Page 49 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
“I’m aware of that. Very aware.”
“That must be hard on your secretary.” I doubted the firm could afford a secretary for each of them. We were in the wrong kind of German car.
“Not really. If my father and I need to communicate we email. It’s not always civil, but it gets the job done.”
“May I ask what the problem is?”
“No, you may not.” Without a pause he said, “I’m going to need a list of everyone you’ve spoken to since you took the original case and notes on what was said.”
Crap. This was a job with homework. “Can’t we just find the killer?”
“It probably isn’t necessary. They haven’t arrested Melanie, which means they don’t have enough evidence. If they don’t find anything else, the whole thing might blow over.”
“Really? You have met our sheriff, haven’t you?”
“True. But it’s not an election year. I suspect he’d like this to go away. Heaven forbid he should have to come back from Florida.”
“What happens if she’s arrested?”
“Then we’ll look at other suspects. Ones the sheriff ignored. If it goes to trial, we’ll want to show that someone other than Melanie could have done it.”
“Expose the real killer.”
“It doesn’t have to be therealkiller. It just has to be a plausibleotherkiller. We just have to create reasonable doubt.”
“Finding the real killer would do that, wouldn’t it?”
Okay, okay… I was getting a little addicted to finding killers. It was exhilarating and exciting, and yes, it was also dangerous, and I could potentially end up dead. Actually, it was a bit like… well, OxyContin.
Setting that uncomfortable realization aside, I pointed to our driveway and told Bernie to turn into it. Fortunately, our plow guy had come and we were able to get almost all the way to the house. It was still snowing enough that he might have to come back.
Before I got out of the car, he said, “Don’t forget I need that list.”
“I won’t forget.”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“What about tomorrow afternoon?”
“Do you think I could have the list by then?”
“Oh, okay, well, sure…” Then I added, “I’ll do my best.” Which most people would rightly interpret as a no.
“Great, I look forward to it.”
I climbed out of the car, noting that Bev’s Cherokee was right there. Someone, probably Bev, had shoveled a path from the driveway to the back door. That was normally my job, so I was happy someone else had done it.
Kicking my snow-covered boots on the doorjamb, I stepped into the kitchen. Bev and Barbara were at the table with my grandmother. Emerald wore a half a cup of rice cereal, which didn’t seem to be bothering anyone. Riley was asleep in his dog bed. The room was strangely quiet. I could hear the Colonial-style wall clock ticking. It was barely eleven.
Once I was down to my socks, I went to the sink and wet a clean washcloth. Then I went over to the baby and began cleaning her up. I glanced up at Nana Cole to see that her face was rigid. Bev and Barbara’s faces were just as rigid. Something had happened. But before I could ask what, Bev stood and said, “We’ll be leaving then.”
“Um… you couldn’t stay until Jan gets here? That would really…”
“I’m sorry, not today,” Bev said. No one was looking at me. They walked over to the back door; then put on their boots and coats in silence. I looked at my grandmother and pulled a questioning face, which she ignored. As soon as they were out the door, I asked, “What was that about?”
“I called Bev right after you left, right after seven this morning.” Her tone was filled with disgust. “They came right over.”
“Why is that a problem?”
