by Destiny Ford
He gave me a wide-eyed, crazed look. “I got bit by a dang devil dog!” he said. “That’s what happened!”
I looked up at the Bradford’s house. Their tiny brown and black Yorkie was standing between the curtains on the back of their living room couch, his button nose pressed against the window, tail wagging. Not many people could be afraid of something so cute. “Are you talking about the Bradford’s Yorkshire Terrier?”
“Darn straight I am! The little sucker’s a vampire dog!” he insisted. “Look at these marks!” Admittedly, the marks were more substantial than I expected, but nothing a little peroxide and a Band-Aid couldn’t fix.
“You were scared of a five-pound terrier?” I asked.
“They live up to their names,” he said. “Little terrorists, that’s what they are,” he winced as Annie applied some antibiotic to the bites.
“It’s not a terrorist,” I tried to explain. “It’s a terrier.”
“Same thing!” he yelled, pointing to the bites.
“It’s smaller than a newborn baby!”
“That don’t make a bit a difference. Black widows’ll kill ya and they don’t weigh no more than a peanut!”
He had me there. The logic of a redneck farmer. “Is there a reason he attacked you?”
This time the officer on the scene stepped in. “Yeah, the reason was that Mr. Jones tried to use the dog as a football.”
I inhaled a sharp breath. Nothing makes me angrier than animals being abused. I stared at him until I could calmly ask, “You kicked a defenseless dog?”
“You kiddin’ me?” Mr. Jones asked. “Look at these marks,” he said, pointing to them again. “You think that dog is defenseless?”
I clenched my teeth. “Why did you kick the dog?”
“It looked like it was gonna attack! I was savin’ myself.”
“And by ‘looked like it was going to attack’,” the officer said, “Mr. Jones actually means the dog was running in circles in the front yard, playing with its ball and started barking when Mr. Jones walked by.”
I was fighting hard to be objective but the story was just making me angrier. “Did other people see this happen?”
“Yes. The neighbors across the street and Julia Bradford saw the whole thing,” the officer answered.
“Can I talk to them?”
“Go ahead.” The cop pointed to where Julia was having a hushed discussion with a middle-aged woman in a blouse, fitted pants, and high heels.
I turned back to the ambulance. “Mr. Jones, if I publish a story about you kicking a tiny puppy, you’ll probably get a lot of hate mail.” In my head I added that the first letter would be from me. Mr. Jones wrinkled his nose, waving his hand like he was telling me to go away. “I’m going to interview a few other people, but you should think pretty hard about whether there’s anything else you want me to write in the article.”
Mr. Jones didn’t say anything, so I left to talk to Julia Bradford and her neighbor. “Hi, Julia,” I said as I walked up.
“Kate,” she answered. “This is my neighbor, Stacy Reed.”
“Hi, Stacy. Can you both give me your versions of what happened?”
They repeated the same story the officer had already told me. I jotted down some notes, took some adorable photos of Cuddles, the terrier, and some much less adorable shots of Mr. Jones.
After the police, ambulance, and neighbors left, I caught Julia Bradford as she was going into her house. “Julia, I was wondering if I could talk to you again?”
She looked at me with an emotionless face. “Of course,” she said. “Please, come inside.”
“Thank you,” I answered as Cuddles twirled and wagged his tail, welcoming me back to his home.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with Mr. Jones.” My eyes fell on the perfect family photos hanging on the walls in the hall. “With everything else going on in your life, I’m sure that was the last thing you needed today.”
“Thank you for your concern,” Julia said, “but I’m fine.”
“You handle things well.”
“Thank you,” she said, sitting on a chair in the living room. I looked at the couch, wondering if it would try to eat me again today. I decided to risk it and sat . . . and sank. “What exactly do you need from me, Kate?”
The last time I’d talked to Julia was two days after Chelsea’s body had been found. I didn’t want to drag up bad memories for her, but I really needed to know what information the Bradfords had about Chelsea, Shawn, and the pregnancy. “I just have some more questions about Chelsea.” Julia’s mouth formed a thin line. I knew talking about her dead daughter was the last thing she wanted to do, but the police didn’t suspect foul play and someone needed to find out what had really happened. “Was she dating anyone at the time of her death?”
Julia’s face retained the blank stare. “She dated a number of boys.”
“Do you know of any she was particularly interested in?”
It was clear Julia didn’t want to answer my question and deflected it. “Why are you here, Kate? The police ruled Chelsea’s death an accident. Our family is struggling to deal with this tragedy and we just want to move on. Can’t you respect that?”
I glanced at the floor for a few seconds, feeling guilty for pressing the issue. “I’m sorry, Julia. I don’t mean to bring up painful memories. I’m just trying to find out if Chelsea’s death was really an accident.”
“Why in the world would you think it’s not?” Julia asked as her eyes narrowed and anger started to show through the controlled masque she was wearing.
“Because the evidence I have points to the contrary.”
She gave me a doubtful look. “What evidence?”
I looked her in the eye so I wouldn’t miss her reaction. “The fact that she died under what I believe are suspicious circumstances—and that she was pregnant.”
Julia let out a little gasp, covering her mouth before she turned away. After a minute I heard her small voice ask, “How did you find out?”
“I investigated,” I answered. “Was her pregnancy the reason you got the autopsy done so quickly and had the funeral service so soon after her death?”
She stood and stared out the large living room window, her calm demeanor replaced by anxiety. She’d been hesitant to answer my questions before, but now I knew Chelsea’s secret, I hoped she’d be more willing to confide in me. “We didn’t want people in Branson to find out. We didn’t want her reputation to be soiled. Once her body was found, we decided the quicker we could get the funeral over with, the sooner people would stop talking about Chelsea’s death and there would be less chance that the pregnancy information would leak.”
Soiled reputation? Who even says that anymore? “Did you send Chelsea away to have the baby somewhere else?”
Julia nodded absently. “She went to live with friends in another state. I was supposed to fly out and help her through the birth.”
“What do you mean you were supposed to?”
Tears formed at the corners of Julia’s eyes. In a raspy voice she was fighting to control she said, “A few weeks before Chelsea was due, she ran away from our friends’ home. She had planned to give the baby up for adoption, but she changed her mind.”
“Why do you think she decided not to go through with the adoption?”
“I think she truly loved her baby and just couldn’t give it up. Maybe some part of her thought she could start a family of her own and that’s why she ran.” Julia picked up a tissue, dabbing it under her nose. “We don’t even know where she had the baby. Obviously she did though, because she wasn’t pregnant when she died.”
The tears that had been pricking Julia’s eyes overflowed. “We talked to her on the phone a lot while she was gone. She just changed her mind.” Julia grabbed another tissue from the cream and gold ceramic tissue holder sitting on the side table next to her. “I tried to convince her it was a bad idea. Brian told her the same thing, but she was determined to keep the baby. She knew how we f
elt and didn’t think we’d agree to help her, so she left a note at our friends’ house, and ran away.” Julia broke down into sobs. “That was the last time anyone we know of saw her before she died. We never met our grandchild. We still don’t know where the baby is, or if it’s even alive. If someone really killed Chelsea, they might have hurt the baby too.” I stood up and put an arm around Julia, letting her cry into my shoulder until the emotion shaking her body subsided.
“Have you told the police about this?” I asked.
She gave me a disbelieving laugh. “Telling the Branson police about this would be like announcing Chelsea’s pregnancy on the ten o’clock news.” She shook her head. “No. Brian and I discussed it. We didn’t want anyone to know about the pregnancy when Chelsea was alive; we certainly don’t want rumors spreading now that she’s passed away and can’t even defend herself. I know you have no reason to keep it a secret, but I would appreciate as much discretion as possible—for Chelsea’s sake.”
“I understand,” I said. “I’m just trying to find out what happened.” I thought of Julia’s reasons for not going to the authorities. I could see her point of view; I just didn’t think it was smart to keep the information from the police. “I know you’re worried about rumors starting, but I think the police could at least help you find Chelsea’s baby.”
Julia sat back in her chair and took another tissue from the box. “I’ve had a private investigator looking for Chelsea since she ran away. When Chelsea’s body was found, I had the investigator start searching for the baby. Considering what I’m paying him, I have a lot more faith in his investigation methods, as well as his commitment to keep the search private, than I do the Branson Falls Police Department.”
I was impressed that she’d gone to those lengths to try and find Chelsea, but I guess most parents would. At least if she wasn’t willing to trust the police, she had found someone to help her search for her grandchild. I wondered who the P.I. was. I only knew one: Hawke. Could the Bradfords be the person he was working for? If so, why wouldn’t he just tell me that? I kept the questions to myself though. “What about the father of the baby? Have you spoken with him?”
“No,” she said. That one short word had a curt crispness to it that indicated the Bradfords were not on good terms with Shawn Wallace—assuming he was the father.
“Can you tell me the name of the boy?”
Her eyes held a combination of anger and sadness. “No. I can’t.”
“Do you know how the boy felt about the pregnancy at all?”
She shook her head as she tore pieces from the tissue in her lap. “Chelsea only told us that she and the father had agreed to put the baby up for adoption. I’m not sure if he even knew Chelsea was back in the area before she died. We didn’t know she’d come back to Branson Falls until her body was found.”
So Chelsea hadn’t contacted any of her family members. Then who did she have contact with? Was it only Shawn? And why come back to Branson if she didn’t think she had the support of her parents? I wondered if I might be able to get more information by seeing how Chelsea lived her life before she left Branson. “Would it be all right if I took a look at Chelsea’s room?”
Julia nodded and led me over the hardwood floors of the living room into a long hallway. She stopped at the second door, pushing it open. It was the room of any typical teenage girl. Robert Pattinson posters were pinned to the sage green walls and photos of friends were scattered all over, some hanging in frames, others just taped to the walls. Chelsea’s full size bed sat in the middle of the room, a pink comforter spread over the top with decorative pillows leaning against the headboard. A cream colored antique dresser hugged the wall near her closet. Julia stepped back as I moved to get a better look at the photos.
There were pictures of Chelsea in her dance uniforms with other girls on the team. I recognized some of the girls from her funeral. There were photos of Chelsea at dances, though none of the boys in any of the pictures I saw resembled the picture of Shawn Wallace that Hawke had given me. Other photos showed Chelsea with her family at holiday parties, and Chelsea goofing off with her friends. Nothing seemed strange or out of the ordinary. She seemed happy. The one thing I did notice was the pink and black beaded bracelet Chelsea was wearing in all the photos. I wondered what the significance was.
I turned to Julia, who was gazing at Chelsea’s bed with such intense longing that I imagined only another mother who had lost a child could even begin to understand it. “Julia,” I said in a tone so low it was almost a whisper. It took her a few seconds to come out of her trance.
“Yes?”
“I noticed Chelsea is wearing the same pink and black bracelet in all of these photos.”
Julia walked over and picked up a photo book. The purple cover with white daises painted in the corners showcased Chelsea at a car wash fundraiser for the cheerleading squad. Chelsea was covered in soap, laughing next to Piper and some other girls, wet cars and trucks behind them. Her bracelet could barely be seen through the suds on her arms. “It was a gift from someone who meant a lot to her. She never took it off. We didn’t get it back with her personal belongings though. It must have slipped off while she was in the water.”
I nodded, thinking about the friendship bracelets my friends and I had made in elementary school. We had convinced ourselves we would wear them forever—it turns out forever is only as long as it takes for a friend to piss you off. I took another look around the room in case I’d missed something the first time. When I was satisfied there was nothing else to see, I turned back to Julia. “Would it be okay if I borrow the photo book? I think it would help me learn more about Chelsea’s life, and find out who her friends were. They might have information we haven’t uncovered yet. I promise to return it.”
She brushed a hand over the front of the book, almost a caress. “That would be fine. But if you could try and keep Chelsea’s pregnancy a secret when you talk with people, I would appreciate it.” She lifted the photo book toward me.
I took it, nodding in understanding. “Thank you for all your help, Julia. I really appreciate you answering my questions.”
“Of course,” she said.
I walked out of the room as Julia closed Chelsea’s bedroom door with a reverence usually reserved for religious worship. I followed her to the front door. As I stepped outside, she said, “Kate?” I turned around. “Do you really think Chelsea’s death wasn’t an accident?”
I looked her straight in the eyes. “I do.”
“Then please let me know if you have other questions, or if there’s anything I can do to help. If someone did this to Chelsea, I want to know, and I want them brought to justice.”
“I feel the same,” I said. Julia closed the door and I got in my Jeep. It was only noon. I’d go back to the house to make some mac and cheese for lunch and work from there.
When I got in my Jeep there was a voicemail from my mom reminding me not to forget the hot dog and marshmallow roast at their house tomorrow. Cookouts in our back yard have been a summer tradition for my family since I was a kid. I’d missed them after I moved away to go to college. I was looking forward to them again now that I was back.
I pulled into my driveway and walked through the back door, into the kitchen. I threw my bags and work down on the table, shoved some frozen mac and cheese in the microwave, and flipped my laptop on. As I waited for my lunch, I took the photo book back out and flipped through it. There were a few more photos of the car wash. Some included Piper, others were with the different girls on the dance team. The photos were interesting, but nothing seemed suspect.
I finished going through the photos just as the microwave beeped. I put the photo book in my office, and sat at the table. I had just started working on stories for the week when my cell phone rang to the tune of “Sweet Caroline,” the ringtone that indicates the call is from someone I don’t already have in my phone contact list. I bobbed my head and sang along to the song while I debated answering, but when the cho
rus ended I decided I might as well pick up. “Hello.”
“Hi, Katie.”
I frowned at the nickname, and the voice. “Drake. What do you need?”
“You recognized my voice.” His tone was smug.
“No,” I said. “You’re the only person in the world who refuses to stop calling me Katie. How did you get this number anyway?”
“It wasn’t difficult.”
“Oh, right,” I said, nodding my head as I spoke, “because you’re charming, sexy, Dylan Drake.”
“No,” he said, “the Patriot Act, actually. But I’d like to hear more about me being sexy.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I didn’t mean to say that part out loud.” I tapped my index finger on the table. “And what do you mean the Patriot Act? Don’t tell me you put my name on a terrorist watch list.”
“Have you met your mother?” I could hear the disbelief in his tone even over the phone. “You only have to look at the front page of the Tribune to realize she’s a national security threat. In the wrong hands, she could be used as a weapon of mass destruction!”
“That’s my mom, not me.”
“You’re her daughter. You could have the same disaster tendencies.”
I clamped my jaw shut until I could get control and not bite his head off through the phone. “You’re not scoring any points here.”
He paused. “Maybe I could make it up to you over dinner?” he suggested. “My committee meetings are done for a couple of weeks, so I’m back in town. I’d like to see you.”
This caught me completely off-guard. Why would philandering Drake want to see me? Maybe Spence was right and for Drake this was all just a game I kept playing into. When I didn’t answer, Drake said, “Katie, are you there?”
I closed my eyes as I leaned my head back against the chair. “I’m here. I’m just trying to decide how to answer.”
“ ‘Yes’ would be the easiest.”
“Uh huh. I know how you like things easy.”
I heard him sigh on the other end of the phone. “I usually don’t have to work this hard to get a woman interested.”
