Free Summer Garden Murder by Ann Ripley Page A

Hoffman’s missing,” said Bill.
    â€œ ’Fraid so,” said Detective Morton. “But let’s wait for the coffee before we get into it.”
    Minutes later, Louise joined the group with the coffee. She sat down and took a big sip of the dark liquid from her own cup, then said, “Well, do tell us what you want to know.”
    Geraghty glanced quickly over at Morton. “George, please let me handle this,” he said. Morton nodded his assent. Mike Geraghty had always been the boss of this two-man team. Why was he acting as if Morton were sharing his command?
    The big detective sat forward on the couch, a small pad of paper and pencil clutched in one hand. He tapped the pad against his knee with each pronouncement: “Peter Hoffman’s missin’, you know that. He’s released from the hospital Friday, the third of August. He shows up at the Radebaughs’ party on the fourth. He’s seen about the neighborhood—”
    Morton elaborated: “At the Sylvan Valley Swim Club tennis courts, the grocery store, a restaurant in Old Town Alexandria—”
    â€œâ€”right up until Sunday evening, the twelfth,” continued Geraghty. His hand was quiet on his knee. Morton had disturbed his rhythmic tapping. “Phyllis Hoffman forgives him one night, I guess, but reports him missin’ Monday noon, August thirteenth. So that means he’s been missin’ now five days.”
    Morton turned his brown-eyed stare onto Mike Geraghty. “Tell her about the tip we got today.”
    Geraghty stared down at the carpeting and heaved a big sigh. He looked over at Louise and said, “We got a phone call today, about how they’d seen you diggin’ in your garden last Sunday evenin’, the twelfth.”
    Morton waved an objecting hand. “Not evening, more like midnight.”
    â€œYeah,” amended Geraghty, his face flushing an even darker red, “about midnight. Of course, you were at the beach then, so somebody might have identified someone else as you, Louise.”
    Bill said, “What the hell are you talking about, Louise in the garden at midnight?”
    â€œBill,” said Louise, putting out a restraining hand. “As a matter of fact, I was in the garden that night around midnight. I drove home to get my script. It was one of the nights you and the girls were away on the fishing trip. I wasn’t digging, only checking the soil to see if Sam had watered the azalea bed.”
    â€œThe coincidence sure is significant,” said Morton.
    â€œCoincidence?” She laughed. “You can’t be implying that I did away with Peter Hoffman and buried him in my garden.” She laughed. “No, tell me you don’t mean that.”
    Nevertheless, the thought made her breathless, and she sat back and tried to regain her composure. Her eye caught movement, and she saw her two daughters standing in the living room doorway, listening to everything.
    Bill fastened his gaze on Geraghty. “Mike, how could you think that my wife is involved in Hoffman’s disappearance? After all that Louise has done for you, it’s an insult.”
    â€œThat’s for sure,” echoed Janie. She stood, arms akimbo, with her strong, tanned legs wide apart in a defensive stance, looking as if she were ready to throw the detectives out of the house. She caught a rebuking glance from her father and dropped her hands to her sides, but her hands were still curled in fists.
    Detective Morton’s voice was louder now. “Hey, let’s not gang up on me, folks. All Mike and I want to do is to have the right to dig up your garden.”
    â€œWhich garden?” demanded Louise.
    â€œSpecifically, the one that lies out back a ways and a little to the west.”
    â€œThe azalea bed.”
    â€œYes, I guess so. Is that the one you were digging in that night?”
    â€œI told you I wasn’t digging, Detective Morton. I was