“Was he present?” She took out her notebook and started writing. She seemed surprised when I said yes. Of course I didn’t mention I was under the desk and he had no idea I was there. It was my version of the don’t-ask- don’t-tell rule.
“And I suppose when you realized what you’d picked up, you thought you’d use it in your own investigation.”
She had caught me, and I sighed. “Something like that.” I looked to see if she was going to pull out some handcuffs from her purse. Instead she just glared at me.
“You’ll have to turn it over to me.”
I nodded and offered to bring it down to the station. “I’ll have it to you by this afternoon.”
“No. We’ll go to your place and get it right now.” She led me to her Crown Victoria and gestured toward the passenger seat. It was not a fun ride.
When she pulled in front of my house, she leaned toward me. “I know I mentioned withholding evidence and obstruction of justice, but I think I left out tampering with evidence. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in if it turns out that handkerchief is evidence?”
I didn’t think she expected an answer. What exactly qualified as tampering anyway? Oh dear. I’d touched the hanky, the pinchy winchy had touched it, and once it was in the plastic bag, a pile of books had flattened it.
And I’d been worried about her asking me about Arnold Bullard?
The dogs were obviously not expecting me home so soon. Cosmo had turned over the trash and was working his way through the contents. When he saw me, he took off across the house, leaving a trail of coffee-ground paw prints. Blondie, who always stayed in her chair when I was home, had relocated to the top of the couch and was surveying the action on the street. It was a slow morning—just a guy with a canvas sack distributing coupons for pizza. Blondie abandoned her post as soon as she saw us, and as she scurried across the house she did something she never did—barked at Detective Heather.
I got the hanky and surrendered it to Detective Heather. She turned over the bag, examining it. By now it had smoothed out with only an occasional wrinkle. She looked closer.
“If that’s blood, you’re really in trouble,” she said.
“I’m pretty sure it’s tomato bisque soup.” I debated whether I should say more, like how I thought the soup got on the hanky, but I was afraid it might annoy her more, and she looked pretty close to the edge in that department. But I took a chance and mentioned having seen a piece of something like the handkerchief hanging off the drawer handle on Drew Brooks’s desk. “Your CSI people probably got it.”
She glared at me in response. I thought she was going to leave after that, but she took out her notebook. “What do you know about Arnold Bullard’s death?”
I didn’t know what to say since all I really knew was what Barry had told me. My silence didn’t sit well with her.
“The bookstore is just down the street from Dr. Bullard’s office. Maybe you decided to take a little walk and check up on him. There was a call about you stalking him before.”
I should have just kept quiet, but when she brought up the stalking issue I thought if I explained it might make it better.
Ha!
I put all my cards on the table. “I thought Dr. Bullard was definitely a suspect in Drew Brooks’s murder. He was very angry about something, and he was there the day of the murder. I thought if I got some information and passed it on to—”
“You’d get your friend off the hook,” Detective Heather said, interrupting me. “I don’t think so. If your mishandling of this handkerchief messes up my case, you are so in trouble.” She glanced around the room. Barry had left his jacket on the couch. She picked it up. “I’m seeing him later. I’ll just give it to him then.”
I guess there was no way to keep her from mentioning the handkerchief issue to Barry. She started to leave, but I realized my car was still at the gym where Sheila worked. I hated to do it, but I had to ask her for a ride back.
CHAPTER 23
“I’M SORRY,” SHEILA WAILED AS I NEARED THE crochet table at Shedd & Royal. Thanks to Detective Heather’s side trip I was late. And judging by the surprise on everyone’s faces, nobody expected me to show. My guess was that Sheila had told them what happened and they thought I was on my way to jail. I laid my bag on the table and collapsed in my chair. Dealing with Detective Heather had left me drained. I looked around and saw that Patricia had come back and was actually crocheting. She was acting as if nothing unusual had happened with her book signing, but she gave me a dirty look. No doubt it was for my run-in with Detective Heather. The odds of my becoming part of Benjamin’s team were dwindling.
Adele was sitting next to an empty chair, continually looking toward the door. I didn’t have to ask what that was about. I knew she was waiting for Eduardo.
“I was so worried,” Dinah said after getting up to hug me. As soon as she sat back down, she began crocheting at warp speed, apparently trying to make up for lost time.
Adele finally gave up staring at the door and looked my way. “Pink, I don’t want you to worry if you end up going to jail. I can handle the Milton Mindell thing alone just fine.” I rolled my eyes at her remark and turned my attention to Sheila.
“I just want to know how the hanky came up in conversation,” I said. Sheila’s eyebrows were so close together they looked almost fused. Her eyes were big and sad.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “You’re the last person I wanted to get in trouble after all you’ve done. Detective Gilmore started asking me about Arnold Bullard. I gave her all the reasons you said he might have been the one who killed Drew Brooks. When she told me he was dead, I kind of lost it and I guess I started rambling. I thought she was going to try to pin his death on me, too.”
Sheila had to take a few deep breaths to calm herself. “Then I mentioned the white lacy stuff you saw hanging on the drawer, and when she wanted me to describe it, I said it looked kind of like the hanky.” Sheila stopped again and regrouped. “She wanted to know what hanky and before I realized what I’d done I’d told her. I know I wasn’t under oath or anything, but she kept saying I should just tell her the truth and that I’d get in more trouble if I withheld information. I should have just kept quiet. How much more trouble could I be in than being a suspect in a murder?”
Surprisingly, Sheila said it all without once drumming her fingers—or anything else. She lowered her head and asked me if I could forgive her. Of course, I did. The hanky disclosure had put me in a bad spot, but who could blame Sheila when Detective Heather kept chipping away at her?
“Can we save this for later,” CeeCee said. “Obviously, Molly is fine. When there’s too much talking, there’s not enough crocheting”
“That’s just what I was going to say,” Adele chimed in. She’d been so enamored with Eduardo lately, she’d almost forgotten that she was always vying with CeeCee for the position of group leader.
I took out my shawl, but I was having a hard time concentrating. I kept stopping and staring into space. The threats Detective Heather had made about withholding evidence and obstruction of justice suggested there could be handcuffs and jail involved. My cell phone went off, making me jump. Before I could even say hello, Barry started yelling.
“Molly, are you crazy? Withholding evidence? Why didn’t you say something to me?”
I stepped away from the group. I didn’t want an audience. “I didn’t withhold evidence deliberately. And it might not even be evidence.” Detective Heather sure hadn’t wasted any time in telling Barry. “I didn’t say anything about it because I thought it would put you in an awkward spot.”
“Well, it has.” Then he wanted to know where and how I got it. I told him the no-show sock story, but he knew enough to keep pressing until I explained exactly where I’d found it and what I’d been doing. I couldn’t see him, but I was sure he was hitting his forehead with the heal of his hand.
“Maybe I better call Mason Fields,” I said. I had already been thinking about doing it. Mason got his celebrity clients off from really serious charges like murder—withholding evidence would be small time.
