Diane Davidson - Chopping Spree

“Mr. Hulsey will be waiting for you in the jail lobby.” She disconnected before I could protest. I threw the cell phone onto the counter.

At that moment, Marla tiptoed into the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. She wore a royal blue and black wool suit, an onyx and sapphire necklace and matching earrings, and royal blue shoes. She gave me her cat-who-swallowed-the-canary look and filled her cup with coffee from the big percolator. “So,” she began, “the last time I saw you with Liz Fury, there was a bit of a disagreement going on. Now you two are all cozy. What happened?”

“Oh, she’s having problems with her son. In case you haven’t noticed, I have the same kind of problems. Listen,” I rushed on, “Monday night, how did you meet up with Page after she was ejected from the lounge?”

Marla’s eyes widened. “Ellie and I just had to know what had happened, so we went looking for Page at the mall’s security office. The cops had just released her, so we again heard how much she hated and despised Barry Dean and her husband. She was really ready to shop then, so we all headed toward the shoe sale!”

“OK, but were you shopping together? I mean, the whole time in Prince and Grogan?”

Marla crinkled her nose and slurped her coffee. “We all bought a ton of shoes, if that’s what you mean. Why? Does this have something to do with Julian? I’ll do anything to help.”

“I know Ellie went home with Elizabeth Harrington. Did you and Page drive back to Aspen Meadow together?” I pressed.

“No, why? The cops had told Shane they’d take him home, Page said. He’d left his BMW there at the mall, so I drove Page to it. She said she was bringing it back up here.”

“When was that? Eight-thirty? Eight forty-five?” I asked breathlessly.

Marla moved her wrist back and forth; the diamonds on her Rolex sparkled. “It’s a nice watch, Goldy, but I feel it’s gauche always to be checking it. Sorry, I don’t know what time it was.”

“How about Ellie? When did she leave?”

“For crying out loud, Goldy! She’s our friend! Why do you want to know all this?”

“Just tell me!”

Marla expelled breath. “We saw an old friend, Elizabeth Harrington, at the shoe sale. You remember, the widow of Brian Harrington?”

“Right, Ellie told me she was with her.”

“Elizabeth lives near Ellie, so she offered to take her home. Around nine, I guess. Why does it matter?”

“Just something else I’m trying to figure out for Tom,” I said lightly, as Liz reappeared at the kitchen door.

Marla sighed at the appearance of Liz, rolled her eyes at me, and trounced out of the kitchen.

Four minutes later, I had thanked Liz for both her hard work and her offer to clean up by writing her another check, the second one I’d given her that day. I quickly explained that I was sure old Shane wasn’t going to cough up an extra gratuity. Even with all of Liz’s own problems, she actually laughed. I thanked her again and hugged her.

Four additional heavy, wet inches of snow had accumulated since we’d arrived. At the end of the driveway, I looked right and left to check for traffic—there wasn’t any—and glanced up into the Preserve. The curtain of flakes had thinned; maybe we were experiencing a mere flurry. Snow fell softly on millions of rows of perfectly frosted pines. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and made me feel a bit better. At least for a while.

“Julian Teller passed the second polygraph,” Steve Hulsey informed me in the lobby of the jail. His voice was a deep wheeze, like a snake with bronchitis. This day, he was wearing an impeccable dark beige silk suit. “But he still will be formally charged—arraigned—on Friday morning.” He loomed over me. “Second-degree murder, a heat-of-passion crime.”

“What are you talking about?” Denial rose in my throat like a scream. The sergeant on duty, a pudgy woman with a face like a raisin cookie, watched our interchange with, I imagined, one finger on the button you use to summon officers into the lobby. But I couldn’t help myself. “There’s more to Barry’s murder than you think!” I snapped.

Hulsey held up a hand, his face as cold and impassive as a stone statue’s. I flinched. “Calm down,” he commanded. “They’re telling me you’re not a suspect anymore. So I’m taking over on this case now. Please listen calmly while I tell you what’s going to happen.”

I bit back another protest, crossed my arms, and glared at the gleaming white tiles on the lobby wall. Couldn’t they have made this place look a bit less like a bathroom?

“They’re still developing evidence in the case,” Hulsey told me, his voice back to the bronchilian reptile. “And the county attorney’s office and the detectives are going over that videotape from the party in the shoppers’ lounge with a microscope. Julian is on it, having not one but two heated arguments with the victim. And let’s not forget, the store security guard found Mr. Teller with his hand on the murder weapon. Friday, ten in the morning, is the time of the arraignment.”

I nodded. I’d been to one of The Jerk’s arraignments. There I hadn’t heard justice being served; I’d heard a dispassionate declaration of war between the prosecution and the defense.

“With second-degree murder, they’ll probably let Julian out,” Hulsey said, a bit more gently, but with a peek at his watch. “For a price, of course. Mrs. Korman is seeing about bail.”

“Mrs. Korman?” I said. Of course: Marla. I blinked and tried to focus. The lawyer’s voice seemed far away.

“ Marla Korman.” Hulsey could not disguise his impatience. “Your friend, the other ex-wife of Dr. John Richard Korman? You’re probably looking at bail of a million dollars. Bond’ll be a hundred thousand.” I nodded blankly. A hundred thousand dollars. “One more thing,” Hulsey added briskly. “Since you’re not a suspect anymore, you can visit Julian. That’s it, then. I need to go.” He handed me another one of his cards (I was accumulating quite a collection), grasped his briefcase, and sailed out the doors.

I watched Hulsey make a determined tramp through the snow to his Jag. OK, Julian was going to be arraigned. I shook my head. Our wonderful friend was suffocating behind bars. No matter what it cost, we had to get him out on bail.

I signed in to see Julian and was sent to the same phone-containing cubicle as before. What was I going to say to him that could possibly cheer him up? You could be out on bail pretty soon? Like Hulsey, I snuck a peek at my watch: almost half past two. Would Julian feel hurt when I said I could only stay for thirty minutes? Tears stung my eyes when he strolled through the door. I cemented a smile in place and sternly ordered myself to buck up. I couldn’t help him if I was slobbering.

“Hey, Goldy!” Julian sang into the phone. His face was even thinner and more haggard than before. But either he was doing a great acting job or his spirits had taken a turn for the better. “Didn’t expect you here!” He pulled a torn piece of paper from his pocket and leaned forward in his chair. “Sorry if you had to wait. My lawyer just left—”

“Yeah, I heard about it—”

“And then I called Arch on his lunch hour—”

Julian’s face cracked in a broad smile. He glanced down at the sheet in his hand. “This paper is my lifeline! It has the numbers of everyone I know. Arch told me to call him on his cell at certain times. So we talk three or four times a day. At his lunch hour, between his classes, like that. It’s great. He told me you were taking him to the anatomy field trip. I did that at EPP. The smell of formaldehyde’s really gross, by the way. Prepare yourself.”