Indivisible

by Kristen Heitzmann

  “Yeah.” She polished her nails on her uniform. “Other than that, they cleaned up pretty well.”

  “Looks that way. I’m almost done in here. Let’s flip for the bathroom.”

  She sent him a look. “You probably have a two-headed coin.”

  “In which case you only have to call heads.”

  She swallowed. “I’ll do it.”

  Gutsy. “Actually”—he tossed her the set of keys from the counter—“you take the truck. I’ll tackle the john.”

  “Sure?”

  “Find me grounds to impound.”

  “If it’s there, I’ll find it.”

  He watched her go, then looked at the cell phone. He wondered for a moment if she might have already deleted a certain number. If not, the temptation could have struck when she logged the calls. Except for the potential incrimination of her husband, Sam, he’d have let her handle that task. He put the phone with the other items and hoped it would prove a nonissue.

  Without the drugs, none of what they had would be incriminating. Whoever mopped up here knew what they were doing. It occurred to him that could be Sam. Who better than a law officer’s spouse to know how to thwart a bust?

  When they had gotten back to the station, he said, “You know Sam could get swept up in this.”

  Sue stared straight ahead. “Do what you have to.”

  She knew he would, but it mattered that she said it. He stopped her at the door. “If people come forward, there might be opportunities for immunity.”

  “Some people think squealing’s worse than time.”

  “Some people do.” He held her eyes until she looked away. “If you’ve got things here, I’ll run Caldwell down.”

  He never sent a male prisoner alone with a female officer. Besides, this was hitting her close to home. Inside, he fitted Tom Caldwell with a wide leather belt complete with metal ring through which he threaded the cuffs. Neither of them spoke on the way to the jail or when Jonah turned him over.

  He had jailed more than a few of his schoolmates, though usually not for long. Even, sadly, some who’d been friends. Came with the job. Some understood that. He headed home beneath a wan moon, expecting to find his place empty, but the scent of smoke reached him as he approached the porch. “Still here?”

  Jay pulled a long drag on his cigarette.

  “Those things’ll kill you.” Jonah mounted the steps.

  “I only smoke on Sundays.”

  Jonah pulled up a chair. He’d escaped the lure of tobacco, but his mistress called. He’d expected it to kick in, given the emotional stress of the day, and here it was. He could taste her in his mind. What he wouldn’t give for a glass of sipping whiskey and a slow sad song.

  He didn’t envy Sam Donnelly. What he’d seen looked like meth, and that was no mistress but a dominatrix from the deepest pit.

  He turned to Jay. “How do you feel about a new intervention?”

  “Who?”

  “Guy I know.”

  “Has he hit bottom?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let me know when there’s nothing under him but the grave.”

  Seven

  Unity to be real must survive the severest strain without breaking.

  —MAHATMA GANDHI

  Tia looked up from her detailing as a couple of shoppers peered in. She studied the faces, framed by their palms. She and her wares might be the inner structure of a snow globe they studied. She read their expressions and posture, surmising where they were in life and how they felt about it.

  To a practiced observer, there were common streams of experience, doubts, needs, and desires. It remained only to fill in the details. In that, her imagination proved more than adequate. They didn’t come in. It was Friday of a slow week, and she hoped it didn’t portend a downtrend. But a short while later, a shopper entered, tinkling the bell above the door.

  Her mother had hung that bell, ever conscious of potential wrongdoers. Stella Manning gave no one the benefit of the doubt. Those who measured up received her laud. All others need not apply. Tia’s infantile transgressions had landed her firmly in the latter camp. A mother would know, wouldn’t she, if her child were simply bad?

  The blond woman in burgundy scrubs moved awkwardly, not a limp so much as an uncoordinated gait that reminded Tia of the three-legged races on field day. Perhaps a prosthetic limb.

  Tia moved toward her, smiling. “Can I help you?”

  “Um, I don’t know. What’s the needle for?”

  Tia looked at the syringe in her hand and laughed. “Oh. Ornamentation. I was detailing these pillars.” She motioned toward the one she’d set down.

  “With a hypodermic?”

  “It makes a very fine groove and releases the wax evenly.” With the unorthodox tool, she as easily outlined pine needles and columbine as added abstract swirls and dots to coarse or smoothly textured pillars.

  “You make the candles?” The woman surveyed the store.

  “And all the scent blends and oils. You’re welcome to browse, or was there something …”

  “I’m looking for a gift. For my sister.”

  She thought of Reba’s gifts with a pang. “Birthday?”

  “She’s not well.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Would she even know if Reba were unwell? Would any of them tell her? “What does she like? Scents, textures? Is she more visual?”

  “Do you have anything with a lilac scent?”

  “I have a blend that includes it.” Tia led the woman to the shelf. “It’s called Hope.” She lifted the display dish of scented disks for her to smell. “Melted over a tea light, the wax liquefies and releases the aroma. I also have the scent in potpourri oil and these candles.”

  The ivory pillars were wrapped with a removable band that read: Those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles. (Isaiah 40:31)

  The woman sniffed the scent, eyes closed. “I think I can detect the lilac.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have it by itself.” She had developed the blends herself, preferring them over the potency of a single scent.

  “No, this is nice. I like it.” The woman looked up. “Why do you call it Hope?”

  “It’s part of a collection of scents that soothe or invigorate or calm. The corresponding message is a thought to consider.”

  “Interesting.”

  Tia read the name tag on her lapel. “Dr. Rainer. Do you work at the Emergency Care?”

  “I’m a veterinarian.”

  “Oh. I’d heard someone reopened the animal hospital.” She held out her hand. “I’m Tia.”

  “Liz.” After a brief, strong squeeze, she took the bag of melts from the shelf. “I’ll get these. We have a simmer pot.”

  Tia wrapped the package and tied it with pellucid lavender ribbon, then affixed the shop sticker that bore a half-moon-shaped honeycomb with herbs and berries. She had designed it herself. Customers frequently told her the wrapping was so pretty they didn’t want to open it. Her mother would think it a frivolous expense, but Reba would have liked it.

  Tia handed the package over with a brittle smile. “I hope your sister feels better.”

  Liz Rainer’s smile had a brittleness of its own. “Thanks.”

  Liz left the shop and strolled past several others. Lucy would be happy with the gift, especially how Tia had wrapped it. That was a nice touch. She liked her, though ordinarily she was wary of exotic-looking women.

  The almost black eyes and dark brows were an unusual match for mahogany hair, but she could tell the color wasn’t from a bottle. Mediterranean features and olive skin enhanced the effect. Liz tucked her purse strap higher onto her shoulder, imagining a friendship with Tia the candle maker.

  It felt good to meet someone and draw her own conclusions. Heady not to have Lucy’s opinions in her ear. What would it be like to make a friend her sister knew nothing about? A business woman with shared concerns. She had intended to tell Lucy who had made the c
andle melts and wrapped them so nicely. But now—

  The chief drove past and raised a hand in greeting. She waved back, wishing she hadn’t told Lucy she could meet him. A pang of guilt tightened her stomach. What were these thoughts? She didn’t keep things from her sister.

  Back at the clinic, she passed through the exam rooms to the kennels. “Lucy?”

  Her sister loved to soothe the frightened, ailing pets, but they only had one right now, and Lucy wasn’t there. She went through the door to the small house. “Luce?”

  The bedroom was dim, the curtains drawn. Lucy lay still, breathing weakly. How could she have thought of denying her anything? Liz dropped to her side. “Lucy, wake up. See what I’ve brought you?” She laid the package on the bed. “Open your eyes, and I’ll tell you about the woman who made these.”

  Lucy’s eyelids flickered and parted.

  “Her name is Tia. She has riotous mahogany hair; dark, soulful eyes; and strong, elegant hands.” Lucy loved details. “She’s an artist.” She lifted the package. “See how she wrapped this for you?”

  Lucy looked at the package. “Is she your friend?”

  “I just met her, silly.”

  “But she could be.”

  Liz looked down. “Why would I need a friend when I have you?”

  “Do you have me?”

  She stiffened. “Why do you say that? I will always have you. You’re the only constant in my life.”

  Her sister’s eyes brimmed with tears, and Liz gripped her hand. “Nothing will separate us but death. When you die, I die.”

  “It might not be that way.”

  “It is that way.” She tore the wrapping off the melts, untied the gossamer bag, and the wax wafers tumbled out. She held one close to Lucy’s face. “Smell that. It’s called Hope.”

  “Whose birthday is it?” Piper plunked herself down at the kitchen table and looked at the various tins and plastic-wrapped parcels arrayed there. Birthdays had been a big deal in her house, lots of presents and cake and candles. An extravaganza of entitlement.

  Tia pulled a wide covered basket down from the top of the refrigerator. “Those are care packages for Sarge. From the ladies at church.”

  From what she’d gleaned, Tia’s church was all about doing stuff. Outreach, Tia called it. But this time, it was going to be wasted. “I’m not sure Sarge—”

  “He might curse them for caring, but that doesn’t mean they don’t.” She set the basket down. “They’re very good women, and besides, he wasn’t always awful.”

  “Really?”

  Tia rolled her lower lip in. “His wife and teenage son were killed on the highway.”

  “How sad.”

  “He lost perspective and alienated people. His daughters moved away.”

  Piper picked up a package of snickerdoodles. She hadn’t imagined Sarge with a tragic story. “You’re delivering the package?”

  “I thought you might like to come along, tell him how the bakery’s doing.”

  “He’ll be mad about the specials.”

  “Tell him people like them.”

  “That’ll make him madder.” Piper stuffed the cookies into the basket. “He’s been selling currant scones, raisin rolls, and almond bear claws longer than I’ve been alive.”

  “People know what to expect from Sarge.” Tia hoisted the basket. “Ready?”

  “Well.” She’d been waiting for a chance to plead her case. Now seemed as good a time as any. “Okay.”

  The hospital was quiet as they followed the directions to the surgical wing. Even Sarge’s room was quiet, because his eyes were closed and his mouth hung slack.

  “He’s asleep,” Tia whispered. “We’ll just slip it in there to surprise him.”

  But as they eased the door open, Jonah Westfall looked up from the bench seat by the window. Piper brightened. This might turn out okay. She followed a reluctant Tia in, and Sarge opened his eyes. Just the sight of her seemed to rev him up. “Hi, Sarge. Feeling better?”

  “I am not.”

  “You look better. And you got your voice back.”

  “Yeah. And guess what? You’re fired.”

  Her mouth opened. “Then who’s going to bake?”

  “I’ll shut it down.”

  “You can’t do that. People are counting on you.”

  He pushed up in the bed. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do. It’s your fault I’m here.”

  “Sarge,” Jonah murmured.

  “If you’d have minded your business, I’d be minding mine.” His monitors started beeping.

  “Well, Sarge, you weren’t minding yours all that well.”

  Jonah and Tia startled. Sarge’s face turned purple. He jabbed a finger at her. “You’re fired, you hear?”

  Oh, she heard. She squeezed her hands shut. “There’s an oven full of money, but it’s not enough to pay your medical bills. You need me.”

  Sarge looked ready to burst an artery. “Need? You?”

  She didn’t want to lose the job, to lose the room at Tia’s. She didn’t want to prove her family right that only fools worked for a living. “We need each other.” She raised her eyes hopefully, but Sarge erupted.

  Jonah caught him by the chest. “Calm down, Sarge.”

  Not the reaction she’d hoped for, even if she had sort of expected it. “I better go.” Tears washed her eyes as she slipped out into the hall.

  Tia glowered at Sarge, collapsed against Jonah’s chest. How could such a weak old man be so brutal? “She’s only trying to help.”

  “I won’t have some kid relieving me of my command,” Sarge snarled, the corners of his mouth white with foam.

  “She’s keeping you in business.”

  “What do you know?” He glared. “She costs me more than she’s worth.”

  “You pay her hardly anything.”

  “I trained her from scratch. She didn’t know a spoon from a shovel.”

  “Well, she does now. She has quite a gift for—”

  “Strange concoctions. Goat cheese and pine nuts,” he spit the words like bullets.

  Tia shot a glance at Jonah. Had he blabbed the details? “What matters is that she has opened the door every day and served your customers so that you still have a shop to come back to.” Was he senile not to realize that?

  “I’d be opening it myself if she hadn’t put me here.”

  “Your condition put you here. You’re not taking care of yourself.”

  Sarge chewed his lips, muttering, then thrust a finger at her. “What’s that?”

  Tia looked down at the basket. “Something to cheer you up.”

  “Stuff that girl made?”

  “That girl is Piper. She’s worked for you five weeks now. You should know her name.”

  Sarge reddened like a fireplug.

  Jonah shifted. “She has a point, Sarge.”

  She didn’t need Jonah’s help. She set the basket on the foot of the bed. “Anyway, they’re not from Piper. They’re care packages from the church ladies.” She had told them it was a useless gesture, but, longing to bring him into the fold, if only for his own peace, they’d insisted she play ambassador.

  “Old crows waiting for me to drop dead.”

  She pictured each of them, baking a favorite recipe, something to cheer and hearten him.

  “No one wants you dead, Sarge.” Jonah frowned. “It wouldn’t hurt to show a little gratitude.”

  “It’s themselves they’re cheering up, the cackling do-gooders. Fat biddies putting out for some heavenly reward.”

  Tia’s jaw slackened. He made it sound prurient.

  “The joke’s on them, you hear? The worms will eat them in the grave, same as me. They’ll just be sweeter for all those good deeds.”

  With a jerk, she upended the basket, dumping the parcels onto the sheet. A few slipped to the floor. “If you don’t want these, give them to the nurses. God knows they deserve it.” She headed for the door.

  “Tia.” Jonah came out behind her a
s she searched for Piper. “Wait.”

  “For what?”

  “Let me explain.”

  She turned on him. “Explain what?”

  “They told him today the compression in his spine is inoperable. They also said they’ll only release him to the VA hospital or a family member. He can’t live alone.”

  “That doesn’t excuse him taking it out on Piper and the others, though I’m not surprised you don’t see it that way.”

  “I’ve been on the phone with his daughters, and neither is in a position or willing to take him.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “But you might have an inkling how it feels.”

  She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t have to explain.”

  She jabbed a finger to his chest. “You have no clue how I feel.”

  “Yeah. You don’t know anything about rejection, do you?”

  That was like a knife to the heart. “You intolerable jerk.”

  “Bitterness has driven Sarge hard. You might take a lesson from that.”

  Her cheeks heated, fury curling in her stomach like a snake. “You’re calling me bitter?”

  “I’m saying look in the mirror before you judge Sarge.”

  Her breath made a low growl, the animal urge to rake him with her nails a terrifying sensation.

  “Tia?” Piper approached wide-eyed.

  Tia swung around with the basket, narrowly missing Jonah. “Let’s go.” Piper glanced over her shoulder but waited until they reached the elevator to ask, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m furious, and I hate it.”

  Piper searched her face. “Sarge’s pain—”

  “No.” She spun on her as the doors closed them in. “Don’t excuse him.”

  “But you said—”

  “Forget what I said. None of that matters, you know why? Because it’s still a choice. Everyone gets hurt. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

  “Can you change how you feel?”

  “No. But you can change how you act.” Tia punched the lobby button as though force would make it respond.

  “What happened with the chief?”

  “He made excuses for Sarge.”

  “Why?”