Judy Blundell - What I Saw and How I Lied

"Are you sure?"

I'd nodded.

"Do you have a handkerchief with you?" he'd asked. "Use it."

I felt their eyes on my back as the judge came in. Their curiosity was like a wild, living thing in the room. I had to keep wiping my hands on my skirt because I wanted to be Evelyn with cool hands, not Evie with her stomach in knots and sweat snaking from her armpits. I was concentrating so hard on being cool that I missed them calling my name. Joe had to nudge me.

I stood up so quickly that my purse fell on the floor and I tripped on it. Bad start.

I walked my new walk, the one I had because of the tight high heels, my hips swaying. Chin up! I heard Mrs. Grayson say in my head.

I looked up at the judge, then back down in my lap. I needed that judge on my side. I needed to keep my hands and my stomach calm. I needed not to be sick. I needed not to faint. I had to do this today, because if I had to come back tomorrow, I couldn't do it. I couldn't be Evelyn for one more day.

I put my hand on the Bible.

I swear it on a stack of Bibles. We said it back home when we told the truth, no fudging. Because if you swore on a Bible and you lie, you'd go to straight to hell on the downtown express.

Mr. Markel rose. He told me in a warm tone I'd never heard from him before not to be nervous. I nodded nervously.

"Just tell the truth," he said. "Let's start the night of September fifth. What happened that evening?"

"We were all having dinner in the restaurant at the hotel."

"You're sure it was that evening?”

“Yes, it was a Friday night. We'd been to the movies that day."

"Who was there that evening, Miss Spooner?"

"My father and mother, and the Graysons, and Peter — Mr. Coleridge. After dinner was over, the ladies decided they'd go upstairs to their rooms, and the gen­tlemen would go to the lobby for coffee. Peter leaned over and asked me if I'd go for a walk, and I said yes." I hesitated. "But I didn't tell my parents."

"Why is that, Miss Spooner?"

It was hard for me to avoid looking at Joe and Mom at that moment. But I remembered Mr. Markel's instruc­tions. I wasn't going to slip.

"Because I knew they'd say no. They thought Peter was too old for me."

"Was it the first time you'd met Mr. Coleridge with­out your parents consent?"

"No." I whispered the word, and the judge made me say it again.

"You were, in fact, carrying on a secret romance with the deceased?"

"Yes, sir. It started when Peter drove me and my mother places. If we were alone for a minute or two, he would ask me to meet him later. If I was able to, I did."

The crowd was completely silent now. They hung on every word.

"Did your mother have any knowledge of this?”

“No, sir."

"Did you ever go to the house he had used?"

"Yes. I didn't know he'd broken in."

"What did you do on the night in question?"

"First I went upstairs. I could hear my mother getting ready for bed. While she was in the bathroom, I went to her closet and took out one of her dresses. The blue one, because that was the prettiest."

A flashbulb popped, and the judge ordered the pho­tographer out of the courtroom.

"I wanted to look older. So I met him in my mother's dress, and we walked for a bit, and then we stopped under this tree, and we kissed. He thought he heard someone coming, and he pressed my head against his shirt. A minute later he saw someone go by. He didn't know it was Wally, but he promised me that whoever it was hadn't seen my face."

"Do you think he was telling the truth?"

"Oh, yes. Because I heard the footsteps, too. And we were hidden by the tree, so the person couldn't have seen us until he was pretty close."

"What happened next?"

"We waited just a little bit, and then he walked me back to the road. I sneaked back into the hotel. My mother was sleeping by then, so I put the dress back in her closet."

"Did the dress fit you?"

"Yes, perfectly. My mother and I are the same size."

"Were you in love with Mr. Coleridge, Miss Spooner?"

I ducked my head. "Yes, sir, I was."

At least I got to tell one solid truth today.

"Did you have any knowledge at any time that Mr. Coleridge might have a romance with your mother?"

"Oh, no. I knew he didn't. She spent time with both of us. It was a good ... cover, Peter said. No one would suspect the two of us if my mother was along."

"Was Peter Coleridge in love with you, Miss Spooner?"

"Yes. He was. He told me so."

Mom slowly slid off her chair.

The photographers who were hiding their cameras rushed forward. The judge banged his gavel, but no one listened. I stood up.

"Give her some air!" I heard Joe shout.

People rushed forward, but Joe waved them back. The judge banged his gavel again. Someone called for water. It had turned into a circus in a tent, all color and heat and movement. And smell. I felt like I could smell every­one in the room, the ladies with the half-moons of perspiration under the arms of their rayon dresses, the men with their handkerchiefs already wet from mopping their foreheads, their hats tilted back.

Through all the commotion, I noticed a man sitting on the aisle near the back. I noticed him by his stillness. He was the only one not whispering or craning his neck to see Mom. A man dressed in a plain dark suit, a white shirt buttoned tightly at his neck, and no tie. He would have been handsome if it weren't for the deep lines in his face, his thinning iron-gray hair. I thought I was used to people staring at me, but this gaze felt deeper than the others.

"I call for a recess, your honor," Mr. Markel said. The judge sighed. He leaned over and said to me, "Would you like a recess, miss?”

“No, I'd like to go on," I said.

"Then please sit down, Miss Spooner."

I turned again to Mr. Markel, in a hurry to get this over with. I could still feel the gray-haired man's gaze.

Mom pushed away the glass of water one of the court officers kept trying to get her to drink. She pressed her handkerchief against her forehead. She looked so pale, so small.

I broke Mr. Markel's rule and looked straight into her eyes. She shook her head, just a little bit, tears pooling in her eyes. I didn't know what the head shake meant. You don't have to lie, Evie.

But I did, and she knew it, so maybe she was shaking her head at the whole awful stink of it.

Not too much longer, Mom.

"Did your parents ever find out about your romance with Peter Coleridge?" Mr. Markel asked. "I told them this morning," I said. "They were surprised?"

"They were shocked. I wish I'd told them before."

"Now we come to the second part of your testimony," Mr. Markel said. "I know you come forward reluctantly on this issue, Miss Spooner, and I know this might be hard for you. Can you tell us about the events of September seventeenth?"

"Well, my parents and Peter had planned to hire a boat that day. Then we found out that a storm was com­ing, and they talked about whether to go."

"There were small craft warnings."

"Peter said he could handle the boat, if they still wanted to go."

The man with the thin gray hair and the thick hands was still staring at me.

Stop looking at me like that, stop it.

"So they went out on Mr. Forrest's boat, and I was waiting for them at the hotel. Wally — Walter — was getting off his shift."

"That's Walter Forrest, the former bellhop at the Le Mirage Hotel?"

"Yes. I was nervous and upset — the weather was getting worse, and I was worried about my parents and Peter. I knew Wally from the hotel, and he seemed like a swell boy. He reassured me, saying the weather wasn't too bad yet. Then he said maybe we should walk to the beach and look at the waves. We walked along the beach for a while, and then ... he suggested that we sit up near the dunes."