Melinda Wells - The Proof is in the Pudding

“That’s not a very good analogy. I double bag it so there won’t be any odor in the trashcan. Garbage pickup isn’t until Thursday.”

As we resumed our walk, I said, “If something bad happens this morning-I mean if Hatch arrests me-would you call Liddy Marshall, tell her about it, and take Tuffy over to stay with Liddy and Bill until…”

“Until we can spring you.” Nicholas gently squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry.”

“And please call Eileen. She’s at John and Shannon’s house. You have that number. Tell her where I am and ask her to take care of Emma.”

“I like that cat of yours,” Nicholas said. “Maybe it’s because she’s the only cat that has ever seemed to like me.”

I was about to remark that he does well charming females, but the words died unspoken in my throat because I saw a four-car convoy turn off Montana and head up in our direction.

In the lead was Detective Manfred Hatch’s brown Crown Victoria. Following Hatch was a police black-and-white with two uniformed officers in it. Behind them was Weaver’s Chevy.

The fourth car in the line was the one that I hadn’t expected.

It was John O’Hara’s black Lincoln.

When Hatch saw me, he stopped beside us so abruptly that the three sets of brakes behind him screeched. I thought I caught a faint whiff of tire material left on the pavement.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hatch demanded.

I held up the plastic bag containing Tuffy’s deposit. “Being a good citizen.” Pretending I didn’t know, I gestured to the line of vehicles behind him. “What’s this parade about?”

“Go back up the street to your house.”

By the time Nicholas, Tuffy, and I returned a few minutes later, Detective Hatch and the two uniformed officers were standing on my doorstep. Weaver and John were just getting out of their cars. Weaver hiked across my lawn to join Hatch. Knowing that I care about the condition of my lawn, John took the brick path that led up to the front door.

I smiled at John, and said, “Hi.”

Nicholas nodded at him. “Morning.”

John glared at Nicholas with his usual expression of disapproval, but his responding “Hello” was polite.

Hatch had parked in front of the Maserati. Behind Nicholas’s “silver bullet,” as I referred to it, was the squad car. Weaver’s vehicle and John’s were strung out behind the black-and-white in a line that took up a good portion of the block.

With the arrival of four more adults-Nicholas, Weaver, John, and me-and a standard poodle, there was so little room at my front door that the uniformed officers and Weaver took positions on the lawn. John positioned himself on the walk behind me. Hatch blocked my front door with his body, reached into his jacket, and withdrew a folded sheet of paper.

“Search warrant,” he said, waving it in front of me. “These officers and I have permission to search your premises and your vehicle.”

I held out my hand. “I don’t have X-ray vision, Detective. Let me read it.”

He handed the paper to me, and I gave Tuffy’s leash to Nicholas.

“All the Is are dotted and the Ts are crossed,” Hatch said. “Signed by Judge Newton Carter.”

Nicholas peered over my shoulder, reading the warrant as I did. Deliberately, I took my time, while in my peripheral vision I saw Hatch fidgeting.

When I thought I’d let him wait long enough, I said, “The scope of your search is pretty narrow. You only have permission to look for DVDs or videotapes.”

Those restrictions told me he’d had trouble getting this warrant. It wasn’t an open invitation for a fishing expedition. It also told me that the police had found Ingram’s personal pornography collection, had viewed at least some of them, and thought that I might have taken one or more. Given I’d left a fingerprint, it was a pretty easy deduction.

“Why videos?” Nicholas asked.

“Evidence of an extremely personal relationship with Keith Ingram.” The innuendo in Hatch’s voice made the nature of that video unmistakable to anyone, but to embarrass me further he added, “Think about that Paris Hilton tape on the Internet.”

I saw Nicholas’s face flush with anger, but he kept his temper in check. John’s expression was stony. It was clear to me from John’s rigid lack of reaction that he’d already learned about Ingram’s sex tapes and was deliberately refusing to show any reaction.

Nicholas handed Tuffy’s leash back to me and pulled his camera phone out of his jacket pocket.

“I’m going to be with you and the officers while you search, photographing any destruction you commit.”

Hatch’s grim expression hardened. “If you put one foot in that house while we’re working there, I’ll bust you for obstruction.” He planted his feet, as though daring Nicholas to try to get past him. “Nobody except the officers, Detective Weaver, and myself goes inside until we’re through.”

“Before you start,” I said, “I want to put Tuffy out into the backyard with a bowl of water. And I want to put my cat into her carrier so that nobody steps on her, or opens a door that lets her out into the street.”

“All right,” Hatch said. He beckoned to one of the uniformed officers. “ Roy -go with her. Make sure she doesn’t do anything else.”

A few minutes later, I was back on my front doorstep with Emma in her carrier. It had been a struggle to get my little gray and gold calico into it because to her it meant she was going to Dr. Marks, her veterinarian, for a shot or some other unwanted intrusion into her furry person. I’d put one of her favorite soft toys in with her, but she ignored it.

I set the carrier down in the shade next to the doorway, removed the small bowl I’d shoved into my jacket pocket, and quickly filled it with water from the garden hose.

“Here, sweetie,” I whispered to Emma as I maneuvered the bowl of cool water into the front of the carrier while blocking her attempt to exit. “We’re not going to the doctor today, so just relax and enjoy watching the birds.”

John said, “God knows how long we’ll be here. I’m going on a coffee run.”

“That would be great.”

I wanted coffee, and the timing was good for John to run that errand. From the tightness of his mouth, I knew that Nicholas was upset about something. He wasn’t likely to talk about it with John around.

“How do you take yours, Martino? Black?”

“A little half-and-half with one packet of sugar. Thanks- Hara.”

If I hadn’t been aching at the thought of Hatch and company pawing through my possessions, I would have been amused at John O’Hara and Nicholas D’Martino deliberately misstating each other’s names in a childish game of tit for tat.

John ignored Nicholas’s jibe and marched down the path toward his car.

“I notice he didn’t ask how you take your coffee.” There was a sharp edge in Nicholas’s voice.

“For heaven’s sake, John and I have known each other for more than twenty years. But that remark isn’t about who takes what in their coffee. What’s bothering you?”

“In the past few months you’ve figured out a couple of murders. I think you’re smart enough to know what’s on my mind.”

“Four apes with badges are pawing through my belongings. I have no idea what damage they’re doing, and the thought of it hurts like hell. I don’t have the patience for sarcasm right now.”

“Okay. Here it is. What was going on between you and Ingram?”

“Nothing,” I said. It was a relief to tell the truth.

“Hatch couldn’t have got a search warrant without showing probable cause. Their fingerprint evidence suggests you broke into Ingram’s house. I didn’t need the Paris Hilton cheap shot to know he’s looking for a sex tape. Did you have sex with Ingram?”