I took care to park near Alice Morton’s front door, out of sight of the side bedroom window through which I’d broken in earlier.

My fiancée, Brittany, pressed the doorbell, but of course no one came. "I don’t understand it," she said. "Aunt Alice’s phone message said she needed to see me at once, yet she didn’t answer my return call, and now she doesn’t answer the door either."

I didn’t reply. Thank goodness Brittany had been out when Alice Morton phoned her. Thank goodness the old lady would never talk again.

But I still had a worry. On the drive over Brittany had commented on the tear in my jacket sleeve, a sleeve that I suddenly realized was also missing a button. The old lady must’ve ripped the button loose when she fought back, I thought. Meaning she might have it gripped in her lifeless hand at this very moment. Meaning I must get inside first.

"I guess I better try the back door," Brittany said. "Or perhaps I should go around the side and knock on her bedroom window."

"No," I said. Then I added quickly, "I mean, wait here in case she’s just slow in getting to the door. I’ll go." I took off around the side before Brittany could protest.

Alice Morton had confronted me with a private investigator’s report a couple hours earlier. She’d always disliked me, and when she waved the pages detailing my criminal history I’d seen red. No way would I let her snatch away my well-to-do fiancée.

I reached the window, whipped off my jacket, and wrapped it around my right arm and fist just as I had earlier. Only this time I wasn’t smashing in the window to get inside and surprise an old woman. This time I just wanted to be sure I swept any remaining broken glass shards off the sill. I shined my pocket flashlight into the room and Brittany’s voice came at me from out of the dark.

"Ross, what are you doing?"

I spun around, my mind racing.

"Why have-- Why you’ve broken the window," Brittany cried. "What--"

"I had to," I said, my voice calm, my nerves anything but. "Your aunt... Look!" I pointed my light over the sill and Brittany gasped.

"Why is she on the floor like that? Why-- Oh, Auntie!" she cried. "Ross, I need to get inside. I--"

"No," I said. "You might cut yourself. Go back to the car and call 911 on your cell phone. I’ll climb in and do what I can for her and then let you in the front door."

Brittany sat beside me in the kitchen, weeping, while the authorities did their work. I hadn’t found the button, but Alice Morton didn’t have it clutched in one of her hands either so I was in the clear. If the button did turn up, and if the cops did question me about it I’d just say it must have been loosened when I’d smashed in the window and climbed over the sill.

"Mr. Clark...Ms. Ennis." I snapped my head up, as did Brittany. The cop in charge, a woman detective named Martinez, stood there.

"I‘ve a few more questions," Detective Martinez said.

"Oh," I said. "Certainly." I made a point to lay a comforting hand over Brittany’s own knotted ones, and tried to look properly sad.

"You said you saw Ms. Morton through the window," Detective Martinez continued.

I clenched my jaw. "That’s correct."

"You saw her even though it was dark outside, even though the room was also dark?"

"Yes. I shined my flashlight through the non-screened side of the window on my way around to the back door. When I saw her lying there... I figured I better get inside as fast as possible. Unfortunately..." I grimaced, and Brittany sobbed.

Detective Martinez nodded, and as she exited the room I silently congratulated myself. She believed me. But then why shouldn’t she? I’d destroyed the PI report, had faked a convincing burglary scene by pulling out drawers and swiping jewelry, and had tried to "save" an old woman. In fact--

"Mr. Clark."

I blinked. She was back. "Yes?"

"It’s really most confusing. Could you come with me please?"

Brittany rose to accompany me, but Detective Martinez shook her head. "Just Mr. Clark for now, ma’am." The steel in her voice was unmistakable, and as I followed her down the hall toward the bedroom I felt a sudden sense of unease.

"You say you broke in through the window, Mr. Clark, but..."

We had now reached the bedroom, and I saw Alice Morton’s body still lay exactly where it had. "But what?" I asked, my uneasiness increasing.

"But how did the burglar get into the house?" Detective Martinez stared at me. "Both the front and back doors were locked, as were all the other windows."

I didn’t reply.

Detective Martinez continued. "You messed up, Mr. Clark. You should have told Ms. Ennis you found the window broken. Then the burglary story would’ve made sense. But instead you slipped and told her the truth – told her that you’d broken it. What you didn’t say was that you’d broken it earlier -- when you came to murder Alice Morton."

"You’re crazy," I said.

Detective Martinez ignored me. "That phone message Ms. Morton left her niece – did it concern you, Mr. Clark?"

I stared at her stonily, and she shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. I’m sure we’ll connect it up. Besides, we have enough other evidence putting you on the scene earlier."

"What evidence?" I sneered.

Detective Martinez signaled to a couple of men and they lifted Alice Morton’s body. "There, Mr. Clark, on the carpet, beneath the body -- several pieces of window glass. Proving the window was broken before Ms. Morton fell. Also beneath the body, a button, a button perfectly matching the one missing from your right jacket sleeve. Quite a body of evidence, don’t you agree?

Contact the Author - guy@servingaznonprofits.com

Author's Site - www.authorsden.com/guybelleranti