Dressed in Pink

by Diana Stone

  “Hi, Rafael,” I lift a hand in greeting. “Will you drive me to the police station?”

  “Are you going to help Mr. Courtland?” he looks hopeful.

  “Yes, I have video proving he’s innocent.”

  “I don’t like Mrs. Courtland. She thinks she’s better than everyone,” he says.

  “You’re right, she isn’t a nice person.”

  We drive to the station in the truck, without the trailer—that I helped unhitch. I did that so he knows I don’t consider myself better than everyone else.

  At the station, I speak with the deputy at the desk. I tell him it’s urgent that I speak with the arresting deputy before they process Jack. This way they can unarrest him and it won’t go on his record. I have a seat and impatiently wait.

  When the arresting deputy comes to the lobby, I introduce myself and explain what I was doing at Jack’s. Of course, I leave out the vortex stuff. I explain that the wife arrived, and since I didn’t want to cause a problem, I snuck out to the balcony and hid on the roof. I heard the shouting, heard her yelling at him, and heard evidence that she slapped her own face.

  “I have it on video.” He has an incredulous look. “Well no, it’s not actual video. I made a voice recording and you can figure it out from that.” I play it once and he asks to hear it a second time.

  “You’re right, absolutely right,” he holds up a hand, to show he’s thinking. “Can you wait here, I need to run this past my Sergeant. We need to release Mr. Courtland.”

  I have always found it interesting to sit in the front lobby and see who walks in and what problems they’re reporting. Except when I was working the desk at Hollywood division and the lobby was jammed with people waiting to make crime reports. Then, it was overwhelming, now it’s interesting.

  A while later, Jack walks out with the deputy and sergeant. I smile a quirky smile and hold up my cell phone. A copy has been made for the detectives and Jack is being released.

  We walk out the door into the warm sun. He stops and looks at me. “I’ve always known you were a special woman. You’re proving it again,” he declares.

  “I was trying to right a wrong. I’m glad I was there.” But thanks for the compliment.

  “I think you just saved me a whole-lot of trouble. This would have been a mess,” he sounds appreciative.

  I want to test something. So I reach out to sweetly touch his cheek with my palm. It’s a nice gesture and I want to see how he responds.

  He reaches up and removes my hand from his cheek, then kisses the back of my hand. He also gives me a provocative smile. I think he turned it from the sweet gesture into a sexy gesture. When I translate this, I think he wants sex, not love.

  “Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps,” he looks itchy.

  “I like the station, but I see your point.”

  He’s the one who drives us back to the ranch.

  We pull up to the barn and drop off Rafael. Then drive the short distance to the house for the lunch we never had. The ingredients are still on the counter. It’s sad, no one here cared enough to put them away. What a way to live, with someone who only wants your money. Well, she claimed to want him at the beginning. She said he only cared about his business. And his European women. I wonder if that’s true.

  While building our sandwiches, he fills me in on what happened in the bedroom. Yvette has a red hand mark on her face where she slapped herself and grab marks on her arms where she pretended Jack grabbed her. He doesn’t have proof he didn’t grab her, but with the voice recording, her lies were obvious. Otherwise, with her red marks, he would have a felony on his record.

  I’d like to know if he’s going to slam her with this in divorce court. But I keep my mouth shut. It’s not my place, and I don’t want to be an annoying female trying to cozy up to him. It could easily scare him off. I’d like to be his friend, and let it build into something more, over time.

  Perched on bar stools, we begin munching on our loaded ciabatta sandwiches. Perhaps chewing is relaxing him because he briefly tells me about his life. He got married at age 28 to his high school sweetheart. She was a kind woman who nurtured him and kept a loving home, allowing him to develop his business. They were married for twelve years. When she died, he felt alone for a while. Then he met Yvette. She was flashy and pretended to be kind-hearted. He admits that his traveling a lot may have caused some problems in his marriage.

  “I knew it wasn’t right, but I didn’t want to back out. I guess I was too embarrassed to call the wedding off,” he admits.

  “I didn’t know my marriage wasn’t good until I examined it afterward,” I admit to him.

  “Didn’t you know at the time?”

  “We had opposite personalities. But we had some beliefs that were the same. I thought it was alright since I’d heard that opposites attract. Now I know they don’t, at least not for me. The last thing I want is a high energy guy when I’m low-key. Or a keeping-up-with-the-Joneses man, when I don’t care about the Joneses. Nope, give me someone who is like me, and I’ll be happy.” I explain.

  “You’ve given it a lot of thought. But I’m one of those guys who thought she looked great on my arm. I missed my first wife,” he sighs and slowly shakes his head, “I can’t afford too many mistakes like this one, it’s a lot of hard work.”

  “At my age, I don’t want to lose all my savings. It takes years of work, and I’ve lost interest in doing outdoor labor. I will never again risk my future by mixing all my money with anyone else’s. My heart is another thing, it won’t break, it may get a little frayed, but it heals.” I know I sound resolute.

  It’s time to change the subject and get onto a future topic, perhaps one I can join in. “What are your plans for the B&B?”

  “I’d like to begin right away. I have the complete architectural drawings of the cottages. I should wait for the divorce, but since my money is allocated, I’m itching to begin. There’s always something that slows you down, there isn’t ever a perfect time, so I may as well start now.” He looks like a man working toward a dream.

  “That sounds great. I’d love to be a part of it, but I don’t know what I can do. I love the building and creating process.”

  “Relax about that. You just saved a lovely old lady from being ripped off and possibly killed. And you saved my attorney a headache. You have a lot going for you.”

  He said I saved his attorney a headache. Why didn’t he say I saved him a headache, and saved him a lot of money, and saved his reputation? He said I helped everyone except him.

  37

  Mrs. Johansen’s

  “Has anyone spoken with Mrs. Johansen since last night?” I just remembered her.

  “I assume the detectives got in touch with her today, why?”

  “Pickett was really angry, I wonder if she’s okay. I never thought of it till now. I wonder if the detectives thought about it, or if they’re up to their eyebrows in crime scene evidence.”

  “I’ll give her a call and find out right away,” he digs into his jeans for the phone.

  Taking another bite of sandwich, listening to the phone ring, he presses the speaker button so we can both hear. It picks up and a man’s voice on the answering machine calmly states “Abbie’s tied up and can’t take your call at the moment. Please leave a message.” What the hell?

  “Come on!” he shouts and presses 911 as we race out the door.

  The truck is in the driveway and the keys are in the ignition. That isn’t usually a good place to leave them, but it works this time. He yells the house address to the dispatcher. It’s just down the street from here. I’m belted into my seat, grabbing at the dashboard, as he peels down the driveway.

  He’s right, it’s less than half a mile away. I drive past her imposing gates each time I come this way. Thankfully, the strong wrought iron is open at the moment. The truck whips through, and he accelerates to the house. At the last minute, he slams on the brakes, jerking me against my seatbelt.

&
nbsp; “Abbie! Abbie!” he yells, as he sprints to the front door. It’s locked and too strong to kick in. I take off around the side of the house, looking for an open window or another door. The kitchen window is open.

  “Jack, the window’s open…” I shout as I try to remove the screen that refuses to budge.

  He comes running and digs his fingers under the frame. With a massive wrench, it comes off in his hands. “Abbie, are you here!? He has taken over as point man and springs through the open window. I manage to haul myself through with less athleticism and follow the sound of his pounding feet down the hall.

  Poor Mrs. Johansen is lying on the bedroom floor. Her hands are tied behind her back and her ankles are tied to the frame of the big wooden bed. She’s on her side and she looks… dead?

  “She’s alive!” He’s untangling the mess of rope to set her free. “Abbie, it’s Jack, it’s okay—we’re going to get you out of here.”

  She groans and barely lifts her eyelids while Jack is working on her ankles. She’s free at last but so very stiff from being in the same position for 24 hours.

  I hear the patrol car accelerate down the driveway, then brake hard at the house. “I’ll get the door.” I run to let Deputy Ken Branson and his partner into the house. Ken looks at me and shakes his head with a slight smile.

  “She’s in there,” throwing my hand back over my shoulder. “She’s alive but needs an ambulance. She was tied up all night and is in bad shape.”

  The two men rush with me to the bedroom, requesting an ambulance as they hurry.

  Jack has slightly revived Mrs. Johansen. She’s still on the floor, but he’s pulling pillows and blankets from the bed and tucking them around her. He carefully places the bedspread across the delicate lady. He looks at the pillow in his hands but is afraid to slip it under her head.

  He hasn’t dared move her. She is so stiff and sore she can’t move on her own. She isn’t speaking, so we don’t know if she has any broken bones. Ken looks at me and motions me over. “What happened? We got the call as a possible robbery victim.” He’s in his official mode.

  “The lady was robbed by the dead suspect from last night.”

  “Ah, so we don’t need to worry about chasing him,” he sadly looks at Mrs. Johansen.

  “We know exactly where he is and that’s fine with me,” I growl.

  “How are you doing?” he looks me up and down and smiles. “You look pretty good after last night, have you been drinking a miracle potion?” he softly jokes.

  “I had a great sleep under an electric blanket, a long hot shower, and a protein shake with flax.” I omit the vortex, it’s not something he needs to know.

  Jack is watching us with a somewhat pissed off look. He keeps looking away but then can’t seem to stop looking at us again. Ken and I are a bit chummy, but we did spend a lot of time together last night, and he is an attractive man. He looks darned good in a uniform. I told him I am attached, but he doesn’t know Jack is one of the men I’d like to be attached to.

  Mrs. Johansen groans and Jack speaks softly to her. He’s been with her on the floor the whole time.

  The ambulance shuts down their siren a short distance from the house. When they pull up to the door the other deputy meets them. The three men rush in with a gurney and their medical cases. Jack removes himself from her side and comes to stand next to me as the paramedics do their job. They carefully check her vital signs and manage to revive her enough to find she doesn’t have any major broken bones. She could have nerve damage from lying on one side for so long. All of us try to lend a hand as she’s moved into the gurney that has been folded down to carpet level. She’s slowly wheeled to the ambulance. Jack walks with them, but I stay with Ken explaining how we found her.

  Ken picks up the ropes and gives me a reproachful look. “You untied her?” he ribs me.

  “Don’t give me that look, she was still alive. We had to rescue her. I couldn’t cut the ropes a few inches away from the knot.” We are both half-joking. You’re supposed to keep the knot untouched as evidence of how a suspect tied the knot in a crime. “He’s dead anyhow.”

  “Right, but what about his other victims?”

  “You’re right, I didn’t think about that at the time. I’ll ask Jack how the knot looked. He’s actually the one who untied her.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t forsake your training,” he jokes again.

  “My training was impeccable.” The part I remember.

  Ken calls the detectives advise them about the crime scene. They’ll be out shortly, so we are free to leave it to them. The three of us check the other rooms to make sure no one else is in the house tied up… or otherwise. The house is clear. We head back outside. They can look for evidence as soon as they get the timeline of events from Mrs. Johansen. The deputies will guard the scene.

  We query the paramedics, but she hasn’t told them anything about what happened. She will need time to mend before we get her story. Soon they’re heading down the driveway to the hospital. Their final words to us are that she looks like she’ll be fine, but she’s very weak.

  The other deputy leaves the scene and leaves Ken to secure the location for the detectives. Jack comes over and stands undeniably close to me. I feel him in my space. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel an almost physical contact. If I am reading this right, he’s making a manly statement. Ken immediately notices and there’s a change in the whole dynamic. He slightly steps back and puts on a professional look. He is reading that Jack is taking possession of me, and he is a big man in town. Our camaraderie seems to be over for now. I wonder about Jack’s possessiveness. I wonder if it is insecurity or just a man thing. Would I always be explaining myself and my actions?

  We give our statements to Ken who will write it out for the detectives. Jack thanks him and shakes his hand. He looks at me as if to say, we’ve finished here, and starts toward the truck.

  “I’ll be right there, I need a word with the deputy.” I plan on keeping my independence.

  “Thanks for being there for me last night. It really helped. It’s nice to see you again today.”

  “You’re welcome. So, you and he are together,” it’s more of a statement than a question.

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “You’re an awesome woman, he’d better appreciate you,” he tells me.

  “Thank you.” What else can I say? Jack doesn’t have me, he has an angry wife.

  I slowly walk to the truck, to the man I’d like to have a future with. But I wonder if it’s possible.

  He starts up the diesel engine. I give Ken a wave as we pull away.

  38

  Paso Robles

  “You and deputy what’s-his-name seem close,” he remarks with a hint of jealousy.

  “He was on-scene last night and found me under the bushes. He helped catch our horses running in the neighbor’s vineyard. He also stayed with the vet while I spoke with the detective.”

  “He should stick with his own kind,” he sneers. “You never did tell me what happened last night,” he changes the subject.

  His own kind? As in, other officers? I’m his kind. What a snob you are, Jack Courtland. I’m going to ignore it for now, but I will certainly think on it, later.

  “You’re right. I was so involved with today’s drama, I forgot to tell you about last night.” I’ve had enough drama in my life. I should go back to reading as a hobby.

  I unload the details of last night with a flood of emotion. I start by telling him that I was looking for something to eat in the kitchen. I was munching on a few potato chips when I heard galloping horses. I continue my saga all the way to when I was counting the bullets as he fired each one. I tell it slowly and carefully, letting him absorb my feelings through my words. I’m also adding pieces of my history to flush it out, such as what I was thinking and why. I want him to feel awe. I want him to be impressed with my bravery. So I bring it to him in full color. Including the knife, glinting in the light of the moon;
the horses galloping between the killer and me; the billowing dust and flying hooves that both saved and distracted me. My final gun-shot, and my fearful crawl up the canyon through prickly cactus and sharp sticks. Finally, being found by the deputies. I even told him that it was nice to talk with the deputies. It let me slip back to my law enforcement days. I was able to control my fear through camaraderie.

  I haven’t been paying attention, but we’ve been driving north. A sign welcomes us to San Luis Obispo, then flashes past. “Where are we going?”

  “You need to rest, and I need to get away from my crazy wife,” he informs me.

  “That translates to mean what?”

  “I’m taking us to a B&B in Paso Robles,” he announces with conviction. “I’ll have Rafael feed your crew in the morning. You’ve had more problems in the past couple of days than anyone I know.”

  “Paso?” This is sudden.

  “I know hiding out on my roof wasn’t good for your pride, but you did it. I really appreciate that. Most woman would flaunt themselves. But you controlled your ego and kept quiet. I didn’t know what I’d find when we came up to the bedroom. I imagined you might be stripped naked in the bed or sitting there tapping your foot, waiting for her to find you. But you weren’t. You were so unselfish by hiding, and your phone recording was absolute genius,” he compliments.

  “Thank you for the list of my accomplishments. You may be right, I could use a little break. I’m glad I exercise and eat right, otherwise, I’d probably fall apart.”