Moving Can Be Murder (14 page)

“Where are you and the dogs off to?” he
asked, neatly changing the subject.

“No where fun,” I replied. “I have to go to
police headquarters and sign a statement, remember? That obnoxious
Paul Wheeler has already called to remind me to get over there
pronto. Oh, and wait till I tell you what happened with Sara
Miller.”

Rats. Don’t tell him about that now, Carol.
Are you crazy?

Luckily, by that time Jim had turned away so
I was talking to his back. “Wait a few minutes and I’ll go with
you,” he said. “I don’t want you facing the police alone.

“It’s not like we have any other place to go
this morning, like to the lawyer’s office to close on the
house.”

I’d driven by the Fairport Police Station
hundreds of times over the years. Slowly, of course. Didn’t want my
lead foot to get me arrested for speeding.

The building looked like it had been
designed by someone with no architectural knowledge except what he
got playing with Tinker Toys as a child. The money it cost the town
to build our police station was a sticking point in the craw of
many a resident, including My Beloved -- a fiscal conservative to
the core.

“This monstrosity is a perfect example of
why our taxes are so high,” groused Jim.

I ignored him. The butterflies in my stomach
were increasing and multiplying as we got closer to the front door
of the station. The only experience I’d had with interrogation were
from My Beloved. “Where did you get that …? How much did you pay
for it? Did you really need it?” Etc. etc. ad nauseum. Any wife
worth her wedding ring knows that drill. I figured that, with all
those years of practice dodging those questions, a police
interrogation would be a piece of cake.

I willed myself to relax. Hah!

Go in and get it over with, I told myself.
You have nothing to hide.

“Wow,” I exclaimed as I caught sight of the
spacious lobby for the first time. “This is a lot nicer than I
expected. Check out the fancy furniture. It looks like it’s real
leather.”

“Humph,” said My Beloved. “Another
exorbitant example of wasting the taxpayers’ money.” I could see
the wheels turning in his head. It looked like Jim had a subject
for his next “State of the Town” column. He loves pointing out
examples of fiscal incompetence whenever he gets the chance.

Unfortunately, he does it with me too, but
let’s not get into that now.

The receptionist looked up from filing her
nails and pushed back the glass window separating her from possible
felons. I wondered if it was bulletproof glass.

“May I help you?” she asked in an overly
perky tone. I guess we didn’t look too threatening.

“I’m Mrs. Carol Andrews,” I said. “I’m here
to see Detective Paul Wheeler. He’s expecting me.”

“Oh, Carol, yes,” she said. “Detective
Wheeler will be with you shortly.” She gestured toward chairs
across the lobby. “Have a seat and I’ll tell him you’re here.” She
looked quizzically at Jim. “And you are?”

“He’s Mr. Andrews,” I said. “I’m Mrs.
Andrews. And you are?”

The receptionist gave me a puzzled look,
then said, “I’ll buzz Detective Wheeler for you now.”

“Honestly,” I said to Jim as I attempted to
get comfortable on the chair’s slippery leather seat, “that’s one
thing that really bugs me. That receptionist is young enough to be
our daughter, for Pete’s sake. Who told her she could call me by my
first name?”

“May I offer you some coffee while you
wait?” asked our hostess, whose name badge read Tammy.

Even though it had been less than an hour
since my last cup, I figured another shot of caffeine couldn’t
hurt. Besides, I wanted to find out for myself if all those tales
of horrific police station coffee were true.

“Dunkin’ Donuts or Starbucks?” Tammy
continued. “Regular or decaf? Cappuccino, espresso, latte? Skim
milk? Cream? Sugar?” She gave us a toothy smile. “We just got a new
coffee machine. I’ve been dying to try it out.”

Jim interrupted her. “No thanks. I thought
this was a police station, not a damn coffee bar!”

“Suit yourself.” Tammy slammed the window
shut and resumed her manicure.

I don’t know how long we sat there, but it
seemed like an eternity. I found myself wishing I’d brought a book
along to pass the time. At one point I whispered to Jim, “Where is
everybody? I know we don’t have a lot of crime in Fairport, but I
never thought we’d be the only ones here.”

“Maybe they bring the serious criminals in
by the back door,” My Beloved replied.

The waiting time continued with no end in
sight, and Jim began to shift in his chair. If there’s one thing My
Beloved hates more than wasting money, it’s wasting time.

Tammy slid open her window again. “The rest
room is all the way down the hall on the right hand side,” she
announced.

Jim flushed scarlet. I couldn’t tell if it
was from anger or embarrassment. But either way, I knew we were
getting into dangerous waters.

“Don’t respond,” I whispered, and squeezed
his hand.

At least I wasn’t nervous any more. Well,
not as much.

The phone buzzed again.

“Yes, sir, I’ll tell her. Right away.”

Tammy had the grace to look embarrassed when
she relayed the message. “Detective Wheeler is on his way back to
the scene of the incident. He’s asked that you meet him there.”

“God, what a jerk,” Jim said, grabbing my
hand and pulling me out of my chair. “Come on, Carol. Let’s go
home.”

“I never liked yellow and green together,” I
said to My Beloved as we pulled into our yard. The yellow “Police
Line, Do Not Cross” tape was stretched across our green picket
fence. A small group of curious neighbors walked by and pretended
they didn’t see us.

“Let’s get this over with, Carol,” said Jim.
“At least we’re on our own turf. That should make the questioning a
little easier on you.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d been here
last night,” I shot back, then immediately regretted it.

Sometimes my mouth has a mind of its own.
He’s only trying to help, I reminded myself. Cut the guy some
slack.

Lucy and Ethel began to bark and hop around
in the back of our Jeep. They knew they were back in their own yard
and were dying to run around.

“All right, you guys,” I said, opening the
tailgate so they could hop out. And buying myself a little more
time before I went into the house. My stomach was doing flip flops
again. I hadn’t felt so queasy since I was pregnant with Mike.
Which reminded me.

“I haven’t heard from Mike all week,” I said
to Jim. “Have you? I worry when we don’t hear from him.”

“He’s probably still sulking over his
precious comic book collection,” Jim replied. “He’ll e-mail or call
us soon.

“Come on, let’s get this over with. You’ll
feel much better then,” My Beloved said, taking my arm and
propelling me toward our side door.

Once again I found myself in my empty
kitchen, but I had no chance to wallow in self-pity this time.
Detective Paul pounced on us as soon as we walked in the door.

“We don’t need you here, Mr. Andrews,” he
said. “Please wait outside.”

Jim immediately began to sputter, and I
intervened. I don’t read all those mystery books for nothing.

“If Jim can’t stay, I’m going to call our
lawyer,” I said. “I’m not going through this interview without some
support.” And protection, I added silently.

“And, by the way, I think you owe us an
apology for keeping us waiting at the police station all that time,
and then ordering us to meet you here instead.”

I fixed him with my official mommy stare,
the one that used to strike fear into my kids when they’d done
something wrong and I’d caught them.

“All right, he can stay,” Paul said
grudgingly, making it clear he was doing us a huge favor. “But no
interfering with my questioning,” he ordered Jim.

“Now,” addressing me, “show me exactly what
you did last night. And don’t leave anything out.” He brandished a
tape recorder. “I’m going to tape what you tell me.”

That frightened me. “Why are you taping me?”
I asked. “Last year when I was interviewed, you and Mark took
notes.”

Oops, that was stupid, Carol. No need to
remind him that you’ve been through a police interrogation
before.

“The last time, you weren’t directly
involved in the situation. This time, you are.”

I took a deep breath and began my story.
Again. Truth to tell, I was getting a little sick of telling it, so
I’m not going to bore you with all the details of my
“interrogation.”

Suffice it to say that it took a lot longer
than it should have, mainly due to the fact that My Beloved, who
had been told to keep his mouth shut during the interview, kept
interrupting Paul’s questions with some of his own. At times, it
was hard to figure out who was conducting the interview. Every time
I started to explain what I did, when I did it, and where I did it,
Jim would jump in and ask something like, “Why did you do that,
Carol?” Or “I don’t understand how you could have done that. It
makes no sense to me.”

By this time, they were both beginning to
grate on my nerves. I mean, whose side was My Beloved on,
anyway?

I was just about to tell both of them to
knock it off when I heard the kitchen door open.

Mary Alice came running into the house and
threw her arms around me. “Carol, what’s going on? I waited here
for you for half an hour last night. Where were you? Why is there
police tape outside the house?”

Chapter 16

Let’s all assume I know everything and get
this over with.

I don’t know which surprised me more – Mary
Alice’s sudden appearance or what she blurted out. And I didn’t
have a clue what she was talking about.

Detective Paul switched off the tape
recorder. I could imagine what he was thinking. Not only did he get
to grill me, but now another possible witness had dropped in. His
lucky day.

“Why is everybody staring at me like that?”
Mary Alice asked. “What did I say?”

To his credit, My Beloved stepped in to ease
the situation before Paul could answer.

“There’s been a little hitch in the house
sale,” Jim said in a masterstroke of understatement. “Our buyer had
an accident here last night, and…”

“That’s enough, Mr. Andrews,” said Paul.
Turning to Mary Alice, he said, “I’m Detective Paul Wheeler of the
Fairport police. Who are you?”

“This is Mary Alice Costello,” I said,
putting my arm around her shoulder. “She’s one of my best
friends.

“Though I don’t know why you thought we were
meeting here last night,” I continued. “Did I ask you to come?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” said Paul with
obvious impatience.

“I have enough information to prepare a
statement for you to sign, Mrs. Andrews. You two can leave now. I
want to talk to Mrs. Costello alone.