Major Crimes

by Michele Lynn Seigfried

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. Did we need one?” I didn’t think to make an appointment. At my former jobs, I always had an open door policy. Basically anyone could walk in and see me, so long as I was in the office that day.

  “No, you don’t need one. Whom should I tell him is here?”

  “Chelsey Alton and Bryson Kelly.”

  “Please have a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here.” The secretary motioned toward a padded bench opposite the window. We sat on the bench as directed and the secretary waited on the next person in line.

  By the time Drew appeared from his office, it was five of twelve.

  “Oh, hi, Chelsey, Bryce.” He shook our hands. “I only have about five minutes. I have a lunch appointment that I can’t miss. What brings you all the way here to Garfield?”

  I was about to speak, but Bryce beat me to it. “The night we went out for Archie’s retirement party—at Savoy’s, did you see anything peculiar?”

  “No, why? What happened?”

  Drew was at Savoy’s, was a friend of Archie’s, and he didn’t know what happened to him? “Have you heard that Archie died?”

  “Of course I heard he died. I have to send something to his wife. I’ve been so swamped here at work. I really didn’t pay much attention to what happened.”

  “Don’t you watch the news?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, Chelsey, I watch the news when I have time. It’s a little crazy here.”

  Bryce jumped back into the conversation. “Long story short, Archie was murdered and probably drugged. Did you see anyone strange near our drinks?”

  “No.”

  “What time did you leave?”

  “I don’t recall, exactly.”

  “Where did you go after you left?”

  “To a base…wait, are you accusing me of something?”

  “No, I just…”

  “I don’t have time for this. Good day to you both.” Drew stormed off.

  I turned and looked at Bryce. “That went well.”

  Bryce frowned. “Something’s up with him.”

  “That’s for sure. How could he not know about Archie? Was he playing dumb? Do you think he was lying?”

  “He was defensive, so he’s hiding something.”

  “Maybe he did hear the news, knows you’re a wanted man, and got nervous?”

  “If that’s the case, we’d better get out of here. The Garfield police could be here in seconds.”

  Bryce and I made our way out of Garfield City Hall and hopped back into my car. He drove off in search of a place to grab lunch. We found a diner a few towns away.

  Bryce parked in their had-seen-better-days parking lot, and we trekked up the starting-to-crumble staircase. I hoped the food was fresh because the establishment was not.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to find a better place to eat?” I feared walking away with Salmonella or worse.

  “This will do. We’ll eat fast and get back.”

  Inside, a sign told us to seat ourselves. We picked a booth in a far corner, so Bryce was less noticeable. His usually cool and calm demeanor was noticeably changing. Anxiety was beginning to take a toll on Bryce.

  I reached over the table and put my hand on top of his. My gaze met his. “We’ll find who killed Archie.”

  Bryce nodded and squeezed my hand. He didn’t seem reassured by my words. I wished I could magically make his problems vanish, but I didn’t know how. I wished I was able to provide the comfort to him that he provided me earlier.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Freddy?”

  The waitress came over to take our order. Bryce asked for a cheeseburger and I ordered a salad. When the waitress left, I asked my question again.

  “No. He was a former cop. I’m not sure I trust him.”

  “If you hire him, I’m sure he won’t turn down the work. He’s an honest guy. He is very hardheaded, but in good way. I mean, he isn’t going to just believe what everyone else says. He forms his own opinions.”

  Bryce didn’t answer, which led me to believe he was thinking about it. I didn’t see how we could investigate the myriad of suspects ourselves. We needed help. I had a few in mind that were the most likely candidates—Drew, Solar, and Tina, but what if it wasn’t one of them? How would we narrow down the ever-growing list? I know Bonnie told me to cross Tina off my list, but a real investigator would confirm Tina’s whereabouts the night Archie was killed, just to be sure.

  Then there was the wives’ club. Archie’s first, second, and third wives: Martha, Jennifer, and Pamela. They were also high on my list of suspects. And there was also Archie’s new job to explore. Maybe someone else wanted that job enough to kill for it. There was too much to do and no time to do it. We needed to call in the big guns and I didn’t know how to convince Bryce to let an expert help us.

  Chapter 8

  Bryce

  Being pestered about Freddy agitated me. But Chelsey was wise. At some point, if Chelsey and I didn’t figure this all out, I’d have to take my chances on Freddy. Chelsey trusted him, but I didn’t know him that well. Our food came and I scoffed mine down.

  Chelsey raised an eyebrow. “Hungry?”

  Gorging like a barnyard animal wasn’t a concern of mine. It wouldn’t be long before everyone was out searching for me and I’d be on the run, not knowing where my next meal would come from.

  Thinking of our short conversation with Drew, I wondered, what was he hiding? Defensive, short with us, angry. Could he have killed Archie? What about this mysterious ball game he had to attend? Chelsey determined there were no games in the area. Why lie about that? Something was off. I didn’t take Drew as the killing type. Maybe he was an accomplice. But what would Drew gain by Archie’s death? What was his motive? Wrong place, wrong time? Is someone threatening him?

  Lack of time prevented me from following Drew around, otherwise, I would’ve made it a priority. I decided to check other leads first. I had to call the cab driver to question him. I also wanted to find Solar and stop into Savoy’s.

  Murder investigations were hard to begin with. When you removed access to police databases, personnel, and DNA evidence, they were nearly impossible to solve. I was starting to believe I’d never find the path to my freedom. I’d either be on the run the rest of my life or serving a stint in a state hellhole. Or there was the possibility of being placed on death row. Oh wait, I forgot. Governor Corzine abolished capital punishment in two thousand seven. Life without parole in a cell with Bubba wasn’t a good thought either.

  “Do you think I should call an attorney?”

  Chelsey stared at me while she chewed her salad. “Maybe that’s not a bad idea.”

  “Do you still believe I didn’t do it?”

  “I do believe you. I’m not saying you should contact an attorney because I believe you’re guilty. An attorney can gather evidence. Many innocent people have to hire attorneys.”

  I glanced away from her and took a drink. I wasn’t going to show Chelsey how out of control and helpless I felt. “You don’t have to keep doing this if you don’t want. I appreciate the help you’ve given me so far.”

  “My daughter will be home on Sunday. You have me until then. Then I have to bow out. I hope you understand.”

  “I do. So, less than a week. Let’s hope this is over by then.”

  “Cheers to that.” Chelsey held up her water glass and toasted my milk. “How can you drink milk with a burger?”

  I shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”

  She smiled. I loved her smile. Her sparkling green eyes. I wondered how she felt about me, with my currently tragic life.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Don’t you want to finish your salad?”

  “I had enough. We have less than a week to figure out who killed Archie. We don’t have time to waste.”

  I nodded. I left a tip on the table for the waitress and we stood in line at the cashier to pay the bill.


  The television was on above the cashier. My face appeared on the screen. Apparently, there was a massive manhunt for me. I looked down in an attempt to hide my face. They were offering a reward for information about my whereabouts.

  Chelsey saw the television as well. “Go out to the car. I’ll wait to pay.”

  I handed Chelsey the money and escaped to the car to wait for her.

  * * *

  With my foot tapping and my face shielded, I waited impatiently for Chelsey to emerge from the restaurant. Within five minutes she climbed into the passenger seat, and I drove toward Chelsey’s house.

  “I had a decent criminal attorney a couple of years ago. I’ll give you his name.” Chelsey smiled.

  “Thanks. Why did you need a criminal attorney?”

  “Well, that’s a long story.”

  “It’s nearly an hour to get back to your house. We’ve got time.”

  “We have more important things to do. Less than a week, remember?”

  “What are we going to do driving in the car?”

  Chelsey looked at her watch. “It’s ten after one. We could make some phone calls.”

  “Where do you want to start?”

  “Freddy.”

  I glowered at her.

  “I know, I know. You don’t want me to call Freddy…yet.”

  “Dial Gabby’s Cabbies. Ask for Peter.”

  Chelsey looked up Gabby’s Cabbies on her smartphone and found the number. She dialed, asked for Peter, and left a message.

  “He wasn’t in again?” I asked.

  “No. You called there already?” Chelsey plugged her phone into the car charger.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t get far. The dope who answered told me Ralph was the cabbie who picked me up, but she gave me a cell number that didn’t work.”

  “He’ll be in after three today. We’ll call again later.” Chelsey patted my leg. I felt the chemistry between us, but the time for that wasn’t now.

  “So what next?”

  “Do you know anything about Archie’s ex-wives?”

  “I don’t think they did it. They weren’t at the retirement party. They weren’t at Savoy’s. No opportunity.”

  “They could’ve hired someone.”

  “Archie hadn’t talked to them in years. He never mentioned any animosity or arguments with them. His daughter, Brittany, is fifteen. It’s been at least that long since he’s spoken to either of his ex-wives.”

  Chelsey raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying we should take them off the list?”

  “Less than a week.”

  “So not enough time to look into everyone?”

  I nodded. “I’d rather focus my energy on who is in my gut.”

  “Solar?”

  I nodded again. Chelsey didn’t seem to agree with me. He had opportunity. Given what happened to his parents, I didn’t know why he wasn’t at the top of her suspect list. The questions were, what was his motivation? And how was I going to get proof?

  * * *

  Our remaining drive to Chelsey’s house was in silence. I certainly had a lot on my mind. She appeared to as well. With or without Chelsey’s help, I was going to prove my theory.

  My mind must’ve been in a cloud, because I didn’t notice the tail behind us. I pulled into the driveway at Chelsey’s house. We hopped out of the car and went into the house.

  Three unmarked vehicles pulled in front of Chelsey’s house. I could see them through her sheer curtains lining the front window. I grabbed Chelsey’s arm and yanked her into the kitchen.

  Chelsey looked at me in horror. “How did they figure out you were here?”

  “Drew, probably.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  The doorbell rang. Snickers went ballistic—barking and clawing at the door.

  Chelsey was a bundle of nerves. “Should I answer? Pretend I haven’t seen you?”

  “They’d know you’re lying. They saw me. You’re aiding and abetting.”

  “Crap.”

  “You’re a mess anyway.”

  Not that I wasn’t nervous, but I didn’t show it. I pulled Chelsey close to me. “Take a deep breath and let it out.”

  Chelsey followed my instructions. It didn’t work to calm her down.

  “Let’s go out the back. Quietly.” I held her hand and we crept through the back door.

  “Stay off the rocks,” Chelsey warned. “They’ll make too much noise.”

  Chelsey’s yard provided one of the greatest things about shore living—no grass to cut. Landscaping rocks extended from the back patio out to the lagoon. Luckily, she had stepping stones leading to her dock.

  The path to the dock was our only choice. There was nowhere to hide. We couldn’t make it into the neighbors’ yards without being seen or heard. If we tried to make a run for it, we’d surely be caught. There were two ways in or out of Chelsey’s neighborhood—the one-way street blocked by police or the lagoon.

  I led Chelsey across the stepping stones.

  “Get the kayaks,” she whispered.

  “No time; plus, they’ll see us.”

  “What? How are we going to get across?”

  “Swim.” I climbed down the ladder into the lagoon.

  “In our clothes?”

  “You can take yours off. I really won’t mind.”

  Chelsey scowled at me. “This is ridiculous!” She huffed as she followed me down the ladder into the chilly water, fully clothed.

  “It’s warm out, this is refreshing.”

  “This may be your idea of fun, but not mine!”

  We started swimming. The men in black sedans were likely local detectives. I imagined they were in the process of banging on the front door in an attempted arrest. I hoped they hadn’t slithered around to the back of the house yet. We risked getting caught.

  “Where are we going?” Chelsey had lost her nerves to irritation.

  “Across to the other side.”

  “Aren’t you afraid they are going to see us swimming too?”

  “It’s less likely if we hurry.”

  Luckily, the other side of the lagoon was only a few yards away. I could swim, but I wasn’t exactly Michael Phelps. We climbed the ladder onto a neighbor’s dock and darted through their yard.

  “What now? We’re going to walk, sopping wet, to where?” Chelsey’s irritation grew.

  I was confident I could smooth things over with her, but I felt bad that she was nearly as deep in the debacle as I was. “My car is over here.”

  “Wait, is that how? I thought…” Chelsey paused. “Wait. You parked here and swam to my house? Is that why you went through the kitchen window? Where are your wet clothes?”

  “I threw them in the dryer at your house while I showered.”

  “You used my dryer, my shower, and helped yourself to my food and wine? Rude!”

  “Not rude. Resourceful.”

  “If you got inside through the window, why did you unlock the front door?”

  “I actually didn’t, you must’ve left it unlocked.”

  Chapter 9

  Chelsey

  What was I doing? Why was I here? Am I a sucker for a handsome face? Would I be here if my goofy-looking friend, Mike Nero, asked me to help him out? Definitely not. Absolutely, definitely, no way would I be helping Mike Nero. I’m an idiot. And how the heck did I manage to leave my front door unlocked? Where was my brain?

  We reached Bryce’s vehicle. He opened the trunk and handed me a towel. It smelled like motor oil.

  “This towel smells.”

  “Well, you can use it, or you can take your clothes off. Again, I won’t mind.”

  “Keep your hormones in check there, buddy.”

  Bryce smirked and blew me a kiss. He was beginning to aggravate me. No, not beginning to…he was aggravating me. He seemed calm and smug while I was a bundle of nerves.

  After I dried off as much as possible, which wasn’t much, I laid the towel on his car seat. I di
dn’t want to mess up the Tahoe. We both jumped in and he started it up.

  “Whose car is this?”

  “I borrowed it.”

  “From whom?”

  “I’d rather not make you an accomplice.”

  “I already am an accomplice! If anyone asks, I’m going to say you kidnapped me at gunpoint and I had no choice. I’m not going to jail for aiding and abetting a criminal.”

  “But I’m not a criminal.”

  I believed him, but I had my reservations that this ordeal would work out to either of our benefits. “Where to now?”

  “Do you have anywhere we can go?”

  “The only place I can think of is Bonnie’s house.”

  * * *

  We arrived at Bonnie’s house a little before five. I hoped Bonnie would be home from work. She always parked her Mercedes in her garage, so I didn’t know one way or the other if she was home.

  Bryce stayed in the car while I rang the doorbell. I could guess what Bonnie would say about our appearances. Bonnie was a good person deep down, but she was a spitfire who often spoke her mind without a grain of sugar.

  “Chelsey? Hi. This is a nice surprise. You have to be quick though, I’m on my dinner break. I have to work tonight.” Bonnie raised an eyebrow.

  “Bonnie! I need your help. I think I’ve got trouble.”

  “No kidding? And to think I was going to ask if you got caught in the rain and if someone tried to dry you off with electric shock therapy.”

  Although nothing could be done about my frizz, I patted down my unruly hair anyway. It didn’t help. I hadn’t gotten my Keratin straightener for the summer yet. With a little conditioner and a straightening iron it was fine. But a swim in the lagoon set the stage for New Jersey humidity vs. blonde frizzy hair round one. New Jersey humidity won by a knockout.

  Before I could explain what kind of trouble I was in, Bonnie jumped to the conclusion I was asking for her assistance with a hair emergency.

  “No, I don’t need your hairdresser’s number, I…”

  “Why are your clothes all wrinkled? Wait, are you dripping?”