Chapter Forty-Four

There was no tap on my car window. No wait for permission to join me inside. Mitch just opened the passenger side door and slid in on the seat next to me.

"I really should remember to start locking my doors," I said.

"I believe you ran a newspaper story about that not so long ago."

"Sure did. Ran it after car jacking became so popular."

Then came the silence. Mitch was swinging his cowboy hat in front of his knees, his head was down so he was watching his fingers reshape the rim. While I impatiently waited for him to tell me what was eating at him so I could tell him I was a fugitive on the run from the law.

"Fay," he finally began, "the police wanna talk to you." He peeked over at me before looking straight ahead at the wet windshield. "They was over at your place when I stopped by a little while ago."

When he looked over at me a second time, our eyes fixed and held. "They found a red wig out back in your garbage can."

"Damn," I cursed and slapped the steering wheel.

Mitch's eyes widened. His expression filled with surprise and disbelief. "You already knew?"

I exhaled deeply. "Francie tipped me off the police were on their way. The wig is news."

It only seemed fair it was Mitch's turn to become angry. "So you just take off and make a run for it like someone guilty would do?"

"You know I didn't kill Ethel. Angel set me up."

"Thought you said she wasn't no killer?"

"I was wrong, okay. But your jealousy motive just doesn't make sense."

"So why'd she do it then?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. So why set you up?"

"That's the easy part. She knows I searched her bedroom. The diary's gone. And it's a different diary than the one Joe read. The one I have says Thomas is Angel's papa. My guess is, Angel wrote her own version from the original. Joe was given a little book of fiction. I'm also thinking the birth certificate Angel told me about finding in her mother's safety deposit box was doctored."

"Or else she had a fake one printed up. They're not that difficult to come by."

"Right. Then there's the wig box I saw In Angel's bedroom closet."

"You didn't tell me about a wig box."

"Well, I'm not positive that's what it was. I didn't t have time to take a look inside."

Another stretch of silence; a necessary break to give us both time to think about the things we just said.

Mitch broke the silence. "You can bet that box isn't in her closet anymore."

"And the wig that was in it just happened to be disposed of in my garbage can."

"Then she makes an anonymous call to the police. Tips them off to where they can find the wig too."

"Wait a minute. The paper didn't print the part about red wig hair found at the crime scene. So how would Angel have known how desperate the police were to find the owner of the wig? Only the killer would know how important the fake hair could be to cracking the case."

My bubble wasn't popped because Mitch didn't share my sudden enthusiasm. But it burst when he spoke again.

"This mornin's paper had the story on the front page. Even included the part about the lipstick smears found on Ethel's dress sleeve. The story ended by sayin' the evidence was shipped off to the crime lab in Harrisburg for analysis."

If it wouldn't be so hypocritical, I probably would have cursed the paper for suddenly doing its job too well. And without the benefit of my carefully guided influence.