against the side of the archway. Now he could watch me and take in my entire living room.
“I might as well just tell you, Detective Orr,” I said, “that—”
“Call me Ben,” he said. “I checked. We did go to high school together.”
No kidding.
“You haven’t changed at all,” he said. “From your yearbook picture.”
I scowled. “I looked like a prepubescent boy in that photo.”
He laughed, but I wasn’t kidding. I’d been short and skinny, without a curve. My hair had been a weird length between my ears and chin. And you could have played backgammon on my chest.
“What I was going to say, Ben, was that I heard you took my brother-in-law’s gun into evidence. I didn’t even know he had one.”
“It wasn’t the murder weapon. We knew that just by looking at it. But we wanted to take a closer look at it regardless. Do you own a gun?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said, holding out his mug of coffee. “I’ve never even touched one.”
“Then how were you planning on killing Henry Fiddler?”
“What?”
He’d so startled me that the coffee shook over the edge of the mug. He took it from me, then grabbed a napkin from the counter and blotted my hand and the mug. He sipped. “Very good,” he said, leaning back against the counter ever so casually, as though we were old friends. “I usually don’t go for flavored coffee, but I like this.”
“Back to that question,” I said, trying to rip open two packets of Sweet’n Low at the same time. My fingers wouldn’t work. “About Henry?”
He set his mug on the counter, took the Sweet’n Low from me and shook them into my mug, then grabbed a spoon from the dish drain and stirred for me. He handed me the mug. I couldn’t even manage a thank-you.
Out came the notebook from his pocket. “According to a salesclerk at L.L. Bean, Abby, you said, ‘I am going to kill him.’ In reference to Henry Fiddler, who ditched you in L.L. Bean. You reiterated your intention of killing him this morning. My partner and I heard that with our own ears.”
“No! I was just…” But it sounded stupid even to me. It’s just an expression, Officer. You know, people say they want to kill people all the time. But they don’t do it!
Thing was, some did. Obviously.
I needed to get out of this kitchen. I moved past Ben. I felt his eyes on my back as he followed me into the living room.
“Under the circumstances,” he said, “we did need to alert Mr. Fiddler to the threat you made against him. He’s under protective detail.”
“What? But that’s crazy! I’m…” Once again, what was I possibly going to say? I sat down on my sofa and stared at my feet.
He sat on the chair across from the sofa, sipped his coffee, then put down the mug and faced me full on. “Abby, I’m going to be straight with you. You seem like a very nice person. You have a nice family. Nice friends. A good job. I think anyone who knows you would understand that sometimes perfectly sane, perfectly nice people snap. You finally started dating again, and what happens? Your new boyfriend breaks up with you. Then you see the engagement announcement. You snapped. It’s okay to say so, Abby.”
I gaped at him. “You can’t be serious!”
“I’m dead serious,” he said, his expression backing up his choice of words.
Do not hyperventilate. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. “I didn’t kill Ted,” I said.
He sat back, silent.
“And I have no intention of killing Henry!” I added. “I just said it because I was angry at him for ditching me the way he did in L.L. Bean. People say it all the time! They don’t mean it.”
“Where I come from, Abby, which is the Portland police station, they do mean it. Saying you’re going to kill someone is a threat. But I do have good news for you, too. The phone calls you made to your friends and the two you received from your sister put you home during a large portion of the time frame in which Ted was killed.
“I might as well just tell you, Detective Orr,” I said, “that—”
“Call me Ben,” he said. “I checked. We did go to high school together.”
No kidding.
“You haven’t changed at all,” he said. “From your yearbook picture.”
I scowled. “I looked like a prepubescent boy in that photo.”
He laughed, but I wasn’t kidding. I’d been short and skinny, without a curve. My hair had been a weird length between my ears and chin. And you could have played backgammon on my chest.
“What I was going to say, Ben, was that I heard you took my brother-in-law’s gun into evidence. I didn’t even know he had one.”
“It wasn’t the murder weapon. We knew that just by looking at it. But we wanted to take a closer look at it regardless. Do you own a gun?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said, holding out his mug of coffee. “I’ve never even touched one.”
“Then how were you planning on killing Henry Fiddler?”
“What?”
He’d so startled me that the coffee shook over the edge of the mug. He took it from me, then grabbed a napkin from the counter and blotted my hand and the mug. He sipped. “Very good,” he said, leaning back against the counter ever so casually, as though we were old friends. “I usually don’t go for flavored coffee, but I like this.”
“Back to that question,” I said, trying to rip open two packets of Sweet’n Low at the same time. My fingers wouldn’t work. “About Henry?”
He set his mug on the counter, took the Sweet’n Low from me and shook them into my mug, then grabbed a spoon from the dish drain and stirred for me. He handed me the mug. I couldn’t even manage a thank-you.
Out came the notebook from his pocket. “According to a salesclerk at L.L. Bean, Abby, you said, ‘I am going to kill him.’ In reference to Henry Fiddler, who ditched you in L.L. Bean. You reiterated your intention of killing him this morning. My partner and I heard that with our own ears.”
“No! I was just…” But it sounded stupid even to me. It’s just an expression, Officer. You know, people say they want to kill people all the time. But they don’t do it!
Thing was, some did. Obviously.
I needed to get out of this kitchen. I moved past Ben. I felt his eyes on my back as he followed me into the living room.
“Under the circumstances,” he said, “we did need to alert Mr. Fiddler to the threat you made against him. He’s under protective detail.”
“What? But that’s crazy! I’m…” Once again, what was I possibly going to say? I sat down on my sofa and stared at my feet.
He sat on the chair across from the sofa, sipped his coffee, then put down the mug and faced me full on. “Abby, I’m going to be straight with you. You seem like a very nice person. You have a nice family. Nice friends. A good job. I think anyone who knows you would understand that sometimes perfectly sane, perfectly nice people snap. You finally started dating again, and what happens? Your new boyfriend breaks up with you. Then you see the engagement announcement. You snapped. It’s okay to say so, Abby.”
I gaped at him. “You can’t be serious!”
“I’m dead serious,” he said, his expression backing up his choice of words.
Do not hyperventilate. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. “I didn’t kill Ted,” I said.
He sat back, silent.
“And I have no intention of killing Henry!” I added. “I just said it because I was angry at him for ditching me the way he did in L.L. Bean. People say it all the time! They don’t mean it.”
“Where I come from, Abby, which is the Portland police station, they do mean it. Saying you’re going to kill someone is a threat. But I do have good news for you, too. The phone calls you made to your friends and the two you received from your sister put you home during a large portion of the time frame in which Ted was killed.
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