Disorderly Conduct

by Mary Feliz

  It was taking me a few minutes to get used to Teddy talking about his own father’s remains in such a clinical fashion. But Tess had told me that Teddy loved his science classes, and that he’d expressed some interest in becoming a surgeon. He’d convinced our local veterinarian, Dr. Calvert Davidson, to let him watch a few surgical procedures. Assuredly, he’d mastered the necessary outlook on bone, blood, and tissue. He spoke of his own father’s body as if he was a car mechanic explaining a badly damaged engine. It seemed oddly detached and strange to me, but I reminded myself that I firmly believed there wasn’t a right way or a wrong way to grieve. Death was so overwhelmingly shocking to living human beings that we couldn’t be sure how we or anyone else would respond. Crazy laughter, like we’d just indulged in moments before, gushing tears, or stoic silence were equally genuine responses. Teddy’s was probably right in there among them.

  I drew my attention back to Teddy. “I think the bruising would depend upon how quickly after the impact his heart stopped. At least that’s what they say on TV.”

  “And we all know how accurate TV is,” Teddy scoffed.

  “So, if someone made that wound with something like a hatchet, a super-sharp one that cut into his brain, it might have killed him quickly before it had a chance to bruise. But didn’t the medical examiner say she thought he’d hit his head on a rock? That his skull was depressed? I guess I’d been thinking of it as a concave shape...like an indented sphere.” I tilted my head and pursed my lips. I wasn’t sure it was accurate to assume that, because a dead body wasn’t bruised, it hadn’t received a blow that would have created a giant hematoma in a living person. When the human heart stopped beating, blood stopped pumping. Surely, if Patrick had died as quickly as everyone seemed to believe, there’d have been little time for a bruise of any kind to form. I hesitated to say any of that to Teddy, though, because I didn’t want to suggest that his dad might have lingered in pain. I struggled to think of something more innocuous to say.

  “What made you so sure it was your dad?”

  “His running pants.” Teddy wrinkled his nose and grimaced. “They were melted in places and black from the smoke. But he was still wearing the step counter I gave him when I was, like, seven. Just a kid. I got it at a Giants game, and it was orange with the logo on it. They gave out thousands of them.”

  “He must have loved it,” I said. “Not only because it was a collector’s item, but because you gave it to him. I can’t tell you how many trackers like that Max and I have sent through the wash or lost. Your dad must have taken exceptional care of that one because it was a gift from you.”

  Teddy smiled and fell silent. No one spoke for the remainder of the drive home.

  But as Tess’s house came into view, I gasped. A Santa Clara County sheriff’s car had pulled onto the front lawn with its lights flashing. News vans were back in full force, ready to film what was sure to be the top story on this evening’s local news with teasers played incessantly throughout the day.

  Chapter 12

  Fire safety precautions differ depending on geography and style of home. National campaigns for home fire safety are held in October, which is a good time to brush up on all your safety programs. Similar programs for wildfire preparation begin in May. Need a personalized checkup to help a family member part with an accumulation of stuff? Contact a professional organizer or your local fire department.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Monday, August 7, Afternoon

  Sheriff’s Sergeant Nguyen read Tess her rights. She barely had time to give Teddy a quick kiss, a hug, and her assurance that everything would be okay before deputies hustled her into the back seat of a squad car and sped away. The rest of us made an effort to stand between the cameras and Tess, but I doubted we’d shielded her completely.

  I phoned Forrest, who promised to meet her at the county jail and do his best to get her out as quickly as possible.

  Jason confirmed that the district attorney’s office planned to charge Tess with first-degree murder sometime during the next forty-eight hours. “I suspect they may add additional felony counts, so the death penalty comes into play,” he said, as though he was merely thinking aloud. “They do that to coax confessions and plea deals.”

  Teddy turned pale, moaned, and swayed a bit before Max caught hold of his shoulders and steadied him physically, if not emotionally. Jason’s face filled with horror. “Teddy, I’m so sorry. I should not have been speculating. Let’s go inside. I’ll fill you in.” He turned to me. “Get him a soda with plenty of sugar. If they don’t have that, then juice or some other quick-energy food.”

  Jason was in full-on command mode. I jumped to do his bidding. Teddy needed shoring up, inside and out. As I dashed to the fridge, I heard Jason ask, “Teddy, when did you last eat? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  Brian and David were next in the spotlight. “Get your friend some food, then join us if you want. Food first, though.”

  I sensed that Jason was giving us all jobs to steady us, especially the boys. Their faces mirrored the terror in Teddy’s, though I wasn’t sure whether they empathized with his pain or if they were coming to grips with the fact that Teddy had effectively lost both of his parents in the last two days. I glanced at Max, and he nodded. Soon, if not right away, we needed to make sure our boys understood the extensive preparations we had in place to care for them should the unthinkable happen and the two of us were no longer around. They needed to know that people, money, and resources would kick in to help them at a moment’s notice. That was our job as parents. To make our children feel safe, no matter what. Going into this weekend, Max and I had thought the fire was the only thing we had to fear and protect them from. But since then, the stakes had grown so much higher, threatening not just Tess, but Teddy, our two boys, and life as we knew it in Orchard View. If our town and neighborhood was one in which someone who knew the affable Patrick Olmos could cold-bloodedly kill him, would it ever again feel like a safe place to live and raise our children?

  Tess often seemed stern, but she was a marshmallow on the inside, willing to drop everything to help her family, a client, a neighbor, a friend, or even a needy stranger. If someone like Tess could be arrested for murder, what did that say about our town and our sense of safety? Deputies had bundled Tess into a squad car and destroyed what was left of Teddy’s tattered sense of security. And Jason, chief of the Orchard View Police Force, had let it happen, right under his nose. Jason hadn’t had any choice, but Teddy was a white, upper-middle-class suburban kid with the often-overlooked blessing and privilege of expecting law enforcement to serve and protect. That trust had been breached, possibly forever.

  I made up my mind. Anyone who put that look of terror and abandonment on a child’s face, who destroyed his world and forced him to grow up prematurely, must face the full wrath of the justice system. I would see to it. I’m not a vigilante. I believe in the rule of law and that it’s the purview of the courts to pass sentences on criminals. But I also think that sometimes, law enforcement and our legal system could use a bit of a helping hand in the form of background information available only to insiders. And that insider would be me—with a little help from my friends.

  Jason filled us in as Teddy sipped at a red can of soda that was also bringing color back into his cheeks.

  “After the sergeant and sheriff’s deputies left this morning, they obtained another warrant for the shed out back. There they found a pickax—one of those tools that looks like a pick on one end and a sharp hoe on the other, stashed in the shed. It was one of the tools the medical examiner had suggested might have injured your dad. It was missing from the garage.” Jason spoke quietly to Teddy, but the rest of us strained to hear every word.

  It would have been an easy matter for the detectives to determine what tools were missing from the garage. Patrick was compulsively o
rganized. He’d installed a pegboard and positioned his tools on specialized hooks. Using a technique perfected by Julia Child for her kitchen implements, he’d outlined the silhouette of each tool with a thick permanent marker. Anyone, including the sheriff’s deputies, could tell at a glance whether a tool was missing or misplaced.

  “They didn’t have the paperwork required to search the shed on their first visit, but when they returned—” Jason began.

  “No no no,” Teddy interrupted. “It’s my fault.” He shook his head and buried his face in his hands. “Mom had nothing to do with it. My fingerprints will be on it.” Brian and David looked to me for an explanation of what was happening. I patted the air, signaling that they should back off and calm down. We’d have to wait to see how this played out. Was Teddy confessing? But why? And how? Hadn’t he been home in bed when the murder occurred? Could he prove it? If he hadn’t been asleep, how could he have made his way up the ridge on his own? He couldn’t drive, and it was a tough climb on a bicycle.

  “Teddy,” Jason said. “What can you tell me about that pickax? Why was it in the shed instead of in its place in the garage?”

  Teddy uttered a noise that sounded more like that of a caged and injured animal than a teenaged boy. He cleared his throat and reached for his soda, taking another brief sip as the rest of us waited, silently begging him to speak.

  “It’s got blood on it too.” Jason’s face remained expressionless, but the muscles in his face rippled as his jaw clenched. He waited for Teddy to say more.

  “I got this big idea last weekend to redo the back garden. Mom had let it dry up during the drought, and she’s been complaining about it. Dad planned to prepare the soil, but he hadn’t gotten around to it.” Teddy swallowed hard, and I took a moment to realize that Patrick never would get to the garden he’d wanted to plant for his wife.

  “She’s been spending a lot of time with her clients, so after our cross-country workout Saturday morning, I got a start on it. It was grueling, worse than any workout Dad’s had me do at the gym. I couldn’t break up the soil. Not for the life of me.”

  Jason smiled. “Adobe soil made great bricks and floors for the early settlers, but it makes terrible gardens. It’s like concrete. There are some tricks, though, and I’ll show them to you tomorrow. I bet we can get that flower bed fixed up so it will be the garden of her dreams when your mom gets back.”

  I wasn’t sure whether Jason was indulging in a police technique to help Teddy relax into saying more, or whether his words were genuine and meant to comfort. Knowing Jason, it was probably a combination of the two. “But what about the blood?” Jason asked Teddy.

  “It was stupid. Dad warned me not to garden in my bare feet, but...” Teddy bit his lip and stared at his feet. He’d kicked off his sneakers when he entered the house. His white crew socks were crusty and brown at the toe. I wondered when he’d last thought to change them. “The pickax slipped and slammed into my toe. It hurt like—well, toes aren’t nearly as hard as that stupid clay.”

  “Is that why you were limping at track practice?” Brian asked.

  Teddy frowned. “You noticed? I was sure I could hide the pain so no one would know. It was so stupid.”

  Brian beamed. “Busted.”

  Teddy grinned back.

  Jason lifted his chin in the direction of Teddy’s less-than-hygienic socks. “Can I take a look? You take off the socks, though. I’m not touching ‘em.”

  Teddy complied, and Jason knelt to examine his toe. “That’s nasty. You did it when?”

  “Saturday morning.”

  “Too late for stitches, then. But I prescribe a bath with plenty of soap and soaking for that wound. After you’re clean and dressed, maybe Maggie can check it out and get it bandaged up for you. I’ve got emergency medical training, but I’d feel better if it got signed off by a mom. If we can’t get the cut cleaned out, we might have to take you to the ER. You up-to-date on tetanus shots?”

  Teddy, Brian, and David grabbed for their upper arms and winced. “We needed them for the cross-country team,” David said. “You never know what you might step on.”

  Jason nodded approvingly. “Bath. Now.” Teddy set down the can of soda and obeyed, limping visibly now that his injured toe had been outed.

  Jason made a show of sniffing the air, made a V with his fingers, and pointed them at Brian and David. “Showers for the two of you too. Take turns. No fighting. Master bath. Now.”

  I stared at Jason in awe as Brian and David did his bidding without complaint. “What?” he said, feigning confusion. “I was a teenaged boy once. I get it. Is it possible for them to have too many showers? Did they even take them earlier? Chances are, they forgot.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “It will give us a chance to talk without worrying them. But first, I need to let Forrest know about the blood, the pickax, and the explanation for it. It may help us to get Tess home faster.”

  His optimism cheered me. But I hadn’t reckoned with the momentum a murder investigation gains when a solution is at hand. Nor how easily evidence can be made to fit a proposed scenario once a suspect is in custody.

  Chapter 13

  Batteries and a hand-cranked radio are nearly always included on lists of materials to include in your evacuation or shelter-in-place kit. But in today’s world, when we rely so heavily on our cell phones, I’d also recommend a car charger, extra cables, and a backup power source in case your battery dies when the power is out.

  From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

  Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

  Monday, August 7, Early evening

  While Jason talked to Forrest and took calls from his men, I phoned Elaine and invited her to dinner. When she asked what she could bring, I didn’t hesitate. “No food. Everyone brought casseroles last night, and the fridge is bursting. We’ve got enough zucchini and tomatoes to feed a regiment. Can you bring over whatever tools you have that might be useful in breaking up soil for a garden? I’ll explain later, but Jason wants to show the boys how to prep a flower garden.”

  “Jason? Jason Mueller? Our Jason?” She laughed. “When the eighth graders had to grow plants for biology, Jason’s died. He got a second chance, and that seedling died. When an enterprising group of students began selling home-grown weed, he was the one kid I didn’t suspect.”

  I’d temporarily forgotten that Elaine had been a teacher, and then the principal, when Jason, Patrick, and Max had been in middle school. Her stories were a source of great hilarity for Teddy, Brian, and David.

  I whipped up a quick dinner of spaghetti and salad, using up most of the tomatoes that had been left on the porch and a huge handful of fresh basil that had somehow survived in Tess’s drought-ravaged garden. Elaine arrived as Max was setting the table, pouring wine, and not-so-surreptitiously sampling the desserts the neighbors had left.

  Keeping busy seemed to be helping all of us tamp down our worries, though every time I heard a car drive up the street, I peeked through the front window hoping it was Forrest, bringing Tess home.

  But by the time we sat down to dinner, we had to face the reality of Tess’s empty chair. Jason made a noble effort to distract us as he dug into his spaghetti. “This is amazing, Maggie. A treat. Fresh basil and tomatoes?”

  I jerked my thoughts away from Tess, but I must have taken too long to respond. Jason glanced at each of us in turn, then spoke firmly. “Look, everyone, we have to eat. How would your mom feel, Teddy, if she came home tonight and found us dead from starvation? She’d kill each of us all over again, I’m sure. Slowly, painfully...” Teddy picked up his fork, twirled it in his spaghetti, then put it down. “Have you heard anything from Forrest? Er, Mr. Doucett?”

  Jason held up one finger as he finished chewing a crusty heel of piping-hot sourdough slathered with butter. “Does everyone want an update? Otherwise, I can debrief Teddy separately...”

 
; Elaine, seated next to Jason, gave him a little shove, and noises of protest came from every other person at the table. Of course we all wanted to know.

  Jason thought for a moment, earning him another round of protests. “Sorry. I’m not trying to add suspense. I’m organizing my thoughts. There are two questions I think we need to answer. First, why did they arrest Tess? Second, how soon can we bring her home?”

  Teddy grabbed the back of his neck. The tension was damaging more than his appetite and mood, poor kid. And it was contagious. I tilted my head and rolled my shoulders to ease cramped muscles.

  Jason cleared his throat. “Max, you wanna take notes? Get me back on track if I get lost.” Max sat in the corner of the table near the windows, blocked in by Teddy and our boys. I hopped up and rummaged through Tess’s kitchen drawers until I located a pad and pen. I handed them to Max.