Free Dead Weight by Susan Rogers Cooper Page B

into the office and was caught between Luna’s desk and the wall.
    Berta leaned forward and patted my hand. ‘It’s OK, E.J. I think we’re working things out,’ she said.
    I patted her back. ‘Just don’t trust her!’
    Luna gave me a vaguely hurt look and I felt vaguely guilty.
    Finally Tom spoke up. At first he tried to stand to speak, but realizing the futility of that gesture, he fell back in his chair and said, ‘Lieutenant Luna and I have worked out a plan.’
    ‘Hi, E.J.,’ came a voice from outside the office. I turned to see Ken Killian, Sr, Kerry’s husband.
    ‘Ken!’ I exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘Berta called me. She told me everything she knows. I believe her. What about you?’ he asked, obviously seriously wanting to know.
    I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I believe her.’
    ‘Well, isn’t that nice,’ Luna said. ‘Now that we have Pugh’s approval , may we please move forward?’
    Everyone, including Trisha and myself, nodded.
    ‘So Berta will be staying at Mr Killian’s house—’
    ‘What?’ I said, turning quickly to Ken. ‘Ken, are you sure?’
    ‘We have a guest room—’
    ‘ And she will report in daily,’ Luna continued, ‘to me. If she misses a day, we’ll find her and she’ll be locked up again.’
    ‘Why?’ I demanded.
    Luna stood up and leaned on her desk, glaring directly at me. She had more room to stand behind her desk. ‘ Because we still don’t know who this woman is! Or what connection she has to Kerry Killian’s death.’ She looked out the door at Ken. ‘Sorry, Mr Killian. At your request, Pugh, I had Martinez look up Berta Harris’s death certificate, and surprise, surprise, there wasn’t one! Since she made up the name and she isn’t dead!’ This time she shot a look at Berta. Berta shrugged her shoulders. ‘For all we know, this woman could be a mass murderer! An escapee from an asylum! We just don’t know! I could put an ankle bracelet on her, Pugh – would that work better for you?’
    I held up my hands in surrender. ‘No, no, this is fine,’ I said. ‘Just fine. May we leave now, Lieutenant?’ I asked sweetly.
    ‘Please,’ she said, standing tall. ‘Please leave. I’m begging you all.’
    We worked our way out of her office then headed through the bullpen, where some of the children had found the crime scene tape and were cordoning off the area near the water fountain.
    Five minutes later we were sitting down to ice tea at a diner in Codderville. It was close to the police station and one I’d never been to before. Molly’s Munchies. A brave name, I thought, for something so close to the police station. And it was true to its word. The entire establishment smelled like patchouli and was decorated in Grateful Dead posters and Indian-print bedspreads. It looked and smelled like my dorm room in my freshman year of college. The food items were vegetarian, heavy on the tofu. I’d be coming back, if only to bask in the ambience.
    ‘Is your husband still mad?’ Berta asked me once we’d been seated.
    ‘He’ll get over it,’ I assured her. He always did, I’ll give him that. Mostly he was worried for me, but when it involved the kids, like last year, he was happy I knew a little something about what to do.
    ‘So have you gotten any new memories?’ Trisha asked Berta.
    She shook her head. ‘No, none at all. It’s like I was born in that hospital. The day I woke up. If Kerry hadn’t found me . . .’ Her voice trailed off. We were silent, all of us getting real busy putting things in our iced tea – the offerings were packets of raw sugar, a bottle of locally grown honey, and that new ‘natural’ artificial sweetener, Truvia – anything to keep from having to deal with Berta’s pain. Finally Berta said, ‘It’s my fault she’s dead.’
    Ken covered Berta’s hand with his own. ‘No, it’s not. It’s the fault of whoever shot her. You didn’t do that. If she hadn’t helped you she would never have