CJ nodded, relaxed marginally. Ricky had a brute of a mutt. A pit bull or rottweiler or something like that. A pet trained to be a savage for a savage man.
“The police were here looking for him last night.” Frances folded her hands together in her lap.
Another shot of adrenaline pierced CJ’s chest. “I guess they just want to talk to him about Shelley.” She tamped down the outrage that mounted, threatened to climb into her throat and out of her mouth in violent screams. “Surely they can’t believe Ricky would hurt Shelley like that. He likes to push folks around when he gets fired up, but he wouldn’t kill anybody.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Frances nodded, her saggy double chin wobbling with her stern conviction.
CJ held her breath.
“That’s what he said. He didn’t kill nobody. The police just want somebody to blame. Why, that boy has gone to church with me every Sunday for the past twenty years. ’Cept for today. Wears that crucifix I gave him every day of his life. He ain’t guilty of a thing but trying to survive.”
CJ made a concerted effort not to roll her eyes. If dear old Aunt Frances only knew.
The naive old lady harrumphed. “That’s why I told ’em I didn’t know where in the world that boy was.”
“The problem is”—CJ had to tread cautiously here—“if he doesn’t answer their questions, the police are going to presume he’s guilty.”
Frances stopped her rocking.
“He really should tell them what he knows so they can start looking at other possibilities.” CJ moistened her lips. “You ... you know as well as I do how the police are about folks in this neighborhood. They probably figure nailing Ricky for her murder would kill two birds with one stone. They’re not going to bother looking for the real killer if they’ve got someone they can blame.”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed behind her corrective lenses. “You mean like putting Ricky in jail takes him off the streets and then they don’t have to worry about him causing no more trouble?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what I mean. Shelley’s dead.” Emotion pounded against CJ’s sternum. “They figure she didn’t deserve any better than she got, so why not rid the city of another one like her?” She leaned forward, pressed the older woman with the certainty in her eyes. “They don’t care about us. They’d have torn this village down years ago when they demolished the mill if some big shot historian hadn’t insisted the historic value had to be preserved. And all those promises of new jobs for all the laid-off mill workers were over and forgotten as soon as the new mayor was elected.”
The rocking resumed. “Politicians always make promises and then they do nothing. Without the mill, some folks felt they had no choice but to turn to crime to survive. And not one thing was done to stop it.”
CJ nodded, the movement stiff. “We can’t let the police get away with accusing an innocent man just so the mayor’s views on keeping the streets clean look good.” Her lips tightened with the lie. “I’ll go to the police with Ricky. My sister would want me to.”
Frances stilled once more, her gaze engaging fully with CJ’s, searching for the sincerity in her eyes that she heard in her voice.
Think! What now?
“Maybe if I could talk to Ricky, I could make him understand that the only way he’s going to get through this without serious trouble is if he lets the police know he didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Shelley. I feel certain he has an alibi. But it won’t do him any good if he doesn’t give it to the police. Running or hiding just makes him look guilty.” CJ reached out, patted the old lady’s hand. “You have my word I’ll go with him.” Damn straight she would. “I want the truth just as much as he does.”
The silence boomed in CJ’s ears.
Just tell me where he is!
Frances Jennings tapped her fingertips together. “Those homeless folks still sleep under that one overpass, you know. No matter how often the police shoo them away, they just come right back. The policedon’t pay no real attention. The president himself could be right in the middle of that horde and nobody would notice.”
CJ’s respiration came in tiny, fragmented bursts. “But they don’t usually come out until after dark.”Where would he be now?She needed to find himnow.
The old woman nodded again. “Yessum. In the daytime they like to mill around in the park. With all the hippies and those no-account kids in black skulking about, the homeless just sort of blend in.”
Of course. CJ should have thought of that.
“I should be going. I have a lot to take care of.” She pushed to her feet, tried not to appear in too big a rush. “It was nice to see you again, Mrs. Jennings.”
“You know yet when the funeral will be?”
Pain radiated deep, squeezed CJ’s heart. “No, ma’am. Not yet. But I’ll be sure to let you know as soon as ... the arrangements are made.” On second thought, she reached into her bag, scrounged up a piece of paper and pen. “I’ll give you my cell phone number. If you need me, just call.” She jotted down the number, then passed the paper to the older woman.
Frances Jennings stared at the number. “I might just do that. You know my bursitis has been acting up lately.”
“Call me and I’ll see what I can do.”
Mrs. Jennings walked her to the door. The impulse to run across the porch and down the steps throbbed in CJ’s muscles, made keeping her stride steady and even next to impossible.
