Page 40 of Witch and Tell
The attorney jabbed the air with a forefinger. “Motive. Right there. You killed him for the sisterhood.”
“No!” I groaned with frustration. “I’m innocent. I told you.”
He leaned toward me. “Let me make this very clear. You have been documented trying to locate Ian Pen closa. You reported finding him dead, but no body was recovered. You were seen late at night going into the woods where Mr. Penclosa’s body was found. Then you made a show of continuing to look for him. And your only excuse is that you were looking out for a friend and that you didn’t like some sheets, so you burned them, exactly where Penclosa’s body was found.”
“I’m innocent,” I said, my voice faltering.
“Like I haven’t heard those words before.” When I didn’t reply—what could I say, after all?—he continued. “Tell me everything. The truth. I can’t help you unless I know exactly what happened.”
At least there were books in prison. Maybe they’d let me volunteer as the librarian. I thought about Rodney. He was a resourceful cat and would find a new home. However, my family would be crushed. How many years would I be sentenced for?
The door to the interview room opened, and a sheriff’s deputy—not Sam; I hadn’t seen him since he’d handed me off at the library—stood, the door behind him ajar.
“You’re free to go,” the deputy said.
“What?” the attorney and I said at the same time.
“You’ll need to stay in touch. You’re still under suspicion.”
“Why, may I ask, is my client to be released?” the attorney said. He’d sat straighter and almost appeared court-worthy.
I shot him a dirty look. Shouldn’t he be happy for me?
“Evidence that pertained to her arrest was disproven,” the deputy said.
“What would this evidence be?” the attorney said.
“I repeat, Ms. Way is still a suspect and may be detained again.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” the attorney said.
Speechless, I watched the two men talk. What was going on?
“Ian Penclosa,” the deputy said. “He’s been found. Alive.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Roz greeted me at the library’s service entrance, where I’d been hoping to sneak in. She must have been lying in wait. “Are you all right?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice.
Word about my situation had already got around. Someone might have seen the sheriff’s SUV last night with its lights flashing and even spotted my form in the its back seat. From there, it would have taken a quick call to Roz in the morning to double-check that I wasn’t at the library, then a tap into Wilfred’s vast intelligence network, which included operatives throughout the county. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s uncle’s neighbor was a janitor at the detention center.
Behind Roz, the books murmured a soothing welcome, as calming as bath water.
“Give me half an hour for a shower and a change of clothing, and I’ll be down,” I said. I wouldn’t mind grab bing a sandwich, either. Even if the jail’s powdered scrambled eggs and cold toast had tempted me, I couldn’t eat my breakfast.
When I reemerged into the library, clean but blearyeyed, a welcoming committee of library regulars greeted me.
“Hello, jailbird,” Duke said. He’d clearly left in the middle of a job—something greasy, too, although his hair still wore its crisp Brylcreemed wave.
“You’ll find prison more comfortable than jail,” Desmond said. Rumor had it he had personal experience with the justice system, but until now had never acknowledged it publicly. “But don’t mess with the tattoos. Had a buddy who got a terrible infection.”
“Who’s to say I’m going to prison?” I said. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Mrs. Garlington stepped forward, a sheaf of sheet music under one arm. “Honey, you look terrible. I’ll have Darla send up something from the café.”
Roz’s earlier concern vanished, and she regarded me with narrowed eyes. “You could have let me know you wouldn’t be here. I had to open up the library myself when I heard patrons pounding on the kitchen door. I made coffee, cleared out the book return, unlocked the—”
“Stop!” I said. “Just let me through to Circulation, please.”