Blow Out

“I shall see to it that new laws are passed. Murder done in the highest Court in the land! It will go down as a disgraceful point in our history.”

“Yes, indeed,” Sherlock said. “As it should.” She proceeded to introduce all of them to the Justices and their spouses. She got the distinct impression that neither Justice was pleased to see them.

Callie moved to sit beside her mother. Bitsy St. Pierre quickly scooted over to give her room.

Savich said to Harry Thorpe, “I had wanted to meet you, sir. I’ve been told that you own and operate Harry’s.”

Harry Thorpe looked up at Savich, his mouth opening to reply when Justice Alto-Thorpe said, “He sells fish. What are you doing here, Agents?”

Savich said, “We wanted to see how Mrs. Califano was doing. I assume that’s why you are all here?” His question included Justice Wallace and his wife.

Justice Wallace said quickly, “Yes, of course. Beth and I are friends of the family, have been for many years. Naturally we’d want to see how Margaret is holding up.”

Thankfully, Justice Alto-Thorpe remained silent, but she continued to look at Savich, Sherlock, and Ben as if the murders were all their fault.

Savich said, “I assume your federal marshals brought you here?”

Justice Wallace nodded. “Fine fellows. We feel quite safe with them around.” Beth Wallace didn’t say a word. From her expression it was obvious she didn’t want to be here. Sherlock saw her look directly at Margaret, and there was something in those faded eyes of hers, something that bothered Sherlock, something that wasn’t quite right. Then it was clear. She knew, Sherlock realized, she knew very well that her husband had wanted to add another notch to his aging belt. Sherlock would wager she also knew that Stewart Califano knew about it as well and had been upset at her husband. But why was she looking at Margaret like that? Margaret wasn’t the one in the wrong. Then Beth Wallace looked at her husband, saw that he was staring at Margaret. Sherlock saw her wince, look down at her clasped hands, slumping her shoulders, as if in defeat. She’d said everything she felt and knew without speaking a word. She was dressed in lovely black wool trousers, a pink cashmere sweater, and a matching black wool blazer. She looked good on the outside. But her insides?

Margaret said, “Would you like some coffee? Tea? No, not you, Anna, you’ve done enough.”

“That would be lovely,” Sherlock said. Janette Weaverton quickly rose. Did the women have a rotation schedule? Sherlock could easily picture Janette in tennis whites, skillfully wielding a racket. Yes, Janette looked like she’d be a winner at tennis. Sherlock smiled. “Why don’t I help you fetch the goodies?”

The Kettering kitchen was large, the walls a pale yellow, the appliances sparkling new. A large pine table was set in the center, and Sherlock remembered the meal they’d had here with Miles and Katie and the children before they’d returned to Jessborough, Tennessee.

“This is a lovely home,” Janette Weaverton said, and went efficiently to the coffeepot. Was she staying here with Margaret? Actually sleeping here? Were the other friends as well?

There was really nothing for Sherlock to do, which didn’t surprise her. These women seemed so very organized. She leaned against the counter and said, “Margaret has more color in her cheeks. She’s very lucky she has such good friends.”

“She’s still pretty bad, just sits there, staring off, and the rest of us sit there with her and worry and try to distract her. But she’ll make it. Margaret’s very strong.”

“How did the five of you get together, Mrs. Weaverton?”

“Janette, please, Agent Sherlock. Incidentally, that’s an interesting name. I bet you get lots of jokes about it since you’re an FBI agent.”

“Endless numbers of comments, yes. My father is a federal judge in San Francisco, and he gets the jokes too. But not in his courtroom—oh no. I think the ‘Judge Sherlock’ scares some of the defendants to their toes. Please call me Sherlock.”

“Okay, Sherlock. The five of us got together in school. We all went to Bryn Mawr, outside Philadelphia, same place Callie went to school.”

“You’ve known each other that long?”

“Well, we didn’t all meet on the same day. I roomed with Margaret our freshman year, so I guess you’d call us the two originals. Actually, we called ourselves the two Eves. Then we picked up Bitsy in biology the second year, Juliette shared an off-campus suite in the third year, and Anna Clifford, a math whiz, was tutoring one of our boyfriends in our senior year. We came together and stayed together.”