Confound It

by Maggie Toussaint

  He stroked my hair again. “I did.”

  No wonder my entire body hummed. I’d been super charged. I felt strong enough to leap pine trees in a single bound. What had that energy transfer cost Mayes? “And you?”

  “Okay.”

  “Y’all talking in code?” the sheriff asked. “What’s going on back there?”

  My irritation at Wayne hadn’t mellowed. “Stick a pin in it. I’m fine, thanks to Mayes.”

  “Can you work?”

  “I can, though I don’t much care for your demanding attitude.”

  “I wouldn’t have an attitude if you hadn’t scared me half to death. You were supposed to wait until we got back to the station to do your woo-woo thing. You’re not a fainter. No one ever faints around me unless they’re pregnant. Unless that’s it. You preggers, Powell? This guy knock you up? Because it sure as hell doesn’t look like your relationship is as platonic as you led me to believe.”

  Feminine intuition told me Mayes would love to be the father of my next child, and that irritated the heck out of Wayne. I didn’t need male posturing. Fortunately, Mayes held his peace.

  This time when I pushed away from Mayes, he let me go. “Knock it off,” I told Wayne. “We’re in this together. I want justice for Mandy as much as you do.”

  “Don’t go getting sappy on me, Powell,” the sheriff said. “The woman lived in a meth lab. She was no innocent.”

  “So? She wasn’t sloppy about how she lived. Everything in her house was shipshape when I saw it. Nothing out of place. I refuse to believe that she killed herself.”

  “Making meth isn’t a good career path, even for a neat freak. It’s dangerous.”

  “So is driving a car. Will you bother to find out what happened to her, or will she become another statistic?”

  “She’ll get the attention she deserves. What else did you learn about her?”

  “I relayed everything I know about the vision. Why she shared her final moments is a mystery to me. I wasn’t trying to get a reading, and as you saw, I wasn’t touching anything.”

  “You been holding out on me?”

  I raised my hands in surrender mode. “Absolutely not. This was a first. I can’t say as I recommend it either. Very disorienting.”

  “Not as disorienting as death.” Wayne craned his neck around at some sound. Mayes followed suit. “What is that racket?”

  I gazed over my shoulder and saw a rooster tail of dust and a compact car speeding our way. Oh, joy . Who would it be? The GBI guy? A friend of the deceased? A relative? A drug customer? Or maybe the killer himself.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Where’s my mom?” the teenager shouted from behind his open door, engine still running, music cranking and thumping in our ears. He wore his dark hair in a close-to-the-scalp cut, and his jeans and T-shirt looked rumpled. His boxy feet were bare. Could this be Mandy’s son?

  No one had mentioned a dad living here, just a mother and son. This young man looked to be the right age for the son.

  We piled out of Wayne’s vehicle. The firemen edged closer, and the testosterone content in the air shot up to about two hundred proof.

  I must be a thrill junkie as well, because adrenaline flooded my body. Instinctively, I dropped into a ready stance, with slightly flexed knees and a lower center of gravity. My fingers curled into my palms.

  “Who are you people?” the boy yelled again, wide-eyed. “This is private property. Get out of here, or I’m calling the cops.”

  Wayne stepped forward. “I am the cops. Sheriff Wayne Thompson. Why don’t you turn off the car and come over here to talk to me?”

  “You don’t look like a cop,” the boy said.

  Wayne turned to Mayes and spoke softly. “Get Powell to safety. We can’t see his hands. He could have a gun.”

  Mayes scooped me up in his arms again and moved behind Wayne’s Jeep. Crap . A moment later, Mayes had his weapon drawn. Waves of tension radiated from him, enveloping me. Double crap . Due to our energy sharing and close proximity, I felt what he felt.

  Fear for my safety. Protectiveness. Focus. Self-control. Responsibility.

  Despite his instructions to keep down, I lifted my head to see what was going on.

  “But we do,” Virg said, stepping out of the shadows with Ronnie, both in their Class A khaki uniforms. “Do what the man says, boy, and it’ll go easier for you.”

  I noticed Virg had pulled a weapon. Please let it be the Taser and not his handgun .

  “I don’t know you people,” the boy yelled, his voice edged with fear.

  A chunky fireman stepped forward. “You know me, Doodle. Jerome Green. You work at the animal shelter with my wife.”

  The boy took a step toward the man. “Mr. Green? Is that you? What’s going on here? Where’s my mom?”

  “You need to talk to Sheriff Thompson, son.”

  As Wayne and Virg approached the boy—Wayne openhanded, Virg with both hands around a weapon—even I saw the boy’s hands were empty. I stood and thanked the high heavens no one would get killed today. Beside me, Mayes secured his weapon.

  His hand clamped on my shoulder. “Stay back. As a precaution, until they pat him down.”

  I answered back in the same low tone. “He’s a kid, a scared kid.”

  The superior look Mayes shot me made heat rise to my face. Kids stole guns all the time. Kids shot people. I knew that, but I also had a daughter. If Larissa ever found herself in this situation, I hoped she’d be treated with common courtesy and respect. I hoped cops would never approach her with weapons drawn.

  My left heel twinged again. An arc of pain shot up my leg. I let out a small gasp and braced my hands on the Jeep. What was wrong with me?

  Up close, Doodle Patterson was shorter than I thought and antsier. He protested being searched, but the cops did it anyway. Protested again when he was told he was going to the police station. Ronnie had the honor of driving Doodle’s pimped-out ride to the cop shop.

  Soon, Wayne, Doodle, and I sat in Interview Room Two. Mayes and Virg watched from behind the two-way mirror. The red dot in the corner showed the camera was recording the session. It should’ve felt like business as usual, but it didn’t. More like a volcano poised to erupt.

  Though I wasn’t sure if those were my feelings or if I was still connected emotionally to Mayes, I ignored the personal vibes and focused on Doodle Patterson. He was all of sixteen, going on thirty-five. Another kid who’d seen too much, too soon. Didn’t everyone deserve a normal childhood? What must this kid have seen, living in a meth lab?

  “Where were you last night?” Wayne asked.

  The boy shook his head. “Nah-uh. You said you’d tell me about my mom. Where is she? Did you lock her up? Is she here? Is that why you brought me to the station?”

  “I ask the questions,” Wayne said in a stern tone. “Tell me, or I’ll track the GPS coordinates of your phone.”

  “No way can you hicks do that. You don’t have the budget for any of that high-tech crap.”

  I held my breath. Wayne was sensitive about his budget, and he despised criticism of any kind. This kid must have a death wish.

  “We can track your movements, believe you me,” Wayne said through gritted teeth. “How’d you like to wait in a holding cell while we ascertain your whereabouts during and before the fire? Since you think we’re hicks, it may take us a day or two. I live to lock up punks like you.”

  The boy paled. His hands came up in surrender mode. “No bars. No jail, I mean. I can’t be locked up. I have rights.”

  “Then tell me. Where were you last night?”

  Doodle shrugged and slouched in his seat, his eyes narrowed and calculating. “I stayed with a friend. Big hairy deal.”

  “Which friend?”

  “Why all the questions?” The teen bounced in his seat. “You think I torched our place? Why would I do that? All my stuff was in there. This is sick, man.” My emotions took a nosedive. Poor Doodle. Everything he owned was gone. His mother
was dead. Unless he had extended family, he was alone in the world.

  The sheriff steepled his hands together on the table. “The only thing sick here is the lack of straight answers I’m getting from you. Unless you give me information I can verify, you will become my guest.”

  “All right, all right. Lovey’s house. That’s where I was. Mom was riding me about my homework, and I couldn’t take it. So I split. Didn’t mean to stay all night. We were … talking. Afterward, I fell asleep. Didn’t wake up till morning. Can I go now?”

  Wayne glanced at me, eyebrows raised. I gave a slight nod of my head to indicate Doodle was telling the truth.

  “I need Lovey’s real name and address.”

  The kid froze. “Can’t. Her mom doesn’t know I slept over. I’ll get her in trouble.”

  “You’ll be in trouble if her story doesn’t match yours.”

  The boy swore. He turned away from us, and when he turned back, his eyes glittered. “LaTanya. Her name is LaTanya Tuttle. There, are you happy? Can I go?”

  Wayne nodded at the mirror. I knew that meant Virg and Mayes would be verifying Doodle’s alibi with the Trotter girl. “Not just yet. Where are the pigs?”

  The teen’s face flushed to a lurid shade of crimson. “That SOB next door threatened to eat them. Our pets. I told him I’d eat his dogs if he so much as touched our pigs. He pulled a gun on me. He’s the one who should be arrested.”

  “Were you on his property?”

  “So what if I was?” Doodle sighed as if the weight of the world lay on his shoulders and hung his head. “Petunia got loose again. Our back door doesn’t latch right. She’s smart and knows how to open the door. She can open cabinets and other stuff too.”

  “Why does she go next door? Why not run free in the woods?”

  “She’s not that kind of pig. And she loves dog food. It’s like piggy catnip for her. Once she discovered where Old Man Dixon kept the bag, she went for it every time she saw daylight. I bought him a new bag, but that wasn’t good enough. He said he’d shoot her the next time she went over there. Shoot her and eat her.”

  The raw edge in his voice rang true. I wanted to wring Ricky Dixon’s neck myself. There was no call to say such things to a kid.

  “Where’s Petunia now?”

  “Two days ago, I hid her and Patches at the shelter. They’re staying in the feral cat enclosure. They don’t like being caged, but Petunia is on a steady diet of her favorite dog food now. She’s happier than I thought.”

  “And the goat?”

  Tears flowed. “Someone shot my goat. For reals.” “On your property?”

  “I found Cotton Tail in the woods with a bullet hole in her head. Someone walked up to her and put the gun to her forehead. She didn’t even know to be scared.”

  “You have an idea who did it?”

  “Sure. That bastard next door. Cotton Tail liked to walk on his cars. I didn’t see the big deal, but Dixon really wigged out about it. I told him I’d make it right, but then I found her dead. I want to kill him for hurting her. That’s why I took our pigs away. To save them.”

  The boy’s aura pulsed wildly during this last bit. Some of it was a lie.

  Bummer. I had mixed emotions about the kid now.

  After an awkward round of silence, Wayne asked, “You know anyone who’d want to hurt your mom?”

  “What?”

  Wayne repeated the question.

  “I want to see my mom right now. I answered your questions. Where’s my mom? Is she in another room?” He hollered her name, twice.

  “She can’t hear you.” Wayne made a simmer-down gesture with his hand. “We know about the meth lab, Doodle.”

  The kid’s lips clamped shut. If looks could kill, we’d be deep-fried hush puppies by now.

  Wayne tried several more questions, but apparently Doodle had exhausted his supply of answers. I knew the sheriff expected an insight or reading from me, but Doodle’s answers confused my truth-detecting sense. When I reached across the table, Doodle jerked away, leaping out of his chair and backpedaling with his hands in the air. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want anyone messing with my mojo.”

  I crossed my arms, hiding my tingling palms underneath the barrier. Why was I suddenly the Wicked Witch of the West? Was someone spreading lies and misinformation about me? I wasn’t vindictive, and I wouldn’t harm anyone, not even a defiant teen.

  The sheriff directed Doodle back to his seat and then broke the news of his mother’s death. Tears streamed down the teen’s face. To give Doodle privacy, we stepped into the hallway. “What’ll happen to him now?” I asked.

  “Foster care if no relative claims him,” Wayne said. “There’s no dad in the picture.”

  “Isn’t he too old for foster care?”

  “Nah. You’d be surprised by the number of kids in the sixteen-to-twenty- year-old range who are in the system.”

  I digested that for a moment. I couldn’t imagine getting told I had to stay with strangers at that age. This kid had some rough days ahead. “He lied to us, but I couldn’t get a clear read on which statements were false.”

  “Figured. I’ll give him a day or so to stew about the fire and his mom, then I’ll come at him again.” Wayne sized me up. “Go to the doc in the box for your foot, Powell.”

  “Is that an order?”

  He shrugged. “Take it however you like. I’m fresh out of sugarcoating.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I see nothing wrong with your foot.” Dr. Teal scowled at me over the top of her turquoise-framed readers. She’d poked, prodded, and X-rayed my foot. She’d had me walk around the exam room. Up until this moment, I’d found her friendly, attentive, and compassionate. “Is something else going on in your life?”

  “Not that I know of, but I’m not making this up,” I said. The paper on the exam table crinkled as I shifted in my seat. “The pain started this morning.”

  “Be that as it may, your stride is fine now. Nothing’s broken, inflamed, or wounded. None of the symptoms you described are evident.”

  Was she calling me a liar? “I didn’t imagine the pain. It’s real.”

  The efficient doctor continued checking things off on her tablet screen. “Someone who does police consulting work like you should expect emotional fallout.”

  I glanced over at Mayes, who’d accompanied me to the exam room. “The pain comes and goes. I’m not having any pain right now, but when it hurts, the sensation is like I’ve stepped on a nail.”

  A printer whirred. Dr. Teal grabbed the sheet it ejected and handed it to me. “Go see a podiatrist for insole fittings if this continues.”

  I stomped out of the office. “I don’t make things up.”

  Mayes cracked a rare smile as he settled into the driver’s seat of my truck for the twenty-minute journey back to Sinclair County. “She said see a podiatrist, not psychiatrist.”

  “Same difference. I don’t need a shrink or a foot doctor. Something abnormal is going on with my foot.” I buckled my seatbelt on autopilot, wanting to yowl in frustration. We’d wasted an hour and a half to find out nothing was wrong. I needed a do-over button for this morning. “Would you mind swinging by my place on the way back to the office? I’d like to freshen up.”

  “We can do that.”

  The miles rolled by in blessed silence. I gazed at the roadside scenery as it changed from shops and plazas to forested tracks of homes. My thoughts veered back to Mandy Patterson’s charred husk of a trailer. Gone, and for what? That’s what we needed to figure out.

  The memory of Mandy’s final moments surfaced in my head. The flames. The noise. The falling ceiling. I gasped and gripped the armrest.

  Mayes shot me a worried look. “Want to talk about it?”

  I unclenched my fists. “I think Mandy was dead before her skin fried. A big chunk of ceiling fell on her, and then she blacked out.” I glanced at Mayes again. So somber, so in control of himself. “Sorry, this isn’t the coastal vacation you thought you w
ere getting.”

  On the straightaway, he smoothly passed a pickup pulling a boat trailer. “I wanted to see the area, meet some of the people, and hang out with you. This is happening exactly as I envisioned it.”

  “But we’re wrapped up in a case.”

  “Cases happen. Fact of the matter is I’m glad we have a case. Gives us another chance to work together again.”

  Some of my tension ebbed away. Mayes didn’t hold me responsible for his personal entertainment. My allegedly dead husband, Roland, wouldn’t have been so generous. But Mayes wasn’t my anything. He was a different man, with different expectations. Including romantic aspirations. Best not to think about that.

  The warrior in Mayes shone through, even in something as simple as driving a vehicle. His confident bearing spoke volumes about who and what he was.

  “Did you have a dreamwalk when you went inside the trailer?” I asked.

  “Didn’t happen for me. You have a lot more practice in talking to the dead than I do.”

  A strangled laugh caught in my throat. I coughed to cover the rude sound. Then I figured, what the hay? I don’t want to pretend with this guy. I want him to know the real me . “Strange thing to say. I’ve only been doing this for a couple of months. I was under the impression that you’d been spirit walking for most of your life.”

  “Not the same thing. My quests have been for knowledge and wisdom from tribal elders.”

  Why was he downplaying his abilities? “Seems like the same thing to me. Are you ashamed of what you do?”

  “No.” He barked that out, then grimaced. “Sorry. I want to be honest with you, but it’s second nature to conceal my abilities.”

  “Why?”

  “Because ….”

  “You sound like a teenager. Because why?”

  “Because my job in law enforcement isn’t suitable for a holy man. If my tribe members knew the scope of my abilities, they would make me the holy man.”

  “Your tribe members know. Several of them helped us when we went up against that psychic vampire at Stony Creek Lake.”

  “Those are men I trust with my secret. And you. You’re part of my secret. Don’t out me to the tribe, okay?”

  “I won’t. But my guess is they know already, and you’re fooling yourself. There’s a certain power in your aura.”