Still, it’s humanly possible that you managed to shoot Ted and get back to your apartment within twenty minutes.”
This was crazy! “I didn’t kill Ted,” I said again. “You have to believe me.”
“I believe in evidence. Motive. Means. Opportunity.”
“Don’t tell me there’s evidence,” I said. “There can’t be. Unless someone is framing me!”
“I can’t discuss the case with you,” he said. “Unless it pertains directly to you.”
What did that mean? Apparently it all pertained to me.
“Could someone be framing me?” I asked. “Did you find something of mine near Ted?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“You’re just at liberty to scare me to death?” I asked.
“I’m not trying to scare you, Abby. I’m just following up. That’s all.”
“Are we done?” I asked. Ironic. All I’d wanted for so long was to be having a long, involved talk with Benjamin Orr. Now all I wanted was for him to leave me the hell alone.
“Not yet,” he said. “I need a list of all your boyfriends, in order, plus all your dates—blind dates, one-shot dates, one-night stands.”
Oh, brother. “Why?” I asked.
“It’s just all part of the follow-up,” he said.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Do you ever answer a question?”
He smiled. “If I can.”
Huh. Now I didn’t have a question. “I’ve never had a one-night stand,” I said. “And I’m not a serial dater.”
He eyed me. “I’ll need full names, phone numbers and addresses if you have them, and when the relationship began and ended. Annotate as you see fit,” he added. “Anything you’d like to say about the relationship would be helpful. I’ll need the list by tomorrow morning.” He stood.
“Um, about this list,” I said. “How far back should I go? The past few years? College?”
“You can go back to kindergarten if you had a boyfriend then,” he said.
“You’re not serious. You want to know about the crush I had on Raymond Phipps in kindergarten?”
“I remember Raymond Phipps!” he said, smiling. “He used to beat me up once a week.”
I really did have bad taste in men. Starting in kindergarten.
“Anyway, yes,” he said. “List everyone.”
Great. This was going to be embarrassing.
“Thanks for the coffee, Abby.” He headed toward the door and retrieved his coat.
I followed him. “Ben, for the record, I didn’t kill Ted. I didn’t even want to kill Ted.”
“Duly noted,” he said, opening the door.
“By the way,” I said, “what’s going to happen to Clinton, Ted’s pug? Is his fiancée taking him?”
He nodded.
There was no way Mary-Kate was a dog person.
“Thanks for your time,” he said. “I’ll be in touch. Oh, and again, Abby, don’t leave town.”
My penchant for picking heartless heartbreakers really had begun in kindergarten, when I developed a mad crush on Raymond, a thin blond boy who had the best lunches in the best TV-character lunch boxes. There would be a sandwich, always something good, like bologna on white bread with mustard, one slice of American cheese and a Hershey bar—a whole one, not a miniature—an apple or orange, a thermos of Hi-C and a small bag of potato chips. My mother packed a protein, a carb, a vegetable and a fruit every single day in one of those dull soft mini coolers. After holidays I would find one piece of my Halloween candy, doled out for an entire year.
Anyway, age five was a toughie for me. I’d understood in a way I hadn’t before that my father didn’t live with us because he lived with another family, with another mother and other children, one of whom happened to be in my class. Every morning, Olivia who was a very nice five-year-old, reported in about the morning at our dad’s house. “Daddy woke up me and Opal and then he made eggs and pancakes and then he gave us each two kisses and a special quarter for our piggy banks.” Much later I found out that Veronica had instructed
This was crazy! “I didn’t kill Ted,” I said again. “You have to believe me.”
“I believe in evidence. Motive. Means. Opportunity.”
“Don’t tell me there’s evidence,” I said. “There can’t be. Unless someone is framing me!”
“I can’t discuss the case with you,” he said. “Unless it pertains directly to you.”
What did that mean? Apparently it all pertained to me.
“Could someone be framing me?” I asked. “Did you find something of mine near Ted?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“You’re just at liberty to scare me to death?” I asked.
“I’m not trying to scare you, Abby. I’m just following up. That’s all.”
“Are we done?” I asked. Ironic. All I’d wanted for so long was to be having a long, involved talk with Benjamin Orr. Now all I wanted was for him to leave me the hell alone.
“Not yet,” he said. “I need a list of all your boyfriends, in order, plus all your dates—blind dates, one-shot dates, one-night stands.”
Oh, brother. “Why?” I asked.
“It’s just all part of the follow-up,” he said.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Do you ever answer a question?”
He smiled. “If I can.”
Huh. Now I didn’t have a question. “I’ve never had a one-night stand,” I said. “And I’m not a serial dater.”
He eyed me. “I’ll need full names, phone numbers and addresses if you have them, and when the relationship began and ended. Annotate as you see fit,” he added. “Anything you’d like to say about the relationship would be helpful. I’ll need the list by tomorrow morning.” He stood.
“Um, about this list,” I said. “How far back should I go? The past few years? College?”
“You can go back to kindergarten if you had a boyfriend then,” he said.
“You’re not serious. You want to know about the crush I had on Raymond Phipps in kindergarten?”
“I remember Raymond Phipps!” he said, smiling. “He used to beat me up once a week.”
I really did have bad taste in men. Starting in kindergarten.
“Anyway, yes,” he said. “List everyone.”
Great. This was going to be embarrassing.
“Thanks for the coffee, Abby.” He headed toward the door and retrieved his coat.
I followed him. “Ben, for the record, I didn’t kill Ted. I didn’t even want to kill Ted.”
“Duly noted,” he said, opening the door.
“By the way,” I said, “what’s going to happen to Clinton, Ted’s pug? Is his fiancée taking him?”
He nodded.
There was no way Mary-Kate was a dog person.
“Thanks for your time,” he said. “I’ll be in touch. Oh, and again, Abby, don’t leave town.”
My penchant for picking heartless heartbreakers really had begun in kindergarten, when I developed a mad crush on Raymond, a thin blond boy who had the best lunches in the best TV-character lunch boxes. There would be a sandwich, always something good, like bologna on white bread with mustard, one slice of American cheese and a Hershey bar—a whole one, not a miniature—an apple or orange, a thermos of Hi-C and a small bag of potato chips. My mother packed a protein, a carb, a vegetable and a fruit every single day in one of those dull soft mini coolers. After holidays I would find one piece of my Halloween candy, doled out for an entire year.
Anyway, age five was a toughie for me. I’d understood in a way I hadn’t before that my father didn’t live with us because he lived with another family, with another mother and other children, one of whom happened to be in my class. Every morning, Olivia who was a very nice five-year-old, reported in about the morning at our dad’s house. “Daddy woke up me and Opal and then he made eggs and pancakes and then he gave us each two kisses and a special quarter for our piggy banks.” Much later I found out that Veronica had instructed
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