Born Innocent

by Christine Rimmer

  As she read Joe’s thoughts in his eyes, a wave of true hopelessness washed over her. She reached out. “Oh, Joe. Hold me. Please.”

  She fell against him, almost toppling them both to the floor as he surged to his feet and took her in his arms.

  She buried her head against his bare, warm chest. “Joe. You know about me. In spite of the awful things that can happen in life, I’ve always thought the world was a fair place. A good place, overall. But now, I’m not so sure....That’s the worst thing in all this, to think that I live in a world where the bad guys get away, and the innocent ones pay.” She clutched him closer. “I can’t stand to believe that. I hate that I'm beginning to believe that.”

  He held her tight, and stroked her back, murmuring soothing words that they both knew did little to change the trouble she was in.

  For several minutes, she let herself lean on him. Then she pulled back. She looked him in the eye, and told him what she wanted to do. “I want to go to San Francisco and talk to those people, Joe. I think we should leave right away.”

  Joe was quiet for a moment, and she knew his silence was not a good sign. Finally he said gently, “Claire, you can’t do that.”

  She stiffened, and pushed herself away from him a little more. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

  “I mean, you can’t leave the county. And it’s pointless anyway. They’ve all been interviewed by the police already. If the police had learned anything that led to another suspect, they would never have arrested you.”

  Claire felt her shoulders slumping. She drew them up square. “Then why did you even bother to take down the list?”

  He had his answer ready. “It’s information. Gathering information is part of the process of trying to figure out what really happened.”

  “Fine. That makes sense.” He looked relieved, until she went on, “And so does this—you fully intend to talk to these people. On your own. As soon as you think you’ve got me settled down enough you can leave me alone for a few days without me having a nervous breakdown.”

  “Claire...”

  “Just tell me. Am I right?”

  “Claire, you’re having a rough time right now, and—”

  She cut him off. “Joe, I’m a little freaky lately, I’ll grant you that. But I have not lost the ability to reason. Unless a miracle happens Monday and the grand jury lets me off, you plan to talk to the people on that list. Admit it.”

  “Damn it.” He dropped his arms from around her waist.

  “Just tell me the truth.”

  He gave in. “All right. Yes, I’ll probably talk to them.”

  “Good.” She smiled. Then she went to the cupboard, got two mugs, and poured their coffee. She returned and handed his to him. “I want to go with you. We can leave today.”

  He set the cup she’d handed him on the table in a gesture impatient enough that some of it sloshed over the rim. “Claire, you can’t just take off for San Francisco.”

  “Because I’m under arrest for a felony?”

  “You got it.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not leaving the state, and we can call Sheriff Dan and leave him a phone number for wherever we’re staying. It’ll be strictly aboveboard. He can call and get us back here any time he wants.”

  “Dan’s a good man. But he’s got a job to do. The judge stipulated that you’re not to leave the county. Dan will only tell you that you can’t go.”

  Claire slid into a seat at the table, sipped her coffee and considered. For the first time since her nightmare had begun, she saw a real possibility for action on her part. If she could do something to help herself, despair could be kept at bay. She wasn’t giving up on this, no way.

  She told Joe, “Then we won’t tell Sheriff Dan. We’ll just go. And we’ll get back here as soon as we can.”

  Joe dropped to a chair across from her. “Claire, it won’t work. If you get caught, your bail will be revoked. And you don’t understand what you want to do, anyway. Tracking down people to talk to them about a subject they’d rather forget is not fun work. Most of it’s plain boring, and then, occasionally, you get to put up with some verbal abuse, not to mention the possibility that someone will get violent on you.”

  “I don’t care.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “I have to do something, Joe. Don’t you see? I have to.”

  For the longest time he said nothing. Then he sighed. “Look. You think about it. Give it a couple of days.”

  “I don’t have a couple of days.”

  “Until tomorrow, then. Maybe something will happen between now and then. In the meantime, you can really think this over.”

  “I have thought it over.”

  “Fine. Wait one more day. Agreed?”

  “And tomorrow, when I still want to go, you’ll take me?”

  He slipped his hand out from under hers and stood up. “Let’s get some damn breakfast. I’m starving.” He marched to the cupboard and got down a box of pancake mix.

  “Joe. Be straight.” She picked up the yellow pad and shook it at him. “Say you’ll take me, or I will go by myself.”

  Joe slammed the cupboard door and turned to face her. “All right. I’ll take you. I think it’s a major waste of your time and a bad idea. But I’ll take you.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Right. Now get off that cute butt of yours and help me make some pancakes.”

  After breakfast, they found their way back to Joe’s wide bed. For a time, once more, Joe made Claire forget everything but the magic that happened when he touched her.

  They were still lingering beneath the sheets when Ella called at a little past nine. Joe answered, then held the phone away from Claire for a full minute, so that Ella would think he’d had to fetch her in the guest room. Claire rolled her eyes and tried to tickle him while he made her wait, but he remained impervious to her attempts to undermine his little subterfuge.

  Finally he let her have the phone.

  “Claire? Is that you?”

  “Yes, Mother. I’m right here.”

  Her mother sighed. “How are you feeling?”

  Claire rubbed her foot slowly up Joe’s hard thigh. “Much, much better. I think this was really a good idea.” Joe jerked his thigh away and shook a finger at her. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “Okay, okay...”

  “Claire. I can’t hear you. I think our connection’s going bad.” “No, it’s only me, Mother. Really. I wasn’t talking into the phone. Now tell me, how are you doing at the motel?”

  “Just fine. I have a few things you’ll probably want to know about.”

  “Such as?”

  “It looks like the story about Alan Henson will be in the newspapers. Did you know that man is more-or-less a crook?”

  “Yes. I’ve... heard that. Who told you?”

  “Reporters. I spoke with three yesterday—one from Sacramento, one from San Francisco, and also Eppie Salts from the Pine Bluff Register. They were looking for you, but I told them you were unavailable for comment.”

  “Good. What else did they say?”

  “Oh, a few things that were totally untrue, of course.” Ella’s tone was too offhand.

  “Such as?”

  “Claire, dear...”

  “I want to know, Mother.” It was always possible the reporters knew something she didn’t.

  “ It will only upset you.”

  “I’ll live, I promise you.”

  Ella stalled a moment more.

  “Mother.”

  “Oh, all right. They wanted to know if you were in love with Henson. I told them the very idea was ridiculous. You hardly knew the man.”

  “And?”

  “They wanted to know if he’d managed to con you out of any money. I told them absolutely not.”

  “Did you tell them that he had been planning to give you a little financial advice?”

  “Claire Lorraine Snow, you bite your tongue. It’s bad enough that I was such a fool. I’d prefer
not to read about it in the Sacramento Bee.” “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Mother. Henson charmed the wallets out of a lot of people’s pockets. You wouldn’t have been alone.”

  “So you’ve heard that, too? Who told you?”

  Claire grinned at Joe over the mouthpiece of the phone. “I have my sources.”

  “Well,” Ella sounded philosophical, “I was fortunate. He didn’t get a chance to take advantage of me.”

  “Exactly. Count your blessings.”

  Ella actually chuckled. “You know, I do believe Joe was right about getting you off to that ranch. You seem a thousand percent more cheerful. It does my heart good.”

  “Yes, it was a wise idea. Now what else did the reporters ask?”

  “Dear...”

  “Just tell me, Mother.”

  There was a pause. Then, “The one from San Francisco asked if you shot Alan Henson because he was your...lover and you found out he was a married man.”

  Claire fiddled with the phone cord a little before responding. “I see. Did they ask anything else?”

  “No, actually, that’s it. Claire, are you—?”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  Ella’s voice turned brisk. “Well, you know your mother. I just had to get my two cents in. I told them you had never had the slightest interest in Alan Henson, and that you most definitely did not shoot the man.” Ella paused again, then asked, touchingly unsure, “Did I do the right thing?”

  “Thanks, Mother,” Claire told her. “You did just fine.”

  “Good.” Ella’s relief was clear. Then she went on. “Also, the main reason I called is that Wayne Leven just left. I managed to get out of him that Alan Henson’s condition is the same—and the bungalow is no longer off-limits.”

  Claire had drooped a little at the news that there was no change in Henson’s condition, but she perked up when she heard about the bungalow. “I can get in there now?”

  “Yes, but I still think you ought to just take it easy and let me have Verna—”

  “Did you lock it up?”

  Ella sighed. “Yes, dear. I followed your instructions exactly.”

  “Good. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

  Claire reached across Joe to hang up the phone.

  “What now?” he asked, looking wary.

  She paused, stretched across him, to place a swift kiss on his lips. Then she sat up and reached for her robe. “I need to get back to the motel right away. Will you take me into town?”

  She was half off the bed, thinking about fitting in a quick shower, when he snared her hand. “What’s going on?”

  She sat back down and turned to him. “Leven said we can get in the bungalow now. I want to have a look around in there.”

  “What’s the point?” He held tight to her hand. “All you’re going to find in there is detection powder and a bloodstain on the rug.”

  “I still want to look.”

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  “It’s my time to waste.”

  “Claire...”

  “I’m going, Joe. Please come with me.”

  He muttered something low and crude.

  After that, there was a silence. They gauged each other. Both of them were naked, and neither of them cared. Claire thought how quickly she’d become accustomed to being naked around Joe. It seemed so right, so utterly natural.

  They had come a long way with each other. In a strange way, her tragedy had bonded them. And now, her intention to help herself out of this trap she was in had made her stronger than she’d been in days. She felt that she was his equal again. She felt ready to do anything to learn more about what had really happened to Henson. It was a good feeling, and she was glad for it.

  “Damn,” Joe remarked.

  “Does that mean you’ll come with me?”

  He released her hand, only to haul her against him and put his mouth on hers. He kissed her long and hard. And then, when she felt her bones going to butter, he released her.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s get ready to go.”

  Forty minutes later, Claire and Joe entered the bungalow where Alan Henson had been shot. Claire had a clipboard in one hand and a flashlight in the other. On the clipboard was the housekeeping list of everything that was supposed to be in the small cabin: from the few dishes and pans in the tiny kitchen, to the television and the toiletry supplies.

  “Okay, Sherlock, what now?” Joe asked wryly.

  Claire shot him a narrow look—and then found herself staring at the rust-colored stain on the braided rug. It was a big stain; she couldn’t help picturing the unconscious Henson as she’d found him, lying there. It was not a pleasant memory.

  “Well?” Joe prompted.

  ‘ ‘Now, I look at everything,” she said with more authority than she felt. “Everything.”

  And that was exactly what she did.

  She crept through the living room, bedroom, bathroom and efficiency kitchen at a snail’s pace, peering into every cupboard, feeling along every sill and crevice, shining her flashlight into corners and under furniture. She shook out the curtains and pulled the linens off the bed. She moved cushions and turned chairs upside down, beating at them in hopes they would disgorge some small object that might provide a single clue.

  She found a gouge in the wall where the bullet had likely hit after it went through Henson. Of course, the bullet wasn’t there. The sheriff’s office had that.

  She discovered that one glass of the eight the motel provided was gone. She knew which glass it was: the one she had broken trying to get Henson to let go of her. But there wasn’t a glass shard in sight; she had no doubt that the bits of glass were in a bag down at the courthouse, marked as evidence against her.

  Nothing else that belonged to Snow’s Inn was gone. Even the complimentary shampoo, half-used, was sitting on the edge of the tub in the bathroom.

  All of Henson’s things had been removed, no doubt for his wife to collect from the courthouse at her leisure. Except for the bloodstain and the chip on the wall, there was nothing—nothing—that shouldn’t have been there.

  As Joe had warned, the police had been thorough. If Henson’s attacker had left a cigarette in the ashtray or lost a button that rolled under the couch, the sheriff’s office had it now.

  At a quarter to eleven, Claire finally gave up. She stood up from a last look under the couch, rubbed her back, and told Joe she’d seen enough.

  He came to her and put his arms around her. She rested against him for a moment. Then she lifted her head for a quick kiss. “Okay. I give up. Let’s blow this joint.”

  They locked up and went back to the office, where she told her mother to go ahead and have Verna clean the bungalow and throw the ruined rug away.

  “Then shall I go ahead and rent it to guests?” Ella asked.

  “No. Just lock it up. The floor has to be stripped and rewaxed.” Henson’s blood had seeped right through the rug and into the floor, but Claire decided not to go into detail about that to her mother. “I’ll take care of it when I come back to work.”

  “Certainly, dear. I’ll do just as you say.” Her mother glanced from Claire to Joe and then back at Claire. “And I’m so glad you’re feeling better. You do look much more... relaxed, dear. I must say.”

  “I am more relaxed,” Claire said, thinking naughtily about just how relaxing being with Joe could be. Joe, over by the window, cleared his throat, and she knew it was a signal that she was looking downright dreamy-eyed. Swiftly she added, “Getting away to somewhere...neutral, like the ranch, has been a godsend. I really do feel a thousand times better than I did yesterday when we left.”

  “I’m so glad,” Ella beamed. “And I don’t want you to worry about a thing. Honestly. I am managing just fine here.”

  “I know you are, Mother. That’s why, if it’s okay with you, we’ve decided to take a trip to San Francisco tomorrow.”

  Ella’s beaming face went slack. “What?”

&nbs
p; Over by the window, Joe coughed again. Claire shot him a glance, and he gave her a warning frown. Claire smiled back sweetly. Of course, he was still hoping that between now and time to leave, he could convince her to give up on the trip.

  Well, they were going. He could just get used to it. She would hold him to his word. And if he broke his word, she really would go alone.

  “We’re going to San Francisco,” she repeated, since her mother was still staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Just for a day or two. The ranch has been so good for me, I think an even more total change of scene will be even better.”

  “But, dear, I don’t think you can go that far away, can you?”

  “We’ll leave a number with you, of course. So if the sheriff’s office needs us, we’ll come right back home.” Claire waved a dismissing hand. “I’ll work all that out, Mother. Don’t worry. I just want to know if you can take care of things here.”

  “Well, of course I can. I planned to do just that, but I don’t understand—”

  Claire cut her mother off with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I know I’ve said it before, but I am so grateful to you. We’ll call you with the number of our hotel, as soon as we have it. And I’m going to take my car, okay? I’ll leave you the motel van, in case you need it. Now, I just want to get a nice dinner dress from my room, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Claire, behind the wheel of her car, followed Joe back to the ranch. He drove a little faster than necessary. Claire knew he was miffed because she’d one-upped him about San Francisco.

  Well, she decided, he could just go ahead and be miffed. He had promised to take her, after all. So making plans with her mother had not been out of line in the least. He was only mad because he’d still intended to discourage her, and now he was less likely than ever to succeed.

  They pulled in between the break in the fence, and Joe parked in front of the house. Claire stopped her car right behind him. She got out and went around to the back seat to get the dress she’d collected from her closet at the motel.

  She heard Joe order the dogs away and then, from behind her, he demanded, “What the hell do you need with a fancy dress? It’s not going to be any party, it’s not going to be any damn fun at all.”