by Abigail Keam
My expression must have been one of disbelief because Sandy drew back hastily.
“I can see you don’t believe me, Josiah, but it’s true. He was taking my capsules and replacing the medication with cornstarch. I had them analyzed.”
“I believe you, Sandy. I realize people do fantastic things, but why would Toby do such a thing? What did he have to gain by it?”
Sandy looked around to see if anyone was listening.
“He had found a new cutie and wanted to run with her.”
“How did you find out?”
“She called me, big as brass, and told me she and Toby were in love. Said they wanted to get married, and I was in the way.”
“Did you get her name?”
“It was Carol Elliott. She lives in Winchester.”
“Did you confront Toby?”
“Yes, I did. He said they had seen each other, but he had dropped her. She wouldn’t let go, and was stirring up trouble to get back at him.”
“Did you believe Toby?”
“No. I followed him one day to her house and peeked in the window. They were very lovey dovey. Toby lied to me. That’s when I decided to divorce him.”
“Many men play around, but they don’t always leave their wives. It sounds like she was getting desperate. Maybe Toby had no intention of leaving you, but that doesn’t explain the problem with your medication.”
“My paintings had started to command a pretty sum. With a divorce, he would no longer have access to my paintings or my talent, but with me declared mentally incompetent, he could still control my money and my entire collection.”
“That’s why you emptied your savings account and left your paintings in the fire?”
“I threw his half of the money in the fire. I kept my half and went to live near my kin to start a new life. As for my paintings, I could paint more.” Sandy tapped on the table. “Toby was going to get what was coming to him. I meant to leave him destitute.”
“Let’s say you were at your house when the fire started. What happened then?”
“I picked up my bag and left. As far as I was concerned, I had symbolically killed my old life. That’s all it was supposed to be. No one was to be hurt. Toby must have come home, and thinking I had perished in the fire, felt regret and committed suicide. That’s the only explanation.”
“Sandy, didn’t the police tell you?”
“Tell me what? I haven’t talked to them yet.”
“The coroner determined Toby didn’t commit suicide. His death was murder. He was shot to death by a shotgun and thrown into the river.”
Sandy’s hand flew up to her mouth. Her neck and face grew red.
“Sandy?”
She stood up, causing her chair to fall backwards. With a look of horror on her face, Sandy ran from the visitor’s room.
The guard righted the chair. “You better go,” he said.
Astonished, I gathered my purse and left.
The guard seemed relieved to see me leave.
Not as relieved as I was to be leaving.
30
“Sandy has ruined her life,” I said. “She has no husband, no house, and no money.”
“Maybe. Sandy certainly set events in motion when she torched her house, it would seem,” admonished Shaneika.
I replied, “That’s a little harsh. You act like you don’t believe her. Why are you representing Sandy, if you don’t believe her innocence?”
Shaneika shrugged. She was wearing the beige Chanel suit with black piping–my favorite suit of hers. And she had a new ’do. It was her natural black color, shaved almost down to the skull–just a little stubble. The short haircut made her hazel eyes seem larger. She looked both fierce and sophisticated.
“Did she confess to anything?” asked Shaneika.
“She talked around starting the fire, but said she did not kill Toby.”
“And your thoughts?”
“Sandy didn’t make sense. She said she thought Toby assumed she had died in the fire. Feeling deep regret, he killed himself. She became upset when I told her Toby hadn’t committed suicide, but was murdered. What difference did it matter how he died? Dead is dead,” I said.
“I don’t understand this suicide angle myself. Why would Toby think she died in the fire when Sandy left her clothes at the cliffside, hoping people would think she jumped off.”
“Exactly. Let’s say Toby does think Sandy is dead, and now realizes he really loved her and wants to commit suicide. Why wouldn’t he shoot himself or jump off the cliff there? Why would he travel miles to drive his truck into the river at Winchester and then shoot himself as the truck is sinking? There are too many holes in the tale Sandy told me. I think she’s holding back. She knows something she’s not telling.”
Shaneika said, “I don’t want you to see her anymore, Josiah.”
“Oh,” was all I could muster.
Shaneika seemed unmoved. “If you want to help your friend, I need to know everything you know. Okay?”
I nodded while looking for some tissues. I was becoming weepy. The entire affair was hammering my nerves. I couldn’t process all the negatives fast enough.
Jumping Jehoshaphat! Was I having a nervous breakdown?
Shaneika passed a tissue box over the desk from which I plucked a few tissues to wipe several tears running down my face. She drew in a harsh breath. “Are you all right? I’ve never seen you this emotional.”
“I feel a little overwhelmed at the moment.”
“You need to take a rest.”
“My leg is bothering me,” I replied. It was the staple answer I gave when I didn’t wish to discuss an issue.
Shaneika gave me a sympathetic look. “I’ll try to hurry.”
I nodded. “That would be nice.”
“Did you report Sandy’s whereabouts to the police?”
“Is this conversation privileged?”
“Yes.”
“Walter Neff did. I hired him to find Sandy, which he did. He ratted her out of anger. He was mad because I wouldn’t let him live at the Butterfly anymore.”
Shaneika shot me a strange look. “Are you and Walter a thing?”
“I wish people wouldn’t ask if I’m seeing Walter. It makes me feel queasy.”
“Answer the question.”
“NO! I think he is still discombobulated over Bunny Witt’s death. He hasn’t found solid ground yet.”
“What a nasty little man. After all you’ve done for him, you think he’d be a little more grateful.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”
“That explains how the police found Sandy. I hope Mr. Neff keeps his mouth shut about that. Now, I want you to tell me everything she said to you at the jail.”
I might not remember what I had for breakfast, but I can recall conversations word for word. I told Shaneika almost verbatim what Sandy related to me, while she took notes.
“Let me stop you there and backtrack on something,”
Shaneika remarked. She pulled out a police report from another file and handed it to me.
It was the police report about Toby claiming Sandy had attacked him with a knife. It contained my statements to the police as well.
“Is the police report correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did you believe Toby was telling the truth?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never known Sandy to be violent, but she came close to admitting she set her house on fire. I don’t know what to believe.”
“Look down at the bottom.”
I glanced down on the report. At the bottom was scrawled JDLR. That was police code for “just doesn’t look right.” The officer, making the report, was letting others in the police department know there was something hinky about the information.
“I’ll have to talk to the reporting officer, but it looks like he didn’t believe Toby.”
I ruminated, “If Toby was lying, it would fit the story Sandy tells that he was setting her up to look crazy.�
�� I leaned over the desk. “I’m curious. Did the DA send over Hunter’s report?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“I can’t discuss it with you. It’s confidential.”
“If the DA sent Hunter’s report to you, sounds like they are going to charge Sandy with arson.”
“They already have.”
“Oh, I guess I’ll hear the report in court then.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Because the DA plans to call you as a witness.”
31
You could have knocked me over with a feather. “Me? Testify for the DA? I won’t do it. I won’t.”
“You can be declared a hostile witness and I can certainly object, but if you don’t show up, you will be in contempt of court and thrown in jail.”
“Jumping Jehoshaphat.”
“That’s why I don’t want you to have any more contact with Sandy Sloan, and keep what she said to yourself. No talking to Franklin.”
“Does that mean the DA, too?”
Shaneika’s expression hardened. “No, you have to talk to them and tell the truth.”
“Just wanted to be sure.”
“What’s the matter with you? You’re usually sharper than this.”
“I don’t know. I feel confused about this entire matter.”
“I’ll sort it out. I’ll give Sandy Sloan the best defense possible.”
“Do you think she killed Toby?”
“She may have, but if she did, I think it was under duress. Sandy might not have been in her right mind. I can tell you the DA is going to stress Sandy had motive and opportunity, but they haven’t charged her with murder yet.”
“What about Darius Combs or Carol Elliott?”
“I’m looking into it. They also had motive, but did they have opportunity?”
“What kind of gun was Toby killed with?”
“A 12-gauge shotgun.”
“Darius Combs pulled a 12-gauge shotgun on me.”
“I’m going to pull him into court to present reasonable doubt to the jury. It would have been better if you had reported the incident to the police.”
“Darius hated Toby. He might have hated Toby enough to kill him. Why don’t the police do a ballistics test on his gun?”
“Because they feel they have their woman. No need.”
Shaneika tapped a pencil on her desk. “Did the Sloans have a shotgun?”
“An old one. I don’t even think it worked. Did they find it in the fire?”
“No. It’s probably at the bottom of the Kentucky River.” Shaneika looked at her watch. “I have another appointment in a few moments. I need to wind this up.”
I stood. “Thanks, girlfriend.”
“Go through there,” she said, pointing to a door that led directly into the hallway. “And Josiah, remember. No gossiping, especially to Franklin or Lady Elsmere.”
I nodded, tucked my tail between my legs and left, wondering how much more damage could I do by trying to be a “friend.”
32
I meant to call Hunter, but he beat me to the punch by showing up at the stables with his new horse. One of the stable hands called me, saying there was a problem.
I arrived moments later with Baby and Georgie in tow, just in time to see Hunter release a Hanoverian mare into the paddock.
Standing beside Hunter, I watched the horse prance about. “She’s a beauty,” I said of the dapple-gray horse.
“I was lucky to get her.”
“What are you going to do with her?”
“Pleasure riding. I’m too old to compete anymore.”
“Hunter, I was planning to call you. I think we may have a problem with you boarding horses with me.”
Hunter studied me with those brown eyes of his, making my knees quake a little. I’ve only seen a look like that twice. It was how Robert Donat looked at Madeleine Carrol in The 39 Steps, and Burt Lancaster at Yvonne De Carlo before they were killed in Criss Cross. I don’t know how to explain the “look” but it’s a mixture of tenderness, amusement, and sadness. Now Hunter had the look. The “look” always got my attention.
“What is it?”
“Um, I can’t think of it. Give me a moment.” I was completely rattled. I suddenly realized why I had such a negative reaction when I saw Hunter with Ellen.
I WAS JEALOUS!
I hated Ellen for being with Hunter. And I hated Hunter for being with her.
What did Lady Elsmere say–the heart wants what the heart wants, whether it made sense or not.
NO! NO! This can’t be happening at my age. I don’t want it.
“Josiah?”
I came out of my fog. “I was going to call you to say I don’t think it’s a good idea to board your horse here.”
Hunter gave me the “look” again.
I just about peed in my pants.
“Why not?”
“It seems I am going to have to testify for the DA regarding Sandy Sloan, but I intend to be a hostile witness. Since you were hired by the Fire Department to do a report on the fire, it might be seen as a conflict of interest with you boarding a horse on my property.”
“I’ve taken care of that. I have completely recused myself in the case and returned my fee. They are to have a new forensic psychiatrist make another report.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? You look disappointed. I thought I cleared up the nonsense with Ellen Boudreaux.”
“You did. You did.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s just that I think . . .”
Hunter cut in, “That’s the problem, Josiah. You think too much. You don’t trust men, and do everything to push away any man who’s interested in you. You also have low self-esteem issues because of your limp.”
“Don’t forget the hearing aid,” I added sardonically.
“That’s another thing, I’m tired of your constant sarcasm. You’re positively feral at times.”
“Is there anything you do like about me? If I’m so blighted, why bother? Just go the other way, sir.”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“Blah, blah, blah.”
“Shut up. Shut your wicked mouth.”
“Make me, big man,” I replied.
“All right, I will.” Hunter grabbed me, pulling me close. He tilted my face up and kissed me.
It was a rather long and passionate kiss.
I struggled, let me tell you. I struggled for about two seconds before I melted and pressed against him. Just like in the movies where the woman is unsure, but succumbs to the masculine virility bearing down on her. Oh dear, that sounds filthy, doesn’t it–but exciting when it happens–if it happens with a man to whom you are attracted.
Hunter felt strong and muscular. In other words, he felt darn nice.
We kissed a long time. We broke for air, sucked in some oxygen, and then kissed some more.
Hunter pushed me against the fence and really started putting on the dog. My forehead, my neck, my cheeks, my lips. He even kissed and stroked my hair.
Finally, Hunter pulled away and looked at me intently. “Hello, Sugarlips.”
“Hello,” I answered, kinda goofy, as I was somewhat dazed.
“I’d like to see where this might lead.”
“I don’t know, Hunter.”
“Say yes, you creature.”
“I never knew anyone calling me a creature would sound so divine.”
“I’m sure the feeling will wear off as soon as you have time to think about it. Look, I know my having two past wives gives you pause. It was never because I beat them or didn’t share my wealth. It was because of my mistress–work. I neglected them, so they found other chaps who were home more often. But I’m slowing down now, and can take the time to be a real companion to a woman who might appreciate what I have to offer.
“Josiah, I want a good life, a quality life. I think I can make that happen in the Blue
grass. I’ve come home to stay. I would like to see more of you on a regular basis–if you will let me.”
“I’m afraid of being hurt.”
“So am I.”
“You being hurt by me?”
“Ain’t that a kicker? I’m surprised myself.”
“You sound like Mr. Darcy proposing to Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Darcy.”
“I’m not proposing marriage.”
“I didn’t say you were. I’m saying you’re insulting me like Mr. Darcy when he proposed to Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice.”
“Can we have at least one conversation which does not include a reference to a movie, book, or play?”
“Have you read it?”
“Pride and Prejudice? Yes, I have. Can we get back on track? You’re trying to divert the issue I wish to discuss.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I realize you’re afraid. Please consider my gift of friendship.”
I was still hesitant.
Hunter sensing this, suggested, “Let’s do this. We’ll take it one day at a time, no strings attached. If either one of us wants to end the relationship, he or she can call it off–no questions asked.”
I felt comfortable with Hunter’s thinking. Nothing permanent–a friendship that could easily be dissolved–a way out if things got too sticky. I always needed a back door escape where men were concerned. “I can do that. Nothing too fast, though.”
“No gentleman would insist on more than the lady can handle.”
“Let’s shake on it,” I said.
“Let’s kiss on it,” Hunter suggested, gathering me close.
“Excuse me. So sorry, but excuse me.”
We both looked over to see a man staring at us, smirking. “Gotta get the trailer back, Mac.”
Hunter let go of me so quickly, I stumbled. So much for chivalry.
“Yes, you can let her out.” Hunter said to the man.
“Okay, Mac.” The man tipped his hat at me. “Ma’am.”
“What’s he talking about, Hunter?”