“—in the library,” said May, as usual, finishing the other’s sentence, except this time June finished her own sentence at the same moment: “—in her room.”
“So which was it?” I asked.
“Both,” June said promptly. “We started out in the library, then finished up in her room.”
“All afternoon,” said May.
They were lying, of course. The question is, how deep were they in? “Is that what you told the police?”
They nodded.
“Did they ask you to sign a statement to that effect?”
“Um, yes,” said May.
“Not smart to lie to the police in writing,” I told them.
“We didn’t lie to them,” June said indignantly. “She really was with us all afternoon.”
Her indignation sounded real, but I was too tired to pursue it. “Have it your way. I’m off to bed. I suppose you two are staying over again?”
Another nod.
“At this rate, your parents ought to ask the college for a rebate on your room and board.”
May looked at me with guilt all over her pretty young face. “We’re not in your way, are we?”
“Cramping your style?” asked June, going on the offensive. “Would you have asked the luscious Lucius in for a drink if we weren’t here?”
“Dwight’s an awfully nice man,” May observed solemnly.
“Yeah, I really like him, too,” said June.
“Too trusting, though.”
“Lucky for him that we are here.”
“Chaperons.”
“Defenders of chastity.”
With two sets of twin brothers, I know when I’m being double-teamed, but I was too sleepy to stay and hope to figure out what it was they were trying to keep me from noticing.
Instead, I yawned and headed down the hall to my bedroom. “Don’t forget to put the cat out,” I called back over my shoulder.
“Cat?” I heard May ask.
“She’s got a cat here?” asked June.
I’ve really got to start remembering how literal-minded they are.
CHAPTER 11
I awoke Tuesday morning to the smell of coffee, sausage, and something sweetly fragrant. Wearing nothing except an oversize Carolina T-shirt that’s been through the wash so many times it’s almost handkerchief thin, I stumbled sleepily down the short hallway, stubbed my bare toes on a lamp base that protruded from the midden of furniture and clothes piled in the living room, and was fumbling in the cabinet for a coffee mug when someone rapped on the front door.
Without thinking the situation through, June went and opened it and I heard male voices, voices followed by the presence of three large male bodies in the kitchen. Two immediately eyed my T-shirt with unseemly interest; the third was Danny Freeman, who did a second take, realized who I was, and suddenly looked as startled as I felt.
“Paint crew’s here,” May chirped as she lifted a large casserole from the oven and turned to greet them. Her welcome died in mid-chirp as soon as she saw Freeman, and she darted a guilty glance toward me.
I was already heading down the hall with my coffee. She followed me into the bedroom and I glared at her. “You couldn’t have mentioned this last night?”
“God, Deborah, I am so, so sorry. We didn’t know Danny was coming with them. When we told Carla to send some guys up from school, we never dreamed she’d send Danny, too. I guess she thought it would help for him to do something physical instead of stewing about what’s happening. Want me to tell him to leave?”
Before I could answer, she climbed back on the same hobbyhorse she and June were riding last night—“He’s not a killer, though, Deborah. And you can’t really think so either if you let him out on bond.”
She had a point. But while I wasn’t afraid he would suddenly attack someone with a paintbrush, it was still awkward as hell and nothing Miss Manners had prepared me for.
“Do as you like,” I snapped. “I’m leaving for the courthouse as soon as I dress.”
“Without eating anything? We made Granny Knott’s baked toast.”
So that was the source of the familiar aroma. When chickens almost stopped laying in the winter and breakfast rations for her hungry brood were scanty except for milk and butter from their cow, Daddy’s mother created the dish as a way to stretch the eggs and to use up the bread ends before they got too stale and hard. She’d never heard of French toast, but this was a close version: thick slabs of bread are laid on a base of butter and brown sugar in a deep casserole dish, then left to sit in the refrigerator overnight in a batter of milk, eggs, and vanilla, and finally baked in a medium-hot oven till the edges crisp and the brown sugar caramelizes on the bottom.
Although she died long years before I was born and none of us keeps a milk cow anymore, her recipe was passed down and it’s still comfort food in our family. Mother used to make it at least once a week when several of the boys were still at home and that aroma drifting up to our bedrooms was enough to roust out the sleepiest head.
The twins must have put one together last night from the leftover bread they brought home from the restaurant.
By the time I was dressed and ready to leave, Danny Freeman was in the bedroom across the hall with his back to the door as he pulled furniture away from the wall. I went silently down the hall with my laptop in one hand and my judicial robe in the other.
At the dining table, there was one serving of baked toast left in the casserole and a link of cured sausage. June deftly transferred both to a plate and waved it under my weak-willed nose until I put down robe and laptop and took it from her hand.
The others had finished eating except for final cups of coffee, and they covered the strain of my presence by speaking of classes and professors and Parents’ Day, which I gathered was upcoming in another week or so. For some reason, the two guys thought it was funny that Beverly and Fred were coming up, too, and kept needling the twins about it until June flat told them to knock it off. I had the impression that my cousins had drafted extra help so that Beverly wouldn’t blast them for not getting the painting done by the time they arrived.
They introduced me to Gary, a blue-eyed, corn-fed, pre-law student from West Virginia, and to the dark-eyed psych major named Duc, although at first I thought they were saying “Duck.” “And you already met Danny, right?”
I looked up in dismay. Not realizing I was there, that young man had returned for another cup of coffee, and he halted in the archway as if unsure whether to retreat or keep coming.
He opted for brazening it out. “I guess this is the first time you ever ate breakfast with a killer in the house.”
“Danny!” May and June protested together.
“Aw, come on, man,” said Duc, who was clearly of Asian descent despite his southern drawl.
“Then you’d guess wrong,” I told Freeman, matching his cool. “Besides, you did plead ‘Not guilty’ yesterday.”
“But you didn’t believe me.”
“What I believed was irrelevant,” I said stiffly. “My job yesterday was to look at the evidence, listen to the arguments, and rule on whether or not the State had enough cause to take you to trial. They showed me that you were there at the right time, you had the doctor’s blood on your clothes, he was trying to end your relationship with his daughter, and you’d fought with him.”
“Hell, half the people in Lafayette County have fought with him!”
“Then your attorney will undoubtedly depose them and present that as part of her argument when it goes to trial,” I said, sipping my coffee with more calmness than I felt.
Tension was building in the room, and the others looked uneasy.
“If you were still a lawyer,” said June, “could you have gotten him off?”
I considered everything I’d heard yesterday. “Given the circumstantial evidence and lack of a more viable suspect, he would have still had to stand trial, but yes, I can see all sorts of issues that could raise enough reasonable doubt to ensure a not-guilty verdict.”