“No. I mean, she was devastated. Hurt. Mad. Like I said, she was crying a lot. But no, she didn’t say anything about getting him into any kind of trouble. What do you mean plan?”
“After you left, did you go back to their house that morning?” Booger asked.
“No… I didn’t go back.” Her tears stopped as she slowly discerned the meaning behind Booger’s question. “Wait, you think I….no, I didn’t go back and kill her, if that is what you are getting at.”
Walters stood abruptly and motioned at them. Steve and Booger followed her silent instruction and stood as well.
“Listen, I know I’m not perfect,” she said as she shepherded them to the door. “I made a huge mistake cheating on my husband and doing it with my best friend’s husband makes it even worse, but I could never kill someone. The Bible says ‘thou shalt not kill,’ and I walk with the Lord. I don’t appreciate you coming into my home and insinuating that I am capable of murder, let alone that I am the person who killed my best friend.”
As Walters opened the front door, she said, “Not that you two deserve this, but on the second Saturday of every month, for the last nine years, I have worked the church bake sale at the First Baptist Church of Claremore. When I left Ashley that morning, I went straight to the bake sale, which starts at 10:00 a.m. Anyone who goes to the church can tell you that. When it happened, there were two other ladies working with me—Eloise Blackburn and
Florabelle Martin. “
“Eloise Blackburn,” Steve said. “Any relation to the deputy?” “Yes. Eloise was his grandmother,” Walters said.
“Can you give us a way to contact them, so we can confirm your story?” Steve said.
“Eloise passed away six years ago, but I think I know where Ms. Martin is living.” Walters left them standing by the opened front door and walked back to the kitchen. From there, she spoke loud enough for them to hear her say, “I have a church directory in a drawer back here, I am pretty sure she is still listed in it. Ah, here it is.”
She returned shortly with a piece of paper containing an address: Restful Meadows Assisted Living Center, 1547 Blue Starr Drive.
“She suffers from Alzheimer’s, and she has been living at Restful Meadows for a while now. You can go talk to her, but I’m not sure what she will remember.” As she handed Steve the paper, she simultaneously ushered the two men completely out of her house. She paused in the entryway, holding the door, as they stood on the front porch.
“Look. I may not have been the best friend to Ashley. I know that. But I didn’t kill her. The more you guys stir this up, the bigger the chance that whole deal with me and Scottie will get discovered. I don’t want that to happen. Please, just stay away from my home, and let me get on with my life. Like I said, Jim and I are doing great now. We have two wonderful kids, and we are happy. Please don’t ruin that by bringing up ghosts.” Walters shut the door without giving them a chance to respond.
Steve looked at the slip of paper in his hand. “Do you want to go check this alibi now or after we review the file?”
Booger shrugged. “It’s only 8:53. Let’s make a quick stop at the nursing home, then go to the sheriff’s office. I don’t think visiting with Ms. Martin will take long.”
Steve and Booger pulled into the parking lot of the Restful Meadows Assisted Living Center a few minutes later. The front entrance had two doors, with handles in the middle, that swung outward; they were wide enough that a medical gurney could easily fit between them. Steve reached for the door on the right. It was locked. So was the door on the left. Then, he noticed the intercom and keypad on the left side of the portico.
Steve pushed the intercom button and said they were there to say hi to an old friend, Ms. Florabelle Martin. The door buzzed, and they walked in. They were now in an entryway with a second set of double doors in front of them. It reminded Steve of the twodoor system at the state prison. Except, rather than gray metal bars, these doors were designed like the front of a French country estate. When the door behind them closed, a second buzzer went off, and they passed through into the foyer. They signed the guest registry and asked where they could find Martin.
“How do you know Miss Flora?” asked the nurse on-duty at the front desk.
“We used to go to church together at First Baptist,” Steve said easily. “I always loved getting her bake sale items every month.
She was one hell of a cook.”
“Yes. I remember she made the best apple pie I have ever tasted,” the nurse said with a smile. “She is sitting on the couch in the TV room over there, wearing the red sweat pants and the gray shirt.” Steve looked around the room, his eyes first went to Martin and then to the other patients sitting and staring at the television in silence. One was mistakenly looking at a wall, but he seemed to be enjoying his show just as much as the others enjoyed theirs.
Steve and Booger walked over to Martin. She was in her late eighties, with several strands of gray hair upon her balding head. Her face was thin and pale. She looked like she was wasting away one day at a time.
“Hello, Miss Flora. How are you today?” Steve asked.
She gave him a giant smile. “Hello, Peter. How are you? You sweet young thing.” She reached up and softly touched his cheeks as she said, “You are such a handsome young man.”
“Thank you. I’m good. I’ve just been thinking about all the bake sales you used to do for the church. Do you remember those days?”
“Oh, yes. I loved baking. I wish they would let me bake something in here every once in a while.”
“Me, too. Your apple pie is still the best I have ever eaten.” Steve played along, hoping this would help him get the information he needed. Besides, she seemed happy to have “Peter” visiting her; he saw no reason to take this little bit of joy away from such a kind, fragile woman.
“Do you remember that young woman who used to help with the bake sales? I can’t remember her name,” Steve gently prompted.
“Heather Walters. Never forgot that girl. She was such a treat to be around. Young, athletic, smart, and she had the most beautiful blonde hair.”
“Yeah. That’s her. Do you—”
Martin interrupted Steve as she stared blankly to her left. As if she were reading a teleprompter, she continued, “One thing about her I will never forget. She was the most organized person I ever met. Always had everything in its place. In all the years I worked with her, she was never once late to any sale, any meeting, or any service of any kind. I wish I was as organized as her.”
Steve glanced at Booger upon hearing this information. Booger nodded back.
Martin then seemed to gather her wits for a second. “I’m sorry. You were about to ask me something?”
“Never mind. It wasn’t important. We need to go now. It was good seeing you.”
“Good seeing you, too, Peter. Please tell your mother I said hello.”
As they got up from the couch, Booger whispered to Steve, “Ask her if she remembers the day Ashley was murdered.”
“Miss Flora, one last thing. Do you remember the day Heather’s friend Ashley Pinkerton was killed?”
“Of course, I do. What an awful, awful thing that was. That shook the nerve of everyone in town down to their core. To think, something like that could happen right here in Rogers County. I remember Heather was especially upset when she found out. As best I can recall, she had brought banana cream cupcakes to the bake sale that morning. I was eating one of the cupcakes when she got the phone call. She immediately broke down into tears. It was just plain horrible. Only word to describe it. Horrible.” She shook her head slowly as she spoke. It was the first time her spirits seemed low since they had arrived.
“Was Heather on time that day?” Booger asked.
“Yes, like I said. She was always on time, everywhere. She always arrived at 9:50 for the bake sales. Always ten minutes early to everything. I’m sure she was there at 9:50 that day as well.” Her mood improved as her mind shifted from Ashley’s murder back to the bake sale.
