Not Guilty Part 34

For a minute, as she wheeled the cart out the automatic doors of the store, Keely wondered if Dan would call when he found out what had happened. When Detective Stratton had asked her to account for her whereabouts at the time of Maureen's death, she had offered Dan's visit to her house, her call to Betsy, and her conversation with the security guard at the courthouse as alibis. When Detective Stratton called Dan to check, Keely knew that Dan would confirm her story. Still,Keely felt her face flame at the thought that her rudeness might have caused both Dan and Nicole to withdraw their offer of friendship. She put her groceries in the trunk and tossed the paper, facedown, on the seat beside her.

She drove home, wondering why it mattered whether Dan would call. She and the kids didn't need new friends-they were going to move away, anyway. As if to reaffirm this conviction, Keely saw, on reaching her driveway, the red Ford Taurus of her Realtor, Nan Ranstead, parked there. For a minute, her heart sank. She just wanted to go into her house and hide from the world. At that moment, she didn't care whether there was a buyer for her house or not. Keely pulled her SUV in behind Nan's car. She was starting to get out when she saw Nan open the front door of the house and come hurrying down the driveway toward her.

"Mrs. Weaver," she said, "I tried to call you. We were looking at a place a few streets away, and these nice people saw your sign."

"You're supposed to give me a little warning. Don't you have my cell phone number?" Keely asked.

"I know. I didn't have it with me," Nan confided. "Listen, do you think you could keep yourself occupied for a little while so I could have time to show them the house? They really seem to like it."

"I didn't even have a chance to pick up," Keely protested.

"It looks fine," said Nan. "All I need is about half an hour."

"I guess so," said Keely hesitantly. Part of her wanted to object, to say, "Not today," but Keely realized that the Realtor was only doing her job, and there was no point in making it more difficult for her.

"This could be the one," Nan said, crossing her fingers hopefully.

"All right," Keely agreed glumly. She got back into the front seat of her SUV, longing for the privacy, the shelter of her house.Oh Lord,she thought.Now what do I do?She hesitated, then backed out of her driveway and then turned up the street, going as far as the Warners' drive. She pulled in and looked curiously at the house. All the windows were closed and the curtains shut. A newspaper, still in its plastic wrapper, sat on the doormat, and mail stuck out of the mailbox. There was no car in the driveway. It looked as if the Warners had departedsuddenly, and Keely found that strangely troubling.Where could they have gone?she wondered.And why should I care?

For Dylan's sake,she told herself. In a few hours, it would be time to get Dylan, and find out how his school day went. She remembered thinking this morning that Nicole would be there to ease his reentry. But apparently Nicole was not around. Dylan was on his own today. They all were.He'll do fine,Keely told herself, and wished she could believe it. Her nerves were jangled at the thought of him in a hostile environment. Kids could be so cruel. She had a feeling the time would crawl until she could go get him and bring him home.

She drove slowly back by her house, wishing she could get back inside. She stopped in front, but Nan Ranstead's car was still in the driveway, so obviously the people were still examining her house.Maybe Abby and I could just sit here while we wait,Keely thought. But as she sat there looking wistfully at her property, she heard dogs begin to bark.

Evelyn Connelly was closing her front door behind her, holding her dogs on their leashes as they strained angrily toward the curb where Keely sat. Startled from a sleepy trance by the barking, Abby began to cry. Evelyn, dressed in her sweatsuit and pearls, turned and met Keely's gaze with a glare, her narrow eyes sharp with the hostility that was in her puffy face.

Keely felt her face flush as she quickly looked away from her neighbor's baleful gaze. Without thinking about where she was going next, Keely pulled the Bronco away from the curb. She hated to feel intimidated by her neighbor.I'm not intimidated,she told herself.I just don't need a scene today. I need some peace.

As she turned out onto Cedarmill Boulevard, she glanced at her dashboard and realized how right Dylan had been. The gas gauge was almost onE. All right,she thought,I'll get some gas. I need to do it. I might as well do it now. That'll take up a little time.

Keely hunted up a gas station and pulled in beside the pump. She rolled down her window and turned off the ignition. Then she turned and handed a children's book from the floor beside her back to her fretful baby. Abby, strapped into her car seat in the back, took the book from her mother's outstretched hand and then began to chortlecheerfully as she pressed the b.u.t.tons on a talking book and cows mooed in response.

No one came immediately to service her vehicle, but Keely was in no hurry. While she waited for someone to come to pump the gas, she picked up the paper on the seat beside her. She grimaced again at the sight of the grotesque photograph of Maureen, then she began to read the accompanying story.

In the short time he'd had, the reporter had been thorough. He began with a description of some of the difficult cases Maureen had prosecuted. He referred to the tragic death of Maureen's twin brother, Sean, twenty years earlier on mischief night. He detailed Maureen's subsequent mental breakdown, her treatment at Blenheim, her recovery, and her decision, as a result of that experience, to become a prosecutor. The article mentioned that she was well known for her zeal in prosecuting teenage offenders and quoted her as saying once, "It was a teenager who killed my brother-I'm sure of that. No one was ever arrested for the crime, but those were the days when teenage delinquents were treated as pranksters, before people realized how violent and out of control teenage boys can be. Now, after Columbine, we've learned our lesson. I may never be able to punish Sean's killer, but I will never go easy on a criminal-I don't care how young he is."

Keely looked up, staring out the windshield. She hadn't known much about the mysterious death of Maureen's twin. It appeared to explain Maureen's persecution of Dylan, she thought.

She continued to read, her scalp p.r.i.c.kling at the account of Maureen's engagement and subsequent heartbreak at Mark's hands when he chose to marry Keely. In what the article deemed an ironic twist, it detailed her own discovery of Maureen's body. The reporter had left out the part about Maureen stalking Mark. The article hardly needed to include it. As it was, the story painted an unflattering portrait of Maureen as a lonely, unstable woman, her role as a determined prosecutor possibly a disguise for a troubled spirit. In a way, it was kind of comforting to Keely. It was further confirmation that she and Dylan had been victims of this woman's excessive, unwarranted zeal.

"Can I help you?" The voice of the gas station attendant interruptedher thoughts, and Keely looked up to tell the guy she wanted a full tank of regular. Her heart jolted in surprise at the sight of the acne-scarred face, the skunklike hairdo, and the hooded eyes. He stared back at Keely as if he were trying to place her face. Keely beat him to it.

"You," she said accusingly.

Wade Rovere's snakelike eyes widened as he recognized his customer.

39.

Phil, I'm glad you could make it. Come on in." Phil Stratton had received an urgent call from the local police department when he arrived at his office in the courthouse. Phil relied heavily on the work of the local police, and most often it was he who was calling Captain Ferris, requesting results from the local investigations. This time the situation was reversed. Phil felt pretty sure that this was connected to Maureen Chase's suicide. All the law-enforcement professionals in the county were still reeling from the shocking news.

Phil entered the police captain's office and was told, right away, to close the door behind him. "What's up, Dave?" Phil asked.

"Have a seat," said Dave Ferris. He was nearly sixty, but still trim, dressed in a tie and neatly pressed white dress shirt, with a full head of grizzled brown hair and a mustache. The only clue to his age was the trifocals that caused his eyes to look large and liquid.

Phil sat down in front of the captain's desk.

Dave pursed his lips and then picked up a doc.u.ment and handed it across to Phil.

"I just got these reports from the lab," he said. "Preliminary results of Maureen Chase's autopsy."

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" said Phil, shaking his head.

"I've gone over all the reports this morning. She was apparently fixated on this attorney who died, Mark Weaver?"

"Oh, yeah," said Phil, leaning back in his chair, prepared to give the police captain a few of his insights into the situation. "I suspected there was a problem but-"

Dave interrupted him. "And this Weaver guy's wife was the one who found her?"

Phil frowned. "Yeah. They had kind of an . . . acrimonious relationship, you might say."

"Phil, how closely did you question the Weaver woman?"

"I questioned her. I mean, I treated it just as you would a homicide. I asked her why she was there, determined her whereabouts earlier in the evening."

"She has an alibi," Dave said.

Phil shifted around in his chair. "Well, yeah. I mean, actually a pretty . . . airtight alibi. We have people who can account for her comings and goings."

"Phil, there're going to be some additional tests blood tests made on the body. Toxicology tests."

Phil looked at Dave in surprise. "What for?"

"Apparently, during the autopsy, the M.E. found a puncture wound."

"A stab wound? There was no blood."

"No. Like a hypodermic needle. She may have been drugged."

"Drugged?" Phil frowned and dismissed the possibility with a wave of his hand. "Oh, Dave-she probably took something. There were tranquilizers and Prozac and . . . a bunch of stuff in her medicine cabinet. Maybe she injected herself with something-you know, to steady her nerves-before she went ahead with it."

"I'm afraid not," said Dave. "She didn't inject herself."

"What do you mean? Why not?"

"Look at the report. The puncture wound was in her neck."

Phil felt as if his collar were tightening. "Well . . . maybe she . . ."

"The back of her neck," said Dave.

"Murder?" Phil breathed.

Dave stared back at him.

"s.h.i.t," said Phil.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"Keely cried. "I was looking for you."

Wade Rovere backed away from the car window. "Hey," he said.

"Back off, lady. I don't want any more trouble."

"Well, it's a little late now," Keely snapped.

"Do you want gas or don't you?"

Keely opened her door and stepped out of the car, still holding the newspaper. "Fill it with regular," she said.

Wade lifted the flap over the gas cap and jammed in the pump nozzle. "Look-don't bust my chops. I got a new job here. This is my first day."

"Did you see this?" Keely asked, waving the newspaper. "Do you know anything about this?"

Wade wiped his hands on his gray coveralls. "I'm busy, lady. I can't stand around here talking to you. I got other customers." He gestured toward a late-model Volvo that had pulled up to the pump behind Keely.

"Let somebody else do it."

"I'd better get it," said Wade.

"Not so fast. I want my windshield cleaned," she said.

Wade glared at her.

Keely wasn't about to be intimidated by him this time. Dylan was safe. This time she didn't need Wade Rovere's help. "It says full service," Keely said, pointing to the sign above the pump. "Shall I tell the boss you refused to clean my windshield?"

Wade scowled but obediently retrieved the squeegee from a nearby bucket as another jumpsuit-clad attendant came out of the island kiosk to wait on the Volvo's driver. Wade leaned across the hood of the car and began to soap and sc.r.a.pe the windshield.

"Where have you been? What happened to you?" Keely demanded."I've been looking for you."

"I left town for a few days," Wade muttered.

"Without telling anyone?" Keely asked. "You were in an awful hurry."

Wade finished the left side of the windshield and went around to the right. "That's my business," he said.

"You know," said Keely, "I almost paid you. I was getting ready to give you the money. But of course now I already know what the information was that you were selling. It was her, wasn't it? Maureen Chase," she said, brandishing the newspaper in front of him. "Did you blackmail her? Is that what happened?"

Wade stepped back from the car. "It's done," he said.

"It's streaky," said Keely defiantly. "Do it again."

Wade shook his head and snorted. "That's what you think. She wasn't afraid of me," he said. "Look, I don't want to be involved with any of this."

Keely stared at him, realizing that he had just confirmed her suspicions. "So it was Maureen Chase that you saw at my house."

"I saw her, yeah."

For a moment, Keely felt almost lightheaded with relief. The mystery-visitor had a face, a name-and even an insane reason for causing the accident. Her search was over. "What happened?" Keely demanded. "How did you know it was her?"

Wade sighed. "She and I have b.u.t.ted heads a few times. She was the one who put me away. Madam Prosecutor."

"So, what happened that night? You saw her at my house . . ." Keely prompted.

"I walked up to the house with the pizza. The front door was open, just the screen door was shut. I looked through the screen door, and there they were."

Keely looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

It was Wade's turn to look at her suspiciously. "I thought you said you knew," he said petulantly.

"What do you mean 'there they were'?"

"He was sticking it to her," Wade said gleefully. "Standing up. Right there in the entrance hallway--foyer . . . whatever you call it."

Keely stared at him.

"I'll never forget the look on her face when she saw me watching them through the door. She screamed, and your old man got all bent out of shape. Said they never ordered a pizza and to get the h.e.l.l out of there. And all the time he's trying to zip it up." Wade chuckled, remembering.

"Anyway, when you wouldn't pay, I went to see her-Miss Chase. She remembered seeing me there, all right. But when I asked for the money, she just laughed in my face. She told me to shut up and get out of town or I'd end up back in jail. And she wasn't kidding, either. She could put me there. Who was going to listen to me over her?

"So I blew everything off for a few days. I was trying to figure out my next move when I heard about this on the television." He poked an oil-stained finger at the newspaper. "I figured it was safe to come back now." He glanced at the picture on the front page and shook his head.

"She's not gonna get anybody, anymore."

"What do you mean, 'he was sticking it to her'?" Keely demanded.

"Hey, how old are you? You need me to draw a picture?" Wade sneered.

"Yes," said Keely. "I don't believe you."

"I don't care," said Wade. "I saw them. When she saw me standing there, watchin' them, she started yellin', and they jumped apart like I'd stuck 'em with an electric cattle prod."

"You liar," Keely said. "You'll say anything."