family in a nutshell. Instead of addressing the problem, they ignore it and hope it goes away. We didn’t have that option last night because one of Dad’s doctors happened to be in the room when he confessed.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Sophie.
“Thanks. But it’s all a stupid misunderstanding. It has to be. My father isn’t a murderer.”
For the next few minutes, Bernice filled Sophie in on the details. Kirby Runbeck had been a handyman in Rose Hill ever since he retired from his job as manager at Bjorke Hardware ten years ago. He was in his mid-seventies, he was married, he had no children, and he was notorious for cheating people if he thought he could get away with it. Still, he was good at what he did, so he never went without work. He’d repaired the garage door opener for her parents several months ago, but Bernice insisted that, other than minor house repairs, Kirby wasn’t the kind of man her parents would ever associate with.
“How did he die?” asked Sophie.
“A car bomb—or, in this case, a truck bomb.”
“Yikes.”
“Yes, I know. Things like that just don’t happen around here.”
“Do the police have any leads?”
“They do now. That’s why the deputy sheriff is here.”
“But before your father confessed?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
Sophie could read the anxiety in Bernice’s eyes. “I’m sure it will all get sorted out. How is your dad doing this morning?”
“He woke up when Milton and Plato arrived, but he’s been sleeping most of the time.”
“Do the doctors have any more news?”
“They’re guarded, but they think he’s going to make it. They’re giving him all sorts of drugs. He seems to have some paralysis on his left side, but he can move his right arm and his right leg. With therapy, the doctors think he may regain full use of his left side, too.”
“Then, he’s completely coherent?”
Bernice lowered her head. “I don’t know. For Dad’s sake, I hope so. But then, if he’s in his right mind, why would he confess to a murder? It doesn’t make sense. I’m sure our family lawyer will want to put his own spin on it.”
“Does your lawyer normally handle homicides?”
“Heavens, no. I doubt he’s ever handled a homicide.”
“Then, you might want to find someone else. A good defense attorney is worth his or her weight in gold.”
“That might be easier said than done. Sam Sullivan is a personal friend of the family. It’s a typical small-town problem. On some level, everybody knows everybody. Mom probably thinks Sam would be insulted if he got replaced before he even had a chance to work the case. Fact is, he probably would be. And then it would end up being hard for our family to interact with Sam’s family after that. Nola Sullivan is one of Mom’s best friends. They’re in the same garden club. They play bridge together every Wednesday afternoon. It just gets so complicated.”
Sophie remembered now why her grandparents had hated small-town life. Checking the time, she said, “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. I’ve got to head back to Minneapolis. I take it you’re planning on staying?”
“I can’t leave now,” said Bernice. “Not with everything so up in the air.”
“Did you even come home last night?”
“No, I stayed at the hospital.”
Sophie shook her head. “You take it easy, kiddo. If there’s anything I can do—”
Bernice smiled. “You’re a good friend.”
“See you back at the paper?”
“Right. I’ll be in touch with you soon about the meat loaf contest.”
They said their strained good-byes to each other in the hall.
Just after lunch, a nurse came into John Washburn’s hospital room and told Bernice she had a visitor.
Bernice didn’t have a clue who it could be, but she excused herself and stepped outside.
The visitor, a fiftyish-looking man in a black suit, black silk shirt, and white tie, sat in the waiting room, his narrow-brimmed fedora resting in his lap. Hurrying across
“I’m so sorry,” said Sophie.
“Thanks. But it’s all a stupid misunderstanding. It has to be. My father isn’t a murderer.”
For the next few minutes, Bernice filled Sophie in on the details. Kirby Runbeck had been a handyman in Rose Hill ever since he retired from his job as manager at Bjorke Hardware ten years ago. He was in his mid-seventies, he was married, he had no children, and he was notorious for cheating people if he thought he could get away with it. Still, he was good at what he did, so he never went without work. He’d repaired the garage door opener for her parents several months ago, but Bernice insisted that, other than minor house repairs, Kirby wasn’t the kind of man her parents would ever associate with.
“How did he die?” asked Sophie.
“A car bomb—or, in this case, a truck bomb.”
“Yikes.”
“Yes, I know. Things like that just don’t happen around here.”
“Do the police have any leads?”
“They do now. That’s why the deputy sheriff is here.”
“But before your father confessed?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
Sophie could read the anxiety in Bernice’s eyes. “I’m sure it will all get sorted out. How is your dad doing this morning?”
“He woke up when Milton and Plato arrived, but he’s been sleeping most of the time.”
“Do the doctors have any more news?”
“They’re guarded, but they think he’s going to make it. They’re giving him all sorts of drugs. He seems to have some paralysis on his left side, but he can move his right arm and his right leg. With therapy, the doctors think he may regain full use of his left side, too.”
“Then, he’s completely coherent?”
Bernice lowered her head. “I don’t know. For Dad’s sake, I hope so. But then, if he’s in his right mind, why would he confess to a murder? It doesn’t make sense. I’m sure our family lawyer will want to put his own spin on it.”
“Does your lawyer normally handle homicides?”
“Heavens, no. I doubt he’s ever handled a homicide.”
“Then, you might want to find someone else. A good defense attorney is worth his or her weight in gold.”
“That might be easier said than done. Sam Sullivan is a personal friend of the family. It’s a typical small-town problem. On some level, everybody knows everybody. Mom probably thinks Sam would be insulted if he got replaced before he even had a chance to work the case. Fact is, he probably would be. And then it would end up being hard for our family to interact with Sam’s family after that. Nola Sullivan is one of Mom’s best friends. They’re in the same garden club. They play bridge together every Wednesday afternoon. It just gets so complicated.”
Sophie remembered now why her grandparents had hated small-town life. Checking the time, she said, “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. I’ve got to head back to Minneapolis. I take it you’re planning on staying?”
“I can’t leave now,” said Bernice. “Not with everything so up in the air.”
“Did you even come home last night?”
“No, I stayed at the hospital.”
Sophie shook her head. “You take it easy, kiddo. If there’s anything I can do—”
Bernice smiled. “You’re a good friend.”
“See you back at the paper?”
“Right. I’ll be in touch with you soon about the meat loaf contest.”
They said their strained good-byes to each other in the hall.
Just after lunch, a nurse came into John Washburn’s hospital room and told Bernice she had a visitor.
Bernice didn’t have a clue who it could be, but she excused herself and stepped outside.
The visitor, a fiftyish-looking man in a black suit, black silk shirt, and white tie, sat in the waiting room, his narrow-brimmed fedora resting in his lap. Hurrying across
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