Stump Speech Murder
Page 16
“And it is,” he agreed.
“I’ll just have to contact Ginger and see if we can get more b-roll of Stacy.”
“With Mrs. Grant working for the prosecutor’s office, my dear, the television station is liable to have quite a bit of footage of her speaking–to juries, to the press–who knows what.”
“I know,” said Pamela, with a rising sense of depression. “This could prove to be a massively time-consuming project.”
“But, looking on the bright side,” he noted, “it’s labor intensive and something the entire team can help with. Once we have the audio recordings and some recorders, we can all sit over at headquarters with headphones and each listen to different recordings until we come up with Stacy saying these exact four phrases.”
“Do you think Martin will go for that?” she asked.
“Of course, my dear. Martin is a dear friend. He’ll do anything to help James.”
“Then so can we,” she confirmed, holding out her hand which Willard took. The two shook grimly.
What if we can’t find these phrases?” he asked. “I mean, what if Stacy Grant never used any of these phrases in her courtroom speeches–or at least those speeches that were recorded for posterity?”
“Oh, I think we’ll find them,” said Pamela confidently. “I think we’ll find them, because I think Stacy Grant’s murderer found them.”
“Oh,” replied Willard, his entire body responding with a quiver to her words.
Joan appeared at Willard’s door, breathless.
“Pamela, come quickly! Arliss’s water just broke!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The two professors ran back to Pamela’s office, the sound of their heels clicking rapidly on the linoleum floor. Once inside her office, Pamela immediately saw the petrified Arliss standing beside her desk chair, clutching her belly, a puddle of something wet beneath her feet.
“It just happened, Pam,” she moaned. “I’m sorry!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Arliss!” said Pamela, quickly moving to her friend. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Sit down.” She forced Arliss back into the desk chair. “Did you call your OB?”
“No!” replied the pregnant woman, whining. “I didn’t even think about him!”
“Why should she?” added Joan, on the other side of the chair. “After all, he’s a man! What good are they?”
“Call him,” ordered Pamela to Arliss, lifting the receiver from her desk phone and handing it to Arliss. Arliss complied and a brief conversation between Arliss and what appeared to be her OB’s secretary on the other end, indicated that Arliss would soon be on her way to the hospital.
“I’m supposed to go straight to the hospital. I can’t even go home to get my bag,” cried Arliss as she hung up with her doctor’s office. “I have all my things ready to go at home!” she wailed.
“Where’s Bob?” asked Pamela, gathering her purse and keys.
“In class,” said Arliss.
“We should wait for him to get out of class,” said Joan to Pamela.
“No time,” replied Pamela, now helping Arliss to stand up.
“I’ll go get him,” said Joan and turned to the door.
“Stop, Joan!” ordered Pamela. “Forget Bob for now! You help me get Arliss in my car and to the hospital.”
She escorted Arliss, who was very wobbly now, out her office door and down the hallway. Willard was standing in his doorway watching them depart.
“Good luck, Arliss!” he called to the mother-to-be. “I’ll call Martin about those recordings, Pamela!”
“Thanks, Willard,” Pamela yelled back at him as she and Joan helped Arliss through the stairwell doors and down the stairs to the main floor. Once there, they carefully guided her out the side entrance to Blake Hall and into the parking lot. Luckily, Pamela had parked her Civic near the side entrance. First, because she had a two-door, she had Joan climb into the back seat–with much complaining and griping from Joan. Then, she helped Arliss into the front passenger seat and carefully buckled her in.
“Joan, while I’m driving, you call Jane Marie and have her have Bob meet us at the hospital. Oh, which hospital, Arliss?”
“Reardon General,” replied Arliss with a death grip on her stomach. “The emergency room entrance they said.”
“Did you get that, Joan?” asked Pamela to her friend in the back seat.
“I got it. Good lord, Pamela,” sneered Joan, “look at the mess in your back seat. Do you ever clean back here?”
“Would you rather stay here, Joan?” snipped Pamela, a quick turn of her head.
“No, no! Just get going!” Pamela pulled out of the parking lot and sped as quickly as the posted limit would allow. Luckily, Reardon General was a main hospital and near campus.
“Call Jane Marie, Joan,” yelled Pamela. Joan pulled out her cell phone from a side compartment of her purse and tapped in several numbers. She was soon embroiled in conversation with Jane Marie who, Pamela gathered, from just hearing Joan’s end of the conversation, would see to it that Bob Goodman would get to the hospital the minute he was out of his class.
“Oh, no!” yelled Arliss, a look of terror on her face, grabbing Pamela’s shoulder, almost causing Pamela to ram into a streetlight on the roadside. She squeezed it like she was kneading bread.
“What?” asked Pamela cringing but still solicitously to her passenger.
“A cramp!” replied Arliss.
“Right!” noted Pamela to Arliss, “it’s called labor. Hang in there, sweetie.”
“It hurts!” moaned Arliss.
“That’s the result of hanky-panky, Missy . . . .” said Joan, leaning over and speaking into Arliss’s ear.
“Joan!” cried Pamela. “Enough!” Joan leaned back into the car seat.
It was a short drive and they arrived in minutes even though it seemed like hours. Pamela pulled into the emergency entrance and stopped. She extracted Arliss from the front seat. Then, Joan walked Arliss into the hospital while Pamela quickly found a parking space and then joined them. As she entered the hospital, she could see a nurse leading Joan and Arliss, now seated in a wheel chair, through a set of double doors. She quickly caught up to them.
“Mrs. Goodman,” the nurse was saying. “Doctor Doolittle called to tell us that you were on the way. We’re all ready for you.” She smiled down at Arliss, who chose that moment to have another contraction.
“Dr. Doolittle?” asked Joan to Pamela as they walked behind. “A great name for an OB, right?”
“And for two animal lovers. Probably means he’s very hands-off,” offered Pamela with a grin.
“So he won’t give her any drugs?” asked Joan.
“Who knows,” replied Pamela.
“Maybe he won’t even show up,” suggested Joan.
“Whatever he does,” noted Pamela, “he’s sure to send a huge bill.” They laughed together with a mixture of joy, excitement, and trepidation.
The nurse led the trio through a maze of windowless hallways, pushing Arliss in the wheelchair while Joan and Pamela followed behind. Eventually, after a long trip on an elevator, they arrived at what was apparently the maternity ward. The nurse rolled the wheelchair into an empty patient room.
“Ladies,” she said to Joan and Pamela, “you’ll have to wait outside for a while. But you’ll be able to come back in as soon as your friend is settled.”
“Wonderful,” said Pamela.
“Great,” added Joan.
“Has the husband been informed?” asked the nurse.
“Yes,” replied Pamela. “He teaches at Grace and he’s in the middle of class. We left a message for him to get here as soon as he’s done with class.”
“Good,” said the nurse and she hurried into Arliss’s room, shutting the door as she entered.
“Maybe while we’re waiting, you’ll want to go down and clean out your car,” suggested Joan.
“Joan!” cried Pamela, aghast. “My back seat isn’t that dirty!”
“Don’t worry about it,” replied Pamela. “There are worse things. We’re going to stay here and support Arliss. My car upholstery is the least of my worries.”
With that, the sound of Arliss wailing in pain broke the relative quiet of the hallway.
“Are you sure?” asked Joan with a sly glare.
After a few minutes, the nurse who had guided them to the maternity ward, re-entered from Arliss’s room and motioned them to come in. The two women cautiously stepped forward and walked into the small patient room, outfitted with monitors and devices for measuring the progress of labor and the well-being of the unborn baby. Arliss was now lying in the only bed in the room, wearing one of those blue and white patterned hospital gowns that never flattered anyone. She looked miserable and forlorn. Various wires attached her stomach to the monitoring equipment.
“Is Bob here yet?” Arliss asked.
“No,” said Pamela, “but he’ll be here soon. Jane Marie is getting him right after his class.”
“She’ll see to it he gets here fast, Arliss,” replied Joan, encouragingly. “Don’t worry.”
Arliss smiled broadly, but her eyes belied her true feelings. Joan and Pamela beamed back, but Arliss’s face slowly turned from pleasant beaming to excruciating grimace as another contraction racked her body. The attending nurse, rushed over to the monitor and began reading the printouts.
“Here comes a big one,” observed the nurse as she looked at the paper, not at Arliss. “Now, just breathe slowly. Don’t hold your breath,” she commanded gently. Arliss looked like she was attempting to follow the spoken directions but as the contraction peaked, she clenched her teeth and appeared to be holding her breath–totally against directions. When the contraction subsided, she fell back on the bed, gulping for breath.
“You need to breathe during the contractions,” noted the nurse as she re-engaged the electrical nodes that had apparently been pulled off during Arliss’s latest contraction. “My, these are strong ones. You’re moving right along quickly, Mrs. Goodman. The doctor will be in shortly to see how far you’re dilated.”
“Where’s Bob?” repeated Arliss, breathless and flushed, sweat forming on her forehead.
“You ladies can help to keep her calm, until the husband arrives,” suggested the nurse as she exited the room.
Pamela and Joan moved closer to the bed–one on either side. The medical paraphernalia that surrounded their friend made her look like the victim of some alien abduction. With her protruding belly, Pamela couldn’t help but imagine Arliss as lying inside a spaceship waiting the delivery of some combination alien-earthling child. Of course, that daydream wasn’t far off the mark, given Arliss’s passion for animals. Pamela wondered if Arliss would be able to provide as much mother’s love to her own child as she did to her animal children.
“Does it hurt?” asked Joan inexplicitly.
“Not now,” replied Arliss weakly.
“When it starts up again,” suggested Joan, “you can squeeze our hands.” She took Arliss’s right hand and Pamela took her left. Arliss looked up at her friends and gave a tiny smile. She squeezed each hand warmly. Pamela looked at Joan and thought that for all of her bravado and wise-ass comments, when the chips were down, Joan was there. She was glad that she and Joan could be here for Arliss–particularly when Bob couldn’t be–because the three of them had been friends for years, and Joan and Arliss had supported her and her crime-detecting efforts over the years–even when they thought she was crazy–which was more often than not. They were–all three of them–a team, and when one needed advice or assistance, the other two came to the rescue. Needless to say, maybe because she was the youngest and had the most to learn, Arliss was often the most in need. Pamela remembered how she and Joan had assisted Arliss in her volatile romance with Bob Goodman, their wedding that almost never happened, and now the birth of their first child. She almost thought of Arliss as her sister, which was hard to do because Pamela was an only child and her long-deceased parents had produced only her. Even so, Arliss and Joan were both very dear to her, and now as she held her honorary sister’s hand along with her other honorary sister Joan, as they awaited the birth of what felt like the birth of a niece or nephew, she looked down at Arliss’s face and noted the stream of tears dripping from her eyes. Maybe they were tears of pain, but maybe they were tears of joy. Pamela reached up to her face with her free hand and felt the tears in her own eyes. These were tears of joy. No doubt about it.
“Arliss! Honey!” called out Bob Goodman, rushing into the room, “I came as soon as I could!” He ran to the bed and embraced his wife. Pamela and Joan edged back and out of the room, allowing the couple to be alone.
“It’s good he arrived in time,” said Joan. Pamela looked at her friend, who turned her head away. Joan couldn’t fool her. She saw the tears in Joan’s eyes too.
Chapter Twenty-Six
They had sat in the maternity ward waiting room for hours. Pamela could have sworn when they brought Arliss in that little Goodwin would be popping out in no time at all. She was mistaken. As the hours rolled by, Joan and Pamela utilized the time to mull over the James Grant murder case. Pamela revealed to Joan what she and Willard suspected about the 911 recording. As it got to be suppertime, Pamela gathered her courage and phoned her husband.
“Rocky, honey,” she began, “I’m probably not going to make it home for dinner tonight.” She readied herself for his negative response.
“You’re not down at that jail again, are you?” he queried. “Another political strategy meeting?”
“No, dear,” she assured her mate. “I’m at the hospital . . . .”
“Hospital!” he cried, “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Rocky,” she said, chuckling, “nothing’s wrong with me, dear. Arliss is in labor. Joan and I brought her down here. Bob is here now and Joan and I are waiting.”
“Do you know how much longer it will be?” he asked, assuaged, his voice expressing his relief.
“No,” she sighed. “I really thought she’d have it by now! I mean her water broke and that’s usually a sign that things will go fast. But it’s her first so they’re usually slower. I just don’t know, but Joan and I are prepared to stay however long it takes, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind, but maybe I should come down there. I don’t like the idea of you driving home after dark, considering the problems you’ve been having lately.” If he only knew, thought Pamela.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured Rocky. “I’ll come right home as soon as the baby is born. I’ll call you when I leave the hospital. It’s Reardon General and I just have to drive straight down Jackson–no side streets.”
“Okay,” he agreed, “but call when you leave.”
Okay, bye.” She hung up. Joan gave her one of her feminist leers that she liked to do whenever she thought Pamela was acting too “wifey” as she called it.
“So, is he rushing right down here to save you?” she sneered.
“No,” said Pamela with a glare at her friend, “he trusts me.”
“A likely story,” huffed Joan. “That man would have you dipped in bronze and set you on the mantelpiece if he had his way.”
“I may have forgotten to mention to you that the police were at our door in the middle of the night a few days back because there was some unmarked vehicle staking out our house.”
“Oh, really?” she replied.
“Yes,” said Pamela, “Shoop is having me followed now ever since I got that threatening phone call.”
“They still don’t know who it was who called?”
“They don’t,” reported Pamela, “but I think I do.”
“Who?” asked Joan, smiling and rubbing her hands together like some Hollywood gossip hound.
“Victor Baines.”
“The same guy wh
o roughed you up after the meeting?” asked Joan, skeptically.
“Yeah,” said Pamela. “I haven’t told Rocky about that either, so if he asks, don’t let on.”
“My lips are sealed,” Joan replied, giving her the fake key turning at the mouth gesture. “You know, that Baines guy didn’t exactly seem like the type to threaten anyone. He’s too–uh, fat.”
“Right, and according to Mrs. Brewster, he’s still recovering from by-pass surgery.”
“How did you talk to her?” asked Joan.
“She came to see me after class.”
“The mayor’s wife? Why?”
“She wanted to plead with me to stay out of the investigation,” said Pamela with a chuckle.
“Wow!” whispered Joan, the hospital setting muting what would otherwise be a much larger reaction from her friend. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“I thought it did,” said Pamela, “but after talking to the woman, I get the distinct impression that she’s clueless about the inner workings of her husband’s campaign. She just heard I was somehow involved with James’s investigation and she’d heard about my involvement with previous cases, and so she just assumed I might damage her husband’s campaign.”
“It could all be an act,” suggested Joan. “Many very smart people are capable of playing dumb when it suits their purposes.”
“Are you speaking of anyone in particular?” asked Pamela. Her friend’s knowing expression mystified her.
“No, just something Conrad said,” said Joan with a smile.
“Conrad?” exclaimed Pamela. “You mean, Martin’s sleazy investigator? That Gates guy?”
“What do you mean ‘sleazy’?” questioned Joan, with a huff, her jaw decidedly dropped.
“Oh, come on, Joan,” sneered Pamela, “the man had a ton of Vitalis in his hair and a suit jacket at least two sizes two small.”
“Surface features,” said Joan, “totally on the surface. The man is a fascinating mélange of amazing experiences. You wouldn’t believe the places he’s been and some of the things he’s done. I probably couldn’t tell you, because of your sensitive nature . . . .”