Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

What in God’s name was she talking about? Who in God’s name was she talking about?
    Elaine took over. “Alison, we’re part of an organization called WIMP.” When I looked at her blankly, she explained. “Women in Major Peril. Well, it’s actually Women and Children in Major Peril but we didn’t want to add any letters.”
    Lydia jumped in. “You see, Alison, Elaine and I know what it’s like to live in fear. Our father was a police officer, too, like your boyfriend, and he was very violent. We grew up in a small town in upstate New York, not unlike this one, and everyone thought that he was a wonderful man. But we knew what he was: a drinker and an abuser. We decided that if we got out of our house alive, we would devote our lives to helping other women and children in similar situations. That’s why we started WIMP.”
    I stepped back from the counter, still holding my wineglass. “You’re kidding, right?”
    Clark spoke for the first time, his voice a jarring and uncharacteristic high tenor. “I wish we were.”
    It all came together: Lydia’s obvious dislike of Crawford, a man she didn’t even know; the lavender-scented note cards imploring me to get it up or pick myself up or something to that effect; and Jane’s reference to Lydia’s all-encompassing volunteer activities. Lydia and her bizarre cohorts—Clark and Elaine—were part of some militant, underground organization that tried to help battered women. By battering them, it seemed. Because if slapping duct tape over someone’s mouth, putting a hood over their heads, and carrying them from their homes qualified as anything, it was battery.
    Lydia attempted to explain what she considered all of the good works that they undertook after they had kidnapped and battered their clients. “We give women places to stay, money to get started, and a chance at a new life. We do very good work, Alison. We are very well intentioned.”
    “You kidnapped me,” I said.
    “Sometimes we have to resort to desperate measures to make sure that the women we seek to protect accept our help.”
    “You are all completely insane,” I said, and placed my wineglass back on the counter, but not before sucking down every last drop of the lovely and delicate white wine. “And what kind of legitimate organization could you be if your phone number doesn’t even work?”
    Elaine shot Clark a dirty look. “I told you that you need to fix that.”
    Clark cowered slightly at the wrathful gaze of Elaine and promised that he would get on it right away.
    “You’d better,” she said.
    Lydia grabbed my arm. “Alison, please. Just hear us out.”
    “You hear me out,” I said. “I’m not an abused woman, nor was I ever. True, I married a lying, cheating piece of pond scum, but he never abused me. And Crawford would never lay a hand on me.” The idea that they would even consider Crawford a batterer made me sick; talk about jumping to conclusions based on nothing. I pointed to my black eye, slowly fading into a light green and purple miasma of color. “This is from your husband.”
    Lydia gasped.
    “Yes. Carter and George Miller flung the door open during their stupid fight and it knocked me silly. That’s how I ended up with a black eye.” I held up my bandaged wrist. “And this? I fell at school, something I do about once every two months.” I straightened up to my full height and smoothed down my T-shirt, trying to regain some sense of composure. “I’m sorry I had to tell you that, Lydia, particularly on the day when you buried your husband, but it’s the truth.” I prepared to leave. “And let me just add that ‘WIMP’ is a spectacularly bad acronym for a battered women’s rescue group. And lay off the cologne, Clark,” I added. This day felt like it had been a thousand hours long. I took one last look at the gorgeous Hudson view—I thought it was a pretty safe bet to assume that I would never be invited back here—and strode from the house onto the dark street.

Twenty
     
    “Ever hear of a group called WIMP?”
    Crawford hesitated. “Uh, no.”
    “Women in Major Peril.”
    “Still, no.”
    I was sitting on the edge of my bed, attempting to fasten the strap on my pumps while talking on the phone. It wasn’t going well and I gave up. I had to leave for school in ten minutes but I wanted to give Crawford an update on what had happened after we parted. Yes, it was Saturday but since classes began in a few days, it was “all hands on