Perjury Proof

by Jessica Beck

  “Were you smitten with him?” I asked her, trying to be as sympathetic as I could manage. After all, I knew that opposites sometimes attracted, no matter how hard it might be to believe in this particular case.

  “I’d just as soon kiss a snake,” she said, her voice filled with silent rage. If Crusty had been the murder victim, my former teacher’s name would have instantly gone to the head of my list.

  “Why do you hate him so much? Is it because you were competing with Maggie Moore for his attention?” Grace asked her.

  The question clearly caught her off guard. “Bite your tongue!” After a momentary pause, she added, “I heard about what happened to Maggie. After all, it’s a small town. News travels quickly here.”

  “How did you two get along, if you weren’t romantic rivals?” I asked her.

  “Frankly, I didn’t care all that much for her. I know it’s considered bad manners to speak ill of the dead, but I didn’t warm to her the few times we spoke, though I can assure you that it had nothing to do with Crusty.”

  “Okay, let me get this straight,” I said. “You clearly despise Crusty, but it had nothing to do with any romantic situation you two might have been in. If that’s the case, I have one question for you. Why do you hate him so much?”

  Again, Mrs. Preston’s face, in fact her entire body, went rigid. “As I said earlier, I don’t care to discuss it. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have important matters to see to.”

  It was as abrupt a dismissal as I’d ever gotten from her in my life, and I had to admit that it stung a little. “We didn’t mean to be insensitive to your situation,” I explained, trying to salvage what I could of the situation.

  “I’m afraid that I must insist,” she said, walking briskly to the door and holding it open for us.

  There wasn’t much we could do at that point.

  So we did as we’d been told and left.

  “What was that all about?” Grace asked me once we were back in my Jeep.

  “Mrs. Preston is clearly upset about something,” I said. “Could it possibly be true that she was having a relationship with Crusty Lang, of all people?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Grace said. “Something else is going on with her, though. She obviously hates Crusty for a reason, but I don’t think it has anything to do with romance.”

  “What could it be, then?” I asked her.

  “I’m not sure, but I think we should go back and speak with Crusty again right now,” Grace replied.

  “Do you honestly think it will do any good?” I asked her.

  “No, you’re probably right,” Grace answered. “Who do we ask, then?”

  “I can think of one person who might know,” I said.

  “I’m game if you are. Who is he?”

  “Actually, it’s a ‘she,’” I said. “We need to ask my mother. If anyone in town knows what’s going on with Mrs. Preston, she’s the one to speak with.”

  “Then let’s go see what she has to say,” Grace said. “Are you going to be okay interrogating your own mother?”

  I wasn’t, but I was still going to have to somehow find a way to press her. “She and Mrs. Preston have been friends for years. We really don’t have much choice.”

  “Then it’s best if we get it over with quickly,” Grace said, clearly not any more eager to brace my mother than I was.

  “Hey, Momma, do you have a minute?” I asked my mother as she came to the door of the cottage she shared with former police chief Phillip Martin.

  “Of course. For you girls, always,” she said as she stepped aside and let Grace and me inside. My mother’s decorating tastes were similar to Mrs. Preston’s, with one distinct difference. I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it at the time, but my former schoolteacher’s home had a contrived feel to it, as though she were striving to project a certain image over the comfort level of her home. My mother’s cottage, on the other hand, felt warm and cozy, a home where love abided. That may have been partly because of my imagination, but I could swear the overall feeling of the place was the difference between a picture of a beam of sunlight and the feeling of the actual warmth on your face.

  “Grace, how are you? Looking stylish as always,” Momma said before glancing ever so briefly over at me. My mother wasn’t a fan of my usual ensembles, but then again, I didn’t dress for her. When I wore blue jeans and T-shirts, which was most of the time, I felt the most like myself. On those odd occasions when I had to wear a dress, or even nicer slacks, I counted the minutes until I could get back to my old style again.

  I decided to let the subtle dig slip past me. After all, I hadn’t come to her for fashion advice, much to her chagrin, I was sure. “We need your help.”

  “Excellent,” Momma said. “If it is in my power, you have it.”

  I had to grin at my mother. Since I’d moved in with her after my divorce, we’d become close not just as mother and daughter but as two women, even friends. It was an experience that had almost made living through a bad marriage worthwhile.

  Almost.

  “That’s quite a blank check,” I said as I hugged her. “Are you sure you don’t want to hear what we’re asking of you first?”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “What’s going on? Is it your investigation into Maggie Moore’s death?”

  “How did you know we were digging into that?” I asked, as if I had to even pose the question. I was sure there had to be a dozen ways the word could have gotten back to her. After all, it was no secret that Momma liked to know what her little girl was up to, even if that little girl was now a grown woman.

  “Phillip told me,” she said, and then she smiled. “He was quite disappointed you didn’t call on him to help investigate again.”

  He’d been a big help to me recently on a case, but Grace was my first choice, with the possible exception of my husband, and everyone knew it. “You don’t seem too upset about it.”

  Momma shrugged, trying to contain her delight. “It has been good experience for the two of you the times you’ve investigated things together in the past, but I’d hate for it to become a habit. He’s most happy when he’s digging into transgressions buried far in the past.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. I’d seen the way he’d thrown himself into the cases we’d worked on together with real gusto, but again, it wasn’t my place to point it out to her. “You’re still close with Mrs. Preston, aren’t you?” I asked, ducking the issue with her husband altogether.

  “Jane and I keep in touch. Why do you ask?”

  I was about to tell her when Grace did it for me. “Gabby Williams told us that Mrs. Preston was in a battle with Maggie over a man’s affections.”

  “I find that difficult to believe. It couldn’t have been much of a contest, could it? What man in his right mind would choose Maggie Moore over Jane Preston?”

  “Crusty Lang, at least according to Gabby,” I said.

  At first, it was clear that Momma thought I was just making another one of my jokes that she never seemed to fully understand, but when she saw me shrug, she reacted instantly. For a petite older woman, she had a fire in her that could match anyone put up against her. “That is the most ridiculous nonsense I’ve heard in my life. Gabby Williams is either drunk or delusional if she’s going around saying such things.”

  It made me feel better getting Momma’s take on it as well, especially since she was so close to my former teacher. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  When I glanced back at my mother, though, I saw that her smile was quickly fading. “Then again…”

  “That’s the longest pause I believe I’ve heard from you, Dot,” Grace said, studying my mother carefully. It was clear she was as upset about the prospect that Gabby might have been right as I was.

  “You don’t think it’s actually true, do you?” I asked her, unable to keep the
incredulity out of my voice.

  “An affair? No, of course not. Her late husband would climb right out of his grave if she even considered it. No, that’s not a possibility, but it does explain something I saw the other day at the grocery store.”

  “What did you see?” I asked her.

  “I was chatting with Jane about the atrocious price of oranges when Crusty walked into the store. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said that Jane must have seen a ghost. She began to stammer as she ducked behind a cereal display in the aisle, and then she made up a feeble excuse and left me standing there all alone. She had a buggy nearly full of groceries she just abandoned! It was so out of character that I called her later to make sure that she was all right, but she would barely talk to me about it. Clearly something is going on there. I just don’t know what it is.” With that, Momma grabbed her jacket and her purse and started for the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked her as Grace and I filed right behind her.

  “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? We’re going to go pay Crusty Lang a call.”

  Chapter 13

  “Momma, we’ve already spoken with him. He wouldn’t tell us anything about Mrs. Preston.”

  “Suzanne, I know for a fact that Jane has asked you repeatedly to call her by her first name, and yet you insist on acting as though you were still a child around her.”

  “That’s not true!” I said a little too shrilly. “And besides, Grace does, too.”

  “I do not!” Grace retorted, sounding remarkably like a kindergartner.

  Momma looked at us in turn for just a moment, and then she offered us both smiles as we stood there grinning like a pair of fools. “You two will be the death of me yet.”

  I hugged her from one side, and Grace from the other. “Maybe so, but not for a very long time, I hope,” I said.

  “Me, too,” Grace added.

  Momma, though dwarfed by the two of us, seemed to hover over us as she patted our shoulders simultaneously. “Let’s go see what we can uncover.”

  “We can talk to him all you want, but I’ve got a hunch that he’s not going to tell you any more than he did us,” I warned her.

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Momma said. She hesitated once we were outside, studying my Jeep and then looking at her much nicer, and larger, vehicle. “Shall I drive?”

  “Come on, be a sport. Let’s take mine,” I said with a smile. “You can even ride up in front. Right, Grace?” I asked, biting my lower lip as I looked at her. I’d offered her normal seat to my mother without consulting her, but I was certain that she would not only understand but heartily approve as well.

  “Are you kidding me? I love riding around in back being chauffeured around town,” Grace said. “It makes me feel important.”

  “I’m certain you don’t need a driver to feel that way,” Momma said, but she still climbed into the passenger seat beside me.

  As I drove us all to Crusty’s place, I asked Momma, “So, would you mind telling us why Crusty will talk to you but not us?”

  “Suzanne, I know more about that man than he realizes. I can apply pressure to the correct points to make him come clean with us within seven minutes. What’s more, I guarantee it.”

  “Wow, what kind of dirt do you have on him, Dot?” Grace asked from her position behind us.

  “I don’t feel comfortable sharing that with the two of you,” Momma answered a little primly.

  “Come on, we’ll be right there when you use the thumbscrews on him, so we’ll hear all about it then,” I reminded her.

  “We shall see,” was all that I could get Momma to say. I did my best to drive a little slower and a bit more carefully than normal, but that still didn’t stop her from clutching her seat belt like a lifeline and applying imaginary brakes every twelve feet of the journey. It was like having her teach me to drive all over again, an experience that neither one of us had relished. Still, it had been part of the ritual that was my upbringing, and as angry as I’d been with her at the time, at least I could look back on it fondly now.

  Crusty was out front, trimming a large overgrown plant that was threatening to take over his yard, when we got there. I’d noticed the bush on our earlier visit, but I hadn’t really given it much thought. He was sweating profusely from his efforts, but he still quickly threw on that same oversized jacket we’d seen earlier the moment he realized we were there. There were a few welts on his arms, and I had to wonder if he’d gotten a little too close to the shrub he’d just been trimming and if it had reached out and grabbed him.

  “Why are you back, Suzanne?” he asked me with a less than welcoming tone of voice.

  And then he saw my mother get out of the passenger seat of my Jeep.

  “Dot? What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you,” he said as he tried in vain to straighten his collar.

  “We need to have ourselves a little chat, Crusty,” Momma said brightly, but I could also hear the edge of steel in her words, and I was positive that Crusty hadn’t missed it, either.

  “There’s really no need. I told the girls all I know before,” he said as he frowned, staring at the length of branch in his hand he had been ready to sever.

  She pointed toward a small garden patch he kept. “You need to keep those runners pruned, or you’ll be overrun with pumpkins next month,” Momma told him. Was it possible she was making a point about something other than pumpkins? “It’s a shame when things don’t cooperate, isn’t it? Don’t you just hate it when you have to take matters into your own hands and intervene?”

  I knew that she wasn’t still talking about the vines anymore now, and I caught a glimpse of Crusty’s expression to make sure that he had gotten the message as well.

  His face was as white as Mrs. Preston’s had been earlier.

  What exactly did my mother have on this man, anyway?

  It was clear from his stance that he was considering fighting back and refusing to accept my mother’s not-so-subtle hints, but then he must have looked into her eyes, and I could see him crumple right in front of us. I knew my mother could back down a mountain lion, but the control she wielded over this man was nothing short of amazing. “Can I have a word with you in private, ma’am? Please?” he added. I wasn’t a big fan of the man, but his broken spirit still touched me.

  I wasn’t going to let him have a private audience with my mother though, no matter how bad I felt for him. After all, a killer was loose in April Springs, and I wasn’t going to let my mother be the next victim if I had anything to say about it. “That’s not a great idea, Momma,” I told her.

  “Listen to Suzanne, Dot,” Grace said beside me.

  “Girls, I appreciate your concern, but there’s no need to be alarmed. Crusty and I are just going to have a nice little chat over in the shade, aren’t we, Crusty?”

  He couldn’t even meet her gaze now. “Yes, ma’am.”

  If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. My respect for my mother, already at a pretty high level, was growing by leaps and bounds.

  “We’ll be right over there,” I said as I pointed to the Jeep. “If you need us, just raise your voice, and we’ll come running.”

  “You know I rarely raise my voice,” Momma said as she patted my hand. “Don’t worry. It will be fine.”

  “Sure. Of course it will,” I said as Grace and I headed the fifty feet back to my Jeep. “If he makes one move toward Momma with those clippers, I’m going for his throat.”

  Grace nodded. “I think he knows that,” she said as she pointed back at the two of them. Crusty had dropped the clippers completely, and somehow, even given his bantam status, he seemed to shrink within himself even further.

  After three minutes, with a few scornful glares and admonitions from my mother, she came back to the Jeep. I hated it when she turned her back on the man,
but he was clearly beaten down, and I didn’t think he had an ounce of fire left in him.

  “What did he tell you?” I asked her.

  “We need to pay Jane a visit now,” Momma said, ignoring my question. I had learned that move from the master, but that didn’t mean I was willing to accept it.

  “Come on. You’ve got to tell us.” I realized I was sounding a bit like an entitled little brat even as I said it, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

  “This is not related to Maggie Moore’s murder,” she said.

  “And we’re just supposed to take your word for it?” I asked her.

  “That would be nice, of course,” she answered serenely. I’d thought about refusing to drive to Mrs. Preston’s until we got more information, but in the end, I didn’t have any more spirit than Crusty had.

  I caved in.

  “Can you at least give us a hint about what he said to you?” Grace asked meekly from the back seat. My mother was the only one who could do that to her, but then again, it wasn’t all that surprising to me.

  “No, dear.” Her plain denial was more effective than the most effusive argument, because if she refused to engage with us, there was no way we were going to get her to talk.

  I reached for the radio dial when Momma asked kindly, “If you don’t mind, could we just ride in silence? I have to be very careful how I handle this.”

  “If you’d like some advice, Grace and I are eager and willing to supply it,” I said with an exaggerated grin.

  “As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m fine,” she replied.

  When we got to Mrs. Preston’s place, Momma asked us, “Would you two mind waiting here? Better yet, I can get Phillip to come get me when I’m finished.”

  “Sorry, but that’s not happening,” I told her firmly. “As much as I love Mrs. Preston, she’s still a suspect in an active investigation, no matter how much you vouch for her. I can’t stop you from going in alone, but I can surely stand watch out here, so make sure she knows that, will you?”