Murder One in Midvale Corners Read online

  Murder One

  In

  Midvale Corners

  By

  Alexandra

  Hawthorne

  Murder One in Midvale Corners

  2018 Meech Road, Ltd.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

  transmitted in any form or by any means without written

  permission from the author.

  Cover by Designs by Dana

  Published in USA by Meech Road, Ltd.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to all the small towns across America

  and the four people who read the first version of Murder One:

  This one is shorter and better.

  Chapter 1

  P enny Johnson, newly licensed attorney, briefcase on her shoulder and JD’s leash in her hand, heard a phone ringing as she unlocked the door to her two-room suite of offices above Maxi’s Delicatessen. She reached in her pocket for her cell phone, realized it wasn’t ringing and dashed across the reception area to her desk and picked up her desk phone.

  Before she could say her usual “Penny Johnson, attorney at law,” she heard, “Penny is that you? It’s Horace Appleworth. I think I’m in a bit of trouble. The police are at my house to arrest me for the murder of Dick Boswick. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why, what, how---don’t answer.” Penny quickly got herself into her lawyer mode. “Let me talk to the officer.”

  “Sheriff Nicholson here,” said Bill Nicholson, acting like he hadn’t known her all her life and coached her when she played on Midvale Corner’s softball team.

  “We’re arresting Horace and taking him to the jail for booking. You can meet us there in an hour or so.” He hung up.

  Penny placed the phone on its cradle. She stood, her mind turning over the short conversation. She dumped her briefcase on her desk, crossed the outer room to retrieve the keys dangling from the lock. JD, her big German shepherd, padded along behind her dragging his leash. She stopped, unsnapped it and picked up the local paper that had been shoved through the mail slot. She saw the headline: Dick Boswick, City Manager, Found Dead in His Office.

  After getting her keys, she stopped to read the story, which informed her that Sally Boswick, Dick’s wife, discovered him sprawled across his desk, shot twice in the head.

  “Did you hear about Dick Boswick?” asked Althea Riversmith bustling through the still open door.

  Althea, retired school secretary and now Penny’s legal assistant, accountant and maker of the best coffee on Main Street if not in the county was holding a copy of the extra edition of the Midvale Courier, Midvale Corner’s local paper.

  Penny nodded. “I heard. Horace Appleworth has been arrested for his murder and is on his way to jail. He wants me to represent him. I am to meet him at the jail in an hour.”

  Althea stared at Penny, then said in her efficient way, “Good grief. Horace couldn’t kill anyone. I’ll start his file. You’ll need an appearance for the court and the prosecutor’s office. I’ll get on it right away.”

  She hung up her royal blue raincoat, placed her tapestry bag in the bottom drawer of her desk, sat down and booted up her computer. Her blue rain hat was still perched on her grey curls.

  “Right,” Penny said returning to her desk. “I’ve never represented an alleged murderer. She picked up the phone to call Gordon Swanson, family friend and one of the best criminal lawyers in town.

  “I heard Appleworth was arrested,” said Gordon, after Penny got through his secretary

  “You can do this,” he went on, addressing her concerns about representing such a high-profile case. “Take it one step at a time. Don’t let Horace talk to the police, if you can stop him. Get him bonded out if you can. You know what to argue for a bond—long standing member of the community, evidence all circumstantial, will appear for all hearings, you know the drill.”

  Penny hung up. She knew she was a decent—maybe even a good lawyer. She had successfully represented folks who got in bar fights. She had even managed to get a couple of not guilty verdicts—but this was murder and Horace was a longtime friend of the family--what if she messed this up?

  Realizing that despite her personal trepidations, Horace needed a lawyer in his corner now and she was the lawyer he wanted, she opened her briefcase gathering up the items she thought she would need. She put in a clean yellow legal pad to take notes, a couple of blue, not black, ink pens and her lucky Petoskey stone. She snapped her briefcase shut, walked through the reception area and to Althea’s desk. Althea handed her the documents she needed for court. Penny put them in her briefcase, gave JD a pat on the head and said, “I’m off. Thank you.”

  While Horace was traveling in the back of a police car, Penny was driving her Pepto-Bismol pink ancient Ford Escort to meet him. She drove a few short blocks, and she was quickly at the jail. Like many public buildings, the jail was brick faced with an awning over the door. Inside, Penny deposited everything on the conveyer belt, and made it through the metal detector without causing it to ring. Relieved, she picked up her briefcase and moved on.

  “Hi, Penny,” said a voice. “You here to see Horace?”

  The voice belonged to Jerry, high school friend and now the officer guarding the desk at the Sheriff’s office.

  Penny nodded.

  “I’ll let them know you’re here. Wait there.”

  Penny sat on the hard bench in the waiting area. It was visiting time. Mothers were trying to corral children who, bored and no longer able to sit, were running around in circles. Lawyers sat off to the side, on their phones, staring at their computers or talking to each other.

  “Hey, Penny,” said Frank, chair of the local bar association criminal law section. “You going to represent Horace? There will be a lot of press on that one, you know. They will be dogging you. I heard they’ll all be at the arraignment.”

  “Oh,” said Penny, thinking of another reason to try to convince Horace to hire a more experienced attorney. She had no idea how to handle the press who had never been interested in her bar fight clients. She was musing on a clever way to say ‘no comment’ when she heard her name being called.

  “Penny,” said Jerry. “You can see Horace now.”

  Penny followed Jerry through a series of doors. Sticking to jail procedure, one door is closed and locked before another is opened. Finally, she was ushered into a large room. Facing her were three large holding cells, one for women, and two for the men. The last night had been busy in the community. Some men paced, others banged on the bars only to be told to shut up by the police guarding them, and still others, trying to sleep it off, curled up on a bench. The women were fewer, some in bright colored tube tops and skirts so short that their bottoms were barely covered while others sat looking like they were trying to disappear.

  Opposite the cells was a long counter enclosed with protective glass, behind which were three officers, busy with paper work, oblivious to the organized chaos around them. Along a sidewall were five small, enclosed spaces equipped with a table and two chairs, where attorneys could meet with their clients. The offices, if that is what they could be called, had large glass walls so that the officers could see but not hear what was going on between the lawyer and the client.

  “Here, Penny,” says Jerry. “You can use this one. I’ll get you another chair. Horace will be along shortly.”

  Penny sat on one side of the table. She got out her yellow legal pad and a pen. Breathing in, smelling the odor of fear and disinfectant that permeated the space, she waited.

  “Here he is,” said Jerry, pushing Horace ahead of him into the chair across from Penny with his back to the glass wall. “Do you want to keep t
he cuffs on him?”

  “No,” said Penny looking at Horace in his orange jump suit with the words “County Jail” printed in black streaming across Horace’s chest.

  Horace sat down tentatively in proffered grey metal chair, attempting to smile at Penny.

  “Orange is not my best color,” he said. “And look at how this bags—I need a belt. And the style leaves a lot to be desired.”

  Penny understood. Horace, a compact man who worked out regularly and who, even when on the messiest of job sites, dressed immaculately—was reduced to looking like a common criminal. Which, in the eyes of the law, he was.

  “Horace, forget about the jumpsuit. We need to talk about what will happen next.”

  “They took my picture, and not from my best side, and my fingerprints,” said Horace. “What more do they need, and when do I get out of here?”

  “Horace, listen,” said Penny using the tone of voice she used with JD when he was not behaving.

  “You will be going to the court this afternoon for your arraignment. I…”

  “Do I have to talk? When do I go? I didn’t kill him you know.”

  “Yes, you will have to talk but, you won’t be actually in the courtroom. I’ll be there. You will be here on a video monitor. You will be able to see me and the judge and the prosecutor, but you will actually be here.”

  “Judge Hancock will call your case—he will say ‘The People versus Appleworth,’ then he will ask if you are Mr. Horace Appleworth. You say yes, I am Horace Appleworth. Then I’ll tell the court that I am your attorney. The judge will read the charge and will ask you how you plead. You will say ‘Not guilty, your honor.”

  “Can’t I tell him I didn’t do it and that this is all a big mistake?” Horace leaned forward, his hands palms up.

  “No, he doesn’t want to hear anything except that you are Horace Appleworth and that you are not guilty. We will deal with the rest later. Then we will talk about a bond to get you out of jail until the trial.”

  Penny jumped as one of the male prisoners started yelling and banging on the bars. When he stopped, she went on. “The prosecutor wants no bail, he will argue that this is a murder charge and you are a menace to the community. I’ll argue that you have a business to run, live in the community, and are not a flight risk. I am hopeful that we can get a reasonable bond set so you can get out of here. How do I reach your partner, Ryan? It would be good if he were in the courtroom.”

  “Ryan is probably at the hospital; he’s in charge of the trauma center during the day. How much will they want for a bond? Where do I find a bail bondsman?”

  “The bail bondsman will come to the jail, but in case they don’t, I’ll give Ryan the information he will need to get you bonded out.”

  “What if the judge won’t let me have a bond?” asked Horace. “What if I have to stay here? In this horrible place? Do you have any idea how hard this is for someone like me? I’ve been called names I haven’t heard since high school.”

  “I know, Horace, but we can appeal if your bond is denied. Now are you clear—I’ll be in the courtroom and you will be on the TV here. You will say your name and answer ‘not guilty’ when asked. We will argue bail. If the judge grants it, we will get you out of here as soon as possible. I haven’t seen any paperwork on this and don’t know anything except that they are charging you with murder in the first degree.”

  “I didn’t kill Dick Boswick. He wasn’t a nice person, but I didn’t kill him.”

  “We will talk about all of this later, when you are out of here,” said Penny. “Now sit still, I’ll get a jailer to take you back to your cell.”

  “I don’t have a cell—I have a spot in one of those cages over there,” said Horace pointing to the holding cells across the room.

  Penny stood and called to the closest jailer to take custody of Horace. She patted Horace on the shoulder.

  “It will be alright,” she said. Horace rolled his brown eyes at her as he was led away.

  Penny gathered up her things, walked across the room and knocked on the door at the end of the hall to be let out. Jerry opened the door, took her visitor’s badge and nodded.

  Penny walked down the hall to the outside door. She rang the bell to be let out. Jerry rang her out.

  Once in the fresh air, Penny breathed in to get rid of the jail odors. She climbed into her car and headed back to the office, that awful image of Horace and the enormity of what she faced in defending him lingering in her mind.

  Althea looked up when the door opened and Penny walked in. “I made some fresh coffee. Did you eat lunch? It’s almost two o’clock—do you want me to go get a sandwich from Max’s? Oh, and, this came from the prosecutor’s office. It was hand-delivered. I signed for it.”

  She handed Penny a large envelope.

  “Thanks,” said Penny. “Coffee would be good. No sandwich. I have to be in court shortly for Horace’s arraignment. Could you call the hospital and try to locate Ryan? I would like him to be in court.”

  “He has already called three times,” said Althea, holding the pink message slips out to Penny.

  “Ask him to meet me at the district court—the one here in town. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  Althea, in her usual efficient way, nodded and picked up the phone.

  Penny went into her office, put her briefcase on the client’s chair and gave JD, who had been waiting patiently for some attention a treat from the treat jar on her desk. After several pats, he went to his bed. She sat, stretched then opened the envelope and started reading the preliminary police report on Horace’s case.

  “At approximately 9 pm on Thursday, August 20th, a 911 call was received from Sally Boswick, wife of deceased, Richard (Dick) C. Boswick, saying that her husband had been shot. She was at his office in the city office building. An ambulance was sent. Detective Dunlap also responded. The victim was sprawled across his desk. It appeared he had been shot twice in the back of the head.”

  Penny scanned all she could since it was imperative that she be on time for court. She knew the arraignments started at four and she suspected Horace’s case would be first up. The report said that Andy Clinton, the custodian, heard Horace and Dick arguing. He heard a popping sound when he was leaving around nine. He didn’t see Horace leave.

  Penny also learned that Horace’s fingerprints were on the desk along with some smudged unidentifiable prints. Horace was the only person they saw entering the building on the security tape.

  The Report noted that Horace was a life member of the National Rifle Association and had won a number of pistol shooting matches. The police knew this because they had competed against him and lost.

  Penny wondered if that fact had anything to do with the speed with which Horace was arrested. The clock in the courthouse building chimed three times indicating three o’clock.

  Althea stood in the doorway. “Ryan is on his way to court and will meet you there. He is most anxious to get Horace out of jail. He is concerned about Horace’s well-being. ‘You know how they treat homosexuals in the jail and it is so dirty there, he said.’ I assured him you would do your best to get Horace out as soon as possible.”

  “I hope Judge Hancock is in a good mood,” said Penny looking in her briefcase and going through her mental checklist—court rules, yellow legal pad, two blue ink pens, police report, and her lucky Petoskey stone in its special pocket.

  After saying good-by to Althea and JD, Penny dashed down the stairs on her way to save her client from another day in the “dirty jail.” And, to start her defense of Horace. While there was always some doubt with any client, her intuition told her that Horace didn’t kill Dick and it also told her that if she lost, her legal career in Midvale Corners would suffer a serious setback.

  Chapter 2

  A lex Jeffries, attorney at law, eased his 6’4” frame out of the black Mercedes, thinking that it needed a wash, which meant a trip into the big city since there wasn’t a decent car wash in Midvale Corners. He stopped a
nd looked across the parking lot at the squat building that housed the local district court, he recognized three reporters milling around the front of the building. Two of them were from the local TV channels and one from the newspaper. All three had photographers with them and were pacing around looking for someone important or not so important to interview. The big white television vans were parked at the curb in front of the building.

  He watched as they talked to Sally Boswick, Dick Boswick’s wife. What is she doing here, he wondered? Her husband had been killed—shouldn’t she be home with her daughter or making arrangements for the funeral? The reporters finished with Sally so they started looking for someone else.

  Alex reached in and got his old briefcase out of the car. His client was to be arraigned on a drunk driving charge at the 4 o’clock call. It was his client’s second drunk driving and it was going to be hard going to keep him out of jail this time. The judge would not be happy that he had failed the fancy rehab program the county had paid for. It looked like his client would lose his license and be walking for a long time.

  As he stood up he noticed a pink car pulling into the parking space two slots down from him. There was only one person he knew who drove a bright pink car—Penny Johnson. Alex and Penny graduated from Midvale High the same year. She beat him out of the valedictorian’s spot by a slim margin, not that he ever thought about that.

  His mother, Mabel, who was living with him, had said something about Penny just that morning at breakfast—Alex couldn’t remember exactly what it was.

  Penny got out of the car, grabbed her briefcase and pushed the door shut with her hip. Then he remembered Penny was representing Horace Appleworth.

  The reporters fixed their predatory gaze on Penny.

  He watched Penny walk toward the courthouse. Her long legs made quick work of the distance but it was easy for him to catch up. As he got closer he could hear them shouting.