t been charged with anything, I didn’t do anything, and I would like to go on with my very busy life now, if you don’t mind.”
His laugh made Frank Vargas look up from the ham and brie sandwich he was preparing behind the counter. “I don’t mind what you do. You should know, though, that this isn’t over for you. You’ll be in the spotlight for a while.”
“Well, that won’t last long because I didn’t do anything.” A little of my defensiveness melted. This man, with his dark, darting eyes, and in language that demonstrated an ability to hold apparently contradictory thoughts about a topic, was a new experience for me, and I didn’t quite know how to respond to him.
B. H. Hovanian’s chuckle managed to convey both amusement and skepticism. “Everyone swears they’re innocent.”
“And sometimes it’s even true. If I’m a suspect because I didn’t like the idea of the casino coming in and ruining the character of the town, then about two-thirds of the citizens of Walden Corners are suspects, too.”
“Two-thirds of the citizens in Walden Corners didn’t have what will probably prove to be the
“Gentlemen,” I said, “it seems that there’s a lot more to talk about, but we can’t do it tonight. It’s eight o’clock, and the center is closing. Can we come back next week, same time, same place, and pick up where we left off?”
I expected grumbling from Smith, and he didn’t disappoint me. In the end, though, they both agreed to return to try to work things out.
My day had been longer and filled with more surprise challenges than I’d anticipated. And it wasn’t over yet.
B. H. Hovanian didn’t look anything like I’d imagined. His brown hair was cut short enough to qualify as military, his strong nose and wide mouth were just right to balance his cleft chin, and his long-lashed dark eyes softened the hard edges of his face. His six-foot-four frame was sturdy; he either had great genes or he worked out regularly. A couple of years the far side of forty, he gave the appearance of being someone who strode instead of walking, who guffawed instead of laughing, who wept instead of crying.
He listened while I told him in detail about coming home to find the rifle, leaving the house, calling the sheriff’s office. He offered one piece of news—Marjorie Mellon’s car had been found in the town parking lot. He asked all the same questions as Michele Castro, about where I’d been and who had seen me, and then he probed in a different direction.
“What was your relationship to Marjorie Mellon?” The challenge in his gaze didn’t diminish as he leaned back and watched my face.
“Relationship? We didn’t have one.” This part was easy. Telling the truth, letting my frustration give my voice a slight edge. He was supposed to be on my side, not trying to catch me in a lie. “I might have met her, let’s see, two times. Once at the Santa parade last year, and once when I was looking for a book that I’d misplaced and went to Seth Selinsky’s office after hours when she was cleaning. I didn’t say hello to her at the casino meeting. I’m not sure she even knew who I was.”
“You made public statements that you oppose the casino. Is that right?” He sat with his back straight and his hands folded on the marble top of the café table, an untouched cup of double espresso to his right.
“Me and at least three hundred other people. I don’t think it’s a good idea. But, actually, I didn’t get up and speak against it, not yet.” I watched as he lifted his cup, sipped noisily, and then set it down again. This was a man who understood timing, and I was growing impatient with the interview. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re after here. I haven’t been charged with anything, I didn’t do anything, and I would like to go on with my very busy life now, if you don’t mind.”
His laugh made Frank Vargas look up from the ham and brie sandwich he was preparing behind the counter. “I don’t mind what you do. You should know, though, that this isn’t over for you. You’ll be in the spotlight for a while.”
“Well, that won’t last long because I didn’t do anything.” A little of my defensiveness melted. This man, with his dark, darting eyes, and in language that demonstrated an ability to hold apparently contradictory thoughts about a topic, was a new experience for me, and I didn’t quite know how to respond to him.
B. H. Hovanian’s chuckle managed to convey both amusement and skepticism. “Everyone swears they’re innocent.”
“And sometimes it’s even true. If I’m a suspect because I didn’t like the idea of the casino coming in and ruining the character of the town, then about two-thirds of the citizens of Walden Corners are suspects, too.”
“Two-thirds of the citizens in Walden Corners didn’t have what will probably prove to be the
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