It’s the story of a lifetime, and I’m the perfect one for it! Who better?’
“Do you think you can handle it?”
“Can I handle it? Of course I can!” I was too excited to be mad at the suggestion that I couldn’t.
Don grinned at me as he patted his carefully barbered graying hair. Everything about him was neat and precise, even the tidily folded scarf resting on the chair back. He shook it out and draped it about his neck, making sure the ends were even.
“To be honest, as soon as I heard the call on the police scanner at the office, I knew we had a winner. If you have any trouble as the story develops—” He held up his hand at my indignant look. “If you have any trouble, Mac can help you.”
Don took his mug to the kitchen, and I heard him rinse it out. I stood in the middle of the living room and grinned like an idiot. I had a story!
I made myself act professionally as I walked Don to the door. I even made a pretty speech. “Thanks for being here when I talked to Sergeant Poole, Don. Something about a policeman always makes me feel guilty even when I’m innocent, which is all the time—except for the time I got a speeding ticket for going forty-five in a twenty-five mile zone.”
Don laughed. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Merry. I’ll vouch for your character if they ever begin to suspect you.”
“And my whereabouts,” I said, suddenly remembering Don eating spaghetti at Ferretti’s, talking intently with some unknown man. I hadn’t approached him because the two of them looked so involved. In fact, I deliberately sat with my back to him. “That is, if you saw me like I saw you.”
Don hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
I shrugged. “Oh, well, I doubt it matters. Thanks again for being here.”
I watched him drive up the alley, then locked my door carefully. I washed my mug and Sergeant Poole’s and decided there was no way I was going to take the trash out. I didn’t care that the police were still in the parking area. I was in for the night!
I checked and rechecked the doors and the windows, the tall, breakable windows that suddenly seemed less wonderful than usual. It was when I tested them for the fourth time that I noticed the moon peeking through the running clouds. The storm was over.
I got into bed with Whiskers and plumped the pillows carefully against the headboard. When I leaned back with my lined pad on my lap, Whiskers promptly climbed onto the pad.
“Not now, baby,” I said, lifting the heavy creature and setting him down beside me. “I’ve got to write everything down before I forget it. Who knows?” I grinned at him. “Maybe I’ll even write a true-crime book about this someday.”
Whiskers yawned hugely, and I tickled him beneath the chin. I had selected him at the pound because he kept coming to me to be petted, purring whenever my hand even reached toward him. Now he lay close against me, a comforting presence after an unbelievable night.
I turned to my pad, feeling ghoulish as all my journalistic juices flowed and excitement coursed through me—now that I didn’t have to look at the body again. Admittedly, what had happened was a great tragedy, especially for Patrick Marten. But a great story is a great story and deserves to be written about, I told myself hard-heartedly. In all great stories people suffer. If I could just get the information together, find the motive, the means, and the murderer, certainly I would reduce the suffering for Patrick Marten’s family and friends. If Don was hugely impressed with my work, that was just a small extra.
Satisfied that I had manipulated my motives well, I wrote:
1 Took car to Mr. Taggart’s. Spoke with him for a few minutes about its tendency to overheat.
2 Jolene picked me up. She never got out of her car. We were five minutes late for work.
3 Spent the morning opening mail and running dumb errands for Don and Mac. Felt trapped without my car.
4 Went to the mall in Exton with Mac to look for a camera over lunch. He made a pass. I rejected it. He asked me out. I said no. We laughed. I don’t think he’s mad even though he’s famous for his grouchiness. Certainly he’s not mad enough to put a body in my trunk. I bought the automatic-focus digital camera he recommended, which pleased him. I’m now broke.
5 Mac dropped me at Premier Medical, the new private emergency service, for an interview. Spent an hour with Drs. Mitchell and Wenger. Learned lots of new terms and used my new camera. The pix look good.
6 Called a taxi. Went back to the paper. Did telephone interviews with the head nurse at the hospital’s trauma center and with three doctors in private practice. I really ought to find a doctor. What if I get sick?
7 Wrote up the story. Gave it to Don. He didn’t moan too much.
8 Walked to Mayor Trudy McGilpin’s office to observe a meeting between her, the water authority people and the recreational people. The meeting was canceled because Trudy’s sick. I walked back to The News. Is Trudy as good as a lawyer as she appears to be as a mayor? How old is she? Forty?
9 Since I had no meeting to write up, I left much earlier than I’d planned. Jolene, the chatter queen, dropped me at Taggart’s at about 5:20.
10 Got my car. I saw no one at all at the garage. I just took the car and left.
11 Stopped at Ferretti’s Ristorante for some spaghetti. Delicious. Saw Don but he didn’t see me. Did the Philadelphia Inquirer crossword puzzle while I ate. I couldn’t decide whether I’m still lonely or not—which I guess is a good sign.
12 Went to the Board of Education meeting at the high school and arrived on time! High drama when the man in charge of the athletic committee started yelling at the woman in charge of the curriculum committee because she wanted too many books and accelerated classes. She will ruin the school and the budget that way, he said.
13 Left the high school about 10:25.
14 A wild ride home. Almost hit a man on Oak when some guy pulled out in front of me. What if I’d had an accident with that body in the trunk?
15 Got to my apartment about 10:45.
16 Found Patrick Marten at 10:47.
17 Got the shakes at 10:49.
18 Cops arrived at 11:05.
19 Questions:
Was the body in the trunk when I got the car at the garage? It must have been.
Who put it there? Mr. Taggart? A nice old man like him?
Why did someone put it in my car? Because he/she doesn’t like me? No one around Amhearst knows me well enough yet to dislike me. And no one’s ever disliked me like that my whole life.
Or maybe he/she doesn’t like The News? But who would know that my car was the car of a News reporter? There’s nothing written on the doors or anything.
Maybe it just happened because the car was handy? That means it was someone at Taggart’s, doesn’t it? Or was it someone driving by who happened to need a place to get rid of a body? It was dark even before I got there. Winter solstice approaching
