1 Picking Lemons Read Online Free PDF Page B

spouse. Has anyone thought about Lisa?”
    C.J. just snorted. “I’m sure the police have. If it were Walter who was killed, Mrs. Scovill would be high on my list. Imagine living with Walter, listening to him drone on about his theories on the marginal benefits of sexual relations, factoring in, of course, the length of a marriage and the attractiveness index of each spouse. It’s amazing the man is still alive.”
    Betsy tried to stifle a laugh. Sometimes C.J. was just too...honest.
    “But Lisa,” continued C.J., “she didn’t even have to live with Edmund. That woman is safely tucked away in New York City with her art gallery. Amazing as it is to think of Edmund being married, those two were perfect for each other. Each is so self-absorbed, they didn’t notice the other one wasn’t there. There’s no reason for her to kill Edmund. They barely saw each other as it was.
    “I do have something funny to tell you though,” C.J. said, seamlessly changing the topic, without apparently taking a breath. “My graduate class thought they were going to investigate the crime, as a case study. Jose, of course, was leading the charge. Citing the ‘Mission of Eaton University’ as the reason I should let this farce occur in my classroom.”
    Betsy looked at her, suddenly worried. “You aren’t going to let them , are you? I know it would be so interesting. Like that fellow on that show, Numbers . He always finds the murderer using mathematical models. Like you say, the data hold the answers. It’s just a case of knowing how to let it speak. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for the students. It might not be safe.”
    “No, no. The students aren’t doing anything,” reassured C.J. “But Annika did notice this is just like the market for used cars. As a buyer, you don’t know which cars are good and which are bad. So the owners of the lemons try to off-load them by making their cars look good, and the owners of the good cars need to let you know their cars are actually the real deal, so they can sell them. You know, with warranties, test drives, return policies and the like. The murder market can’t be any different. The innocent will want to let the police and the rest of the world know they didn’t do this, so they don’t go to jail. Come forth with their alibis and a lack of motive and so on. And the murderer...”
    “Won’t the murderer try to disguise himself as a ‘good car ,’ so to speak?” asked Betsy. “How will you tell the difference?”
    “I guess that is the $64,000 question. How do you pick the lemon?”
    *****
    Tuesday, the first Edmund-free day of Walter Scovill’s life, was not beginning as he had imagined it would. He had fantasized countless times about a life without the egocentric, pompous jackass whose astonishing similarity to Walter was what annoyed him the most. Without the irritation of Edmund, Walter always pictured an idyllic life, awash in accolades and glory. But this morning there were no marching marionette bands, proclaiming Walter to be the Greatest Economist That Ever Lived. Missing also were the people lining the streets, cheering his name. And, sadly, he was not having warm, scented oil rubbed over his fleshy, naked body by a nimble fingered, obliging Asian masseuse. Instead, before he even had an opportunity to pay an underemployed, art history major to make his first cup of shade-grown, hand-picked, baptized-with-sun-warmed-water coffee, Walter was being questioned by the police. Again.
    “Where was he between 1:00 p.m. and 2:00 p.m. on the day in question?”
    Walter sighed. Being questioned by the police was not like a fine wine. It certainly didn’t improve over time. How often would he have to answer this question? He was in his office. Alone. So, yes, he realized the re wasn’t anyone who could corroborate it. That was one of the defining characteristics of being alone. There was no one else there.
    Then, just before two o’clock, he was walking through