“I assumed the jumpsuits were included in the steep fee they’re charging us to house our prisoners,” the chief said.
“Steep is the word, and it only covers the bare walls of a cell,” Randall said. “Meals, sheets, uniforms, laundry—everything’s extra. We could probably save money if we housed our prisoners at the Caerphilly Inn.”
“So the jumpsuits aren’t available,” Vern said. “But the reverend over at the New Life Baptist Church offered to lend us some of their choir robes.”
“They’re squeaky clean,” Minerva said. “Which is more than I can say for our poor jumpsuits. Have you seen the condition they’ve been in since Clay County’s been taking care of them? I wouldn’t put an axe murderer in one of those filthy things, much less a respectable citizen of Caerphilly County. And what’s more—”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Randall said. “Let’s put the boxes down over there. Horace, why don’t you do the reporters next, so they can get on about their business.”
Minerva and Vern waited until the chief nodded his approval before scrambling to follow Randall’s suggestion.
We all watched as Horace swabbed first Kate and then the photographer. Minerva escorted Kate out of the tent, while Vern took the photographer.
My turn next. I waited while Horace swabbed my hands and carefully bagged the swab. Then I followed Minerva out of the tent to a smaller one nearby that had a folding screen dividing it in two.
“Just put this on and hand your clothes out to me,” she said, gesturing to the screen.
I did as she asked. The choir robe seemed voluminous when I held it up, but it only came down to my knees.
“Not a lot of people my height in the choir, I suppose,” I said.
“Plenty of people take your size in a robe, especially when you factor in weight along with height,” she said as she watched me tug at the hem. “But I could only borrow the smaller ones that the choir wasn’t apt to use any time soon.”
I could live with the bare legs, but the little tent was hot and stuffy and I only just stopped myself from reaching up to wipe the sweat off my face with one trailing sleeve. Of course, they’d probably have to wash it after I took it off anyway, but somehow deliberately using the sleeve as a towel seemed rude.
The chief strolled in.
“Oh, good,” Minvera said. “I needed to ask you about something.”
“Just a moment,” the chief said. “Sorry to inconvenience you,” he said, turning to me. “Obviously since you and Randall alibi each other, we don’t really need to test your clothes.”
“But it helps lull the suspicions of all those real suspects,” I said. “Understood.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Henry,” Minerva said. “We have to do something.”
“I have to do quite a few things.” The chief’s voice had only a small edge of testiness, probably because he knew better than to take out his mood on Minerva. “Do you have something I really need to add to my list?”
“Not your list, mine,” she said. “We can’t have a bunch of foul-mouthed amateur comedians performing here tonight in the town square—not with that poor woman lying dead in the courthouse basement.”
“She won’t be in the courthouse basement by then,” the chief said. “In fact, she shouldn’t be there now. She should be over at the morgue, unless the ambulance had a breakdown.”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “That polka music’s going to be bad enough. Make it sound as if we’re celebrating the murder.”
The chief glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance and lowered his voice.
“I agree, the polka music won’t be very appropriate,” he said. “Anymore than the hog calling. But I’ve got to be able to send my officers to the basement. We need the polka music and the comics and even more the crowds they’ll draw to cover the noise and bustle of all that toing and froing.”
“Well, I know that!” Minerva had put her hands on her hips and fixed the chief with the exasperated look of a wife whose husband is being particularly uncooperative. I understood exactly how she felt, and yet I made a mental note to delete that particular tone and gesture from my wifely repertory. “I just wanted to tell you what we’re doing to take care of the problem.”
The chief raised one eyebrow, as if he wasn’t really expecting to like her solution.
“The New Life Baptist Choir will be giving a memorial concert.” Minerva lifted her head high in a subtle, dignified, but definitely triumphant gesture. “I talked to the reverend while I was borrowing the choir robes. It’s all arranged.”