Steeled for Murder (32 page)

“Mr. Ramirez told me I wouldn’t be monitored until I have my next appointment. Thursday.”

Kelly turned to look at me. “Really? That surprises me.”

“I think they expect me to mess up. They think I’m up to something,” I said glumly.

“And just what are you up to?”

“Not a whole lot. Work. Go home. Do my laundry. Take books out of the library.”

“Do you want to come over to my place for supper?” she asked. “The kids have been asking about you.”

I smiled. “They think you need a boyfriend.”

She actually blushed. “Did they say that?”

“Chris did. He said his dad has a girlfriend. His dad told him that only losers don’t have boyfriends or girlfriends.”

Kelly snorted. “That sounds like Fred. What did you tell him?”

“That I must be a loser.”

Kelly laughed. “So you want to come over?”

“Okay. I got some sleep in the holding cell. I can keep an eye on the kids if you want to take a nap.”

Kelly didn’t answer.

“If you think you can trust the situation,” I added quickly. I couldn’t bring myself to say “trust me.” “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Or to do anything you’re afraid wouldn’t be good for the kids.”

She smiled. “I’m too suspicious, huh?”

“Can’t be too careful where your kids are concerned.”

“I checked with my dad,” she said. “He says he asked around. A lot of people who know you would be very surprised if they found out you were some kind of pervert.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Said you were always kind of a prude. You didn’t go for the skin mags like a lot of the guys do. And you didn’t talk about hiring a hooker the minute you hit the streets. They said you never showed interest in any joining any of the stuff going on in the cellblocks, either way.”

“Yeah. I always figured, don’t matter whether you’re pitching or catching, it’s still playing ball. And I got no desire to play that kind of ball.”

We pulled into Kelly’s driveway just a few seconds before the school bus pulled up. The kids came tumbling out of the bus and up the porch steps. Kelly leaned down to be kissed and shooed them into the house.

I followed.

Kelly headed for the kitchen. The kids dumped their backpacks, and Chris went to turn on the TV.

I frowned, trying to remember what the routine had been in the Coleman household after school. “Aren’t you guys supposed to change out of your school clothes?” I asked.

They looked at me as if I had asked if they were supposed to fly to the moon.

“We wear the same stuff all day,” Chris said.

“Oh.” They were wearing jeans and shirts, not “school clothes” the way I remembered. “How about homework?”

Chris looked at Brianna. “We do that after supper,” he said.

“Actually,” Brianna added, “we usually don’t do it at all.”

“How do you expect to get good grades if you don’t do your homework?” Mrs. Coleman talking through me again, I realized.

The kids looked at each other again. “We don’t.”

I was surprised. “You don’t? Do you want to get left back?”

“Brianna might,” Chris said. “She’s in Remedial Reading, and if she doesn’t pass that, she has to be in first grade again.”

Brianna looked like she might cry.

“Well, let’s get out that homework and see what we can do with it,” I said. Mrs. Coleman had always had me help the younger kids with their homework. How different could this be?

We emptied the backpacks on the dining room table. I sorted through the loose papers; there were several newsletters and forms that were dated from weeks ago. I smoothed them out as best I could and put them aside for Kelly to read.

Chris was supposed to draw a picture of the solar system. I was a little rusty on the planets and where they went. He dissolved into typical third-grade giggles over the name of Uranus. And what happened to Pluto? But I had to figure the textbook he’d brought home would be more accurate than my memory.

Brianna was working on matching upper case and lower case letters. Still learning her letters in first grade? I thought she should be way beyond that; no wonder she was in Remedial Reading. I wondered if she’d been tested for a learning disability or something.

Kelly called us into the kitchen. She’d made chili and cornbread. Delicious and filling. She looked exhausted.

“You go lie down,” I told her after we ate. “On the couch in the living room if you want to be nearby. I’ll do up the dishes and help the kids finish their homework.”

She looked a bit doubtful.

No point worrying her. “Or I can take care of the dishes and go on home. You can get the kids to bed and grab at least a few hours’ sleep.”

She smiled and made up her mind. “Thanks,” she said. “If you don’t mind staying, I’ll go catch some shut-eye.” She kissed the kids and went upstairs.

A real show of faith. I washed the dishes, saw that the kids finished their homework, and asked them what they wanted to do next.

“Play a game?” Chris said.

“Read us a story?” Brianna said.

“What games do you have?” I asked.

Chris looked doubtful. “Candyland?”

It seemed a little juvenile for him, but I agreed readily. “How about a quick game, and then you can choose a book for me to read? Maybe for a bedtime story?”

They squabbled over which book, so I told them they could each choose one and I’d read both. “How does your mom decide which book to read?” I asked.

They looked at each other. “Mom doesn’t read us stories,” Brianna said.

“Daddy used to,” Chris offered.

Didn’t all “good” parents read bedtime stories to their kids? No wonder Brianna was having trouble reading.

I decided not to insist on baths. Missing one night wouldn’t hurt, and for sure I didn’t want to be in the position of telling Brianna to get undressed. I sent the kids up to put on their pajamas and brush their teeth. I made sure it was Chris’s bed we sat on to read the books. Although I suppose if somebody was looking at it from the wrong angle, that might have looked worse. Then I tucked them into bed.

I told Brianna that I felt a cold coming on and shouldn’t kiss her. Or even her teddy.

I went back downstairs and fell asleep on the couch. Compared to the lumpy bed in my furnished apartment, it was comfortable. And that lumpy bed was a big step up from thin, fire-retardant prison mattresses.

Just after eleven o’clock, Kelly woke me up and handed me a cup of coffee. “The babysitter’ll be here any minute. I made us lunches for work.”

She handed me a bag that looked like it would measure up to her usual abundant standards. “I have to move the car out of the driveway so the babysitter can park there.”

“You want me to wait in the car?” I asked her.

Kelly gave me a puzzled look. “Why would I want you to do that?”

“In case your ex’s lawyer starts asking the babysitter whether you have men stay overnight.”

“This isn’t exactly overnight,” Kelly pointed out. “And Louise already knows about you.”

“True.” Not my place to worry about that.

She shrugged. I followed her out and climbed in the car. She parked it on the street and went back inside. A few minutes later, another car pulled into the driveway and the driver hurried into the house.

Kelly came out, and we headed for the plant.

My first shift as lift driver without close supervision. I tried hard to keep track of what I should be doing, getting new parts in place before the machine operators needed them. I was less sure about where to put all the finished products; John told me to just line them up in the front of the warehouse and the day shift could sort them out.

The whistle blew for shift change. I parked the forklift in its place in the warehouse and swung off the seat. I wasn’t used to sitting so much, and my back was stiff.

Mac came to pick up the lift. He stood and watched me go over the checklist. “How’d it go?” he asked.

“Okay, I hope.”

He nodded. “John said you’re doing good. Says you don’t need to be told what to do next, keep an eye on it yourself. Once you got the driving skills down, that’s the most important part of the job.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that. I was pretty sure John wasn’t going tell me I was doing a good job. Not his style. “Thanks,” I said.

Mac grunted in reply and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Radman had been nowhere in sight all shift.

I was a little late clocking out. Everyone else had left by the time I punched out.

The weather wasn’t bad. I didn’t have to go straight home. I decided to take a little walk to work the stiffness out of my back before I went home and went to bed. I would sleep well. Benches in holding cells aren’t known for their comfort as beds.

I probably should stop by the library and make it clear to Mandy that I had no intention of getting involved in her crazy ideas. I could see the headlines now: “Paroled Murderer Kills Again.” And I’m sure it would be hard to convince people it was all Mandy’s idea. Not that it would make much difference when they sentenced me.

Maybe I could get her to see how stupid it was to even think about getting rid of her husband by having him killed. That’s what divorce courts are for.

As I passed McDonald’s, I noticed a sign saying all sizes of coffee were a dollar. I had a few coins in my pocket. Maybe it was an outrageous luxury, but I went inside, got an extra-large with plenty of cream and sugar, and sat down to nurse it until the library opened.

Mandy was busy checking out books to someone else. I stood looking at a display of paperbacks. Some of them looked pretty interesting. I hadn’t really intended to get anything out—I still had two unread books at home—but I picked up two anyhow.

When Mandy was alone at the counter, I went up and gave her my books. “Things any better?” I asked her.

Her face expressionless, she shook her head. “Not really. But I’ve thought some more about what you said. You’re right. Killing Sterling would be stupid. Even if he deserves it.”

I nodded in relief. One problem solved.

“So I called the lawyer who handled my parents’ will. I made an appointment for lunch time. And I told everybody I might have to take the afternoon off.”

“That’s the way to go. Get out of the house if you’re worried about your safety.”

“I have no place to go.”

“Go to a woman’s shelter.”

“I don’t know where one is.”

“You work in a library, for cripes’ sake. Ask the reference librarian. You don’t have to say it’s for you. Or look it up on the internet. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

“But it’s my house. Why should I be the one to leave?” Her mouth was set in a stubborn line.

“Because you want to be safe.” What was the matter with her? “That’s more important than who stays in the house. Besides, it was yours before you got married. I bet the lawyer will make sure you get it back.”

Tears glittered in her eyes. “All my old friends think Sterling’s such a great catch. They think I’m stuck up now. They never invite me anyplace anymore. How can I tell them I’m getting a divorce?”

“They’ll get over it. So will you. I don’t think you’ll be sorry you went the divorce route.”

“Look.” Mandy’s fist clenched. “You won’t say anything about, you know…what I was talking about at the restaurant, will you?”

“Nope. I’d get in as much trouble as you. Probably more.”

I had no way of knowing how much Montgomery had overheard. Even now, an investigation might be underway. Might already be in a lot of trouble over it. Not much I could do about that.

“Thank you. I just must have gone a little crazy, you know.” She leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “Look, there is something I want you to do for me.”

Uh oh. “What is it?” I asked.

“Come look at some of Sterling’s stuff that I found. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

A tear brimmed over her eyelid. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I’m so scared. But suppose the lawyer just thinks I’m a hysterical female? I want to be able to tell him what I found. And I don’t really know what it is.”

“Why don’t you just bring some of it in to show the lawyer when you go to see him?” The further I was away from all this, the better.

Mandy blinked rapidly. “I don’t want Sterling to know I found it. Suppose he came home and some of it was missing? I don’t know what he’d do.”

“Not much, I’d think. Not if he thought you’d taken it to a lawyer.”

“Oh, I’m not telling him about the lawyer. Not until I know where I stand. He’d kill me.”

“Make sure you get to a safe place,” I said.

“I’ll try,” Mandy agreed reluctantly. She looked up at me. “If something happens to me, I want someone to know what was there.”

“You think anyone’d take my word over Sterling Radman’s?”

“They don’t have to believe you,” she said.