Third Degree (10 page)

She interrupted me, thankfully. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just sprained, I think.”

She stared at the wrist and then at me for a few more seconds before speaking. “Are you here alone? You can join us, if you’d like.”

“No, I’m with my boy … with Crawford. Remember? The guy you met at the supermarket?”

“I remember,” she said tersely. “The police officer.”

“Right.” I put my hand on the bathroom door; we seemed to have run out of things to talk about. “Well, good to see you,” I said, and headed inside, relieved to be away from Crawford and his marriage talk, Lydia Wilmott and her appraising gaze, and the wilted salad that had been served to me before I had abruptly departed the table.

But the thought of my martini, sitting there undrunk, would eventually lure me back.

I was taking out the garbage, ironically as it turned out, when Ginny appeared curbside in a beat-up blue Subaru Outback. So I now knew the identity of the person who had followed me from Tony’s until Crawford had scared her off with his backward driving. I glared at her a little bit as she turned her car off.

I was a little cranky, I admit. I had broken my one-martini-on-weeknights rule, and you try showering with a headache and a sprained wrist. By the time Ginny pulled up, spraying gravel onto my bare legs and throwing her car in park, I had managed to drag the garbage can down to the edge of the curb with my one good hand. Any vestige of the sweet wife who loved her husband was gone, and the cranky nurse was back. She got out of the car and approached me. “Bergeron!”

“Why do you always call me by my last name?” I asked. “My name is Alison, or if you prefer, Dr. Bergeron. But this last-name stuff is getting old. You sound like an army staff sergeant and I don’t think that’s what you’re going for.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “And why were you following me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the shit, Ginny. Yes you do. You were following me and Crawford that same day everything happened. Why?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure, really.” At least she was honest. “I was out of my head.”

“You could have gotten us killed,” I said. “Crawford’s got a gun and he’s not a guy who takes kindly to being tailed.”

She took that in but didn’t respond. She came up short when she saw my wrist. “What happened to you?”

“I fell.” I tossed the garbage into the can, wishing that Crawford hadn’t gone home the night before and was around to experience what I was sure was going to turn into complete unpleasantness. Ginny was dressed in scrubs, clogs on her feet. Judging from the circles under her eyes, she was returning from—rather than going to—work. “Why were you following me the other day?”

She looked surprised that I had figured out her identity. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“So you followed me from Tony’s? I have a phone, you know. I’m even in the book. You could have called.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said distractedly. “George went to White Plains to lockup. He’s being arraigned this afternoon.” Her lips were set in a grim line. “I’m not sure what happens after that.”

“You need a good lawyer.”

She got closer to me and gave me a poke in the sternum. “No. What we need is a good witness.”

“Which I’m sure your good lawyer will get when he or she needs one. Nobody has contacted me.” I stepped back. “Don’t poke me.”

She got so close to me that I could smell the French roast on her breath. “You’re really not understanding what I’m saying, are you?”

I threw my hands up. “Ginny, I get it. George is going to jail for killing Carter Wilmott and you’re upset. I don’t know why you think I can help you.”

She backed up. “Aren’t you a college professor?”

“Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re book-smart.”

“Probably.”

She stared at me, and again I was taken with her beautiful black eyelashes. Spectacular. “Not so street-smart.”

I sighed and threw my hands up. “I guess not,” I said, exasperated. “Where are we going with this?” She continued to stare at me and I tried to figure out why she was there, why her mood had changed so radically since the day before, and what she wanted from me exactly. It finally hit me. “You want me to lie.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you kind of did. You want me to lie and say something like Wilmott instigated the fight or that he swung first or that George was just an innocent bystander who got dragged into this.” I had just given her George’s defense without realizing it. “But that’s not true. Wilmott’s been dragging you and George through the mud on the blog for months and George had it up to here,” I said, bringing my hand to my browline for emphasis. “He started that fight and you know it.”

She crossed her arms and gave me a half smile. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

“And you’re not as tough as you’d like me to think,” I said, and turned on my heel, starting up the driveway. “Did you get Greg to promise to lie? Because he saw it, too, and he’s never going to do it. Oh, and what about the cops who were there? Joe and Larry? They’re not going to lie, either.”

She chose not to respond. “If this goes any further, they’re going to call you to testify,” she shouted after me. I guess she thought that was a threat that would intimidate me beyond belief. It was her trump card.

I turned around and changed course, starting down the driveway toward her. “Yeah? Well, bring it on. I’ll tell them exactly what I saw just like I told the police. You think testifying against George scares me?” I pointed at the house next door. “See that house?

She looked over at the large, newish construction that sat next to my tiny Cape Cod. “Yeah? So what?”

“I found a body over there, missing its hands and feet. You probably remember the story. I also got attacked by the husband of the lady in the ground and almost lost a finger.” I held up the hand with the Ace bandage and showed her the long scar running down the side of my index finger where the knife wielded by my murderous neighbor had entered. She seemed somewhat impressed by its severity, still pink and shiny after several months of healing. “You’re going to have to get up pretty early in the morning to scare me, Ginny.”

She decided to try a different tack. “What? Are you a knight of the fucking Round Table or something? Haven’t you ever told a lie?”

She hit a nerve. “No. I have never told a lie,” I said. Even that was a lie but I wasn’t going to admit it; my intentions were good and that had to count for something. “No.” I held my ground on the front lawn, but I could feel my toes sliding forward in my wedged sandals. I wouldn’t be able to hold my ground much longer if this kept up.

“I’m trying to save my husband,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She left me with that sentiment as she sped off in her Outback, leaving me at the curb.

I went back into the house, leaned against the back door and closed my eyes. Why did buying a cup of coffee have to turn into a complete and total disaster? Why couldn’t I just have made a cup of coffee at home? “Because you never have any food in the house!” I exclaimed, waking Trixie, who was lounging on the cool tile under the kitchen table. “Sorry, Trix.” I took a sip of the coffee that I had made before taking out the garbage and retched at its taste. As I poured it down the sink, I thought about my next move while trying to calculate how many days it had been since my last period. Being as I couldn’t do two things at the same time, I went back to thinking about my next course of action. As usual, it involved calling Crawford.

“Fiftieth Precinct. Homicide. Detective Crawford. Can I help you?”

His litany of greeting never ceased to bring a smile to my face. “Yes, I’d like to report a murder.”

“Alison?”

Dang. Busted. “Yes. It’s me. I just wanted to see how you react to someone reporting a murder.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a murder yet but I’m seriously considering killing Ginny Miller.”

“Still not funny.”

“I’m not kidding. That woman is proving to be a giant pain in the ass.” I recounted my latest run-in with Mrs. Miller and her threats and recriminations.

“You’re not going to lie, are you?”

“I. Do. Not. Lie.” I enunciated very clearly so that there was no mistaking my thoughts on the subject. Deep in my heart, I knew that saying I didn’t lie was, in fact, a lie.

He thought for a moment before answering; whether he was considering my declaration of complete transparency or something else, I couldn’t tell. “You could probably get a restraining order against her.”

Now that was an interesting turn. “Really?”

“But she’s right. You’ll probably have to testify at George’s trial, if it gets that far. Maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll plead guilty.”

I looked at Trixie with exaggerated alarm. I knew that this was the case, but I hadn’t thought that far in advance to the reality of what that meant. “I know.”

“But you don’t lie, so you’ll just tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“Are you taunting me, Crawford?”

“No,” he said.

I was unconvinced.

“Hey,” he said, changing the subject. “When can we reschedule the meet-and-greet with my parents?”

“I don’t know. Say, when I don’t have a black eye and I’m in bathing-suit shape again?”

“When will that be?”

“Twenty fifteen.” That was a conservative guesstimate.

“No, seriously.”

Crawford rarely has time to talk to me while he’s at work, but today? All the time in the world. I tried to think of a way to get off the phone. “Listen. I’ve got to get to school.”

“Liar.”

“Can we talk about this later?” I asked.

“We could but we won’t.” He let out an audible exhale into the phone. “They want to meet the woman I want to marry. What’s wrong with that?”

Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no? I thought. I immediately got a pain in my stomach. “I have to go.” Before I had a chance to say good-bye, he had hung up. I looked at Trixie who was enthralled by the conversation, or so it seemed. “That went well,” I said to her. She gave me an exasperated sigh and threw her head to the ground. “Not you, too?” I asked. “Are you all turning against me?” She looked up at me from her spot on the floor and seemed to pass some kind of judgment. I stared back at her. “I’m going to school. Don’t eat any shoes.”

It was hot and sticky outside and I was glad that I had chosen not to wear panty hose under my skirt, a violation akin to heresy at St. Thomas. I’m sure that the nuns who wore long habits had on thick black tights, even in summer. On their heads, they wore bonnets which tied under their chins. Me showing up for school in a knee-grazing skirt with bare legs? A scandal at best. Coupled with the fact that I was wearing a sleeveless top, chances were that I would be fired by day’s end if I didn’t at least put a cardigan over my shoulders.

My head was pounding from a combination of one too many martinis the night before and the oppressive heat. I should have gone to Beans, Beans for an iced coffee because I was single-handedly keeping the place in business, but I was running out of steam and couldn’t face Greg and his empty store. My choices were limited as to where to get the caffeine I so desperately needed. I found myself at Tony’s, knowing that he could hook me up before I headed to school.

Tony was standing behind the counter, wiping his hands on his long white apron. The jangling of the bells over the door announced my arrival. “I was worried about you!” he said when he saw me. “But you look as beautiful as ever. You have a glow about you. You must be fine.” He leaned over the counter and tried to grab hold of my hand. “You are better?”

“I’m better, Tony. Thanks,” I said, peering around him to see if the elusive yet angry Lucia was anywhere to be seen. “Can I get an iced coffee, please?”

He responded the same way he always did when I asked for something. “For you? Anything.” He turned and started to prepare my coffee. “Milk and sugar?”

“Black,” I said, and looked around the store, deciding to make good use of my time while I was waiting. “Hey, Tony? When was the last time Carter Wilmott was in?”

He stopped mid-pour and turned back around. He put a finger to his lips. “Do not say his name,” he whispered. “The thought of him makes Lucia very upset.”

“I’m sure it does,” I said. “Did he come here often?” I thought about how despite the fact that he wrote horrible stuff about Greg and Beans, Beans, he continued to patronize the store. I didn’t think Tony and Lucia were “forgiving souls” like Greg had proclaimed to be, but you never know.

“I spit on the ground he walked on,” Tony said, and spat on the deli floor to illustrate. “But Lucia? Lucia would have killed him if he had entered the store.”

That revelation didn’t surprise me. Lucia had wanted to kill me, too, and that was only because she thought I was interested in Tony. “She was that mad, huh?”

“She hated him,” he said flatly. “But Mrs. Wilmott? That was a different story. She is always welcome every time she comes here. She is a real lady.”