Vengeance Is Mine by Joanne Fluke Page A

parking lot and head toward the courthouse at seven-fifteen. If I looked on your key ring, I’d find a key that fits the law library door. It was issued to you in May 1980 to do research for your talk show.”
    â€œSteven Radke! Are you accusing me of killing Ray and Dale?”
    â€œOf course not. You had an alibi last night even though you don’t know about it. Jerry Thiesen saw you standing in your living room with your back to the window at eleven last night. You were wearing a pale blue robe. Jerry was walking his Irish setter, and Skippy made a mess on your front sidewalk. He cleaned it up even though he was sure you weren’t watching. He said when it came to the neighborhood dogs, you had eyes in the back of your head. Do I get my vote of confidence now, Mrs. Whitworth?”
    â€œYou’ve earned it.” Margaret clapped her hands together and laughed. “And, Steve? I think it’s time you called me Margaret.”
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    â€œHurry up, Trish. I’ll be on right after this commercial.”
    â€œComing, darling!”
    Trish came into the living room with two fluted glasses of Perrier. Each one had a twist of lime. Les took his and set it down on the table next to his recliner. He hated Perrier. It tasted like champagne with all the good stuff taken out.
    â€œI think this commercial is totally tasteless, don’t you, dear?” Trish frowned at the screen.
    â€œUm.” Les settled for a safe, noncommittal comment. Four headless plucked chickens, dressed up in little army outfits, were riding in toy tanks and jeeps. The announcer said something about feeding an army with golden plump chickens. Les thought it was kind of cute.
    The theme music for Margaret’s show came on, and Les turned up the volume. It was crazy, but his palms were sweaty. He’d never gotten used to the way he looked on television. It was like watching a total stranger.
    â€œOh, you look marvelous, Les.” Trish reached out to squeeze his arm as the camera panned over Margaret and Les, sitting in easy chairs. “I told you that shirt would be just right.”
    Les groaned as the camera moved in closer. He really had to lose a little weight. He was getting a double chin, and he was only thirty-eight. And combing his hair to the front didn’t begin to cover his bald spot. He hoped he sounded better than he looked.
    â€œAs you know, the WinterGame fund-raiser starts tomorrow. My guest this afternoon is Mayor Les Hollenkamp. What can you tell us about WinterGame, Mayor Hollenkamp?”
    Les winced as he heard himself speak. Was his voice always that high-pitched? He sounded like a member of GALA, for Christ’s sake.
    â€œ. . . and we are proud to be a modern city even though it was back in 1853 that St. Cloud was built on the beautiful banks of the Mississippi. Now it’s time to take another step into the future, to prove to the rest of the state that St. Cloud is a liberal and progressive community. The Alternate Life-style Center will provide us with new citizens and increased business revenues. I urge all of you to attend the WinterGame festivities in the coming week so that the Alternate Life-style Center can become a reality.”
    â€œThank you, Mayor Hollenkamp. WinterGame will open tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock with a snowman contest. All children under the age of twelve are welcome to enter. The bar team hockey play-offs start at seven tomorrow evening at Lake George Park. The first game is the Locker Room Jocks versus the Red Carpet Sweepers.”
    â€œOh, that was inspired, Les. Especially the part about being liberal and progressive.”
    â€œIt’s a good thing you sounded out Jane Kedrowski, honey. After we taped that segment, Margaret thanked me for giving WinterGame a boost.”
    Trish sipped delicately at her Perrier. “This is the first time Margaret’s ever invited me to one of her dinner parties. I’m sure