could be further from the truth. Mains smiled at her. That was his first mistake.
Before we could slip inside, Ina’s high, baby robin voice called, “India, dear, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” She leaned over the wrought iron fence that divided the stoop into hers and mine.
Mains looked at me expectantly with a hint of a grin.
Successfully trapped, I made introductions. “Ina, this is Richmond Mains,” I said, purposely omitting
Ina reached over the railing. “Nice to meet you, young man. It’s been such a long time since India’s had a nice-looking male friend over. Of course, that Bobby is always here, but no need to worry. They’re just friends, you see.”
Mains produced a full-fledged smirk.
I think my heart stopped. “Well, I’ll see you later, Ina,” I said.
“Oh, I see.” She gave me a dramatic wink. To Mains, she added, “Have India show you her studio. She’s a real talent.”
Safely inside, I leaned against the door. I fake laughed. “Ina’s a character.”
“I like the leprechauns. Yours?”
“Ina’s.” My face was still unbearably hot. “Please have a seat,” I said, motioning to the couch.
Templeton was MIA. Mains turned from me and moved toward the couch but stopped dead when he saw my living room. As he gawked, I tried to look at it with new eyes. The living room was small, equivalent to the size of the master bath in the Blocken home. A half-wall separated the cubby kitchen from the room, and the back wall was a single sliding glass door. But I guessed that Mains was more intrigued by the decor than the dimensions. Nearly every inch of wall space and furniture was splashed with vibrant and combating colors. Batiks, textiles, paintings, prints, and photographs crowded each other for precious space. They all represented different artistic periods and different artists and crafters, some professional, most amateur, and a few of my own.
Mains stared to the point of embarrassment. More gruffly than I intended, I again asked him to sit. He settled on the couch. I perched on an ancient rocking chair that I’d recently refinished. The new cushion was a bright orange and red paisley print and matched nothing else in the room.
Mains didn’t comment about my decorating prowess, but instead pulled a small notebook out of his jacket pocket. “This afternoon, I spoke with Dr. and Mrs. Blocken at the hospital.”
Even with the floor fan aimed at him, he looked unpleasantly warm in his summer jacket.
“Oh,” I replied, hoping to hide the true state of my frayed nerves.
“You failed to mention that your brother arranged to meet Olivia Blocken at Martin College this morning, just prior to her attack.”
“Her attack? I thought it was an accident.”
“She was pushed. A nurse discovered two hand-sized bruises on her upper back.”
“Pushed?”
He nodded. “And with a lot of force. It takes a lot of strength or anger to cause that kind of injury.”
I shook my head. “That’s impossible. Olivia hasn’t lived in Stripling in years. No one here would have any reason to hurt her.”
“Not even your brother?” Mains watched my reaction with hazel-green eyes. Earlier at the fountain, I hadn’t noticed his eye color as he’d worn sunglasses.
My flush undoubtedly morphed from red embarrassment to fuchsia anger. “Mark would never hurt Olivia. Ever. I can’t believe that you’re even suggesting it.”
“But he did ask Olivia to meet him in his office,” Mains said in quiet tones likely meant to pacify wife beaters and psychotics. It didn’t work on me.
I began rocking. “Yes, he asked her to meet him. But he would never hurt her.”
“So it is understood that Olivia was on campus to visit Mark. That’s what her parents believe.”
I folded my arm across my chest, waiting for the rest.
He didn’t disappoint. “According to Mrs. Blocken, Olivia is kindhearted and wanted to smooth things over between Mark and her before the wedding.”
With an unladylike snort, I held up my right hand to stop him. “Let me finish for you, Detective Mains. Mrs. Blocken is convinced that when Olivia arrived on campus, she tried to reason with Mark who waited until her back was turned and pushed her into the fountain. Am I close?”
“That was her estimation.”
I stood up, sending the rocking chair reeling on its rails. “In that case, I think we’re done here. I’m sorry that you wasted a trip.”
Mains stood as well. “Miss Hayes, the easiest way to end this is to prove whether or not your brother is responsible for the assault on Olivia Blocken. You’re making it difficult for me to do that.”
“I’m sorry, and if you wish to speak with my brother any further, I suggest you do so in the company of his attorney.”
“And who would that be?”
“Lewis Clive.”
“Have you thought of Olivia? Don’t you care what happened to your friend?”
I mentally staggered. “Of course I care about Olivia.” I held my voice level. “But Mark had nothing to do with her attack.”
I stomped to the door and opened it.
Mains placed his notebook back into his jacket pocket. “Thank you for your time.”
He smiled and stepped through the door. Black fur clung to his khaki-clad backside.
Ina waited on the edge of her chair. “Did India show you the studio?”
Mains glanced at me. “Not today.”
Or ever, I thought.
“Your leprechauns are really sharp,” Mains told Ina.
Ina preened. “Thank you. You wouldn’t be Irish, would you?” She pushed herself up to lean on the wrought iron railing.
“I’m afraid not. I’m more English than anything else.”
Ina jumped back as if she’d been stung by a yellow jacket. “Bloody English.”
Oh, geez, I thought. Before Ina could leap into a full-blown tirade, I ushered Mains down the step. “I think you’d better go.”
“Okay,” he said, eyeing Ina, whose face blazed molten purple. “I didn’t mean any harm.”
I wasn’t sure if he referred to his accusation of Mark or offending Ina.
After Mains’s sedan disappeared around the corner, I asked Ina if she was all right.
After spurting for a few minutes, she managed, “You’re dating an Englishman. Don’t you know what the English did to our people? The suffering. He didn’t give you any potatoes, did he?”
“I’m
“A police officer to boot. The English are always looking for ways to bully,” Ina said.
I rubbed my throbbing shoulder and felt the sharp fingertips of a migraine tickle my brain.
“Why would a police officer speak with you? Have you done something wrong?”
“No, I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not feeling too well. I think I’ll go lie down.”
As I opened the door, Ina leaned further over the railing so that her feet no longer touched the stoop. “I prefer Bobby McNally. Now, he’s a fine-looking Irish lad.”
“Aye, that he is,” I remarked in a mock brogue.
Once inside, I looked longingly toward my shut bedroom door. All I wanted to do was go to bed and pretend the day had never happened, but I knew if I didn’t show up at the obligatory Hayes Fifth of July shindig, there’d be heck to pay later. For a brief minute, I contemplated skipping the whole thing, but if I didn’t appear, my mother would come looking for me or send Carmen to do the job. I headed toward my bedroom, not for a well-deserved rest, but to get ready for the inquisition at my parents’ house. I made a mental note to wear running shoes instead of my standard flip-flops, just in case I needed to make a quick exit.
