Love Me If You Must

26

I was questioned, swabbed, fingerprinted, and booked.

The attorney assigned to me, a young guy named Moranski, knew less about the process than I did. I coached him along out of pity, but by midmorning, I realized a shortened version of his name might suit him better.

At least I had a warm place to spend the next couple nights, even if the lingering odor of vomit revealed that my cell did double-duty as the drunk tank.

Outside, the wind blew. Every few minutes, a gust blasted its way through the caulk around the high window. I lay on the hard bench beneath it. The cold air drifted down and settled around me. If I got convicted of Dietz’s murder, my life was as good as over. I’d already languished away three years. With a murder rap, I could write off the next twenty-five, minimum.

On the bright side, maybe I’d get to be cellmates with Verna again. And this time around, I’d agree with her about the injustice of the justice system and the inhumanity of humanity.

I curled up in a ball to keep warm. At least I’d already been wearing my coat when Officer Brad threw me out in the storm at four o’clock this morning. Too bad he hadn’t had the courtesy to provide me with a blanket after questioning today.

I stewed for a couple hours, beating myself up for even giving a rip that there was blood on the rocks of my cistern. So what? It’s a basement. There’s bound to be undesirable slime in anyone’s cellar. And considering that there was already a body under the concrete, what was another one on top of it? The scent of a decaying body would blend right in with the general odor of mildew. And if my furnace hadn’t gone out, I never would have gone down in the basement. Spring would have been a much better time to deal with the murder of Martin Dietz.

I didn’t like the guy anyway.

The door to my cell clanked and a female deputy came in. “If you got someone who’ll put up a hundred grand, you can go home.”

Look lady, I felt like saying, I couldn’t even track down a friend to help me with my furnace, so what makes you think I can find one to fork over a hundred g’s?

She looked at me with something like pity or compassion on her face. “You get one phone call.”

She stood aside to let me go through.

I stayed on the bench thinking for a minute.

I had the cash sitting in my bank account, but every penny of it was reserved for renovations. If I dug into it for bail, I wouldn’t be able to finish the job on schedule. And I’d be stuck in Rawlings for at least another year. Maybe even forever. There had to be someone out there who could put up the money. I was good for it. It’s not like I could leave town with my Victorian unfinished.

The only face that came to mind was Tammy Johnson’s from Beauty Boutique. She’d invited me to church, hadn’t she? It was time she put her fortune where her faith was. If she refused to help me post bail, I’d know she was just another one of those Sunday Soldiers.

I followed the deputy. She handed me a phone book. I looked up Tammy’s home phone number.

The line rang. An answering machine picked up.

“Hi. This is Tammy. I can’t take your call. Please leave a message at the tone. Thanks!” Her voice sounded perky as ever, but I knew that in real life she was probably wiped out from grieving over Casey.

The machine beeped, waiting for a message.

“Um, hi, Tammy.” I leaned against the dirty white wall, adding my fingerprints to those of other desperate callers. “This is Tish Amble. You know, the one who reminds you of your good friend Sandra? I’m at the county jail and I need your help. Can you please come down as soon as you get this message? Please?”

The other end was silent. Then a beep sounded as time ran out.

I hung up the phone.

“She’ll get here,” the deputy said in a gentle voice.

I squeezed my eyes and bit my lip, waiting until I gained control of my emotions before I looked at her.

“Thanks, but she barely even knows me. I guess I can only hope.”

I waited in the cell. Supper came. I ate the familiar, flavorless fare. Daylight faded to dusk.

Maybe Tammy had gone out of town.

Maybe she hated me and wasn’t coming.

Maybe she figured anyone who’d killed her admirer deserved to be alone in a cold, dank cell.

I cradled my head in my arms. The cell started to spin around me. I could feel myself sinking into blackness.

Despair.

I lay down on the bench. Sleep would help the time pass.

The door clanked.

“You have a visitor.” It was the female officer.

I sat up, groggy. I must have dozed off.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Almost ten.” She stood aside to let me through.

I sat in the interview room. Tammy came in and took the chair across the table from me. Her face was puffy and red. Her hair had lost its body and hung loosely to her shoulders. Runoff from her mascara blackened the bags beneath her eyes.

Her chin had a sharp slant. “I was at Casey’s service when I heard about Martin. I didn’t want to come here tonight. Brad talked me into seeing you.”

“Tammy. I’m so sorry. I know you’ve had a rough week. But I really need your help.”

She pushed back in her chair. Her eyes glinted and her voice took on a bitter edge. “Rough is an understatement.”

I opened my palms, pleading. “I didn’t kill Dietz. But I can’t find out who did if I’m stuck in a jail cell. I need someone to post bail.”

She crossed her arms. “I just can’t believe you’d kill Martin over a stupid cistern.”

“Exactly, Tammy. It was a stupid cistern. Nothing to kill over. But somebody felt they had a very good reason to kill him. Help me so we can find out who. And why.”

“You’re the obvious candidate. He was found in your basement.”

“I also had three people swear I was at the Rawlings Hotel at the time of the murder. You invited me to church, remember? Give me a chance.”

“Just because I’m a Christian doesn’t mean I’m willing to aid and abet criminals.”

I dropped my voice to a whisper. “You know I’m innocent, Tammy. Would a Christian leave an innocent woman in jail?”

With as many guilt trips as my grandmother had put me on over the years, I knew how to dish one out.

Tammy looked down and sighed. “Even if you’re innocent, there’s nothing I can do. I’m broke and then some. I’m holding on haircut to haircut. I don’t know how much longer things can last.”

Her sob story hit me. It was hard being single, trying to make ends meet, and still wake up with a smile in the morning.

It looked like I’d have to use my own seed money to get out of jail quick, and hope the arraignment could be scheduled soon. Otherwise, I’d find myself in a financial crunch that would drag out the renovations indefinitely. And I didn’t need anything stopping me from selling the Victorian full price come June.

I told her where to find my personal checkbook, and how to get the cash and post bail. Nothing could be done until the banks opened on Monday, so I geared up for a solitary couple of nights.