Free Tea-Totally Dead by Jaqueline Girdner Page A

ahead again. I wanted to scream.
    “Clara Kushiyama,” Yoder was calling. “Please—”
    “Officer Yoder,” I interrupted. “May we leave now? We’ve both been interviewed and—”
    Wayne clasped my hand again, this time not so gently.
    “It’s okay, Officer,” he growled. “We’ll stay.”
    I stared at him with my mouth open. He kissed my upper lip. I shut my mouth. And kept it shut for three more, endless hours.
    The police interviewed Clara and each of the Skeritts and their spouses, one by one. Trent, Ingrid, Dru, Ace and Bill went first. Then the second generation, Lori and Gail. Then Mandy went up with Lori at her side. And finally they called Eric. Eric leapt up off the couch. Ace got up more slowly to accompany him.
    “You know what?” Eric said to Officer Yoder.
    “No, what?” Yoder replied. He smiled at Eric. I smiled too. Yoder had made a big mistake.
    “You gotta read me my rights,” Eric told him. “Or else the whole thing is totally bogus—”
    “Only if we suspect you of a crime—” Yoder corrected him.
    “No, no,” Eric insisted. He was on his tiptoes now, squirming with righteousness. “You gotta read me my rights. It’s called the Miranda ruling. It’s totally cool. See, there was this guy named Miranda and—”
    “Don’t worry about it,” Yoder advised, no longer smiling.
    “You know what else?” Eric said.
    Yoder shook his head impatiently.
    “You’re supposed to have this little card. And then you pull it out of your pocket, you know, or else it’s totally bogus—”
    “Only if we suspect you—” Yoder tried again.
    “No,” insisted Eric. “You gotta tell me all this cool stuff. Like I have a right to an attorney—”
    “Okay!” Yoder shouted. “You have the right to remain silent…”
     

 
    - Six -
     
    Officer Yoder’s reading of the Miranda rights was definitely the highlight of the morning. It would have been nice to clap warmly for his performance and then rise from our seats to leave, but Wayne wasn’t up for it. He wasn’t up for leaving fifteen minutes later either, after the final interview had been conducted and the visiting Skeritts had departed. Or even after Clara had finally quit the scene. Maybe this refusal to decamp was some kind of necessary penance for him, part of his unique grieving process. But for me, it was just aimless torment.
    We sat, glued to the black leather couch and watched, along with Harmony, who leaned back in Vesta’s easy chair to stare at something only she could see in the space above her, as a continuing cast of characters from the police department buzzed in and out of Vesta’s condo. Even the coroner’s office had sent an investigator, one Jenny Quintara, a plump brown-skinned woman who seemed almost suspiciously serene in the face of death.
    It wasn’t until after Vesta’s body had been zipped up tightly in a plastic bag and carried out the front door on a stretcher that Wayne finally stood. And when he stood, his movements were like an invalid’s, slow and tentative. I jumped up beside him and together we climbed the stairs to the bedroom area one last time. Officer Yoder and Detective Amador were in the hallway outside the guest room, whispering intently.
    “Tell me what you find out,” Wayne barked, his voice rough with disuse.
    Yoder’s head jerked up, startled.
    “Please,” Wayne added in a softer tone.
    Amador was unruffled by the request. “We’ll keep you informed,” she said with a flash of a smile. Then she turned back to Yoder.
    Wayne grunted.
    My eyes traveled to the door of Vesta’s bedroom. It was shut now, with a red coroner’s seal glued across the doorjamb. I felt a surge of nausea.
    “Well, goodbye then,” I said quickly and took Wayne by the elbow. It seemed to take forever to get back down the stairs and across the expanse of the living room carpet.
    As I pulled the front door open, I heard Harmony’s shrill voice call out from behind us.
    “Thank you ever so much for