was very young, and my parents saddled me with Eureka May because some of our ancestors helped found the Eureka Truevine Methodist Church a few generations back and they thought it would be nice to honor that event. Lucky me.
“—Bitty Hollandale,” I finished instead of enduring five minutes of explanation. “I want to ask you about the nine-one-one call made the night of the murder.”
“Yeah? Why ask me?”
“Because I’ve talked to everyone else here, and no one seems to be the one who made that call,” I lied. “That leaves you. Can you tell me when you made the call, and how close you were when you heard the gunshot?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never heard any gunshot, and I didn’t make that call.”
A voice right in my ear boomed, “She’s lying! I saw her eyes move to the left! A clear sign when someone is lying!”
Carolann’s shout made me jump about two feet into the air, and I staggered two steps into the room before catching myself. I turned to look at her incredulously. Her smile faded.
“What,” she whispered only half a decibel lower than a sonic boom, “didn’t you ask me to watch her face?”
I cleared my throat. “It would be best if you kept your observations to yourself until I can talk to you later, okay?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Carolann made the motion of zipping her lip, then fastened a sharp gaze on Patty Carter, squinting at her as if trying to read her mind.
I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes as I turned back to Ms. Carter. “It will go no farther than me if you’d like to tell me the truth. I can leave your name out of it completely. If you didn’t hear a gunshot, can you tell me why you made that call? What did you see, or hear, that led you to feel the police should be called?”
Ms. Carter fiddled with the vacuum cord a few moments, her eyes still narrowed on me. Then she said, “I can’t get involved in this, you know? I’ve got a . . . situation that I need to keep to myself.”
“I understand. As long as your situation doesn’t involve shooting Larry Whittier, I have no problem whatsoever with keeping your circumstances quiet.”
A faint smile tucked at one corner of her mouth, and her eyes shifted to Carolann. When she still hesitated I turned to Carolann and said quietly, “Do you mind waiting for me at the bottom of the steps? This won’t take but a moment.”
“Are you sure—?”
“Quite sure,” I said firmly, and Carolann gave Ms. Carter a last squinty look before moving across the small porch and down the steps.
I looked back at Patty Carter. She bit her lower lip, then asked, “Why should I tell you anything at all? You’ll go to the cops, I know you will.”
“No, I won’t. This is for my own reasons that have little to do with the police. It’s more of an insurance matter than a police matter.”
“Look, I got a kid, you know? If my ex finds out where we are, he’ll make lots of trouble for us. I can’t go through that again, running out in the middle of the night when he calls, leaving everything behind—my little girl, she’s only five. He did things . . . no one believes it, and I’ve got to do what I can to protect her. You know?”
“I understand. I just need to know what you saw or heard the night of the murder. No one needs to know who told me.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I hated not being able to tell anyone, because, well, murder’s a crime, you know? But I was afraid that the police would start asking me a lot of questions, start checking around . . . anyway, I had run really late cleaning a vacant unit, and I’d forgotten to put the cart back up. I’d pulled it around to the trash cans, and got distracted and just left it there . . . well, I didn’t want to have to explain that I’d had to go to school to pick up Amy—she’s my little girl—and forgot all about putting it up. So, I came back after she went to bed and my neighbor could watch her, so I
“—Bitty Hollandale,” I finished instead of enduring five minutes of explanation. “I want to ask you about the nine-one-one call made the night of the murder.”
“Yeah? Why ask me?”
“Because I’ve talked to everyone else here, and no one seems to be the one who made that call,” I lied. “That leaves you. Can you tell me when you made the call, and how close you were when you heard the gunshot?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never heard any gunshot, and I didn’t make that call.”
A voice right in my ear boomed, “She’s lying! I saw her eyes move to the left! A clear sign when someone is lying!”
Carolann’s shout made me jump about two feet into the air, and I staggered two steps into the room before catching myself. I turned to look at her incredulously. Her smile faded.
“What,” she whispered only half a decibel lower than a sonic boom, “didn’t you ask me to watch her face?”
I cleared my throat. “It would be best if you kept your observations to yourself until I can talk to you later, okay?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Carolann made the motion of zipping her lip, then fastened a sharp gaze on Patty Carter, squinting at her as if trying to read her mind.
I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes as I turned back to Ms. Carter. “It will go no farther than me if you’d like to tell me the truth. I can leave your name out of it completely. If you didn’t hear a gunshot, can you tell me why you made that call? What did you see, or hear, that led you to feel the police should be called?”
Ms. Carter fiddled with the vacuum cord a few moments, her eyes still narrowed on me. Then she said, “I can’t get involved in this, you know? I’ve got a . . . situation that I need to keep to myself.”
“I understand. As long as your situation doesn’t involve shooting Larry Whittier, I have no problem whatsoever with keeping your circumstances quiet.”
A faint smile tucked at one corner of her mouth, and her eyes shifted to Carolann. When she still hesitated I turned to Carolann and said quietly, “Do you mind waiting for me at the bottom of the steps? This won’t take but a moment.”
“Are you sure—?”
“Quite sure,” I said firmly, and Carolann gave Ms. Carter a last squinty look before moving across the small porch and down the steps.
I looked back at Patty Carter. She bit her lower lip, then asked, “Why should I tell you anything at all? You’ll go to the cops, I know you will.”
“No, I won’t. This is for my own reasons that have little to do with the police. It’s more of an insurance matter than a police matter.”
“Look, I got a kid, you know? If my ex finds out where we are, he’ll make lots of trouble for us. I can’t go through that again, running out in the middle of the night when he calls, leaving everything behind—my little girl, she’s only five. He did things . . . no one believes it, and I’ve got to do what I can to protect her. You know?”
“I understand. I just need to know what you saw or heard the night of the murder. No one needs to know who told me.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I hated not being able to tell anyone, because, well, murder’s a crime, you know? But I was afraid that the police would start asking me a lot of questions, start checking around . . . anyway, I had run really late cleaning a vacant unit, and I’d forgotten to put the cart back up. I’d pulled it around to the trash cans, and got distracted and just left it there . . . well, I didn’t want to have to explain that I’d had to go to school to pick up Amy—she’s my little girl—and forgot all about putting it up. So, I came back after she went to bed and my neighbor could watch her, so I
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