A Holly, Jolly Murder by Joan Hess

Author:Joan Hess [Hess, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 1997-03-19T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

“Where do you want to go tonight, Roy?” I said without bothering to return his greeting. “The lot by the stadium is closed, so we can’t go back there. How about the police station?”

“What did the guy say when you told him?”

“He said that you ought to turn yourself in.”

Roy grabbed my shoulder. “So he believes me? I mean, he understands that it wasn’t my fault because Nicholas said he was going to kill me. All I was doing was protecting myself. You told him that, didn’t you, Mrs. Malloy?”

“I repeated exactly what you told me. Why didn’t you mention all the traffic in front of the house that night? It must have rivaled the parking lot at the mall.”

I could hear him sucking on his lip as he thought about it. “I guess I had the music pretty loud. Once I thought I saw headlights, but I didn’t bother to look out the window.”

“Why would you?” I said comfortingly, if inanely. “Let’s go to the station. Sergeant Jorgeson’s off duty at the moment, but I can call him at home and ask him to join us. He’ll want to question you tonight, and tomorrow he’ll arrange for a lawyer from legal services. Everything will be okay, Roy, and you’ll have a place to sleep and hot meals.”

“I don’t need a lawyer. I already told you why it was self-defense. Any guy my age would have done the same thing. The kids at the high school may think I’m weird, but they sure as hell don’t think I’m gay. I had a girlfriend while I was living with my mother. We had sex every weekend—and nothing kinky, either. You want her name and phone number? As long as her parents aren’t in the room she’ll tell you the same thing.”

He was more agitated man I would have preferred. The whereabouts of the handgun used on Nicholas was known, but Jorgeson had made a point of mentioning the possibility of a second one. Roy’s jacket had deep pockets.

“What’s the matter, Mrs. Malloy?” he continued, thumping the seat. “I’ll bet you don’t believe me! Is that it? What’s wrong with what I told you last night? You got problems with it?”

“Nothing major,” I said, wishing I sounded more sincere. I am not adept at lying; normally, it’s a praiseworthy attribute, but under the current circumstances, it was a distinct disadvantage. “I’m sure you can easily explain a couple of things that are a teensy bit confusing. You just now said why you didn’t hear the cars drive up, and I believe you. The autopsy report said that there was no alcohol in Nicholas’s blood, but one of your fellow Druids admitted that she was there before midnight and saw him take a mouthful of brandy.” I realized I was babbling, but I couldn’t seem to stop—even though I knew the most credible fabrications are unadorned. “We know who broke the window in Nicholas’s study, and who put away the decanter and glasses.

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