“I’m her defense lawyer. I hope I won’t be sorry.”
“You should be all right,” Sam said. He was all business with S. William Matheson III. I couldn’t tell whether that was a ruse to let the attorney know he hadn’t been involved in my case, or whether his detached demeanor signaled his permanent future attitude toward me.
I was, after all, an ex-jailbird.
“I guess you can get into the house?” Matheson said.
I nodded.
“I’ll call you later,” he said. “Officer.” He tipped his Stetson to Sam and walked toward his car.
“Thank you, Mr. Matheson, for everything,” I called.
We watched him until he pulled away from the curb. Then we turned and walked to my door.
“Matheson’s an okay guy.”
“He posted bond for me. I hope I can scrape together enough to pay him.”
“Do you have a key hidden to get in?”
“I have a house key in the flower beds and car keys in the house.”
I counted shrubs planted to the left of my front door stoop. Stepping behind the third bush, I knelt down, measured a thumb-to-index finger span behind the base of a plant and started digging. My house key was three inches down in the dirt. When I finished, the knees of my black break-in pants were covered with dirt, and my hands and nails were grubby. I brushed off my pants, shook dirt off my hands and wiped off the key. I was so grateful to be back at my house that just turning the key in the lock almost made me cry. I opened the door, saw the living room and bawled.
The magnificent square wood table between my sofas was upended. My prize Tabriz rug underneath had been rolled up and shoved aside. My sofa pillows were scattered and thrown on the floor. The antique cabinet I’d captured at Broadway Antique Auction had its lower drawers wrenched open. The open space at the top held my CD player, but somebody had turned the player sideways to search behind it. My CDs were scattered, not lined up by types of music.
I ran crying into my kitchen. Upper cabinets were open with only a few dishes left inside so someone could run a hand across the back of every shelf. Dishes were strewn across countertops. Drawers gaped open, their cutlery, placemats and napkins slung out. Cabinet doors under the sink hung open, with cleaning supplies ejected to the floor, and the plumbing fixture elbow hanging in a void.
Expecting the worst, I made myself go to the bedroom. Every inch had been searched and jumbled. With Sam plodding down the hall behind me, I ran first to the fake, hollowed-out book in the case on the far wall. He stopped at the bedroom door. My back was toward him.
I reached for An In-Depth History of the World, the tome that looked like it had a thousand pages where I hid my baby’s hospital bracelet. The tiny pink, plastic circle had the words, “Lee Mary Mundeen. Girl. 7 lbs. 4 oz. 16 inches. Mother: Agatha Emory Mundeen.”
The amulet wasn’t inside the fake book. I thought I’d lost it somewhere on campus when I broke into the lab, but I had to look. Lee’s bracelet was my talisman—my good luck charm. I’d lost it before but had always retrieved it. To keep me safe, I’d worn it to campus that night. Now it was gone for good.
Drawers were yanked out, clothes rifled, ripped off hangers and tossed with shoes on the floor. Sam stood in the doorframe, silent.
In the bathroom, cabinets and drawers gaped open with toiletries and linens strewn around. I grabbed two tissues, slogged back to the living room, replaced the cushions on one sofa and sank down. Sam came and sat on the other end, stiff and expressionless.
“Who would have done this? What kind of thief would break into this ordinary house? It doesn’t look like they took anything. There wasn’t anything to take. They just messed everything up.” I sniffed. I’d been violated and humiliated so many times. And now this.
“How could they break in here without my neighbors Grace or Anna hearing the commotion and calling the police?” I blew my nose.
“I don’t think it was robbery, Aggie. The police came to search your house.”
Of course they did. I was a murder suspect. But I was still angry.
“You let them do that?”
“I didn’t have anything to say about it. I wasn’t even on the case, remember?”
I stopped to sniff and think and wipe my eyes.
“What were they looking for?”
“Probably a nasal spray bottle like the one they found near Eric Lager. Or some substance you could have put in it. Maybe they wanted to compare your fingerprints with prints on that bottle.”
I raised my chin and froze him with a haughty glare.
“Well, they didn’t find any of that. I didn’t kill Eric Lager. How many times do I have to tell you that?” I started blubbering again.
He pushed up off the couch, walked over, sat beside me and put his arm around my shoulders.
“I know you didn’t kill Eric Lager. But you were there. The police have to follow through with their investigation.”
“I know.” I wiped my eyes again and rubbed a tissue under my nose before I rested my head on his shoulder. “It’s so horrible to be handcuffed and have locks on your ankles so you can barely walk and be patted down all the time. Like a common criminal.” My tears started flowing.
“I know.”
“And you never know where they’re taking you. And nobody ever believes you. And you can’t even talk to the judge because he won’t listen.”
“I know.”
“And when you’re taken to jail those women smell so bad. They could be murderers and thieves and on drugs, and you’re right in the middle of them.”
“I know.”
“And then, in jail, they dump you some place you can’t even imagine. They put you in a room with all these women milling around, and you don’t know what they’ve done or what they’ll do to you.” I turned my face into his shoulder and wept.
He kept patting my back. “I know. I know.”
When I finally wound down and backed away, I saw I’d really soaked his shirt. I touched it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve been meaning to get a new one.”
“I’d better go freshen up.”
“Okay.”
I closed the door to my bedroom, took a shower and washed my face and hair. I felt so much cleaner using my own bathroom. I put on clean underwear, slacks, deodorant, a fresh top and even a little makeup. I didn’t want to take too long because I was afraid Sam would leave. I felt safe with him there.
When I returned to the living room, he’d replaced the sofa cushions, rolled out the rug, placed my coffee table on top and was staring into the drawer of my antique cabinet.
“I thought you might want to do your own rearranging,” he said. He turned, stopped and looked me up and down. “You look like my Aggie again.”
He walked toward me, arms outstretched, and I fell into them.
Forty-Nine
We stood there, grasping each other. This moment could so easily have been lost. When he released me and looked into my eyes, I saw worry and confusion and affection. Or was it love? Whatever it was, he wiped my eyes. Then he kissed me.
It was a lingering kiss, and when he pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me, I realized how soggy his shirt was. I thought about telling him if he wanted to take it off, I could wash it.
That probably wasn’t a good idea. Not now. Not after what I’d been through. He must have been under stress too. Trying to learn details about the crime scene without implicating himself. Worrying about what was happening to me in jail. We had a lot to catch up on and mountains in front of us.
When we made love, and I thought we would eventually, I wanted everything to be perfect, with no worries, no secrets, no looming questions. I wanted to be in a place where I could concentrate on Sam. Just Sam. This was not the time to of
fer to wash his shirt.
I pulled slowly away, took his hand and led him to the couch. “I need you to tell me what happened while I was in jail.” He sighed, leaned back against the cushions and stretched both hands behind his head.
“Well, the young officer on the campus lawn apparently wasn’t concerned that I showed up. She’s been out on patrol and I’ve been in the office with homicide detectives, so I never saw her after that night. The homicide guys knew you were my friend. Your name came up when Carmody died, so they knew I couldn’t get involved in the Lager case. When they talked about it, they’d talk freely and act like I wasn’t there. If I had a question, I’d ask it one on one, and the guy knew enough not to blab.”
I smiled.
“One guy was rushing out the door to a crime scene at the end of the day,” he said, “and he asked me to file a report for him. What he gave me were police reports about Eric Lager’s murder. I flipped through them and filed them in the appropriate cabinet. So I knew everything they knew.”
“There was fungus in Eric Lager’s nasal spray?”
“That’s what they think. There were no trauma marks, no signs of a struggle, no fingerprints in the lab except those of people who were supposed to be there…students, teachers, professors. They checked out most of those prints after Carmody died, but they have a few more to check. They requested a rush on the autopsy and toxicology reports. We should have those back in a couple of days.”
“Our class is supposed to meet twice this week as usual, starting tomorrow.”
He looked incredulous. “And you want to go back?”
“I want to learn how genes affect aging. Dr. Bigsby will probably teach the class.”
“I’m sure everybody over there knows Eric Lager was killed, Aggie. It’s been in the papers. And they probably know you were jailed as a suspect, or at least as a burglar, for breaking into the lab. Aren’t you embarrassed about that?”
“Well, yes, but since I had a good reason to break in, and I didn’t kill him, I know they’ll eventually learn the truth.”
“You understand the killer is still out there and that it might be someone in class.”
“Yes. Exactly. If I’m back in class, they’ll know I didn’t kill Eric Lager. I’ll announce it.”
“You’ll announce it. In class. You’re not the least bit worried about being back on that campus?”
“Not in broad daylight. There are people all over the place.”
“And you absolutely will not go back into that lab.”
“That probably wouldn’t be wise.”
“That’s an understatement. If the killer sees you’re out of jail and thinks you’re no longer a suspect, he’ll realize he’s still at risk.”
“Exactly.”
“He won’t know if the police found Eric’s spray bottle. The killer probably left fast and dropped it. He might think you picked it up. And he’ll be desperate to get it back.”
“In the middle of campus, in the middle of the day, what could anybody possibly do to me?”
“Accost you on campus when nobody else is around. Threaten you. Spray that deadly stuff in your nose. Follow you home and do it later…I’d better station a cop near your house.”
“I promise I won’t let anybody get that close to me, on campus or here. I’ll carry pepper spray.” I had no idea where to get pepper spray. “If I don’t go back, the killer will think he got away with murder and won’t do anything. My being at the university, released from jail, will make the killer realize he has to do something. SAPD can put plainclothes cops on campus. When the killer makes a move, your guys will be there to catch him.”
He shook his head. “I can’t disagree with your logic. But I can’t put you in jeopardy.”
I thought I was in greater jeopardy if I didn’t flush out the killer. I stiffened my back and adopted my most stern look.
“I have every right to go back. It’s a free country, and I’m not in custody.”
“Why can’t you just be scared, like normal people? Why do you have to be so meddlesome? And so damned logical?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He sighed. I think he was afraid I might go back, no matter what he said, and he’d better figure out a way to protect me.
“Maybe you could wear a wire. A cop could tail you. If anybody even gets close, you call for help, and the cop is right there.”
I mentally smiled. What I actually did was look thoughtfully at the ceiling.
“That might work.”
“I need to think about this,” he said. “Don’t plan to go back on campus tomorrow unless we talk first. I’m going to see if there’s new information at the office. Lock the doors after me and don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ve got to get groceries. I’ll go visit Grace. Maybe she’ll take me.”
“Don’t go anywhere alone. And be very alert about who’s around you.”
I nodded.
He left, looking tired and worried.
You look like my Aggie again, he had said. My Aggie…
I liked the sound of that.
Fifty
I called Meredith. “How can I ever thank you for finding me a lawyer?”
“Aggie, you’re home! Thank goodness. What did you think of him?”
“I think you sent me an angel. It would be hard not to like somebody who gets you out of jail. I think he believed me. And I’m going to repay you. How much did you pay him?”
“Two thousand dollars up front. If he decided to post bond after talking to you, I signed a paper saying I’d owe him twenty thousand dollars if you didn’t show up for your court hearing.”
“You know I’ll show up. And I’ll pay you whatever he charges.”
If I could attend class and flush out the killer, I’d be exonerated and there would be no need for a trial. I wasn’t ready to divulge details to Meredith, especially since I didn’t know yet what they were.
“Sam thinks it might be all right for me to attend class tomorrow, if I promise not to go back to the lab.”
“Certainly not to the lab. Class should be okay. I’ll be with you, along with all the others.”
“Yes. And Sam will have plainclothes cops on campus.”
I found a cold Diet Dr. Pepper and dried-out cheese in the refrigerator. Better than nothing. My peanut butter jar in the pantry was almost empty. I managed to scrape out a tablespoon and drop a glob of grape jelly on top. Fortified, I called my neighbor Grace.
“Hi, Grace. It’s me.”
“Aggie. I saw you go inside and hoped you’d call. Are you all right? I mean, after being…”
“It’s okay to say it. In jail. I was in jail.”
“I knew about it because the police came by and were swarming inside your house. I stomped over there and demanded to know what they were doing. They were making a mess, and I couldn’t stop them. They kept me busy asking questions about you.”
“It’s okay. The house isn’t too bad. It’s just a matter of straightening up. They were just doing their job. Are you busy? Can I come over?”
“Sure. We can talk while I finish grouting this table.”
“I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
I cradled the phone and peered through the glass in the top half of my back door. My small backyard was rife with weeds and dead St. Augustine grass, a common late-summer condition. Having been busy studying, attending class, sleuthing and going to jail, I’d neglected my yard more than usual.
When cool weather revived us in mid-October, I’d have to get busy. There were no signs of footprints outside, even though the police had been there. Indentations are hard to make in cracked, dry earth.
The kitchen door that led to the garage was locked, so I didn’t bother to go in there.
> Sam and Meredith had driven my car home. SAPD had undoubtedly searched Albatross. I knew the garage door to the driveway was locked because Sam had checked it.
After inspecting my bedroom and bathroom windows to make sure they were secure and connected to the alarm, I felt pretty safe. I’d had the system installed after somebody tried to break into my house last semester when I was inside studying. If I hadn’t screamed, they’d have broken in.
I put on tennis shoes in case Grace’s mutt, Boffo, decided to pounce on my feet. Even though I’d previously befriended him with doggy treats, I wasn’t sure he’d remember.
Padding back to the living room, I peeked through the blinds. My front yard looked undisturbed. No parked cars lurked in either direction down Burr Road. The green expanse of lawn across the street in Ft. Sam Houston comforted me. I was ready to visit Grace.
I slipped off the door chain, stepped onto my front stoop and eased onto round stones that led to the asphalt driveway by her yard. The heat was stifling, but it felt glorious being outside. When I knocked on Grace’s door, Boffo started barking.
She opened the door. “Come in, come in,” she bubbled.
She held a grout-smeared rubber glove in one hand. If she hadn’t looked so sticky, I’d have hugged her. More white strands than I remembered poked out from the gray hair she tried unsuccessfully to capture in a bun. In her sixties, her face was pink and young with the excitement of enjoying life.
Boffo stood growling, frozen to his spot, looking from my face to my shoes. His terrier/dachshund brain apparently wavered between greeting a friend and attacking my tennis shoes. Grace once entered him in Earthdog competitions where he chased rats through tunnels and routed them out. He’d done pretty well but had trouble distinguishing prey from feet. He was probably nearsighted. We were once pretty chummy, but we hadn’t bonded in a while.
One of Grace’s tile tables occupied a place of honor in her living room. She’d designed a gray tile dove surrounded by lighter and lighter tiles.
Smart, But Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 3) Page 16
