An act of deception!
And why, Chunky Jones,” Ms. Angela Potts said, “are you taking me to a motel?”
Sheriff Jones parked in front of a long building with eight numbered doors and gave his passenger— who’d once been his fifthgrade teacher—a look. “Ms. Potts,” he said, “you asked to come along. I’m in no mood for jokes.”
“Says the man who, when he was 10, tried to stuff a grasshopper up his nose.” “This is serious business.” “How serious?” “You’ll see,” he said and slid out into the morning sun. Angela followed, noticed Deputy Fred Prewitt’s car parked nearby— and stopped. Prewitt and an older lady were standing outside a door marked OFFICE, and sprawled on the ground between them was a dead body.
The woman was Thelma Jordan, manager of the Pine Lake Inn. Prewitt had identified the corpse as the recently escaped convict Edmund Hall. Ms. Jordan said he’d been shot by a guest—vicky Shaw—who was distraught and resting in her room. Prewitt went to fetch her while the others entered Jordan’s office. It had one door, one window at the opposite end, a bathroom and, instead of a bed, a desk and swivel chair. “Is that Pine Lake?” Angela asked, pointing to the only window.
Ms. Jordan nodded. “Yes. Every room’s like this one, with the same view. Guests can watch sunsets over the water.”
“Do you have many guests staying here?”
“Just Ms. Shaw at the moment,” she said sadly. “And I know what you’re thinking: Since there’s no extra car out front, did Hall somehow come here across the lake?” “Did he?” “Doubtful. No boats out back.”
Prewitt returned with Ms. Shaw, who stopped in her tracks to stare at the body. “Who was he?” she murmured. “Ed Hall,” the sheriff said. “Heard of him?” “No.” “Come in, Ms. Shaw. Tell us what happened.” It was an odd story. After loading her car this morning—and seeing Ms. Jordan stroll down to the lake— Ms. Shaw had spotted a man trying to force open the door to the office. She assumed he was trying to rob it. But he looked up, saw her and pulled out a gun. Without thinking, Ms. Shaw drew her own pistol— and shot him dead. The entire room had gone silent. Finally the sheriff asked, “Do you always carry a gun?”
“Only in my car. But early this morning, as I was dressing, I saw a long shadow on the floor of my room from the open window. Someone was watching me.” “Who was it?” “Edmund Hall, I guess. But when I turned, whoever it was had gone.”
“So you put the gun in your purse?” “My pocket.” “And you never saw him before today?”
“No.”
Sheriff Jones nodded. “That’ll be all for now, Ms.—” “Why’d you make up this story?” Angela asked.
Everybody turned to stare at her. “What?” Ms. Shaw said. “Edmund Hall didn’t come here in his own car or boat, and he wouldn’t be way out here on foot. You two came here together, didn’t you?”
“No! Why on Earth would you think that?”
Angela leaned forward. “Because the sheriff called him Ed. If you hadn’t heard of him before, I can see how you might’ve guessed Edward or Edgar or even Edwin. But you said Edmund.” She paused. “You knew him. Why’d you kill him, Ms. Shaw?”
Ms. Shaw’s face fell; her shoulders sagged. Then she said fiercely, “Because he deserved it. He said he was gonna steal the manager’s car keys and leave me even though I helped him escape and hid him here last night. So, when he tried to break into the office, I saw my chance and took it.”
There was no more to say. As Prewitt led Ms. Shaw away, a stunned Sheriff Jones said to Angela, “You took a chance, too. This Ed/ Edmund business wasn’t enough to convince you she was guilty. She could’ve heard the name someplace else.”
Angela smiled. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Then what did convince you she lied?”