“It’s not baseball season.”
“You’re kidding. I thought it was always football or baseball season and sometimes both at the same time.”
“Basketball. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Just tired. Oh, look at the time! How did it get to be so late?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I had a lot of paperwork to finish. Go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I disconnected the call and flopped back in the chair, my heart pounding. The conversation had been excruciating, and that was bad wrong. Talking to the man I loved should make me happy. Usually it did. I couldn’t betray Grace, but not betraying her felt as if I was betraying Trent.
The next day at work I filled Paula in on the events of the previous evening. She wasn’t associated with the cops, so I figured it was okay to talk to her about Grace’s dilemma.
She slid a pan of cinnamon rolls into the oven and turned to me. “You did the right thing, keeping Grace’s secrets.”
I don’t know what I wanted her to say, but that wasn’t it. I cracked an egg. Actually, I shattered it. Barely got it into the mixing bowl instead of on the floor. “I’m going to talk to Grace and let her know I can’t keep secrets like that from Trent.”
“You call it keeping secrets. I call it minding your own business, staying out of Grace’s predicament. You don’t need to get into the middle of a murder investigation.”
I refrained from bringing up the story of what happened with her ex. Yes, my meddling almost got me killed, but, if not for my meddling, she might be in prison now while her crazy ex raised Zach.
Breakfast was busy. I performed my life purpose of providing chocolate to people to make them happy. It’s a fulfilling occupation.
I was in the middle of making Chocolate Ganache Cake for lunch when my cell phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number.
Damned telemarketers. I should ignore it and keep working.
I shoved the cake into the oven and set the timer. My already-frayed nerves took over. I grabbed the phone to take out my irritation on somebody wanting to upgrade my credit card, sell me a vacation cruise, or tell me I owed money to the IRS. “FBI Department of Fraud. How may I direct your call?”
A moment of silence.
Got ’em!
“Lindsay?” A trembling female voice.
“Who’s calling?”
“It’s me, Grace. They arrested me for Chuck’s murder!”
“What? How can they do that? You should have told them about the decongestants!”
“It wouldn’t matter! They found cyanide in his gum and cyanide in one of the boxes at my house,” she wailed. “What am I going to do?”
I looked over at Paula. She was chopping celery for chicken salad and pretending not to listen.
I had to get involved. I had to meddle.
“You need a lawyer who can get you out on bail.”
“I don’t know any lawyers!”
“It’ll be okay. My dad’s a lawyer.” I was offering her false words of comfort. My dad could direct Grace to a real estate or probate attorney or some other kind that would do her no good whatsoever.
Or I could call Fred.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said again, and that time I meant it. “We’ll get you free on bail, then we’ll sort this out.”
“Thank you! Can you check on Rickie? The police called Rick but he was busy. He said he’d come get him tonight so they let Fred take him before they hauled me away in handcuffs. Fred was the only person I could think of. You and Sophie were at work.” She gulped back a sob.
Fred already knew.
And he hadn’t bothered to call me.
“I can’t get to Fred’s house until after work, but I’ll call him. If Rickie’s with him, he’s fine.” I don’t know if Fred uses mind control, hypnosis, or terror tactics, but when Rickie’s around him, he acts like a human. Rickie, not Fred. I’m not sure Fred ever acts like a human.
“Grace is in jail,” I told Paula while I waited for Fred to answer my call.
She glanced over her shoulder briefly then went back to work. Paula isn’t easily fazed.
Fred answered.
“You need to get Grace out of jail.”
“I’m aware of that. By default of being the only neighbor at home this morning, I’ve become the designated babysitter for Rickie until your ex gets here to take him which will probably be never. This gives me significant motivation for getting Grace out of jail.”
“Have you chained the kid in the basement?”
“Those chains are rusty. He’d be able to break them. Currently Rickie is sitting in a chair in my office, drinking Coke and playing Internet games on his laptop.”
I gasped. “Did you give him the password to your Internet?”
“Of course not. Nor did I give him yours. Sophie let him use hers yesterday, and it’s accessible from here. I’m going to have to talk to her about computer safety.”
“Wait, you know my password?”
“A lot of people use their pet’s name. It’s not very secure.”
“We’ll talk about that later. In the meantime, can you get Grace out on bail or do we have to break her out?” I was only half kidding. Who knows what Fred’s going to come up with? A jail break wouldn’t surprise me. I could drive the getaway car.
“I’m working on it. We have to get the judge to set bail first. Since she has no convictions on her record, it shouldn’t be a major problem. However, she is accused of first degree murder. I’ll take care of the bail situation but she’s going to need an attorney.”
“You told me you passed the bar exams in Missouri, Kansas, and Oklahoma.”
“I’m not up to date on criminal law. Grace needs someone who is.”
I sighed. “Get Grace out of jail and we’ll find her an attorney. How hard can it be? She’s innocent.”
“They have some compelling evidence.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. She said they found cyanide in her house and cyanide in his gum. Big deal. Chuck was into drugs. I’ve heard they use poisons in making meth. That’s probably one of them. Howdy Doody could have given Chuck the poisoned gum when they were talking.”
“It’s not inconceivable that cyanide could be involved in the methamphetamine process, but at one time Grace worked for a metal plating shop in Crappie Creek which means she had access to cyanide. She also had access to Chuck’s gum. The pack in his pocket had two sticks left. Both had been dusted with cyanide then rewrapped.”
Chuck had taken out a stick of gum while he was in my back yard.
Had I watched him ingest the poison that killed him? Grace had beamed up at him, pleased that he was chewing gum instead of smoking.
Or was the reason she seemed so pleased with his action something darker?
Did she know the gum would be his death?
No! She was grief-stricken. Her emotion was honest.
“Grace didn’t do it,” I said.
“The only fingerprints they found on the gum package were hers and Chuck’s.”
“Whose side are you on? She was his wife! She could have handed him that package of gum when he was getting dressed or something. The real murderer wiped his or her fingerprints off the package.”
“That’s possible.”
At least he didn’t add but unlikely. “Priority is getting Grace out of jail, then we’ll prove she’s innocent.”
“Check with me when you get home. I’m working on a possibility of finding some answers.”
“What?”
He hung up.
I could spend the rest of the day wondering about that possibility, but that would be pointless. I could never come up with scenarios as bizarre as Fred does.
My time would be better spent figuring out who killed Chuck.
If Chuck had chewed the lethal piece of gum in my yard, it had been before he and Howdy Doody
talked privately.
But that wasn’t necessarily the lethal piece of gum. And the goofy-looking man could have given him the package of gum long before either of them made it to my yard.
Was I reaching, wanting George’s friend to be guilty so Grace would be innocent?
I arrived home that afternoon to a scene from The Walking Dead.
The five women didn’t have rotting skin and weren’t dragging their feet, but they were circling each other and snarling as they paced in front of Grace’s house.
The tallest woman in the group strode up to the door, banged and shouted a few times, then rejoined the others.
This had to be Fred’s doing.
Chapter Eight
I pulled into my driveway, all the way up to the garage, then studied the women across the street from the safety of my car. They appeared consumed with attacking each other and paid no attention to me.
Nevertheless, when I got out I closed my car door quietly and moved toward my house in a fast walk. I resisted the urge to run, didn’t want them to sense fear and attack.
Henry greeted me at the front door and grumbled as he wove around my legs. It was hard to say if he was grumbling because of the women across the street or because he wanted food. I gave him food.
My phone played Wild Bull Rider. Fred.
“Are you responsible for those women at Grace’s house?” I asked.
“Come to my back door. Bring a dozen cookies.”
He hung up.
A dozen cookies? Either Fred was having severe chocolate withdrawal or he planned to use my cookies to soothe the savage beasts across the street.
I wasn’t sure if even chocolate could calm those women.
I checked my bag of leftovers from the shop. Fred would have to make do with five chocolate chip cookies and six brownies.
Henry darted past me to the back door.
I opened it. “Don’t go out front. There are zombies across the street.”
He gave me an indignant glance then strolled outside.
“I know you can handle them. Just don’t go home with any of them.” He had, after all, run away from his former home or pet store or cat orphanage to live with me. “I have catnip!” I called after him. That should assure his allegiance.
I took my chocolate to Fred’s.
He was waiting when I arrived.
I handed him the bag. “Five cookies, six brownies.”
“That will work.”
“Who are those women in Grace’s yard?”
“More of Chuck’s wives.”
I followed him to the living room.
Two glasses of red wine sat on the coffee table with an open laptop between them.
He put the bag of chocolate on the table and turned the laptop to face me. “Have a seat. I turned off the sound so we can talk while we watch. Much of their conversation hasn’t been audible anyway. They all tend to shout at once.”
I picked up a glass and sat on the sofa. The laptop showed the women in Grace’s yard. “You set up a camera.”
It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t reply.
The quality of the video was excellent. I watched, a little frightened and a lot fascinated. “How did you get them all here?”
“I phoned them this morning. The authorities had already informed them of Chuck’s death, of course. I told each one she should be at the scene of Chuck’s murder at five this afternoon to discuss which wife is entitled to collect his life insurance.”
I looked at my watch. “So they’ve been over there for half an hour?”
“Some arrived early.”
“And nobody’s killed anybody yet? I would think meeting your husband’s other wives could cause some animosity.”
“That’s what I’m counting on. I wanted them to have time and opportunity to get past the grieving stage and become very angry with Chuck. When we talk to them, I want each to try to outdo the other telling us Chuck’s secrets.”
I shuddered as I watched the agitated women. “I think you’ve accomplished your goal.”
“Let me give you a list of the players.” He tilted his glass toward the screen. “The tall one with short, curly, blond hair, a sharp nose and pinched lips is Chaille from Hutchinson, Kansas. She pronounces her name Shelly, but she spells it C-h-a-i-l-l-e.”
It was the woman I’d seen run up and knock on the door. “That’s...interesting.” Interesting, weird...they have kind of the same meaning.
“Other than Stella and Chaille, Chuck favored short women. The one with light brown hair and glasses is Kristi from Newton, Iowa. Alinn from Leavenworth, Kansas, has a scrunched up, simian face and a bowl haircut.”
Easily identifiable. “Alinn? That’s another strange name.” For a strange woman.
“I’m just reporting on Chuck’s wives. I can’t explain his taste. Unless we find more wives, Alinn is the original Mrs. Chuck Mayfield.”
“So she’s entitled to the life insurance? Unless you find more wives, of course.”
“There’s no life insurance.”
“You lied.”
“Yes. The skinny one with long blond hair that looks like it’s been bleached twenty times too many is Becky from McAlester, Oklahoma. The blond who looks a little like the Wicked Witch of the West except her skin’s not quite as green is Anita from Lincoln, Nebraska.”
No wonder Chuck married Grace. Compared to the others, she was dignified and beautiful. I could easily believe she was the love of his life.
Speaking of Grace...
“Grace can’t come home to this! What were you thinking?”
“Her bail won’t be set until tomorrow. These women will be long gone by then.”
“Tomorrow? You couldn’t get her bail set until tomorrow? That’s not like you, Fred.”
“She’s safer in jail right now.”
“Safer in jail?”
“George was searching your basement for drug money. He conned his way into Grace’s house and was going through the boxes when you caught him. If he knows about the cash Grace claims is hidden in her house, it’s possible others know. Our city jail is a decent place, as jails go.”
“So while Grace is spending the night in the luxurious Pleasant Grove jail, where is her son? If he’s still here, you must have drugged him. I don’t hear any noises.”
“Rick picked him up an hour ago.”
I shuddered. “I’m not sure which one to feel sorry for.”
“Both. Are you ready to talk to the wives?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Why isn’t Stella here? She’s one of the wives-in-law.”
“We’ll talk to Stella at another time. She knows who we are. Anonymity is essential for this meeting.”
I looked at the chaos on the laptop. “Have you ever hit a woman?”
He recoiled. “Certainly not.”
“So if one of them attacks me, I’m on my own?”
“They’re not going to attack you.”
I rubbed my jaw which still hurt from Stella’s punch. “They might.”
“If someone attacks you, I promise to restrain her.”
“But someone will have to attack me before you restrain her?”
“I believe that’s the way it works.”
I rubbed my jaw again.
He looked at the laptop, at the women pacing, snarling, gesticulating. “You know how you’ve been talking about wanting a gun?”
“Yes.”
“I have a gift for you.”
I watched in astonishment as he went upstairs.
Had Fred got me a gun?
Wow! Would it be an automatic like Trent carried or a revolver like Dirty Harry used? I’d be happy with either one, but revolvers were prettier.
I studied the images of the women on the laptop.
I wouldn’t shoot them unless I had to, but the mere appearance of a gun would be intimidating. I could just aim it at them and threaten to shoot.
I lifted my arm, made a finger gun, and squi
nted down the imaginary sights of my index finger.
“What are you doing?” Fred had returned.
I clasped my hands over my head. “Stretching.”
He handed me a purple rectangular object a little thicker than a cell phone. “I don’t anticipate you’ll have to use this, but if you feel the need, press that button and hold it against your attacker for a couple of seconds.”
I turned it over, looking at it from all angles. A loop of thin black cord dangled from one end, and two small pieces of metal decorated the other. I pressed the button Fred had pointed out.
Electricity sizzled between the two pieces of metal. I yelped and dropped the thing. “What is that?”
“It’s a stun gun.” He retrieved it and handed it to me again. “I got it in your favorite color.”
I forced the corners of my mouth upward and tried to look appreciative. “Thank you?”
“Slip the lanyard around your wrist. If someone takes it away from you and tries to use it against you, the pin holding the lanyard slips out and disables the gun.”
The gun?
“It’s only a million volts,” he said, “but it will disable an attacker briefly without doing permanent damage.”
A million volts?
“You have to actually touch someone with the metal points for it to shock them, but, as you’ve seen, the display itself is intimidating. If someone advances toward you, simply press the button. She’ll back down.”
I asked for a gun and got a purple plastic rectangle?
“Are you ready now?”
I slid my hand through the loop, held the purple thing in my palm, and nodded.
Does a nod count as a lie?
He handed me the bag of chocolate goodies. “Take this with you. On the front porch you’ll find seven folding chairs. While I retrieve the wives, please set up the five wooden chairs with their backs toward the house and the two canvas chairs against the rail facing the other chairs.”
“You’re bringing those women over here?”
“Of course. We can’t talk to them at Grace’s house.”
Of course.
Chapter Nine
While Fred walked down the street to Grace’s house, I set up the chairs—five wooden, one red canvas, and one purple canvas. I put the red and purple chairs against the outside rail, facing the other chairs. Fred could have the red and I’d take the purple since it matched my plastic rectangle.
Guns, Wives and Chocolate Page 7