“Do you have a phone in here?”
“I only have two extensions. One in my bedroom, and the other in the kitchen.”
I struggled off the sofa, ignoring her tirade about the phone company monopoly and its conspiracy to bankrupt the college professors of the world.
“Well?” she asked when I returned.
“It's true. Luscious arrested him this afternoon. He said he was under tremendous pressure from the old boys’ network to make an arrest.”
“You mean the informal group of wealthy businessmen who are direct descendants of the town's founders?”
I nodded. “They pretty much run Lickin Creek, don't they? You can see them almost any day having lunch in the back of the drugstore. The local equivalent of the smoke-filled room.” I thought for a minute about exactly who it was I'd seen there. “President Godlove is one of them, isn't he.”
From the look on Ethelind's face, I knew I'd hit the nail on the head.
I groaned. “I know he wants to resolve this, and especially make sure nobody blames the college, but I do wish he'd talked it over with me first.”
“You don't think it was Woody's fault?” Ethelind looked incredulous. “He'd be my first choice. He was the one who loaded the guns.”
“That's just the point. If Woody were going to murder someone, why would he do it in such an obvious way?”
“He's not exactly a rocket scientist, Tori.”
The phone rang again, and Ethelind went to answer it.
She came back carrying the portable telephone, which she handed to me.
“Tori? Tori, is that you?” I recognized Moonbeam's voice, despite the panic that pitched it an octave higher than usual. A flood of screeches and sobs came through the phone as soon as I answered.
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! WhatamIgoingtodo? WhatamIgoingtodo?”
“Calm down, Moonbeam.” I couldn't resist adding, “Take a deep breath. You need to visit your special place.”
“Oh shut up,” she snapped, but at least she was speaking in a normal register. “Did you have something to do with this?”
“Me? Of course not. How can you even think such a thing?”
“Because the police chief said you put the idea in his head. You said the bullets didn't crawl in the guns by themselves. Ohmygodohmygod. WhatamIgoingtodo?”
“I had nothing to do with this, Moonbeam. What is he charged with? Murder?”
“Manslaughter. Will they keep him in jail?”
“You can post bail.”
“Bail?” she wailed. “I don't have any money. WhatamIgoingtodo?”
I did my best to calm her down, but could offer no other suggestions. After a few more sobs, Moonbeam hung up.
“Poor thing,” I muttered. “She's one of those women who's born to be victimized by men.”
Ethelind refreshed the teapot and poured another round. “Nothing like a cuppa to settle the nerves,” she said, turning up the volume on the television.
“… and in late-breaking news, a local physician has been found murdered in her office today.” As I watched with growing horror a camera zeroed in on a familiar doorway. “The body was discovered at noon today by her assistant, Vesta Pennsinger, who said she came late because the doctor had surgery scheduled.”
The camera swung to where a shocked and bewildered Vesta Pennsinger, Dr. Washabaugh's chatty receptionist, leaned against the wall. “I came late today because the doctor had surgery scheduled,” she said.
“Why do they always tell you what you're going to hear…?” The doorbell rang, and Ethelind rose to her feet. “Tori, are you all right? Oh my God, Dr. Washabaugh is your doctor, isn't she?” The bell rang again. “Who could that be? I'll be right back.”
On TV, Vesta was still speaking. “I smelled smoke soon as I opened the door. That's when I saw the flames and called the fire department.” Vesta started to cry and the camera zoomed in for a close-up.
“The body of Dr. Washabaugh, who apparently had been shot several times, was found by firemen after the fire was extinguished. The fire chief speculates that she had interrupted a burglary in process. The fire then was most likely set to cover up the crime.”
A man in a fire chief's uniform appeared on screen and said, “The fire was most likely set to cover up the crime.”
Ethelind came back in, carrying a small box. “Funny, there was nobody there. Just this pretty box with your name on it, Tori.”
In a daze and still shocked from what I'd just heard, I took it from her, untied the ribbon, pulled off the wrapping paper, and lifted the lid. There was an unsigned card on top that said Get well soon. The item inside was covered with bubble wrap. I took it out, removed the wrap, and gasped. A beautiful, delicate china carousel horse sat on top of a walnut box. When I placed it on the coffee table, the tiny horse danced and twirled as the music box played “In the Good Old Summertime.”
CHAPTER 11
“IT LOOKS VERY EXPENSIVE.” WITH BOTH HANDS, Ethelind carefully held the music box. “Funny whoever sent it didn't sign the card. You sure you don't know who it's from?”
“I'll probably get a call today,” I said, thinking I'd avoided blatantly lying about who might have sent it.
She looked at me with concern in her eyes. “Are you going to be all right?”
“About waiting for the biopsy results? I'm okay. Dr. Washabaugh told me that more than eight hundred thousand women have breast biopsies each year, and only about a hundred and eighty thousand of them are actually diagnosed with cancer. The rest are benign lumps, so the odds are definitely in my favor.”
I sat down at the kitchen table and picked up the Chronicle, glad to see our paperboy had actually delivered it on time.
I glanced over the front page. My article about Mack Macmillan looked good. There were no glaring errors. Of course there was no mention of Woody's arrest. That's the problem with a weekly! The news is never current. Neither was there any mention of Halloween, which was coming up soon. When I questioned Cassie about that, she said that it was a long-standing policy not to mention the holiday in the paper. Too many locals thought it smacked of Satanism.
Surprise! There was a brief mention of Dr. Washabaugh's murder on the bottom of the front page. Cassie must have heard the news on TV and called the printer with a last-minute change. Good for her! When Cassie heard the news, she thought of the paper. When I heard the news, I'm ashamed to say my first thought had been, “Now how am I going to get my test results?” I decided to call the office receptionist on Monday and ask if they had come in. Surely she would be there. Or I would call her at home.
Ethelind, her feet enormous in fuzzy gray slippers, shuffled over to the counter where she poured Tasty Tabby Treats in the cat bowls before starting to make coffee. They ate as if they hadn't been fed in weeks.
“I've been thinking,” Ethelind said, peering at me over the rim of her coffee mug, “that I might postpone my departure for little while longer. I don't like to think of you being sick and alone.”
Oh no. “Please don't,” I exclaimed, so abruptly that she stared at me in astonishment. “I mean, please don't do that on my account. I am just fine.” I swung my right arm in a circle to show her how fine I was. It hurt, not because of the biopsy but because it was still healing from having been broken last month.
“I'd be glad to stay…”
“I won't hear of it.”
“At least let me take care of you today, Tori. You pop upstairs and get back in bed. I'll bring you some breakfast.”
“Thanks very much, but I have somewhere I have to go today.”
Ethelind waited, head cocked, while I struggled to think of someplace I could go. Then I remembered Charlotte Macmillan had invited me to go riding today. I hadn't thought about it since Luscious had confirmed her alibi, but now it seemed like a perfect excuse.