Chapter Forty-Two

I closed the little book and left it on the couch and headed upstairs to finally get out of dress and panty hose. My brain was tossing things around the entire time I showered and pulled on a sweatsuit. There was only one possible solution to the question that had been giving me fits. The question of where Joe read that he was Angel's father. Joe had to have read a completely different version of the one I read. A forged diary. Joe read the one Angel wrote. I had the original, the one that contained the truth.

But why had Angel gone to the trouble of forgery? Why didn't she just confront Thomas?

"Maybe she did," I was saying when the telephone rang.

I was on my way down the steps and picked up in the kitchen after the third ring.

"Fay, it s Francie."

"Francie," I repeated, surprised.

"Sounds like you were expectin' someone else."

I was. Betsy. But I didn't say so. "What's up?" is what I said.

"You better get out a there real fast."

"What?"

"The state boys are with the judge right now. Gettin' 'em a warrant to search your house. "You hear me, girl? They're comin' for you."

"Who's coming for me?"

"The police. They got 'em a tip that you're the one that done Ethel."

"Me?"

"Got a go," came in a rush before I heard the click of the receiver being put down.

I have no idea why, but I grabbed my car keys and wallet off the counter and took off for the garage. I was on the road before I realized what I was doing. Or at least I thought I knew. I was running from the law-and driving like crazy straight to the law. I guess I should say, the former law. Mitch was no longer an officer of the law.

The pot-holed private lane to his small farm outside of town was long and narrow. Once I spotted the farmhouse, I looked around for Mitch's pickup. I didn't see it anywhere as I parked in front of the house. I knew he didn't plan on being out late or else he would have left the porch light on. With the clouds and rain, darkness was going to arrive early. Probably within the next hour.

So I would sit and wait for Mitch to return. It would also give me a chance to put some sense into what was happening. Or more like, what was about to happen. I could almost see handcuffs slapped on my wrists before I was hauled off to the slammer. Nobody would listen to my cries of innocence that are heard far and wide from convicts daily.

But it was true. I was innocent. I didn't kill Ethel. I couldn't kill a soul. Well, I suppose if it was me or the other guy, I'd defend myself. But why on earth would I want to do in Ethel Johnson? And just who put the cops onto me?

That question was easily answered. Angel had discovered I was snooping in her bedroom. Perhaps she knew the diary was gone too. I was onto her, and she had to do something about it fast. Before I had a chance to show Joe the diary I had stolen. The original. Francie said the police were getting a search warrant for my house. But what were they expecting to find? There was nothing there to link me to Ethel's murder.

So how come you didn't stick around to watch them turn up nothing? Miss Pesky wanted an answer. At first, I didn't have one. But it didn't take long to figure out I just plain panicked.