“I’ve been better. Just got out of Gary’s.”
“Ruh roh. Did you get yelled at? And what happened last night? Tell me fast, I’m picking up Seth at the orthodontist.”
“The headline is I didn’t get yelled at, but they don’t want me to call Griff and pay any retainer. Griff called.”
“What did he say?”
“I couldn’t get it. Marcus was right there, and we had a fight.”
“Oh no.” Lauren groaned.
“Oh yes.” Christine sighed.
“Christine, I don’t think you should help with the retainer. Paying, even lending him money, is crossing some line I don’t want you to cross.”
“I get that, but what about calling Griff back? Can’t I call and tell him that? The lawyer said not to and so did Marcus, but they just don’t want me to get involved. I felt majorly bossed around.”
“Aw.” Lauren clucked. “They’re not the boss of you. So what, you want to call Griff?”
“Yes.”
“Then call him, but make sure it’s the last time.” Lauren paused. “I have to tell you, Zachary scared me yesterday with all that talk about how you cut into a heart. That was creepy, you have to admit. I started to wonder if he was guilty.”
“I know, but then again, it shows he’s not the killer, or he wouldn’t even go there.”
“So are you completely sold?”
“No, but I’m inclined to think he’s innocent, that’s why I feel so crappy about washing my hands of him. Gary gets it, but Marcus doesn’t. Last night is a story you don’t have time for.”
“Okay. Call me later, I want to hear.”
“After dinner with my in-laws.”
“Big Frederik and his trophy wife? Lucky you.”
“You got that right. Bye, love you.”
“Love you, too.” Lauren hung up, and Christine pressed END. She took another sip of tea, scrolled to recent calls, and pressed Griff’s number. It rang twice, then he picked up.
“Griff.”
“Yes, hi. It’s Christine. Did you get to see Zachary this morning?”
“Yes. I’m going to represent him, if he can get the retainer.”
“Griff, about that.” Christine hesitated. “I don’t know if I can give him half of it.”
“His girlfriend’s lending him the other half.”
“Really?” Christine felt confused. “I thought they broke up and-”
“Gah,” Griff growled, impatient. “I don’t care. I didn’t call you to talk about romance. I called about that woman you told me about. The neighbor who told you Robinbrecht used to have men up all the time. Did she see anything that night?”
“I got the idea that she did, but she wouldn’t say.”
“What was her name again?”
“Linda Kent. She lives around the block from Warwick Street, but I don’t know her house number.”
“Then it is the same one. The house number is 505. I went over there. She’s dead.”
“What?” Christine asked, shocked.
“It was an accident.”
“How? What kind of accident?”
“She fell down her staircase. Her neck was broken.”
“How horrible!” Christine tried to visualize it, from what she remembered of the backstreet. “Do they know how she fell, or what happened?”
“At midnight or so. She probably slipped on the stairs. Neighbors say she drank like a fish.”
“But why would she be out on her stairwell at night?”
“How the hell do I know?” Griff grunted. “I don’t have time to shoot the breeze.”
“She said she had a clear view of Gail Robinbrecht’s steps, in the back. That’s the only entrance to a duplex, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Typical West Chester. The realty companies came in, chopped the houses into duplexes. Kent lived in one. So did Robinbrecht.”
“Doesn’t that seem strange to you, that Mrs. Kent dies in an accident, just a few days after the woman who lives directly across from her is murdered?” Christine was thinking out loud. “I mean, we know that Kent could have seen something that night, or maybe the killer simply thought she did. Kent looked at Robinbrecht’s apartment all the time, and the back stairs. If she told that to me, a complete stranger, how many other people do you think she told it to? Anybody who went to Robinbrecht’s, like Lauren and I did that night?”
“Oh boy. Speculating. I gotta go.”
“But wait, please. Think about this. A person who thought he was seen by Linda Kent going up Gail Robinbrecht’s stairs, or who might have believed he was seen, would have a motive to murder Linda Kent. Maybe he’s the real killer, not Zachary. The killer would be somebody who knew, or suspected, he was seen and didn’t want to take any chances.” Christine’s thoughts raced. “Zachary’s in prison, so it couldn’t have been him. Don’t you think that’s worth following up on? I think that’s the kind of thing that can really help the defense, don’t you?”
“Leave Jeffcoat’s defense to me-”
“I am, I’m just saying that this seems like an unusual turn of events. Don’t you agree?”
“I don’t want to discuss it with you. Now will you please let me hang up? I’m trying to remain a gentleman-”
Christine couldn’t let him go just yet. “One last question. Now that you met with him, do you think he’s innocent? He told me that he wanted a lawyer who believed in his innocence.”
“Well, all he’s got is me,” Griff answered, then hung up.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Christine tugged a weed from between two purple coneflowers, trying to clear her head. She hadn’t known what to do with herself after the phone call with Griff, and she couldn’t seem to shake the notion that Linda Kent’s death might not have been an accident. She needed not to think about it anymore, and the same went for Zachary. She took out another weed and tossed it in the red plastic bucket she used for plant refuse.
She had started the garden three years ago, back when they couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t getting pregnant, and even then she was self-aware enough to know that she wanted to grow something, even if it wasn’t a baby. They had a small yard in the front and back of the house, but she had located the garden in front by the driveway, so she could see it every time she came home.
Their house, the New Construction, was actually set perpendicular to the road, not facing it, and a tall hedge bordering their street gave her privacy while she gardened, so she could wear whatever she wanted, like the tank top and gym shorts she had on now, even braless. She’d never felt so constrained by a bra before she had gotten pregnant, and last week, before all hell had broken loose, she had happily begun to notice her breasts swelling, newly sexy on her tomboyish figure. Ordinarily, she would’ve spent the afternoon shopping online for the least-ugly nursing bra, but shopping for the baby had been tainted by the events of the morning.
Christine pulled another weed, but it came with too much dirt and she shook it out before she tossed it into the bucket. The garden was just beginning to bloom, and she could see that it was going to be a good summer. She’d planted only perennials because they’d come back every year, saving her a lot of work since she’d hoped she’d be busy when their baby finally arrived. When that looked like it was going to take longer than anticipated, she made peace with the perennial decision, if only because she loved the unruly wildness to coneflower, some with delicate purple petals and others with a dusky pink, and rudbeckia, or black-eyed Susans, whose bright golden petals stood out like yellow caution lights in the mass plantings she favored.
She pulled another weed. Elsewhere in the garden she had planted groupings of purplish Japanese anemone, tall white phlox, and some pale blue delphinium, which she couldn’t wait to see bloom. Along the border, catmint was already beginning to spread, and she felt happy that she had at least one plant that deer and rabbits wouldn’t eat. She hadn’t begun to spray yet, pumping the rotten egg and pepper repellent that obliterated the sweet perfume of the yellow roses and the fresh earthen smells of the dirt, but it was a price every gardener had to pay.