Law and Author (21 page)

“This is turning out to be a long day,” Jane murmured and ran her hands through her hair. “There are way too many hours between now and cocktail time.”

MURDER IN THE MYSTERY SUITE—
ELLERY ADAMS

L
izzie loved her job. She really did. But she was so happy there was still another week of holidays before having to head back to work. Tuesday's literacy class had also been cancelled because the community center was doing extra programming for the kids, so even classes held off-site, like at Molly's, were included in the change. She mentally ticked off her ‘To Do' list. Housework just wouldn't go away. Today must be the day.

She'd just finished vacuuming the main floor and was hauling the vacuum upstairs when the front doorbell rang.

“Lizzie, sugar, I'm just so pleased you are actually at home. I tried your back door first, of course, but your buzzer's probably not working. Not that it matters. Here you are and we must have a confab right this instant. I'm just in such
a tizzy after my creative writing class this morning.” Teensy waved a sheaf of papers in Lizzie's face.

Uh-oh. Must be something to do with Fannie Hewitt
. Lizzie dreaded asking the question. “What's happened?”

“Just read this and you'll see what I mean.” She thrust the papers into Lizzie's hands.

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Fannie's?”

“Oh, Lordy, yes.”

Lizzie led her into the kitchen and poured them both a cup of coffee. Teensy paced while Lizzie quickly read the short chapter of five pages. She looked up at Teensy when she'd finished. “She poisons her husband.”

“Yes, yes, she does. Do you think this means she's actually going to do it? We haven't had a chance to talk very much about this lately. And in fact, I'll admit I've been so drawn up in Molly's problem that I haven't given poor Fannie enough thought. What do you think?”

Lizzie sat back in her chair. “I really don't know, Teensy, but I do find it hard to believe she'll actually follow through in real life. The last time I spoke to Fannie, she seemed more intent on framing her husband, or rather, the husband in the novel, for the disappearance of the wife.” Lizzie picked up the papers again. “Although she did say she'd probably go with murdering him after all. I was hoping she'd change her mind again.”

“Well, she was wearing a large scarf draped around her neck and shoulders to class today. And you know how hot it gets in those classrooms.” Teensy raised her eyebrows in a knowing look.

“That could be a bad sign. I don't know what to say. What do you want to do?”

Teensy sat across from Lizzie, crossed one leg over the other and started pumping away, concerning Lizzie that the
blue sparkly sandal on Teensy's right foot might go flying across the room. Or straight at Lizzie. Finally, the leg stopped and Teensy leaned forward.

“An intervention. Right now. We both go over to Fannie's house and confront her.”

“We did try something like that already and it didn't really clarify much,” Lizzie pointed out.

“Hmm. You're right, of course. But we were probably too subtle or gentle the last time. This time we need to ask her right out. How about I just take some time to figure out how we'll finesse this and we head over there later on?”

Lizzie sighed, knowing there was no way out of it. On the one hand, she hated the thought of confronting Fannie with such an accusation, especially if it wasn't true. And it might not be. However, she'd feel worse if they did nothing and Fannie did follow through, as Teensy seemed to think. She nodded her agreement.

Teensy bounded up. “Good. I'll pick you up this afternoon at four sharp. I do have a spa appointment which will take a goodly part of the afternoon.”

“What if Mr. Fannie is at home?”

“We'll just tell him we're taking her out for a coffee, which we'll do, and that we're so impressed with her writing, we wanted to talk about it, which we do.” Teensy's face broke into a large smile. She was obviously pleased with her plan. “See you later. Ta-ta.”

Teensy honked the horn of her yellow Cadillac out in Lizzie's driveway at four sharp. Lizzie, knowing Teensy was always on time, had one foot out the door before the honking stopped. She slid into the passenger seat and stopped to admire Teensy's outfit before talking. Her orange and yellow long top was layered and of a floating material. She wore white leggings with it and what appeared to be lime green
stiletto sandals. Her thick, bottle-red hair had been captured in a lime green scarf.

“You look amazing,” Lizzie said. “Now, what's the game plan?”

“Why, thank you, sugar. And, exactly as I said earlier today. Just ask her straight out.”

“And have you thought of what to do with that answer? What if she admits she's planning to kill her husband? Or, what if she denies it and gets angry or upset that you've assumed that?”

“Humph. I guess I hadn't taken it that far.” Teensy sat drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “What would you do?”

“I probably wouldn't do this in the first place.”

“Now that's not the right answer and you know it. We have a duty to help poor Fannie and divert her from the pathway to jail. I suppose I could start by confiding in her that I'm drawn to her work because I went through the exact same thing in my marriage. That I had many times plotted to do him in but when it came around to it, I just couldn't bring myself to commit such a heinous act. Plus, the thought of spending the rest of my life in jail was none too appealing. I could say I blackmailed him into letting me leave. Yes, that's what I'll say.” Teensy looked pleased with herself.

Lizzie felt stunned but then thought about it. “None of that's true, is it?”

“Of course not, sugar. But I can be a good liar and it's known as a big white lie when someone is in trouble.” She turned her bright, encouraging smile on Lizzie. “It will work. I guarantee it.”

Lizzie had her doubts but Fannie was Teensy's concern, after all.

They waited several seconds until the door was opened
by a nervous-looking Fannie. She had on a shapeless beige T-shirt and beige capris. Gone was the classy-looking lady she'd met with before. It looked like Fannie was trying to disappear from view.

“I know why you're here,” she blurted out and started to cry.

Teensy swept into the hallway and put an arm around Fannie's shoulder. “Oh, my goodness gracious, Fannie. What are you so upset about? We're here to help you, that's why we're here. Just tell us all about it and you'll feel so much better.” Teensy glanced over at Lizzie and raised her eyebrows, almost triumphantly, Lizzie thought.

Fannie pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and blew into it, then looked from one to the other. “What do you mean?”

“Well, about your story,” Teensy answered.

The tears started again. “You see, I was right.” She pulled away from Teensy and wandered into the living room off the hallway to the left. Teensy and Lizzie were right behind her.

Fannie sat perched on the edge of the seat of a dark brown lounge chair. Teensy sat on the matching sofa beside it.

“Is your husband here?” she asked.

“No. Hammond is out of town for a couple of days, on business. He's an accountant and has this one client who moved away and still uses him.”

“That's nice, dear. So, tell me about your story,” Teensy demanded.

Fannie dabbed at her eyes and hiccupped. Lizzie remained standing at the doorway.

“Well, it all started because I was bored and I thought Hammond was fooling around on me. So I thought, I'll show him. I'll get a life of my own, become someone famous, and he'll regret tossing me aside.” She looked at Teensy and then over at Lizzie. “That's why I did it.”

Lizzie shifted from one foot to the other.

“Did what, Fannie?” Teensy reached over to pat her hand but Lizzie could hear the exasperation creeping into her voice. “Kill your husband?”

“What?” Fannie leapt up. “What did you say? I cannot believe you'd think that.”

“But that's what all this is about, isn't it? Your story is about an abused wife who plots to kill her husband. That's you, isn't it? I've seen the bruises on your arm, the scarf you sometimes wear tightly around your neck even on a hot day.”

“No, it isn't me. It's research.”

“What?”

“I was doing what you said to do, getting into the head of my character.”

Lizzie had to pretend to cough in order to cover her mouth and keep from laughing. The feeling of relief was immense.

“You what?”

Fannie nodded. “Hammond would never slap me around but I can tell you, I go through a lot of emotional abuse. Well, maybe not done in a mean-spirited way or anything. It's just like he's living in his own world except I'm here, too, and he doesn't know it most times. So that's my starting point. I used actor's makeup for the bruises. I used to do makeup with the local amateur theater, you know.”

Teensy sagged back against the sofa but had to struggle upright when her feet left the ground. “Well, you had me convinced. You write a mean story, girl.”

“Uh, that's what I have to tell you.”

Teensy looked at her, one eyebrow elevated.

“Uh, it's not my story at all except for the feelings I was trying to inject into it. The story belongs to my cousin, Robin. She wrote it when she was off work taking care of
her youngest, and I've always admired it so when I signed up for your course and couldn't come up with a single idea, I used it. She hadn't published it or anything. It's just sitting in her drawer.”

“You plagiarized?”

“I guess. But you know, I wasn't really thinking about that. I was hoping to make it my own story and by pretending to be an abused woman, I thought I could become a better writer. But I got to feeling so badly about doing it because here you were spending so much time with me, encouraging me and all. I couldn't lie to you about it anymore. I've been a nervous wreck for days now, and when you seemed so concerned this morning at class, well I just couldn't get out of there fast enough.”

“Humph. What about your telling Lizzie about how you get into the zone and all when writing a book?”

“Well, I hear lots of authors say that or something similar, all the time. You've even said it. And, I kind of experience it,” she added sheepishly.

“What does your cousin think of this? Did she agree to it?”

“She doesn't know.” Fannie dabbed at her eyes. “I just kept a copy when she asked me to read it. I guess I'll have to tell her, though.”

Neither woman said anything for a few minutes. Lizzie eventually broke the ice. “Well, seeing as she hasn't published the story and hasn't tried to do so, I doubt there's any real harm done, in the literary world. On the other hand, spousal abuse is a very serious matter. I think it's a worthy topic to tackle but I don't approve of your methods, especially since it was a story just handed to you and not something you had any serious convictions about. Or so it seems.”

Teensy shot her an icy glance.

“And,” Lizzie continued, ignoring Teensy, “I do think you have a lot of apologizing to do to Teensy here. And we really are relieved you're not in any mortal danger, aren't we, Teensy?”

“Uh, yes. Yes we are.” Teensy rallied. “And I do think you're on the right track, trying to write in some of your own emotions, although I've never seen anyone actually physically harm themselves in order to do that.”

“Oh, I didn't. Mostly it was make-up. Well on purpose. I walked into the door, really honestly and truly.”

“As I was saying, why don't you take those emotions and write your own story around them?”

Fannie's jaw dropped. “You mean it? I'm not kicked out of the class? Because I was so afraid that's what you were here for.”

“You can stay in the class, but you have to work your butt off to get caught up, understood?”

Fannie nodded. Teensy smiled. “Well, that's very good then, girl. I'll see you in the next class. Lizzie, we must be going.”

Lizzie followed Teensy out the door, after Fannie had given them both huge hugs. When they were back in the car, Teensy drove off quickly and then pulled over once they'd rounded the corner.

“I never for the life of me saw that coming.” She turned to face Lizzie. “Did you? I mean, you read her work, too. Did you not think it was for real?”

“I did but I could have been influenced into believing that.”

“But since it's her cousin's story, what if she's attempting to murder her husband?”

“I think we should just let it rest, Teensy.”

Teensy looked like she might argue but instead broke out
into a smile. “I guess you're right and that's my author's imagination at work, also. Maybe I could make a story out of this. What do you think?”