File M For Murder

“I’m sorry that you and your family had to go through all this.” Kanesha’s expression of sympathy touched me. For once I truly believed she empathized. “I’m sure Norris was responsible for both the letter bomb and the arson. But it’s over now. You’re safe.”

“Thank you, Deputy,” I said. “I’m so relieved, I don’t know what to do.”

“Me, too,” Laura said.

Diesel had to add his few cents’ worth, and that eased the tension. Even Kanesha laughed. She bade us good-bye and disappeared out the door.

I looked up at Laura, still leaning against me, and smiled. “Let’s go home and share the good news.”

The following weekend, we were all gathered in the kitchen, along with Frank Salisbury and Helen Louise Brady. Sean had invited Alexandra Pendergrast, but she couldn’t join us. Helen Louise provided the dessert, Stewart outdid himself with dinner, and Frank brought the wine. The mood was festive, and we celebrated heartily.

Conversation as we finished our dessert inevitably centered on the arrests of Sarabeth Conley and Levi Norris.

“It was all rather anticlimactic, as it turned out.” I sipped at the excellent pinot noir Frank supplied. “I was all geared up to argue with Kanesha and make her listen to me. I just knew she was going to argue, but the way it turned out, I didn’t have to.”

“As long as it’s over, who needs a tense confrontation with the murderer?” Helen Louise laughed. “They always seem a bit contrived in some of the books I read.”

“I know what you mean.” Stewart shook his head. “I’ve seen every episode of Murder, She Wrote, and I adore Angela Lansbury to pieces. But you’d have to be insane to let Jessica Fletcher within ten yards of your house. Talk about harbingers of death. And the way she was always rounding everybody up and then Revealing All.” He treated us to a theatrical shudder.

“That’s television.” Sean snorted. “We all know it doesn’t have a lot to do with real life.”

“I’ve had enough of real life to do me for a while,” Laura said. “It’s so nice just to settle into a routine with my classes.”

“What about the play your students were going to be doing?” Justin asked. “With all that’s happened, are you just going to forget about it?”

“No, we’re going on with the project, just a different play. I suggested several, but”—Laura rolled her eyes—“Montana Johnston insisted we do his new play. Of course I can’t say no.”

Frank snickered. “Maybe another rousing failure will finally convince him to stop writing plays. He obviously has no talent whatsoever for it.”

“Without Connor here to insult him, he can pretty much ignore anyone else.” Laura frowned, and I knew she still grieved over the death of her friend, though she seemed to be the only person who did.

Frank clasped her hand in his, and she smiled. The adoring glance he bestowed upon Laura surprised no one. The two were now practically inseparable, and I kept expecting to find that he’d moved into my house.

They hadn’t gone that far, however, for which I was thankful. I’m rather old fashioned about some things, and that was one of them. If their relationship continued and they wanted to move in together, I’d have to live with that. But as long as Laura was here, under my roof, well, there were limits.

The conversation drifted onto other topics, and I sat and observed the interactions among my family and friends. Helen Louise chatted easily with Sean and Justin, while Frank, Laura, and Stewart discussed plays they’d seen in New York.

The four-legged members of the family were sound asleep under the table, their tummies full, worn out by more attention than they knew what to do with. Dante snored lightly, while Diesel occasionally woke to stretch and yawn. He then went right back to sleep. I smiled at the sight and enjoyed the general air of contentment and relaxation. This was how it should be, family and friends happy and enjoying one another.

I thought briefly of Sarabeth Conley and Levi Norris and their sad story. Sarabeth apparently continued to insist that her father’s death was an accident, but she had admitted her guilt in Connor’s murder. She simply refused to say why she’d done it.

I believed I knew why. When Sarabeth saw Lawton’s play being workshopped, she realized the scenes were too close to reality. I was sure Lawton was present, hiding in the kitchen cabinet, and overheard Sarabeth planning her father’s death. He was too young to understand the implications at the time, but the repressed memories were there, waiting for some stimulus to revive them. The memories of the people and their actions seeped into his writing, and Sarabeth must have feared that the playwright would eventually realize that his work wasn’t simply fiction. She stole the laptop and killed Lawton to keep the truth behind her father’s death from ever being revealed.

That solution seemed reasonable to me. Perhaps the full details would come out during the trial.