Tehani Croft : Small Town Gossip

Tehani Croft has been reading stories for as long as she can remember, and started writing them not long after that. She recalls going through the stages of writing from horse stories, to romances, to science fiction and fantasy, and now tends to grab at any floating thought particles and put them into a story of whatever genre they seem to fit. She is currently unpublished, excepting on her own website, the local paper and in a number of school magazines, including the most recent one for the school at which she holds her first teaching post.

She happily writes in journalese as well as fiction, because, as all the good writers say, "It doesn't matter what you write, just write!" Besides teaching and writing articles for the local paper, Tehani is involved in creating a new national print magazine for writers of speculative fiction. This new publication is hoped to provide an exciting and fresh Australian market for authors and fans of the genre. Tehani is an avid speculative fiction devotee, and a fanatical collector of books, crystal and cats. She has the obligatory novel or two in progress, and hopes to avoid becoming the 'crazy old witch lady with the cats' later in life, although she believes things don't look good in that regard, as the cat population of her household seems to multiply without effort.

"D’YOU KNOW THEY’RE DOIN’ IT?"

"Who’s doing what?" Trudy asked absently as she flicked the tap expertly to give the beer a good head. She wasn’t really listening to Bob, who usually rambled on at her about pretty much nothing, especially when he was the only patron in the bar.

He frowned at her. "Jack and Mrs Cook. They’re doin’ the funky chicken when Mick goes out shooting. Most nights."

Trudy schooled her features into composed lines, not allowing her face to betray her shock. Of course she’d known. Between she and her uncle, who owned the bar which she managed, there wasn’t a great deal she didn’t know about what went on beneath the surface of their seemingly sleepy little town.

There wasn’t an awful lot they let on about either. Good publicans didn’t. Trudy’s unspoken policy was the same as her uncle’s. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil; at least, not until you heard it being discussed by other sources. This policy had always served them well. Trudy refused to be like so many other business people in the town, who traded in gossip as much as anything. She had lived here all her twenty-nine years, and knew everyone in the district. And their secrets.

"Now what would you know about Josie Cook’s sex life Bob?" she asked with a knowing smile. "By the time Mick goes out shooting, you’re so pissed you can barely see the glass in front of you."

At barely 11am, Bob managed to look affronted by her words, but then he grinned sheepishly. "Tru, you know me too well." She nodded sagely. She had been serving him at the pub since he was old enough to be there. "But I did hear it from someone who saw."

Trudy sighed. Bob was on a roll. "And who might that be? This reliable source of yours?"

"Um, Whiskey Dan."

Trudy snorted in disbelief. "Bob, the nights you pair don’t stagger out of here holding each other up are the nights Dan’s passed out before you." She fixed him with a glare that was only half in jest. "Please, don’t you have anything better to talk about than the third hand gossip from drunken bums?" Ignoring his open mouth, she moved back down the bar to her paperwork, leaving Bob muttering into his pot.

It wasn’t until nearly two weeks later that Trudy had cause to remember her conversation with Bob. It was almost midnight, and she was having a couple of quiet drinks with a few of the regulars, while her uncle, Tom, finished up. Suddenly the local cops shot past the window up the main street, lights flashing and sirens screaming. Two minutes later, the ambulance came blaring out of its driveway opposite the pub. Trudy and Joe poked their heads out the door and watched as the wailing vehicle turned into a side street.

Tom shook his head as they reported to him. "It’s a local then. Wonder what it’s about?" His tone conveyed no real curiosity. They would find out soon enough, it was a small town. They would stay open a bit longer tonight.

"Bloody hell!" Trudy gaped at Bruce, who was the local sergeant and her favourite cousin. "With a screwdriver?"

Bruce nodded, his face still pale with shock. "I’ve never seen anything like it." He scrubbed his hand over his forehead as Tom poured him another neat Bundy. The man needed it. "The main reason I came back to the country was to get away from the violent crimes."

He tipped the rum down his throat and Tom quietly set up another, fixing two with coke for his niece and himself.

"I wonder if it would be any easier if you didn’t know her?" Tom said. He was fond of his nephew, and proud of him. Of all his relatives, these two were his favourites; his dead sister’s girl, who he had raised since she was twelve, and his older brother’s youngest son, who had done so well. Tom hated to see either of them distressed, even when it came with the job.

Bruce shuddered at his uncle’s reflective question. "Nope, I don’t reckon so. Geez Tom, there was so much blood …" His eyes were red and weary, and Trudy rubbed a reassuring hand up his arm. Only a couple of years older than her, Bruce was a tough nut as far as the town was concerned, but something like this was bound to shake up the hardest cop.

"D’you have any ideas about who did it?" Tom asked as he put the next round of drinks on the bar, judiciously adding a little Coke now to Bruce’s. His nephew shook his head.

"Who would? She was a lovely lady. I guess it’s just lucky the kids weren’t there. And poor Mick. Poor bloody sod." Bruce shuddered again, taking a long gulp of his drink.

Tom and Trudy exchanged glances over Bruce’s head. There was nothing they didn’t discuss, and they remembered Josie Cook’s infidelity with Jack Ryan. Quite likely it wouldn’t take Bruce too much longer to recall it either, once his nerves were settled, as it had become fodder for the gossip mill over the past few weeks. It was an even bet that the ‘poor bloody sod’ could well have been the one to stab his wife to death with a screwdriver.

"So where is Mick?" Trudy asked casually.

Bruce raised his head. "Scottie said he’d gone for the weekend with Paul and Rodney, up Emerald way. Shooting and fishing. Smithy’s onto the boys up there, trying to track them down."

Tom nodded, and Trudy said thoughtfully, "How come the neighbours didn’t hear anything Bruce? Surely she screamed?"

Bruce looked sick. "Don’t know yet Tru. He might have knocked her out first. Who can tell? We’ll know more tomorrow once the docs in Toowoomba have checked her out."

Although she did not want to upset her cousin further, Trudy had one more question. "Who found her?"

"Steve Ryan." The look Trudy shot at her uncle spoke volumes. What had Jack Ryan’s brother been doing at Josie Cook’s house at twelve o’clock on a Saturday night?

"Bloody buzzards," Trudy muttered to her uncle one afternoon after overhearing a whispered argument between two local grandmothers about whether Steve had been putting it to Josie as well, and Jack had killed her in a fit of jealousy. It was only one of almost a dozen such theories that were streaking around the town, along with all manner of grisly descriptions of the murder itself. Trudy and Tom were decidedly tight lipped about the whole affair. Bruce was family, and what he had told them would not go any further. But they listened.

Bruce told them in confidence the details of the investigation. He needed to talk about it, and he didn’t think his wife could deal with the details. "Besides," he had shrugged ruefully, on more than one occasion, "Jules wouldn’t know discretion if it bit her on the arse."

He told them that the screwdriver belonged to the household. It wasn’t even from Mick’s tool kit, but was one Josie had always used around the house. It had yielded few useable fingerprints, and those seemed to be only Josie’s. With all the blood, and the inexpert police handling – Bruce had grinned wryly when admitting that – it was unlikely the screwdriver would be of much practical use to the investigation.

The neighbours had neither seen nor heard anything, not until Steve Ryan had run out the front door yelling for an ambulance. No one had seen him enter, but he claimed he had arrived only minutes prior to finding Josie in the bedroom. Why was he there? Looking for Jack.

"So what does Jack say?" Trudy asked her cousin.

Bruce grimaced. "After a bit of crap, he finally said he was there. Earlier. He reckons he left at about nine o’clock. Says they’d had a fight and he took off." Bruce sighed. "The docs reckon Josie didn’t die until after eleven."

"Then where was he between nine and twelve?" Tom asked.

"At home, watching t.v.. He says."

Trudy and Tom nodded at Bruce’s doubtful tone, but Trudy still withheld judgment. She’d known Jack Ryan since they were kids. Hell, she’d even had a fling or two with him over the years and if she was truly honest with herself, she didn’t think he could have done it. He just wasn’t the violent type. The guy used to cry in Ghost for goodness sake!

And Trudy had never thought of him as the jealous type either. God knows, she had been enough of a bitch to him with other guys when they were younger, but he had never retaliated in any way, other than to parade his latest conquest in front of her at the pub; generally when she was sans partner herself. Never in any other way. To think he could have stabbed a woman to death with a screwdriver, especially one he was involved with, was just a little beyond Trudy’s realm of belief. But then, she couldn’t imagine anyone else she knew being that violent either.

"So as far as I can figure," Tom began slowly, "you’ve got three suspects. Mick Cook, Jack Ryan, and Steve Ryan."

Bruce nodded. "Yep. Mick was out of town and Steve’s missus swears he was with her and the kids until he went to find Jack at about quarter to twelve."

Trudy looked puzzled. "Why was he looking for Jack at that time of night?"

Bruce’s face was a map of perplexity. "I don’t know."

"Bloody hell," Bruce swore as he plopped onto the bar stool opposite Trudy. "I’m no bloody good at this sort of thing."

She grinned at him, for his face was as sulky as a child whose favourite lolly had been taken away. "What’s wrong now?"

"Well, I finally got it out of Steve why he went looking for his brother near midnight on a Saturday." Trudy leaned forward on the bar expectantly. "Y’know Jack’s got that kid in Brissy?"

"Yeah, Marky. He’s a good kid."

"Well apparently the mother was having a major drama with some bloke and money and all, and the boy was upset and looking to talk to Jack. He finally got onto Steve, and Steve told him he’d find Jack."

Bruce caught Trudy’s eyes, watching as she realised what that meant. "So why couldn’t Mark get Jack direct, if he was only home watching telly," she said flatly, and Bruce nodded.

"Exactly. I spoke to the kid, and he said he tried three or four times from about 10.30 and got no answer, which is why he eventually rang Steve."

"Shit." Trudy sagged onto the bar. This did not look good for Jack. She sighed as the door swung open again and Bob wandered in, stumbling a bit up the step.

"Jeez Bob, it’s only two o’clock," Bruce complained good-naturedly. "Usually you can still walk straight at this time of day."

Bob focussed blearily on the police officer, and Trudy wondered briefly at the expression that flew over his features. But there was quickly a sloppy smile on the drunk’s face and he carefully made his way to sit beside Bruce. Incredible as it seemed, the pair had gone through school together, although years of alcohol abuse had aged Bob so he appeared much older.

"Hey Brucie," he said, with only a trace of a slur. "How’s it goin’?"

"Yeah, not bad Bob. This bloody shit with Josie’s a bit of a worry though."

The smile left Bob’s face as if wiped with a towel. "That’s shocking that is," he muttered as Trudy put a beer in front of him. "Shouldn’t have happened. Not to Josie."

"It shouldn’t happen to anyone!" Trudy said firmly, and Bob looked up at her, not quite meeting her stern gaze. Silence reigned for a few moments, then Bob turned to Bruce again.

"I hear Paul and Rodney had a good catch up north the other week." His tone was conversational and man to man. Trudy snorted in disgust at his dismissiveness and moved away to check the stock of cigarettes, half listening to the chat.

"Yeah I guess. They stayed on after Mick came home. Bit rough really, since they’re supposed to be his mates and all."

"S’funny," Bob said, "Rod reckons they didn’t even know Mick had come back til they heard it on the news the next day."

Both Trudy and Bruce stared at him. "What are you talking about?" Trudy asked incredulously. "Weren’t they with him when the cops told him?"

Bob shook his head, paling under their scrutiny. "Nah. Rod said they drove up to Duaringa in a convoy then split up. He reckons Mick’s got a girl up there."

"Shit!" Bruce exploded off his stool and headed for the door, leaving a bewildered Bob and a thoughtful Trudy in his wake.

Bob looked at Trudy. "What’d I say?"

It was eleven o’clock that night before Bruce returned. He looked dreadful, desperately in need of a shave and a sleep Trudy thought as she set a rum down in front of him without being asked.

"Ta, Tru," he said hoarsely. Tom motioned her to the other side of the bar, and she went around to sit next to her cousin.

"So what did he say?" Trudy asked quietly.

"Definitely not what I expected," Bruce replied, his voice tired. Tom stood in front of them, absently watching the almost empty bar as he listened. "Did you know he’s gay?"

Trudy spluttered into her rum and Tom’s generally impassive face betrayed his shock. "He’s what?"

Bruce looked at them soberly as Trudy tried to compose herself. "He’s gay. It wasn’t a woman he was seeing up there. It was a bloke. In Rocky."

Trudy gaped at him. "True shit?"

Bruce nodded, and allowed himself a small grin. "And here’s me thinking you two knew everything in this town."

"Apparently not," Tom said dryly. "Bloody hell."
"Yeah," Bruce agreed. "So he has an alibi. I checked it out."

Trudy was still stunned. "But the kids. Josie…?"

Bruce nodded again. "Seems like she knew all about it. They’d been friends for a long time. The kids are his, but it does explain why Josie was with Jack. She hadn’t had it at home for about six years, since before Anthony was born." Bruce took a long drink. "Mick’s really broken up about the whole thing. He really loved her, just not as a husband should."

"Jesus." Trudy joined him in a deep gulp of rum and coke. "Now there’s something you don’t hear everyday."

Tom shook his head. "Not in this town."

"So we’re back to Jack."

Trudy shook her head at Bruce’s disconsolate words. "I just don’t think he could have."

Tom agreed, and Bruce sighed. "I know what you mean. I mean, what motive could he have, and Jesus, with a screwdriver?" He shuddered. "But he still hasn’t explained why he didn’t answer his phone when he reckoned he was at home watching t.v."

"Well, we didn’t see him that night," Trudy said and Tom nodded. "And it was fairly quiet around town. We probably would have noticed his car if it drove past."

"Nah, his car was at home the whole time. Old Mrs Jones next door to him confirms that."

"Where is he now Bruce?" Trudy asked.

Bruce looked shamefaced. "In the holding cell. We have to hold him Tru," he protested at her reproachful look. "He’s been arrested."

Trudy walked purposefully into the station. One of the uniformed locals gave her a grin. "Didja bring us a beer Tru?"

She fixed him with a steely glare. "Ha bloody ha Smithy. I want to see Jack."

Constable Smith’s grin disappeared. "I don’t know Tru. He’s under arrest for murder…"

"I know that dickhead," she told him scornfully, and he almost cringed.

Trudy was older than him, and he had never forgotten how she and his elder sister Emily had tortured him as a kid. Trudy was still tougher than him, and his position as a cop meant little in relation to a lifetime of association.

"Don’t stress, Bruce knows I’m here."

"Oh." Matty Smith was smart enough to see his out when it was presented. "Well, if the Sarge says it’s okay…" He led her through to the cell that held Jack Ryan.

Trudy sank onto the chair which stood next to the cell and gazed at Jack sadly. He looked terrible. So haggard and upset. Like she’d known he would. "Jacky?"

She reached out and took his hand through the bars. His face crumpled. "Oh Tru, how could they think I would…" Tears began to stream down his face, and Trudy felt her eyes fill. He couldn’t have done it.

She sat there quietly for a while, holding his hand while he sobbed, her own tears dripping down her cheeks onto their clasped fingers. Eventually she squeezed his palm, and he looked up, his eyes red and swollen.

"Jack, I don’t think you did this, but you’ve got to see how bad it looks." She gazed at him beseechingly. "You said you were at home, but Marky said he couldn’t get you on the phone. And Steve knows you weren’t there at quarter to twelve when he went looking." She paused and took a deep breath. "Where were you?"

Jack met her gaze unwaveringly for a long moment. Then he shuddered and dropped his eyes. "You’ll hate me," he muttered.

"Never Jacky. I couldn’t."

He looked up again. "I have an alibi, but I doubt she’ll admit to it. Else she would have come forward by now." His voice held a note of pain that Trudy had not heard before, and it puzzled her. "I know she has to protect herself, but shit, this is my life!"

Trudy shushed him with soothing words, her mind racing. He’d been with a woman then. A woman who had a lot to lose, someone who Jack couldn’t, wouldn’t tell the police about, not even to cast a shadow of doubt. Suddenly it hit her.

"Oh shit Jacky."

His eyes betrayed his anguish as comprehension dawned on her. "You see?" His tone was flat. Dead. Like he had no hope.

"No." Trudy’s voice was harsh. "She has to tell. She can’t let you go to jail for this! She couldn’t live with it on her conscience. Especially not if she cares." He dropped his eyes again and Trudy shivered. Jack cared. Whether the woman did or not was another matter. "Don’t worry Jack. I’ll fix this. I promise."

As Trudy knocked on Bruce’s front door, she could hear the television going, blaring out the insurmountable and interminable problems of The Young and the Restless. A minute passed, then Julie opened the door, her cheerful smile fading a little at Trudy’s resolute expression.

"Hey Trudy," she said brightly. "How’s it going?"

"Can I come in?"

Julie stepped back. "Sure. But Bruce isn’t here. He’s on duty today, and with this case and all, I hardly see him lately."

Trudy cut her chattering off. "I know he’s not here. I came to see you."

Trudy walked into her cousin’s lounge room. Julie had obviously been ironing in front of the telly. The baby was asleep in the cot and Trudy moved to caress the child’s soft skin. Julie followed her, her expression closed, all trace of a smile gone. Trudy took a deep breath and turned to face the other woman. "You have to help him."

Julie’s expression became alarmed. "What…" her voice cracked, "what are you talking about?"

"Dammit Jules, how can you stand by and let Jacky go to jail?" Julie’s face crumpled. "No!" Trudy shouted. "Don’t give me that weepy shit! You’ve already hurt Bruce by cheating on him. Don’t hurt Jack too. Have some bloody strength." Julie began to sob out loud, trying to speak at the same time. The baby woke and started to cry, but Julie ignored her screams. Trudy snorted in contempt and picked Steph up, soothing the child while her mother continued to bawl. "Bloody hell," she muttered. If Bruce came home to this, she would have some explaining to do.

Trudy walked over and stood in front of Julie, jiggling Steph in her arms to keep her quiet. When she finally spoke, it was calmly, her voice not betraying any of the anger and pain she felt, but her tone was undeniably no nonsense. "Julie, shut up."

Julie flinched and looked up at her husband’s cousin. "Listen to me," Trudy continued. "You have to tell Bruce." Julie whimpered in dissent. "You have to. Jack will go to jail over this. You, and you alone, will have ruined his life. Could you live with that?"

"What about my life?" Julie suddenly snapped. "Do you think Bruce would ever forgive me? Not a chance."

Trudy glared at her. "You selfish bitch. You should have though of that before you slept with Jack." Trudy shifted Steph to one arm, and with the other hand she grabbed Julie’s shoulder, squeezing hard and forcing the other woman to look at her. "You will tell Bruce," she hissed, "or I will." With that threat, she let Julie go and walked to the door. "I’ll take Steph for the afternoon. You work it out."

The bar was buzzing that evening. Trudy sat in a corner with Joe, Steph asleep on her lap, refusing to be drawn into the speculation and gossip that flew around the pub. Jack had been released and all the charges against him dropped. That was the gist of it. But the rumours that abounded about the why… Trudy sighed. These people would never change. If they didn’t know, they would simply make it up. She had even heard a theory that was simply a storyline from a recent episode of Blue Heelers.

Trudy was the first one to see Bruce enter, mainly because she was waiting for him. He spotted her immediately and headed towards their table. Joe took one look at the young copper’s expression and hastily left, mumbling something about more drinks. Trudy hardly noticed. She watched silently as Bruce moved through the crowd at the bar, ignoring the greetings and questions that followed him.

He reached Trudy and stood towering over her, his face thunderous. "Why didn’t you tell me?" he gritted out from between clenched teeth.

Trudy shook her head sadly. "I’m sorry Bruce. She had to tell you."

"No!" He didn’t quite shout, but his raised voice drew attention. Trudy was well aware of the curious stares they were receiving.

Bruce lowered his voice, but it was still dripping ice. "No. She didn’t. You should have told me, and let me deal with it. Instead she," his voice caught a little, but he continued, "she went into the station when I was out on patrol and told the Ds, with Smithy right there, that Jack was with her that night."

Trudy paled and looked down at the sleeping baby to hide her distress. She hadn’t expected Julie to do that. Then her earlier anger returned. "Cowardly bitch!" she swore, then started as Bruce put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw the grief in his eyes. "Shit Bruce." She stood up and handed Steph to him. His tears began to fall as he held his daughter, and Trudy glanced at her uncle wildly. There were too many people around for this. Tom jerked his head towards the flat and Trudy nodded, gently manoeuvring her anguished cousin through to the back, to privacy.

Some hours later, Trudy sat in the semi darkness of the bar with her uncle. Each sipped a drink contemplatively, lost in their own thoughts but in the companionable silence that only years of familiarity can breed.

"So what now?" Trudy finally wondered aloud. "All the suspects have alibis. The cops don’t have a clue. Unless there’s some sort of giant conspiracy going on between everybody, then someone else did it."

Tom nodded. "Yep. Someone unrelated to anything that has come up so far."

"Mmmn." Trudy mused into her drink. "But I still think it was someone who knew her."

Tom looked surprised. "Why?"

"Don’t know." She shrugged. "Just a feeling. Plus, if she hadn’t known him, she would have kicked up one hell of a fuss, not had sex with him." Bruce had told them that while Josie had been apparently been knocked unconscious before being killed, she had engaged in sexual relations just prior to her death.

"She could have been raped."

"Nah, I don’t think so. She still would have fought." Trudy felt an idea nudge her brain and she frowned. "Tom, Jack reckons he only slept with Josie a few times, and only in the past six months. Have you ever heard of her being with anyone else?"

Tom stared at his niece. "No," he said slowly, realising her train of thought. "No I haven’t."

"But I’ll bet there has been," Trudy said grimly. "Bugger it. I wish I knew who."

Bruce settled with a sigh into a chair in the beer garden, Steph fussing in his lap. Wordlessly, Trudy took the baby from him and he gave her an appreciative smile. He and Julie were still trying to sort things out and he took Steph with him when he was off duty. Trudy did not think it was a good sign, but she did not ask her cousin about it. He would talk if he needed to. Right now she wanted to know what he had discovered about Josie Cook’s lovers.

Bruce sighed again. "It wasn’t easy Tru." She studied him quizzically, automatically rocking the baby as he continued. "Mick and the kids are still so upset. Shit, it’s only been a couple of weeks. But Mick said he didn’t know anyone Josie was with except Jack. He said he basically didn’t want to know, and made himself oblivious to any signs there might have been. The kids didn’t even really know what I was talking about, although …" Bruce broke off, his face thoughtful.

"It’s probably nothing, but Cassie did say something about a bloke late at night a couple of times, when she was in bed. Her window is sort of near the back door. But she reckoned Josie would only talk to him for a minute and then he would leave."

"He never went in?" Trudy asked.

Bruce shook his head. "Not that Cass knows. She said it was always really late, and the man walked funny, but Josie would never let him in."

"Did she know what he looks like?" Trudy’s voice was intense and Bruce gave her a strange look.

"No. It was always too dark. Why Tru? What are you thinking?"

Trudy shuddered. "Horrible thoughts," she replied.

"Care to share?" Bruce asked sardonically. "I am supposed to be the cop in the family."

"Think about it Bruce! Late at night. Walking funny. What does that suggest to you?"

Bruce gaped at her. "No way!" Trudy just nodded, and he sank down in his chair. "Bloody hell."

It was the talk of the town. Not just that day, or that week, but for months afterwards, the topic of conversation always rolled around to it.

How could he? Why would he? Who would have ever thought it? Bundy Bob, a murderer. A violent, vicious, twisted killer at that. Imagine, Bob, who most of the blokes had been drinking with for more than ten years at the pub, stabbing that nice Josie Cook over and over and over. And with a screwdriver no less! It was a horrible thought. And fancy, their own local copper, young Bruce, figuring it out, and getting Bob to confess, when those city detectives didn’t have a clue. Everyone always said he was a smart young fella, even if he did marry that city girl. As well that didn’t last. But Bob, a killer! And him a local and all! Did Trudy know anything about it?

When asked outright, Trudy always shook her head and said with outrageous, wide eyed innocence, "I didn’t have a clue. Wasn’t it clever of Bruce to put all the pieces together?" or, "No, but I shudder when I think of all the times it’s been just me and Bob in the bar and closing time. Frightening." And the gossips would nod in agreement, or sympathetically, and continue in their speculation.

Trudy did not tell them about Bob’s jealousy when he discovered that Josie - who he had been sporadically and clandestinely involved with for over five years - started seeing Jack in a far less private relationship. Bob had confessed to going around to Josie’s half tanked and, after sex, confronting her. She had apparently retaliated by taunting him with his alcoholism and Jack’s superior prowess in bed, as well as the fact that she was not ashamed to have half the town know she was sleeping with Jack, but would never admit to Bob. He had flown off the handle and shoved her.

Josie had stumbled and fallen, hitting her head on the bedpost. In his rage, Bob had grabbed the nearest sharp instrument, a screwdriver that Josie had used to fix a shelf, and stabbed her with it. Repeatedly.

Bruce had shivered when he related the confession to Tom and his cousin. "He obviously regrets it," he told them sombrely, "but the thing is, he did it. And then covered himself by trying to put the suspicion on others. Drunk or not, angry, jealous, whatever, how could anyone do that?"

Trudy and Tom shook their heads and Trudy said sadly, "You just don’t know about people do you? You can never really tell. Even in a town this size."

THE END

Please note that permission to publish stories from the Scarlet Stiletto Awards 2001 online has been expressly granted to Sisters in Crime Australia Inc. You may not republish, reproduce electronically or in paper form, or otherwise make use of these stories without the permission of the author.

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