Free Murder in the Collective by Barbara Wilson Page B

didn’t know if I’d done anything to him or not…” A big flannel shoulder jerked towards the darkroom door. “But I sure as hell didn’t do that.”
    I wasn’t so sure, but the very thought of it gave me the creeps. “If you didn’t do it, why are you afraid of the police?” I asked.
    “I’m not afraid of them,” said Fran venomously, while beginning to back away to the front door.
    “Listen, Fran, let me get this straight,” Hadley put a restraining hand on her arm. “You went to B. Violet last night. Around what time?”
    Fran shook her head.
    “We left her at the Bar & Grill about ten-thirty, I think…” I said.
    “So it was probably between eleven and twelve, closer to twelve, maybe, when you found him there.”
    “Look, what is this? Just leave me alone,” Fran muttered. “Isn’t it bad enough that our whole fucking shop was destroyed? He deserved what happened to him.” She looked frightened at what she’d said. “I don’t mean that. Oh god, if the cops figure out I was there with him, they’ll think I wanted revenge.”
    “You probably passed out or were knocked out before you touched much of anything but that piece of glass, but you did leave your keys,” Hadley said.
    Fran flinched. You could tell she’d been desperately worrying all this time about what had happened to them. “And the cops have them?”
    “ I have them,” said Hadley slowly. She reached into her pocket and drew them out, tossed them with a tiny clink to Fran. I wanted to tell her no, Fran had to be here when the cops came, so she could tell them about last night, but Hadley and Fran seemed locked in a private stare.
    “I’m getting out, I’ve got to,” mumbled Fran.
    “Wait,” I said, but Fran was already headed out the door, and Hadley didn’t try to stop her. “Hadley, why’d you let her go? They need her information.”
    “Cause she’s drunk,” said Hadley. “Talking to them wouldn’t help her or the cops.”
    “She didn’t seem drunk now. That was last night.”
    “When Fran gets drunk, she stays drunk for awhile. You probably saw her in her offensive my-father-was-a-logger stage. But she’s got others. I’m telling you, she was drunk yesterday, drunk last night, and she’s still out of it today. She’ll keep on for the next few days probably.”
    “Except for last night, she hasn’t acted it.”
    “If you knew her, you’d know that’s how she acts.”
    “But why isn’t anybody helping her then, if it’s that bad?”
    “You don’t think anybody’s tried?” Hadley looked both bitter and amused.
    “You mean Elena?”
    “In case you hadn’t noticed, Elena’s a bit that way herself, attached to the bottle, I mean. That may be the source of their attraction.”
    I couldn’t understand her attitude at all. “How can you be so…calm about it?”
    “Calm!” she laughed abruptly, looked at me as if I were crazy, then said, “Don’t you think it’s time we called the police?”
    They arrived remarkably quickly, while I was still on the phone to Penny, trying to explain what had happened.
    “Now, start again, you’re completely worked up, Pam. Jeremy was in the red light and Fran didn’t remember what had happened. But Jeremy, Pam, is Jeremy all right?”
    “I have to go now,” I said. “It’s the sirens.”
    “Pam, is Jeremy all right? I have a reason for asking.”
    “Can you just come down here, Penny, please?”
    “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
    I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.
    Horror has a way of settling in layers, like dust in an old house that you can’t brush off just once. Delayed shock, I guess, the body’s way of softening the blow. It amazes me in retrospect that Hadley and I were so cool, first at finding Jeremy and then at dealing with Fran, especially since I did suspect her of being more involved than she let on. I didn’t think she “murdered” Jeremy, but that was partly because I wasn’t thinking “murdered” any more than I could