off.”
“Ina, I’m sure that he only had a stomachache from all he ate yesterday. You should only feed him cat food, at least for a while,” I told her as gently as possible.
“I gave Archie table scraps all the time. He always turned up his nose when he was full, but Fella never turned up his nose. He kept eating. Made me wonder if that brother of yours ever fed him.”
I sat on the bar stool by the abbreviated counter. “Theodore is well fed. Any scale will tell you that. He doesn’t understand the concept of full, or, for that matter, self-restraint.”
The toaster popped, and Ina tossed two extra crispy treats onto a saucer for me. The edges smoked. I bit off a corner and burned the roof of my mouth. Penance. I ineffectively waved my hands in front of my mouth,
“Yes, some don’t understand self-restraint,” she remarked.
After Ina’s pastries were charbroiled, and mine had cooled to a temperature akin to the shady-side of the equator, I took three steps, Ina took six, and together, we sat on the green plush sofa.
Ina spoke. “What’s got you spooked, honey?”
After burning my mouth twice more, I fanned my mouth again. “Spooked? I’m not spooked.”
She wiped a few stray crumbs from her tank top to the floor. Theodore would eat them after his nap. “I’ve never seen you so uptight.”
I scooted away from her for a clearer view. “I’m not uptight.”
Ina shook her head slowly.
“It’s been an unusual week, and under the circumstances, I’ve held together very well.”
Ina shook her head again. “You’re three tantrums away from the psych ward. You’ll never survive if your brother goes to trial.”
Frequently, Ina rambled on in incomprehensible psychobabble, but I wasn’t in the mood to indulge. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Ina placed her saucer on the low coffee table. Sprinkle crumbs were all that remained of her breakfast. She licked her right index finger and picked up the crumbs, putting them in her mouth. I was ready to throttle her when she finally spoke. “A tiny part of you thinks that Mark could be guilty.”
I jumped from the sofa, tipping my own saucer and half-eaten pastry to the floor. “I do not.”
“He had motive, means, and opportunity.” She ticked the three points off with her hands.
I lowered my volume to a roar. “You are not Hercule Poirot, for goodness sakes. You just can’t check off these elements and have the answer.”
“My dear, I know this is hard for you, and I truly believe that Mark is innocent, but the only way you are going to find out who is really responsible for Olivia’s death is to assume that Mark is guilty and prove that he’s not.”
“You’ve got the legal system backward, Ina.” I slid back onto the sofa and picked up the pastry and saucer.
“You do want to know what happened, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
She shrugged. Case closed.
“I’m trying to help Mark as much as I can. I’ve talked to people about it. I’m going to bail him out, at least try to bail him out. What more can I do?”
“We know the police aren’t going to figure it out with that bloody Englishman in charge.”
I laughed in spite of myself.
“So, let’s hash it out. You can be the brilliant detective; I’ll be the wise sidekick. The sidekick is usually the fat one, but he’s the one that gets to write everything down.” Ina pulled a notepad and a pen out of the small drawer in the coffee table.
“Ina, I’m not a private eye, and neither are you.” I rose and took my plate to the counter. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go try to bail my brother out of jail.”
“Can I come?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
Theodore lumbered into the room and begged Ina for a bite. “I’m all out little Fella, but India still has some of hers.”
I threw my uneaten pastry in the trash. “Ina, he cannot have people food.”
She nodded solemnly. Theodore licked crumbs from the carpet.
Chapter Forty
“Ms. Hayes, is it?” the burly man across the metal desk asked me. His arm was twice the circumference of my thigh. A blue plastic nameplate sat on his desk: Norman North, Bond Officer.
“Yes,” I said, wearing a gray summer suit reserved for job interviews and meetings with bond agents. My right foot tapped on the gray linoleum floor.
“You have no collateral. You don’t own any property. Your car is way past its expiration date, and you’re up to your ears in student loans.”
“I have excellent—”
“Frankly, North and South Bond Offices can’t afford such high-cost or high-profile cases. We specialize in juvenile violations, petty theft, auto theft, minor stuff. I wouldn’t touch your brother’s bail with a forty-foot pole.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”
The sweaty vinyl tugged the hem of my skirt as I leaned forward in my seat. “I understand your concerns. But I have a stable job and . . .”
“I’m sorry and wish you luck, but no.” He rose from the desk. He towered over me and the ugly chair. “I’ll show you out.”
We walked through the brief reception area and passed the clerk, who was sharpening her nails to a vicious point with a rainbow-colored emery board.
North opened the dingy glass door. “You ever have a friend arrested for carjacking, send him my way.”
“Uh, sure. Who’s South?”
“Huh?”
“North and South Bond Offices.” I pointed to the sign by the reception area.
He grunted. “It sounded good.”
I stepped out into the late-afternoon sunlight filtered by city haze. On the west side of Akron, North and South Bond nestled between an exotic dance studio and a suspect-looking video rental store with iron bars on the windows.
I marched to my car, left undisturbed on the street. Even in this neighborhood, my car was a clunker. Inside the car, I locked the doors and rooted in my shoulder bag for the list of names and numbers of bond officers that Lew had given me. I scratched off North and South Bond Offices, the last name on the list. I was out of bondsmen and out of luck. I couldn’t buy Mark any more time—not with my measly resources and lack of collateral.
I sat there for a few minutes collecting my thoughts. Both of the car windows were rolled all the way down, but no breeze cooled its interior. A local denizen spat tobacco juice in a beer can and crossed the street when we locked eyes. He looked away and ambled on. I wondered if his parents wouldn’t bail him out of jail, and that’s how he ended up where he was. There had to be a way I could help Mark. I thought about talking to my parents again, but knew it was a lost cause. When they were taking a stand, they wore blinders.
Suddenly, I had the heart-stopping fear that the engagement picture was no longer in my trunk. Sure, the trunk was locked, but the car was old and the lock could be jimmied with a screwdriver. I’d even used that method to get into the truck a few times when I couldn’t find my key.
I jumped out of the car and popped open the trunk. In this neighborhood, I wasn’t afraid of anyone recognizing me. I pushed back the carpet and exposed the tire well. There it was, wrapped safely in my T-shirt. I didn’t realize until I unwrapped the engagement picture to study it that I had used a Martin College T-shirt to protect the frame. I was sure there was some significance in that fact, but I was too drained to dwell on it.
