LITMIR.BIZ

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phoned home. In a few more minutes, my friend Sergeant Poole of the Amhearst police arrived. A crime scene team from the state police followed quickly, as did the coroner. Even a fire truck showed up as part of the first-response team, even though I’d told the 911 operator we didn’t need AFD personnel.

      In no time Jolene and I found ourselves back on the huge couch again, our scarves and gloves tumbled in the pile of coats on the floor in the hall.

      “What will I do about the blood on my coat?” Jolene asked, staring across the room at the collection of garments, fixing on a problem that had comprehensible ramifications. The busyness of the men in the kitchen and their purpose bewildered and overwhelmed. “I love that coat. Arnie got it for me before our troubles.”

      “Don’t worry about it.” I patted her hand. “I’ll take it to the cleaners for you when I take mine.”

      She nodded and slumped back on the sofa. We sat silently in the brightly lit room and waited as we had been asked by Sergeant Poole.

      Finally we were interviewed, though I didn’t have much to say. I sat stiffly in one of the cherry dining room chairs, hoping I didn’t appear guilty of anything because I wasn’t. I just get a guilty complex around extreme authority. It probably went back to the time when I was a little kid and lied to my mother about where I got the candy bar I’d stolen. As I sat straight and still, stoically waiting my grilling, I studied the porcelain in the china cabinet on the far wall. One shelf was Royal Doulton figurines, their colorful images a contrast to the shelf of sleek, sophisticated Lladro porcelains. The top shelf was full of collectors’ pieces of blue Wedgwood with rings of white flowers encircling them.

      Where had the money and the good taste for those things come from?

      Sergeant Poole sat across the table from me.

      “How can I help, William?”

      “How did Mrs. Meister get the blood on her hands and her coat?” he asked.

      “She knelt beside Arnie when she first found him. She tried to pick him up and hold him. She didn’t realize he was dead.”

      “Um,” he said and waited. I waited, too, because I didn’t have anything else to say. He knew me well enough to realize that if I had been trying to protect Jolene or if I had anything further to say, I would have blurted it when he waited. That authority reaction thing again.

      Finally he asked, “What do you know about the victim?”

      “Very little. I never met him. In fact, I never even saw him before tonight.”

      “Not a great way to make an acquaintance.” And he smiled sympathetically.

      I smiled back and relaxed a bit.

      “Why did you come here today?” he asked.

      “Jolene—Mrs. Meister—was supposed to meet her husband here.”

      “Meet him here? Doesn’t she live here?”

      “No. They were divorcing, and she lives in her own condominium.”

      His eyebrow rose. “Acrimonious divorce?”

      “I don’t think so.” I knew exactly what he was looking for. The spouse is always the first suspect.

      “Are you and Mrs. Meister good friends? Would she tell you if things were nasty between them?”

      “Work friends, that’s all.”

      He nodded. I could see my influence as a character witness shrinking faster than a blown-up balloon without a knot in the end.

      “Why were they meeting?” he asked.

      “I have no idea. She didn’t tell me. She just asked for a lift.”

      “She doesn’t have a car?”

      “Her father drove her in to work today.”

      “She lives with her parents?”

      I shook my head. “I told you. She owns a condo. Maybe she’d spent the night with them or something. Or maybe her father drove out to her place to get her and then drove her to work. Or maybe her car’s in the shop.”

      “Was Mrs. Meister surprised when she found her husband?”

      “Very,” I said, picturing her reaction. “I think she was devastated.” I paused, then asked a question I wanted answered. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”

      He raised his eyebrows, then said politely, “I’m not giving half-baked opinions to the press, Merry. We’ll wait for the coroner’s report.”

      “Don’t get so testy, William. This isn’t for publication,” I hastened to assure him. “This is for me. I want to know how close you think we came to walking in on a murderer. I mean, nothing appears to have been touched or stolen. Is that because we arrived and scared someone off? Is there a very mad person out there who might not like Jo and me anymore?”

      He studied me for a minute. “Okay, off the record. I don’t think you scared anyone away. I think he’s been dead for maybe three hours.”

      “Why do you think that?”

      “You sure you want to know?”

      I nodded, hoping I wouldn’t regret this.

      “The white, waxy condition of his skin, the flatness of the eyes indicating loss of fluid and the lividity.”

      I’d noticed the purple-blue on the back of his arms and on the underside of the exposed calf where the blood left in his body had gathered in response to the pull of gravity.

      “And,” he finished, “rigor appears to have begun in the smaller muscles.”

      “But he’s still warm to the touch.”

      “The body cools slowly, a degree or two an hour.”

      “Dust to dust doesn’t take long, does it?”

      Sergeant Poole grunted noncommittally. “Where were you all afternoon, Merry?”

      “Me?” I think my voice squeaked.

      He nodded.

      “At work. Lots of people saw me. Lots.” And a cannibalistic plant. “You don’t think I had anything to do with Arnie’s death, do you?”

      William Poole smiled slightly. He had an interesting lopsided smile which sat pleasantly on his furrowed face. “Not really, but I have to ask. It’s what I get paid for. Now what about Mrs. Meister? Where was she all afternoon?”

      “At work, too.”

      “Do me a favor,” he asked congenially. “Write down the times you had any conversation or contact with Mrs. Meister during the afternoon. One of my men will stop by for the list tomorrow.”

      “I’ll have it ready.” I’d be more than happy to provide Jolene’s alibi.

      “Do you know you have blood on your hands, Merry?”

      I looked at them and shivered. The blood was dried around my nails. “I got it when I pulled Jolene away from the body. I know I have some on my shoes and on my coat from when I knelt beside her. Even my knees.”

      Shortly after that, I was dismissed. Both Jolene and I were in the living room waiting for permission to leave when an officer came to us.

      “We’re going to remove the body now,” he said. “I wanted to warn you because I don’t know if you want to see him carried out in a body bag. I’d like to give you the opportunity to leave the room.”

      I glanced at Jolene who looked horrified.

      “A body bag,” she whispered. “Oh, no!”

      I heard the wheels of the gurney roll across the parquet. I grabbed Jolene, turned her from the door, and held her as they wheeled Arnie from his brightly lit

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