The Secrets on Chicory Lane: A Novel(52)

“But Ms. Truman, we understand you used to live across the street from Evil Eddie … Ms. Truman.” She started following me in that irritating, obsessive way media people are so good at.

I turned and forcefully told her to stop following me. “I mean it,” I said. Finally, she looked apologetic. “Very well, thank you,” she said and pulled the cameraman away. He had been shooting anyway, so I figured I’d be on the ten o’clock news doing the get-out-of-my-face routine. It was interesting that she’d known about my connection with Eddie. But I didn’t mind, as long as my romantic involvement with him over the years didn’t come out. Even if it did, what the hell, it was the truth. My publicist would probably love the revelation.

A Wendy’s burger joint provided refuge, and I spotted a few other folks who had been spectators that morning. Best to avoid them. However, as I sat with my salad and baked potato, I noticed the tall, white-haired man at a table by himself. He ate slowly, seemingly lost in thought. I built up the nerve to approach his table.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He looked up. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but I know you somehow, and I’m trying to remember how I do. My name is Shelby Truman, and I’m attending the Eddie Newcott—Edward Newcott—trial.”

The man blinked, and I thought he would choke. “My word, little Shelby Truman.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name is Jim Baxter. I used to be a police detective. You knew me as Detective Baxter, back in the sixties.” He tried to stand up but I stopped him and sat across from him.

My God, it all came back to me. He was the nice policeman that had investigated the abduction of my little brother back in ’66.

“You gave me gum,” I said.

“Did I?”

“Yes, and you were nice to me. Gosh, I remember you, Detective. How nice to see you.”

“Very nice to see you, too. I understand you’re rich and famous.”

I shook my head, embarrassed. “Well …”

“Don’t look that way, you should be proud.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“I’m not a detective any more. I’m retired. I’m seventy-eight years old.”

“Well, you look great.”

The man shrugged. “I golf sometimes, although I’m slowing down. I’m sorry to hear about your father. He and I saw each other around town once in a while. Terrific fellow.”

“Thank you. Yeah, I’m here settling his affairs. Know anyone who needs a two-bedroom apartment on the east side?”

“No, but if I hear of anything …”

I gave him the realtor’s information and went back to my table, but he gestured to me, asking me to join him.

“Mr. Baxter—”

“Call me Jim.”

“Jim, why are you attending the trial?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Eddie and I lived across the street from each other, remember?”

“Yes, I do. He was a witness in what happened to your baby brother. Eddie was, what, eleven years old?”

“That’s right.”

The man shook his head. “That boy went through an awful time.”

“Yeah, I guess he did. But you caught Mr. Alpine—the man who really did it.”

“Yes, we did.”

“Boy, I’d sure like to know more about your investigation. I don’t think I really know much about it at all. I was only twelve then. A lot of those memories have been blocked out, you know what I mean?”

“Sure I do. Your family went through a terrible tragedy.”

“So why are you here at the trial? It looked like you and Eddie know each other.”

“We do. We got to know each other very well back in 1966. And I’ve had contact with him at various times throughout the years as he grew up and became an adult. Limite may be booming, but it’s still a small town at heart.”

“Eddie really did kill that woman, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. But I agree with his defense attorney. Eddie Newcott is a sick man. Very sick, but his affliction is subtle. I’m supposed to testify.”

“What are you going to say?”

“Ms. Truman—”

“Call me Shelby.”

“Shelby, I can’t tell you. In fact, I may not get to testify. The prosecution has filed a motion to keep Crane from calling me to the stand. They say it’s irrelevant to the case. Mr. Crane and I don’t agree. But the prosecution also wants to call a witness that the defense objects to. Maybe there will be an even trade. So if you’re in the courtroom if and when I do testify, you’ll hear it for yourself.”

“When will that be?”

He estimated that the prosecution would take a week to present its evidence. Crane planned to call Baxter to the stand toward the end of the defense. It could be two weeks before his testimony was heard.

It didn’t matter. I was hooked and had made up my mind to stay in Limite for the duration of the trial. Baxter gave me his card, and we traded contact details.

When I returned to the courthouse, it was time for the prosecution to begin presenting its case.





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