Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

could have called.”
    “Yeah, whatever,” she said distractedly. “George went to White Plains to lockup. He’s being arraigned this afternoon.” Her lips were set in a grim line. “I’m not sure what happens after that.”
    “You need a good lawyer.”
    She got closer to me and gave me a poke in the sternum. “No. What we need is a good witness.”
    “Which I’m sure your good lawyer will get when he or she needs one. Nobody has contacted me.” I stepped back. “Don’t poke me.”
    She got so close to me that I could smell the French roast on her breath. “You’re really not understanding what I’m saying, are you?”
    I threw my hands up. “Ginny, I get it. George is going to jail for killing Carter Wilmott and you’re upset. I don’t know why you think I can help you.”
    She backed up. “Aren’t you a college professor?”
    “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”
    “You’re book-smart.”
    “Probably.”
    She stared at me, and again I was taken with her beautiful black eyelashes. Spectacular. “Not so street-smart.”
    I sighed and threw my hands up. “I guess not,” I said, exasperated. “Where are we going with this?” She continued to stare at me and I tried to figure out why she was there, why her mood had changed so radically since the day before, and what she wanted from me exactly. It finally hit me. “You want me to lie.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Yes, you kind of did. You want me to lie and say something like Wilmott instigated the fight or that he swung first or that George was just an innocent bystander who got dragged into this.” I had just given her George’s defense without realizing it. “But that’s not true. Wilmott’s been dragging you and George through the mud on the blog for months and George had it up to here,” I said, bringing my hand to my browline for emphasis. “He started that fight and you know it.”
    She crossed her arms and gave me a half smile. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”
    “And you’re not as tough as you’d like me to think,” I said, and turned on my heel, starting up the driveway. “Did you get Greg to promise to lie? Because he saw it, too, and he’s never going to do it. Oh, and what about the cops who were there? Joe and Larry? They’re not going to lie, either.”
    She chose not to respond. “If this goes any further, they’re going to call you to testify,” she shouted after me. I guess she thought that was a threat that would intimidate me beyond belief. It was her trump card.
    I turned around and changed course, starting down the driveway toward her. “Yeah? Well, bring it on. I’ll tell them exactly what I saw just like I told the police. You think testifying against George scares me?” I pointed at the house next door. “See that house?
    She looked over at the large, newish construction that sat next to my tiny Cape Cod. “Yeah? So what?”
    “I found a body over there, missing its hands and feet. You probably remember the story. I also got attacked by the husband of the lady in the ground and almost lost a finger.” I held up the hand with the Ace bandage and showed her the long scar running down the side of my index finger where the knife wielded by my murderous neighbor had entered. She seemed somewhat impressed by its severity, still pink and shiny after several months of healing. “You’re going to have to get up pretty early in the morning to scare me, Ginny.”
    She decided to try a different tack. “What? Are you a knight of the fucking Round Table or something? Haven’t you ever told a lie?”
    She hit a nerve. “No. I have never told a lie,” I said. Even that was a lie but I wasn’t going to admit it; my intentions were good and that had to count for something. “No.” I held my ground on the front lawn, but I could feel my toes sliding forward in my wedged sandals. I wouldn’t be able to hold my ground much longer if this kept up.
    “I’m trying to save my husband,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She left me with that sentiment as she sped off in her Outback, leaving me at the curb.
    I went back into the house, leaned against the back door and closed my eyes. Why did buying a cup of coffee have to turn into a complete and total disaster? Why couldn’t I just have made a cup of coffee at home? “Because you never have any food in the house!” I exclaimed, waking Trixie, who was lounging on the cool tile under the kitchen table. “Sorry, Trix.”