“Eric also said that Donna had better watch out. I wonder what he meant by that.”
“It occurs to me that the time these people should have watched out was before Elise was killed.” Mark had been glancing around the noisy and crowded room. He gestured with his eyes and said, “Look three tables to your left.”
Speak of the devil. It was Donna, all right, sitting alone at a small table, eating a sandwich. Her profile was toward us and I didn’t think she had seen us. We studied her for a few seconds and I wondered something I had wondered many times before: How can people recognize their relatives and friends out of the billions of people in the world, many of whom must look like them? In Donna’s case she was very average looking; her features did not single her out and yet I was completely certain it was she from her hair, her head and arm movements, and other cues, however minor, that when taken together, added up to a complete picture. But as easy as it was to spot Donna, I knew it would have been easier to spot Elise, sitting at the same table.
“Stay here,” I said to Mark. “You’re not supposed to talk to her, but I’m going to.”
Mark looked concerned. “Be careful what you say.”
“I’m always careful.”
I took a circular route to Donna’s table, walking behind her so that when she saw me she would be facing away from Mark. I approached her from her other side and said, “Is this seat taken?”
“Oh…hi, Professor,” Donna said, startled, as she looked up from a book she was reading.
“I don’t mean to interrupt. I spotted you across a crowded room and wanted to say hello.”
“No, please sit down.” Donna had recovered her composure. “It’s good to see you. And I wanted to thank you again for inviting me to Professor Morgan’s…” she laughed, “…the other Professor Morgan’s farm. I had a great time.”
“I’m glad you could come,” I said. “We all enjoyed having you,” including Mark at least by implication, figuring that his opinion would weigh heaviest with her. “What are you reading?”
“Oh, this. It’s poetry. Emily Dickinson. It doesn’t have anything to do with any of my classes. I should be reading my physics book. Which reminds me, the class really missed having Dr. Pappas give the lecture yesterday. He makes everything so understandable. The professor who took over the class is an old guy-excuse me, I didn’t mean that in a derogatory way-who talks in long sentences and I couldn’t follow him well enough to take good notes. I hope Dr. Pappas gets his job back soon.”
I looked over at Mark’s table, but he had disappeared. I said, “So do I. Do you like Emily Dickinson?”
“Well, as you know, I fancy myself to be somewhat of a poet so I figured I should learn from the greats. But what I really want to be, as I think I told you, is a lyricist. That’s the only way you can make any money as a poet.”
“But of course that’s a difficult profession to break into. Incidentally, I talked to Eric Hoffman this morning. He said the two of you are friends.”
Donna looked startled at the mention of Eric’s name. She giggled, nervously, and said, “Yeah, I guess you could say we’re friends. He’s a sweet man.”
“And someone you can talk to about your dream of being a lyricist?”
“He’s a good listener.”
“And he might have had some influence with Elise and helped her to see that you and she belonged in a partnership together.”
I must have been very witty because Donna laughed again.
She said, “I didn’t need anybody to speak to Elise for me. We got along just fine.”
“Did she want to sing professionally?”
“She was thinking about it. She was talking about singing with the rock group again this coming summer.”
“And you were going to write lyrics for them?”
“Well…they are looking at some words I wrote to see if they can put them to music.”
“When did you decide to disclose your secret identity?”
Donna looked puzzled so I said, “I read the article about you in today’s Bethany Bugle.”
“Oh, that.” Donna laughed again and looked around, apparently to see if anybody was listening. “The police knew about it and you knew about it. I figured it would come out, anyway, in conjunction with the investigation, so I decided, what the heck, when a reporter called, asking questions about Elise.”
“What has been the reaction of your friends?”
“My female friends all say they wish they had the guts to do it.”
“And your parents?”
“With any luck they won’t find out.”
Chapter 19
King and I were taking our morning walk when the police arrested Mark. Maybe Detective Johnson planned it that way. He knew something about my habits and he didn’t want to get into a gunfight with me. Of course, I hadn’t owned a gun since the days of my youth spent on a farm where I had plinked tin cans and the occasional woodchuck with my . 22.
The police car passed me on the loop road around Silver Acres and I had immediate concern for Mark, but I rationalized that Detective Johnson drove an unmarked car so this must be somebody else. I didn’t see the car leave Silver Acres. I must have been on the other half of the loop when it did. However, when I returned to my apartment Mark was gone. I found a scribbled note that read, “I’ve been arrested.” It was signed, “M.”
I immediately called Sandra, but I got her answering machine. I left a message. I called Albert and caught him at home. I told him what I knew, which was almost nothing, and he said to keep him informed. I was glad that he appeared to be very concerned, although there wasn’t anything he could do at the moment. But at least I wasn’t alone in trying to defend Mark. Outside of our family Mark didn’t really have anybody to turn to because he was an orphan with no close relatives.
Next I called Burt Brown, the attorney. He wasn’t in his office yet so I left a message on his machine. I found the business card that Detective Johnson had given me and called his number, but of course he didn’t answer either so I left a message on his machine. With modern technology you could spend most of your life talking to machines.
At 9:30 I finally got a call from Burt. He apologized for the delay and said that he had gone to court early to get a client out of jail.
“Well, now you’ve got another client you have to get out of jail,” I said.
“Okay, Aunt Lillian, let’s take this one step at a time,” Burt said. “First we have to find out what he’s charged with.”
“I assume he’s charged with murder.”
“But on what evidence? As far as I know, the police don’t have enough evidence to charge him with anything. And if they can’t charge him they have to release him. If they have new evidence, as his attorney I’m entitled to know what it is.”
“How soon can you find out?”
“It may take some time. Until I do, I’m going to have to ask you not to talk to anybody connected with the case. Can you do that for me?”
I promised, reluctantly. The most difficult thing for me to do was nothing.
I had no reason not to attend the Thursday afternoon chess club. In fact, it would keep me out of trouble-trouble defined as involvement with anything to do with Elise’s murder. I had not heard from anybody since morning. Burt hadn’t called me again and Detective Johnson hadn’t called me at all. I guessed he wouldn’t call me unless he thought I could give him some information.
Wesley was at the chess club and I challenged him to a game. I wanted to get revenge for the defeat I had suffered at his hands two weeks before. I drew the black pieces so Wesley moved first. He liked to establish a solid position before he launched an offensive. I countered by setting up my defense as I looked for an opening. If he wasn’t going to attack, I would.
I started my offensive before I had my pieces positioned properly. I led with my queen too early in the game and it became vulnerable to attack by inferior pieces. While fighting to save my queen I had to give up material. Then we traded pieces and I played better, but Wesley ended up with two pawns on the board to my none. We each had our queen and king.