Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_03 by Death in Lovers' Lane Page A

gray hair, remained remote, untouched. He banged his gavel and rose.
    Everyone stood.
    As the door to the judge’s chambers closed, a deputy gestured for Rita to come.
    Rita Duffy would remain in jail. There was no way she and Dennis could come up with enough money to make that bond.
    Murder in the first degree.
    At the preliminary hearing, set for December 4, Ellison could argue for a charge of second-degree murder.
    I doubted he’d get it.
    If Maggie Winslow’s killer strangled her as she lay helpless, this could not be considered a crime of passion.
    Murder in the first degree. If convicted, Rita Duffy could be sentenced to death.
    Deputies walked on either side of Rita as she left the courtroom.
    Cameras flashed and reporters trotted alongside as she was led down the hallway.
    She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes brimming with tears. Her mouth formed a plaintive cry, “Dennis, Dennis!”
    And then she was in the elevator. The doors slid heavily shut.
    The reporters turned toward Dennis.
    A local television reporter pressed forward. “Mr. Duffy”—he stumbled over the name because this was Dennis and they played poker together—“Mr. Duffy, is your wife guilty?”
    Dennis’s chest heaved. Perspiration beaded his face. He flung up his head. “Rita’s innocent. I’ll prove it. I swear to God I’ll prove it!”
    For the first time in our acquaintance, I admired Dennis Duffy.
    Dennis whirled away from the elevator. For a moment, our glances met and held. He still had that punchy look, a man who’d lost his place and had no idea which way to go. He grabbed the arm of B. B. Ellison.
    Dennis bent his big head close to the lawyer’s and talked fast.
    I realized as I turned away that Dennis was looking toward me.

five
    M Y desk was in disarray. In the center were papers I’d tried to grade as I kept tabs on the coverage of the police investigation into Maggie’s murder. But to one side was the material I’d spread out early that morning in anticipation of my expected meeting with Maggie. I wouldn’t be instructing my student in how to find out more about the most famous unsolved crimes in Derry Hills.
    I perched on the edge of my desk, unable to forget the terror in Rita Duffy’s eyes. I checked my thermos. There wasn’t even a vestige of warmth in the coffee.
    I stared at the papers I’d put together for the pep talk that never took place.
    Three piles.
    The Rosen-Voss case.
    The Curt Murdoch case.
    The Darryl Nugent case.
    Maggie Winslow was murdered as she sought fresh answers to old questions. And Maggie’s body was found in Lovers’ Lane.
    But I knew quite well that The Clarion was read by almost every household in Derry Hills. The placement of Maggie’s body in Lovers’ Lane couldhave been prompted by her ad in the Wednesday issue.
    I’d met Rita Duffy a few times. She was smart, quick, clever, a hearty woman with a booming laugh. She worked for the Chamber of Commerece knew everybody in town, was interested in ever person she met. She wasn’t the kind of person to miss an ad as provocative as Maggie’s. So, Wednesday night, when she was desperately seeking a place to leave Maggie’s lifeless body, Lovers’ Lane could easily have seemed a brilliant location.
    But why would Rita—if she killed Maggie—take the body anywhere?
    That brought up the most puzzling question: Where did Maggie die? In her apartment? Somewhere on campus? Or in someone else’s car? Rita’s, for example?
    I slipped into my chair and stared at the three piles. I should be feeling relieved. If Rita Duffy murdered Maggie, no fault could lie with me.
    But—
    Why Lovers’ Lane?
    I pulled my pad close, scrawled “Lovers’ Lane,” then listed some possibilities:
1. Lovers’ Lane chosen because it was the most secluded, remote, private area on campus .
2. Lovers’ Lane chosen