walking.
The lawyer, a woman in her sixties, made it clear she thought I was in the business of defrauding the desperate and grief stricken. I was getting a lot of red flags, not only from the lawyerâs attitude, but from the twitchiness of the client. Following our standard procedure when I got vibes like those, I endorsed the check and handed it to Tolliver,indicating he should go to the bank while I did the âreading.â The situation was showing all the indicators of a bad transaction.
The client, a heavy, peevish woman in her forties, wanted her husband to have died of something more dramatic than a radio falling into his bathtub. (Bathtubs had been big this month. Sometimes I got such a run of one cause of death that it made even me nervous. Last year, I had a streak of accidental drowningsâfive in a row. Made me scared to go swimming for a couple of months.) Geneva Roller, the client, had her own elaborate conspiracy theory about how the radio came to be in the bathtub. Her theory involved Mr. Rollerâs first wife and his best friend.
I love it when the location of the body is known. It was a little treat when the client led me directly to her husbandâs grave. Geneva Roller was a brisk walker, and I could feel the heels of my pumps sinking into the soft dirt. The lawyer was right behind me, as if Iâd cut and run unless I was blocked in.
We stopped by a headstone reading Farley Roller . To give Geneva her emotional moneyâs worth, I stepped onto the grave and crouched, my hand resting on the headstone. Farley , I thought, what the hell happened to you? And then I saw it, as I always did. To let Geneva know what was going on, I said, âHe is in the tub. He hasâum, heâs uncircumcised.â That was unusual.
This convinced my client I was the real deal. Geneva Roller gasped, her hand going up to her chest. Her bright red lips formed an O. The lawyer, Patsy Bolton, snorted. âAnyone could know that, Geneva,â she said.
Right, that was the first thing I asked guys.
âHeâs whistling,â I said. I couldnât hear what Farley Roller was whistling, unfortunately. I could see the counter in the bathroom. âThereâs a radio on the counter,â I said. âI think heâs whistling along with the music.â This was one of the times when I saw more than the moment of death. This was not the norm.
âHe did that when he bathed,â Geneva breathed. âHe did, Patsy!â The lawyer looked less skeptical and more spooked.
I said. âThereâs the cat. On the bathroom counter. A marmalade color cat.â
âPatpaws,â said Geneva, smiling. I was willing to bet the lawyer wasnât smiling.
âThe catâs bracing to leap over the tub to the open window.â
âThe window was open,â Geneva said. She wasnât smiling anymore.
âThe cat knocked the radio into the water,â I said.
Then the cat leaped out of the window and into the yard while Mr. Roller came to his end. The bathtub was an old one, an unusual shade of avocado green. âYou have a green tub,â I said, shaking my head in puzzlement. âCan that be right?â
Patsy the lawyer was gaping at me. âYouâre for real,â she said. âI actually believe you. Their tub is avocado.â
I got to my feet, dusting off my knees. I ignored Patsy Bolton. âIâm so sorry, Ms. Roller. Your cat killed your husband in a freak accident,â I said. I assumed this would be good news.
âNO!â Geneva Roller yelled, and even the lawyer looked astonished.
âGeneva, this is a reasonable explanation,â Patsy Bolton began, giving her client a formidable stare, but Geneva Roller had no emotional restraints.
âIt was his first wife, that Angela. It was her, I know it! She went in the house while I was at the store, and she murdered him. Angela did it. Not my little Patpaws!â
Iâd had
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