Nursery Crimes Read Online Free PDF Page B

reality, we never rushed off anywhere more exciting than Home Depot.
    “No,” I answered quickly. “Not really. I mean, I wouldn’t mind having something to do for a few hours a week, but I’m definitely not interested in full-time work!”
    “Oh, good. I was afraid you were getting bored.”
    “Just because I’m bored sometimes and just because I’m not some kind of arts and crafts supermom doesn’t mean I want to leave you guys. I love staying home. Really. I love it.” Maybe I could convince myself if I said it often enough.
    Peter looked relieved. I decided to take advantage of the goodwill I had engendered.
    “I found out something interesting about our friend Bruce LeCrone.”
    “Juliet.” His mood was not as receptive as I had thought. “I thought we decided you were going to give that a rest.”
    “
We
didn’t decide anything. You did. And, anyway, I’m not doing anything. I just checked to see if he has a record.”
    “That seems like doing something to me.” Peter looked irritated.
    I said nothing. I could see his curiosity slowly getting the better of him.
    “Does he?”
    “Excuse me?” I asked mock-innocently.
    “LeCrone. Does he have a record?”
    “Oh, so you
are
interested.”
    “Fine, don’t tell me.” He frowned and began earnestly studying the menu.
    “He was convicted of domestic battery.”
    “Domestic battery?”
    “You know, wife-beating.”
    “Holy cow!” Peter exclaimed.
    “Exactly what I said. I was on the right track after all.”
    Peter looked doubtful. “Just because he beats his wife doesn’t mean he killed Abigail Hathaway.”
    “Maybe not, but it sure does mean he’s capable of violence. Anyway, I think it must have been his ex-wife. The charge is seven years old, and unless he married the present Mrs. LeCrone when she was in junior high, I don’t think she’s the one he beat up. Although, I suppose he could be beating her, too. Did you notice any bruises on her?”
    “Don’t get carried away, Juliet. Granted, this doesn’t make him look good, but it’s hardly evidence of murder.” Peter poured some olive oil onto his bread plate, dipped his bread, and took a bite. “Still, I guess we should tell the police about his fight with Hathaway.”
    “You read my mind, my love.” I reached out with my napkin and wiped away the trail of oil dripping down his chin.
    At that moment Ruby came running out of the kitchen, chocolate smeared all over her chin.
    “Giuseppe made me fed-up-cino alfwedo. Is that okay?”
    “Sure, Peanut,” Peter said. “But only if I get a bite.”
    “No, Daddy. Alfwedo is only for me an’ Mama today. Right, Mama?”
    “Right, kiddo,” I said, somewhat amazed that Ruby was sharing with me rather than her dad. When faced with a choice between the two of us she never picked me.
    Peter turned back to me. “Do you want me to call the cops for you?”
    “Of course not. I’m the one who figured this out; I’m the one who should call. And I’d like to ask them one or two questions about the investigation.”
    Peter smiled. “Be sure to tell them you were a public defender. That’ll put them right in your corner.”

    T HE next day I called the Santa Monica Police Department and asked to speak to the detective in charge of the Hathaway investigation. I was connected to the homicide unit and spoke to a woman who informed me that Detective Mitch Carswell was out of the office but would return later in the day. I told her that I had information regarding the death of Abigail Hathaway, and she said she would pass my message along to Detective Carswell. He called back later that afternoon while Ruby and I were making Play-Doh pasta.
    “Juliet Applebaum?”
    “This is she. Ruby, not in your mouth!”
    “Detective Carswell, Santa Monica Police Department. I understand you called regarding the Hathaway case?”
    “Yes, I did. Ruby! Can you hold on for a second, Detective?”
    Without waiting for his answer I quickly put the receiver