File M For Murder

“Oh, that bump on the head wasn’t much.” Laura’s airy tone alerted me that she was up to something. I tried to catch her eye but she studiously avoided my gaze. “But add to that an attempt to burn down our house while we were all asleep, and then a letter bomb delivered to the house with my name on it, and I think that adds up to attempted murder. Don’t you?”

Sarabeth paled, and she clutched at her heart. For a moment I was afraid she was going to topple over in a faint. She held on to the chair for dear life with her other hand. “Burn down your house?” Her voice came out in a strained whisper. “Letter bomb?”

Laura nodded. “Pretty nasty, isn’t it?”

“Was—was anyone hurt?” Sarabeth still had a hand over her heart. The color had yet to return to her face, and her breathing was labored.

Did I need to call 911? Was she going to have a heart attack? If she was acting, she was carrying it way too far.

“Are you okay, Sarabeth?” I moved nearer. “You don’t look so good.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be okay in a minute. Just the shock, I guess. I had no idea any of these things happened. I never dreamed—” She broke off, appearing confused.

“Sorry, what was that?” Laura asked, her expression hard.

“Nothing,” Sarabeth said. She pushed herself to her feet. “Nothing really. I’m glad you’re safe, but I really have to get back to my desk. Something urgent to deal with that I just remembered.”

“Of course,” Laura said, and we both watched her go.

The moment I thought she was safely out of earshot, I spoke. “That was truly bizarre. If she was telling the truth, she didn’t know anything about the arson attempt or the letter bomb. Was she acting, do you think?”

“Hard to say.” Laura bit her lower lip for a moment as she considered further. “If she was acting, she ought to be on Broadway right now, because she’s brilliant.” She paused, then shook her head. “But you know, somehow I don’t think she was acting. I think she really was surprised and upset.”

Before I could follow up on that, a knock sounded at the door. I jerked to attention, suddenly aware I’d let my guard down completely. Diesel, however, was meowing as he walked around the desk to greet the new visitor.

Kanesha Berry stood in the doorway. “Morning, Mr. Harris, Miss Harris. I stopped by your house, and Mr. Delacorte told me you’d be here.” She glanced down at the cat, now standing in front of her and gazing up. “Hello, cat.” Diesel meowed again.

“Come in, Deputy,” I said. “Am I ever glad to see you.”

Kanesha stepped around Diesel, but the cat followed her for the few steps she took. I motioned toward the chair. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks,” Kanesha said. She started to sit, but stopped abruptly and pointed to something in the chair. “What’s that? Where did it come from?”

I moved closer to see what she was talking about. In the middle of the seat lay a purple sequin and two small beads.

“They probably came off Sarabeth’s dress,” I said. “Or caftan, really. She wears these highly decorated ones. They have beads and sequins and things all over them.” I made a move to sweep them out of the chair, but Kanesha stopped me.

“Sarabeth Conley?” she said. “These came from her clothes?”

Her sharp tone told me that there was something significant about these little objects. “Yes, she was just here talking to us and sat in the chair. I was sitting there before she came in, and they weren’t in the chair then.”

Kanesha pulled out her cell phone. “Bates, come on in and bring the kit.” She ended the call. “You have something urgent to talk to me about. What is it?”

I glanced down at the seat of the chair and back at her. Her expression didn’t change. I was burning with curiosity, and from one quick glance at my daughter I knew Laura was, too.

“Yes, I do. It’s about the murders. We’ve come across some information you should have, if you don’t already.”

Kanesha didn’t change expression, but somehow I could feel her irritation. “Well, go on. What is it?”

“It’s about the Norris family. I don’t know whether you remember when Sarabeth’s father, Hubert, died, almost thirty years ago.”

Her expression altered to one of minimal interest. “I was in junior high. I vaguely recall it.”

“His death was ruled an accident. He drowned in the bathtub after drinking whisky. There was an investigation that lasted three months, but the final verdict was accidental death.”

“But you obviously think there was more to it.” Kanesha crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame.

“I think he might have been murdered.” I hurried through the explanation of the method, but before I could get into the motive, Deputy Bates appeared.

“Excuse me.” Kanesha pointed to the seat of the chair. “Bag that and label it ‘Sarabeth Norris.’”

Bates got to work, and Kanesha focused her attention on me again. “Please continue.”