Chapter Seventeen
Stevie parked his pickup a block from the hotel. Rachael sat quietly in the passenger seat. She hadn’t said a word since they started back to Erie.
Stevie climbed out and went to her door. Opening it, he said, “Are you ready? Do I need to coach you anymore?”
“No, I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.” She got out and joined him on the sidewalk.
The street in front of the hotel and storefront was cordoned off with yellow police tape. Two deputies stood behind the tape, checking identifications. They were turning people away. Stevie suspected those people were nosy Erie folk trying to find out what happened. Stevie recognized the first deputy. It was Daryl Cokenberger —the man who’d shot and killed Stevie’s father, and the one who apprehended a murderer on the beach at Lake Michigan. “Yep, small town,” Stevie mumbled.
Daryl recognized Stevie with a nod. “Mr. Sanders, I need to see your ID. Ma’am, I need to see yours, also.”
Rachael dug her driver’s license out of her purse, and handed it to Daryl. “I own the storefront next to the Erie Hotel. What’s going on?” She didn’t want the deputy to know she already knew two cops had been shot.
“Rachael Thomas,” Daryl said, scrutinizing the license, then looking up at her when she spoke. “You need to follow me.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said boldly. Stevie nudged her.
“There’s been an incident. The state police detective needs to talk to you.”
Stevie asked, “She’s with me. Can I come, too?”
“Yeah, sure. I see no problem with that. Follow me. I’ll take you to her.”
Detective Linda Martin stood finishing up notes she’d taken after talking to Gladys Kramer. Her ears were burning from Gladys's rambling monologue of what happened, which included details that had nothing to do with the case. She was used to witnesses like Gladys. Stress and shock can wear down the most reliable witness. However, she wasn’t used to her husband’s account. Getting information from him was a slow, difficult process. Al, like his wife, was very descriptive, but most of it had nothing to do with the case. Finally, Al got to the important facts: The suspect stole his pickup and, as icing on the cake, Al had taken two photos of the man who committed the crime.
The detective helped Al airdrop the photos to her phone, then she said both of them could go home. She handed each one her state police card and asked them to call if they could think of anything else.
In the meantime, Stevie and Rachael walked up. Daryl introduced Rachael, but not Stevie. Everyone in the area knew who Stevie Sanders was.
Gladys returned from across the street, yelling. “That’s her! That’s her! Rachael Thomas.” She waved like a hysterical winner on a TV game show.
Detective Martin said, “Mrs. Kramer, I have this under control. Please go home now.”
Rachael said to Stevie, “How does that woman know my name?”
Stevie said in a low voice, “She’s the town’s busybody.”
Gladys ignored the detective and continued, “Rachael, a man broke into your place and shot two of our finest. My husband took pictures of him. Want to see them? Al show her your phone?”
“Mrs. Kramer, I said go home,” the detective said sharply. Then when it became obvious that Gladys was not budging from her spot, the detective said, “Deputy, escort this couple home.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Daryl said, with one hand on Gladys’ arm and the other on Al’s.
Al shucked Daryl’s hand away. “No need to get touchy feely,” he groused.
Rachael said, “I have the right to know what’s going on. Who are you?”
“I’m Detective Linda Martin with the Indiana State Police. I’m working this case. Stevie, what’s your connection to Rachael?”
Stevie put his arm around Rachael. “We’re a couple.”
Rachael looked up at him curiously.
Detective Martin’s eyes grew round in surprise, then she went back to her professional manner. Stevie had a history of dating a long line of women whose relationships went nowhere. She was hoping Stevie had found someone at last.
“Rachael, I have a few questions to ask you. What time did you leave your building?”
“Stevie picked me up at six or a little after.”
Detective Martin proceeded to ask a lengthy list of routine questions, which Rachael answered honestly.
Stevie supported Rachael’s every word, but added, “She’s been with me. I picked her up at six. We went to Chester’s kiosk and picked up dinner. We had a picnic on my property across the road. We headed back to Erie when it started to get dark.”
“That’s good to know,” the detective said, then asked Rachael, “While you two were having a picnic across from Chester’s, do you know why a man would be in your bedroom?”
“No.”
The detective pulled up the photos she’d obtained from Al and showed them to Rachael. “Do you recognize this man?”
Rachael took a good look at each photo. She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before.” Inside, she was ecstatic with relief because the man wasn’t Ray. He was probably some local thug breaking in to see if the new arrival in town had any cash or drugs around.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“No, I can’t think of anything. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Can I go inside and get my things? I need my laptop.”
“No, the scene is still being processed. We had two officers shot in your place. We are gathering evidence as to who shot them.”
“I am so sorry about that.”
Detective Martin said, “We all are sorry. Chief London and Officer Troy are remarkable men. Oh, by the way, Rachael, you can’t stay here. You’ll have to find somewhere else to live. You won’t be able to come back until we’re finished.”
“I understand, but how long will that be?”
“Could be a few days or a few weeks. Once all the forensic evidence has been collected, I’ll give you a call.”
Stevie asked, “Are we finished? Can we leave now?”
The detective didn’t answer, but said to Rachael, “I ask that you remain in the area. You’re not planning on going out of town, are you?”
Stevie piped in, “Nope, she’s not.”
“Okay then, I’ll need both of your cell phone numbers.”
Stevie offered his, but Rachael didn’t.
“Cell phone number, Rachael?” the detective asked again.
“It’s a new phone. I’m not used to calling myself.” Rachael fished in her purse and brought out the cell. She found the number and gave it to the detective.
The detective handed Rachael an official card. “If you can think of anything or have questions, please don’t hesitate to call, text or email me. Thank you for your cooperation. Good night.” The detective turned away and walked inside the storefront.
“Ma’am, good night to you, too,” Stevie called after her, then took Rachael’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What about my car?”
Stevie glanced over at the Tercel. “I’d leave it here until the police are gone, then you can get it.”
“I only want to repark it in the rear parking lot.”
“Sweet girl, wait until tomorrow. Whether you know it or not, you’re a person of interest.”
“But I haven’t done anything.”
“I know that, and you know that, but all eyes will be on you until they find out who did this.”
“Just for moving my car?”
“Yep. See those cops over there? One of them will jump in his vehicle and follow you. Do you really want the hassle of answering more questions just to park your car?”
“Oh, I get it. The cops will think I’m fleeing the area.”
“Yep, but keep on walkin’. The quicker we get out of here, the less chance the detective will come back and ask more questions.”
“You win.”
&
nbsp; “Let’s get you to Ted’s.”
“Stevie,” she hesitated, then said, “I don’t have any clothes.”
“Unfortunately, there aren’t any stores in Erie open right now. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Rachael stopped in front of the hotel. “There’s no need for me to go to Ted’s. I’ll be safe here. Then I can keep a close eye on my storefront.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why? The guy in the photos wasn’t Ray. I don’t have to worry anymore.”
“Okay, I guess.” Stevie climbed the hotel’s front steps and opened the door. Rachael followed him. Once inside, he hugged her. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
Rachael smiled and headed to the front desk.
* * *
Later in her room, Rachael texted Stevie that she was on the second floor in room 217. She wished him a good night, thanked him again, and inserted a heart emoticon. Stevie promptly texted one back.
After she hung up her T-shirt and jeans, she showered and wrapped a bath towel around her. She found a binder clip in one of the drawers and fastened the top of the towel, because she’d have to wear it like pajamas. She’d make a note that tomorrow before she picked up Intruder, she’d go to the dollar store and buy several T-shirts and jeans.
“I need to write a list,” she said aloud.
She grabbed her purse and looked for something to write on. She grumbled that the hotel was stingy in what they had in the room: No pen, no paper, not even a directory of their amenities except a battered sign that said Free Wi-Fi.
“Free Wi-Fi,” she huffed. “Fat chance that’s happening when my laptop is sitting on the kitchen counter back at the storefront.”
Not finding anything to write on, she dumped her satchel purse on the bed. She found a pen and index card, then thought it wise to make sure the flash drive was safe and sound in the slotted part of her purse.
It wasn’t there.
She removed every item, placing them on the nearby nightstand. No flash drive.
She panicked.
What happened to it? I know it’s been in my purse. I’ve never moved it from that slot, she thought.
Then the worst thing came to mind. What if it fell out somewhere in my storefront? What if the police found it? Then what?
She envisioned herself being indicted along with every criminal on the ledger.
“Calm down. Take a deep breath,” she said aloud.
Maybe the police won’t find it, she thought. Maybe they’ll let me go back to my place soon. Maybe I’ll be lucky and it’ll be under the bed or in some ridiculous place they didn’t check.
She put the items back into her purse, lay down and covered herself with a summer-weight blanket. I’m too tired to worry about this now.
She couldn’t sleep. Her mind raced with the events of the day, her past, her fears, and how much she was falling for Stevie. She couldn’t wait to hold her kitten again.
Then she sat up in bed, wide-eyed with suspicion. Kitten? Cat? It was something Salina had said about Katherine Cokenberger’s cats. Something about one or two of them being thieves and hiding stuff in an old chair. Rachael soon put two-and-two together. One of Katz’s cats got into my purse and stole the flash drive.
Nah, that’s ridiculous, her inner voice answered.
“No, not really. I was distracted when I saw Cadabra and Abra. Maybe one of the cats snuck underneath my chair and stole it then?”
The inner voice countered, if one of them did, how are you going to get it back?
“Maybe I could drive over and ask Katz if she’d found something that belonged to me. I’ll tell her that it’s my personal photo album backed up on a pink memory stick.”
The inner voice scolded. That would be stupid. You never lay your cards on the table.
“Oh, shut up!” Rachael said. “And let me sleep.”
Rachael nodded off before deciding on what she should do. It was too much to contemplate. Exhausted, she fell into a deep slumber.
Chapter Eighteen
When Jake and Katherine arrived at the hospital there were few parking spaces left. A large crowd had gathered at the ER’s entrance door. A podium had been set up, and Sheriff Johnson stood behind it. The Channel 19 news station had cameras poised to record his statement. Reporters lined up in front to ask questions. Jake and Katherine took their places at the back of the group.
Sheriff Johnson spoke in a somber voice, “I wish to make this announcement.”
A hush fell over the crowd; people pushed in to hear.
“Tonight, two of our finest were shot in the line of duty.”
“How are they?” someone yelled from the crowd.
“Chief London is in stable condition. He was wearing a bulletproof vest. He sustained a shot to his chest. The impact of the bullet caused several of the chief’s ribs to be bruised. The doctors are watching for signs of internal hemorrhage. He’ll be held here at the hospital for further observation, and most likely will be released tomorrow.”
“Yay,” several people in the center of the group shouted.
“What about Officer Troy?” another person yelled.
“Officer Troy was helicoptered to an Indianapolis hospital. He sustained a wound to his hand and shoulder. He’s in critical condition, but doctors are optimistic he will survive—”
Loud applause monetarily drowned out the Sheriff’s speech.
Then he continued, “This is an ongoing investigation. The suspect is still at large.” He held up a blown-up photo of the suspect. “If anyone knows who this is, or can give us any information about the case, please call the state police hotline or my office.”
The reporters starting shouting a barrage of questions. The Sheriff put up his hand in a “stop” gesture. “That’s all I have to report at this time.”
He left the podium and walked in through the ER entrance.
People in the crowd lingered, until one of the guarding officers told them to disperse. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure the chief appreciates it. Let’s go home, folks. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
Jake hugged Katherine. “Hopefully, whoever did this will be caught.”
“I’m relieved the chief will be okay. I’m ready to go home,” she said in a weary voice.
“Me, too.”
When they drove into the pink mansion’s driveway, Katherine was happy to see that Stevie’s truck was parked in front of the Foursquare and the lights were off in his house. She hoped he’d reach out to her about what had transpired tonight and what Rachael’s connection was. Not knowing the facts, she wondered what Chief London and Officer Troy were doing in Rachael’s place to begin with.
She sighed. She hadn’t really talked to Stevie in months, not since the autumn. She’d say hello when she saw him in his yard or about town. He’d be polite. She suspected that their friendship was waning.
Chapter Nineteen
Saturday Morning
When Rachael woke up and realized there wasn’t a coffee maker in the room, she complained, “What should I expect? The hotel wants you to get coffee in the restaurant. I hope they’re open, because I’m starved.”
Her phone pinged. She picked it up off the bedside table. It was Stevie.
“Hungry?” he texted.
“Famished”
“Be there in 5”
“Make it 20, just got up.”
“Ok.”
She put her phone down, then picked it right back up. She called the vet to see what time she could come and get Intruder. The receptionist answered and said the kitten could be released any time in the morning, before noon.
“Okay, thanks.”
Then Rachael called the hotel’s front desk. “Hi. My name is Rachael Thomas. I’m in room 217. I forgot to mention last night that I’ll be staying up to two weeks. Can you book me the same room I’m in for that amount of time?”
“Yes, we can.”
“I also forgot to ask, are you a pet-friend
ly hotel?”
“Only if the animal is a service animal.”
“Meaning you don’t allow pets.”
“Nope. Is that a problem?”
“Yes. I have a kitten.”
“Is the kitten with you now?” the woman shrieked into the phone as if the kitten were bringing in a case of the plague.
“No, she’s not.”
“Well, I’m sorry then, we’re not allowed to accommodate you if you have a pet.”
“Okay. I’ll be checking out soon,” she said, frustrated. Rachael ended the call. She wished it had been on the landline so she could have slammed the receiver down. She criticized, “This place is a dump. What could my darling possibly do to make it worse?”
“Ridiculous!” she grumbled, throwing on her clothes. She ran a brush through her hair and tied it up with a scrunchie. She was finishing up when there was a knock on the door.
She opened it wide, thinking it was Stevie. “What took you so long?” she teased.
“Ma’am?” Detective Martin asked. “I take it you’re expecting someone else?”
Rachael was caught off guard, then hid her shock at seeing the detective so soon after the previous night. She didn’t answer the question. “Can I help you?”
“May I come in?”
“Sure. I haven’t had time to make my bed yet. We could sit over here.” Rachael directed the detective to a small table and two chairs.
The detective placed her laptop on the table and sat down. “The gunman has been identified.”
Rachael sat down across from her. “That’s great news,” she said, relieved.
“I said identified, not apprehended.”
Rachael’s expression visibly changed.
“We were able to lift prints from the stolen car he drove.”
“He stole a car?”
“It was parked in the back of your building.”
“I see,” she said, wondering where the conversation was headed.
“It’s curious that the man was from New Jersey.”
Rachael frowned. “I wonder what he was doing in Erie?”
“That’s what I’m wondering.” The detective was quiet for a moment.
Rachael was on pins and needles and afraid her face would show that she was a bundle of nerves.
The Cats that Cooked the Books (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 11) Page 10
