Classic Revenge (7 page)

Millie nodded, her lips drawn in a tight line as she
bent to pluck a stray weed from Trish's yard. "I think
we all agree. So, what do we do now?" she asked as she
straightened, the offending weed still in her hand.

Trish's eyebrows rose. They were talking about murder, and Millie acted like it wasn't any more serious
than deciding whether it was too early to eat dinner or
not. She reached out and knocked on Millie's head.
"Hello, is anybody home in there?"

Millie's mouth popped open and she took a step back.
"What did you do that for?" she asked indignantly.

"I did that because I think you've lost your marbles!
What do you mean `What are we going to do now?"'

Millie placed her hands on her hips. "Whose idea
was it to help Sam in the first place?"

"That was when I thought we were trying to prove
Susan's death was an accident ... not the result of murder!"

"So now he doesn't deserve our help?"

"I never said that, Millie," Trish said, her eyes narrowing at the short fireball standing in front of her.
Both of them had raised their voices by now. Trish just
hoped the neighbors didn't hear and come rushing out
of their homes like kids gathering around a schoolyard fight. If Millie threw the first punch, Trish knew she
could take her, but Millie didn't appear to be concerned
at all. She was going to have to work on her threatening
skills.

"Then, what are you saying?"

Trish counted to ten, slowly. "Do you realize how
dangerous it could be to get involved in this?"

"Ah ... you were right," Millie said, her eyes twinkling. "Edna isn't the scaredy-cat-sorry, my mistake."

It was the twinkling eyes that saved her. Otherwise,
Millie might have been sitting on the ground by now.

"You're a brat, Millie." The smile in Trish's voice added
sincerity to the endearment.

"I know," she chuckled, and then sighed deeply as her
forehead creased in worry. "We have to do something,
though, and you know it."

Trish sighed. "I'm not having any brainstorms right
now."

"That's it!" Millie exclaimed. "We'll have a brainstorming party tonight. When Michelle leaves, I'll come
over. You get in touch with Edna and let her know. And,"
Millie said dramatically, "I'll bring dessert. Jell-O and
fruit, my rear end!"

Before Trish could close her mouth, Millie was
halfway across the street.

When Edna called that afternoon to tell her that the attorney had not yet received copies of the arrest warrant
and official report, Trish related what Millie had suggested. To her surprise, Edna willingly agreed to the
meeting later that evening. As she had so eloquently put
it, "We're Sam's only hope"

A few hours later, Trish turned off her computer and stretched. She would mail the financial statements she
had just completed, along with her bill, to the construction company that used her services, and she'd be free
for a few days. Yawning, she glanced at the clock. Four
o'clock! My, how time flew when you billed by the hour.

At least the tedious work had kept her mind off Sam
for a while. Speaking of which, she only had a couple of
hours before Edna and Millie were due to arrive. She'd
need to make a snack tray-they were all incurable
munchers-and there was one other thing she wanted to
do before her friends showed up.

A few minutes later, Trish stood in front of the exercise machine, sans the spandex outfit. She was wasting
her time trying to intimidate this cold chunk of metal
by dressing like an experienced, professional exercise
person. Nope, this afternoon it was sweatpants and tennis shoes.

With a determined attitude she lowered herself onto
the black leather seat at one side of the machine and
placed her feet on the pedals. Her knees were bent almost to her chest, but evidently that was the way it was
supposed to work. Grasping the two handles on each side
of the seat, she took a deep breath and pushed with her
legs, and ... pushed! Nothing budged. Trish took a
deeper breath and pushed harder. Still nothing happened,
except that she now had a purple face and a headache.
Puzzled, she sat for a minute reviewing the picture in her
mind of the tiny, slim woman in the manual easily pushing the pedal as she smiled a movie-star smile, not even
breaking a sweat.

Hmm ... something had to be wrong. Trish got up
and slowly walked around the machine. Then she saw
it. The little lever that controlled the amount of weight to be used was stuck in the hole marking two hundred
pounds. Rolling her eyes heavenward, she pulled it out
and stuck it in the twenty-pound hole. She wasn't Wonder Woman yet.

This time the pedal moved with relative ease. Push ...
release, clang! Push ... release, clang! Trish could feel
the pressure, but it wasn't too bad. Soon she was into an
easy rhythm. Smiling with satisfaction, she let her mind
wander. And since there wasn't much else going on in
her life right now, her mind wandered right over to the
dilemma Sam was in.

The thought that Sam had killed Susan was ludicrous. So, the question became: Who had? Claire? But
that thought was even more ridiculous than thinking
Sam had done it. What possible motive would Claire
have for killing her employer? There was absolutely
none, as far as Trish could tell.

It was back to square one. As far as she knew, Susan
didn't have any enemies, burglary was ruled out, and
the two people closest to her, Sam and Claire, had both
been out of the house when it had happened. What was
she missing here? There had to be a reasonable explanation, and yet, was murder ever reasonable?

Trish felt the slight burning in the muscles of her
thighs, but she didn't pay it any attention. Her thought
process was on a roll. She blew the hair out of her eyes
as she concentrated. Suddenly, as though a lightbulb had
just flashed on in her mind, she knew this had to be tied
to Sam, somehow-either intentionally, to make him
look guilty, or just to plain hurt him. Either way, Sam
was as much a victim of this as Susan had been. She was
sure of it.

Trish stopped pedaling and glanced at her watch. There was just enough time to take a quick shower and
lay out some snacks before her cohorts would be over.
Feeling both physically and mentally invigorated, she
stood. Evidently, she'd stood too fast. Her rubbery legs
barely held her up long enough to allow her to sink back
onto the seat. Might have overdone it just a bit, she
thought with a grimace. It took a few minutes before she
felt steady enough to try standing again. Biting her lower
lip, she wobbled down the hallway.

As scheduled, Millie and Edna arrived promptly at
six, Millie carrying a plastic dish containing a beautiful
chocolate cake. Trish dreaded the thought of how much
exercising she would have to do to work it off tomorrow ... or the next day, she hastily amended, as her
legs protested at the mere thought of another workout.
It never crossed her mind that she could just say no to
the rich dessert.

Armed with crackers and cheese, pickles and olives,
coffee and cake, the three women sat at the table and
immediately started discussing Sam's plight.

"Sam is the reason behind this crime," Trish blurted,
popping an olive in her mouth.

Edna's eyes opened wide. "You'll never make me believe Sam killed Susan!" Her hand shook slightly as
she put down her coffee cup.

"Oh, Edna, I didn't mean Sam is guilty, but I do believe this happened because of him."

Millie mumbled through a huge bite of rich, chocolate cake, "Go on"

"I'm convinced that someone is out to get Sam.
They've successfully framed him for the murder and
devastated him at the same time."

Edna frowned. "What makes you so sure?"

"Let's look at this objectively." Trish leaned forward in her chair and crossed her arms on the table.
"Nothing was stolen, so it wasn't a robbery. Susan never
met anybody who didn't like her and vice-versa, so
it's not a secret enemy. There's no sign of breaking
and entering ..."

"We got in the house, and we didn't have to break
anything," Millie pointed out.

"That's exactly my point! Whoever did this knew
how to get in, or maybe when Claire and Sam left that
morning they didn't lock the door. Regardless, someone knew Susan would be alone."

Millie leaned back in her chair and patted her stomach, her gaze settling on the far wall as she contemplated Trish's theory. Edna was silent as she broke off a
square of sliced cheese and placed it on a cracker.
While they pondered the idea, Trish got up to refill their
coffee, noticing that the muscles in her legs were really
starting to tighten up. Making her way very slowly to
the coffee pot, she hoped neither of her friends would
notice. She'd never hear the end of it.

Finally, Millie broke the silence. "For argument's
sake, let's say you're right. That still doesn't bring us any
closer to figuring out who could have done it and why."

"Well, that's not necessarily so," Edna said slowly.
"Sam can help us"

Trish sat back down and bit her bottom lip to keep
from crying out as her muscles protested. She gave Edna
two thumbs up on her suggestion, afraid her voice would
come out in a squeak if she tried to talk right at that moment.

Millie nodded. "I think your theory is a possibility
we need to investigate. So, what do we do now?"

"We start by going to the police," Trish said firmly. Her legs were settling into bearable pain as long as she
stayed absolutely still.

"Why don't we just tell the attorney what we suspect?" Edna asked.

Trish finally gave in to temptation and cut a piece of
cake. "He hasn't even gotten the information on Sam's
arrest yet," she answered. "Our suspicion at this point
will mean nothing to him. He'll just file away our theory until he has the whole case against Sam laid out. In
the meantime, Sam is living with this horrible charge
against him. Maybe the police can do something."

"In your dreams," Millie said wryly.

Trish licked a dab of chocolate from her finger. "Do
you have a better idea?"

Millie hesitated and then shrugged. "I guess not. But
don't be disappointed if the police don't jump for joy
and announce that the case is solved"

With its white rock exterior and natural, understated
landscaping, the outside of the Grand River Police Department looked like any other house in the area, except, of course, for the two official cars parked in the
wide circular driveway-one of them must be out on patrol since the city owned only three-and the sign above
the front door announcing the official establishment.

Trish had never been there before. Were they supposed
to knock on the door? Millie answered that question
when she walked up the front steps and marched right in.

The interior of the place was in sharp contrast to the
homey atmosphere of the exterior. The tile flooring and
painted beige walls were done with the normal imaginative flair of an administrator on Valium. On the wall across from the door was a large framed photograph of
the chief and three other uniformed officers standing in
front of the building. Trish wondered how many speeders had gotten away with their vicious crimes while the
entire Grand River Police Department had been otherwise occupied.

Nobody sat at the desk in the corner of the entryway,
but a full cup of coffee suggested that someone would be
there soon. Evidently, Millie had decided that she didn't
want to wait. She walked right past the desk, down a long
hallway with closed doors on either side. There were
more pictures, but they were of former officers long retired by now.

Trish and Edna followed Millie at a safe distance. If
she was shot for trespassing, they didn't want to be anywhere near the flying bullets. Millie found the door she
was looking for and knocked loudly before opening it.
Geez, did the woman have any manners at all? Trish bit
her bottom lip to keep from laughing as the expression
hell on wheels came to mind.

A gruff, male voice, a surprised gruff, male voice,
had started to respond to the knock, but stopped when
Millie walked in. Edna turned slightly toward Trish and
rolled her eyes before she followed Millie. Trish just
shook her head and walked through the doorway.

Next time, if they were ever allowed back in the police department again, they would find a way to leave
Millie at home.

Police Chief Henry Espinoza sat behind a large, black
metal desk. He rose slightly from his seat when they
walked in and then sat back down with a large sigh. Not
a good sign, Trish thought.

"Is there something I can do for you ladies?" he asked
in a voice that made it clear he didn't appreciate unannounced visitors. His brown eyes were sharp and he was
obviously intelligent, but everybody knew he was as
cantankerous as a rattlesnake when somebody invaded
its territory.

"Hi, Henry," Millie said, unperturbed, plopping down
across from the desk in the only other chair in the
cramped room. "You remember my friends, Edna Radcliff and Trish Anderson, don't you?"