It was scheduled for Monday and would be open to the public; according to George Winters’ article, the hearing would be “the first time Ocean Alley Press readers learn the facts and issues of the case.” Most of the article repeated the circumstances of Mrs. Riordan’s death, but this time Winters added that not only had I “discovered” the body soon after I had been with Michael Riordan, but that he and I had gone to high school together. “He writes as if Michael and I plotted to kill his mother!” I had been pacing around Aunt Madge’s kitchen and sitting room as I read the article aloud to her. “You’re reading that into it, dear,” she said as she shaped her bread mixture into a loaf. “And so will anyone else.” I threw the paper on the couch. “No, they won’t,” she said, more firmly than she usually spoke. “You’re upset. Have some tea.” She gestured toward the electric kettle. I avoided telling her tea was not the panacea for major problems by telling her I would take the dogs for a walk and grabbing their leashes.
