by R. L. Syme
Aidan walked into the open office and looked around. Bret MacLeod was nowhere to be seen. In the big back office, Allan VonBrandt and Randall West huddled, their heads together, talking intently.
Jeff led Aidan back to the office, and Randall motioned for them to enter, that big, plastic smile returning. Aidan sat in the offered chair in front of the Sheriff’s desk.
“Look, Conley, you know we’re all friends here, and I don’t like thinking there could be a murderer on my Fire & Rescue squad.” The no-small-talk part made it strange. Randall was nothing if not a good old boy, and he almost always had some comment about the McA football schedule or the high school basketball roster. Like a crowd warm-up at a comedy club. This cut-to-the-chase was strange, to say the least.
“There isn’t, Sheriff.” Aidan kept his tone even, unemotional. “I did not kill my wife.”
“Bret MacLeod tells me otherwise.”
“And you’re going to take his word?”
Allan VonBrandt cut in. “I’m sure you’ve seen a copy of the indictment by now, so you know we have evidence to the contrary.”
“You have evidence that Jane had drugs in her system.”
“Drugs that she didn’t have a prescription for,” Allan said. “In potentially toxic levels.”
“I didn’t have a prescription for any medication, and I’ve never taken anything but an antibiotic in my life.” Aidan pressed his finger to the desk. “So whatever it was, I couldn’t have given it to her.”
“We all know how easy it is to get our hands on prescription meds if we need to.”
Randall West sat on the edge of his desk while Allan did the interrogating, and Aidan sighed. He didn’t know VonBrandt at all, and something about the man seemed aggressive, predatory.
“I did not kill my wife.” Aidan put all the force of conscience behind his statement, trying to put aside the guilt and responsibility. Regardless of the fact that he felt responsible, he did not drug his wife and set their house on fire.
Deputy VonBrandt narrowed his eyes and studied Aidan, sniffing with an almost haughty anger. “If you aren’t guilty, why are you acting guilty?”
“How am I acting guilty?”
VonBrandt resumed his careful inspection of Aidan’s face and body, as though looking for clues. Sheriff West clapped his deputy on the shoulder. “Over the years, I’ve learned to trust Allan. He’s got a sixth sense about who’s guilty and who’s innocent.”
“You have to understand, Sheriff.” Aidan shifted in his seat, his discomfort rising.
He couldn’t explain to them about the argument they’d had. That would make him look guiltier than he already did. And he definitely couldn’t tell them about Jane and Claire. That would make Claire part of the suspect list, as well.
Aidan chose his words carefully, recalling a conversation he and his father had after the fire, when Aidan had considered turning himself in to the police just to assuage his guilt. “Imagine you spend your whole life developing a cure for cancer, and then your wife gets an aggressive form of cancer and dies. You didn’t give her the cancer, but you dedicate all your time to trying to make sure other people don’t die of cancer. Wouldn’t you feel like it was somehow your fault that she died of a disease you could have stopped, that you make a career of stopping?”
Both men stared at him. Allan shook his head. “I wouldn’t feel guilty. You feel guilty.”
“For a fireman to lose his wife to a fire… especially one that, if he’d been there, he could have stopped—should have stopped… I should have been there.”
Aidan swallowed, hoping it would keep the tears at bay. “If I had been in the house, I would have stopped that fire.”
“Did your wife often take sleeping pills?” Allan asked.
“Not that I knew of.”
“So these medications,” Allan pulled a sheet of paper from the Sheriff’s desk and handed it to Aidan, “They weren’t something she normally took?”
Aidan read the list. Jane had two different kinds of drugs in her blood stream, and none of them looked familiar. But then again, near the end of her life, there were a lot of things about Jane’s life he hadn’t known. This was only the tip of the iceberg.
“I don’t recognize of them. She wasn’t taking any meds that I remember.”
“Not even for post-partum depression?”
A burning sensation rose from Aidan’s stomach, into his throat, and prevented his taking a breath for a long moment. Yet his mouth opened and closed like a fish.
He finally sucked air into his lungs and blinked hard. “She wasn’t on any meds that I remember.”
“You don’t want to talk about the baby, and I can see that.” Randall leaned in, like a friend. “But we need to know about her state of mind at the time of her death, so we’re going to have to ask you more about Jane.”
“Her state of mind?”
“Well, if you say you didn’t start the fire, then…” Randall and Allan exchanged a heavy look. “We have to consider the possibility of suicide.”
“Suicide?” Aidan repeated. “But you just arrested me for her murder. If you think it was suicide… none of this makes any sense.”
He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. With such a small law enforcement force, Somewhere barely kept up with the petty crime it saw. Let alone major crime. And they couldn’t even decide if it was homicide or suicide.
“Chief MacLeod says he’s sure you did it.” Randall pulled at his bolo tie. “Says your dad covered up for you, all these years, and now MacLeod has proof…”
“Sheriff.” Allan VonBrandt cut the old man off. “Why don’t I take Conley to his cell?”
Randall nodded, his grey-flecked helmet of hair unmoving. “Look. We’ve got evidence, Conley. So if you go ahead and confess, it would save us all a lot of headache.”
“Do a lot of people confess after that spiel?” Aidan asked Allan VonBrandt as the deputy walked him back to the musty jail cell.
“You didn’t listen to the Miranda when we brought you in, did you? Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you have the right to keep silent?”
“I remember that part.”
Allan shoved him in the cell and locked it. He stood at the door for a moment, sizing Aidan up.
“I can’t decide what it is you’re hiding, but trust me when I say we’re going to find out.”
Aidan sat on the bare, lumpy mattress. “I’m not hiding anything that’s going to help you with Jane’s case.”
“I don’t believe that.” Allan narrowed his gaze. “Because you don’t believe it either. You just think about that.”
Aidan laid down with his hands behind his head and tried not to let the creeps shimmy all the way through his body. But Allan knew something was up, and if Aidan didn’t find a way to prove he didn’t kill his wife, he was afraid Allan would eventually dig it out.
That would be the end of everything.
***
Claire felt completely useless returning to her aunt’s house after leaving Aidan at the jail. She had expected to feel much different when she left the house that morning.
She’d been full of plans and the future. Even a little optimistic. But as always, Aidan Conley changed the trajectory of her life.
When she’d come back to Somewhere to stay with her aunt and uncle, she hadn’t even expected to see him. Word was, no one saw him. She’d driven out Sweet Mountain Road once or twice.
Okay. Five or six times.
Hoping to see him.
But after awhile, she settled into the knowledge that her short time here would be Aidan-free. And it wasn’t a completely unwelcome thought.
Aidan had always been her crazy-maker. When he said jump, she didn’t ask questions, she just jumped. It had taken her a long time to realize she was in love with him, because he was supposed to be her brother-in-law. After Jane died and they moved to Dallas, it hadn’t been kosher to mention his name in their house.
But she had been in his pocket since t
hey were kids.
Claire rummaged through the picture books in the family room at her aunt’s house, looking for the sections where her cousins’ lives intersected her own.
Even in pictures taken by someone else’s mother, at someone else’s birthday or bar mitzvah or school play… she was always looking up at Aidan.
Aidan and Jane.
Bad enough she’d always idolized her sister. But then, to be in love with her sister’s boyfriend-slash-fiancé-slash-husband. It had been torture.
Claire settled on the formal picture of Jane’s wedding and traced the outlines of her sister’s face.
Jane had been seventeen and a young high school graduate. Claire had been thirteen, toothy, awkward, and pudgy. Aidan had been, as always, perfect.
Aidan and Jane stood in the center of a giant group of people. All the Milton family, all the Conley family. Half of Somewhere was in their wedding photo. Between Aidan’s dad at the firehouse and Jane’s dad at the hospital, the entire emergency service and medical staff of the county stood smiling at the camera.
They had been the sweethearts of the town. Aidan, the golden boy, All-State athlete, and Jane, prom queen, Honor Society, cheerleader.
A fat tear plopped onto the faded, thin plastic covering Claire’s memories. She wiped at it and crossed her parents’ faces.
She wondered if Mom and Dad knew about the charges being brought against Aidan. Would they be happy that something was finally being done? Or sad that the subject was new again?
Claire continued to flip through the picture book.
After the reception, there were no more pictures of Claire among the cousins. It was only a few years later they’d moved, and then the Somewhere family had become estranged.
Mom didn’t talk to her sister anymore. Aunt Becky believed Aidan was innocent.
Claire briefly wondered if that meant her mother would ignore her as well. Mom already assumed that Claire was being corrupted by her aunt and uncle, and said so whenever she called.
She closed the book and leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Should she keep working on the business proposal? Or work on Aidan’s case?
Claire woke from an indecisive nap to the doorbell ringing. Her heavy eyelids burned as she looked around her aunt’s living room. The front door wasn’t visible from the couch, but before she could turn around, she heard a voice.
“Claire, are you here, girl?” Joe Walker’s tenor voice rang out through the hallway, and he clomped into the living room. Her aunt’s neighbor and her best friend’s brother, Joe had taken to checking in on her while Aunt Becky and Uncle Roy were in California. He always came with some news from Tande or a plate of desserts from Meg’s bakery.
“I’m here, Joe.” She raised her hand and he slapped it with his own.
“How the hell did it go?” He plopped onto the couch and passed her a beer. Of course Joe had brought beer. And not one of those frou-frou craft things, either. Good old Busch Beer.
She took a swig and memories of high school came flooding back. “How did what go?”
Joe pinned her with his dark eyes. “The bakery, girl. I came over here around noon and you weren’t here. My sister has been calling me for hours to find out if I’ve seen you—apparently, you’re not answering your phone. I finally saw you pull up and came right over. I want to know how it went.”
Claire sipped her Busch.
“I didn’t get the cupcake.”
“Damn.” He put his arm over the back of the couch, deep in thought. “What are you gonna do, then? Have you talked to Tande?”
“Not yet.”
“Did Meg have another option?”
“Not that will fit what we’d planned.”
“Why in the hell didn’t you get the cupcake?”
Claire took another drink and held the beer in her mouth. “When does Tande get into town?”
“Claire.” Joe pulled at her beer and clinked both bottles onto the coffee table. “Why did you not get the cupcake you wanted?”
She breathed through tightened lips. “It was a bride.”
“So what? Some random bride from Somewhere, Texas? They’ll never know.”
“Except she’s marrying the governor’s son in two months. They’re all going to be at that wedding.”
“Every single investor?”
“Enough of them are in the investment group with the governor’s husband that I can’t risk it.”
“Wait. You said the governor’s son?” One of Joe’s eyebrows went up. “Was Marin Conley at the bakery? Is that why you were so late?”
Claire laced her fingers and stared at them. “No.”
“Well, where did you go?” He offered her an easy smile. “I know you didn’t go to the bar; we’re not open yet.”
Claire glanced at the clock. “Speaking of the bar, shouldn’t you be getting to work right about now?”
“Don’t evade the questions, Claire.”
Inside, her stomach felt like it was eating itself. Joe had known her almost as long as Aidan, but like the big brother she’d never had, Joe was over-protective and a little crazy when it came to her love life, or lack thereof.
Which struck her as ironic, given Joe’s reputation around town. Thankfully, she had never been a target of the Joe train. It had leveled a lot of girls over the years.
Most girls would have been devastated to be romantically ignored by their best friend’s hot older brother. But Claire had only ever had eyes for Aidan.
“Claire.” Joe’s impatient voice grated at her. She didn’t want to talk about Aidan. But a glance at his face said Joe wasn’t giving up until he knew every dirty detail.
So she told him. Where she’d really been, what had happened with Aidan, the arrest, the lawyer. Everything. Except how her insides felt like Freddy Kruger had been at them.
Best for him not to know that.
“So they finally arrested Aidan Conley.” Joe shook his head and picked up his beer. “This had to happen eventually, Claire. You know that, right? As soon as his dad retired, it had to happen.”
“I don’t believe he did it,” she said, her voice low.
She expected Joe to explode, but he only drank his beer in silence and nodded.
“I said I don’t believe he…”
“I heard you the first time.”
“You’re not going to argue with me?”
“I don’t know one way or the other, but I know enough people care enough that it needs to be settled.” He drained the last of the beer and pointed at hers. Claire shook her head and he began to drink hers as well.
“That new fire chief used to come into the bar a lot when he was just a captain. One of the bartenders had sort of a running conversation with the guy about life down at the firehouse.”
“Yes, I met him today. Sort of stocky? Square face?”
“That’s the guy.” Joe sipped and considered. “He’s a pit bull, that one. Had this idea that Aidan’s dad covered up the crime, so it was only a matter of time.”
Claire bit her lip. Whether it was inevitable or not, she didn’t like the idea of everyone in Somewhere now turning their gossiping tongues to Aidan and Jane and Claire and the fire.
“Pit bull or not, I wish they’d leave Aidan alone.”
Joe put a finger under her chin and turned her face to him, studying her features carefully. “You don’t still have a thing for Aidan, do you?” He squinted. “Claire.”
“I can’t care about the guy without it being a ‘thing’?” But even as the words came out, she knew they sounded idiotic. Joe would know that she never buried her feelings very deep.
“I think it’s possible. But I don’t think it’s the case, here.” He released her and sighed. “You know this is going to be hard on you. On your family.”
“At least Becky and Roy are in California. I think it’s best if I’m the only one who knows about this for awhile.”
“Oh, that’s a delusion if I ever heard one.”
&nb
sp; She laughed. Maybe Joe knew her too well.
“I don’t mean forever. Just until we can figure out a strategy to beat these charges. Once we have an angle, I think telling my family will be fine. I just need a few days to get a handle on it.”
“You have Sherlock-Holmes-face, sweetheart.” Joe waved the bottle neck back and forth like a finger. “That’s never good.”
“I was just thinking. The storage unit.”
Joe’s eyes rounded. “There’s a storage unit?”
“Yes, remember when I was in Austin and I called you to dig my old French horn out…”
“Oh yeah. It’s over by the fairgrounds. That was years ago.”
“When we moved, my parents just packed everything up and shoved it in there. My mom couldn’t deal. I think she’d planned to come back and clean it all out, but she never has.”
Joe set the bottle down and laced his fingers, resting his elbows on his knees. “That time was so rough for them.”
“It was rough for me, too.” Claire was surprised at the energy behind her statement. But a faint cloud of frustration backbuilt around her.
“I know it was.” Joe slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side hug. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
Claire sat, her head against Joe’s shoulder, and let the moment sink in. Sadness slid through her like ice, bone-deep cold. Her whole business plan had been upended, her first love had bulldozed his way back into her life only to end up needing her help, and now she was about to secretly work to free the man everyone assumed killed her sister.
Tears threatened, but she tried to will them away. The last thing she needed was to sentimentalize this whole experience. She needed her rational brain. Her thinking.
Not her heart.
“Tande will be here on Friday.” Joe stroked her hair with slow, calm hands and the rhythm slowed her world from its screeching, emotional pace. “You know my sister. If plans change, she will roll with it. If you have to go back to the drawing board with this business, she’ll be the first to scrap whatever plans you’d had.”
“We can’t scrap too much.” Claire wiped her cheeks and sat forward. “We have to be in Austin on the 30th for the meeting.”
