Free The Trophy Exchange by Diane Fanning

s side. The woman ’ s hair spiked out in a hundred directions – Lucinda was certain it was not the woman ’ s normal hairstyle. It didn ’ t go with the conservative gray suit and black blouse. It wasn ’ t in harmony with her hosiery-clad legs and basic black pumps. Lucinda pulled out a notepad and pen. “ Ma ’ am, could you please tell me your name. ”
    “ You ’ ve got to listen to that tape. All you need to know is on that tape. ”
    “ I will – I promise. But right now, you need to calm down and talk to me. ”
    The woman took a deep breath. The she ran her hands over her head in a futile attempt to get her unruly hair back in place. She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt, looked at Lucinda and said, “ O kay . ”
    “ Your name? ”
    “ Frances Wagner. ”
    “ And do you know the name of the man inside the house. ”
    “ Yes. ” Frances ’ chin quivered. “ It ’ s my son. ”
    “ His name, please. ”
    “ Terry. Terry Wagner. ” Her voice cracked with each syllable she uttered. “ She did it. His wife did it. You ’ ve got to arrest her, ” she blurted out in renewed agitation.
    “ Ma ’ am, I need you to calm down and help me out. ”
    Frances closed her eyes and nodded her head. “ I ’ m sorry. ”
    “ Why did you come over to your son ’ s house, Ms. Wagner? ”
    “ Because of the message. The message on the tape. When I got the message, I came over. ”
    “ How did you get the message? ”
    “ I came home from work on my lunch hour. I was going to make a sandwich and toss in a load of laundry. But first, I checked the answering machine. It was blinking. ”
    “ What did the message say? ”
    “ It said, ‘ Frances, call the police and get them to come over to the house. Do not come yourself. Please. Do not come here. Just call the police. I ’ m sorry, Frances. I just couldn ’ t take it anymore. ’” The features on Frances ’ face slid downward like an avalanche. She slumped over in the seat and sobbed.
    Lucinda placed her hand on the distraught woman ’ s back and waited for her to regain her self-control. When Frances sat back up, Lucinda asked, “ Who was the message from, Ms. Wagner? ”
    “ That woman he married. My daughter-in-law Julie, ” she spat out.
    Before Lucinda could ask another question, squealing tires drew both women ’ s attention to outside the car. A green Monte Carlo swerved into the side street. It zigzagged from one side of the street to the other as if being steered by a trained chimp instead of a licensed driver. It jerked to a stop beside the house with two wheels up on the sidewalk and the front end kissing the post that held the stop sign.
    The door flew open and a middle-aged woman in a black T-shirt and blue jeans jumped out onto the sidewalk. Her long brown hair was clasped in a clip at the back of her neck and swayed back and forth as she ran for the front gate.
    Frances reached for the door handle. “ What is that damn bitch doing here? ”
    Lucinda laid a restraining hand on Frances ’ left arm. “ Please stay in the car, Ms. Wagner. You know who that is? ”
    “ Julie ’ s mother. Vivienne the tramp. ”
    The maligned Vivienne, meanwhile, reached the patrolman blocking passage into the yard. She attempted to brush past him and cried in outrage when she was stopped.
    Lucinda got out of the car, then leaned down and stuck her head back in. “Ms. Wagner, stay right here. I ’ ll be back in a minute. ”
    Vivienne slapped an envelope over and over into the officer ’ s chest. “ You ’ ve got to let me in. I ’ ve got to see the person in charge. I ’ ve got evidence. ”
    “ I ’ m the investigator in charge, ” Lucinda said.
    Vivienne spun around. “ Good. That guy deserved to die. I ’ ve got the proof right here. ”
    All eyes were on Vivienne after that statement. Neither Lucinda nor the patrolman noticed Frances ease open the door and get out of the car. They didn ’ t hear her stealthy approach. When