Outfoxed: An Andy Carpenter Mystery Read Online Free Page B

Andy.”
    I’m not surprised to hear that; wardens take a dim view of prisoners who leave their facilities without permission. But I am surprised at what she says next.
    “And the dog program has been suspended.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” I say.
    She nods. “Tell me about it. I always looked forward to it. Everybody did.”
    She arranges for me to see Brian, but it takes about forty-five minutes. There’s nothing longer than a waiting-time minute at the prison; it’s the equivalent of ten at a doctor’s office or the DMV. Prisoners, guards, visitors, lawyers … there is not a single person happy to be there, and the depression wears on you.
    When I finally get to see Brian, it’s in an anteroom that only has a metal table and two chairs. He is handcuffed to the table … this is a far cry from our previous meetings. His attitude is also completely different; he barely looks up as I come in.
    “You doing okay?” I ask, immediately securing the “stupid question of the year” trophy. He’s in jail, facing additional murder charges, in solitary confinement, and handcuffed to a table. And his wife is one of the murder victims. I’m sure he’s doing fine.
    He doesn’t answer me, which is probably the appropriate answer in this situation.
    “We need to talk, Brian. It’s the only way I can defend you.”
    It takes a few seconds, but he finally looks up at me. “Don’t defend me.”
    “I know you’re upset, but that’s not the best approach in a situation like this. You have rights, and it’s in your best interests to exercise them.”
    He doesn’t answer.
    “To start, there’s an arraignment coming up. You’ll be asked to plead.”
    “Guilty,” he says.
    “I thought you said you didn’t kill them.”
    “I didn’t pull the trigger. But I might as well have killed Denise.”
    “How is that?”
    “I encouraged her,” he says. “It’s my fault that she’s dead.”
    “Can you be a little less cryptic?”
    “Okay, how’s this? I did it; just say I killed them both.”
    “You said before that you didn’t.”
    “Andy, do me a favor? Just plead me guilty and get the hell out of here.”
    Since I’d rather be carving pumpkins than spend another second in this room, getting out of here is exactly what I do.

 
    I don’t get to go trick-or-treating with Ricky. Either Laurie or I had to stay home, so we could give out stuff to the kids that come to our house. Our Paterson neighborhood is a particular favorite of the costumed set, and the doorbell doesn’t stop ringing.
    Our golden retriever, Tara, who happens to be the greatest living creature in the history of the world, and our basset hound, Sebastian, also quite great, absolutely love this night. Every time the doorbell rings, which is about every twenty seconds, they run to the door to accept petting from the new visitors.
    I’m giving out bags of M&M’S, and I’m eating about one bag for every fifteen I give out. It’s getting late, and the number of visitors is slowing down, so I should be able to up that percentage. But I do want to save room to eat some of Ricky’s candy when he brings it home.
    When Ricky and Laurie finally return, they’re laughing and still enjoying what apparently was a very fun time. They tell me all about it in great detail, and then set about going through Ricky’s bag to see what he’s gotten.
    It’s a time-consuming process, as Laurie scrupulously checks every piece to make sure it isn’t somehow dangerous. Any question and the item is jettisoned, and Laurie is the unquestioned decision maker. It’s a far different situation from when I was a kid, when all my parents told me was to make sure to spit out rather than swallow any razor blades.
    When we’re finished sorting and checking and eating, Ricky goes to bed and I take Tara and Sebastian for our nightly walk. It’s something that I really look forward to; it clears my mind, and I love watching the dogs enjoy it so much.
    I get back to find