Mallets Aforethought by Sarah Graves Page A

by that time interest would’ve died down. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best possible way to try keeping a low profile, under the circumstances.”
    Clarissa’s silence continued. “Well?” I said at last. “Don’t you think this establishes some kind of reasonable doubt? George wasn’t the only one with a motive. Or even the best motive.”
    Hector could have tried grabbing more by blackmailing Jan. Or she could’ve decided to eliminate any chance of his trying it. Then there was the whole dosage-schedule thing and the notes on how to kill somebody with Valium. I described them to Clarissa. “Maybe she was planning to kill him with Valium, then got hold of something even deadlier and changed her plan,” I concluded.
    “Great,” she responded skeptically. “And you were planning on proving any of this how?”
    Drat. Trust a lawyer to throw cold water on your notions. If Clarissa’s hard-headed practicality could be dumped on forest fires we wouldn’t need Smokey the Bear.
    “Well,” I said, “maybe the court could subpoena the laptop.”
    “Uh-huh. Because the defendant’s friend saw it while trespassing in the laptop owner’s house.”
    Just then the refrigerator out in the kitchen quit humming and the light on the answering machine went out.
    “Damn,” I said.
    “What?”
    “Oh, not you,” I told Clarissa hastily. The answering machine went back on and the refrigerator resumed humming. “I think the power just switched back from the generator to the Bangor Hydro grid, that’s all.”
    “Oh. Anyway, I can’t just have you testify to this, either. The prosecution would get the jury to ignore your testimony, because a) you’ve admitted you have no scruples since otherwise why would you sneak into her house and snoop, so they’ll decide you’re lying. And b) you’re George’s friend, so likewise.”
    She paused. “I’m assuming you don’t have a printout of those files?”
    “Nope,” I replied, crestfallen. Damn it, I should have just grabbed the thing when I had the chance. “No printer. And I knew all that, what you said. I was hoping you’d be able to figure out a way around it, is all.”
    She replied doubtfully. “If there turns out to be any Valium in Hector’s tox screens, I could try.” Then she sighed. “Believe me, Jake, I know this looks good to you but you’re a long way from anything that’s actually going to be useful. And if Jan Jesperson gets wind of it, that laptop’s going to end up somewhere no one can ever find it again and this whole discussion will be moot. So keep quiet, and I mean don’t tell
anyone,
not even Ellie. I need to think about this.”
    With that she hung up.
     
     
    Victor’s CPR class was held at the Eastport firehouse, out on County Road next to the youth center. Behind the big metal prefab building loomed a sand pile already being heaped up for the coming winter. The tinny spatter of a radio scanner came from the tiny dispatch office as I passed it on the way in.
    “Nice of you to drop by,” Victor commented when he saw me, and of course I didn’t smack him. Fortunately just then a pretty EMT-trainee flitted by and he forgot all about me.
    I looked around, wanting to be here even less than when I’d walked in. A dozen blue exercise mats with life-sized mannikins lying on them had been placed around the room, and bringing a big rubber doll back to life wasn’t my idea of entertainment.
    Besides, I’d done CPR before—successfully—without taking a class. I’d just thought Sam might need backup for the reading part of the course, since naturally Victor refused to believe any son of
his
could have any learning difficulties.
    Just then, though, Sam waved at me from across the room, indicating he’d partnered with another student whom I recognized from U. Maine functions. And since Sam’s reputation for smarts at the practical end was well known, there would soon be a quid pro quo: Sam’s partner reading aloud to him in