Design on a Crime (9 page)

If you have to get hit with self-defense spray, then you're
a whole lot better off if it's the pepper spray kind that gets
you. Sure, you'll feel as if someone stuck you on a barbecue
spit because they want to serve you up for Sunday dinner,
but this effect lasts only about twenty minutes, and the worst
that can happen is that you might rub your eyes and make
them sting even more.

Mace, on the other hand, not only makes your eyes burn
and slam shut but also makes you disoriented, restricts your
breathing, causes uncontrolled coughing, and even brings
on temporary blindness. All these spiffy results last about a
half hour, sometimes more. And that "sometimes more" is
the key. There's that controversy about those random arrest
cases where the perp dies.

Mace is nasty, and I was forever indebted to the kid who
sold Bella pepper spray rather than mace.

Which isn't to say that pepper spray isn't a bear of a beast
to fight off. I'd taken the time to learn all about self-defense.
Unfortunately, I did it too late to help myself four years ago.
Nowadays, I have a can of each in my bag.

When Bali H'ai and Bella demonstrated how easy the canister was to use, I hit the ground like everyone else, eyes
streaming, face burning.

"Don't rub your eyes," I cried. I sobbed and rubbed with
all I had.

Oh, you'll rub, no matter how well you know you
shouldn't.

"I can't help it," Bella wailed, rubbing with a vengeance.

I crawled toward relief. It was hard, since every couple
of inches I had to stop and rub some more. I aimed for the
kitchen sink to rinse my face, hands, and eyes. I hoped I'd
find enough kitchen towels to soak and share with Bella's
other victims. Bella too. I didn't want her to suffer.

I'm not sure how I made it to the sink. But I did, and I also
opened the back door to air the house.

Moments later I handed out wet towels. "Here. Use them
and head out. Be careful!"

The improvement didn't last once I was back in the living room, but I grabbed Gussie's wheelchair and, between
swipes at my enraged eyes and gentle shoves to the chair, we
reached the front door.

"Bella is something else," I muttered.

Gussie gave a teary chuckle. "She always has been. That's
why she's such fun to have around."

"This is fun?"

"No, of course not." Gussie's wet towel muffled her voice.
"Sometimes her fun goes wild. Today's one of those times."

"I'll say." The cool evening air did wonders for my stinging
cheeks. "Can you imagine her 'helping' the cops?"

"It boggles the mind, doesn't it?"

I patted Gussie's shoulder. "And then some."

Now that I could see again, I noticed the others had come
around to the front garden. They too were on the way to recovery. "If you don't mind, I'm going to open the windows.
We need to air the house if you want to sleep tonight."

Gussie smiled in spite of her red nose and swollen eyes.
"Go ahead. I'm fine. Besides, everyone needs a little shakeup now and then."

"A little shake-up..." I shook my head, not sure I needed
any more shake-up, with all that had happened in the last
few days. I ran from room to room and opened the many
windows.

A short while later, after Bella's efforts on my behalf had
amused the neighbors, Dad and I went home. The evening
was classic Pacific Northwest: cool, breezy, enjoyable. Wilmont
being as small as Seattle is huge, we'd walked to the Stoker
home, and now I was glad. The exercise did wonders to soothe
my ruffled nerves, especially after the pepper-spray attack.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Dad grumbled as we approached
the driveway to the manse. "Why can't that girl understand?
How many times do I have to tell her she shouldn't drop the
newspaper in the lawn because most of the time it's wet in
our part of the world and leftover rain ruins newspapers?"

Dad's battle of wills with the determined teen, a newer
member of his church's youth group, made me smile. In my
opinion, the odds in this war are on the girl. Something about
the twinkle in her eye and the dry newspaper on our back
step clued me in.

Dad too, even though he'll never admit it. He loves to
tease Sandy Appleton as much as she loves to tease him. The size of her tip on collection day at the end of every month
proves it.

"I'll get it, Dad. Just go on in."

He grinned. "Thanks. I'll go around back."

I laughed. He'll never say a word about the dry paper in
the recycling bin tomorrow morning, and neither will I. It was
a nutty deal, but Sandy has made a terrific turnaround since
she's taken up the paper route. Her school's truancy officer
reports that she hasn't missed a single day of class, and her
grandmother Ina, a member of the missionary society, says
the rough crowd hasn't been around for a while.

Dad's visits to Ina and Sandy, apple muffins in hand, have
become weekly events. So has Sandy's presence in church
on Sundays.

I don't get it, but if Sandy buys the God deal, what can I
say?

I bent and gathered the soggy wad of paper and, without
meaning to, noticed the headlines. Marge's murder led the
day's news. A crime of that magnitude didn't often happen in
Wilmont. Then a line from the article jumped out at me-"Be-
cause such a vast fortune is involved, the police have a strong
suspect, and the lead investigator assures this reporter that
an arrest is imminent."

The pepper spray had nothing on this for inciting an extreme physical response. Every part of me froze. Except for
my knees. They seemed to melt. It took all my energy to walk
to the porch. I'd barely reached it when the front door opened
and Dad came out, newspaper in hand.

"Honey ... ?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

Dad's whispered prayer and his comforting arm reached
me at the same time. The arm I could accept; the prayer ...
well, let's just say I wanted no part of a God who had left me
high and dry again.

We walked into the cozy living room, and as I sat in Mom's
rocker, the phone rang. Dad picked it up. After a greeting
and a couple of additional words, he held it out. "Sounds
official."

I winced but took it anyway. "Hello?"

"Good evening, Ms. Farrell. It's Sam Harris."

"Yes?"

"Um ... it's come to my notice that you might be in some
trouble here."

When I didn't respond, he ummed and aahed some more.
Then he cleared his throat. "What I mean to say is ... well,
you're going to need legal representation, and since I'm already
the attorney of record for Mrs. Norwalk's affairs, it would make
things easier if you retained me for the criminal matter."

The gall of the man stunned me silent.

"You do see the advantage, don't you?"

"Yeah. To you. But I don't need a lawyer. I haven't done a
thing, and the cops are just slow finding the killer. I'll thank
you to leave me alone-"

"Ms. Farrell, you don't understand how serious your situation is. You're the only person with motive, means, and
opportunity. Those three things are what law enforcement
considers crucial for zeroing on their man ... er ... woman,
in this case."

"The conversation's over, Mr. Harris. Don't call me again.
If I need you for Marge's business, I'll call you."

In my twenty-five years, I'd never hung up on anyone. I
hadn't thought I could be that rude. But it felt good-great,
actually. The sleazy shyster and the cheating builder would
make a great team. I wonder if Harris represented Dutch in
his lawsuit.

"I gather it wasn't the police," Dad said, TV clicker in hand.
It was almost time for the ten o'clock news, and he never
misses the program. He says he has to check before bedtime
to see what the Lord wants him to pray about.

"You got that right. It was Marge's weasel lawyer." I blew
at some strands of hair that had fallen over my eyes. "Can
you believe he offered to represent me?"

"I thought he already represented Marge's estate. Doesn't
that sort of cover representing you too?"

"Oh, he didn't call about the will or the estate, Dad. He
figures I need a criminal lawyer."

My father closed his gray eyes. "I guess he read the
paper."

"Must have. Either that or he's been chatting up his pals
at the cop shop again."

I tried to keep my tone light, but my turkey tenderloin
dinner was now ready to rumble. What was Detective Tsu
doing if the best she could come up with was to pin this thing
on me?

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll figure it out. The cops can't be so
dumb as to think I killed Marge. Sooner or later they'll find
the killer."

For the first time I could remember, Dad didn't turn on his
newscast. He put the clicker down on the coffee table, then
gathered up his Bible and headed for the stairs.

At the bottom step he turned and said, "Haley, I know the
Father will see you through this, but I suspect that before that
happens, things will get much worse. You might want to find
yourself an advocate. I'd rather you reach out to the Lord,
but you should hire a lawyer too. A different one, since you
dislike this man so much."

I didn't have a decent answer, so I only said, "Good
night."

When his bedroom door closed, I headed for the kitchen.
Midas's nails clicked on the hardwood floor as he followed.
The doggy cookie I tossed him didn't get the chance to hit
the floor.

I smiled. At least one person didn't care what the cops
thought. True, he had four paws and thick golden fur, but
as far as Midas was concerned, he was just as human as the
next guy ... dog ... whatever.

After a cup of chamomile tea, my stomach felt better, but I
didn't. The newspaper article made everything too real. I was
halfway through my fifth read when the phone rang.

"Haley?"

"Gussie! I'm surprised you're still awake."

"Tom brought in the evening paper, and after I read that
article, I couldn't relax. How are you doing?"

"Just peachy dandy."

"I figured." Gussie's sigh felt almost as comforting as the
gentle touch of her hand. "What are you going to do?"

"Aside from not hiring Marge's crummy lawyer, who just
called to make me a generous offer I definitely could, and did,
refuse? I don't know. I'll tell you this though. I'm not going
to jail for something I didn't do."

"Of course not. Why would you?"

"Because the cops can't see what's before their noses."

"What do you see before your nose?"

"One of three people did it."

She gasped. "Who ... who do you think killed Marge?"

"Well, according to TV shows and newspaper stories, conventional wisdom says the spouse did it. I know Steve wasn't
in town, but maybe he was and only pretended to be gone.
You know, building himself an alibi."

"That's ... possible." Gussie didn't sound so sure.

I tore off a narrow strip of newsprint and balled it up.
"There's always the business connection."

"Ozzie?" The shock in Gussie's voice was almost funny.

Before I could explain myself, she added, 'Are you sure
about that? From all I've seen, Ozzie is the most loyal employee
a person could want."

"Maybe they disagreed on an auction or an item. Who
knows? Maybe ... oh, I don't know. I just know I didn't do
it, and Steve and Ozzie are the two other people closest to
Marge. Unless some deranged serial killer stopped by at the
sale. That's my third and favorite choice, of course."

"You know that's not likely."

"That's why I'm sure it must have been Ozzie or Steve."

"Then why do the police seem so sure you did it? I mean,
aside from the inheritance, but then, anyone who knows you
knows that's got nothing to do with anything."

My point exactly. "Beats me, but the article makes it clear
they're not looking at anyone else. They should, and if they
don't start pretty soon, then I'm going to make sure they
do."

"What are you going to do?"

I made a face. "Maybe Bella does have a point."

"Haley! You wouldn't-"

"Wait, Gussie. Hear me out." I hadn't given it much
thought, but somewhere in the back of my mind, an idea
was taking shape, one, I had to admit, that Bella had planted.
"I'm going to think about this some more and then maybe ask
a couple of questions. I'm sure I'll come up with something
to tell the cops."

"Oh, Haley. This sounds like trouble. Bella's never too far
from the edge of disaster, you know. You don't want to follow her."

"Don't worry. I won't do anything crazy. And I won't spray
mace on anyone either."

"Is that supposed to reassure me?"

"I guess not, but I can't sit here and wait until they show
up with a pair of steel bracelets. You know I only wear
silver."

Gussie gave a halfhearted chuckle. "Just be careful. Someone hated Marge enough to kill her. I wouldn't want you to
upset that someone and get hurt. I ... I love you, honey."