by Parnell Hall
“Nonsense,” Becky Baldwin bridled. “Mr. Pride is scheduled to be married next weekend in the Bakerhaven Congregational Church. If that’s not a tie to the community, I don’t know what is.”
Henry Firth remained unshakably smug. “Ah, yes. That was scheduled as a double wedding, was it not? Might I ask how it is presently scheduled?”
“Is that relevant?” Judge Hobbs inquired.
“I should think so. Mr. Pride is charged with killing the other groom. I would think that would cause some sort of strain on the proceedings.”
Judge Hobbs’s gavel silenced Becky’s angry retort. “That will do, Ms. Baldwin. I can handle this. Mr. Firth, I would hate to discipline a prosecutor for excessive zeal. Still, if I could ask you to keep your sarcasm within acceptable limits.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“That being said, I, too, raise the question. Ms. Baldwin, what is the status of this wedding?”
“We don’t know, Your Honor,” Becky said. She gestured to the front row, where Brenda Wallenstein sat behind Dennis. “My client has not been allowed any contact with his affianced bride.”
“And why is that?”
“She’s a witness, Your Honor,” Henry Firth explained.
“Not if she marries him, she’s not,” Judge Hobbs said dryly. He nodded to Becky. “As I’m sure you’ve advised your client.”
“We’re getting far afield, Your Honor,” Becky said. “I was requesting reasonable bail.”
“I thought you were asking for recognizance.”
“That was before Mr. Firth made such a splendid showing.”
“Now who’s being sarcastic?” Henry Firth whined.
“That will do,” Judge Hobbs said. “Could we have some facts, instead of the usual histrionics? You say Mr. Pride is not a resident of Bakerhaven. Where does he live?”
“Here again we get into trouble,” Henry Firth said ponderously. “Mr. Pride has no permanent address. He is a member of a ‘rock band’ . . .” Here Henry made a point of directing the court’s attention to the scruffy men in the second row. “. . . and he’s always on the road.”
“Not so, Your Honor,” Becky Baldwin said. “Mr. Pride is a former member of a rock band. And while the prosecutor took great delight in pointing them out, he merely makes my case. Even after a night in jail, my client looks nothing like his former group. That contention has no merit whatsoever.”
Judge Hobbs frowned. “The contention was that the defendant has no permanent address. Do you contend that he does, Ms. Baldwin?”
“Absolutely, Your Honor.”
“And where would that be?”
“New York City, Your Honor.”
“At what address?”
“Seventy-four Spring Street.”
Henry Firth shook his head. “Your Honor, there’s no record of the defendant having any apartment at that address.”
“The apartment is in the name of his fiancée, Brenda Wallenstein.”
“Who he may or may not marry in the ceremony this weekend. You see, Your Honor, how tenuous this claim is.”
“You say the defendant has left the rock band. Where is he currently employed?” the judge asked.
“At Wallenstein Textiles, in Manhattan.”
“Oh, really?” Henry Firth said. “And when did he start work?”
“He starts work Monday.”
Henry Firth smiled. “I submit, Your Honor, that Wallenstein Textiles is no doubt owned and operated by the father of Mr. Pride’s fiancée, Brenda Wallenstein, and this job that conveniently starts Monday is the result of a frantic discussion early this morning among the Wallenstein family members seated here in court, after the defense realized Mr. Pride would have no chance of making bail if he was unemployed.”
“I object to the characterization frantic discussion, Your Honor.”
“Your objection is noted, Ms. Baldwin. So is your failure to dispute any other part of the prosecutor’s claim.” Judge Hobbs drew himself up. “Very well. Is there anything else you would like me to consider before setting bail?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Henry Firth said. “In fact, at this time I would like to amend the complaint.”
Judge Hobbs gawked at him. “Amend the complaint? Mr. Firth, the defendant is already charged with murder. Do you mean you are reducing the charges?”
“No, Your Honor. I’m increasing them.”
There were stunned gasps in the courtroom.
“Increasing a murder charge. How is that possible?”
“In addition to murder, I am charging the defendant with possession of a controlled substance, possession with intent to sell, and grand larceny.”
The courtroom was in an uproar. Becky Baldwin was practically apoplectic, trying to shout over the din. Judge Hobbs banged his gavel, but it was several minutes before he was able to restore order.
“Your Honor, this is disgraceful,” Becky said hotly. “Amend the complaint, indeed! Out of the clear blue sky, the prosecutor is suddenly dumping in a bunch of brand-new charges.”
“You maintain the prosecutor has no right to charge your client?”
“No, Your Honor, he has every right to charge him, but I wasn’t informed.”
“Please forgive me any breach of etiquette,” Henry Firth said with an ironic bow, “but certain matters have come to light since the defendant’s arrest.”
“And just what might those be?”
Henry Firth unsnapped his briefcase, and raised the lid. “This, Your Honor.” He pulled out a plastic evidence bag and held it high. “Approximately fifty-four grams of cocaine found concealed in the defendant’s suitcase.”
33
RICK REED COULDN’T HAVE BEEN HAPPIER, THOUGH HE slapped on his most earnest face for the TV cameras. He positioned himself on the steps of the picturesque Bakerhaven courthouse, and delivered the breaking news. “In a stunning surprise today, police charged Dennis Pride, former lead singer of the Tune Freaks arrested last night on suspicion of the murder of Raymond Harstein III, with the felony possession of cocaine, which a search warrant revealed to have been concealed in his luggage.”
Rick’s eyes briefly lost focus, as he tried to assess whether that sentence had been coherent on the one hand, or grammatical on the other. He forged on. “Raymond Harstein III is a reputed drug dealer. Dennis Pride is accused of stabbing him to death for his drugs. That theory drew an indignant response from Rebecca Baldwin, Mr. Pride’s attorney.”
The camera cut to a shot of Becky Baldwin coming out of the courthouse. Becky, who looked furious enough to take a bite out of the camera lens, was holding herself back only with great restraint. “I can scarcely dignify this with a response. It’s one thing to stand up and wave an exhibit, and quite another to establish a chain of evidence. We have only Henry Firth’s assurance that cocaine was in my client’s luggage. Did Mr. Firth see it there? I doubt it. There is no proof that it was there at all. If it was, I would like to point out there was every opportunity for it to be planted there last night, while my client was in jail.”
Rick Reed looked duly impressed. “Strong words, from Mr. Pride’s attorney.” He brightened. “Razor, lead guitarist of Mr. Pride’s rock group, Tune Freaks, had another take on the discovery of the cocaine.”
Razor, looking rather stoned himself, shrugged at the camera. “Hey, man, we’re a rock band.”
“This is Rick Reed, Channel 8 News, live in Bakerhaven.”
Cora Felton clicked the TV to MUTE, said, “Nice report.”
Sherry, sitting next to her on the couch, looked at her aunt with concern. “Cora.”
“What?”
“This has to be hard on you.”
“It is.”
“I wouldn’t know it.”
“What’s the matter? I haven’t filled the requisite grief quotient?” Cora chuckled. “Christ, Sherry. There’s a sentence for the Puzzle Lady. Sounds like I actually know a few words.”
“Cora, you’re repressing your feelings. That is
n’t healthy.”
“I’m not repressing squat. I’m dealing with the situation.”
“How?”
“The only way I know. By making it make sense.”
Cora got up from the couch, picked up her dinner plate. “Did I eat my dinner? Yes, I did. Was it tasty? Yes, it was. Did you cook it well? Yes, you did. And that’s how you’re dealing with things. Getting on with life. The daily routine. As if your ex-husband weren’t charged with murder.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I know. That’s why I’m worried.”
“Cora, you’re not making any sense.”
Cora scraped her plate in the garbage, dumped it in the sink.
“Hey, you actually scraped a plate. Now, if you could just manage to put it in the dishwasher.”
“I never know if the dishes in there are dirty or clean.”
“You have to look at them.”
“Ah, well, you’re an expert. You know all these inside tricks.”
“Cora.”
Cora turned on her niece angrily. “Sherry, I don’t wanna talk about it. You hit me with this pack of lies about Raymond, and then before I can ask him, he’s dead. Raymond wasn’t like that. I know he wasn’t. Now you want me to grieve for him, and you want me to think he was a bad man. You want me to be heartbroken on both counts. Well, it’s too much, Sherry. It’s too goddamned much. And I’m not gonna do it, even for you.”
“Can’t you do it for yourself?”
“Sherry, this is not the first time I’ve lost a man. It’s the first time I’ve lost one this way, but, believe me, I’ve lost them before. And it isn’t easy. Whether I married them or not, it isn’t easy. And then you throw this at me with so many layers. So many layers.” Cora took out her cigarettes, lit one up. “Just the fact I can smoke again makes me feel guilty. I’m relieved I can smoke again. I feel good I can smoke again. Does it mean I’m glad he’s dead? No, it doesn’t. But every time I take a drag I feel guilty.”
Sherry said nothing. The elephant in the room was the fact Cora could also drink again, but she hadn’t. Even in these trying circumstances.
A car roared up the driveway.
“Good,” Sherry said, relieved. “That’ll be Aaron. Maybe you can talk to him, if you can’t talk to me.” At Cora’s raised eyebrows, she explained, “Not for publication. Just as a friend.”
“Friend.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Aaron was the one who dug up those lies about Raymond.”
“Aunt Cora—”
“Yes, I think I would like to talk to Aaron.”
With that polite pronouncement, Cora swept back through the living room and opened the front door.
Dennis strode up the path. When he saw Cora, he said, “I didn’t do it. I swear to God, I didn’t do it.”
“Glad to hear it,” Cora said, and slammed the door in his face.
Sherry came in from the kitchen. “Where’s Aaron?”
“It wasn’t Aaron.”
The doorbell rang.
“Aunt Cora?”
“It’s Dennis. Go back in the kitchen. I’ll deal with him.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
The doorbell rang again.
“Are you gonna answer it?”
“I already did. He doesn’t seem to have gotten the message. Go back in the kitchen.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes.” Sherry pushed by her aunt, flung open the door.
Dennis’s face lit up when he saw her, made him look handsomer than ever.
“Sherry,” he said. “It’s so awful.”
It was the perfect thing to say. He hadn’t denied it, forced her support of his innocence. Instead he had stated a simple, universal truth about which there could be no dispute. Even Cora would have been hard-pressed to argue.
“How’d you get out of jail?” Sherry asked him.
“Brenda posted bail.”
“You mean her father did?”
“Well, she doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“She must have pled a good case.”
“It was touch-and-go. Her father’s real antidrugs.”
“No kidding.”
Dennis closed the door, walked on into the living room.
Cora had a strong desire to grab him by the scruff of the neck and throw him out. She stifled it. She knew the more she attacked Dennis, the more Sherry would defend him.
He flopped down on the couch, sank back into the cushions, exhaled as if he’d been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Sherry sat at the other end of the couch.
Cora frowned. Sherry wasn’t next to Dennis, but she was on the couch. Too close.
“Sherry, I’m scared.” Dennis leaned in toward her, and edged her way a little. “Someone’s out to get me.”
Cora sucked in her breath. The he-man shows his sensitive side? Could Dennis really be pulling that?
“Who?” Sherry asked.
“I have no idea,” Dennis said. “But I’m being framed.”
“Now, there’s a new one,” Cora blurted. She swore she wasn’t going to butt in, but she couldn’t help herself.
Dennis shot her a dirty look.
So did Sherry.
Cora zipped her lip, sank into a chair across the room.
“Why would anyone want to frame you, Dennis?” Sherry asked.
“How should I know? I’m a stranger here in town. I have nothing to do with anyone. Except you guys. And what’s that to anyone?” Dennis was all wide-eyed innocence.
“You didn’t like him, did you, Dennis?”
“Of course I didn’t like him. He was a big phony. Sorry, Cora, but that’s a fact. But I didn’t stab him to keep you from marrying him. That makes no sense.”
“Of course not,” Sherry said.
Dennis pressed his advantage. “You do believe me, that I’m not responsible for any of this?”
Before Sherry could answer, Cora jumped in. “No one seriously thinks you did it. It’s no big deal.”
“The cops think it is. Do you know how much it cost to bail me out? I feel like I have a price on my head.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Cora grumbled. “You’re nothing of the kind. You wanna be a wanted man, you gotta jump bail. Leave the jurisdiction of the court.”
Dennis frowned. Cora could practically see the wheels turning as he envisioned himself in that role.
“Of course, your prospective father-in-law won’t be too thrilled, forfeiting the bail money. And you’ll be living outside the law.”
“Cora,” Sherry said irritably. “What are you trying to do?”
“Put this in perspective. Right now the only law he’s breaking is a restraining order against seeing you.”
“These are extenuating circumstances, Cora.”
“They certainly are,” Dennis agreed. “This is a terrible thing, Cora. You’ve suffered a tremendous loss.”
“I don’t need your sympathy,” Cora snapped, then realized she was playing right into his hands. She was sure he even smirked slightly, when Sherry wasn’t looking.
A sound in the driveway interrupted the conversation.
Cora went to the window.
“Who is it?” Sherry said.
“I don’t know,” Cora said. “It’s a car service.”
The black car pulled to a stop behind Dennis’s rental. Brenda Wallenstein stepped out. The car turned around and drove off.
“It’s your fiancée,” Cora told Dennis. Cora was quite proud of herself. She was sure there was no hint of malicious satisfaction in that pronouncement.
Dennis looked distinctly displeased. “In a car service?”
Brenda came up the path, looking concerned and stressed.
Cora met her at the door. “Come in, come in. We were just working things out.”
Brenda pushed through the door, saw Dennis sitting on the couch next to Sherry. “
Oh, there you are. You took off without a word.”
“I told you I was going.”
“Not a word. I came out of the bathroom and you were gone.”
“So you hired a car service to come out here?”
“Well, you took the car.”
“I was coming right back.”
“You didn’t say so. I’ve been waiting all night and all day for you. You finally get back, I turn around, and you’re gone.”
“I had to tell them I didn’t do it.”
“You think they don’t know that?”
“No, I’m sure they do.”
Brenda ran to him, flung her arms around him. “Oh, Dennis! I’ve been so worried!”
Dennis held her, but his embrace seemed rather perfunctory.
Cora Felton didn’t like it.
34
DENNIS WASN’T PLEASED. HE GLANCED AT BRENDA IN THE passenger seat, said, “You hired a car service?”
“I was worried.”
“Why? I was in no danger. I was out of jail.”
“You disappeared.”
“Big deal. What if I just ran out to the store?”
“But you didn’t.”
Dennis scowled, whipped the car into an S-turn a little too fast. “Brenda, this isn’t about you.”
“That’s the trouble.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, boy. This is all I need. I’m hit with a murder charge, and you go screwy on me.”
“I’m not going screwy on you. I’m just scared. I mean, I have no idea what happened here.”
“That’s the problem. Neither do I.”
Dennis pulled up in front of the bed-and-breakfast. “Okay, here you are.”
Brenda blinked. “Huh?”
“Go in, take it easy, read your book. Calm down, stop worrying so much.”
“You’re leaving again?”
“I’m not leaving. Boy, what drama. I just need to drive around, clear my head.”
“You’re not going back there?”
“Back where? To Cora’s? Hell, no. That’s taken care of. Cora knows I didn’t do it.”
“So where are you going?”
“I told you. I have to clear my head.”
“You can’t do that here?”
“No, I can’t. Not with you needing me all the time.” Dennis smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m just upset. There’s a lot of crazy stuff happening I can’t figure out.”
