your attorney was with you there, right?”
She nodded, and her red curls wafted around her lined face. “Mr. Caramon is a very nice man. He told me to tell the truth, since he knows I didn’t kill Bethany.”
“I don’t want to interfere in any way with whatever Mr. Caramon told you,” I said, “but can you tell me why you were at Bethany’s so early in the morning?”
Her eyes welled up, and she took a sip of tea. “I couldn’t sleep. I missed my animals so much . . . I knew that Bethany lives—lived—at her own shelter, so I doubted she’d be sleeping too late and I decided to go talk to her. See, your place, HotRescues, is so far away, or I’d have asked you. I don’t drive the freeways much these days. Too much traffic. My car is still at Bethany’s, I think. Or maybe the police took it.”
“You’d have asked me what?” I felt utterly confused.
“I went to see Bethany to apologize for yelling at her during her meeting. I meant it, of course, but I wanted to work there, even volunteer, to be near animals again. I know she thought me a hoarder, and so did you.” She dipped her head, and I had to strain to hear her. “It wasn’t . . . Well, maybe you were right, but I never meant to hurt . . . Anyway, as hard as it would be, I was even willing to let Bethany supervise me, tell me what to do, as long as I could help rescue pets again.”
“I see.” My voice was subdued. I did see. Mamie wouldn’t quite admit to herself that she was a hoarder. Even so, she was willing even to beg the person who’d threatened her with disclosure in the first place, if only she could be around animals.
Unless she was a really good liar, and claiming she’d gone there to beg was part of her act.
“What was Bethany’s response?” I asked.
“That’s the point. When I got there, no one answered the buzzer, but the gate wasn’t locked. The animals heard me come in—some dogs barked, and they sounded very upset. I didn’t want to go see them without talking to Bethany first, observing whatever rules she wanted. I thought that would show how sincere I was. But she didn’t answer the doorbell, and the house was open, too. I just went inside and called out to her. She didn’t answer, but I thought I heard something, so I kept calling her name. I went upstairs, found her bedroom . . . and found her.” Mamie inhaled sharply. “It was so awful. Blood everywhere. A gun on the floor. I didn’t know what to do. That’s when I called you.”
She sounded sincere. Her story even appeared logical. Maybe that was another reason she hadn’t been arrested, at least not yet. The cops might need more evidence than her presence to get her convicted of murdering Bethany.
Even though she had all the elements I heard of in crimescene TV shows: motive, means, and opportunity. I’d even discussed them with the detective who had been investigating me as a potential murderer. This time, though, the means . . .
“The gun, Mamie—where was it?”
“On the floor, near Bethany.”
“Had you ever seen it before?”
“Well, yes. Bethany waved it at me when we were arguing before. I heard that she did that a lot.”
Interesting. So there could be others who knew about it. “Did you touch the gun when you saw it near Bethany?”
“Yes, to look at it, and to hand it to the police.” Was she really that naïve? She must have realized how dumb that sounded, since she added, “I wouldn’t know how to shoot a gun even if I wanted to, Lauren. If I’d decided to kill Bethany, I’d have figured something else out.”
Maybe. But it was time to move on.
“So . . . do you have any ideas who might have wanted to kill Bethany?” I asked.
“Who else, you mean?” I felt my eyes widen. “I know you still think it could be me, Lauren. But it wasn’t, damn it. And, yes, I do have some other ideas. I told the detective that, too. But—” The anger in her voice suddenly tapered off. “But I’m afraid it’s no
She nodded, and her red curls wafted around her lined face. “Mr. Caramon is a very nice man. He told me to tell the truth, since he knows I didn’t kill Bethany.”
“I don’t want to interfere in any way with whatever Mr. Caramon told you,” I said, “but can you tell me why you were at Bethany’s so early in the morning?”
Her eyes welled up, and she took a sip of tea. “I couldn’t sleep. I missed my animals so much . . . I knew that Bethany lives—lived—at her own shelter, so I doubted she’d be sleeping too late and I decided to go talk to her. See, your place, HotRescues, is so far away, or I’d have asked you. I don’t drive the freeways much these days. Too much traffic. My car is still at Bethany’s, I think. Or maybe the police took it.”
“You’d have asked me what?” I felt utterly confused.
“I went to see Bethany to apologize for yelling at her during her meeting. I meant it, of course, but I wanted to work there, even volunteer, to be near animals again. I know she thought me a hoarder, and so did you.” She dipped her head, and I had to strain to hear her. “It wasn’t . . . Well, maybe you were right, but I never meant to hurt . . . Anyway, as hard as it would be, I was even willing to let Bethany supervise me, tell me what to do, as long as I could help rescue pets again.”
“I see.” My voice was subdued. I did see. Mamie wouldn’t quite admit to herself that she was a hoarder. Even so, she was willing even to beg the person who’d threatened her with disclosure in the first place, if only she could be around animals.
Unless she was a really good liar, and claiming she’d gone there to beg was part of her act.
“What was Bethany’s response?” I asked.
“That’s the point. When I got there, no one answered the buzzer, but the gate wasn’t locked. The animals heard me come in—some dogs barked, and they sounded very upset. I didn’t want to go see them without talking to Bethany first, observing whatever rules she wanted. I thought that would show how sincere I was. But she didn’t answer the doorbell, and the house was open, too. I just went inside and called out to her. She didn’t answer, but I thought I heard something, so I kept calling her name. I went upstairs, found her bedroom . . . and found her.” Mamie inhaled sharply. “It was so awful. Blood everywhere. A gun on the floor. I didn’t know what to do. That’s when I called you.”
She sounded sincere. Her story even appeared logical. Maybe that was another reason she hadn’t been arrested, at least not yet. The cops might need more evidence than her presence to get her convicted of murdering Bethany.
Even though she had all the elements I heard of in crimescene TV shows: motive, means, and opportunity. I’d even discussed them with the detective who had been investigating me as a potential murderer. This time, though, the means . . .
“The gun, Mamie—where was it?”
“On the floor, near Bethany.”
“Had you ever seen it before?”
“Well, yes. Bethany waved it at me when we were arguing before. I heard that she did that a lot.”
Interesting. So there could be others who knew about it. “Did you touch the gun when you saw it near Bethany?”
“Yes, to look at it, and to hand it to the police.” Was she really that naïve? She must have realized how dumb that sounded, since she added, “I wouldn’t know how to shoot a gun even if I wanted to, Lauren. If I’d decided to kill Bethany, I’d have figured something else out.”
Maybe. But it was time to move on.
“So . . . do you have any ideas who might have wanted to kill Bethany?” I asked.
“Who else, you mean?” I felt my eyes widen. “I know you still think it could be me, Lauren. But it wasn’t, damn it. And, yes, I do have some other ideas. I told the detective that, too. But—” The anger in her voice suddenly tapered off. “But I’m afraid it’s no
Similar Books
