Sharyn McCrumb - If I'd Killed Him When I Met Him…

“I had just gotten used to the idea of you two,” Elizabeth grumbled. “In fact I was rather pleased at having a mother who was in the forefront of modern feminist thought. You certainly weren’t the dull, conventional station-wagon driver I thought I knew.”

“I never was such a person,” said Margaret MacPherson. “Perhaps no one is. But for years we play these roles of unchanging reliability so that our children will have a secure and happy childhood. But perhaps you’ve had that long enough, and I can set about finding me again.”

A new thought occurred to Elizabeth. “Mother! Did you ever tell Daddy about you and Casey?”

Margaret MacPherson smiled. “Oh, yes, dear. That was the one bit of selfishness in my otherwise charitable gesture.”

“How did he react?”

“He now maintains that he became interested in another woman only because I had become interested in another woman. He blames Phyllis for wrecking the marriage, even though I hadn’t met her at the time, and his psyche seems to have taken an awful beating over the idea of losing his wife to a lesbian. I believe he’s seeing a therapist. Which reminds me, Elizabeth, how are things going between you and Dr. Freya?”

“Oh, all right, I suppose,” said Elizabeth. “I try to keep her entertained for my hourly sessions.”

“But, Elizabeth, you’re supposed to be trying to feel better.”

“No, Mother. I am trying not to feel at all.”

In the darkness the water in the holding tank looked black, and the only sound was the soft slur of someone ceaselessly swimming. Miri Malone approached the edge of the pool cautiously, because no one knew that she was there, not even Rich Edmonds, who had been so supportive in her relationship with Porky. Rich was a wonderful friend, but tonight’s visit was too private to be shared with him.

Miri paused at the water’s edge, listening. It was nearly midnight, and there was a gentle wind, blowing cool night air in her face and raising chill bumps on her arms. It was a bit cool to be out in just a swimsuit, but wearing it had been force of habit. She really shouldn’t have bothered. All was quiet. No one was working late in the marine park offices, and no guards were nearby, although, since she knew them all, she was sure she could have talked her way out of any difficulty that arose.

Miri dipped one foot in the cold water and felt a shiver run up her spine. When the water was cold, it was best to plunge in quickly, without thinking about it too much beforehand. Perhaps that also applied to the other thing she intended to do tonight. She pulled down the straps on her bathing suit and eased it down her hips, wriggling out of it and tossing it aside.

That was better. Now she could feel the breeze all over. She swung down the metal ladder and into the water, calling out softly, “Porky! It’s me.”

A moment later a dark form glided up against her in the chilled water, butting the small of her back with his blunt nose. Miri turned and nuzzled the dolphin. “Hello, Porky,” she murmured. “How about a moonlight swim?”

She pushed away from him, playfully splashing his face as she plowed past. Porky, still wearing an enigmatic smile, waited a sporting minute, and then plunged after her, past her, and then in circles around her.

For several minutes they splashed and swam together, and the only sounds were Miri’s giggles and the rush of the water as their bodies churned. The Sea Park lights made patterns on the dark water, but Miri was careful not to swim into the patches of light. Finally she swam close to Porky, and determined that he had reached the proper stage of excitement.

“Are you ready?” Miri whispered, pressing her wet face close to the dolphin’s smile. “Shall we do it?”

She rippled the water with her hands and then turned over on her back, floating, her pale body shining against the blackness beneath her. “C’mon,” she said softly, and then she made the clicking sounds that are dolphin speech.

Porky clicked back, bobbed a few times, and then swam on top of her. Miri held on, thinking that perhaps they should have discussed the precise acrobatics involved in such a union. She started to disengage herself, in order to be better prepared, but Porky showed no signs of stopping.

“Wait!” said Miri, before a slosh of salt water silenced her. If she could just get to the side of the pool perhaps, and position herself against the ladder. But Porky’s masculine sensibilities were signaling full speed ahead, and he used his flippers to anchor her to him as he drifted downward toward the twenty-foot depths in the center of the pool. Dolphins mate underwater.

Miri Malone’s last thought as she drifted into the chilling dark was that she had been right about men, but wrong to think that a change of species would make any difference.

BILL MACPHERSON WAS celebrating his client’s release from jail and his sister’s release from the hospital by treating the client, the sister, and the firm to a celebratory lunch at Ashley’s Buffet, a restaurant much favored by Bill for its all-you-can-eat policy, which catered to both his appetite and his income.

Elizabeth, still wobbly from her close encounter with the exculpatory evidence, was limiting her food to Jell-O and ice cream, for fear of causing a new bout of stomach cramps in her recently poisoned system.

A. P. Hill sat hunched over a plain salad, still brooding about the impending murder trial of her own client, but Edith, whose appetite was never affected by the troubles of others, was tucking into her second plateful of roast beef and mashed potatoes, with assorted vegetables piled around them for variety. “This is what I call a party,” she remarked, between mouthfuls.

Donna Jean Morgan chewed on a piece of fried chicken with mournful satisfaction. “This sure does beat the food they serve down at the jail.”

“That’s all over now,” Bill assured her. “You’ve tasted your last meal from the county jail. All we needed was the analysis of the well water, which came back from the lab yesterday. It contained arsenic. Elizabeth was right.”

“Of course I was,” she said.

“Once I took the water sample in to the district attorney, along with several affidavits explaining how arsenic from embalmed bodies in the church cemetery had contaminated the well water at the old house, he realized that their case against you was weak, to say the least. He even acknowledged that there was a chance that you could be innocent.”

A. P. Hill smiled. “They never actually admit that anyone is not guilty. District attorneys can’t afford to trust humanity. It would be bad for business.”

“They grumbled a bit,” Bill agreed, “but I pointed out that the county budget could be put to better use than staging pointless trials against innocent widows, in the face of overwhelming technical evidence. In the end they conceded the point, and the judge expedited the paperwork, and here you are.”

“It’ll be in the newspaper, won’t it?” asked Donna Jean. “I want the congregation and my neighbors to know I didn’t kill Chevry.”

“I called them myself,” said Bill. “They may want to interview you. Channel thirteen might come over from Lynchburg, if you want a press conference.”

“I’ll talk to them,” said Donna Jean.

“You’re not going to move away, then?” asked A. P. Hill, who had thought that the local notoriety might be too great, even for one proven innocent.

“No,” said Donna Jean. “I don’t know anywhere but here. Besides, Chevry didn’t leave all that much money. Reckon I’ll give some of it to Tanya Faith.”