In the Dog House

by V. M. Burns

  After an hour in my cell, I was brought out into an interrogation room, where Christopher waited with Detective Wilson. The clock on the wall told me it had only been a couple of hours since Olivia Wilson walked into my kitchen, but I felt like I’d lived a lifetime in that time frame.

  Christopher started by reassuring me Stephanie, David, and Dixie were outside waiting.

  I nodded, grateful he had recognized my family would be my number-one priority.

  I sat, and he explained that Detective Wilson was going to ask me some questions and I just needed to answer them truthfully. He also explained that he was there to prevent her from asking any questions that would violate my rights and to prevent the police from browbeating me into a confession.

  Detective Wilson frowned at that but didn’t say anything.

  Once I understood the procedure, he nodded, and the grilling began. I should say that it didn’t start out as a grilling, but felt more like a friendly chat between friends. Detective Wilson was very good at lulling people into a false sense of security, even friendship. As the questioning continued, the questions repeated and repeated and repeated, and Detective Wilson’s displeasure increased. I must have answered the question of whether I’d killed my husband at least twelve different ways. No, I hadn’t shot my husband. No, I didn’t know who shot my husband. And no, I had no idea how the gun that shot my husband happened to get in the glove box of our spare car. I hadn’t paid anyone to shoot Albert, nor did I know who killed him.

  After three hours of questions about Albert, she began to ask questions about Bradley Hurston. I didn’t feel like her heart was in it, though, because she certainly didn’t linger over those questions nearly as long as she had the questions about my husband. I had been home all night and hadn’t left the house. She seemed as surprised as I was that I had managed to sleep through the night and hadn’t heard my neighbor being stabbed to death.

  “I didn’t leave the house. You can ask my kids. Stephanie or David. Or Dixie. She was there too.”

  “Your daughter left the house to meet Officer Harrison. So she can’t confirm your alibi.” Detective Wilson was reading from a statement.

  I hadn’t realized Stephanie had gone out with Officer Harrison. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time the two had met up, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. I liked the police officer. “What about David or Dixie? Surely they can confirm that I never left the house.”

  “Your son went to a bar with a friend, and your friend Dixie says she wasn’t able to sleep and left the house once to take the dogs outside.” She looked at me skeptically. “Seems strange you didn’t hear her or the dogs leave?”

  “Not really. The dogs are well behaved, and she’s a dog trainer. Besides, I was asleep.”

  Detective Wilson sat back and looked at me. “None of them are exactly unbiased, and yet not one of the people who were in your house that night can corroborate that you never left.”

  I huffed. “Well, my timing would have had to have been impeccable to have managed to sneak out at the exact time when everyone was gone and Bradley Hurston was alone.”

  “Have you heard of Henry Poole?” she asked.

  Christopher looked puzzled, but said nothing.

  I shook my head. “No. Who is he?”

  Detective Wilson didn’t respond. Instead, she changed the subject and asked about my sleeping habits again. The questions continued. Eventually, I grew tired and my responses became curt and snarky.

  Detective Wilson nearly lost her cool when I replied, “If Marianne Carpenter managed to sleep through the murder of her brother when she was in the same house with him, why are you so surprised I was able to sleep through it next door?”

  Christopher hid a snicker, and my stomach growled.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Detective Wilson’s nostrils flared. When she was frustrated, she drummed her fingers on the table. The rhythm of the finger drumming increased. She was obviously frustrated, but so was I. Not only was I frustrated, but I was hungry too, and that wasn’t a good combination.

  Christopher’s cell phone vibrated, and he looked at the message, then stood up. “That’s enough. We’re done here.”

  I stared up at him. “Seriously?”

  “Yes.” He walked to the door and held it open.

  I stared from him to Detective Wilson. “Seriously, I can go?”

  She nodded at the policeman, who was standing guard at the door. He escorted us down the hall and then into another sterile room. Stephanie and David ran to me and hugged me. I was so excited, I could have wept. Dixie wept quietly in her chair and then eventually came up and joined us in a group hug.

  Christopher had been on his phone from the time he walked out of the interrogation room, until I’d finished hugging my family. When he finally hung up, he cleared his throat. “I hate to be a party pooper, but we’ve got about fifteen minutes to get over to court for your bond hearing.”

  We left Stephanie, David, and Dixie at the police station, and Christopher and I went back through the doors we had come through initially. I hurried after Christopher and the policeman, who escorted me at a trot, while we walked down corridors, through an underground tunnel, and went up an elevator. When we finally emerged, we were in the Lighthouse Dunes Courthouse. The building was across a parklike square from the police station.

  “I didn’t even know there was a tunnel that led from the jail to the courthouse.” I stared in amazement at the high ceilings, marble floors, and paneled walls of the courthouse. I’d only been inside the building once for jury duty over a decade ago.

  “Most law-abiding citizens never get a chance to use the tunnels, but it’s easier to transport prisoners underneath the square than to risk taking them outside.” The policeman spoke for the first time.

  He led Christopher and me to a small waiting room where we stayed until an armed guard called my name. I followed the guard through a door to the courtroom. I walked to the seat and waited for Christopher to tell me what to do. We sat and waited for the judge to call my name. When my name was called, I stood. The judge was a surprisingly young man, with a receding hairline and a wiry mane of red hair forming a U around the back and sides of his head. He wore reading glasses perched atop his dome, where the hair should have been. He slid the glasses down and read the charges. “Felony murder.” Then he asked me a series of questions. “Do you understand the charges against you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you represented by legal counsel?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty.”

  At this point, Christopher stepped forward. He explained I was a wife, a mother, and a fine upstanding citizen of Lighthouse Dunes. He mentioned all of the volunteer work I did in the community. If my life hadn’t actually been in jeopardy, I might have blushed from all of the accolades. He finished by stating that not only was I not a flight risk, but how anxious I was to begin my defense to clear my good name. Christopher sounded confident and sure. His voice rang true with honesty, and he looked successful, without seeming cocky or arrogant. He asked that the judge release me to my own recognizance.

  In contrast, the prosecuting attorney was a nervous young man in a cheap polyester suit, which was wrinkled and stained. He barely made eye contact with the judge when he spoke and had a nervous habit of saying, “Uhm” after every two or three words. It was so noticeable, I started counting them. When he finally stopped, I had counted forty-seven Uhms. He asked that bail be denied.

  I held my breath for several seconds while the judge considered the matter. I tried my best to look innocent.

  The judge declared that bond be set at fifty thousand dollars and banged his gavel.

  Christopher hurried me out the same door we had come in as the next case was called. As I left, that was the first time I saw the rest of
the courtroom. I saw Stephanie, David, and Dixie seated together near the front. They must have come across the square and entered through the main doors.

  Back in the waiting room, Christopher introduced me to a tall, thin African American woman with thick, natural hair and the most amazingly smooth skin I’d ever seen. She looked like a model, and I couldn’t help wondering if there was something going on between her and Christopher.

  “Hello, gorgeous. I’m so glad you were able to make it.”

  She grunted, but the corners of her lips twitched with the effort to keep from smiling. “Skip the sweet talk. How much?”

  “Five thousand.”

  She nodded, sat down at a table, and started filling out paperwork.

  I beckoned to Christopher, and we stepped away. “Five thousand? I thought the judge said fifty thousand?” I whispered.

  “He did. However, you only have to post ten percent, which is five thousand dollars.”

  “That’s right. I remember Stephanie told me that, but I’d forgotten.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “I was grateful he didn’t listen to that other attorney and deny giving me bail, but I was so nervous! I will still have to sell everything I own, have a bake sale at church, and wash cars to come up with that kind of money.”

  Christopher laughed. “Thankfully, you won’t have to go to those extremes yet, although I do expect some baked goods from you when this is all over.”

  I hugged him. “Anything you want.”

  It took another hour before I was able to leave. I stared at the sunlight as though I’d been locked up for years. I didn’t know how people who were incarcerated for long periods of time were able to stand it, but I knew I would never take my freedom for granted again.

  When we left, I asked David to drive us to Lighthouse Beach Pizza, a small restaurant on the sand dunes overlooking Lake Michigan. We sat outside and ate a pizza called “Everything but the Kitchen Sink.” It was the best pizza I’d ever eaten. I wasn’t sure if it was the crust, the toppings, or the sauce that tasted so good, but the entire thing piled together tasted like freedom, and that was delicious. We sat and watched the sunset, and I tried not to cry as the huge fiery orb descended and piles of red, orange, and yellow melted atop the crisp blue waters of Lake Michigan. The peace and serenity of the sunset touched something deep in my soul. I didn’t know what the future held, but in that moment, I set my heart, mind, and soul to finding the person who killed my husband and threatened to steal my freedom. I turned to my family. “Let’s put our heads together and figure out who killed Albert.”

  CHAPTER 11

  From the patio of Lighthouse Beach Pizza, we discussed my predicament.

  “The police think I killed Albert.” I ticked each item off one by one. “I had a motive, I had the opportunity, and I had the means.”

  “Yeah, with the gun the killer so thoughtfully left in the glove box of your car,” Dixie said sarcastically.

  David avoided eye contact with me, and I held his chin and forced him to look me in the eyes. “And you can stop blaming yourself. None of this is your fault.”

  He gave me the poor, deluded child smile. “If I hadn’t gone to that strip club, the killer wouldn’t have been able to put the gun in your glove box.”

  We were so engrossed in our own conversation, we didn’t notice Officer Harrison’s arrival until he spoke. “Actually that was probably a plus, if you ask me.”

  We turned around in surprise, and I shot a sideways glance toward Stephanie. “Officer Harrison, fancy meeting you here.”

  “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” He made the comment jokingly, but his eyes looked at Stephanie.

  She shrugged and took a sip of her wine.

  “Please, pull up a chair,” I said.

  We slid our chairs together to make a spot, and Officer Harrison pulled a chair from a nearby table. Once he was seated, the conversation stalled. The waitress came, and he ordered a beer.

  The silence was awkward. I attempted to lighten the mood. “Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

  Officer Harrison leaned close. “I know you don’t really trust me, but I do want to help.”

  Dixie cleared her throat. “I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but aren’t you pitching for the other team?”

  He gave a half shrug and looked toward me. “I like to think we’re on the same side. We both want to find out who killed your husband and who killed your neighbor Bradley Hurston.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Stephanie said.

  Officer Harrison leaned back, but the only indication he gave that he was bothered was a red blotch that rose up the side of his neck and made his ears turn red.

  Stephanie leaned forward with more passion. “I think he’s a spy, a double agent. He’s been sent to find out what we know and to get information he can report back. Policemen aren’t like normal people. They don’t work nine-to-five jobs like the rest of us. They’re sworn to uphold the law at all times” She turned to me. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.” She glared at Officer Harrison. “Isn’t that right, Detective?”

  For a full minute, he didn’t say anything while a vein pulsed on the side of his head and Stephanie glared at him. The rest of us were too dazed to speak. Besides, I think we all knew this conversation was about more than just my case.

  Eventually, Officer Harrison took a deep breath. “I am sworn to uphold the law at all times, but I believe that helping your mother prove her innocence and catching a killer don’t have to be mutually exclusive.” He shook his head. “Look, it’s obvious I’m not welcome here, so I’ll just leave.” He stood up, pulled out his wallet, and flung a ten-dollar bill on the table, then turned to leave.

  “Stop.” I used my mom voice, which halted him in his tracks, along with a nearby waiter who was about to put a pizza on a nearby table.

  “Sit down.”

  He looked as though he wasn’t going to comply for a split second, but the look in my eyes must have convinced him I meant business.

  “Now, obviously something’s going on between the two of you.”

  Stephanie started to object, but I shot her a look that silenced her.

  “Whatever it is, work it out or don’t work it out. I don’t really care. That’s between the two of you.”

  Neither one looked at the other, but their body language relaxed, so I knew they both accepted my assessment.

  “The important thing is figuring out who killed your father and who tried to frame me for it. Now, I don’t trust every member of the police force, but I was raised to believe that police officers are my friends.” I repeated the mantra from the night on the interstate. “So, I’m willing to trust Officer Harrison”—I pointed to him—“to a point, at least until he proves he can’t be trusted.” I turned to stare at Stephanie and David. “I tried to raise you both to believe that same thing, and I think, if you’re honest, you’ll acknowledge Officer Harrison hasn’t really violated any trust”—I looked at him—“yet.”

  I turned to Stephanie. She reluctantly shrugged.

  “Good. Also, while I’ve read a lot of mysteries in my time, I don’t know the first thing about finding a murderer, and I feel sure Officer Harrison can help us.” I turned to stare at him.

  He nodded.

  “Glad that’s settled.”

  Dixie raised her glass. “Let’s get this party started. Where do we begin?”

  We turned to Officer Harrison.

  He leaned forward. “I think we should go someplace more private and come up with a game plan.”

  We agreed and so we made our way back to the house. Once we were assembled at the kitchen table—five adults and four dogs—we started.

  I’d used the ride in the car to come up with my idea of a game plan. I pulled out my laptop. “Now, we need to figure out who had a motive for killin
g Albert.” I paused and typed. “Who other than me, that is.”

  “Bambi might have done it?” Dixie offered.

  “Why?” I typed.

  “Maybe she thought she was going to get his money?” she said.

  I typed. “That reminds me, I need to talk to Charles Nelson and find out what exactly was stipulated in Albert’s will.” I stopped typing for a minute. A thought fluttered in my mind, but as quickly as it came, it was gone. “He tried to tell me something about the will after the funeral, but then Marilyn was…unwell, and so he left.”

  “Bambi was there when Dad was shot,” Stephanie said.

  “We only have her word that someone came in and shot him. Maybe she made the whole thing up,” Dixie said. “I saw an episode on one of those crime programs where a woman killed her boyfriend for his money. She told the police two masked men came in to rob him. She claimed they tied her to a chair and blindfolded her so she couldn’t see anything and then shot him.”

  “What about it? Could she have made the whole thing up?” David asked Officer Harrison.

  He was silent for a minute. “It’s possible. There wasn’t any evidence in the apartment that confirmed or contradicted her story. She claimed she was in bed asleep and heard the shot. When she went to the living room, she found him dead.”

  David looked excited. “She could have put the gun in the glove box of the car when I went to the Purple Panther.”

  “When was this?” Officer Harrison looked at David.

  He related the story about how he went to the Purple Panther the night before the funeral. Officer Harrison asked a few questions about who else knew David was going there. Who else had he seen? Was there ever a time when Bambi was out of his sight?