It was like some horrid dystopian future where people live on optimally structured nutrient supplements because they've forgotten the pleasures of a good meal. I choked it down, though. No point in wasting a meal.
(No matter how bad life has gotten, I have never ever taken it out on myself by losing my appetite. Sometimes I wish I were that person. It would be nice to get something positive out of some of the things I've been through, but that is just not me. I go into "I will not let this defeat me" mode and make sure I'm dead-on with health and nutrition and avoiding self-destructive behaviors. The more I want to drink and do other self-destructive things, the less I do them. I guess that's a good thing.)
After the meal, I hopped up on my shelf, curled into a ball with my back against the wall, and tried to sleep. I figured the less I had to actually be awake, the better.
Chapter Twenty-One
Turns out that I am not capable of just going to sleep while in a jail cell. I wish I were that cool and collected and confident. I'm not.
Instead I lay there with my eyes closed praying that they wouldn't bring someone else into my cell. And that by the time I had to pee there'd be no one there to watch me, although I could hear people in all the other cells around me.
The sounds in a place like that are the worst. Human sounds. There had to be at least a half dozen people there, some of them men, and I could hear them coughing and…other things. (Men are far less shy about the whole peeing in front of others thing. Ugh. Sorry. Too much information.)
Let's just say, I admired that woman asleep across from me. She was made of tougher stuff than I was.
I figure it was about six o'clock or so when I heard a lot of commotion. I sat up on my bunk and watched as all of the other inmates were chained up and led away. Seems the other folks there had been there to make a court appearance and were now heading back to the facilities where they were going to serve their real jail time. So, once the business day at the courthouse was over they were all carted away leaving me all alone in my cell.
In some respects, that was even worse. To be all alone, locked in a cell, with no way out and no idea of who was watching. I kept having these visions of the world ending and my not being able to get out. I want to say Red Dawn, the original movie (which I loved when I was younger but did not hold up well for me as an adult) was set in the Colorado mountains? Remember that movie? Russians invade and a bunch of school kids take up guns to fight back? I kept thinking, "What if something like that happens right now? What if I'm trapped here as World War III starts?"
Yeah, I know. Good thing I was only in jail that one night, because I was losing it.
I was tempted to cry as I sat there alone with just the buzz of the fluorescent lights to keep me company. If I'd just listened to Jamie and stayed at the café that day…
If I could just rein in my temper. Wouldn't that be great? To be this nice, kind, forgiving person?
I started to laugh. That was so not me and never would be. I actually like myself, you know. Sharp edges and all. And to be the kind of person who didn't run out to confront a nasty woman like Janice Fletcher just wouldn't suit. As much as my impulses might've led me to this unfortunate moment, they'd served me and those around me far more times than they'd hurt me.
The world needs the Jamies, don't get me wrong. The world absolutely needs some Jamies. But it needs the Maggies, too.
I stared at the far wall and tried to figure out how to get out of there. If it was true that Janice Fletcher had been killed—and why doubt that now—then the only way I was going to get out was to figure out who the real killer was.
So who would want her dead?
It was probably easier to put together a list of who wouldn’t. But you could probably eliminate anyone she hadn't angered recently. It seemed to me that most people would act in the moment or they wouldn't act at all.
So who had she been harassing right before her death?
Me.
Well, that didn't help.
I wondered if she had any kids. Maybe they wanted her money. She was from a prominent family, but was she actually rich? Was there anything for anyone to inherit?
Maybe she knew some horrible awful secret about someone and was threatening to expose them.
Maybe she'd had a torrid affair and it had ended badly. (Not likely. But it's not like passion is limited to the young and beautiful.)
I thought about the green car and dismissed it. Same with the jogger. They just wouldn't have had enough time to get to her house, do the deed, clean up, and leave in the time I'd been away.
Whoever had done this was already in that house the first time I was there. They had to be.
Did Janice know? Had she tried to signal me in some way that she was in danger?
I tried to remember if she'd glanced in any direction while I was there, like she was looking towards someone else. Whoever it was, the cats certainly hadn't expected to be fed by them. But maybe…
I wondered how many cats she actually owned. I'd counted…five. But if there were more? What if they'd gone after the intruder and were crying to be fed and that's why the person had been discovered? Maybe they hadn't meant to kill Janice at all. Maybe they'd been in her house for some other reason.
Had she known about the basement door being open? Had she opened it? Or had the intruder?
I was still thinking it through when Matt walked up to my cell door.
"Ms. Carver." It hurt a little for him to call me that, but I knew why he had to do it.
I hopped down and walked over to him, so glad for a familiar face. "Officer Barnes."
I wanted to lace my fingers in his, but had to remind myself that he was a cop first and my friend second. For all I knew, he was round two of the interrogation—the good cop to Officer Clark's bad cop.
Plus, Mason Maxwell had told me not to speak to anyone without him present. I should've stayed on my bunk staring off into space.
Matt unlocked the cell and stepped aside. "Come on. Let's go."
I stepped out of the cell, but then hesitated. "Where are we going?"
"Aren’t you hungry?"
I nodded.
"Well, then."
I still didn't move. "They brought my lunch to my cell."
Matt stepped closer. "Yeah, they did. Are you telling me you really want another meal like that one? Because if you don't, your grandpa brought you dinner."
"Really?" I glanced towards the front of the jailhouse. It would be so good to see him. "And you're going to let me eat it?"
"No. I thought I'd come here, let you out of your cell, tell you your grandpa had brought you dinner and was waiting for you at my desk, and then laugh in your face and lock you back up."
"I just. You know."
"Yes. I'm breaking about half a dozen rules by doing this. Don't tell anyone. Now come on."
I followed him out to the front, the delicious smell of chicken noodle soup guiding my steps the last little way. My grandpa was sitting at Officer Clark's desk, a chair pulled up next to it.
"Grandpa." I ran over and hugged him and he patted me on the arm.
"Now, now. I just saw you a few hours ago. Don't go making such a fuss."
"How's Fancy?" I sat down in the chair while Matt sat at his desk.
"Confused. She's placed herself across the front door so no one can come in or go out without her knowing about it. But she's okay."
"And you remembered to feed her?"
"Yes."
"And to give her her dental chew?"
"Yes."
"And her peanut butter treat?"
He shook his head. "That dog is more spoiled than most people."
"But you did give it to her?"
"Yes. She is fine. Trust me."
"Thank you."
Only once I was certain Fancy was okay did I take a bite of soup. It was so good, but I wished Fancy were there for me to feed her some carrots and noodles and chicken. "So, why are we eating here instead of the interrogation
room?" I asked Matt.
"Did you want to eat in there after the day you had?"
"Not really. But I'm still curious."
"Because I wanted to actually talk to you instead of having you clam up because Mason Maxwell told you not to talk to anyone without him around."
"So you were listening to us after Officer Clark left the room?" I tore off a hunk of homemade bread and dunked it in my soup.
"Not live. I went back to the crime scene with Sue. We tried to figure out what we might've missed the first time around based on what you told me."
I felt a small surge of warmth towards him. He believed me. "And?"
"Maggie May," my grandpa interrupted. "You know how I feel about talking business at dinner."
"Grandpa. I think that rule can be waived when someone is in jail." I flashed him my "don't interrupt a cop who's about to tell you something good" look, but he ignored it.
"So, Matt. You have any free time?" he asked.
"I might. Why?"
"I could use another assistant on the t-ball team. I think you'd be good at it."
My grandpa had been the volunteer baseball coach for forty years, but he'd lost a couple of his assistants with the Jack Dunner affair.
Matt nodded. "Yeah, I could do that. Sure."
They spent the rest of the meal talking baseball and the different families in town, while I ate my food. I wanted to interrupt and ask Matt what he'd found when he and Sue went back to the crime scene, but there was never a good opportunity.
When we finished, my grandpa pulled out the Scrabble board.
"Grandpa. We're in jail. We can't be playing Scrabble."
"That's alright," Matt said. "It's just the three of us until midnight unless something unexpected happens."
I was all for anything that let me stay out of that jail cell for a bit, but I had to ask. "Don't you have a murder to work on?"
"Maggie May." My grandpa glared at me.
Matt just laughed. "I need some time to think through what I know. This'll be good. Distract me while my mind's working."
As I pulled seven tiles and lined them up on the tray before me I said, "You know, three minds are better than one…"
My grandpa grunted, but at least he didn't say anything about not talking about it.
Matt didn't answer. He played first and managed to start with a thirty-six point play. This was going to be an ugly game for me. I had nothing. But if it led him to tell me what he'd found out on his second pass of Janice's house…
Well, I guess I could lose one game of Scrabble for that.
As we played out the game—Matt and my grandpa left me in their dust after the first five rounds of play and probably wouldn't have noticed if I disappeared halfway through—Matt told us what he'd found. Sue hadn't thought to fingerprint the cat food cans or plate, so she'd done that. And Matt had found a footprint outside near the basement window well.
"What kind of footprint?"
"Definitely not a boot. Or a tennis shoe, from what I could tell. Sue will match it up to a database she has access to. It has two round sections that are very unusual. Probably a man's shoe. Looked to be a size 9 or 10."
"So the killer could have entered—or exited—through the basement window? Maybe that was the sound I heard when I saw her body in the basement."
"Maybe."
"Were any files disturbed? Did you see any sign of what the killer might have wanted?"
I explained to him my theory that maybe the killer hadn't been there to kill her, but had instead broken in looking for something she had.
Matt laughed. "These days all that stuff happens on computers."
"Well. Anyone look at her laptop? It was a Mac from what I remember. She had it at the barkery the day she claimed her cat was an emotional support animal."
"We have it, but nothing on there so far."
"So we have a few more finger prints and a shoeprint, but that's it. I'm still pretty much the only person with an immediate motive."
"Yep."
"Great. Just great."
Chapter Twenty-Two
After that we settled into a general conversation about all the horrible things Janice Fletcher had done to people over the years. There were certainly enough people who weren't going to mourn her passing, let me tell you.
My grandpa managed to win at Scrabble, but only by two points. I think both he and Matt were pleased. Not that Matt liked losing, but since he'd only lost because of an unlucky draw of a Z at the very end of the game I think he was satisfied that the only reason he'd lost was due to bad luck.
Matt wanted an immediate rematch but my grandpa begged off, pointing out that Fancy was all alone at home and probably none too happy about it. (Honestly, I think he just wanted to relish the win for a while, but I did appreciate him thinking about Fancy, too.)
After Matt locked the door behind my grandpa he said, "I better take you back to your cell."
The last thing I wanted was to go back there, but I told myself I should be grateful for the couple of hours of freedom he'd given me that he didn't have to.
"Thank you."
He nodded.
"You okay?" I asked.
He shook his head. "People think a small town cop's job is easy, but it's not. Do you know how hard it is to arrest someone you know? To have to think that they might have killed someone?"
"I'm sorry to have put you in this position."
"It's not just you. Last week we got a call about a domestic and when I showed up it was a guy I'd played football with in high school." He shook his head. "He asked me to go easy on him. Said he'd just lost his temper. His girlfriend was hysterical, telling me he'd threatened to kill her. I had to bring him in and lock him up."
"You did the right thing."
"I know. Doesn't make it any easier though."
He let me use a private bathroom before locking me back in my cell. I spent the whole rest of the night staring at the ceiling, not able or willing to sleep.
I thought about Janice Fletcher. And about my grandpa. And Matt. And Fancy. And Jamie.
I swore to myself that if I got out of there I'd control my temper and my curiosity. No more putting myself in positions like this. One night of jail was enough to cure me.
(Haha. I know. That’s like telling the sun not to rise each morning. You can do it all you want, but at the end of the day the sun is going to be the sun and I was going to be me.)
I must've finally dozed off at some point, because I awoke to the sound of someone slapping a tray down on the floor of my cell. "Food."
As I stared at what was probably meant to be eggs, I silently hoped that someone else had been murdered overnight and that the murder would be tied to Janice's and clear my name. Because this was not the life I wanted to be living.
(I know, I know. Not a nice thing to do. But I hadn't killed the woman and didn't deserve to be in jail for doing so and at that point I wasn't sure what else was going to save me. Plus, I figured anyone else who did get killed in connection with her murder would be someone who kind of sort of deserved what they got, you know?)
Fortunately, Mason Maxwell managed to get me out of there first thing after I'd had the joy and privilege to plead not guilty on a charge of voluntary manslaughter. Let me tell you, not something you ever want to have to do, but according to Mason I was lucky that was all they'd charged me with.
Yay?
Mason immediately escorted me back to my grandpa's house. We actually walked there, which shocked me, but as he pointed out it was a gorgeous summer morning and why not enjoy it a bit.
I glanced down at his shoes. "Are those things actually comfortable to walk in?"
"Of course. I wouldn't buy them if they weren't."
I wondered if he'd ever tried wearing tennies. Maybe if he had he'd see how much better those were then some fancy-schmancy dress shoes.
When I opened the front door, Fancy scrambled away. Turns out my grandpa was not kidding when he said she was sleeping a
cross the doorway. She'd literally had her back right up against the door. She went crazy when she saw me, crying and barking her head off.
Man, did she give me a lecture about leaving her alone for the night. But when I sat down for her to climb in my lap and let me pet her, she took one sniff and ran outside.
"Mind if I take a quick shower?" I asked.
Mason and my grandpa eyed one another, neither one happy with the idea of having to make small talk for however long it would take.
"Five minutes. Promise." I decided to just go. Let them sort out what to do with themselves.
"I'll step out and make a call," I heard Mason say as I rounded the corner.
Well, that was one way to handle things. Simply avoid each other. At that point I didn't really care.
The shower probably took me more like seven minutes all told, but that's because I decided to wash my hair, too. I figure that's what Fancy had smelled. It's amazing how much smells can cling to hair and jail smell has its own unique funk I did not need clogging up my nose for the rest of the day.
When I returned from my shower my grandpa had a plateful of scrambled eggs waiting for me with melted cheese, bacon, and spring onions mixed in. Yum. He'd even fried up a potato for me. And put a Coke next to my plate. (He hates the fact that I drink so much Coke, so that was an especially endearing thing for him to do.)
I kissed him on the cheek. "You're the best, you know that."
He batted me away and continued to work on his crossword puzzle.
"You are the best." I started eating as Mason came back in and joined us. Fancy did, too. She never misses a chance at human food, although I had to be careful not to give her any of the onions. Those are bad for dogs.
"So, what now?" I asked Mason.
He studied me as I shoveled another forkful of food in my mouth. I suddenly realized that twisting my hair up in a towel and throwing on my most comfortable lounging pajamas was probably not the most appropriate look. For a second there, I almost set my fork down, straightened my posture, and made sure I had a napkin in my lap.
A Crazy Cat Lady and Canine Crunchies Page 9