Paper-Thin Alibi

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  CHAPTER 7

  Jo hustled back to her booth to find Meg quietly manning it.

  “Any problems?” Jo asked, as she slipped behind the counter.

  “No,” Meg said. She scrunched her nose. “But I only sold one small pair of earrings for you.”

  “That’s fine. You also kept my merchandise from turning into free samples, so along with giving me a much-needed break, you were a major help. Thanks so much, Meg.”

  Meg gave a wan smile, making Jo consider that Meg’s sales skills were probably about the same level as Bill Ewing’s. “What kind of work do you do at the Abbot’s Kitchen?” she asked. Ruthie Conway, one of the owners, had always handled the front counter in a way that made every customer feel like a long time friend. Jo couldn’t imagine Meg easily stepping into that spot.

  “So far I’ve been helping Bert with the food prep – chopping and mixing – and I clean up out front, too.”

  Jo nodded. “As I mentioned before, I’ll probably see you a lot then, since I pop over there often at lunchtime for sandwiches.” She checked the time. “Oops! It’s almost two. If you want to catch that pottery demo you’d better get going.”

  Meg picked up her things and took off with more of Jo’s sincere thanks. Once Jo settled herself and had a chance to look around she realized from the suddenly diminished number of shoppers that the pottery demo must have been a major draw. She decided this would be a good chance to discuss Bill Ewing with Gabe a bit more. When she wandered over, though, Gabe was busy straightening several of the wooden toys that had been rearranged in the process of showing them to shoppers, so Jo paused at his front counter to let him finish. Gabe had just glanced over and noticed she was there when Jo was addressed from behind.

  “Mrs. McAllister?”

  Jo turned to see a young deputy sheriff, who touched his hat politely.

  “Sheriff Franklin would like to see you for a minute.”

  Jo sighed and asked, “Now?” aware that she had repeated her response to the sheriff’s request of that morning and just as aware of the futility of it.

  “I’ll watch your booth,” Gabe offered. “There won’t be much happening for at least another half hour.”

  “Thanks, Gabe,” Jo said. She tossed him a rueful look, then followed the deputy back to Julian Honeycutt’s office, wondering what Sheriff Franklin needed to know that he hadn’t asked about before.

  The deputy ushered her in, and the sheriff half-rose in what Jo supposed was a gesture of welcome, though she felt less than happy to have been invited. She sat down, and he immediately got down to business.

  “Mrs. McAllister.” He slipped on his half-glasses once more and Jo braced herself. “You said this morning that you had known Ms. Weeks when you both lived in New York City.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I believe you indicated you had been friends for a while, but that friendship ended before you moved down here.”

  “I think I said we had been friendly.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “I believe so, yes. Linda and I had never reached the closeness, the sharing-confidences stage that friends have. We were more acquaintances with a few things in common.”

  “I see. So that friendliness ended, I assume, when you found out she was having an affair with your husband?”

  “What!”

  The sheriff simply looked at her, waiting. Jo was sure he expected her to blurt out confirmation of the absurd question he’d just thrown at her. Instead she counted to ten as she returned his stare, holding herself down until she could speak calmly.

  “What in the world, Sheriff, makes you think Linda had an affair with my husband?”

  “Are you saying she didn’t?”

  “Absolutely she didn’t. I know that for a fact.”

  “Interesting, since she told others the affair was the reason for the problems between the two of you.”

  Jo grit her teeth and drew a deep breath, thinking how typical that was of Linda. She was sure Linda also claimed to have been a complete victim in the supposed affair, to have been totally unaware that Mike had been married to Jo at the time, and was cleverly seduced.

  “Sheriff,” Jo began, “Linda said a lot of things that were figments of her own, very creative, imagination. This was just one more very hurtful lie of hers. I wouldn’t put any credence to it.”

  “Then I presume you would also contend your husband didn’t commit suicide when he realized he couldn’t spend the rest of his life with her?”

  Jo groaned, and shook her head in disbelief. How long, she wondered, was that woman going to continue to throw jabs at her? Wasn’t death supposed to put an end to such things? At that thought Jo almost smiled, thinking that that question was the last thing she would voice to the man sitting behind the desk who watched her so carefully over the tops of his glasses. She drew a breath, wondering what in the world she was going to say that would swing a pre-disposed opinion in her direction.

  Jo’s cell phone rang as she worked her way through the crowd toward building ten, and she checked it before answering, not in the mood for frivolous chat. The call, however, was from the one person she was willing to talk to. She pressed the answer button.

  “Hi, Carrie.”

  “Hi.” Carrie paused, probably reacting to the less than happy tone of Jo’s greeting, then asked, “How’s it going?”

  Jo sighed, and looked about for a quieter place to talk. She spotted an empty kiosk that had closed up early as the final hours of the festival ran out, and headed for it. Leaning against its side and out of the flow of last-minute shoppers, she brought Carrie up to speed on the downward spiral of events that had occurred since they’d last talked. Carrie knew about Linda’s death, but her reactions to what followed ranged from horrified gasps to sputters of outrage. These were exactly the gamut of emotions Jo had experienced and she was glad to have them confirmed as reasonable.

  “Jo,” Carrie said, “I think you should call Russ.”

  Jo straightened up from her lean. “Russ? Why?”

  “For his help, of course. He can vouch for you to this sheriff, and anything Russ says will carry much more weight than what your friends would say.”

  “I don’t know, Carrie. I’d hate to ask that of him.” She really did, but for reasons that weren’t totally clear to her at the moment.

  “I don’t think he’d feel imposed upon, if that’s what you’re thinking. At least get his advice. He’d want you to do that.”

  “I’ll think about it. How are things at the shop?”

  “Slow to moderate. Michicomi probably drew away most of our crafters. But I think we’ll reap the rewards later as it inspires them to try new things.”

  “I hope so.” Jo told Carrie about Meg Boyer having come by to help out in Ina Mae’s place.

  “Good for her,” Carrie said. “She seems to be livening up a bit – taking that job at Bert and Ruth’s, for one thing, after being pretty much of a recluse from the time she and her husband moved here. Some people wondered if she had a chronic illness of sorts, but I think it may have been a kind of depression. I’m glad to see her starting to come out of it.”

  “Was she unhappy over moving away from her home town?” Jo remembered getting that feeling when Meg had indicated that the move was more her husband’s choice than hers.

  “I don’t know,” Carrie said. “And I feel bad for not trying harder to get to know her. Ah-choo!”

  “Bless you. Did you call your doctor?”

  “Not yet. Oh, someone’s coming in.” Jo heard the soft ding of her shop’s bell. “I’d better go,” Carrie said, “but I was calling to say Charlie and Dan will be there a little after six to help you dismantle your display cases.”

  “Great. And Carrie, call your doctor.”

  “I will if you’ll call Russ.”

  “Take care of your customer, Carrie. See you later.”

  <><><>

  Jo had a flurry of decent last minute sal
es which was gratifying. It seemed as though the really serious shoppers had meticulously checked over the entire show for the last three days, comparing and mulling things over before making their final purchases. She recognized a couple of returning customers, women with whom she had spent considerable amount of time discussing necklaces and pins. When they’d wandered off with vague promises of returning she hadn’t really counted on seeing them again, but was pleasantly surprised when they reappeared, credit cards in hand.

  She was happy, then, to see she had considerably less merchandise to take home than she had brought to the show, though she wasn’t sure yet if she’d actually managed to earn back her expenses and made a profit. Less merchandise, however, at least meant less to pack and she had made significant progress toward that effort by the time Carrie’s husband and son arrived.

  “Wow, you did great Aunt Jo,” Charlie said, eyeing Jo’s near-empty cases.

  Jo laughed. “Not this great, Charlie. I was the one, not my customers, who emptied most of this out. Hi, Dan. I’ll have the rest of these things out of the front case in a minute.”

  “Take your time.” Dan rested a hand on his son’s shoulder, a simple gesture that made Jo smile, pleased to see that small sign of the easy camaraderie that had developed between the two. It wasn’t all that long ago that their father-son relationship had been highly strained, and both pairs of hands would have been shoved deep into their respective pockets with shoulders hunched stiffly.

  Charlie shifted uneasily as he glanced over at Linda’s closed-off booth, aware, so far, only of her death and not any of the later-developing details Jo had shared with Carrie. If he had known it was murder, Jo was sure he’d be peppering her with questions, all squeamishness replaced with normal fifteen year-old curiosity and excitement. She decided to let the squeamishness prevail for now in the interests of packing up quickly and heading home. A bit of solitude and peace was something she had begun looking forward to longingly.

  When Jo gave the all-clear signal, the duo set about dismantling the cases that Dan had built for easy mobility, and one by one they carried them out to his truck, with Jo loading up her own car with the smaller boxes.

  Michicomi itself was dismantling as well, and Jo, seeing vans and trailers being packed and readied to take off for parts unknown, realized that Linda’s killer might also be slipping away, with only herself remaining within Sheriff Franklin’s reach. On her return to her near-empty booth, therefore, Jo walked over to speak to Gabe.

  “Would you mind giving me a way to reach you once you’re gone?” she asked.

  Gabe smiled. “I’m way ahead of you.” He handed her a card with, Jo saw, a cell phone number, home phone, and e-mail address written on it. “My business cards have my website listed, but I thought you might want something that worked quicker.”

  “Yes, I do, and thank you. I hope I won’t have to use this much, but I’m afraid unless someone walks into the sheriff’s office soon and says, ‘I did it’, that I may need to pick your brains some more about Michicomi people.”

  “Pick all you want. And I’ve already learned something you might be glad to hear.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Bill Ewing might be hanging around this area for a bit instead of heading home to Pennsylvania.”

  “Really? Why would he do that?”

  “I heard he wants to take photos of several interesting old tobacco barns, for one thing, and he has a friend he can stay with.”

  “Well, that’s interesting. Any idea where that friend is located?”

  “Not yet, but I think I can find out. I’ll let you know when I do.”

  “Thanks, Gabe.” Jo pulled out her own card and scribbled her phone information on it.

  Gabe’s face grew serious. “Don’t you be worrying too much about this whole business. It might seem bleak with the sheriff giving you the hard time he has. But you’re part of the Michicomi family now, and I want you to know that I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

  Jo swallowed hard. “That means a lot to me Gabe,” she said. She reached over to give him a hug which he returned heartily. But as Jo looked beyond his shoulder, she saw Amy, the woman from the leatherworks booth, watching them through narrowed eyes.

  Obviously, Jo realized with a sigh, not everyone in the Michicomi family felt quite as supportive.

  <><><>

  Jo carried the last of her jewelry boxes into her house after Dan and Charlie had left her dismantled cases in the garage and taken off. Exhausted, she dropped onto her tattered living room sofa and leaned her head back against its cushion, eyes closed. She briefly thought of fixing herself something to eat, but after a mental inventory of her refrigerator decided what she wanted most for the moment was to rest and to think.

  Carrie had urged her to talk to Russ, to enlist his aid for her shaky situation. It was a sensible suggestion, Jo knew, but her immediate and strong reaction had been to resist. Why? she wondered. Did she fear that accepting Russ’s help would draw them closer together, or make her indebted to him? Was that such a bad thing? Was Russ the kind of person who would take undue advantage? She didn’t think so. He was certainly someone who would help if he could, with no strings attached. So why shouldn’t she let him?

  The situation with Sheriff Franklin was growing serious. People who had believed Linda’s manufactured account of her relationship with Mike had obviously rushed to impress the story on the sheriff. Jo didn’t know how much credence he put in those reports, but the questions he had thrown at her worried her. Couldn’t Russ help balance Franklin’s attitude?

  Jo ran her fingers through her hair, scrubbing as she deliberated. Why not? Why not ask? She stopped scrubbing. No reason at all. It made sense and she would do it. She would call Russ tonight and ask for his help.

  That decided, she felt better. Even energized. There must be something edible left in that kitchen of hers, she thought and jumped up from the sofa. If her cupboard truly was bare, she’d call for a pizza, or maybe Chinese.

  Jo scoured the shelves of her refrigerator, discovering a forgotten carry-out chicken drumstick hiding behind an aging quart of milk. She pulled it out and had just bitten into it when the phone rang. Setting the drumstick down and licking her fingers clean, she reached for it, sincerely hoping the call wasn’t coming from the Hammond’s County Sheriff’s department.

  “Jo, it’s Ina Mae.”

  Ina Mae’s voice had a tone of urgency which put Jo on alert. Before she could form a question, though, Ina Mae hurried on.

  “I’m at the hospital. Spent the whole day here with my neighbor for her broken shoulder. There’s a huge ruckus happening just now. I thought you should know.”

  “What?” Jo asked, bracing.

  “It’s Lieutenant Morgan, Jo. He’s been shot. You might want to get down here.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Jo grabbed her pocketbook and jumped into her Toyota, its motor still warm from her drive home. Ina Mae hadn’t been able to give her any information beyond that terrible statement, and Jo struggled to keep her imagination from running wild while at the same time trying to drive safely. The urge to speed and to ignore stop signs was strong, and only images of wreckage which would keep her from reaching the hospital - at least under her own power - kept her from yielding to it.

  Ina Mae was watching for her in the hospital lobby when Jo came rushing in. The place was flooded with uniformed police as well as press people. Ina Mae pulled her away from the commotion.

  “He’s in surgery,” she said.

  Jo sucked in a relieved breath. At least he was alive. “How bad is it?” she asked, searching Ina Mae’s face, which was grim but not desolate.

  “All I’ve been able to learn is that his condition is serious, which to me is encouraging since it could be much worse.”

  Jo was considering this when someone touched her elbow. She turned to see Mark Rosatti, one of Russ’s sergeants, whom she’d met at a police banquet Russ had taken her to on an early
date.

  “I saw you come in,” Mark said. “Russ will appreciate your being here.”

  “How is he?” Jo asked, trying to keep a tremor out of her voice. The sight of all the uniforms added a frightening intensity to the already alarming situation.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s going to be okay,” Mark said. That “pretty sure” was nowhere near firm enough for Jo.

  “What exactly happened?” Ina Mae asked.

  “It was a domestic call. Perp was drunk, upset that his girlfriend was going to leave him, and decided the best way to hold onto her was by knocking her around and holding a gun on her. Russ went there to try to diffuse the situation. Unfortunately the girlfriend panicked and tried to make a run for it. Shots were fired; she fell, and Russ, trying to get her to safety, caught one.”

  “Where?” Jo asked. “I mean, where was he hit?”

  “His left shoulder. He was wearing a vest.”

  Jo breathed out. “So it’s not life threatening?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Probably?” Another word Jo didn’t like.

  The sergeant shifted his weight uneasily. “They didn’t find an exit wound, which means there’s a chance the bullet could have hit bone and veered off in another direction. Which direction would be critical.”

  “How long before they know?” Ina Mae asked.

  Mark shook his head. “It could be hours.” He turned to Jo. “I suggest you wait at home where you’ll be more comfortable. Give me your number and I’ll call as soon as there’s news.”

  “I’d rather wait here,” Jo said. She reached into her purse for a card and wrote her cell phone number on it.

  He nodded, pocketing her card. “I’ll see that they allow you in to see him when it’s time.”

  “Thanks, Mark.”

  The sergeant took off, and Ina Mae, watching him, said, “He’s right, you know. It could be a long wait.”