Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

wondered if Mrs. Miller was a Gemini. The abrupt change in her demeanor surely hinted at two sides of the astrological coin.
    “Thanks.”
    “No problem. I’m a nurse,” she said, gripping the steering wheel of her idling truck; she was my second nurse of the day, counting Elaine. “Do you want to help me or not? They’ve got George in lockup and it’s only a matter of time before he’s shipped off to stay with the general population in White Plains.” She set her mouth in a grim line. “That’s not going to be good for him.”
    That was probably an understatement. I commanded Trixie to sit because this was obviously going to take a while. “Listen, there’s nothing I can do to help you. I told the police everything I know. Your husband and Wilmott had a fight and then Wilmott died. I don’t know what he died from—”
    “Blunt force trauma to the head,” she said, interrupting me. “From a punch. That’s what they’re saying. That’s the coroner’s best guess. The Wilmotts are very powerful in this town and the cops want to close this case fast.”
    Talk about the wheels of justice turning quickly. “I still don’t know what I can do.” I wanted to mention that there were two cops on the scene—as well as Greg—who could also verify that George had hit him in the head but I didn’t mention that. She was pretty agitated already.
    “Tell the cops it was just a fight. Tell them that you never saw George hit Wilmott in the head. Tell them that Wilmott fell and hit his head and that my husband’s fist did not come in contact with Carter Wilmott’s head. Case closed.” She dropped her hands into her lap and looked up at the interior roof of her car. “Tell them anything that will help me get George out of there.”
    “I can’t do that, Mrs. Miller.”
    “Ginny.”
    “I told them what I saw, Ginny. That’s exactly what I saw. To me, that’s exactly what happened.”
    And that’s when she cracked. I don’t know why I was surprised, but when the tears started falling, I saw the softer side of Mrs. Miller. “They’re going to at least get him on manslaughter. You’re not going to press charges, too, are you?”
    I shook my head. “It was an accident.”
    Her lips quivered as a tear fell onto her tank top. “Thank you.” She rested her head on the steering wheel. “I don’t know why I tracked you down. I don’t even know you. I should have assumed that you had already told them everything you know. I’m just grasping at straws.”
    I didn’t know what to say. Her tough façade gone, I now saw a woman who would do anything to help her husband and who loved him deeply. Not unlike Lydia Wilmott. “Where are you a nurse?” I asked.
    “Phelps,” she said, referencing a hospital in Tarrytown, where I grew up. It was about ten minutes north of where we stood. “I’ve been there for twenty years. I’m the head nurse in oncology.”
    I always wonder why I can’t move on and why, for me, August is the cruelest month. Now I knew. Everywhere I turned were reminders of my mother, her life and her death. I knew Phelps well. My mother had died there after a long battle with a rare but deadly form of cancer. I searched my memory to see if I recalled ever having seen Ginny Miller, but I came up blank. But if she was as wonderful, professionally, as all of the nurses there had been to me and my mother, I now had newfound respect for her. And I certainly didn’t find her frightening.
    I remembered Tony’s Korean War adventures and the pig explosion. “Your husband ever been to war, Ginny?”
    “No. Why?”
    This lying thing was coming easier and easier as the weekend wore on. I figured if I had gotten information out of Tony so easily about his war exploits, finding out if George had had any similar ones would be a piece of cake. I was right. She had answered immediately. “Because if they get him for manslaughter, he’s in for the battle of a lifetime.” Okay, so it was overly dramatic, but it was the only thing I could come up with on such short notice.
    The tough façade returned and Ginny gave me a hard look, even though what she had to say was kind. “I’m sorry I came on so strong,” she said, throwing the truck into drive and peeling off down the street.
    I looked at Trixie. “What was that?” I asked her, but as usual, she didn’t have a response. I did know one thing: the bizarre nature of the weekend was making me look forward to going back to school and working