Chapter Ten
Addie jumped when Marc’s police car pulled into her driveway honking as the tires screeched to a halt. She dashed into the kitchen to grab the fresh cups of coffee she’d made and raced down the front steps. Travel mugs in hand, she stood at the passenger door and waited for him to open it. When he didn’t get out or even reach over and open it from inside, she bent down and peered through the window. The car was empty.
She heard his muffled voice behind her and turned around, but couldn’t see him. She walked to the side of the house and peeked around the corner. He was on his phone pacing back and forth on the sidewalk near the rear of the house. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his body language was tense, and he waved his free hand around like he was poking someone in the chest.
Addie retreated to the car to wait for him. When he came back, his face was crimson and beads of sweat had formed across his brow. He opened her door, and she silently slid into her seat before he got in his side and slammed the door shut. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel.
They sat in silence for a few minutes until he let out a deep breath and released the chokehold he had on the wheel. Her hand trembled as she passed him a travel mug. He looked at it as if he’d never seen one before, and then he looked at her. A light sparked in his eyes, and he took the cup from her hand and drank a long sip.
“What’s wrong? Anything you can tell me about, or should I mind my own business?”
He turned toward her, his face twisted in anguish as he fought back tears. She reached for his hand and stroked it gently. It tore at her heart to see him in so much pain.
“That call,” he choked.
“Yes?” Her eyes fixed on his.
“It was Jerry. The DA’s office just called the station.” He took another long sip.
“And?”
He sucked in a deep breath. “They’re going to be charging her with second-degree murder and request bail to be set at two million.”
“What? No. They can’t.”
“They can,” he croaked. “They have proof that Serena intended to kill Blain when she went to see him.” His hand quivered as he brought the cup up for another drink.
“But how? What evidence could they possibly have showing intentional murder?”
His jaw tensed. “It seems our friend Martha made a statement about something Serena had said to her in her shop that afternoon just before she was found standing over Blain’s body.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to the station now to read the witness statements and try to figure this out.” He scoured his hair with his hand. “I’m sorry, Addie.” He started the engine. “We’ll have to go to Pen Hollow another day. I’ve gotta go.”
“Of course, no problem, but I’m coming with you.” She fastened her seat belt.
He nodded and pulled out of the driveway. They drove in silence to the station. Addie’s mind reeled, trying to put the pieces of what happened into some kind of perspective, but nothing made sense. Why would someone like Serena utter words that led to her being charged with murder? She was one of the most happy-go-lucky people Addie had ever met. She swallowed the lump growing in the back of her throat.
Marc glanced sideways at her. “I told you, no rock unturned; we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
She nodded, fighting the tears stinging her eyes.
He clasped his hand over hers on her lap and gave it a gentle squeeze.
She took a deep breath and clutched her other hand over his.
Jerry greeted them at the back entrance, a file folder in his hand. “I thought you’d want to see this, sir. I’ll bring you the crime scene reports soon. They’re just about finished running the fingerprints.”
“Thanks, Jerry.” Marc grabbed the folder and swept past him into his office.
Addie followed on his heels and closed the door behind her. Marc stood beside his desk, pushed his cap back off his forehead, and opened the file. His eyes scanned the pages, his head slightly nodding, but then he frowned. Her heart raced. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it and clenched her teeth.
He looked up from the report. His eyes filled with outrage and slammed the folder on the desk. “Shit.”
“What . . . what is it? What do they have?” Her eyes locked on his.
He flopped into his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. “It looks bad right now—really bad.” His shoulders slumped.
She reached for the file, but he closed it and pulled it away. “I can’t let you read that. It’s police business.”
“Don’t do this to me again. Don’t shut me out. You know I can help.”
“Yes, but . . . but you’re named in the report.”
“Me? How? You mean my statement?”
“Yes, and a few other mentions I’d rather you not see now.”
“What? God, I’m so confused. Please let me see it.”
“I’ll give you an edited version.” He picked up the folder.
She plopped into the chair across from him and folded her hands in her lap. As the seconds ticked by, she could feel her palms sweating, and she discreetly wiped them on her jeans. Her jaw and neck tensed, and she squirmed to release the aching and took a few short, deep breaths, but his eyes continued to scan the pages in front of him. After what felt like an eternity, he pursed his lips and laid the folder back on the desk.
“Long story short, your statement, along with two others, isn’t being taken seriously by the DA’s office.”
She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth.
His hand flew up in a “stop” motion. “There were two other people who also saw Serena enter Fielding’s, but none of you could verify the exact time, and the DA feels guesses
aren’t indisputable proof of innocence. But to be honest, his doubts probably center on the fact that it’s well known in town that you and Serena have become friends . . . and he just doesn’t consider you to be a reliable witness. It’s their fear that you could be covering for her.”
“But if other people saw her enter the store, shouldn’t the DA be able to see I wasn’t covering for her in any way?”
“You’d think so, but they feel that because no one can give an exact time they saw her enter, none of it establishes her innocence. Plus”—he fumbled with the folder—“there are the other matters you’re named in later in the report that he feels brings your credibility into question.”
“Which are?” She glared at the folder. “What have I done that would question my character and credibility?” She leaned across the desk and reached for the file.
He pulled it away. “Not now.”
She slumped back in her chair and shook her head, gnawing on her bottom lip.
Marc looked at her and smirked. She stopped chewing her lip and straightened up in her chair.
“Well, what about Elaine, Blain’s assistant? Surely she must have been in the office and can testify what time Serena arrived?”
“Nope, she was on her coffee break.” He shook his head. “And when she returned, Serena had a paperweight in her hand and was standing over the body on the floor in front of the desk.”
Addie tapped her foot and drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair.
“You’ve got that look. What are you thinking, Addie?”
“I’m thinking either there was someone else in the office when Serena went in, or they had just left and she might have seen who it was. You need to question Serena right away.”
“Paula . . . umm, Officer Shire already did. Serena didn’t mention seeing anyone coming out or in the hall or in the staircase leading to the second-floor offices.”
“Then ask her again. Maybe she saw something and can’t remember because she was already upset about something when she went to see him. There had to have been someone else there, or just there, and she hasn’t put it together in her mind yet.”
Marc nodded and wrote something on a notepad in front of him.
“Unless . . . there’s another entrance to the office? Is there a back stair—”
Jerry knocked and flung the door open, rushed over, and handed Marc another file. He nodded at Addie, shrugged his shoulders apologetically, and backed out of the room, closing the door.
Marc flipped the file open and read. His jaw tensed. “Well, it appears Serena’s prints were only found on the paperweight and the doorknob on the outside of the office door.”
“That shows right there it couldn’t have been second-degree murder.” Addie leapt to her feet.
“In what way?”
“If she had intent
to kill him when she went in, she would have closed the door behind her, so if her prints were only on one side of the handle, then the door was left open. Wouldn’t she want privacy if she had murder on her mind?”
“Yes, but the DA can argue that they had a heated argument and things got out of hand.”
“True, but that doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not, you said she was upset when she went to see him?”
“I did but you said his body was in front of the desk, not behind it.” He nodded, “which means that he was standing up when he got hit and not sitting down.” Marc’s eyes narrowed. “So they’d have to have been face-to-face, or at least close enough for her to grab a paperweight out of anger and strike him, as the DA’s claiming. But Blain is twice her height. She would have had to pull a chair over, stand on it, and then whack him in the temple. Which is where I assume the fatal injury occurred, since it sounds like he died immediately?” Addie noticed Marc’s jaw tense. “Think about it. She couldn’t possibly have done all that before she hit him. He’d have wrestled her to the ground long before, don’t you think?”
Marc nodded and stroked his chin.
“Not to mention putting the chair back in place while still holding the bloodied paperweight before Elaine came back.” She scowled and rubbed her forehead. “But what I don’t get is why she picked up the paperweight in the first place.”
“She said she was in shock when she saw him on the floor in front of the desk. She saw the paperweight covered in blood and picked it up because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and then . . . well—”
“Oh, Serena, no.” Addie scrubbed her hands over her face. “Why, why did you have to be so careless?”
“People don’t always think clearly in traumatic situations.” He shook his head.
“Well, I hope the DA takes that into consideration.”
“I doubt it. The fingerprint evidence and the fact that she was found standing over the body is all they need right now.” He closed the folder, staring at it and tapping his pen on the desk, and then jumped up and grabbed his jacket. “Come on. We’re taking a little ride.”