Pride v. Prejudice (34 page)

“About the bandana?” I said to him.

He felt around his neck, made a face, and hurried inside. I had no clue what to say to William. He'd seen the news and knew that I was a fugitive. Grady's presence must have perplexed him.

“It's a long shot,” I finally said, “but the bandana could contain DNA evidence. The lab will find Tuck's blood and Tricia's sweat.”

“Did you confront her?”

“No, there was a little problem. Anyway, I believe she met Tuck sometime before midnight. They ended up in the barn, arguing. She shot him, wiped the blood off her face and hands with the bandana, and inadvertently dropped it when she hurried back to the campsite. Billy saw her as she made her way back to Flat Rock, but it was dark.”

“Or some good ol' boy tossed the bandana out of his truck as he drove by,” William said.

“That's possible, but it qualifies as Brady material. The prosecution is required to turn over all evidence to the defense. The deputies who investigated ridiculed everything Billy said, threw away their notes, and refused to take the bandana for testing in the state lab. Evan, Sarah's lawyer, will insist on entering it into evidence. That's enough to put the trial on hold, or at least provide grounds for an appeal.”

“If you say so,” he said doubtfully.

Billy bounded through the front door. He wore a bandana around his neck. It was bright red and pristine. “Grandpa got me this when I couldn't find my old one. We looked everywhere, even under the bed and in the closet. He had to make a special trip to the store yesterday so you wouldn't be upset. Do you still want it?” His fingers fumbled with the knot at the back of his neck.

I put my hand in my purse and retrieved my wallet. “No thanks, Billy, I wanted the dirty one. You don't need another new one, so why don't I give you enough money to buy a shiny badge?” My smile was superficial, the best I could produce as I discounted my previous scenarios. I was bemused when my legs began to itch, since I'd always scorned the premise of psychosomatic maladies. I came to what might be described as a rash decision.

Billy tugged my hand. “Made out of real silver?”

“Absolutely.” I turned to face William. “How much do you think a silver badge costs?”

“A hundred dollars!” Billy shrieked as he yanked his cap pistols out of his holster. He fired a round of shots at Grady, who crumpled to his knees and clutched his chest. Billy moved in for the kill.

“I'll have to write an IOU,” I said.

“You're safe. Billy will have forgotten all about this by the time his parents arrive to pick him up. If you're besotted with guilt, you can find one at the discount store for less than a dollar.”

“Would that be a good place to buy ointment for a rash?”

William's smile faded. “If you got into poison ivy, you can apply any kind of medicinal cream for fourteen days and it'll clear up. Otherwise, you can tough it out for two weeks.”

I sat down on a chair and pretended to examine my ankle. “No, I'm okay except for scratches. Tricia developed a painful rash the night Tuck was killed. So did a couple of the teenagers on the campout, after they'd come across the river to frolic in the blueberry bushes.”

“It's my fault I didn't put up an eight-foot-high wall topped with bits of broken glass? The last time I put up a
NO TRESPASSING
sign, I found the charred remains in a campfire circle. I write off a small percentage of the crop to theft. It's hard to pick blueberries in the dark.”

“Tricia had to walk between the rows of bushes on her way to and from Tuck's house. Why do you think she developed a rash? Your crop is certified organic. She couldn't have come in contact with a pesticide.”

“Not in my fields,” William said firmly. “I abide by all the regulations from the National Organic Program Standards Office and the Organic Trade Association. I use bone meal and an approved insecticide made from chrysanthemums.”

“So you say,” I murmured. “You told me that you have a contract with a company that makes organic products. It requires you to produce a large quantity of berries every season. Ever discover any very hungry caterpillars on the bushes? If you can't meet your quota, you'll lose the contract.”

“That's none of your business.”

Juniper came out onto the porch, a mug of coffee in each hand. “I thought you and Grady might like something to drink.”

“Thank you,” I said. I didn't know the extent of her participation in what I believed was organic fraud (and I claim credit for inventing the phrase). “And thank you for calling Sarah's lawyer with the tip about the motel. He's already had an interesting conversation with the clerk, who remembers Sarah.”

She glanced at William. “I hope it helps. Billy, we need to go upstairs and pack your suitcase.”

“In a minute, Grandma. I don't want this bad guy to escape.”

Grady raised his head. “I swear I won't move. I'm deader than a doornail.”

Billy pondered this. “No, I'm gonna have to tie you up till the posse gets here. There's some rope in the barn.” He dashed down the stairs and around the corner of the house. Juniper shrugged and went inside.

“How did she know about the motel?” I asked William.

“What motel? I don't know what you're talking about, Claire. Sarah must have told Junie something about a motel. Ask her, not me.”

Grady, who was on his back, began to inch toward the corner of the porch. If he intended to flee, it was going to take him a very long time.

“Sarah hasn't told anyone about the motel, including her lawyer,” I said. “Even though she has an alibi, she refuses to name the person who was with her.”

“Roderick something, one of the demonstrators who broke out of prison and tracked down Tuck and Sarah? I caught the evening news. If I was the prosecutor, I'd be wondering which one of them left the motel and killed Tuck. Co-conspirators can't alibi each other.”

“True,” Grady called from behind a large pot of geraniums. “Ask Jack McCoy.”

“They don't need to,” I said, ignoring Grady, “because neither of them is guilty. You weren't watching a movie that night. You were out in the field, spraying whatever pesticide you use to ensure a bountiful crop. When Tricia came by, you hid and then tailed her to Tuck's house. You had to find out if she saw you and told Tuck. He had a lot of knowledge about pesticides and regulations, didn't he? The only reason you'd be in the field at night was not to be seen.”

He was struggling to maintain an amiable expression, but his face was waxy. “This is gibberish.”

“As soon as Tricia stormed away, you went across the road and confronted Tuck. Did you take the shotgun from the closet and march him out to the barn?”

“He was already there, planning to shoot Sarah when she came home,” William said, “or so I surmise. I was watching a movie.”

“Was Tricia watching a movie yesterday afternoon when you went to her apartment?” I noticed Grady had wiggled himself off the porch and out of view. Roderick was broiling in the backseat of the car. Neither of them could rush to my defense within minutes. Seconds were out of the question.

“I drove into Farberville to buy a bandana. While I was there, I bought detergent, paper towels, three pairs of socks, and a copy of the Sunday paper. I got home in time to watch Billy climb a tree out back before supper.” He leaned back, stretched out his legs, and crossed his ankles. “Had no call to go by Tricia's place. I avoid her when I can.”

I mimicked his pose, although his legs stuck out a foot farther than mine. “Well, I think you did. You were content to let Sarah take the blame for Tuck's murder. When I started pricking holes in that version, you decided to shift the blame to Tricia. Roderick would have been a better candidate, but you were unaware of his true identity. You persuaded Juniper to call Sarah's lawyer. You knew I'd tell Evan about the affair, and what I'd learned about the campout at Flat Rock.
Voil
à
!
Sarah has an alibi and Tricia's at the scene of the crime—with a motive.”

“She was furious when she came back across the field, or so I surmise. I was watching a movie.” He gave me a smug grin.

“Then you knew that Tuck was going to turn himself in,” I said. “Who knows what else he was going to blurt out to the FBI? His identity, obviously, and Sarah's. His affair with Tricia. Your violations of the organic policy. A terminal disease provides one with the ultimate safety net. A life sentence doesn't have much impact when it translates to a year.”

William stood up. “Even if what you say is true, you don't have any evidence. Tuck and Tricia aren't going to testify against me, and Sarah doesn't know what took place. The bandana is a heap of ashes. I did happen to buy some clothes at the discount store, some khakis and a T-shirt like I always wear. Junie didn't notice when I came in. My old clothes are in one of the many trash bins in Farberville. I'll deny every syllable of this conversation, should you go whining to the sheriff.”

Billy came racing into the front yard, his cap pistols drawn. “Grandpa, there are a bunch of guys getting out of cars in the driveway! They may be zombies in disguise!”

I took the cell phone out of my purse. “They're more likely to be FBI agents. Not only have they been listening to my calls, they've been tracking me via the GPS device. Our conversation's been recorded.” I gave him my brightest smile. “As for evidence, there are a hundred acres of it.”

*   *   *

The ensuing three hours were dreadful. I gave a lengthy statement to the agents. They were bewildered, but I stuck to the truth. By the tenth time, I resorted to words of one syllable. Grady was found in the woods, clutching a box turtle that he insisted was Captain Anita Van Buren. Roderick had managed to extricate himself from the car and vanish. I found myself crossing my fingers that he could locate Miss Poppoy's riding lawn mower and chug merrily to Missouri.

Between interrogations, I called Evan and told him everything. When he regained his composure after an interminable bout of hyperventilation and silly questions, he assured me that he would be filing a motion to have the charges against Sarah dropped. One of the senior lawyers at Legal Aid had cut short his weekend in order to seek fame by tackling the indictment from the 1970 trial. Evan seemed a bit disappointed that he would not be arguing First Amendment rights in front of the Supreme Court. I assured him that he would be second chair.

I was about to call Peter when Deputy Frank Norton swaggered onto the porch. “Mizz Malloy,” he said, “you do keep showing up. As much as I'd like to arrest you, these boys have priority. Sheriff Dorfer sends his regards, by the way. He guffawed when I told him about how you kept meddling.”

“Just doing my civic duty.” I tilted my head. “Why, Deputy Norton, are you blushing? Do you have a little crush on me?”

“I do not, ma'am!”

“No, it's a sunburn. Was yesterday your day off?” I waited until he gave me a faint nod. “Do you always hang out at the Skull Creek pool, or do you stalk young women at other apartment complexes?”

“I don't stalk anybody!” He turned sharply and retreated to the back of the house. Sick puppy.

Peter's phone went to voice mail. I was calling Caron when a thirty-something young man in a black suit came out of the house and gestured at me. I'd learned the drill by now: I was wanted in the living room to reiterate the entire story in minute detail. The same questions would be answered with the same explanations. I'd be asked to clarify and elaborate. I'd do my best.

“One minute,” I said to the agent. “I need to assure my daughter that I'm unharmed.” He obligingly stepped back. I punched a button, and to my relief, Caron picked up. I hurriedly said, “I wanted to let you know that I'll be home in an hour, dear. Where's Peter?”

“What on earth have you been doing, Mother? You and that convict are all over the news. My Facebook page is swamped with snide comments. Rhonda Maguire insinuated that you're having an affair with him. Carrie wants to know if I'm still going to the senior picnic this afternoon. I am So Humiliated.”

“Where's Peter?”

“He went to pick up pizza. His mother insisted on olives and anchovies. Inez is allergic to olives. I loathe anchovies.”

“She's there?” I said, forcing myself to breathe. “Never mind, of course she is.”

“Inez is keeping her company on the terrace. I came inside to get the pitcher of tea.”

“Did you find the Ming Thing?”

“In a way. Inez and I learned that some man from the drama department at the college had bought the stupid thing, along with other stuff for a set. We looked him up on the Internet. It turned out he's a bigwig in the community theater, and they were opening a new play Friday night. We went to the theater in the afternoon, but there were people all over the place.”

The FBI agent harrumphed softly.

“I only have a minute,” I said.

“So I persuaded Joel to take me, and Inez happened to show up. That icky thing was on a shelf on the stage. During the final act, I told Joel that I was sick and Inez was taking me home. We hid in the wardrobe room until the play was over.”

The FBI agent harrumphed less softly.

“Hurry, please,” I whispered.

“As soon as everybody was gone and the lights were off, we went onto the stage and grabbed the thing. How were we supposed to know all the doors had dead bolts? We decided to wait until someone showed up in the morning, but that didn't happen. Finally, we just opened the emergency exit and ran. A security cop grabbed us and called the police.”

The FBI agent harrumphed loudly.

“And?” I said.

“I dropped it.” Her sigh was masterful, filled with angst and anguish. “We scooped up all the pieces and spent last night gluing it back together. It's on the mantel, even uglier, if you can imagine.”