A Reasonable Doubt Susan Sloan (chrysanthemum read aloud TXT) 📖

“It’s a hypothetical question, Your Honor,” Lily said.  “The witness said he and his partner were close.  I simply want to determine how close.”

“Objection overruled, the witness may answer,” the judge declared, arching an eyebrow at the defense attorney.  “But be careful, Miss Burns.”

“We had a pretty close working relationship,” Hitchens said.  “That doesn’t mean we socialized off the job or knew each other intimately or anything like that.  So yes, it would come as a big surprise to hear he did drugs, and no, it wouldn’t come as a big surprise.  Since I wasn’t involved in his private life, I really wouldn’t know one way or the other.”

“Do you know what your partner was doing in the seaward alley on the night of his death?” Lily asked.

“No, Ma’am, I don’t,” Hitchens said.  “I was home with a head cold that night.  He called me from home around eleven, I think it was, but he didn’t say anything about going out.”

“So then, for all you know, he could have been in that alley for any reason -- to meet a snitch, or to pick up a prostitute, or even to make a drug buy -- couldn’t he?”

“I suppose he could’ve,” the detective replied stiffly.

“Thank you, Detective,” Lily said.  “I have nothing further at this time.”

Seated at the prosecution table, Tom Lickliter’s eyes narrowed just a bit.  Seated beside Dancer on the defense side, Joe Gideon frowned.

. . .

“He lied,” Joe couldn’t wait to tell Lily as soon as court had adjourned for the day.

“Who lied?”

“Randy,” Joe said.  It was the first time he had been in court to watch the proceedings.  And he knew, based on the testimony he had just heard, that it would probably be the last.

“Lied about what?”

“About his relationship with Dale,” Joe replied.  “When I talked to Lauren, she told me how close Randy had been with the family, ever since he and Dale had partnered up.  Said they were still close.  He was like a brother to her was how she put it.  The first time I went over there, she said Randy had told her she didn’t have to talk to me.  Gave me the impression he was still very much involved with the family.  She had no reason to make that up.”

Lily shrugged.  “It may not be anything.  It may just be he didn’t want to give up his partner.”  She looked at Joe.  “But it means you’re out of the courtroom,” she told him, confirming what he already knew.  “I might need you to testify -- I’m going to put you on the witness list.”

. . .

“I doubt that Lily Burns is just making idle conversation by bringing up all this drug stuff,” Tom told John Henry.  “I have a strong suspicion she’s going somewhere with it.”

“Where can she go?”

“I don’t know, but she doesn’t strike me as the type to waste her time on fishing expeditions.”

“I have no idea what she thinks she could have, but what difference does it make?”

“Not sure,” Tom said. “I guess I just don’t like surprises.”

. . .

There was an odd expression on Wanda Posey’s face when Lily, Joe, Megan and Dancer got back to the Victorian, an expression that combined genuine puzzlement with a measure of mischief.

“What?” Lily asked.

The receptionist suspended a plain white envelope between the tips of her thumb and index finger.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “This came in the mail today.”

“So?”

“So, see for yourself.”

She passed the envelope to her employer.  It was hand-addressed to the attorney, in neat block letters, but ‘Lily’ was spelled with two ‘l’s.  Inside was a single sheet of plain white paper.  Lily extracted it.  The only thing on the paper, done in the same neat block lettering as the envelope, was a name: Margaret Dean.

“What do you think it means?” Wanda wanted to know.

“I haven’t a clue,” Lily replied.

Joe peered over her shoulder.  “What’s the big mystery?”

Lily handed him the letter.  “You tell me.”

“It seems pretty cloak-and-daggery to me,” Wanda said.

Joe examined the evidence.  “Well, this was obviously sent by someone who doesn’t know you, but is trying to tell you something,” he concluded.  “It was mailed yesterday, and the postmark is from Trent.  So, I would say that this someone wants you to know something about a Margaret Dean in Trent.”

“I get all that,” Lily said.  “What I don’t get is what exactly would someone who lives all the way out there want me to know about somebody named Margaret Dean?”  Trent was some seventy miles west of Port Hancock, practically out at the Pacific Ocean.

Joe shrugged.  “I don’t know, but it looks like I’m going to be taking a little drive out there to find out,” he said.

Nine

Trent, Washington, was a small, rural community, with a year-round population of just over three thousand, sitting between almost a million acres of national park land and the rugged Pacific coast, in no particular hurry to be discovered.  It bordered one of the world’s last untouched rainforests, was close to fine fishing and a sprawling new industrial park, and was not very far from a small airport.

It hosted mining, timber, and tourist interests, supported half a dozen churches, and featured a well-equipped community hospital and a school system that matriculated an impressive seventy-seven percent of its students.  For the most part, the people were friendly, employed, and God-fearing.

The first thing Joe did after driving his Jeep Cherokee into town was to park in one of the diagonal spaces on the main street and go looking for a telephone book.  He found three Deans listed, but after three phone calls, none of them turned out to be Margaret.

That would have been too easy, he thought.

He decided to start at the pharmacy on the corner.  Stepping through the door was like taking a giant step back over a hundred years, with all the accouterments of that time, including rough plank flooring and a nineteenth century vintage soda fountain, complete with cracked leather swivel seats.  He strolled