by Pamela Tracy
“I figured that out thanks to a photo he had on the wall.”
“Small town,” Tom said. “I had a visit from the mayor this morning. We’ve had a regular crime wave this past week. Two break-ins.”
“Really? Where?”
“One was a house, and the other a business.”
“Maybe,” Heather said wryly, “I should rethink apartment hunting. I was going to go for a six-month lease. But if this is turning into Gotham...”
He grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe. What time do you get off? We should stop by and talk to Debbie Stilwater tonight. That was the plan, right?”
“Yes. And I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to try Little’s again, too. The chief of police might make answers flow a little more freely.”
“Six good?” he asked.
Heather dabbed at her lips with a napkin, put three one-dollar bills under the plate and then took hold of her purse as she scooted out of the booth. She was ready to start the day.
“It’s a date.”
She wanted the words back almost the moment she uttered them.
Because she almost meant them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TOM HAD BEEN heading for Sarasota Sweets when he’d spotted Heather in the Station Diner. That she was engaged in a serious conversation with Maureen had caused him to make a one-eighty. Good thing he had. He hadn’t stopped to consider what Heather would be dealing with when it came to the good people of Sarasota.
No doubt she’d heard quite a bit from Bianca, too.
Heather seemed to be taking it quite well. She’d even joked a bit. He liked that. Enough so that he was glad pancakes warmed his belly instead of the blueberry muffin he’d been thinking about.
The bakery was doing a brisk business. Most likely, Shelley would make back more money than was stolen. Most of the people were there for a few sweets and a lot of details about the crime.
“Got a moment?” Tom asked.
Shelley snorted and waved a hand at the line that reached to the door. “Little busy here.”
“I can see that. Maybe you can get someone to take over for a few minutes.”
She nodded and one of her employees took her place behind the counter. The line moved to let her come out front.
“Let’s go to my office,” Shelley said.
A slight moan sounded, and someone even muttered, “Oh, just say it out here. You know we’re gonna find out anyway.”
Tom waved and said jokingly, “Keep in line. Settle down.”
Shelley abruptly stopped, swinging around to stare at him, her mouth twitching. “Okay, who are you, and where is the real chief of police?”
“What do you mean?” He followed her into the kitchen, which smelled like chocolate chip cookies. Her office was little bigger than a closet.
“Tom Riley, I’ve known you forever, and since my husband works for you, and you stop by the house two or three times a month, I probably know you better than most. You’re supposed to be upset because you arrested the wrong woman and—”
“And I’m here about your robbery, not my questioning the wrong woman. What happened?”
“You were actually funny out there—”
“Shelley, what happened?”
“Okay. I came in this morning and the back door was open. I’m sure I locked it, but Oscar looked and he said it would only take a credit card to open, the door’s so old. He’s going to—”
“Shelley!”
“I always keep a bit of cash in the register. Not much, but enough for change in case something happens last-minute. I had about sixty dollars in there. The register was open. The money gone.”
“Anything else?”
“No, not really. A couple of cookies probably left with the guy.”
“Guy?”
“Could have been a female.”
“Your husband take a report?”
“I’m sure he did. He searched the back alley but didn’t find anything. He checked some of the neighbors to see if their security cameras were on. So far he’s come up empty.”
“Anything else?”
“Oscar mentioned it’s weird how nothing was out of place. It’s like whoever came in went right for the register, took the money and left. If they’d gone in my office, they’d have found my company credit cards in the drawer as well as a bucket where my staff and I have been throwing change. We’re going to use it for an end-of-the-year party. Granted, it weighs a ton, but there must be a couple hundred dollars in there.”
Tom thought it weird, too, how two crimes committed the same evening had similarities.
“And,” Shelley continued, “my wedding ring is in the top drawer of my desk.”
“What?” He looked down, saw her bare finger with the pink indent and lines evidencing a recent removal.
“I meant to take it home but forgot. My fingers are a bit swollen from...” She suddenly looked shy.
He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw that even while she was talking to him about how she’d been robbed, she was smiling. People who’d just been robbed didn’t smile.
“Swollen from...” he prompted. Even as the words left his lips, he figured it out. “Are you...”
“We, ah, we don’t want anyone to know, but, well, Oscar’s going to be a father again. We’re pregnant.”
“That’s great. Really.” Tom meant every word. Oscar and Shelley had been married just over a year. His friend had adopted Shelley’s son from her first disastrous marriage. No chance the kid would ever feel neglected. He was named after Oscar.
If Tom knew Oscar, soon Shelley’d be sporting a brand-new temporary ring. No way would his deputy let his wife go around with a bare finger.
His ex-wife had left her ring in the soap dish by the kitchen sink. It was still there, Tom was pretty sure.
Maybe it was time to move it and move on.
* * *
“FORMS ARE HERE,” Maya Gillespie said. “We ask our clients to go online prior to their appointments, print them and fill them out at home, but maybe two percent do. First thing, make sure you have plenty of copies. You don’t want to leave a mom with a scared grade-schooler standing beside her while you run to the copy machine. A terrified first-grader can turn into a screaming mass of nerves in a heartbeat.”
Heather already knew this.
“I arrive first,” Maya said. “I turn everything on. I sterilize what the dentist and hygienist use, and I also wipe down the toys and video machines. We have a cleaning crew for the last two, but I don’t trust them.”
Heather nodded, thinking her old dental office could use a few Mayas. She appeared to do the work of three.
“I listen to messages. You’d be amazed how many times we get calls in the middle of the night, mothers wanting to know what to do about their child’s toothache. What’s funny is, come morning, only a few come in. From eight to nine, we have an open-door policy. No appointments but we will see anyone who brings a child through those doors.”
“What a great idea,” Heather said.
“Doctor Goodman had a toothache when he was twelve, on Christmas Eve. He had to wait three days before seeing the dentist. He says he never wants one of his patients to go through that much pain.”
“Nice guy, huh?” Heather queried.
Maya nodded. “The best.” She pulled out a file, then in a more serious voice said, “These three families get their dental work for free. Two of them are single mothers.” Maya pulled a coupon book from the same drawer. “These are gift certificates to the Station Diner. When they visit, we give them one of these also. I always tell them the restaurant is doing a promotion and I need to get rid of them.”
Dr. Goodman came in ten minutes before Maya unlocked the front door. There was
no stampede of emergency patients. He greeted Heather as if they were the best of friends and then disappeared into his office.
“He usually doesn’t come out until the first patient’s been here twenty minutes. He has a routine. We all do. Today we’re pretty busy. Back-to-back appointments.” Together, the two women sat at the front desk and Maya introduced Heather to the list of today’s patients.
At ten minutes before nine, the hygienist, Marcie Rickard, showed up. Nothing quiet about her. She brought attitude and music. Maya tsk-tsked but smiled.
“Hey,” Marcie said, sticking her purse in a cupboard under the second computer. “Good to have you here. Maya’s been talking about visiting her sister for years. Knock me over with a feather that she’s finally doing it. Did you convince your sister-in-law, Trina, to go along?”
Trina? An unusual name and one Heather’d heard recently.
“No, she can’t afford to take time off work,” Maya said.
“Where does she work?” Heather asked.
“Little’s Grocery.”
Heather nodded, finally seeing the resemblance and remembering that the cashier at Little’s had the last name Gillespie on her badge. She’d spoken with Trina and had even shown Trina a cellphone photo of her dad, but before Trina could more than “um,” the security guard had interfered.
“You’re a hygienist, too, right?” Marcie asked.
“Yes.”
“Should be interesting.” Marcie raised an eyebrow.
Heather scooted her chair back, away from the computer screen she’d been going over with Maya, and turned to face Marcie. “If you’re thinking that the practice doesn’t need two, you don’t have to worry. Dr. Goodman made it clear that I’m only filling in for Maya, nothing else. Plus, I’m only temporary.”
“Why?”
Whereas Maya had been all business, Marcie was all social interaction.
“I haven’t decided if I’m going to stay in Sarasota Falls or not.” Heather used the same explanation she’d given the dentist during her interview. “I’ve friends in the area, and I’m thinking about downsizing. I’ve never enjoyed big-city living, but...”
“My sister said you were looking for information about Raymond Tillsbury.” Maya joined in the conversation, gazing directly at Heather.
Instead of answering the question, she decided to ask one of her own. “Did you know him?”
“I went out with him once, thirty-odd years ago, before I married and had my own children.”
Heather’s breath caught. Her first real connection to her dad. “Really? What was he like? Why—”
The front door banged open and a woman herded in two small children, both of them protesting that they didn’t need to visit the dentist.
Maya stood, all business again, and said, “Hello, Evie, you’re right on time.” To Heather, Maya said, “Go ahead and get the forms ready, attach them to a clipboard, give them to her and let’s get started.”
Heather did as she was told, having Evie sign in first. Handing over the clipboard, Evie said, “Nice to meet you, Heather. My mom said she had a wonderful visit with you the other day. Said she had you and Chief Riley over for supper.”
Marcie whistled. “Chief Riley. I practically threw myself at him when I moved back to town. No luck at all. And you—” she gave Heather a once-over “—have been in town, what, a week?”
“A week,” Heather agreed. “And it wasn’t like that.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t.” Evie’s tone was half jest, half apology.
The door opened again and another mother, this time with one child, came in. Heather manned the sign-in sheet, Maya returned to the computer and Marcie disappeared into the back room.
Maya certainly had her routine down. She’d greet a patient, get preliminaries done and lead them into one of two rooms, each with a dental chair accompanied by a rolling stool, various equipment and necessary supplies for either the dentist or hygienist. After getting patient and parent comfortable—patient on bed, parent on bench—she’d go back up front to start the pattern all over again.
Marcie took over then, updating the chart with the parent, explaining what would be done. Usually she did this so the child could hear everything and even ask questions. Heather knew this because she used to do the same back in Phoenix. Sometimes an X-ray was necessary, most often not. Dr. Goodman appeared, almost magically, after Marcie had cleaned and polished the teeth.
“Let’s take a look.” Dr. Goodman’s opening didn’t change patient by patient, but his conversation did. While discussing gums, he’d also ask about scores on video games or what worked and what didn’t with the latest Star Wars movie. Switching to the “bite” conversation, he’d brag about Nerf gun wars and camping. It was Dr. Goodman himself who handed out the toy boxes. There were four, and Dr. Goodman seemed to know which box to grab for which kid.
Everyone received a bag with toothbrush, toothpaste, floss and a timer.
Before leaving, parents dealt with payments and some scheduled the next visit.
Heather kept busy shadowing Maya, checking in patients, calling patients to remind them about future appointments and sometimes just sitting next to a young patient making small talk in order to calm nerves.
In the end, she decided that children were pretty much the same as adults. They were scared of the dentist, whined a bit, wanted lots of breaks and were generally good-natured and entertaining.
Lunch was at eleven. Maya locked the door, and the women headed to the small break room. “Dr. Goodman goes home,” Maya said. “He likes his wife’s cooking.”
“And he’s addicted to one of the soap operas,” Marcie added. “Unless we’re overly busy, he takes two hours. I go back on the clock at noon and just do cleaning.”
Heather hadn’t thought to pack a lunch. She blamed it on first-day jitters, combined with not having her own place. She made a few noises about running to the store, but Maya, acting a lot like Bianca, simply got a second bowl out of a cupboard and spooned half her soup into it. “It’s Mexican black bean with sausage. Made a big batch for the Founder’s Day potluck. I’ll be eating it for months. Glad to get rid of it.”
Truth was, Heather didn’t want to go to the store. She had an hour with Maya and wanted to know about the long-ago date with Raymond Tillsbury.
Marcie didn’t give her time to start the conversation. Instead, the hygienist said, “So, first Chief Riley accidentally took you in, and then you wound up having a meal with him at the Turner place? How did that happen?”
Heather shared just a few details, most of which the two women already knew as Marcie kept interrupting trying to find out information Heather either didn’t know or didn’t want to give out.
“So you’re probably related to Rachel Ramsey?” Marcie asked.
“I’d never heard of her until moving here.”
Luckily, Marcie took that as a “no” because Heather was half-afraid she was related to Rachel.
When Marcie finally got all she was going to get, Maya took over. “So, why were you asking my sister-in-law about Raymond Tillsbury?”
Because their last name was different, Heather couldn’t answer “He’s my father.” Instead, she said, “I could be related to him.”
“He didn’t have family.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Marcie said. “But I only moved to town six months ago. I’d not heard of Rachel Ramsey until Sunday morning at church.”
“He was an only child and mostly raised by his father,” Heather said. “Then he wound up in foster care.”
“That’s Raymond,” Maya agreed. “So, how are you related?”
“Not sure, but my parents recently died, and I came across his name while going through their stuff.” Before any other questions came her way, Heather quickly asked, “You only went o
n one date. How come?”
Maya laughed. “He didn’t like taking orders, and I live to give orders.”
“Got that right,” Marcie said.
“He’d just come out of the military,” Maya added. “I think he was stressed. He just wanted to go to work and then go home.”
“Where did he live?”
“He had an apartment above one of the businesses downtown. Back then, they were dirt-cheap. Now,” she added, “they’ve become a yuppie trend and cost a lot. Dr. Goodman owns a few of the businesses. I do the accounting, so I know having rentals downtown is lucrative. When I think that years ago my family owned a few of them...”
“Learn something every day.” Marcie took a final spoonful before washing her bowl, putting it away and heading out front.
“She likes a little downtime,” Maya remarked.
“What else do you remember about B...Raymond?”
Maya studied Heather. “You don’t look much like him. He was a dark man, handsome. All the girls in town thought he was cute.”
“Who else did he go out with?”
“I don’t recall anyone. He wasn’t here that long. Maybe a year or two. Then, he just took off.”
Maya finished her soup, gathered the dishes and quickly washed them in the sink, brushing aside Heather’s offer to help.
“Did he have any friends?”
“Father Joe.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
TOM MADE IT back to the police station a full hour after he expected. He’d been nonstop busy all day, and it seemed the station had, too. There were three people in the waiting room. Leann had barely greeted him, she’d been so preoccupied collecting fines and arranging for a fingerprinting. Just down from her, Lucas Stilwater dealt with a weeping woman who seemed to have a lot to say but difficulty saying it.
She had to be a leftover visitor from the Founder’s Day celebration because he didn’t recognize her.
He shook a finger at Oscar as he passed his desk.
“I was going to tell you,” his deputy defended, shaking a piece of paper in the air, “but I took a call and got busy.”
