Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)(80)

“Hello, Mrs. Langley,” the detective said with a cursory glance around the shop. He seemed uncomfortable in an environment generally reserved for women—although plenty of men enjoy knitting and crocheting, too.

“Have you met my sister?” Margaret asked and all but dragged me forward to meet her hero. “This is Lydia Goetz.”

“Nice to meet you.” He was a nice-looking man in his forties, wearing a well-cut suit, his hair slightly on the long side. I vaguely remembered Colette saying she’d heard of the man assigned to investigate the carjacking. Apparently, her husband had known him.

“Can I do anything for you?” Margaret asked. “Would you like some coffee? Tea? Knitting lessons?” This might have been confused with flirting had it come from anyone else. My sister is far too abrupt to flirt; I doubt she even knows how.

“Nothing, thanks.” The detective stood there awkwardly, gazing down at the floor for a moment. He raised his head. “I felt I should let you know we took everything we had on Chesterfield to the prosecutor.”

“You’re going to arrest him now, right? That’s how it works, doesn’t it?” Margaret asked.

I detected a change in her voice. It was almost as if the anger was back, just below the surface, ready to explode given any provocation.

“Normally, yes, but Chesterfield came up with a valid alibi.”

“It’s a lie!” she burst out.

Detective Johnson nodded. “We think so, too. However, we can’t prove it.”

“But Julia identified him.”

“It isn’t enough,” the detective said. “The prosecutor said he can’t make a case. I’m sorry. We can’t charge Chesterfield.”

“So you aren’t making an arrest?”

He shook his head sadly. “I know you’re upset.”

Margaret didn’t bother to acknowledge his statement. Instead she wanted the details. “How did this happen?” Her voice was nearly devoid of emotion, which told me how dangerously furious she was.

“I’m sorry….”

Margaret was too angry to hold still and started pacing. “I can’t believe this!”

“Mrs. Langley.”

I walked over to my sister and put my hand on her shoulder, trying to offer comfort where there was none to be had.

“You mean to say Danny Chesterfield’s free to hurt someone else’s daughter?” she demanded, not giving the detective a chance to answer her previous question.

He nodded, his expression grim. “We did everything we could.”

Margaret stared straight ahead. “I see.”

“He’ll be caught sooner or later,” the detective told Margaret. “It’s only a matter of time. Again, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Margaret looked at him coldly.

“The problem is that Danny Chesterfield’s all too familiar with the legal system. He knows how to work it. He’s a career criminal with a rap sheet that looks like a spoiled kid’s Christmas list.”

“That’s supposed to reassure me?”

“No. I feel bad about this, Mrs. Langley.” I had the definite impression that he’d rather be anyplace than here.

I admired his courage in coming to talk to Margaret personally rather than telling her this over the phone. Facing my sister couldn’t have been easy, especially when he had to deliver such distressing news.

My inclination was to console Margaret as best I could. One glance at the hardness that stole over her face told me I’d do well to keep my distance. My sister wasn’t in the mood for consolation.

“I appreciate your stopping by,” I said politely when it became apparent that she had nothing more to say.

Detective Johnson had walked to the door when he noticed Whiskers, warming himself in the shop window. He paused, then went over to my cat and scratched his ears, forever endearing himself. Whiskers stretched his lean body to its full length and yawned loudly. With a final nod over his shoulder, the detective left.

Margaret’s confidence that Julia’s ordeal was almost over had been destroyed. “What now?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “How am I supposed to tell Julia?”

“Do you have to mention it?” I asked.

“She’ll know.” Margaret still hadn’t moved. “She’ll find out.”

I had the urge to take her by the hand and lead her to the office, where I’d force her to drink a cup of heavily sugared coffee. She seemed to be in some form of shock, an anger-induced torment that frightened me. I’d seen Margaret angry before but never like this.

“I want another detective assigned to the case.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said sharply.

“A woman this time,” she added, ignoring my outburst.

“The prosecutor could be a woman,” I said in an attempt to reason with her.

“I doubt it,” Margaret said contemptuously. “Only a man would do something this stupid.”

“Margaret!” She didn’t seem to recognize how outlandish she sounded.

She grew quiet again. An unnatural quiet that made chills race down my spine. “This isn’t over yet,” she said.

“Margaret.” I tried again, beginning to feel a little desperate. “What are you going to do?” I wasn’t letting her out of my sight until I knew her intentions.