by Susan Finlay
She threw the bag onto the floor and sat in its place on the chair. What had Dave done with her cash and identification? Reaching down, she pulled the bag back to her and yanked out a pair of jeans, a gray blouse, a bra, and knickers. After dressing and combing her ratted hair, she opened the door and stepped out of her room, smacking right into Dave.
He grabbed her arms to steady her. “I was coming to check on you. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” She wanted to ask about her money and ID, but decided to not confront the topic immediately, hoping for a good, please let there be a reasonable, explanation.
“Good. Are you ready to eat something?”
Maurelle nodded.
They walked together down the hallway. At the top of the stairs, Dave took hold of her arm and carefully led her, like one would a small child, down the stairs and into the kitchen. He pulled out a chair for her at the table, where an omelet plate was already waiting.
“Thank you,” she said.
Fabienne handed her a steaming cup of coffee, which she gladly accepted. Dave and Fabienne sat at the table, and after a quick round of ‘bon appetit’, they all ate together, then shared the task of cleaning up the kitchen.
“Well, I’m off to see Jeannette,” Fabienne said, surprising Maurelle.
Maurelle and Dave watched her from inside the kitchen, where they had a clear view of Fabienne as she hastily donned her shoes, grabbed her handbag, and left. As soon as the door closed, Dave turned around. “We need to talk.”
She nodded. Without thinking, she stiffened her shoulders, forgetting her bruised right shoulder, the movement instantly sending lancing pain through her.
Dave was watching her intently and must have noticed her flinch in pain, but said only, “Let’s go in the living room.”
She nodded, and walked with stiff dignity into the living room.
Dave sat in the chair across from Maurelle. “I need to know the details about the case against you.” He paused, searching for the right words. He’d rather not sound like he was conducting an interrogation if he could avoid it. “It must be difficult for you. I can’t imagine all that you’ve been through. I’d like to believe you and help with your problem. I’m trying, but we need to trust each other a little, first. You didn’t even tell me your real name. I had to find that out on my own.”
Her body stiffened. “You went through my duffel bag. You took my passport and wallet—and my money.”
Dave leaned in. In a controlled voice he said, “You are in no position to take such an attitude with me. You are the criminal here, not me.”
She drew back as though he’d slapped her in the face. “I’m not a criminal.”
“You’re guilty of running away from a murder investigation. That alone makes you a criminal. I’m trying to figure out whether or not you’re guilty of anything else.”
“I would never kill anyone. I would never steal either. I’d rather starve than stoop that low.”
“You nearly killed a man yesterday.”
She opened her mouth, closed it and re-opened it, without saying anything. She sank back against the sofa back. “That was self-defense.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I know you want to help.”
“I did take your things,” he admitted, “but I don’t want them. Let’s just say I’m holding onto them for now—until I – until we decide what needs to be done.”
She nodded.
“Talk to me, Maurelle. Let me in, please. Tell me what happened before and after the murder. How long ago did this happen?”
He actually knew when it happened, and where. He knew the victim’s name and age, his parents’ names, where his body was found, and some of what had led up to the murder. He’d found out a lot of details in news articles online. But he needed to hear it from Maurelle. More importantly, he needed to watch her body language and listen to her voice. He needed to read her the way he’d read hundreds of other suspects.
“It was about five or six weeks ago, I think,” she said. “I’m losing track of time. I already told you some of it. The victim was Jared Raybourne, a sixteen-year-old pupil. It was rumored that I was involved with him. But I wasn’t—not ever. Not romantically.” She looked straight into Dave’s eyes. “He wanted us to be, but I refused and told him to leave me alone.”
“But he didn’t?”
“No. He persisted. I had no choice but to move out of the Raybournes’ house. Elizabeth didn’t want me to leave—she needed the extra income. But she wouldn’t do anything about her son’s obsession.”
“Why did she need the income? Why did you rent from this woman?”
“She needed money to help cover her mortgage. I needed a place to live, and she needed money, so she offered to let me rent the room which helped both of us.”
He nodded, and leaned forward. “You talked to her about Jared?”
“Yes. I tried that first, before I decided to move out.”
“What did she say when you talked to her?”
“She said that her son was merely going through adolescence, and that it was common for teenagers to develop crushes on their teachers. He would quickly get over it and move on. She assured me it wasn’t a problem, and that I shouldn’t worry.”
“But he didn’t?”
“No. Even after I moved out he continued chasing me, sending me emails, calling me on my mobile. He even told his friends and classmates that I was his girlfriend. I changed my phone number and my email address, but he somehow got the new ones.”
She stopped and closed her eyes.
Dave patted her on the hand, prompting her to continue.
“Jared had emotional problems. I wish I’d known sooner. I could have referred him to the school’s counselors who might have helped him. I had been teaching for a few years, but lacked experience in that sort of problem—crushes and infatuations—which was a good thing, and yet that meant I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
“What did you do?”
“I talked to Pauline, Jared’s aunt.”
“And that didn’t help?”
“Not really. She told me she had a pupil like that years ago, and it passed without incident. It usually did, she said, but she wasn’t convinced this one would blow over. She talked to her sister about Jared, but she couldn’t get through to her either.”
“What happened next?”
“Over the next couple of weeks—this was after I moved out of the house—Jared was spreading rumors around the school. The headmaster heard about it and talked to me. I was placed on suspension, pending a hearing. I believe Jared was suspended from school, but I’m not certain.”
She fell silent.
Dave again reached out and covered her hand with his. “It’s okay. Take your time and tell me what happened.”
“As I said, I told you much of it when we were in the cave. Most of the rest is kind of a blur. I was so stunned by Jared’s death that I don’t think my brain really registered everything.”
“If I remember right,” Dave said, “you told me that people immediately considered you the prime suspect. Is that correct?”
Maurelle nodded.
“But you weren’t there in the house that day?”
“No.”
“Did you have an alibi? Where were you the night of the murder?”
“That’s just it,” Maurelle said. “I was at home, alone, watching the telly. No one could verify it. I’m a homebody. I don’t go out on lots of dates or to parties or out with friends.”
Dave nodded. “Did Jared have any enemies? Or maybe a girlfriend his own age?”
“I don’t know about enemies. He had a girlfriend, Penny Miller, but they had already broken up.”
“What else do you remember? Tell me more about his mother.”
“She said he was reacting to his parents’ divorce and that he would get over it. That lots of children go through emotional upheavals when their parents fight or get a divorce.”
“She found him dead?”
“If she was at home, how could she not have heard anything? How could someone come into the home and murder him without her waking up?”
“All I know is what I heard on the television and read in the newspapers. They said that Elizabeth had been out for the evening. When she got home, it was late and she went to bed straight away without seeing her son.”
“Seems odd that a mother would not check on her son when she got home. Did the police rule out the mother as a suspect?”
“I can’t imagine a mother doing that to her own son. What reason could she have?”
Dave said, “I’ve seen everything. People do things that boggle the mind. Were you close friends with the mother?”
“No, not really,” she said. “She wasn’t the easiest person to get to know. She was a little bit strange.”
He quirked his eyebrows, questioningly. “How so?”
“I don’t know how to explain. She was moody, often depressed. I suppose that’s normal right after a divorce. The ex-husband was sometimes difficult from what I could tell, and that didn’t help.”
“What caused their divorce?”
“I don’t know. The ex-husband has a girlfriend, but I don’t know if that relationship began before or after the divorce.”
“Did the two women get along with each other?”
“No. Definitely not, from what I could tell.”
“What did Elizabeth do when she wasn’t working?”
“She spent a lot of time in her bedroom, or sometimes she went out and left her son alone.”
“Was the kid involved in drugs or gangs?”
“Not that I know of. I didn’t see or hear anything to suggest that.”
“Did the police consider anyone else a suspect: the ex-girlfriend, one of the parents, a neighbor, a classmate?”
“I don’t know. As I told you last night, I left at the beginning of the investigation.”
“Who else might have killed him? Do you know anything about the family, their friends, the boy’s friends, his enemies?”
“Only a handful of people ever visited the Raybournes while I was there—Jared’s aunt and uncle, his father, his father’s girlfriend, and a few neighbors.”
“Who are the neighbors?”
“Well, there’s Nick and Jenny Hallowell from a few doors down, Ian Waitley from across the street, Rob Carsters from the next street over, and Sally Kavanaugh from the corner house.”
“What about next door? Didn’t they get along with those neighbors?”
“They were polite to each other, but they didn’t really associate.”
“What are their names?”
“Alice Rickards lives on one side and Judy Winston lives on the other side.”
“Were any of them questioned? Were they suspects? Did they hear or see anything?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure who else, besides me, were considered suspects. All I know for sure is that someone,” she said, her voicing choking up, “stabbed Jared with a knife.” Her eyes filled with tears. Her voice broke for a moment. Pulling herself together, she said in a calm voice, “I couldn’t do something that horrible. Hitting Pierre with that fallen tree branch, thinking that I might have killed him, nearly devastated me, and that was out of self-defense. Pierre was going to rape me. I could never intentionally, and in cold-blood, murder someone.” She looked straight into Dave’s eyes. “I’m not a bad person,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m certainly not a saint, but I couldn’t do something that despicable.”
Dave reached out and pulled Maurelle close, embracing her while he stroked her hair. She relaxed into him, her tears dripping down her face.
Twenty minutes later, while Maurelle showered, Dave sat in the kitchen, tapping his fingers on the table and studying the six newspaper articles he’d printed from the internet while he was in the library.
If he traveled to London, he could poke around and see what else he could find out, but first he needed a cover story, a logical explanation for his interest in the case. He couldn’t pretend to be a friend of the family, since the police in London could easily verify that with the Raybourne family. Dave knew too well that he had to be particularly cautious. If he drew too much attention, he could risk giving away the fact that he and his grandmother were harboring a fugitive. That certainly wouldn’t help Maurelle’s situation and it could land all three of them in jail. It might anyway, whatever the outcome.
Maurelle walked into the kitchen, looking refreshed with rosy cheeks and damp hair.
Dave smiled and quickly tucked the papers back into the folder. “You look as though you’re feeling better.”
She nodded and sat down next to him.
“I was thinking about a plan.” He was about to say more, but was interrupted by the doorbell. “I’ll be right back.”
He strode to the living room, opened the front door, and was surprised to see Simone and her new dog.
“Bonjour,” Simone said. She held out her arms and wrapped them around Dave, kissing him on the lips, almost dropping the dog leash in the process.
Dave embraced her, while raising his brows slightly. “I thought you would be working.”
“Ah, well, I do get the occasional day off,” Simone said, smiling and pulling on the dog’s leash. “Bono needed a walk—oh, I guess you don’t know. I gave him a name. I haven’t seen you since, well, you know.” She glanced around him, and added, “Is she still here?
Dave gave her a quizzical look.
“The little stray you found.”
“If you mean Maurelle, yes. She is still here,” Dave said dryly.
“Who is she anyway? Have you found out what she’s doing here?”
“As you said, she’s a stray, a runaway. I’m trying to help her out.”
“Does that mean she’ll be leaving soon?”
He shrugged.
Simone pouted and then brushed his arm with her hand. “Well, aren’t you going to invite us in?”
He stepped aside to let her and the dog inside.
Simone gave Dave a sideways look. “Since it doesn’t look like we’re going on travel anytime soon, I bought us two tickets for the theatre next week. You will go with me, won’t you?”
“Yeah, sure, I guess.”
She smiled and let go of the leash, turning Bono loose. Eager for attention, the playful pup sprang at Dave, who patted the dog’s head. Bono still wanted more. He jumped, trying to get Dave to pick him up. Instead, Dave squatted down and the dog placed his paws on Dave’s knees. Dave reached out and cupped the dog’s face in his hands, which sent the dog into a frenzy of licks.
Dave chuckled and Simone laughed, clapping her hands delightedly.
When he finally stood back up, Maurelle was standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room, watching them with an unreadable expression.
Simone turned and looked in the same direction.
Dave winced. He suddenly felt like an awkward teenager.
He cleared his throat. “Have you two been introduced?”
“No, we haven’t, Cheri. Not formally.”
After Dave made the introductions, each of them stood waiting for someone else to break the silence. Dave rubbed the back of his head. He had an idea. “Why don’t we have some lunch? I’m not much of a cook, but I’m sure I can throw something together.”
“No, no,” Simone said, “I’m a much better cook than you. I will fix lunch.”
Dave held up his hand. “This is your day off. Sit and relax. I insist. I’ll take care of everything.” He retreated to the kitchen, stopped, and peeked back in. “You girls can get acquainted.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Good God! How had he gotten himself into this situation? Though he didn’t enjoy cooking, he would do his best to stretch out the chore for a good, long time.
Dave managed to cobble together a salad
that he thought Fabienne would be proud of, though of course it couldn’t compete with her specialty salad. He rejected thumbing through her cookbooks, thinking he shouldn’t try anything fancy. He settled on making Monte Cristo sandwiches, which had always been one of his favorites.
When he nearly had everything ready, he heard a loud commotion, followed by a dog barking and a female screaming, “No!” He rushed into the living room. As he anxiously surveyed the room, he asked, “What’s going on?”
Simone was standing in front of the grandfather clock, and Maurelle was kneeling down near the back edge of the clock where it butted up against the wall. Bono had his nose and one paw stuffed in between the clock and the wall, his tail wagging ferociously.
Maurelle turned her head and looked up at Dave, pleadingly. “He’s got a mouse. He trapped it behind—or underneath—the clock and he’s been battering it. Please don’t let him kill it. Can you get it away from him?”
Dave raised one eyebrow. He glanced over at Simone, who was watching with amusement, and he was suddenly curious about what he had missed before this. He reached down and grabbed the dog’s collar, pulling him out of the way, then kneeled down and looked behind and underneath the clock.
Maurelle said, “Mice don’t usually run out in the open when people are around but this one did. It ran across the room, right by the couch where I was sitting. It actually scurried over my feet. The dog was on Simone’s lap, across from me, and, well, he saw the mouse and chased it behind here.”
Dave smiled, but didn’t turn his head to look at her. The mouse, caught underneath the massive piece of furniture, with its rear and long tail sticking out, reminded Dave of the wicked witch crushed underneath Dorothy’s house in the Wizard of Oz. The part of the body that Dave could see was smashed, he guessed by the dog.
Kneeling on the wooden floor, he pulled back and looked into Maurelle’s pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s too late.” Dave pulled out the dead mouse and stood up. The dog jumped and tried to get it from his hand, but Dave held it up higher, out of the dog’s reach. Maurelle and Simone watched as he carried it from the room.