Wreath of Deception (10 page)

Carrie grinned. “So what did you find out?”

Charlie shrugged. “Oh, not that much, really, but Aunt Jo—”

“Aunt Jo,” Jo interrupted, “thinks it’s ‘that much.’” She told Carrie and Dan about the conversation Charlie had overheard between Genna and the blond actress. Dan nodded politely, trying, but obviously not terribly impressed, while Carrie beamed.

“Good going, guy! That’s the first lead you’ve gotten so far, right Jo?”

“That’s right. I think it’s really worth looking into.”

“That’s what I was going to ask you, Mom, Dad . . .” Charlie hesitated, his voice deadpan but his eyes flashing with eagerness. “I’d really like to spend more time down there. At the playhouse. It might help Aunt Jo, and, uh, I’d kinda like to learn something about, like, uh, how they put on plays and all.”

Jo glanced from one face to another. Both seemed a bit stunned, but Jo guessed that Carrie’s surprise was more from the fact that Charlie was actually interested in something, whereas Dan seemed stuck on the “something” itself.

“Plays?” he repeated, as if he’d never heard the word before.

Carrie recovered first. “I think that might be very nice, don’t you, Dan?” She glanced at her husband’s frozen face and quickly looked away. “But what about helping out at Aunt Jo’s store? Didn’t you promise you’d do that first?”

“He can probably do both, actually, that is, if it’s all right with you two. Helping me at the store was going to be an ‘as needed’ kind of thing. I don’t think you planned on a lot of time at the playhouse either, did you Charlie?”

“I talked to Mr. Rulenski’s assistant, that girl with the big glasses? She thought he could use someone around on the weekends mostly. Maybe once in a while during the week.” Jo saw Charlie’s knees bouncing nervously, even as his face remained calm. He wanted an okay on this badly.

“You want to be an actor?” Dan asked, still clearly dumbfounded.

“No! I mean, I don’t know. I just want to be there, to be able to watch everything. You’ve been telling me to get out of the house, to do more stuff. This is what I want to do.” Charlie’s chin began to jut forward, and the knee bounces had accelerated.

“Yes, but . . .”

“Let Dad and me think it over a bit, okay, Charlie?” Carrie said before Dan could say any more. “We’d have to be sure you still have time for your studies, for one thing.”

“I’ll study. I promise.”

“That would always have to come first. And speaking of studying—”

Charlie jumped up. “My Spanish test, I know. I’m on top of it right now.” He pushed back his chair with more energy than Jo had seen in a long time. “Bye, Aunt Jo.” He turned back to Carrie. “It’d be okay, I promise.”

With that he hurried out, and Jo heard him take the stairs up to his room two at a time. She turned to Dan, whose face showed that the more he turned the idea over in his mind, the less he cared for it, somewhat like a baby tasting mashed asparagus for the first time. He turned to Carrie, his brows lowered to a puzzled scowl.

“Acting?”

Chapter 10

Jo, having opened up the craft shop herself the next morning, took advantage of Carrie’s arrival a half hour later to start work on some of her
Rumpelstiltskin
jewelry. She spread out her supplies and tools, which she’d brought from home, on the workshop table.

When Carrie came over to watch, Jo asked, “So, what did you and Dan decide?” Jo had taken early leave from dinner the previous evening to let them discuss Charlie’s proposition in private. Jo reached for her chain nose pliers and squeezed them over a micro crimp to separate a grouping of three softly colored crystals on her chain.

Carrie didn’t answer directly, instead commenting, “That’s pretty. Which character will it be for?”

“The miller’s daughter. I think she’s called Annalisa in Rulenski’s version.”

“Mmm.”

Jo looked up.

Carrie sighed. “Dan eventually agreed to let Charlie give it a try, especially after I pointed out his school doesn’t really have an active drama department. I remembered that Mrs. Pettibone, one of the English teachers at Charlie’s school, is part of the playhouse troupe, and that helped. But you would have thought he had agreed to let Charlie volunteer for experimental drug trials or something.”

“I’m sorry if I brought about a problem.”

“No, no. I really think this will be good for Charlie. Did you see how he ran upstairs to hit the books? It’s the first time in ages I’ve seen him so motivated.”

“I agree.” Jo slid three more ice-blue crystals onto her strand of beading chain. “If it lasts, this might be just what Charlie needs.”

“I guess Dan just finds the whole thing completely alien, since his main interests all his life were sports and woodworking.”

“He’d like his son to enjoy the same things, of course.”

“Mm-hmm. He sees Amanda learning how to knit from me, and enjoying experiments with cooking and baking. I know Dan likes coaching her soccer team, but he still probably wishes Charlie wanted to do more things with him. I’ve pointed out that Amanda’s interests are very likely to move on as she grows older. She seems keen on her science subjects at school, for one thing, so who knows? She might want to go to medical school later on. And you remember how I nearly fainted in biology when we had to dissect those awful frogs.”

Jo smiled. She did indeed remember Carrie’s face draining of color, and the biology teacher, Miss Erdmann, rushing over to catch her before she fell off her stool. Carrie had been highly embarrassed, and the fifteen-year-old Jo highly amused.

“I just wish,” Carrie said, picking up a stray crystal from Jo’s worktable and fingering it, “I wish Dan could be more open to the idea.”

The door jingled as a customer came in, and Carrie left to take care of her. Jo continued to work at her jewelry, enjoying the craft that she had neglected of late, with the all-consuming busyness of setting up the store. The phone rang, and seeing Carrie occupied, Jo set down her pliers and picked it up.

“Jo’s Craft Corner.”

“Mrs. McAllister?”

Jo tensed as she recognized the voice. “Yes?”

“Lieutenant Morgan here. There’s something I want to discuss with you. I’d like to see you today, if you please.”

If I please? And if I say no, Lieutenant, what then?

Morgan added, “You may bring your lawyer, of course.”

Her lawyer? Was he laughing at her, calling her bluff? Or did he really think she had one?

“What time?” she asked, as smoothly as she could manage.

“Within the hour would be good.”

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

Jo, with great effort, replaced the phone carefully, then sat gripping it and staring into space. She caught a concerned glance from Carrie, who was bagging her customer’s sale. Carrie came over as soon as the woman left the store.

“Something wrong?”

“He wants me down at the station again.”

“Lieutenant Morgan?”

Jo nodded.

“What about?”

“He didn’t say. But he said I could bring my lawyer if I liked.” Jo laughed grimly.

“Oh, Jo, maybe it’s time you did get one.”

Jo didn’t answer.

“Dan and I would be more than glad to chip in.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Then what about a public defender?”

Jo sighed, and got up. She pushed her chair into place, keeping hold of its back. “I already checked into that. I’m not eligible.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, really. It seems I don’t meet the poverty guidelines. Although I sunk nearly every penny I had into the store, it now counts as an asset. And, even if I’m not yet drawing a measurable income, it seems they can go by what I’m expected to produce with a business like this. I’m simply not poor enough.” Jo laughed. “Of course, they haven’t seen the threadbare, secondhand furniture in my rented house, nor my Mother Hubbard pantry.”

“That’s outrageous.”

“No, it’s simply your government saving your tax dollars. You probably should be glad.”

Carrie looked at Jo glumly. “Then let Dan and me—”

“No, Carrie. No way.” Jo reached for her purse and started for the door.

“Wait, Jo,” Carrie said, stopping her. “Let me make a couple of calls. There’s a lawyer you might be able to afford. I can’t think of his name, but I’ve heard he’s sort of semiretired. You really need
someone.
”

Jo hesitated. “Well, see what you can dig up. If he’s available, and cheap, maybe.” She spread a large cloth over her jewelry workplace, as Carrie made her calls, to a neighbor, a fellow soccer mom, and then, apparently, the affordable lawyer’s office. She handed Jo a slip of paper with Earnest C. Ainsworthy’s address on it.

“His office is on the way to police headquarters. And he’s very reasonable.”

“Okay, thanks Carrie. I’ll give him a try.”

Jo sat in Lieutenant Morgan’s office, Earnest C. Ainsworthy beside her. He had patted her hand paternally after they had been ushered in by the uniformed young woman who informed them Lieutenant Morgan would be with them shortly.

“Don’t you worry, now, little lady. Everything will be just fine.”

Jo managed to smile back, but she wasn’t so sure about that. She had located Ainsworthy’s office, expecting something modest, which it was. Situated above a real estate office, the law office consisted of a tiny, unmanned reception area, then a small inner office occupied by Earnest C. However, being told he was semiretired led Jo to expect a white-haired, elderly gentleman. Earnest was a pot-bellied man in his fifties at most, with more dark hair than white, and, rather than the wise, elder statesman she had hoped for, seemed more interested in locating his missing tie clip than listening to her story. Not altogether reassuring, but she assumed he would be better than nothing, and, considering his modest fee, retained him.

As they drove together to the police headquarters, however, Jo caught the alarming whiff of alcohol emanating from him. Now that they sat side by side, waiting for the appearance of the lieutenant, Jo was not feeling entirely bolstered by the presence of this counselor.

She glanced around the room as they waited for Morgan to appear. Giving us time to stew, she thought, as she half-seriously checked for the spotlight Morgan might turn on her face while demanding her answers. She found only fluorescents, high on the ceiling and useless for zeroing in on guilty suspects. Surely Earnest C. will prevent any attempts at bullying, Jo assured herself. And Morgan wouldn’t unnerve her because she wasn’t hiding anything.

She looked around for signs of the lieutenant’s personal life, such as family photos, but then remembered Javonne Barnett had said he was single. Single-divorced or single-never-married? Either way, she saw no photos of children. If he had none, weren’t there nieces and nephews he might care about? What about friends? The walls were bare of softball team photos and even awards. The room contained nothing beyond essentials, and the effect was cold. Probably, she thought, exactly what he intended.

The door opened, and Morgan strode in. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.

Jo’s lawyer stood up and held out his hand. “Earnest C. Ainsworthy, representing Mrs. McAllister.” They shook hands, and both sat down, the lieutenant behind his gray metal desk.

“Okay, then,” Morgan said. He opened a file he had brought in with him and scanned it for a few moments before looking up.

“Mrs. McAllister, your husband, Michael McAllister, was killed in an explosion.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Jo said it calmly, though the familiar pain sucked at her heart to think of that day.

“What exactly happened?”

What was this about? Jo wondered. She glanced at Ainsworthy, but he offered no advice, so she answered as evenly as she could, “We don’t know precisely, but Mike worked with acetylene tanks. He did metal sculptures. Something malfunctioned and caused the explosion. That’s all we know.”

“Something malfunctioned.” Morgan looked at her as if expecting more.

“Yes.”

“Was that a highly unusual thing? I mean, I presume there are safeguards against that kind of thing happening.”

“Yes, I thought so too. As I said, after looking into it, no one could tell me what went wrong. The explosion and fire destroyed nearly everything, so it was impossible to determine. Why are you asking me this?”

“So there was an investigation? The authorities in New York City searched for a reason for this explosion?”

“Yes, of course.” From his frequent glances at the file, Jo was certain he had copies of the reports before him. But why?

“You and your husband shared this loft that was destroyed.”

“Yes, we did.”

“For how many years?”

Jo thought back. “I believe, about five years.”

“And your husband worked at his metal sculptures, with acetylene tanks for those five years?”

“Yes, he did.”

“There was no problem before this?”

“Obviously not.”

“How did you and your husband get along?”

“Lieutenant Morgan, what does all this have to do with Kyle Sandborn?” Jo could feel her temper rising. Was that what Morgan wanted, though? The thought unfortunately ratcheted her anger even higher. She looked at Ainsworthy for help, but he made no objection to Morgan’s line of questioning, his hands folded calmly over his high mound of belly. His eyes seemed focused on the front edge of Morgan’s desk.

“Did you and your husband have marital problems?” Morgan asked.

“No!”

“You received payment of his life insurance, and shortly after that, you moved here.”

“Yes, and I’m sure you know exactly how much that payment was, and how thinly it had to be stretched in my efforts to start a new life. I did not set up my husband’s death, a husband I dearly loved, in case you care, in order to live a life of luxury here in Abbotsville.”