Free Monkey Wrench by Terri Thayer Page A

“I’m going to need to search your car, ma’am. Do I have your permission?”
    Vangie gulped. She wouldn’t look at me. I held my breath as Vangie fought with herself. I was glad now she’d given me Pearl’s prescription earlier. She wouldn’t have been able to explain to the cops that Pearl was her seventy-four-year-old friend.
    She nodded. The cop opened the trunk, letting his light play over the contents. “Clear,” he said to the policewoman. “Don’t disturb anything but make sure there’s no one in the back seat.”
    I squeezed Vangie’s hand.
    The ambulance arrived. Two attendants jumped out and hurried to Wyatt. They pulled him out of the car and onto the ground.
    The taller one strode over to the patrol officer “Why didn’t you just call the ME? This guy’s been dead for a while.”
    I didn’t listen for the officer’s answer. He was covering his ass. I grabbed Vangie.
    “Vangie, how long have you been out here?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was scared, Dewey.”
    They bundled Wyatt into the back of the ambulance and took off.
    The silence they left behind filled the space. Now there were lights in the houses around us. Several people in robes and slippers gathered on a front lawn, watching.
    “Ladies, I’d like you to come to the station. My sergeant will want a word with you.”
    Vangie pressed against me and I pulled the quilt closer and tucked in around her armpits. I felt the cold curb against my thighs and was glad I’d worn a sweatshirt.
    _____
    Once at the police station, Vangie and I were separated. I’d known that would happen, but when the officers indicated we should move apart, Vangie clung to me. I patted her between her shoulder blades.
    I put my finger on her lips and caught her gaze. I held her eyes so she understood the seriousness of my next sentence. We didn’t know how Wyatt died. Even if Vangie wasn’t involved—and I prayed that she wasn’t—his manner of death might lead to the cops suspecting her of murder. I couldn’t have her contributing to their case.
    “Tell the truth, Vang. You’ve got a right to a lawyer. Let them get you one.”
    She nodded. The policewoman grasped her elbow and started to steer her down the hall.
    She got smaller and smaller and I wondered if she would make it through the night.
    _____
    I was sent home around eight. I intended to shower quickly but I lingered, finding it impossible to leave the warm flow of water. It was a half hour before I felt human again.
    Out of the shower, worry about Vangie wouldn’t quit. What did Vangie know about this Wyatt? I racked my brain for the first time she mentioned him. She’d met him during orientation a few weeks ago. Or was it in her summer school class?
    I couldn’t remember. Was he the real reason she got too busy to help at the store and with the Crawl?
    I didn’t want to go to work yet. I needed someone to talk about what had just happened. Buster was still at work. And Vangie? I couldn’t talk to her.
    I grabbed a banana and a cup of coffee, the tote bag of Quilters Crawl maps and headed to Freddy’s.
    Freddy’s store opened an hour earlier than mine, at nine. I had to be back by ten to open QP.
    I’d given Jenn the week off, and Ursula was working four hours a day this week. During the Crawl, they’d both work ten hours straight. I couldn’t afford to pay overtime, so I’d shortened their hours beforehand. It would be all hands on deck during the Crawl.
    Once I crossed the threshold of Roman’s Sewing Machines, a ding, sounding a lot like my parents’ doorbell, let Freddy’s employees know someone had entered.
    Like Robert Palmer, Freddy liked to hire a type. His sales force was made up of two women, both taller than he was, with broad shoulders and over-arched eyebrows. Rebekah was blond, with clear blue eyes and a Swedish heritage. She looked like she could ski for miles. While carrying a shotgun. Inez was German, with tight curls and a tight mouth to match. They