Archives:
July 8-July 14, 2007
July 8, 2007
“I played pinochle the other day for the first time in years,” Grandma says, making a discard in our game of canasta.
I finish chewing on one of the chocolate chip cookies she baked this morning, before I came over. “Is that right? It's been years since I played that myself.”
“I know. The last time I played was with you and Ray.”
It's kind of sad to think of how long ago it was, the last time we all played cards. Ray's in town so infrequently now that when he is here we don't worry about passing the time—it seems like we spend every minute talking, catching up on what's happened since the last time we saw him, or reminiscing about things that happened ten years before.
“Someone new moved in down the hall, though. Her name's Eve,” Grandma says. “And she likes to play. So one of my other card friends and I have our third player now.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say, drawing my next cards. “Isn't there a two person version of that game too?”
Grandma waves her hand. “That one's no good. You need three.”
“Well maybe we can rope Ray into a game when he's here next month. That is, if he still remembers how to play.”
“Ah, he'll be busy with all of the wedding nonsense. People always are,” she says, taking a cookie for herself. “It's good, though. Silly as it is, it's good for people to have something to celebrate like that.”
It will be good. And, from what my father was saying, the trial should be over before the wedding, so it will be nice to relax after that, and get the whole family together before I head off back to school.
It's still more than a month away, though.
In the mean time, I make my discard, and take a long sip from my glass of milk.July 9, 2007
Shelly, the prosecutor, used Charlie just how my father expected him to. He was at the house consistently leading up to the murder, lending a certain credence to whatever he said. Beyond that, his kind of dimwitted nature is lending him the air of someone who doesn't know enough to lie—someone who has to be right.
Charlie told the jury just what he told my father. Cheryl Goodman was always nice. Darryl Goodman was mean.
“Charlie, what kind of work did you do for the Goodmans?” Dad asks, standing a good distance from him.
“I was their gardener,” he says with a shrug, his hulking shoulders bobbing beneath his suit, which is just a little too small for him. “I would trim the bushes and mow the lawn. I planted flowers for Mrs. Goodman—whatever she wanted.”
“You liked Mrs. Goodman, didn't you?”
Charlie nods. “Mrs. Goodman was always n-nice.”
“And Mr. Goodman was not as nice to you?”
Charlie shakes his head.
“Do you remember why you didn't think he was nice to you?”
Charlie looks down and shakes his head again.
“Is it true that you had a crush on Mrs. Goodman?”
He shakes his head, his mouth open. “I—I don't know what you mean.”
“Is it true that you found Mrs. Goodman romantically, or sexually appealing?” Dad steps aside, putting Valerie and I clearly within his view. “Or for that matter, did you find Mr. Goodman's daughter, Valerie Goodman, sexually appealing?”
Charlie swallows, and looks toward Shelly. “I—I—” He stops. “They were both nice to me.”
“Charlie, I need for you to answer my question.”
“Objection,” Shelly sputters. “How is this relevant?”
“Do you have a point, Mr. Burns?” the judge asks.
My father nods, keeping his eyes on Charlie. “Is the reason you think Mr. Goodman is mean, that he told you you were making his wife and daughter uncomfortable?”
Charlie looks down, nodding. “They were always nice to me.”
Half the jury's looking at us, some staring, some just sneaking peeks. I know my father's strategy worked. They aren't enamored with Charlie any more.July 10, 2007
“Hey Matt,” I say picking up my phone, still in bed. I glance at my clock radio, wondering if I reset it some half asleep state. The truth is, it didn't go off at all—it's only 7:15 in the morning. “Little early to be calling, isn't it?”
“Yeah, we're taking the kids on a field trip today to this museum of farm equipment,” Matt says.
“You've got to be kidding me.”
“What, you're upset you're missing out?”
“Yeah,” I say with a yawn. “I mean, when people ask me about the single most boring experience of my life, I'm always stumped for an answer.”
Matt chuckles. “Anyway, I was in charge of getting all of the bagged lunches together, so I had to be up early to make sure everything was set up right.”
“ 7:15 early?”
“ 6:30 early, actually. Now the work is done and I've got 15 minutes before the kids get up.”
“So you're killing time?”
“Don't know any better way to do it. Beautiful lake in front of me, best friend on the phone.”
I yawn again. “Couldn't you wake up Julie or something?”
“Eh, we got in a fight last night. Figured I'd better not press my luck.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah it was a stupid thing. We were all talking about the weirdest place we'd ever done it.”
“And you brought up the parking lot?”
“Actually the pole vault mat after a track meet.”
“Did you tell me about that one?”
“Might not have—Julie swore me to secrecy back then.”
“An oath you didn't feel it was necessary to uphold last night?”
“The thing is, that I didn't even say that I had done it with her. But she just got all embarrassed and went outside.”
“So you think she's really pissed?”
“Eh, she'll get over it. I'll apologize again today.”
“Good call.”
“So how's the trial going?”
“It's going,” I say, rubbing my eyes, before I go into the latest.July 11, 2007
“And could you clarify, for the jury, what it means when you say that you are neighbors to the Goodmans?”
“I live directly across the street from them,” George Holmer says from the stand. He's a thin man, probably five to ten years older than Darryl, with silver hair. “Have for over twenty years.”
Dad nods. “Now the prosecution brought you into today because you said you didn't see anyone stop at the house between Cheryl Goodman and Darryl Goodman. Is that right?'
“Yes, it is.”
“And you say that you did notice when each of the Goodmans arrived at their home.”
“Yes. My living room window faces right at their house, so I tend to notice when they're coming and going.”
“Mm hmm. Now, tell us, Mr. Holmer, is it possible that someone else arrived home between the Goodmans.”
“Yes—yes, it is, and that's what I was trying to say before Mr. Shelly, over there, started cutting me off.” He shifts in his seat, glancing at the prosecutor's table, then turning to the jury. “I could have gotten up to go to the bathroom, or to pick up the phone when someone else did come. It's possible I was just caught up in the TV, and didn't notice when someone else did go in. If I'd have known I was going to be quizzed on it later, I would have paid closer attention.”
Dad chuckles. “Well let's take a step back here. You said you lived across the street from Darryl Goodman for twenty years. What do you think of him.”
Mr. Holmer turns his eyes to Darryl. “Well the first time I met the guy, he was helping me move in. Next Sunday, he came to my door to invite me over to watch a football game. He's been a good friend ever since.”
“And did your good friend, Mr. Goodman, ever give you any reason to think he would murder his wife?”
“God no,” Mr. Holmer shakes his head, “he loved Cheryl. And we talked about her often. Only thing he talked more about was his little girl,” he goes on, gesturing to where Valerie, Adam and I sit. “But no. He never had an unkind thing to say about his wife. And there's no way he ever would have hurt her.”July 12, 2007
“What's that?” Teri asks over the phone.
“An apple,” I say, still chewing on it as I search for the TV remote in my living room, then taking another bite.
“Sounded funny over the phone,” she goes on. “So anyway, I was saying that I'm going back to Taylor a week early to work on SA stuff—prepare for all of the welcome events for new freshmen, and all that jazz.”
“Gotcha.” I find the remote and turn the TV on, muting it quickly, and beginning to flip through the channels.
“So I was going to ask you if you would want to come stay with me for a few days.”
“Interesting.”
“I just figure Phoebe and Amelia won't be around, so it would be kind of nice to get the apartment to ourselves. That, and I wouldn't have to be lonely.”
I take another bite from my apple, settling on an old basketball game on ESPN Classic on the TV. “Might not be a bad idea. I mean, I would like to get a head start on stuff in The Window office anyway—make sure I'm good to go when the year starts up.”
“Well perfect, then. You could come back with me, and we'll both work during the day, play at night.”
I chuckle as I shift, so I'm lying down on the couch. “Of course, I probably won't want to head back until this trial is wrapped up.”
“Right. The trial.” The more we've talked about the trial, the less Teri has seemed interested in hearing about it. I think it has to do with Valerie, but I can't really come out and ask her about that. Regardless, I've tried to steer clear of talking about it.
“So,” I go on quickly, “only two days before I get to see you.”
“Don't remind me.”
“Excuse me?”
She sighs. “I have to wait another two days.”July 13, 2007
I stuff a second pair of jeans into my duffel bag. I know I'm packing a lot more than I need, but I don't want to forget anything, and have to end up turning back, or going without. I have mixed emotions about leaving town. On one hand, I do want to see Teri. And besides that, I'm sick of the courtroom. On the other hand, I'm kind of sad not to have so much as the prospect of seeing Valerie for the next couple days.
With that conflict of interests in mind, I think it's probably best for me to leave.
“Looks like you're getting all packed up,” Dad says, stepping into my room, his dress shirt unbuttoned, his tie hanging loose and uneven around from his neck.
“Yeah, I'm heading out to meet Teri in Shepherdsport. Thought I told you about that.”
“Yeah,” Dad scratches his chest, “just slipped my mind that it was this weekend. It's good that you're getting away for a little while, though.”
I fold up a t-shirt. “All the stuff with the trial has just been kind of heavy, you know?”
Dad nods. “I never thought I'd have to defend one my best friends in a situation like this. And much less have you involved in it.” He runs a hand over his face. “Anyway, I was going to head to the store, and pick up a few odds and ends. Is there anything you need for the trip?”
“Na, Dad, I think I'm all set.” My phone vibrates on my desk, rumbling against the wood. I pick it up and look at the caller ID. “Looks like my lady's calling now.”
“I'll let you get that,” Dad says with a wave, heading out.
“All right, I'll talk to you later, Dad.” I pick up the phone, as he's walking away. “Hello, beautiful.”July 14, 2007
“This place is beautiful,” Teri says, stepping over a fallen tree branch along the trail.
“I have my sources.” She gives me a look, and I go on, “It was listed as a hot spot online.”
“It's beautiful,” she repeats, looking away as we get to a clearing. She takes her digital camera from her back pack and snaps a picture of the view.
Shepherdsport is a small town, about 3 hours from me, 4 from Teri. From what I can tell, there's not much going on here—not a lot of stores, restaurants, bars, or anything like that. It's more of a place for outdoorsy people, with mountains, a river, woods. I had a feeling Teri was going to like it.
This trail is leading us upwards, to the top of what, technically, isn't high enough to be a mountain, but it feels that way to me. It occurs to me that, in keeping up with her running, Teri's gotten to the point where she's in significantly better shape than me, and I do all that I can not to show that I'm not struggling to keep up.
Teri spins and hugs me as I catch up to her. I'm a little embarrassed by how much sweatier I am, but she doesn't seem to notice, giving my nose a quick kiss. “This was such a good idea—meeting halfway between us like this.”
I don't want to tell her where I got that idea—about meeting Veronica in Duncanville last summer, and what an amazing time we had. “Guess I'm smarter than you give me credit for.”
She sort of shrugs. “I don't give you much credit.”
“And I like that your standards are low,” I say, giving her a kiss.