by Sandra Balzo
Sheree shook her head. ‘I'm not sure where you two got the idea that it was Ben Rosewood who killed his daughter, but you have it all wrong.’
AnnaLise sat bolt upright. ‘Ben didn't shoot Suzanne?’
‘Of course not. Whyever would he?’
‘I don't know, but . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Then who did?’
‘Who? Why, Joshua Eames, of course.’
Twenty-one
Joy Tamarack pushed the tequila shot over to AnnaLise. ‘Drink.’
AnnaLise Griggs had nearly chugged the remainder of her first beer and all of the second, so she obeyed her friend, but just took a sip. ‘Ugh.’
‘Don't make faces. James sprung for the good stuff.’ Joy pulled back the glass and downed the rest of its contents, then paused to wipe her mouth before continuing. ‘Sure are glad they left, though. Hard to talk when they're around.’
Right now, the only thing AnnaLise wanted to do less than talk was think.
‘First the wife, now the daughter,’ Joy prattled on. ‘Maybe you’re right about your friend the DA.’
AnnaLise gave another shudder. ‘Don't say that. Don't even think it.’
‘Why not?’ Joy asked. ‘You are.’
‘Actually, I'm trying very hard not to, and you're not helping.’ She waved to get the waitress' attention, but at least this time the woman was busy at another table. ‘Can you get our check?’
Joy ignored her. ‘You honestly don't buy this new murder/suicide scenario, do you?’
AnnaLise shrugged. ‘Apparently the police do.’
‘You don't know that. James and Sheree were just telling us what they'd heard on the TV news tonight.’ Joy held up one finger and used it to do an air-signature on her other palm. Now the waitress actually rushed over to drop the slip of paper on the table before marching away again. ‘Are you going to tell Chuck?’
‘I assume he already knows,’ AnnaLise said, slipping cash out of her wallet for the bill.
‘You know damn well I'm not talking about the shootings.’
‘I do.’ AnnaLise stood up and picked up her jacket from the back of the chair. ‘What would you have me say?’
‘Exactly what you told me,’ Joy said as she hopped off her chair. ‘That you suspect your boyfriend killed his wife for her money and is trying to pin it on you.’
‘Like we said earlier, Chuck is smart. He'll put it together on his own. Right now I'm too tired to think, much less build a case for him.’
‘So you get me all wound up and now you're just going to wash your hands? What happened to the woman who was going to fry?’
‘She found out about lethal injection.’ AnnaLise wound her way between the tables to the door and stopped. ‘I'm sorry to have dumped on you. I know I'm shutting down, but . . . I'm confused. I don't know what to think.’
‘That's why you have me,’ Joy said, pushing the door open. ‘I'll tell you what to think.’
‘OK,’ AnnaLise said stepping out onto the sidewalk. ‘What do I think about Josh supposedly killing Suzanne?’
‘The word “supposedly” is a dead giveaway.’
‘Don't use dead, at least not tonight, OK?’ And maybe never. ‘But . . . I have to admit. I have trouble seeing Josh killing Suzanne. Yes, he has a bit of a checkered past and yes, I understand that people saw them fighting. In fact, the last time I saw them together they didn't look happy.’ She was remembering the two in Suzanne's Camry, leaving the police department as she'd arrived.
‘Only why in the world would he kill her?’ AnnaLise thought aloud, but at least she was thinking again.
‘A good question. An even better one: why would Josh then shoot himself?’
AnnaLise shook her head. ‘I don't know. Lovers quarrel is what people will say. You know, Suze ended it and Josh wouldn't take no for an answer.’
‘Who does that sound like?’
‘You mean, Ben?’ AnnaLise had an idea. ‘Assuming it ran in the family, maybe Josh ended it and Suzanne couldn't take it.’
‘So she killed herself at his house. And then what?’
‘Josh found her and was so devastated, he shot himself?’
‘Have you – at any point, during your worst moments – considered killing yourself over Rosewood?’
‘No, of course not. But then Ben hasn't killed himself.’
‘More's the pity, as James would say.’
‘That's a terrible thing to even mull over silently,’ AnnaLise said. ‘Shame on you, Joy Tamarack.’
‘This from the woman who was seduced by this much older man, who then followed her here and she now suspects of God-knows-what.’
‘He's not much older.’
‘You're twenty-eight and he's what – forty?’
‘Forty-six.’
‘I rest my case.’ Joy stepped aside to let a couple exit Torch. ‘We're blocking the door. Let's go around the corner to your place.’
Why not? AnnaLise wasn't going to get any sleep that night anyway. She preceded Joy down the sidewalk toward the front door. ‘So you've been asking me what I think. What's your theory?’
‘Collateral damage.’
‘Collateral damage?’ AnnaLise stuck the key in the big wooden front door. ‘What's the collateral damage? Tanja's Porsche?’
‘Not what, who. I think Josh was collateral damage. You know, like poor Ronald Goldman in the O.J. Simpson case.’
‘The targeted victim was Nicole Brown Simpson. Doesn't she at least deserve it to be her “case,” not O.J.'s?’
‘Perhaps, but “should be” and “is” are two different things. And you're avoiding the subject.’
AnnaLise unlocked the Griggs' front door and shoved it open, sending it swinging nearly 180 degrees and into the sill of the window on the wall next to it. ‘If you mean by the “subject” Joshua Eames being collateral damage when “my boyfriend” – as you insist on calling him – supposedly killed his own daughter? Yes, I guess I am avoiding it.’
‘There's that “supposedly” again, but I'm not sure I'm buying it this time.’
‘You don't have to “buy” anything,’ AnnaLise mumbled, tossing her purse on a small bench next to the telephone.
‘Listen, I understand completely,’ Joy said, stepping through the door and closing it behind her. ‘After all, it's so much harder to believe that your . . . that Rosewood killed his daughter and her boyfriend than that he killed his wife.’ The sarcasm virtually drooled from Joy's mouth. ‘You were perfectly happy to speculate about that possibility just an hour ago.’
‘That's all it was, speculation.’ AnnaLise flicked on the light over the kitchen table. ‘Daisy must have already turned in, which is good. At least we won't have to relay the latest in Sutherton's checkered recent past just yet.’
‘Very recent past. The body probably isn't even cold.’ Joy pulled out a chair and turned it around to straddle it.
‘Come on, Joy.’ AnnaLise was feeling a little sick. ‘An innocent girl is dead and a young man I've known all his life is seriously wounded. How about you cut the crap for awhile?’
‘Wow, sorry. I always thought you appreciated my rapier wit and unrelenting bluntness.’
AnnaLise almost smiled as she sat down across the table from her friend. After all, this wasn't Joy's fault and she had been nothing but supportive. ‘I admit your candor is . . . refreshing. But best in small doses.’
‘Point taken.’ Joy stretched and started to lean back, only catching herself at the last minute so she didn't tumble off her reversed – and thereby backless – chair. ‘Well, I suppose I should go. It's getting late.’
‘No!’ AnnaLise caught herself in an entirely different way than Joy just had. ‘I mean, we just got here. Maybe I should make coffee.’
‘So I can sober up before walking the four whole blocks to the Inn?’
‘Sure.’ AnnaLise went to fill the coffee pot.
‘You're scared.’ It wasn't a question.
‘I . . . yes, I guess I am.’
‘Nearly a year.’ Was AnnaLise truly afraid of Ben targeting her, too?
In some ways, maybe. His air of authority could be intimidating, especially for someone who had been raised in a fairly loosey-goosey all-female household. And his ability to convince, to use words to change opinions. It was a power she admired to a point, but as a journalist she believed in providing unbiased information and letting people make up their own minds. To bend information – or to lift even accurate facts out of context, then stringing them together in an effort to mislead. Yes, it was definitely something she feared. At least if it was turned against her.
But, was she afraid of Ben physically? She'd have said no, until . . .
AnnaLise remembered a day, not very long ago, when someone took a shot at Dickens Hart and Chuck suggested they might have been aiming for her. The chief had been kidding, but just for a moment, AnnaLise had wondered whether –
‘. . . a good thing, at least,’ Joy was saying.
‘Good?’ AnnaLise repeated. ‘I'm sorry?’
‘Hey, if I'm going to refrain from spewing “crap,” as you so genteelly put it, the least you could do is pay attention to my righteous words of wisdom.’
‘You're right and I apologize,’ AnnaLise said sincerely. ‘You were saying?’
‘I was saying that, amidst all this, you may be missing the most important facet of the latest development. At least for you.’
‘For me?’
‘Of course. Don't you see, AnnaLise? Your three theories are, number one,’ she held up a thumb, ‘your district attorney shot his daughter and Josh. Two,’ the index finger joined the first, ‘the police are right and Josh shot Suzanne and then killed himself, or three,’ middle digit joined in, ‘Romeo and Juliet – Suzanne killed herself and then Josh attempted suicide. Right?’
‘You forgot one. Suzanne could have tried to kill Josh and then committed suicide.’
‘Fine, four,’ Joy admitted, raising her ring finger. ‘But do you know what these multiple theories have in common?’
‘They're all crazy supposition?’
‘Yes, but more than that.’ Joy leaned over across the table to waggle her four digits in front of AnnaLise's nose.
‘They all let you, my friend, off the hook.’ Joy leaned back. ‘At least on the Suzanne/Josh incident, if not the wife/sports car one.’
Twenty-two
Despite Joy's reassurance, AnnaLise didn't sleep that night. In fact, she'd very nearly unlocked her father's gun case to stash a loaded handgun under her bed.
The only reason she hadn't, in fact, was that the whirl in her mind made her afraid she'd be more dangerous to herself or Daisy than she would be to a bad guy.
Whoever that bad guy was.
Ben? She and Joy had certainly constructed a case for that. But in the light of day and after a cup of coffee, it seemed over the top.
‘They're saying Joshua Eames killed that girl,’ Daisy said, putting down the Charlotte Observer as she got up to get the coffee pot.
Charlotte was two hours southeast of Sutherton and the very fact the daily paper of North Carolina's largest city was carrying the story was an indication of widespread interest. And it was only going to get worse. If the deaths of Ben's wife and daughter hadn't gone national by tonight, AnnaLise would shred her reporter's pad.
‘Such a shame,’ Daisy continued, filling AnnaLise's cup and then her own. ‘This will kill his father.’
‘You think Josh did it?’ AnnaLise asked, surprised. ‘I thought you liked him.’
‘I do. Or at least I did until he did what he did.’
AnnaLise took a sip of coffee, despite the fact her stomach was already churning. ‘Innocent until proven guilty, Daisy. They have to convince a jury.’
‘According to this,’ she slid the paper over to AnnaLise's side of the table before sitting back down, ‘it won't be all that hard. They're even looking into the possibility that he had something to do with the death of the girl's mother.’
AnnaLise should have felt ‘off the hook,’ as Joy put it, but having Josh take her place there wasn't much of a relief. ‘Have they gotten a statement from him?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘Article says he's still unconscious.’
‘That would have been from last night, when they went to press,’ AnnaLise said. ‘We could get more up-to-the-minute information online.’
‘You go right ahead and do that,’ Daisy said, finishing her coffee. ‘But I prefer the more direct route.’
‘Calling the hospital?’
‘Heaven's no.’ She rinsed out her cup and put it in the sink. ‘Mama's. If it's not being gossiped about, it's not worth knowing.’
‘Wait,’ AnnaLise said, ‘I'm coming with you.’
***
The place was packed.
‘Move those menu boards there, AnnieLeez,’ Mama said, ‘and you can sit in my booth.’
AnnaLise did as she was told, stacking the dry erase boards on the bench next to her.
Daisy slid in across from her. ‘Told you everyone would be here.’
No exaggeration. Every seat was taken. ‘Shouldn't we help pour coffee or something? I've never seen Mama's like this.’
‘Believe me, you don't want to get in Phyllis' way,’ Daisy said, reaching across to pick up one of the menu boards. ‘Oh, dear, she mis-spelled “casserole” again. I don't know why she doesn't just wait for me to do these boards. And besides, my handwriting's better than hers, too.’
It was an old argument between the two friends, one that AnnaLise knew to ignore. ‘You know, maybe Mama,’ she paused to let the woman in question pass by in response to the jangling of the electric door chime, ‘Maybe she should “lighten” the menu after what her doctor said about her blood pressure.’
‘Cholesterol, not blood pressure, and you're smart to not let her hear you. She is trying.’
‘Really? The menu looks the same to me.’
‘Right here, see?’
‘Between the “Tuna Noodle Casserole” and “Scalloped Cream Corn Topped with Buttered Ritz Crackers”? I can't quite make it out.’
‘Steamed br . . .’ Daisy peered at it, then sighed. ‘She's gone and spelled “broccoli” wrong as well.’
‘Looks like “brassiere,”’ AnnaLise said, squinting.
‘I'd appreciate your changing that, before I get another complaint.’ Chuck was standing next to their table.
AnnaLise slid sideways to make room for him, relieved that her friend seemed to have warmed some since they spoke in his office yesterday. ‘Another? You're kidding right? Who would complain to the police chief about a restaurant's menu?’
‘It was “Peking Duck,”’ Daisy said ruefully. ‘And both words were mangled. Not our finest hour.’
‘Peking . . . ohh.’
‘“Ohh,” is right,’ Chuck said. ‘How much did you spend to send this girl away to college, Daisy?’
AnnaLise laughed – felt like for the first time in days, and maybe it had been. ‘A veritable pittance compared to what U-Mo would have been.’ The reference to the University of the Mountain reminded her of Suzanne Rosewood and the smile faded. ‘Speaking of the university, we heard about Suzanne and Josh.’
‘It's horrible,’ Daisy said, turning over Chuck's coffee mug for him, toward Mama's next round of coffee pouring.
‘I'll tell you straight, Daisy,’ Chuck said. ‘I've never seen anything like what's been happening here the last couple of weeks.’
‘And all since AnnaLise arrived,’ Daisy said.
‘Thanks, mother-of-mine.’ AnnaLise slid the creamer to Chuck, slopping a bit of it.
‘I don't have my coffee yet.’ He didn't look at her.
‘If you put the cream in now, before the coffee is poured you won't have to stir it.’
‘Your daughter's an odd bird.’ This again, directed to Daisy. ‘Does she give this much thought to e
verything?’
‘Regrettably, no,’ AnnaLise answered before Daisy could. ‘Only the things that don't matter.’
Chuck glanced at her. ‘Self-awareness is the first step, they say.’
‘I'm sorry.’ AnnaLise didn't know if she was apologizing for not telling Chuck about her relationship with Ben, or the relationship in general. Chuck seemed angry about both, though AnnaLise would have thought that he, who had feared people's reaction to his own secret, would under –
‘Sorry for what?’ Daisy had looked up from the menu board.
‘Spilt milk,’ Chuck injected quickly, holding AnnaLise's eyes as he took the pitcher and poured about half of it in his cup.
‘Have a little coffee with your cream,’ AnnaLise said. Chuck's doctoring of his caffeine was a long-standing joke. She slid the tall glass sugar dispenser to him as well.
Chuck shook his head, and reached for a small plastic bin. ‘I've switched to Splenda.’
‘Ah, health kick, huh?’
‘I do what I can.’ Chuck tore open three sweeteners and dumped them in, cocking his head toward Daisy, who had gone back to the menu.
AnnaLise shook her head in answer to Chuck's unspoken question. No, her mother did not know about her affair with Ben. Then the journalist clasped her hands, as if in prayer, aiming the knuckles toward him. And please don't tell her.
Chuck nodded as Mama buzzed up to the table. She peered into his cup. ‘Hand to God, you're going to run me right out of business with all that cream.’ She filled the rest of the cup with coffee and was gone.
He looked down at the brown-tinged combination. ‘Now you've gone and done it.’
‘What?’
‘Got me in trouble with Mama.’
‘For using all that cream? You've done that for years.’
‘But she didn't know it. I'd just ask for half a cup of coffee and then add the cream. She thought I was saving her money.’
‘The police chief is afraid of Phyllis “Mama” Balisteri?’
‘Hell, AnnaLise, everybody is afraid of Mama, you included. Now are you going to ask me about the shooting?’
‘If she doesn't, I will,’ Daisy said under her breath, still seemingly entranced by the menu board.
