Shoe Done It by Grace Carroll Page B

alone inside? Was he waiting his chance to kill me next? Because he thought I was responsible for MarySue’s murder? Or he thought I knew that he was the murderer? I tried to stay calm and focused, but my mind was spinning and my ankle was throbbing.
    Subtly, carefully, I reached into my pocket and fingered the letter opener. “He’ll kill me,” MarySue had said. I was not going to let him strike again. Not without a struggle.
    “I’m sorry,” I said as calmly as I could while my heart was hammering. “We’re closed for the day.”
    “Closed for the day or closed for good?” he asked.
    I didn’t know what to say. I laughed nervously. “Of course not,” I said. “Dolce’s is an institution. Part of the fabric of this neighborhood. The women of the city couldn’t get along without us. We’re here to stay.”
    “You think so? I don’t think so. I think you’ll be closed for good when I get through with you. You’ll be sued for slander for starters.”
    “What?”
    “You’re Rita, aren’t you?” Jim demanded.
    A dozen different replies went through my mind.
    No, I’m the cleaning lady. Or the temp. Or Dolce’s niece.
    But he didn’t wait for my answer. “I know who you are.” He pointed his finger at me. “You’re the one who told the cops I killed my wife.”
    “No, no, of course not. You couldn’t kill your wife. Why would you?”
    Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to. I was just babbling, hoping to fill some time before I could escape.
    He suddenly turned his back on me, barged into the hall and strode into the great room where he paced around a small antique chair that had belonged to Dolce’s grandmother. I thought about making a break for it then and heading right out the front door. He looked dangerous and if he’d already killed MarySue, he wouldn’t think twice about knocking me off too. But what chance would a cripple like me have with a determined murderer in pursuit? Curiosity got the better of me and I followed him. When he plopped into the antique chair, the legs creaked under his weight and I gasped. I thought my legs would collapse along with the chair legs, so I sat on a small tufted bench under the window, trying to catch my breath.
    When I found my voice, I said, “Jim, you’re upset. I don’t blame you. MarySue has been gone for only a few days. I don’t know who killed your wife. I certainly did not tell the police you killed your wife. I have no idea who did.” Unless it was you or Patti or some other customer who coveted her shoes.
    “Somebody told her it was me,” he said grimly. “If it wasn’t you, who was it? She came to my office and treated me like a common criminal. Do you know why?”
    She? He must mean Detective Ramirez.
    I shook my head. I was waiting to hear why.
    “Insurance.” He spat the word out like he could hardly get it out of his mouth fast enough. “They think I killed MarySue to collect the insurance on her. As if that would make up for my loss.” He ran his hand through his closecropped hair. “MarySue was the love of my life. Sure, we had our differences. Every married couple does. You know what I think? I think you killed her. Don’t look so shocked. And don’t think you’ll get away with it. The police know everything. They know you came to my house that night to get the shoes back. Oh, yeah, she told me about that. She wouldn’t give them to you, so you followed her to the park, didn’t you? You waited your chance and you drugged her. Maybe you didn’t mean to kill her. You just wanted to knock her out so you could take her shoes. You didn’t need to take them. I would have paid you for them if you’d asked me. You didn’t need to come after her like she was a common criminal. Now they’re gone and they were all I had to remember her by.” He buried his head in his hands and he started shaking all over. It even sounded like he was sobbing. Was he really upset or faking it for my