Classic Revenge

by Mitzi Kelly

  The thought that Sam had killed Susan was ludicrous. So, the question became: Who had? Claire? But that thought was even more ridiculous than thinking Sam had done it. What possible motive would Claire have for killing her employer? There was absolutely none, as far as Trish could tell.

  It was back to square one. As far as she knew, Susan didn't have any enemies, burglary was ruled out, and the two people closest to her, Sam and Claire, had both been out of the house when it had happened. What was she missing here? There had to be a reasonable explanation, and yet, was murder ever reasonable?

  Trish felt the slight burning in the muscles of her thighs, but she didn't pay it any attention. Her thought process was on a roll. She blew the hair out of her eyes as she concentrated. Suddenly, as though a lightbulb had just flashed on in her mind, she knew this had to be tied to Sam, somehow-either intentionally, to make him look guilty, or just to plain hurt him. Either way, Sam was as much a victim of this as Susan had been. She was sure of it.

  Trish stopped pedaling and glanced at her watch. There was just enough time to take a quick shower and lay out some snacks before her cohorts would be over. Feeling both physically and mentally invigorated, she stood. Evidently, she'd stood too fast. Her rubbery legs barely held her up long enough to allow her to sink back onto the seat. Might have overdone it just a bit, she thought with a grimace. It took a few minutes before she felt steady enough to try standing again. Biting her lower lip, she wobbled down the hallway.

  As scheduled, Millie and Edna arrived promptly at six, Millie carrying a plastic dish containing a beautiful chocolate cake. Trish dreaded the thought of how much exercising she would have to do to work it off tomorrow ... or the next day, she hastily amended, as her legs protested at the mere thought of another workout. It never crossed her mind that she could just say no to the rich dessert.

  Armed with crackers and cheese, pickles and olives, coffee and cake, the three women sat at the table and immediately started discussing Sam's plight.

  "Sam is the reason behind this crime," Trish blurted, popping an olive in her mouth.

  Edna's eyes opened wide. "You'll never make me believe Sam killed Susan!" Her hand shook slightly as she put down her coffee cup.

  "Oh, Edna, I didn't mean Sam is guilty, but I do believe this happened because of him."

  Millie mumbled through a huge bite of rich, chocolate cake, "Go on"

  "I'm convinced that someone is out to get Sam. They've successfully framed him for the murder and devastated him at the same time."

  Edna frowned. "What makes you so sure?"

  "Let's look at this objectively." Trish leaned forward in her chair and crossed her arms on the table. "Nothing was stolen, so it wasn't a robbery. Susan never met anybody who didn't like her and vice-versa, so it's not a secret enemy. There's no sign of breaking and entering ..."

  "We got in the house, and we didn't have to break anything," Millie pointed out.

  "That's exactly my point! Whoever did this knew how to get in, or maybe when Claire and Sam left that morning they didn't lock the door. Regardless, someone knew Susan would be alone."

  Millie leaned back in her chair and patted her stomach, her gaze settling on the far wall as she contemplated Trish's theory. Edna was silent as she broke off a square of sliced cheese and placed it on a cracker. While they pondered the idea, Trish got up to refill their coffee, noticing that the muscles in her legs were really starting to tighten up. Making her way very slowly to the coffee pot, she hoped neither of her friends would notice. She'd never hear the end of it.

  Finally, Millie broke the silence. "For argument's sake, let's say you're right. That still doesn't bring us any closer to figuring out who could have done it and why."

  "Well, that's not necessarily so," Edna said slowly. "Sam can help us"

  Trish sat back down and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out as her muscles protested. She gave Edna two thumbs up on her suggestion, afraid her voice would come out in a squeak if she tried to talk right at that moment.

  Millie nodded. "I think your theory is a possibility we need to investigate. So, what do we do now?"

  "We start by going to the police," Trish said firmly. Her legs were settling into bearable pain as long as she stayed absolutely still.

  "Why don't we just tell the attorney what we suspect?" Edna asked.

  Trish finally gave in to temptation and cut a piece of cake. "He hasn't even gotten the information on Sam's arrest yet," she answered. "Our suspicion at this point will mean nothing to him. He'll just file away our theory until he has the whole case against Sam laid out. In the meantime, Sam is living with this horrible charge against him. Maybe the police can do something."

  "In your dreams," Millie said wryly.

  Trish licked a dab of chocolate from her finger. "Do you have a better idea?"

  Millie hesitated and then shrugged. "I guess not. But don't be disappointed if the police don't jump for joy and announce that the case is solved"

  With its white rock exterior and natural, understated landscaping, the outside of the Grand River Police Department looked like any other house in the area, except, of course, for the two official cars parked in the wide circular driveway-one of them must be out on patrol since the city owned only three-and the sign above the front door announcing the official establishment.

  Trish had never been there before. Were they supposed to knock on the door? Millie answered that question when she walked up the front steps and marched right in.

  The interior of the place was in sharp contrast to the homey atmosphere of the exterior. The tile flooring and painted beige walls were done with the normal imaginative flair of an administrator on Valium. On the wall across from the door was a large framed photograph of the chief and three other uniformed officers standing in front of the building. Trish wondered how many speeders had gotten away with their vicious crimes while the entire Grand River Police Department had been otherwise occupied.

  Nobody sat at the desk in the corner of the entryway, but a full cup of coffee suggested that someone would be there soon. Evidently, Millie had decided that she didn't want to wait. She walked right past the desk, down a long hallway with closed doors on either side. There were more pictures, but they were of former officers long retired by now.

  Trish and Edna followed Millie at a safe distance. If she was shot for trespassing, they didn't want to be anywhere near the flying bullets. Millie found the door she was looking for and knocked loudly before opening it. Geez, did the woman have any manners at all? Trish bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing as the expression hell on wheels came to mind.

  A gruff, male voice, a surprised gruff, male voice, had started to respond to the knock, but stopped when Millie walked in. Edna turned slightly toward Trish and rolled her eyes before she followed Millie. Trish just shook her head and walked through the doorway.

  Next time, if they were ever allowed back in the police department again, they would find a way to leave Millie at home.

  Police Chief Henry Espinoza sat behind a large, black metal desk. He rose slightly from his seat when they walked in and then sat back down with a large sigh. Not a good sign, Trish thought.

  "Is there something I can do for you ladies?" he asked in a voice that made it clear he didn't appreciate unannounced visitors. His brown eyes were sharp and he was obviously intelligent, but everybody knew he was as cantankerous as a rattlesnake when somebody invaded its territory.

  "Hi, Henry," Millie said, unperturbed, plopping down across from the desk in the only other chair in the cramped room. "You remember my friends, Edna Radcliff and Trish Anderson, don't you?"

  I hope not, Trish thought to herself as she smiled slightly and leaned against the door frame. She really didn't want him remembering the burning mattress episode.

  Edna, always the perfect lady, smiled brightly and held out her hand. "How are you, Chief?"

  Henry leaned forward to shake her hand, nodding at both her and Trish before leanin
g back in his chair. "Again, what can I do for you? Are you having another problem with your neighbor, Mrs. Morrow?"

  Millie waved her hand. "Call me Millie. And, no thanks to you, I took care of that problem myself"

  Trish groaned silently. Great, make the chief mad and let's see how willing he is to help us.

  Henry cocked his head. "We talked to Mr. Greenburg several times, and he swore he wasn't looking in your windows. He said he was only working in his garden"

  "I know what he told you, but he didn't plant that garden until after his wife died, and isn't it coincidental that it's on the side of his yard facing my bedroom window?"

  "I don't see anything strange about that at all"

  Trish listened to the conversation with interest. Sweet, old Mr. Greenburg was a Peeping Tom? Of course, she knew his wife had died many years before and he lived in the big house alone now, but he had always worked outside in his beloved gardens. She agreed with Henry: it didn't seem strange at all. But why had she never heard this story before?

  "Well, I think it was strange that every time I walked into my bedroom I could see him right outside, and several times I caught him turning suddenly when he realized that I saw him."

  Henry sighed deeply. "So, how did you solve the problem yourself?"

  "I stood my husband's old shotgun in the window and placed a full box of shells on the window sill," Millie said smugly.

  Henry's eyebrows shot up. "You did what?"

  "I refuse to close all my blinds during the day and live in darkness because a dirty old man is getting his kicks by watching me. So I sent him a message that he evidently understood. That particular garden bed is now full of cactus that needs very little care"

  "The gun wasn't loaded, was it?" The chief's voice was stern, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

  Millie ignored the question and plunged into the reason they were there. "Chief Espinoza, we're here to help you"

  "You all want to help me? With what?"

  "You recently arrested a friend of ours, Sam Wiley, and we need to talk to you about it," Edna said with a gentle smile.

  Thank you, Edna, Trish thought to herself. It was much too dangerous to let Millie keep babbling on.

  The twinkle disappeared from the chief's eyes. "Ladies, that's really none of your business."

  Millie jumped up angrily. "That's where you're wrong, Chief Espinoza! But I can see we're not going to get any help from you. Let's get out of here, girls."

  Edna grabbed Millie's arm to keep her from storming out of the office. "Chief Espinoza," she said calmly, ..we don't want to interfere, but I think we have special insight as to what could have happened. We would really appreciate it if you would just hear us out."

  Henry paused. All he needed was a group of old ladies telling him how to do his job. But Sam Wiley was their friend-a friend they were willing to defend to him. Maybe if he just patronized the women and listened to their story, he could prevent his name from being dragged through the mud.

  His glance settled on Millie Morrow. Scratch that, he thought with resignation. His name was mud. "You've got three minutes," he said, settling back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

  With a huff, Millie sat back down. "Okay, Trish, tell him what we think."

  Trish coughed to hide her sudden discomfort as the chief's gaze fell on her. Her theory had sounded so commonsense, so cut-and-dried last night in the protection of her home, but now she had probably one shot to convince this hard-nosed lawman that there was some merit to their belief that Sam had been set up.

  Pulling away from the door frame, she moved closer to the desk, her arms imitating his as she crossed them over her chest. She took a deep breath. "Chief Espinoza," she began, hoping a show of respect for his position would change the bored expression on his face, "we believe firmly that Sam Wiley was either set up to make it look like he killed his wife, or that someone was out to just plain destroy him."

  "Oh, you do, do you?"

  Trish cleared her throat. "Yes, we do. There could be a convincing argument made against any evidence you think you have ..."

  "You don't even know what evidence I have."

  "That's true, we don't," Trish continued, not appreciating being interrupted one bit, "but I'm sure you've wondered why there wasn't a broken window or a jimmied door, and-"

  Henry gave a small laugh, causing Trish to grit her teeth. There he went again. Was it possible to get out a full sentence around this man?

  "Outside of there having been no forced entry," Henry said pointedly, pinning Trish with an impatient look, "there is also the fact that, according to his buddies, Sam was late for his golf game that morning-first time ever. He claimed he had car trouble. Add to that the fact that the radio found in the bathtub had never been seen before by either Claire or, supposedly, Sam. What did the killer do, carry around an electric radio just in case Susan Wiley happened to be taking a bath? And, of course, there is the usual motive for murder-money. He was the beneficiary of her life insurance policy."

  "But that's not unusual between married couples, Chief," Edna pointed out. "Joe and I are the beneficiaries of each other's life insurance policy."

  "I agree that it's not unusual. But neither one of you has been murdered. Maybe Sam had the hots for his housekeeper and wanted his wife out of the way."

  "That's a vulgar thought, Henry, even for you," Millie snapped.

  Trish opened her mouth and then closed it. Sam had car trouble that fateful morning too? Did Chief Espinoza know that Claire had had car trouble that same morning? He probably didn't, or he would have mentioned it ... gleefully. She opened her mouth to tell him what they had learned when a thought stopped her: How difficult would it have been for Sam to rig Claire's car for trouble that morning? It would have guaranteed that Claire would be away from the house longer than usual. If Sam had, indeed, planned the murder of his wife, which Trish didn't believe for one minute, then the fact that both he and Claire had had car trouble on the same morning could very possibly be construed as premeditation in the eyes of the police.

  Trish closed her mouth. She decided it would be better not to mention Claire's car trouble. This information would be better analyzed by Sam's attorney, but she had to get Edna and Millie out of there before they innocently mentioned the strange coincidence. "Well, it seems as if your mind is made up, Chief," she said in a rush. "I still feel like you're barking up the wrong tree, and I believe Sam's attorney will prove it."

  Henry ran his hand through his gray-streaked dark hair and sighed, pushing himself up from his chair to signal that the meeting was over. "Believe it or not, I hope you're right. I've always liked Sam, but I can't ignore the evidence. Unless something else is discovered that could prove his innocence, then I'm afraid we've got the right guy"

  Trish's eyes narrowed as she looked at Henry. He sounded sincere enough, but he had not let them present their suspicions at all. He must truly believe Sam was guilty and just be paying them lip service.

  Millie evidently felt the same way. "Henry, you're just afraid that we may be right." Abruptly, she got up from the chair and glared at him. "You just remember, when someone besides Sam Wiley is arrested and found guilty for Susan's murder, it should be our collar, not yours!"

  Trish reached over and grabbed Millie by the arm, propelling her out the door with Edna following. Millie really needed to stop watching so many of those cop shows she loved so much. Their collar ...?

  Once they were in her car, Trish reached for her seatbelt and yanked it across her lap. "Well, that was a waste of time."

  "Not necessarily," Millie said with an impish smile. "We now know what the evidence is against Sam, and it's nothing. Their case hinges on car trouble? Give me a break."

  Slowly, Trish smiled. Millie was right.

  "Does either one of you remember Sam mentioning that he had car trouble that morning?" Edna asked from the backseat.

  "No, I don't," Millie sighed. "That doesn't look good, does it?
"

  "Not really," Trish agreed, her voice somber. "I'm sure there's a good explanation, but what a strange coincidence that both Claire and Sam had car trouble on the same morning"

  "Well, let's go ask him about it," Millie said.

  After a moment, Trish nodded. "We probably should. It could be an important piece of the puzzle, but where it fits, I don't have a clue."

  Edna leaned forward. "If we're going to Shelley's, we need to stop and pick up something to take over there. We can't go empty-handed."

  "Okay, Ms. Manners," Millie said sarcastically, "we certainly can't let the social graces fall by the wayside just because of something as silly as a murder."

  Trish looked in her rearview mirror. Edna didn't say anything, but her lips were set in a tight line as she looked through the side window. Uh-oh, Millie might have gone too far with her teasing that time.

  Trish nudged Millie and tilted her head back slightly toward Edna. Millie's eyebrows rose in question, but when Trish motioned again with her head, Millie turned around to see what was wrong. "Cat got your tongue, Edna?"

  Terrific, Trish thought as she rolled her eyes. That's one way to smooth over hurt feelings.

  Edna ignored Millie, keeping her gaze locked on the passing scenery. Millie grinned and cocked her head. "Are you upset with me?"

  Edna still didn't reply. Trish racked her brain for something to say that would ease the tension, but before she could come up with anything, Millie unlocked her seatbelt and pushed herself up on her knees.

  "What are you doing?" Trish demanded. "Sit back down before I get a ticket!"

  "Stop worrying. I'll just be a minute." Millie grunted as she turned herself around and started to scramble over the seat. Her rear end hit Trish in the arm, causing her to jerk the steering wheel slightly.