Embroidered Truths by Monica Ferris Read Free Book Online Page B

noted Lars. “I’ll go flag it down. Nobody touch anything, all right?”
    “All right,” agreed Betsy, and took Godwin to the other side of the room, where she spent the next minute bringing Godwin down to a semblance of self-control.
    “You don’t say anything to anyone, nothing at all,” she murmured in his ear, when he settled down enough to listen.
    “Why not—oh. Is that why you lied and said I was with you last night?”
    “Yes. What time was it when you came in, anyway?”
    “I don’t remember. Pretty late.”
    “Worse and worse. Well, they’ll figure this out pretty quick, I hope. No need to worry.”
    “Okay,” he said, and they both stood there, waiting and worrying.

Five
    LARS opened the front door—the other cop had closed it. A new siren’s cry was suddenly very loud, then cut off into silence. A sound like car doors slamming, the slap of feet on sidewalk, a hesitation in the sound as they stepped onto the porch. Then a whole herd of people came rushing into the living room. The “herd” quickly sorted itself into two young men, a young woman, and a big black case, with Lars coming behind.
    The emergency techs looked awfully young, the girl especially—she appeared sixteen. All three wore earrings, and two had visible tattoos. But they seemed to know what they were doing, swooping down over John’s body, opening the case, searching for a pulse, testing the stiffness of a hand, a foot, lifting an eyelid, frowning over its coolness—and suddenly relaxing, all anxious competence melting in a trio of sighs.
    One of the men said to Lars, “Better contact the ME.”
    Godwin asked, “That’s medical examiner, right?” And the trio turned to look at him and Betsy, surprised at their presence. When the surprise turned to compassion, Godwin burst into tears.
    Lars reached for the microphone fastened to his shoulder, and Betsy took Godwin by the arm and retreated farther away, into the kitchen. She pulled a paper cup from a holder beside the sink and filled it with water from the special little faucet that was doubtless attached to a filter under the sink.
    “Here, drink this,” she said. “And try to get hold of yourself. I don’t want you blurting things out, okay? Just keep silent, or you’ll have us in a pickle.”
    Goddy obediently took a sip, nearly choking over it. He took a calming breath and tried again, more successfully. Then, frowning, he said, “What are you so worried about? For all we know, this was an accident. That statue is heavy .”
    “Yes, but there is no mantle on that fireplace, so where did that statue come from? I hardly think he threw it up in the air and let it fall down on his head.”
    Goddy stared at her. “Oh.”
    Betsy nodded. “Now, you did go to the movies last night, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you see anyone you know there?”
    “No, no one.” He hung his head. “As a matter of fact, as soon as the lights went out, I fell asleep.”
    “You fell asleep at a Harry Potter movie?”
    He shrugged. “I was tired.”
    “Did someone wake you up when it was over?”
    “No, the lights coming back on after the movie did, and it was like after a nap, I was fresh and wide awake. And worried. So I went for that drive. I drove all around the lake.”
    “Did you stop anywhere along the way?”
    “A couple places. Boat landings, mostly. I pulled off the road where I could see the water—I think better when I can sit and look at water.”
    “I mean, did you stop where there were people?”
    “Oh, you mean go into a bar or something? No, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I wanted to think.” He turned to the sink, opening the cabinet door under it, reaching to put the cup into a trash container there.
    “Don’t do that,” said Betsy. “Put it in your pocket.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it has your fingerprints on it.”
    “Honey, my fingerprints are all over this house!”
    “If John has emptied the trash between the day you left and yesterday, that