Wrongful Accusations - Chapter 3 - Part 2
Talk with the boyfriend
The phone rang, and when I saw Aunt Essie’s number on the caller ID, I immediately picked it up.
“How’s it going, Professor?”
“Hello, Sandra. I’m fine, how are you this morning?”
“Pretty decent, just working like a Hebrew slave.”
“Well, do you think you will be able to bless me with your presence this afternoon? I’m having a dinner party this afternoon. It’s a retirement party of sorts and I was hoping you would come.”
“Retirement party? For who?”
“For whom, darling? The party is for yours truly of course.”
“Yeah right. You’ve been teaching since 1900, why in the world would you retire now?”
“My darling, Sandra, everyone gets tired at some time. Thirty-five years is quite a long time, and I have seen children go from bad to worse and I just can’t bear to watch it anymore. Perhaps I can write books for the young adults, maybe they will get something from my experiences.”
Her experiences? If she didn’t have experimental sex or drugs in her walk-in closet, I couldn’t see any kids wanting to read her life story. “Aunt Essie, I will be at your party. Is it okay if I bring Jerry?”
“Please do. When are you going to marry that young man?”
Here we go, “I’m not sure, but you better believe you will be the first to know.”
“Yes, I suppose I will be if I’m not dead by then. Enough chit-chat, I’ll let you get back to work. See you tonight.” She always hung up quickly right after saying something she knew I didn’t like. Aunt Essie knew how I felt about marriage. She had never been married because her teaching always came first. I often wondered if she was lonely, but she said that I and her students were all of the company that she needed. Given that she’s retiring, and I’ve been out of the house for years, I wondered if writing her boring books would be enough to keep my old aunt occupied.
Since I had the phone in my hand, I checked my voicemail. There were messages from old clients thanking me for my services, and potential clients asking what my rates were for various tasks. I also had a voicemail from a 215-area code. Why Lord? Yes, it was my ex-husband. He had left me a voicemail saying that just in case I didn’t get his email, he wanted me to know that he was going to be in town if I wanted to see him. I wanted to call and tell him heck no, but I decided that if I talked to him, I would end up being angry for the rest of the day.
Having had enough of checking messages for the time being, I decided to get a tad bit of exercise in while I thought about my case. My Stairmaster was in the corner of my office, so I didn’t have far to go. I turned my iPod to my Beyonce dance mix and got my booty bounce on.
I went through my mental notes on Shannon’s case. According to Pearce, Shannon got irritated pretty easily but like anyone else, she didn’t seem to get angry enough to murder someone. Pearce, himself, was very devoted to Shannon and would probably do anything for her. Did anything include murder? I wasn't completely sure about that.
Mallory’s interview was the next day. I still needed to contact the sitter and the housekeeper.
My 30-minute Stairmaster workout created a lot of sweat, aches, and pains. That was something I only did two to three times a week, which gave my body at least a day in between to get healed. Of course, my stomach was touching my back by then so I called Jerry to tell him I was coming over to the jail to have lunch with him at around noon. This gave me enough time to run by my apartment to de-funk and grab something to eat from the fridge.
I made it to my front door without running into Neil the Neighbor. I wasted no time stripping and hopping into the shower. Once I dried and dressed, I found the lasagna from last night. I grabbed a bag of salad mix then added tomatoes and cucumbers. I loaded the food into a bag and opened the front door. It was obvious that the dodging gods had betrayed me because I ran into a grinning Neil the Neighbor.
“Hello, neighbor, would you like for me to help you with your bags?” he asked, reaching for my lunch.
“No thanks, I got it.” I ran as fast as I could down the stairs. “See you later, Neil.” Not if I can help it, I thought.
Traffic on Poplar was as crazy as usual. Man, I hated paying for parking, but I had no choice. After stuffing my seven dollars in the designated box, I ran across the street. On the other side, I walked up the stairs of the county jail. I spotted Jerry in the small cafeteria once I had been cleared through security. He smiled and licked his lips, but I wasn’t sure if that was for my benefit or because he was hungry.
“Hungry, aren’t you?”
“In more ways than one,” he said, looking at my revealed cleavage.
“Well, you’re going to have to wait awhile. Can you get off early tonight? My aunt invited me to her retirement party, and I don’t want to go by myself. I’m sure my mom will be there, and you may have to be my scapegoat for leaving the party early if any drama pops off.”
“I may be able to leave at around 7, is that too late?”
“No, that's fine. So, how’s your day been?”
“Well, you know the usual, convicts cursing me out for refusing to bring them drugs.”
“Wow. I guess if I was in jail I would want to be high too. Of course, if I was in jail, being high would make me susceptible to some big woman that wants me to be her girlfriend.”
“Sassy, you always think of the worst-case scenarios. I hope nothing like that ever happens because I wouldn't want to have to fight a woman, but I will for you,” he said, kissing my hand.
Some of the other guards saw him and started cat-calling and whistling. How embarrassing! But I loved the attention.