Free Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_03 by Death in Lovers' Lane Page A

back to her feet. “Think I’ll go lend a hand.”
    I must have looked astonished.
    She gave me a faintly embarrassed smile. “I can carry it off. One J-School faculty member to the aid of another—and maybe Tom will bring me back for a drink after we get Dennis home. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to hustle Tom for a couple of years.”
    Abbott’s name was familiar to me. He was the chair of the English department. Helen was loping across the room.
    I had finished my third slice of pizza when she trooped disconsolately back to her chair. “Tom said he could take care of it. So, I strike out again. Damn, I’ve put a lot of effort into tracking that man. But I never pick up any vibes. I guess I won’t be the second Mrs. Abbott.”
    â€œWhat’s so attractive about being the second Mrs. Abbott?”
    She flashed me an insouciant grin. “It would be kind of like cozying up to the mint, but sexier.”
    â€œA rich English professor?”
    â€œSweetheart, Tom is Derry Hills’s claim to literary fame. His book hit the best-seller list a few years ago, and it’s clung like bubble gum on a sneaker. He plays chess here almost every night. I drop in so often, they have me on automatic order.But so far I haven’t gotten him to offer more than a grin.” She sighed.
    I wasn’t interested in Helen’s pursuit of Tom Abbott and his money. I was interested that Abbott had once lived next door to the Duffys. He might well be a man to see. Then I realized Helen had kept right on talking and I had to wonder about ESP or corollary thought.
    â€œâ€¦be good to talk to Tom. His daughter, Cheryl, is the girl Stuart Singletary was out with that night, and they’re married now. Tom might know something, or have some ideas. And I’d talk to Stuart and Cheryl, too.”
    I paid the check and we stepped out into the chilly November night. The silence was almost shocking after the maelstrom of sound in the Green Owl. It was just a block up the street to the campus and the J-School parking lot where our cars were parked.
    Our shoes scuffed through leaves on the sidewalk.
    Names eddied in my mind. Maggie. Rita. Dennis. Tom. Cheryl. Stuart. Howard. Gail.
    Which ones mattered?
    Or was it as simple as Lieutenant Larry Urschel believed? An angry wife, an unfaithful husband.
    It was up to me to figure it out.

six
    F RIDAY morning’s forecast called for a chance of sleet. I chose a turtleneck sweater and navy corduroy slacks. Informal, perhaps, but upscale in a jail, and that’s where I would likely be at some point during my day.
    It wasn’t just the weather that chilled me. As always, I unfolded The Clarion as I poured my first cup of coffee.
    I had expected the lead story to be Maggie’s murder and Rita’s arrest. There was an inset photo of Maggie and a two-column shot of Rita, looking unkempt and bewildered, in the corridor at the courthouse.
    Dennis Duffy had played the story the way any city editor would have. It must have been the grimmest task he’d ever performed.
    Yesterday, I’d agonized for Dennis when the reporters and cameramen surrounded him in the courthouse hallway. Even though they had approached him almost diffidently, it must have been a shock for Dennis to be on the other end of media attention.
    But I wasn’t agonizing now. Not for Dennis. He was using every weapon at his command, and nobody knows the power of the press better than a city editor.
    Blazoned in the bottom five columns on the front page was an interview by Kitty Brewster:
    CITY EDITOR CLAIMS OLD CRIMES LED TO REPORTER’S MURDER
    Clarion City Editor Dennis Duffy insisted Thursday that his wife Rita is innocent of the murder of Clarion reporter Maggie Winslow .
    In an exclusive interview, Duffy revealed that Winslow planned to write a series of articles about three famous unsolved local mysteries: the 1988 murders of Thorndyke students