Chapter 3 - The Interrogation in Purple
Chief Jim Bradley had gone to school with Washington. He walked into my living room with his hat in his hand, took one look at the cake-covered velvet gown, the broken glass, and the empty display case, and rubbed his temples.
"Evelyn," Jim said gently. "What in God's name happened here?"
"My daughter-in-law had a disagreement with the display case," I said, holding my chin high. "And during the commotion, my late husband’s championship ball went missing."
"It was stolen before she broke the glass, Jim," Derek Hollis added, holding out his clipboard. "I have full photographic evidence from 10:00 AM today. The lock on the back panel of the display case was picked or opened with a key."
Jim looked at Rosalina, who was wrapped in a yellow blanket Harriet had grudgingly handed her. "Rosalina, step into the kitchen with Officer Miller. Washington, you too."
"I am her attorney," Washington said quickly, his lawyer instincts kicking in despite his trembling hands.
"You're a witness and a victim, Wash," Jim replied firmly. "Sit down."
While the officers took statements in the kitchen, Derek and I sat on the sofa. My hands, usually so steady when baking or gardening, were trembling in my purple gown. Not because of the punch I had thrown—my knuckles were bruised, but they felt honest—but because of what Rosalina had said.
Every Tuesday night.
Samuel had retired from coaching in 2018. During his final winter, he had spent hours in the garage. He told me he was restoring old wooden furniture for the church auction. Every Tuesday at seven o'clock, he would put on his navy coat, take his small toolbox, and leave for two hours. I had never questioned him. Thirty-one years of marriage builds a vault of trust that you don't crack open without a reason.
"Mrs. Fennimore?" Derek’s voice pulled me back. He was looking closely at the velvet lining inside the empty display case. "Look here."
I leaned in. Where the signed ball had rested, a small piece of white cardstock was tucked under the edge of the velvet base. It hadn't been visible until the ball was removed.
Derek used his pen to slide the card out. It wasn't a tag or an index card. It was a business card from a high-end pawn shop in downtown Columbus: Kruger Fine Antiquities & Sports Memorabilia.
On the back, written in sharp, thin black ink, was a date: Today's date. 2:00 PM.
"Someone traded the ball four hours ago," Derek whispered. "Before the party even started."
I looked toward the kitchen door. At 2:00 PM today, Washington had been in a board meeting downtown. But Rosalina... Rosalina had told me she was at the hair salon getting her updo done. The hair salon was three doors down from Kruger Antiquities on High Street.
I stood up, my purple gown rustling. The fear was gone, replaced by the cold, clear line of fire that had kept me going since Samuel's heart gave out four years ago.
I walked into the kitchen. Rosalina was sitting at my kitchen island, sipping bottled water, her phone tucked under her thigh. Officer Miller was writing in his notebook.
"Officer," I said, my voice echoing off the tile walls. "Check her handbag."
"Evelyn, you can't just search her personal items without—" Washington began.
"It's on my table in my house during a felony theft investigation," I cut him off. "Check the beaded handbag on the side table beside Derek's clipboard."
Jim Bradley nodded to Miller. Miller walked into the living room and returned ten seconds later with the small black beaded purse. He unzipped it and turned it upside down over the kitchen island.
Out poured a lipstick, a compact, a high-end credit card, and a folded receipt printed on yellow thermal paper from Kruger Fine Antiquities.
May you like
The line item at the top read: Item #84-FB-SIG / 1984 Championship Football. Amount paid to seller: $18,000 cash.
Washington stared at the receipt, the color draining from his lips until he looked like a ghost. "Rosalina... what did you do?"
