When Did We Lose Harriet? Part 15

"Fifty-four. We've identified her, by the way. She was from Huntsville."

"Why on earth would William have identified her, then? You said he did, didn't you?"

"Positively, at first. He changed his mind later, but there's no way he could have mistaken her for fifteen, no matter how upset he was. I'll want to talk to Mr. Sykes again."

In the next few minutes, I told him about coming up the steps, hearing a noise inside, and seeing Ricky Dodd run away-and that Ricky was the person I thought had tried to break into Glenna's. "Did you ever compare his blood with that on the gla.s.s?"

He looked embarra.s.sed. "No ma'am, not yet. Since you all were okay and nothing was taken, I put that on a back burner, I'm afraid. We're pretty busy. But you know him?"

"I've met him, looking for Harriet. He lived as a foster child with Harriet and her grandmother for a while, and a couple of times she ran away and went to his place. He hadn't seen her this time, though."

"Did you see if he carried a weapon today?"

"No, and I saw him pretty clearly. Besides, if he'd had a gun and had already killed one person, why would he have run away instead of coming after me?" Until I said that, I hadn't given a second's thought to the fact that I could have been in danger myself. It was a good thing I was already sitting down.

"You never know what people will do in a panic." Carter hadn't lived long enough to know as much about that as he sounded like he had.

The woman officer came out. "Thought I'd look around outside for a possible weapon." Given that Eunice only had two bushes, her search was as complicated as a two-year-olds' egg hunt. She reached into the hydrangea just to the left of the steps and pulled out a pistol. "The murder weapon," she crowed to Carter. "I'll bet you a steak dinner on it."

That rooster wouldn't fly. "No wager, no dinner," Carter told her.

She looked disappointed, but brightened when he added, "But we've got a suspect." He gave her everything I'd told him, then turned back to me. "We'll bring him in. He'll swear he didn't do it, of course, but since you found him standing over her..."

I've been a magistrate's wife long enough to know the importance of precise evidence. "I didn't even see him in the house. I heard a slamming door and saw him running away."

"That's close enough to start. Let me send somebody out to pick him up." He went to his car without suggesting that I leave. I didn't think I could summon the energy, anyway.

After a while he came back and went inside. I heard him tell the others, "We've got an ID on the gun. Belongs to a Beverly White."

"Carter," I called through the open door, "I think she's the girl Ricky lives with."

Carter slapped his thigh. "Hot diggety! One we can solve in time for supper!"

He wasn't so c.o.c.ky when he arrived at Jake's room a little past five. After hugging Glenna and teasing Jake about getting a vacation the hard way, he asked, "Hey, Jake, can I borrow your sister for a cup of coffee?"

"She's a little old for you, isn't she, son?" Jake inquired mildly.

"No pretty woman ever gets old, Jake. You know that."

"Well, watch your step. She's got a lean, mean husband."

"This is a weird case, Miss MacLaren," Carter said a few minutes later, stirring enough sugar into his coffee to ice a cake and giving a girl at the next table a smile that would keep her happy for days. "You know you called 911 and asked for me?" I nodded. "Well, I wasn't far away, but the reason that other car arrived first was, there'd already been a 911 for the same address, a few minutes before."

"Who on earth-?"

"It gets weirder. The caller spoke in a loud whisper and claimed to have heard a shot. And, like yours, that call came from inside the house. What do you think of that?"

"Ricky?"

Carter shrugged. "He swears he wasn't there but a second when he heard a noise and ran. But it's his gun, all right-or his girlfriend's. He's on probation and not allowed to have a gun. But given that the gun was there and he was there-"

"Why would Ricky go out front to throw the gun away, then go back into the room?"

Carter shrugged again. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he was planning to rob the place, but you disturbed him. All he says is, he was there, heard the noise, and, with his record, was scared he'd be blamed, so he ran."

I'd heard Ricky talk. I appreciated how much editing Carter was doing for my benefit. I offered him a gift in return. "Ricky said he didn't know Myrna. I have witnesses to that."

"He still says he didn't know her. That's all he will say, though, until he gets a lawyer. He's been through the system a few times already. He knows the ropes."

"But he took a gun to her house, Carter? Why?"

"That's the weirdest part of all. He says he hadn't had that gun for weeks. He swears Harriet's had it."

"Harriet?"

"Yeah. I told you it was weird. Beverly corroborates that, by the way. She says she bought the gun for protection before she met Ricky, and forgot all about it. Harriet found it and got real mad they had it, with Ricky being on probation and all, so she took it and said she'd put it in a safe place where it couldn't hurt anybody. Looks like she didn't."

I was cold all over. "Oh, Carter, I do hope she hasn't killed her own mother!"

Twenty.

Give beer to those who are peris.h.i.+ng,

wine to those who are in anguish;

let them drink and forget their poverty

and remember their misery no more.

Proverbs 31:6-7

When Josheba called Jake's room to ask how he was doing, I couldn't very well tell her about Myrna's murder with old Big Ears right there. "I'd like to see you," I said formally. "How about if we go out for supper? Glenna's ordered a tray to eat with Jake."

Josheba plumb flabbergasted me. "Lewis is coming over to my place for lasagna and a gla.s.s of wine, Mac. Why don't you join us?" Lewis? I'd thought Morse was coming home the day before. Before I could ask, Josheba urged, "Come on over. I've got plenty."

I accepted. The way those two bickered the first-and, so far as I knew, only-time they'd been together, I might be needed as a referee.

I am ashamed to admit I'd never been a guest in an African American home before. I felt a bit das.h.i.+ng driving up to Josheba's, and wasn't sure what to expect. I discovered she lived just a few blocks from Glenna and Jake in a modest six-room brick house very like theirs. The main difference was, Josheba's furniture was newer and better. She had a collection of African art and sculptures I could have appreciated more if I hadn't been keeping one eye on Lewis and Josheba. The way they carried on in the kitchen, they could have known one another for years. I had never heard her laugh so much.

The food was delicious, but while we ate I obeyed Josheba's command to "fill us in on the latest developments." My news got far more attention than the lasagna. They were as shocked as I that Harriet's mother had been shot with a gun last seen in Harriet's possession.

"Tell me truthfully," I finished, looking from one pair of concerned dark brown eyes to the other, "do you all think Harriet is the kind of child who would shoot somebody?"

Josheba looked shocked. "No way!"

Lewis looked grave. "I hope not, but she has a temper. If pushed far enough-"

Josheba covered her ears with her hands. "I won't listen to this! What are you going to do next, Mac?"

"I'd like to go talk with Eunice again." I was surprised to hear myself say it. I thought I was going to leave everything to Carter, but if Carter was looking for Harriet because he thought she'd shot Myrna, I wanted to find her first. "I think I'll go offer condolences tonight and ask who else might have known Myrna was here. Do you all want to come?"

Josheba nodded. "I'll come. You, too, Mr. Henly?"

We turned toward him and found him sitting slumped over with his eyes closed. "You praying?" Josheba demanded bluntly.

"No," he murmured, "I was just wondering if I'd brought out jigsaws the first day Mac came to the center, whether she'd have given this Harriet thing a miss."

"Think how dull your life would be," Josheba scolded, but her eyes danced.

"My life isn't going to be dull for a long time, woman." He pushed back from the table. "I've got a meeting. Call me, Josheba, and keep me posted." He tried to sound casual, but he didn't fool me one bit. I wondered if he knew about Morse-and where Morse was.

When he was gone, I sighed. "I'd have felt a lot safer driving up there at night with Lewis along-even if he does rank as a suspect."

Josheba stared. "What do you mean a suspect, Mac?"

I started gathering up dishes to take them to the sink. "Only so many people could have known she was in town, and Lewis was one. When Myrna called me, she said she'd already called the teen center."

Josheba followed me with the serving platters. "Well, you know good and well Lewis didn't shoot her. He wouldn't kill anybody!" She started rinsing dishes for the dishwasher.

"Do!" I said, running some hot soapy water for the pots. "Sounds like you know Mr. Henly better than I supposed."

Her face grew slightly rosy and she turned away. "We've had dinner a couple of times, that's all. As friends." She moved to put things in the refrigerator.

"A couple of times? When? And where's Morse? I thought he'd be home by now." My boys and I used to carry on that way. I hoped Josheba knew I was teasing.

Her voice was m.u.f.fled from having her head in the fridge. "Morse isn't studying coming home. He called Friday to say the weather had cleared up, the river was fantastic, and he was staying an extra week." She stood up straight and added, a bit defiantly, "And Lewis and me-well, it isn't what you think, Mac. We had dinner twice, that's all. After you and I went up to Eunice's I dropped by to tell him about that visit and your break-in. He was about to get some supper before a basketball game, so he asked me to go along. Not having anything better to do, I accepted."

"That's once," I counted.

"Well," she looked a little embarra.s.sed, "on Friday, when Morse called, I could hear a party going on in the background. Men and women. Morse likes to party. So when Lewis called right afterwards and asked if I'd like to get some dinner again, I was just mad enough with Morse to accept. I figured if he was having fun, why shouldn't I?" She lifted her chin, then her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I must have been madder than I realized, though. I put on my prettiest turquoise pantsuit and my best perfume. But it doesn't really mean a thing, Mac. Lewis doesn't mean any more to me than those women up at the river mean to Morse, and I refuse to build a marriage on suspicion and jealousy."

"Next thing I know, you'll be running for Miss Virtue," I told her, scrubbing the baking dish. "But don't you break Lewis's heart, now."

From the happiness in Josheba's laugh when I said that, I suspected if she wasn't careful, she might break her own. It's so easy, once we have put on the armor of resolve, to think we're invulnerable to temptation.

Josheba couldn't stop talking about Lewis. When she went back in the dining room for the last few dishes, she called back, "I can't break Lewis's heart, Mac. He's already given it to that filthy teen center. He just likes to have somebody to eat with before his evening basketball game. But he sure is fun to be with. That man can talk!"

"Did he tell you anything about himself?" I asked as she returned. I wouldn't mind knowing a bit more about Mr. Henly myself.

"Sure. He told me about being a lawyer, and trips he used to take back when he was making money-Aspen to ski, the Bahamas and Jamaica for Christmas..."

"Looks like he wouldn't have wanted to give all that up for dirt and teenagers," I commented, wiping the last counter. "Did you ask him about that?"

"Yeah. He just shrugged and said, *Some things you gotta do. Sometimes you owe a debt you have to pay.' Now come on, Mac, let's get up to Eunice's before it gets dark."

As I led the way to Glenna's car, I couldn't help wondering what kind of debt a man could pay off better as the director of an inner-city teen center than as a wealthy lawyer. Maybe I'd been the wife of a magistrate too long, but it sounded suspiciously like community service to me.

Eunice's house was dark and circled with crime tape, but on the porch of the house next door several women were gathered in a huddle. When I asked if they knew where Eunice might be, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. A stocky woman turned toward the open screened door. "Eunice," she bellowed, "you got comp'ny."

Eunice appeared behind the screen. "h.e.l.lo, folks. Thank you for coming." She was neatly dressed in a gray skirt and white blouse-probably what she'd worn to work-but her hair was shoved about and her face was red and blotched from crying. "Come on in."

This house was different from its neighbor. Maybe it was people coming in and out, but it was scarcely cool. The living room was a small, dim cube filled with shabby overstuffed furniture all facing a huge color television. A collection of dusty china bells filled the sill of the picture window, a collection of dusty Avon bottles the top of the television.

"My neighbor Raye Hunter's lettin' me stay here with her until the police are finished with my house. This here's her granddaughter Jennifer." Eunice flapped one hand toward a pretty girl with long black curls and bright pink lipstick watching a television program. Eunice's eyes were rimmed with red. "So far I can't seem to do anything but cry," she apologized unnecessarily.

She led us to the dining room, an arch away from the living room. It was far too small and brightly lit for the warm crowd it held. Instead of a maple table and hutch, Mrs. Hunter had an old red Formica table and an a.s.sortment of mismatched chairs that had probably been dragged in from the rest of the house. A couple of women stood and insisted we take their patched plastic seats. Eunice spoke to a skinny woman with carrot-orange hair hovering by the kitchen door. "Raye, these here are friends of my niece Harriet."

"Let me get you a beer." Raye darted into her kitchen and reappeared almost at once with icy bottles, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with foam. I hate beer, but sipped mine to be polite.

I was wondering how to start a conversation when Eunice did it for us. "It don't seem right, Myrna coming so far just to die." She sniffed.

"When did she get here?" I asked.

"This very morning. Took the all-night bus." She sniffed again. Somebody pressed a blue tissue into her hand. "Me'n her wasn't what you'd call close, but I can tell you, it upsets me to think of her coming home to see her baby, then getting herself killed." The last word was a wail. Reaching for another tissue, she blew her nose like a trumpet. "Harriet and Myrna was all I had left in the world. Now Myrna's gone and Harriet's disappeared."

The girl in the living room decided the live show in the dining room was better than the one on the screen. She came in and held up part of the wall. "I read in the paper about a girl who disappeared several years ago." I figured she was trying to show sympathy by making the only connection she could with Eunice's grief. "She and her stepdaddy had a fight and she ran away with her boyfriend. Maybe that's where your niece went."

"Maybe so." Raye Hunter moved over to give her granddaughter's shoulders a squeeze of praise. "Anyway, Eunice, I'm sure Harriet's okay. Kids sometimes just need some s.p.a.ce."

Eunice was momentarily diverted. "Did that girl ever come back?" she asked, dabbing her eyes with a sodden tissue.