Three Bedrooms, One Corpse - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,54
she had been very ‘up’ lately, dressing more carefully, cheerful, eyes shiny, etcetera. Idella wasn’t one to talk about her personal life. I worked with her for a month without her mentioning her children!”
“She was closemouthed,” I said, impressed. “I just wondered if she hadn’t been dating Franklin Farrell.”
“I would be extremely surprised,” Eileen said instantly. “You know what a reputation he has as a ladies’ man. Idella was very shy.”
She’d have been a real challenge to a Franklin Farrell.
“You heard they questioned Jimmy Hunter?” Eileen told me suddenly.
“Yes, but I don’t believe he’s guilty.”
“It’s got to be someone,” Eileen said practically. “Though I hear his alibi for the time Idella was killed is pretty strong.”
“So there are two stranglers in Lawrenceton, attacking real estate saleswoman?”
“You’ve heard about copycat killers. Maybe this is one.”
“What about the thefts?”
“I’m not the police,” Eileen said irritably. “I’m just hoping all this is over and I can go back to my job without being scared every time I have an appointment to meet someone at an empty house.”
“Sure,” I said, instantly contrite. “I’m a friend of Susu’s, or at least I used to be in high school.”
“We’re not going to come out of this with everyone happy.”
“Of course not. Listen, when do you walk every evening?”
“Terry and I usually walk at five in the winter, seven in the summer. Did you want to join us?”
“Oh, how nice of you! No, I’d just slow you down. I thought I might give it a try, but I’d better go by myself at first.”
“Then be careful.”
“Okay. See you Saturday night.”
“Bye.”
I actually found myself a tiny bit regretful I wasn’t going to see Franklin in action. Amina had told me a date with Franklin was like being in a warm, soothing bubble bath. You felt cherished and delicate and pamperable. And of course you wanted that to go on and on, so the date extended very easily into bed. Once or twice, or perhaps even for a month. And then Franklin stopped calling and you had to come back to the real world.
If Martin hadn’t happened, I would certainly have accepted, just to sample the experience. I would have stopped short of bed, I told myself firmly.
I put out fresh food and water for Madeleine, who was still hiding somewhere in the townhouse, sulking about the great indignity done her at the vet’s.
And the phone rang again.
This time it was Sally Allison.
“The police searched the Hunters’ house and came up with zilch,” she said without preamble.
“Oh, thank God. Maybe he’s not such a suspect anymore?”
“Could be. The afternoon Idella Yates was killed, he was in the hardware store without a break, in full view of at least three people at any given moment. And he says he did look at the Anderton house with Tonia Lee, but on a different day. That’s how his fingerprints got on the night table.”
“Is it okay for you to be telling me this?”
“If you don’t tell anyone else. Otherwise, Paul will have my guts for garters.”
“I understand.”
“I know you’re a friend of Susu’s, so I just wanted you to know.”
“Thanks, Sally. Listen, did you ever date Franklin Farrell?”
“No,” she said, and laughed. “I didn’t want to be a cliché. He tries to date you when he thinks you’re especially lonely, or rebounding from a relationship, or if you’re a little stupid. I understand he really wines and dines you before the Big Move, but when he called me, I was too scared I’d join the ranks to accept.”
“Just wondered.”
“Oh, did you get that newspaper article I sent you?”
“Oh, shoot. I forgot to check my mail yesterday. I’ll bet it’s out there. I’ll go see.”
“Okay. If you don’t get it, call me.”
I reached in my mailbox eagerly and came out with a handful. Yes, here was the article Sally had sent me as she’d promised. There was Martin’s picture. I sighed absurdly. Martin, I read, had a background in agriculture (I assumed that was his being raised on a farm); a distinguished service record, including two purple hearts (that explained the scars I hadn’t yet asked him about); and a long work history with Pan-Am Agra ... a brief chronicle of his steady rise through the ranks followed .. . then a noncommital statement of Martin’s, about his plans for the plant.
There wasn’t anything much to it, really, but for some reason it was very exciting to read about my—well, whatever— in the paper. So I read it over. And over.
“Isn’t that strange,”