Blindfold (20 page)

"So Scout and Alex, even Lane, might have known both of them better than I thought they did?"

"Beats me. They might have. We all went to different elementary schools, so I don't know for sure who knew who. Whom. Like I said, no one wants to talk about those two now."

"The thing is," Maggie said slowly, "if he really was innocent, if he didn't kill her, someone else did. Someone in Greene County. Maybe someone right here in Felicity. But the police wouldn't have looked for that person because Dante had already been convicted."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, that killer might still be here, Helen. Somewhere. Maybe he didn't leave after

the trial. He wouldn't have had to. He got away with murder, and was perfectly safe."

"Are you deliberately trying to scare me more than Fm already scared, or is it accidental? Isn't it bad enough that Whit thinks maybe Guardino's back in town?"

"Sorry. He probably did do it. I mean, a jury convicted him, right? They must have had plenty of evidence."

"I have a super idea. Let's not talk about this anymore, okay? It's too creepy." Helen took a handful of popcorn, chewed, swallowed, then asked, "So, is Picadilly as nice inside as out?"

Maggie laughed. "Calling Picadilly 'nice' is like saying Whit isn't bad-looking. Both are masterpieces of understatement."

"Whatever. I'll bet Scout's relieved that you and Whit didn't hit it off."

Uncomfortable because she suspected Helen was right, Maggie asked, "Helen, doesn't it look like someone put your hankie into that well to make you look guilty? I mean, how obvious is that? Doesn't it make you mad?"

"Well, at first I was just scared." Helen dropped the empty popcorn bowl on the floor. "But now, yeah, I'm mad. And getting madder. Someone did me wrong and I don't know why. If Lane had been killed, the sheriff would never have let me leave. Not with Lane lying in that well dead as a doornail."

Maggie knew she was right.

After a minute or two of quiet, Maggie lifted her head. "Helen?"

"Yeah?"

"What exactly is a doornail? And how did it die? And how can we be sure it was ever really alive in the first place?"

They were off again, laughing until their sides hurt.

But sometime in the middle of the night, Maggie was awakened, shaking and sweating, by a nightmare. She was locked in the coal bin of the old courthouse, completely sealed in on all sides by thick wooden boards fastened with giant-sized nails. Every few minutes, a voice from above, deep and evil, would call down to her, "You can't come out. Your sentence isn't up yet."

Though she screamed until her throat was raw, the voice never relented and never let her out.

When she was fully awake, she wondered if Lane had at any time regained consciousness in that cold, dark well. If she had, she must have felt very much the way Maggie had while she was still deep inside the nightmare.

dressed in jeans and sweaters, clearing things up became complicated.

"Turns out," the sheriff said in a tone of voice that Maggie instinctively realized was deceptively nonchalant, "that someone saw you leaving the grounds of the old courthouse on Friday evening, Ms. Morgan. Saw you running from there. One of the construction workers, checking on some equipment. He's sure it was you. Said it was the girl with the hankie.' Now, what I'm wondering is, why you didn't volunteer that information yesterday afternoon when we found that hankie in the well."

Helen, seated beside Maggie on the plaid couch, sat with her head down, her hands folded in her lap. She said nothing.

Maggie spoke up. "If Helen says she wasn't there Friday night, then she wasn't! And you shouldn't be interrogating her like this without a lawyer."

The sheriff raised graying eyebrows at the word "interrogating." "I just want the truth, Maggie, that's all. We know she was there. It could be she saw or heard something that might help us."

Helen remained silent.

"Well," the sheriff said, holding out one hand, "maybe you could tell us if this belongs to you, too."

Maggie recognized the object in his hand right away. A wristwatch. The band was plain brown leather, the kind Helen wore. And the sheriff wouldn't have that look on his face if he didn't already know who the watch belonged to. Ms. Gross

had given Helen that watch, so of course it had to have her initials on it somewhere.

Helen nodded, and reached out for the watch.

The sheriff withdrew his hand. "Nope. Can't let you have this just yet. But I bet you can guess where we found this. And it does belong to you, am I right?" He turned the watch over. Helen's initials were clearly visible on the smooth gold backing.

Defeat showed in her face. "Yes. Okay, yes, it's mine. And yes, I can guess where you found it, or you wouldn't be here. And yes, I was there Friday night." Her voice became more agitated as she spoke. "And yes, I did see something!"

"There, now," the sheriff said, leaning back in the chair, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Helen," Maggie warned, "I don't think you should say any more."

Helen waved a hand. "It's okay." Her eyes on the sheriff, she began slowly, "I went out for a run. I decided to swing by the old courthouse because I hadn't found my watch yet. I'd looked everywhere else, so I figured I must have lost it during the explosion last week. It was almost dark out, but the parking lot has lights, so I thought I'd be able to see okay."

Maggie, her parents, and the sheriff were listening intently.

"But when I got there, before I could look for the watch, I heard this sound ... I didn't know what it was then. But now I know it was a saw. I think a small power saw. My dad has one. He used it to saw broken limbs off the trees in our apple orchard

when we lived in the country. It sounded just like what I heard at the courthouse that night."

"Did you see anyone?"

Helen nodded again. "But I don't know who it was," she said quickly. "I couldn't even tell if it was a woman or a man. I was too far away, and the person I saw was wearing a jacket, maybe an athletic jacket, and a baseball cap."

"Helen," Mrs. Keene asked gently, "why on earth didn't you tell the sheriff this yesterday?"

"Because he'd already found my hankie in the well!" Helen cried. "When I saw that person kneeling on the ground Friday night, I didn't know he was doing anything wrong. Or dangerous. I didn't know that until the next day, when Lane fell in the well. When I realized that was just about the spot where I'd seen the person, I knew then what he'd been up to. But that night, I just thought he was one of the workers getting ready for the ceremony."

Maggie nodded. "I would have, too."

But Helen hung her head again. "When Lane fell into that well, I knew I should have told someone what I'd seen. They'd have checked out that spot then, and she never would have fallen in. When she did, I was too ashamed to tell anyone. And then the sheriff found my hankie. I was terrified that if I told him I'd been there the night before, he'd be positive I was the one with the saw, and I was just inventing the other person to get myself off the hook."

The image of Helen armed with a power saw would have made Maggie laugh if the circumstances hadn't been so serious, and Helen weren't so scared.

"I wouldn't have thought that," the sheriff said quietly. "Not without more proof. But," he sat forward, "I'm going to need you to take a little trip down to the office with me, Ms. Morgan. You can call a lawyer first if you want, but what I mainly want from you is a description of the person you saw near the well."

"But I told you, I didn't really see him. I didn't want to hang around while someone else was there, and I decided it was too dark to see something as small as my watch anyway. So I left. I can't describe whoever it was."

"Well, let's just give it a try, okay? Anything you can tell us will help."

Helen didn't call a lawyer. But when she had left with the sheriff, Maggie went to the phone to call Whit. His father was a judge. He'd know what to do.

"Baseball cap? Jacket?" he asked when she had explained. "What kind of jacket?"

"I don't know," Maggie answered impatiently. "What difference does it make? So, should she have a lawyer or not?"

"No, I don't think so. Not yet. Sounds to me like the sheriff believed her story. Did she say what the baseball cap looked like? Any emblem? Team name?"

"It was dark, Whit. Why are you asking me all these questions? She said she didn't get a good look at the person."

UO

"It just sounds familiar, that's all . . ." Whit's voice trailed off. "So," he asked then, "are you still mad at me?"

"I don't have time for this now," Maggie said curtly, and instantly regretted the words. But they were true, weren't they? She had to get to the courthouse. She had to be there for Helen, who had looked like she was on her way to death row when she left. "But no," she added hastily, "I'm not mad. You were right. Your . . . friendship with Christy Miller isn't any of my business."

"No," he said just as quickly, "I wasn't right. There wasn't any reason to hide anything. I was being a jerk. Listen, anything you want to ask me, just ask away. Honesty is the best policy, from now on, I promise."

Maggie saw an opportunity, and took it. "Okay, then. Do you really think Dante Guardino is back in town? And taking out his rage on the old courthouse? Since you knew him, what you think might mean something. Is that why you asked me about the jacket and cap? Is that the kind of stuff he wore?"

It took him a minute or two, but when he answered he sounded sincere. "Yeah, he did. He wore a Bransom High jacket and a Cleveland Indians baseball cap almost all the time. But I don't know what I think, Maggie. Why would he come back here?"

"I don't know. But if he was really innocent, who would have more right to hate the courthouse than him? Felicity, too. Listen, I've got to get over there

with Helen. Til call you when I get back."

And if Guardino was innocent, she thought, her spine tingling, there is another killer out there somewhere. Someone who got away with murder.

She didn't call Lane before she left, knowing Lane would be resting. But she tried Scout and Alex, thinking they would want to be there for Helen as much as she did. They weren't home.

"Well, you can't see her now" the deputy in the outer office said when Maggie asked for Helen. Her tone of voice implied that Maggie should have known better than to ask. "She's in with Sheriff Donovan."

Maggie stood her ground. "I know that. But I think she should have someone with her, and I'm her best friend. If she isn't being arrested, why can't I go in?"

"He said he wasn't to be disturbed."

"I just told you, it shouldn't disturb him if Helen has someone with her."

The deputy stood up, smoothing her tan slacks. "You got a mouth on you, don't you? No visitors, period. Run along now. Your little friend's just fine."

"My friend is five feet, eight inches tall!" Maggie snapped. "At least three inches taller than you." Then she whirled on her heel and stomped out of the office.

But she didn't leave the building. She wasn't going anywhere until she knew Helen was okay.

She found a pay phone and tried Scout again. Still no answer. Alex was home, though, and offered

PS4*

to join Maggie at the courthouse. "For moral support/' he said.

"Okay, if you're sure you feel up to it. But find Scout first, okay? He's probably playing touch football in the park. Helen needs all the moral support she can get."

"She hasn't been arrested, has she?"

"No." Maggie quickly filled Alex in on what Helen had told the sheriff. "Of course someone stole her watch and planted it near the well, just like they planted the hankie. Hurry up, okay? I hate being here alone. The only people here on Sunday are the sheriff and one deputy."

Before he hung up, Alex asked, "Is Whittier showing up, too?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask him to, if that's what you mean. He doesn't really know Helen that well."

"Right. Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can dig up Redfern." He hung up.

While Maggie was waiting, she decided to go in search of a rest room. She would just be very careful to avoid the kitchen wing and the coal bin wing. Like Tanya said, why borrow trouble?

As she walked the dim, deserted corridors, looking left and right, she thought about Alex's last question. Why hadn't she asked Whit to lend moral support, too? He seemed to like Helen, and he would have driven into town if Maggie had asked.

But then, why hadn't he offered?

She was so lost in thought, she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until they were only a few feet away. When the tap-tap did sink in, Maggie stopped

us

walking. Alex? Couldn't be. It would take him longer than that to drive into town. Maggie turned around, hoping to see Scout. Or maybe Whit.

But it wasn't one of her friends catching up to her in the hallway. Instead, she found herself staring directly, once again, into the black, empty eyes of Chantilly Beckwith. She was holding a thick, solid board with jagged edges in her left hand. And she wasn't smiling.

was in the building, although he was a good distance away, Maggie warned, "Stay away from me, or I'll scream this place down."

"I don't think so," a deep, harsh voice said from behind her, and a rough hand clapped itself over Maggie's mouth. It smelled like an ashtray. She knew immediately who it belonged to. James Keith, who never went anywhere without a cigarette. Chantilly had distracted her so she wouldn't hear James's footsteps coming down the hall from the opposite direction.

An arm of steel pinned Maggie's arms against her sides. Chantilly smiled, though her dark eyes held no humor. "Well, hey, Madame Foreperson," she said softly, "how would you like to see justice in action? Witness it with your very own eyes?" She raised the board over one shoulder, as if she were poised to hit a home run.

It had happened so fast, Maggie felt dazed. Almost too dazed to think. But, not quite. And instinct and indignation helped. Who did they think they were, these two barbaric thugs, threatening her? Did they really think she was just going to stand there and play helpless while they pummeled her into pulp with that board?