Pride v. Prejudice (33 page)

I crossed my arms. “I need to know the names of your visitors. We'll use your cell to call them and confirm your alibi.”

“Alibi? I don't need an alibi. Why do you care what I did this afternoon?” He blinked as he began to assimilate what I'd said. “Did somebody get killed? Tricia? Is that why you asked me if I'd seen her? What the hell happened to her?”

“Why don't you tell me,” I suggested.

“I don't know!”

“Tricia was stabbed to death in her apartment. My working theory is that you were afraid she'd expose you. You went there to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen to you. The ensuing argument escalated until she was screaming at you. You grabbed the nearest weapon, a large knife, and chased her into her bedroom. The police found her body two or three hours ago.”

Grady squirmed free and stumbled to his feet. “You're crazy! You're both crazy! I was here all afternoon with a friend. I'm not going to give you her name because I'm not a suspect!” His arms were waving so frantically that he might find himself under siege by Don Quixote. Merely watching him made my shoulders ache.

Roderick chuckled. “But you are a suspect, my man. Skull Creek is a five-minute drive from here. There was no sign of a break-in, which means Tricia opened the door for her assailant, someone she knew. Five minutes to kill her, five minutes to drive home. That adds up to all of fifteen minutes.”

“And another fifteen minutes,” I said, “to bundle your bloody clothes in a plastic bag, shower, and cram the bag into someone else's trash bin. The CSI will find minute traces of blood, no matter much you scrubbed the bathroom.”

“But I didn't do it!” Grady howled, stomping his bare feet, spittle spewing in a most repulsive manner. “Tricia wasn't going to do anything that would incriminate herself. We've gone over this a dozen times. Even if she wasn't involved with the murder, she'd lose her job. She'd already lost her so-called soul mate.” He squeezed his lips together as he realized what he'd said. “She committed suicide,” he added lamely. “Menopause was messing with her mind. All those hormones. She was depressed, drinking more, showing up late for work. She told me that at a board meeting in May, she came close to punching Deacon Wentworth in the nose.”

“So Tricia confided in you about her relationship with Tuck. Did she tell you that he was going to turn himself in?”

“Turn himself into what?”

“Sheesh!” Roderick said, exasperated.

My head began to pound in an arrhythmic tribal war chant. I sat down and tried to think, but no more than a dozen neurons fired. “I need to get some sleep,” I announced. “I'll take the bedroom. Roderick, you and Grady figure out something.” I pointed my finger at Grady, but my aim was wobbly. “Call the police, run away, or watch reruns until the sun rises. Keep in mind you're in so far over your head that your best bet is to start tunneling for China.”

I went into the bedroom and closed the door.

*   *   *

When the alarm went off at six, I rolled out of bed. My outer clothes lay in a circular heap not unlike poop from a very large dog. I found a pair of jeans, a belt, and a long-sleeved white shirt in Grady's closet. I felt no remorse; he would not require an extensive wardrobe in prison. I took a short shower and dressed in clean clothes. I ran my fingers through my hair but once again avoided the mirror.

Roderick was sprawled on the sofa, snoring. Grady squatted in his bare feet on a chair in yet another bizarre yoga pose. Rather than meditating, he was absorbed in an alley scene on the TV. Captain Cragen and Detective Logan were somber as the body of a young woman was placed on a gurney. “It's the fianc
é
,” Grady whispered helpfully.

I went into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. After searching the cabinets, I set out a box of crackers, the package of sliced cheese, a can of tuna fish, and three small cans of chopped green chilies. Bacon and eggs were not on the menu. I poured myself a cup of coffee and ate a cracker while I reflected on the cast, the crew, the sets, and the script of Tuck's murder a year ago and Tricia's the previous day. Sarah's trial would start in slightly more than twenty-four hours. Wessell was armed with a cannon; Evan had a water pistol. I didn't even have fingernail clippers. What I did have was every law enforcement agent within a hundred miles searching for me. My mother-in-law was on a private jet over Virginia or Tennessee. The pilot might comment as they flew over the Blue Ridge Mountains, while the butler served fresh croissants. I hoped she ate heartily, since my luncheon menu was nonexistent.

I went back into the living room and whacked Roderick's foot. “Wake up, and for pity's sake, put on your pants. I don't have all day to deal with this nightmare.” I whacked his foot again, and then swooped in on Grady and snatched the remote control. “Go have some coffee and something to eat. We're leaving in half an hour.”

“Can't leave,” he panted. “Brisco
e
is about to inform the girl's parents. They don't know she was paying her tuition at Hudson University by pole-dancing at a strip club. The fianc
é
went there for his best friend's bachelor party. He was enraged.” He held out his hand. “I need the clicker. A commercial's coming. I never watch commercials. Got to fast-forward through 'em.”

I turned my back on him and hit the power button. As the TV screen faded into darkness, Grady whimpered. I looked at him and said, “We're down to twenty-eight minutes. You can shower and change clothes if you wish. We will not be stopping at a caf
é
for waffles, so make do with what's on the table. You, too, Roderick.”

Roderick sat up. “Where are we going?”

I was no longer a mild-mannered bookseller motivated by a desire to do my civic duty. Hell hath no fury like a woman meeting her mother-in-law for the first time. Attila the Hun would step aside as I approached him. Genghis Khan would cower. Harvey Dorfer, the sheriff of Stump County and presumably supervising heavily armed barricades on every county road, would weep when Election Day rolled around. As for County Prosecutor Edwin Wessell, I was prepared to grind his case under my boot heel and walk all over him, figuratively. Literally, if I could figure out how to do it.

“Coffee's ready. Do whatever you have to do, but be ready to leave when I say so.” I glared at them but opted not to rumble.

*   *   *

Half an hour later, Roderick was in the backseat of Grady's car, complaining steadily about the close quarters. “Drive out toward the church,” I ordered Grady, who was still mumbling hints to the
Law & Order
detectives. Had I not been in his presence for the previous twelve hours, I'd have suspected him of being high on drugs or alcohol. I wondered if there was a twelve-step program for rerun addiction.

Grady emerged from his fantasy precinct long enough to say, “There's a cop car behind us. What do you want me to do?”

I ducked. “Don't run any stop signs, and obey the speed limit. It's just a coincidence.”

“Use your turn signals,” volunteered a voice from the backseat.

“Thanks for the advice,” Grady said in a sarcastic falsetto. “I thought I should slam on the brakes and let the cop rear-end us.”

“Don't count on us to visit you in prison,” Roderick said. “Don't worry, though. You'll make lots of new friends.”

His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I have an alibi for yesterday afternoon. She's a soccer player on my team and old enough to consent. How do I know that the two of you didn't kill Tricia? You pin Tuck's death on Tricia, and then silence her before she can defend herself.”

“What did Tricia say to you after the teenagers were back in their tents?” I asked as I lifted my face to peek in the side mirror. There was no official vehicle behind us. Grady was disintegrating under pressure. I wished I could withdraw my question before he drove into a brick wall. There were many brick walls in Farberville.

“We sat on a rock, smoking dope. I salvaged two half-empty bottles and we finished them. She was crying. Tuck told her that he was calling the FBI the next morning. He said he was sorry about the repercussions, but he had to see his family before he died. She couldn't believe how cold he was. It'd taken her decades to find him, and she believed they'd spend the rest of their lives together, that happily-ever-after shit. Then he said that he saved all her letters, but he didn't remember where he stored them. If the kids in the tents hadn't been close by, Tricia would have been ranting so loudly the mosquitoes wouldn't dare approach us. I was afraid she'd start frothing at the mouth.”

“Did she say how they ended the conversation?” I asked.

Grady frowned. “Parting wasn't sweet sorrow, if that's what you mean. Here's the church, here's the steeple. Oops, no people! Now what?”

“I'll tell you when to turn.” I realized that I'd promised to bring Billy a new bandana. The only businesses open were convenience stores and coffee shops. “Do you have a bandana in your trunk?”

“Why would I?”

Not an unreasonable response, I conceded. “Because you dressed up as a cowboy for Halloween?”

Grady turned his head to stare at me. “No, I did not dress up as a cowboy for Halloween. I was a chaperone at the church party, and I went as Martin Luther.”

“Eyes on the road!” Roderick barked.

Grady's head snapped back into its former position. “You know, I did have a bandana. A while back the seniors in the congregation rented a hall from the VFW and sponsored a community square dance. I was assigned to oversee the refreshment table, and told to dress in clean jeans, one of those polyester shirts with snaps, and a bandana tied around my neck. Someone loaned me cowboy boots. Hee haw and hallleluah! I felt like an extra in that musical set in Oklahoma. I can't recall the name of it, but it has lots of dancing cowboys.”

“Turn here,” I said, “and drive carefully. Sarah's house is likely to be under surveillance. Park in the first driveway on the right.” After he'd done so, I said, “Did Tricia attend the square dance?”

“Involuntarily, like me. She carried platters of food from the kitchen and bussed tables. She was pissed because she had to buy a denim skirt and a bandana. Neither of us got paid for overtime.”

I took the key out of the ignition, eliciting a snicker from the backseat. “Here's the plan,” I said confidently, fooling neither of them. “Roderick, you need to stay out of sight. The Lunds watch the local news. Grady, come with me.” We started walking across the lawn. Most of the toys had been put away, but the tricycle was parked under a tree. “Have you met their grandson, Billy?”

“Too bad Methodists don't believe in exorcism.”

I took that as a yes. It was seven o'clock, but William had told me that they woke up early. I knocked on the front door. When Juniper appeared in an apron, her hands dusted with flour, I said, “I apologize for interrupting you while you're making breakfast, but I'd like to speak to Billy.”

She looked over my shoulder. “Grady Nichols, what on earth are you doin' here? Are you two friends?” I sensed from her hesitation that she wasn't casting us as drinking buddies or bridge partners.

“My car broke down,” I said before he could respond, “and Grady offered me a lift out here. Is Billy awake?”

“He's at the kitchen table, working through a stack of pancakes layered with ice cream and blueberries. He gets to choose his final breakfast before he goes home. If my daughter finds out, she'll tear into me about all that nutrition nonsense.” She grinned. “Grandmas don't worry about sugar and carbs. They make cookies.”

“We'll wait out here,” Grady said. He took my arm and tugged me toward the porch chairs.

“He's almost done,” Juniper said as she closed the door.

“Let go of me!” I said in a low voice. “You just blew our chance for pancakes, with or without ice cream and blueberries. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a decent meal? Did you and Roderick even think about saving a slice of pizza for me?”

“You went off with the pizza guy.” Despite his sanctimonious if senseless defense, he had enough wits left to back away from me. It was a wise decision.

I sat down and gazed at the trees surrounding the yard. Sarah's house was partially visible. I hadn't seen any cars parked in the driveway or by the barn. Tuck had believed that FBI agents perched in trees to watch his every move. I understood his paranoia. Juniper could have gone inside to call the sheriff's department. Deputy Norton, who seemed attuned to my inner GPS, would show up shortly, a gun in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other.

William and Billy came out to the porch, saving me from an elaborate vision of my life behind bars.

“Hey, Claire,” William said. “We weren't expecting you so early.”

Billy the Kid, dressed in rubber boots, shorts, a holster, and a red felt cowboy hat, put his hands on his hips. “You aimin' to rustle cattle, lady? I'm the law around these parts, and I ain't puttin' up with thieving, 'specially my grandpa's cows. You just unhitch your horse and ride out of here peaceful like.”

I held up my hands. “I'm unarmed and not at all dangerous. I came to borrow your red bandana, remember?”

William bent down. “I don't trust her, Sheriff. I saw her picture on a wanted poster in the general store.” He looked up at me, smiling without warmth. “She and her partner are outlaws.”

Grady came around the corner of the porch. “I'm no outlaw,” he said to Billy. “You know me. I'm the choir director at your grandparents' church. You met me at the Fourth of July picnic.”

Billy grinned. “Yeah, I threw a firecracker at you and you spilled potato salad all over Mizz Morland. Wow, was she mad! You chased me all over the park, but you never caught me.” The tip of his tongue slipped out for a second.