Bubble Chum

by Wendy Meadows

  “I haven’t been there.”

  “So….do I have your permission to search the house?” he asks. “If you don’t give permission, I’ll have to get a warrant. That will take time, but it will still happen.”

  I put on my big-girl panties and stare him down. I wall off my upset behind an impenetrable wall of granite. I would never let him see me upset over this. I would save that for private. “Go ahead and search it. I have nothing to hide. I only wish I knew what you were looking for.”

  He turns his back on me. “I’ll let you know the minute we find anything.”

  I stand still long after the doorbells tell me he’s gone. Cold numbness creeps up my legs into my heart. I can’t move. What the devil is going on? Why is he acting like this? Why is he questioning me about my whereabouts when he knows perfectly well where I was and what I was doing?

  None of this makes any sense, and his behavior makes it so much worse. He could have said one word to encourage me, to let me know he still cared about me, no matter what the problem was. He didn’t even bother to do that.

  None of the events of the last few hours make any coherent picture I can understand. The quaking heartache that started to take over wells up in my middle. I sense it threatening to take over and knock me off my moorings if I don’t do something pretty quick.

  What can I do, though? I can’t work on the case. I can’t work on the Winter Carnival. There’s nothing I can do and nowhere I can go to get away from it.

  I throw out my foot and kick the office door shut. I’m alone. No one can see me or hear me. I return to my desk and sit down in my chair. I stare at the desktop for a second trying to make up my mind what to do. Should I go home? Should I go for a walk?

  My throat swells. I can’t hold back that tide of despair a second longer, but the good news is I don’t have to. I fold my arms on the desk, bury my face in my elbow, and burst into tears.

  7

  “Time to go home, Mom,” Zack calls.

  “Just a second,” I yell back. “Don’t leave without me. Okay?”

  “I’m waiting.”

  I carry my now-completed gingerbread house to the bakery next door, stash it in the walk-in, and hustle back to the candy store to meet Zack on the sidewalk. He locks up and we head for home.

  We take our time strolling down Main Street and into our own neighborhood. Even if things aren’t as great as they could be right now, I still enjoy the crisp winter air, the bare black trees against the sky, and the dead leaves lining the sidewalks. There’s something comforting about winter cold when you know you’re going home to a warm house with all your own comfortable things.

  I slip my hand through Zack’s elbow. If I can’t be near David right now, at least I still have one man in my life. I cherish my son more than ever, especially since he’s got a girlfriend and his own life is leading him away from me. I have to enjoy the time we have left while it lasts. He buoys me up in a sea of despair. I hold onto him to save my life and stop me from drowning.

  All at once, Zack stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He gasps out loud. “What the….?”

  We both stare in shock at our house. Whatever I envisioned about going into a nice, warm, comforting house flies right out the window. The white Forensics Team van is parked in our driveway. White-jacketed men and women swarm all over the place.

  David Graham stands on the porch jotting something in his notebook. His eyebrows bristle when we walk up the steps. “I’m sorry, but you two will have to stay out here until we finish our survey.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask him.

  “I told you we had to make a thorough search of the premises,” he replies. “This could take maybe another hour and a half to two hours.”

  “Two hours!” I cry. “You said you had to search it. You never said you were going to do all…..this.” I wave at the Forensics Team pouring out of every door. They even dig around in the yard.

  He frowns over his notes. “It’s a standard search—nothing you haven’t seen before.”

  I’ve seen it before, but it never happened to me and my house before. I stare at the faceless horde rummaging in every hole and corner. I don’t even want to think about what they’re doing inside. I don’t want to know what they’re finding and what conclusions they might come to.

  Zack and I retreat to the sidewalk. I can’t watch this. I turn away. A sick feeling eats away at my insides, and I huddle inside my coat. The comforting welcome of home that I anticipated slips through my fingers. Now that I have nowhere to shelter, the cold sinks into my bones. It gnaws at my nerves until I can’t stand it.

  Kyle Davidson comes out of his house and meanders over to us. “What’s going on over there?”

  I look away. I don’t want to talk right now. Out of nowhere, Zack puts his arms around my shoulders and hugs me against his chest. I wish I could hide in that embrace from the whole nightmare.

  Jonah leans his ribs into the back of my legs. He presses his weight into me. I close my eyes to hold back tears. The assurance and support of my friends and neighbors means the world, but it doesn’t fix what’s broken. I’m homeless. I’m bereft. I’ve got nothing in the world.

  When Kyle speaks again, he murmurs low. “You guys can come over to my house if you want to. I’ve got coffee and cake in there.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Davidson,” Zack tells him. “If it’s all the same to you, I think we’ll just wait until the Police give us permission to go into our house.”

  “Sure,” Kyle breathes. “Just let me know if I can help in any way.”

  I should have expected this. The people in this town never let anyone face any hardship without trying to help. They were bound to do the same for me. It doesn’t make it easier, though, does it? I’ve been on the giving end of all that help and support for months. I never really understood until now what it felt like to need it in return.

  A rapid footstep draws our attention toward the house. David Graham comes toward us with his Police Officer face on. I’m getting tired of seeing that face. If I don’t start seeing something different from him, I don’t think I’ll be able to look at him again.

  He nods to Zack and Kyle. “I need you to come down to the station with me, Margaret.”

  Zack whips around. “What for?”

  “I need to question her some more, and I can’t do it here.” David waves toward his cruiser.

  “Can’t you tell us what this is all about?” Kyle asks.

  “I’m sorry,” David replies. “It’s strictly part of the investigation right now.”

  I take a step away, but Zack cuts me off. “Don’t go with him, Mom. She’s not going anywhere with you until you tell us what this is all about.”

  I hold out my hand to him. “It’s all right. I’ll go.”

  Zack shoves his hands into his pockets and pulls out his keys. “I’m going to follow you, Mom. I’ll wait so you have a ride home afterward.”

  “Good idea,” David tells him.

  He marches toward his squad car and opens the passenger door the way he usually does. At least he doesn’t put me in the back. That would be my worst nightmare.

  He gets into the driver’s seat and rumbles out of town to the Police Station. He opens the car door for me. Then he opens the station door for me. He goes through every inch of the process with meticulous precision.

  He leads me inside and waves me toward a chair in front of his desk. I’ve never set foot in the station before. It looks different from what I expected. It’s really not much more than a box out in the middle of nowhere with a few desks in it. No one occupies any of the other desks. We have the place to ourselves.

  He picks up a stack of file folders and sets it aside. From my seat, I can see he keeps his desk impeccably clean. He always talks about his house being a barn and a stable and a kennel for a single man. I thought his desk would be a disaster zone. Instead, every piece of paper has its own place, its own paperclip, its own designated position in his orderly system
.

  He takes out his notebook and powers up his computer before he turns to me. “Now, then, Margaret, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? It’s my unfortunate duty to inform you that you’re a suspect in the murder case out at the Overlook Hotel. Right now, you’re our only suspect, and all the evidence points to you.”

  “What evidence is that?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “You’re here to answer my questions, not the other way around. We found some very incriminating evidence in your house. Right now, it’s only out of consideration for our long association and your position as a respected member of this community that you’re not under arrest for capital murder.”

  “Why won’t you tell me what evidence you found?” I demand. “If I’m going to listen to you accuse me of murder, I have a right to know what evidence you’re basing that on.”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s a sensitive part of the investigation.”

  “So you keep saying,” I grumble.

  “Now I need to ask you some questions about what you know about the victim.” He opens his notebook.

  “I didn’t know the victim,” I tell him.

  “You never met him?”

  “No, I never met him,” I tell him. “I never laid eyes on him until I found him dead in his hotel room.”

  “What about his wife?” he asks. “Do you know his wife?”

  I smack my lips and throw up my hands. “This is silly, David. How could I know the victim or his wife? They were tourists from out of town. They never even came to West End. They were in the Hotel the whole time.”

  He shakes his head. “Please, just stick to answering the questions. Muddling the interview with a bunch of questions of your own only makes you look more guilty. If you really have nothing to hide, please just cooperate with the Police investigation without throwing your own brand of detective work into the mix.”

  “Fine.” I fling myself back in my chair. “I did not know the victim or his wife. I never met them. I never talked to them. I never knew what they looked like. I still don’t know what his wife looks like.”

  “Neither of them ever bought candy from your store?” he asks.

  “No, they never bought candy from my store.”

  “Do you have any ongoing medical conditions, Margaret?” he asks.

  I gasp and my eyes snap open. “What? No! You know I don’t have any medical conditions.”

  “Are you on any medications currently?”

  I glare at him. Now this is getting ridiculous. “No.”

  “When was the last time you went to the doctor’s office?”

  “How should I know?” I fire back. “I guess it was in October when I went for my annual pap smear. Are you going to subpoena the results while you’re at it?”

  “I might have to, which means I’ll need your permission to access your medical records.”

  I gape at him. “You’re serious. You would really do that, wouldn’t you?”

  He leans his elbows on the desk. For the first time, he looks at me with something close to human decency. “This is an active murder investigation, Margaret. This is not a game you play on the side. We have to look into every detail of your story for any inconsistency, so if there is anything you’re leaving out or anything you chose to alter slightly, it will only work against you.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I didn’t leave anything out and I didn’t alter anything. I never met the victim or his wife. They never came into the store.”

  “What else do you know about this case?” he asks.

  This was too much. I lost my cool. “How could I know anything about this case when you won’t include me? I don’t even know the victim’s name.”

  He compresses his lips and scowls at me. “All right, Margaret. I’m going to throw you a bone because I can see you won’t cooperate until I do. His name was Deidrich Tripp. He and his wife came up here from Arlington. They always come to the Overlook Hotel. His wife had to go to New York for some beauty treatment last night so she wasn’t around until after you supposedly found his body.”

  “What does that mean—supposedly found his body?” I demanded. “I did find his body.”

  “Someone saw you coming out of the victim’s room last night,” he tells me. “Someone identified you inside the Hotel, in the victim’s room, after eleven o’clock last night.”

  My mind spins in confusion trying to put all the pieces together. “That’s not possible. I never left the house.”

  “You said yourself you have no way to prove that. You could have left home, driven to the Hotel, and seen the victim. His wife was out of town. You could have arranged some sort of rendezvous with him.”

  My jaw hits the floor. “Are you seriously suggesting I……what are you suggesting? Are you suggesting I had some sort of illicit dalliance with him?” I burst out laughing at the sheer idiocy of the suggestion. “You’re the only man I’ve been with since I left my ex-husband, David. You know that—or are you suggesting I cheated on you, too? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  He draws himself up inside his jacket. His features make me want to hide my head under the bedcovers. “I have to keep my emotions out of this, Margaret. I have to follow where the evidence leads me, and right now, all the evidence points to you meeting the victim last night and then killing him this morning, followed by you pretending to find the body and notifying the Police.”

  I want to tell him again how crazy this all sounds. I want to laugh at the whole thing, but his expression won’t let me. His countenance fumes with barely suppressed fury. When I look at that face—the face I thought I would never get tired of looking at—I start to experience real fear for my safety.

  He’s trying to put me away for murder. He’s trying to pin this murder on me, and he won’t stop until he does. I know what kind of investigator he is. He’ll leave no stone unturned.

  That ought to give me comfort. I ought to be glad to think he’ll find the evidence to clear my name. I can’t be happy about this, though. I want to disappear in shame.

  He turns back to his notebook. “Let’s get back to the subject of your alibi. You say you were home all night. I suppose there was nothing stopping you from driving out to the Overlook after I left you alone.”

  “How could I drive there after you left when I didn’t have a car?” I ask. “Zack took his car with him to spend the night with Ginny. I didn’t have a car.”

  His eyes snap to my face. “Really?”

  “Of course. You know I don’t have a car.”

  “Well, that’s something, at least.” He makes a note of it in his notebook.

  My mind kicks into investigator mode. If he listened to me about that, maybe I can find some other hole in his case. “Who identified me coming out of the victim’s room?”

  “I’m not at liberty to reveal that at the moment.”

  “Are you sure the person was able to make a positive identification?” I persist. “I had never been inside the Overlook Hotel at all until this afternoon. I was at the restaurant with you for the first time last night. Maybe the person who identified me made a mistake.”

  He shakes his head and frowns even deeper. “I won’t lie to you that the case has some loose ends yet to be tied up. I have to pursue my investigation with the same professional thoroughness as if you weren’t the prime suspect. I’m sorry if this puts a strain on our personal relationship, but if you can’t respect what I’m trying to do here, then maybe our personal relationship wasn’t worth much in the first place.”

  I let out a long breath and let my chin fall on my chest. “I understand. You just have to understand where I’m coming from on this. I can’t just cooperate with your investigation without asking questions of my own, especially since the whole premise is so far-fetched.”

  “It might seem far-fetched to you,” he replies, “but in my line of work, the evidence comes first. We have this evidence. We have to accept where it points us and where it leads, r
egardless of whether we like the outcome or not.”

  I glare at him across the desk. I might have to accept it, but I don’t have to like it. “Are we done? Am I free to go now?”

  He nods down at his hands. “Yes, you’re free to go as long as you don’t try to leave town.”

  I snort in indignation. Like I would try to leave town! I kick back the chair and storm out of the station, but the truth is I’m more rattled than angry. I can’t be a suspect in a murder investigation. That’s impossible.

  I find Zack waiting for me outside and we get into his car. He drives me back to town. “What’s that all about?”

  “According to him, I’m a suspect in the death of that tourist out at the Overlook Hotel. Apparently, I was having a torrid affair with him and I snuck out to the Hotel to copulate with him while his wife was out of town. Then, for some reason, I killed him this afternoon and pretended to find the body to cover up my own guilt.”

  Zack guffaws with laughter. “That’s pretty funny.”

  “It’s not funny. It’s just about as far from funny as possible. He says they have evidence that points to my guilt, and they have someone who identified me coming out of the victim’s room last night. It doesn’t look good. He said it’s only out of consideration for our history together and my position as a respected member of the community that I’m not already under arrest.”

  Zack parks the car in our driveway. When we get into the house, we find Patty Matthews and Sabrina Harris waiting in the living room. “I hope you don’t mind that we came inside,” Sabrina tells me. “We came by and found the door standing wide open.”

  “Forget it.” I toss my handbag on the entry table. “The Forensics Team guys must have left it open.”

  “Kyle Davidson told us what happened,” Patty adds. “You’re not really suspected of murder, are you, Margaret?”

  “Yes, I am. I wish I wasn’t, but it’s true and I better start learning to live with it. This investigation isn’t going to go away.”