Real Murders

"I like kids," said Robin, and I could tell he was sincere. "Maybe Saturday we can all go to the state park and have a picnic and hike one of the trails." That would be an hour drive to and from, plus allow maybe three hours for the hike and picnic, I figured rapidly. I could be back in time for roller skating, but Phillip would probably be exhausted from the park, and I might be, too. "Maybe playing—is it called goofy golf?—would be better. I noticed a new place out on the highway into the city when I drove in Monday." That felt years ago now.

"I saw that, too," Robin said. "Maybe Saturday afternoon?" "Okay, he'll love it. Come meet him tomorrow night," I offered. "I promised to make pecan pie—that's Phillip's favorite. What about 7:00?" "Great," said Robin agreeably. He leaned over to give me a casual kiss. "I'll see you then." He seemed preoccupied as he left. I locked the back door after Robin left, and checked my front door, though I seldom used it. If this whole imbroglio had had one effect, it was to make me permanently security conscious.

It had been a busy day even without the constant strain of living with a murderer in close proximity. Today we'd found the hatchet in Robin's briefcase, I'd had the weird confrontation with Gifford Doakes and the eerie scene in the library with Perry. I wondered if Sally was right in her optimistic belief that no one at work besides me had noticed that Perry was unravelling. I hadn't exactly been in the current of office gossip the past week, being mostly the subject of it, I was sure.

Then Arthur had called with the bombshell about Benjamin.

Benjamin the loser. Benjamin the murderer?

As I made up the bed in the guest room for Phillip— though he usually ended up getting spooked at spending the night in a strange place and came in my room—I realized anew how abnormal the week had been. Usually, when I knew Phillip was going to make one of his four or five a

This was probably the appropriate amount of preparation for a six-year-old's visit; I made a bed for him, checked to see if I had the ingredients for his favorite dessert, and decided to take him to his favorite fast-food place for lunch on Saturday. And I looked forward to seeing him, this unexpected brother I had acquired after I'd become an adult. In the middle of the awfulness I'd seen lately, and the anxiety I'd suffered in so many unprecedented situations, having Phillip to visit seemed like a welcome return to normality. Benjamin Greer.

I tried to believe it.

Chapter 16

I woke up smiling. It took me a second to remember why, but when I remembered, I gri

I made myself up with great care, had some fun with my eye shadow, and picked my brightest skirt and blouse to wear. It was a definitely springy set, white with yellow flowers scattered all over, and I let my hair hang loose with a yellow band to hold it back.

I had a large breakfast, cereal and toast and even a banana, and sang on my way out to my car.

"You're chipper this morning," said Bankston, who was dressed in a very sober suit befitting a banker. He was smiling himself, and I remembered I'd seen Melanie's car pull out of the parking lot very early this morning. "Oh, I have reason to be! You may not have heard yet, but someone admitted to the murders."

"Who?" Bankston said after staring at me for a moment. "Benjamin Greer." Then I wondered belatedly if I was betraying a confidence. But my assurance returned when I remembered Arthur hadn't asked me to keep it quiet, and I hadn't told him I would. Also, I'd already told Robin, who would have throttled the news out of me if I'd hung up from my conversation with Arthur and refused to tell him. Wait; I wasn't even going to say exaggerated things like that to myself anymore.

Bankston was thunderstruck. "But he was just in to see me last week to get a loan for his candidate's campaign! Sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned that. It was a private transaction, bank business. But I'm just so—flabbergasted." "I was too," I assured him.

"Well, well, I'll have to stop by Melanie's and tell her," he said after a moment of thought. "This will be such a relief to her. She's had a hard time since Mrs. Wright's purse was found in her car." Right. Being pronounced a martyr at church and getting a marriage proposal was really a hard time. But I felt too cheerful to envy Melanie; I'd gone out with Bankston twice and wouldn't have him on a silver platter, as my mother always said.

Mother. That was someone who should hear the good news, too. I'd call her today. She was going to love being termed "what was worst about capitalism." That was a hard line to take after all Mother's hard work and struggle during the first few years with her business, though then she'd had my father's presence to give her renewed strength. He hadn't left until she was well on the road to success. I was trailing off into unpleasant thoughts, and snapped myself back quickly. Joy was the keynote of the day.

At work, all the librarians and volunteers seemed to have heard the good news, and I was back in the fold. Lillian went back to being her bitchy self, which was almost comforting.

Sam derrick ventured forth from his charts and graphs and budgets to pat me on the shoulder in passing. I poked book cards in the stamper vigorously, took overdue money with a smile instead of expressionless disapproval, shelved with precision. The morning didn't just hurry by, it hopped, skipped, and jumped by. The telephone rang twice while I was eating my micro-waved egg rolls and browsing through an encyclopedia of twentieth-century murderers. I'd had that familiar irritating feeling that someone, sometime, had said something interesting that I wanted to pursue, mentioned some names I wanted to mull over, and I'd thought flipping through the book would help. But the phone destroyed even this wisp of idea.

The first caller was my father, who always opened with, "How's my doll?" He hated calling me "Roe" and I hated him calling me "Doll." We hadn't come up with anything neutral. "I'm okay, Dad," I said. "Is it still okay with you if Phillip comes?" he asked anxiously. "You know, if you are upset about the situation in Lawrenceton, we can stay home." In the background I could hear Phillip piping anxiously, "Can I go, Daddy? Can I go?"

"The crisis seems to be over," I said happily.

"They arrest someone?"

"They got a confession. I'm sure everything's going to be okay now," I said. Maybe I wasn't all that sure. But I was pretty sure that I was going to be okay now. And I wanted to see my little brother.

"Well, I'll be bringing him about five o'clock, then," Dad said. "Betty Jo sends her love. We really appreciate this."

I wasn't so sure about Betty Jo's love, but I was sure she did appreciate having a free, reliable babysitter for a whole weekend. The next call was from my mother, of course. She still had some sort of psychic link to Dad, and if he called me she nearly always rang within the hour. If she was like Lauren Bacall, he was like Humphrey Bogart; an ugly guy with charisma coming out his ears. And bless his heart, he seemed quite unaware of it. But that charisma was still sending out alpha waves or something to my mother. I knew that she must already have heard of Benjamin's confession, and sure enough, she had. She'd also heard he'd said Morrison Pettigrue had mailed her the chocolates. She was skeptical.