“No, of course not. We were just curious.”
“I’m kind of curious myself,” Holiday said. “Maybe I’ve been watching too much television, but it almost sounds like you’re checking me for an alibi. What I want to know is, for what? I wasn’t driving the car that hit that man.”
“Do you remember the other police officer who was with me? The blonde woman who stayed with the victim?”
“I certainly do. Lovely woman, and she was so gentle with that poor man.”
“After we went home last night,” Jen said, “she was murdered—we think by the same killer who got the three women over the last few weeks.”
“Oh, my God!” Holiday looked genuinely shocked. He dropped the mailbag from his shoulder onto the sidewalk and bent over for a couple of seconds, his hands on his knees, then straightened. “How horrible! And to think I just saw her last night!”
He shook his head.
“It just goes to show, doesn’t it? You never know when your number’s up.”
Spare me, Jen thought.
“Wait a minute.” A thought distracted Holiday from his philosophizing. “Why are you asking me all these questions? Surely you don’t think I killed her?”
“We don’t mean to imply anything, Mr. Holiday,” Will said. “It’s just routine. There’s the possibility that the killer might have followed Detective Dillon and Officer Peters last night, and we hoped you might have noticed something.”
“Not to mention the fact that I was behind you two. Boy, talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. First, I see a guy run down by a car that doesn’t stop, and the next thing I know, I’m a suspect in a murder.”
“We’re not saying you’re a suspect,” Jen said.
“Well, I know I’m not guilty, so I don’t have anything to worry about, do I? What else do you want to know besides the fact that I didn’t have a date and didn’t manage to pick anyone up?”
“You told us a red Corvette was between my car and yours,” Jen said. “Did you get a glimpse of the occupants?”
“No, I didn’t, other than that I’m pretty sure there was only the driver.”
“Could it have been the same car you saw in front of Vicki Kaufmann’s house?”
“Sure, it could have been. I’m not saying it was, but it looked the same, just like I told you last night.”
“Did you notice any other cars that didn’t stick around?”
He thought for a second.
“No, I don’t think so. I’m not positive, though. I had all my attention directed toward that poor guy. To tell you the truth, a Sherman tank could probably have pulled up alongside me, and I wouldn’t have noticed.”
“One other thing,” Jen said. “Could you tell us why you were delivering mail in Vicki Kaufmann’s neighborhood on Monday and on the day you saw the Corvette?”
Holiday looked confused.
“Why? Because that’s what I get paid to do, that’s why.”
“Our understanding is that this is your regular route.”
“It is. But I deliver all over town, depending on who’s on vacation or off sick at any given time. Sometimes the other carriers divide the route of someone who’s off, or we work it as overtime.”
Suddenly a look of comprehension dawned on Holiday’s face.
“Oh, wait a minute, I get it now. I report a murder on a route I don’t normally work, plus one of the other murder victims lived on my regular route. Then I show up behind a third girl who ends up getting killed.”
He shook his head.
“Boy, this just hasn’t been my month! I don’t blame you for asking questions, but I swear, it’s just a gruesome coincidence.”
“So you were aware that Carla Edwards lived on your route?”
“Sure. Maybe I should have mentioned it when I gave my statement about Ms. Kaufmann, but I didn’t even think of it.”
“No reason you should have. Did you know her?”
“Well, I never spoke to her or anything, but I knew a lot about her.”
He smiled a satisfied smile at Jen’s obvious confusion.
“You can tell a lot about a person from their mail. What kind of stuff they like to read, who they owe, if they’re behind on their bills, that sort of thing. And I know she was a very lovely girl.”
He turned to Will, smiling.
“I saw her sunbathing on her patio in front of the apartment building. Almost made me forget what I was doing.”
Jen glanced at her notes.
“I understand you live just outside of town on Route 48. A farm?”
“Not really. Just a house and three-and-a-half acres. Enough to putter around on but not enough to do anything serious.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Are you from the area, Mr. Holiday?” Will was studying the man closely, searching for any resemblance to Arthur Kelty.
“No, I’m not. I’m originally from Colorado, but I grew up in Texas. Houston, mostly.”
“How’d you wind up here?”
“The post office. I started in Oklahoma but hated it. Openings in other areas are posted routinely, and I applied for several. This one was offered, and I took it. That was two years ago, and I’ve never regretted it—well, until now.”
“So you like Ohio?”
“Very much. It’s got just enough civilization without overdoing it, like New York or Los Angeles. Oklahoma? After living through way too many tornados, I decided that was the armpit of the world.”
He laughed and glanced at his watch.
“I really need to get going,” he said. “My supervisor gets upset if I don’t have the truck back at my quitting time. If you have any more questions, I suppose I could talk to you after I’m done.”
“That should do it for now,” Jen said. “Thanks for taking the time. If we think of any more questions, we’ll get back to you.”
“I’m glad to help. I don’t have anything to hide from either of you. We’re all just government employees trying to do our jobs, right?”
He hoisted his mailbag onto his shoulder and walked toward the nearest house, leafing through several pieces of mail as he made his way
