Bicycle Shop Murder 8

Greg ordered a turkey sandwich at Jane’s Diner and tried his best to block out all the conversation of the lunch crowd. Surely they knew Greg was on the jury. And they knew he was not supposed to be listening to anything about the trial. But they didn’t seem to care.

It was not so difficult to ignore them, as he thought about Cynthia. When he finished his lunch, he should have gone to his office, and taken care of some overdue bookkeeping.

Instead, he headed toward First State Bank.

Greg was on some kind of high as he walked toward the bank. It couldn’t be love. He barely knew her. Besides—she was married. But it can be intoxicating, to know you’re about to do something crazy, yet be determined to do it anyway.

As he entered the bank, he thought the guard looked at him with suspicion. He didn’t have an account at First State Bank and didn’t intend to open one. He tried to look like he knew what he was doing, and where he was going. That way, nobody would ask the dreaded question, ‘May I help you?’

He found a hallway of offices, and walked down it looking confident, he hoped. He checked the name on each door out of the corner of his eye. Where was her office? It had to be there. Unless he was in the wrong bank.

One of the bankers was standing in his doorway, saying goodbye to a client. Greg ignored them, and kept walking. There was one more office. If it wasn’t Cynthia’s, he would have to turn around. Then he might be asked the question for which he had no answer.

But there it was: Cynthia Blockerman, Vice President. The door was open. He peeked into her office.

“Hi, Cynthia. I need to talk to you.”

She seemed less than thrilled to see him. He knew she had been concerned about co-workers learning of the abuse. But, they would not have to know why Greg was there. He stepped in, and started to close the door. Then he spotted him. Sitting in a chair next to the wall was Troy Blockerman.

“Hey, Tenorly—what are you doing here?”

Greg needed to swallow, but he didn’t want to gulp.

“Need a loan so you can buy some more of that Bach music, or whatever it is you teach?”

“Uh…yeah, something like that.”

Cynthia jumped in. “Mr. Tenorly is thinking about buying his own building.”

“Wow. There must be a lot of mommas making their kids take piano. Good for you, Teny.”

Had Troy Blockerman just accidentally misspoken his name? Or had he decided to coin a derogatory nickname for him. Teny or Tin-ee or ‘tin ear’: one who has a bad ear for music. Was Troy even smart enough to come up with that?

“Okay, I’ve gotta go demolish a house.” The grin on Troy’s face looked like that of a devious five-year-old about to put a frog down his sister’s dress. “I love my job! See you tonight, Honey. Later, Teny.”

And Troy was gone—without showing the least bit of con­cern about leaving Greg alone in the room with his beautiful wife. Greg didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted. As soon as Troy was out of the hallway, Greg closed the door.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” She seemed only mildly upset with Greg.

“I know, but I had to see you.” He had to see her because yesterday she had made him feel like a teenager, and he really wanted that feeling again.

“It’s okay, I was going to call you anyway. Troy is plan­ning to bulldoze the rest of the jury into seeing things his way. Just like he rips a house apart or knocks over trees with his heavy equipment. He’s going to force the jury into a quick guilty ver­dict.”

“But we haven’t even heard all of the testimony yet.” For the moment, Greg was forgetting he was not supposed to dis­cuss the trial with anyone. “He can’t do that.”

“Oh yes he can. He’s always bullying people to get his way. The last time we bought a new car he had the salesman in tears.”

Greg still remembered how Marvin Manly had unmerci­fully bullied him in high school. He should have just stood up to Marvin. Why had he let himself be pushed around like that?

Not now, he thought. He would go as a knight into battle against the fire-breathing dragon. A ‘fight to the death’ for the beautiful princess. And, of course, for justice.

“I promise you I will stand up to him. If there’s even a hint of reasonable doubt, I will fight Troy all the way. I will not back down.”

Cynthia smiled.

A warm, electric chill rippled through his body. Yes. He would prevail. Greg said goodbye and walked out of the bank without ever talking to Cynthia about the abuse.

Now he was on a quest.

**********

A couple of hours later, a few blocks away, Arabeth Albertson was with her optometrist.

“According to our records, your last exam was 18 months ago,” Dr. Phillippi said.

“I couldn’t remember. But I knew I was seeing okay.”

“Your vision has not changed at all. You don’t need a stronger prescription. You’re close to 20/20 in both eyes with your current glasses.”

“I thought so. That lawyer tried to make the jury think I couldn’t see well enough to see what I saw. But I can. And I did.”

Moments after Arabeth Albertson drove away from the doctor’s office, Amy Cinderside, a temporary secretary, stepped out the back door for a smoke break and a phone call.

“Yeah, she just left…She passed the eye exam with flying colors…Now, when do I get the rest of my money?”