Something moved in her widened blue eyes. Was it in response to the time? A ripple of uneasiness? “Four o’clock?”
“Four o’clock to seven.” The chief’s voice was pleasant but determined.
She lifted a hand, smoothed back a tendril of faded hair that had escaped the coronet braids. “I’m a visiting nurse.” She spoke slowly.
“I see patients out in the country. I’d have to look at my book. I was at the Hillman place in late afternoon. From there, I went to the Carsons’ and the Wetherbys’.”
“Are you usually out this late on Thursday?” He nodded toward the porcelain clock on the mantel.
“Sometimes. I didn’t hurry. I stopped and had dinner at the Pizza Hut on Gusher, then I decided to go to the show. When I got out, I stopped at the grocery.”
I ached for her. A movie by herself. Maybe that was her answer to Thursday night with no reason to come home. Bobby Mac and I always hurried home to each other. We never lost our laughter or our love.
The doorbell buzzed, then the door was flung open. Judith took a deep breath, looked toward the hall, fear evident in her strained posture.
Footsteps clattered on the tile. A little woman with flyaway dark hair framing sharp features burst into the living room. She was pencil thin and teetered on absurdly high heels. She looked at the police chief. “Oh God, Sam, is Daryl dead?”
“Yes. He was found in the cemetery. I’m glad you’ve come, Meg.
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I was going to call someone to help Mrs. Murdoch.” He nodded toward Judith.
Meg moved rapidly toward Judith. “I was afraid it was true when I saw the police car. I had a bunch of calls about Daryl and I tried to get you but your cell didn’t answer. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Judith took one step, stopped. Her face crumpled. “Someone killed him.”
Meg was pale. “As soon as I heard, I called Father Abbott. He’s on his way over.” The little woman swung toward the chief. “You go on now, Sam. I’ll take care of Judith.”
The chief pushed up from the chair, dropping the notepad in his pocket. “I’ll be back in touch tomorrow. We may know more by then.”
I watched him go, torn by uncertainty. If I went with the chief, there might be more to learn, but I wanted to meet—so to speak—
Father Abbott.
The two women stood frozen as the chief moved heavily across the room. When the front door closed behind him, Judith whirled and ran from the room. Her face was unguarded, eyes staring, mouth working, a woman consumed by fear.
Meg was shocked. “Judith, wait. Let me help.” But her call was unanswered.
Judith ran into a long room with a fireplace and easy chairs and two sofas and a pool table. She stumbled to the desk, grabbed up a telephone, punched numbers with a shaking hand. She leaned against a tall wingback chair as if her body had no strength.
Meg bustled up to her. “I’ll make any calls—” Judith slashed her hand for quiet, a harsh imperative gesture that brought Meg to a standstill. Finally, her words hurried and uneven, she said, “Lily, please, this is Kirby’s mother. I have dreadful news.
His father is dead. He was shot. When you get this message, tell Kirby to come home. I know he was with you this afternoon from four to
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seven. That’s important. The police want to talk to him. Make sure he remembers to tell them that he was with you from four to seven.” She clicked off the phone.
Meg slipped her arm around Judith’s shoulders. “Do you want me to go over there, find him?”
“Oh yes, Meg. What if she doesn’t get the message in time? You’ll tell him—”
“I’ll tell him. From four to seven.”
They exchanged a look of perfect understanding.
“It’s just to protect him. Kirby would never hurt anyone, but the police don’t know him. When they find out Thursday is his day off, they’ll want to know where he was.” Judith’s voice was metal-lic. “Someone might think the wrong things if they knew about everything.”
Meg gave Judith a hug. “It might look bad. Bud and I used to bowl with Sam and Jewell. But after Jewell died, he stopped coming.
Sam’s a swell guy, but pretty black-and-white.” Their words were oblique, hinting at much I didn’t understand.
It was like seeing an old film with subtitles that left out most of the story, but I was a mother and I understood. Kirby and his dad obviously had quarreled ferociously, possibly in a public place, and Judith knew Chief Cobb would discover that fact.
The front doorbell rang. Meg whirled and hurried into the hallway. Her voice rang out: “Come in, Father Abbott. Judith’s in the den.”
Judith held tight to the back of the chair, trying hard to stand taller, smooth out her face, hide her fear.
Brisk steps sounded. Father Abbott stopped in the doorway, his face creased in concern. His sandy hair looked mussed, as if he’d forgotten to comb it. His priestly collar was slightly askew as if he’d tugged at it, his black suit wrinkled. His angular face sagged with
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