An Intimate Deception

by CJ Birch

  She turned her attention to the passing sights, hoping to calm down before she lost her temper and ruined any chance of completing this job. They passed a shack squeezed between two giant trees. A child ran out. The screen door smacked the frame with a loud crack. She couldn’t believe people actually lived there. The yard housed several cars in various forms of decay. From the mirror, Robin watched the child chase the cruiser down the road, a big grin on his face and part of his lunch smeared along one cheek.

  In big cities, urban poverty looked different than rural. What was it about giving humans space that allowed them to fill it with junk? Was this a North American thing or a universally human trait? If she traveled to Germany, would she find the transportation history of a family displayed on their front lawn the same way the rich hung expensive pieces of art around their homes?

  Was everyone in Turlough this poor or just the unlucky few? Did Elle have vehicle carcasses ornamenting her front yard? Or did she live in a small apartment above the sheriff’s office? Then Robin remembered Elle’s brother and wondered if she still lived at home.

  She didn’t ask any of these questions. Instead, she sank lower in her seat trying to get a feel for this town and its people. If she was going to make any progress, she would need to.

  Elle pulled to a stop in a front circular drive, reluctant to turn off the engine. She willed her brain to come up with a script for how this should go.

  Ten years had passed since Elle had spoken with Jessie’s parents. Janice and Chuck Forrester faded into the backdrop like white noise. They rarely ventured into town, choosing instead to inhabit a world of two.

  Robin whistled. “Nice place.”

  Their quaint colonial was tucked into the forest, masked from the main road by large oaks and maples. The diligence of upkeep was plain, even from a distance.

  There was a woman in her early sixties working in a flower bed. At the sound of the engine, she stood. A floral scarf hid her hair from view; dirt-encrusted gloves did the same for her hands. She removed the gloves and tossed them onto a pile of gardening tools.

  At first she was curious, but upon seeing Elle, her face transformed into pleasure.

  “Oh, God.” It was only a whisper, but Robin heard it and turned to Elle. She was clutching the worn steering wheel, her face as pale as the white cruiser. Seeing Robin watching her, she straightened. Before getting out she said, “Do I need to pull the handcuffs out again?”

  “No. I’ll sit here, like a good little doggy.” Robin gave her a lopsided grin to show there were no hard feelings. She didn’t envy Elle this task. She’d wondered, on occasion, what it would be like to receive news that a loved one had died. Both her parents were still alive, living comfortably in a two story in Evanston. But she’d encountered enough death in her job to see the toll it took on someone.

  “This shouldn’t take very long.” Elle corralled her hair back into its bun.

  As Elle approached the woman, her frame was stiff like her baton, which was currently propping up her kitchen window. And like that window, she was stuck halfway between her past and present, unsure if she should be the warm teenager who had dated their son or the stoic sheriff of Flynn County.

  “Elle, what a pleasure to see you. What brings you out this way?” There was a genuine smile of affection on the woman’s face as she took Elle into a warm embrace. “It’s been too long.” She paused to consider. “It must be well over ten years since you’ve been here.”

  “Around that, Mrs. Forrester.” Elle took a measured step back, distancing herself from the older woman.

  “How many times have I told you to call me Janice?” She eyed Elle’s sheriff uniform, which was now in its second day of wear. As much as she’d tried to fortify the creases in her trousers, the constant bending, sleeping, sitting, and humidity had deflated them.

  “About a million. Is Mr. Forrester around? I’d like to speak with you both.”

  “Of course. He’s in back fiddling with the pool heater. It’s been on the fritz lately.” Janice motioned toward Robin. “What about your friend? Would she like to come in?”

  Robin perked up at this. The promise of a front-row seat was more than enough to make up for her less than stellar morning. But she too was deflated when Elle shook her head.

  “No,” Elle said. Her abrupt tone put Janice on alert. She softened her voice. “This isn’t a social call, Mrs. Forrester.”

  “What is it?”

  “Let’s go inside.” Elle guided Janice into the house with a soft hand to the back of the older woman’s arm. She wasn’t exactly gripping it, just nudging her in the right direction. A good excuse to escape the heat, and Robin’s eavesdropping.

  “Would you care for something to drink?” Janice asked as she led Elle into the living room. Fans buzzed overhead, dispersing the unexpected late spring heat.

  “No, thank you.” Elle cringed at the procedural tone her voice had taken on.

  The interior matched the outside’s meticulousness. It was neat, but lived in. The furniture was well maintained, but with the hint of favorite spots that had worn grooves into the cushions over the years.

  “I’ll grab Chuck, then. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Elle skirted the overstuffed couch, choosing instead to stand. Comfortable was out of the question. The room was dotted with pictures. They covered every surface, not just the walls. A timeline of their family. At one time, Elle was a prominent feature in many of them, as if already part of the family. The room had since been wiped of Elle. She’d been replaced by Jessie’s wife and the past seven years of their life together. She had been reduced to a single picture. In it, she and Jessie mugged for the camera. She had taken the blue sash from her dress and wrapped it around his neck as if to strangle him. A prom corsage dangled from her bodice. Their faces were suspended mid-laugh.

  Elle replaced the picture on a side table as Mrs. Forrester entered carrying a tray with a pitcher of sweet tea and three glasses.

  “That was such a great picture of you two. I hated to get rid of the rest, but…well, you know. I guess it wouldn’t have been appropriate with Cindy here and everything.” She set the tray on the coffee table.

  “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, Mrs. Forrester.”

  She waved Elle off. “I know, but it’s such a hot day out and you look like you could use a little pick-me-up.”

  Self-conscious, Elle surveyed her appearance, deciding she should have showered. At the very least, she should have changed before coming. But with Robin in the cruiser, the last thing she wanted was to pull up in her driveway. The idea of her invading so much of her personal life was mortifying.

  “Ah, there she is. The impressive sheriff of Flynn County,” Chuck Forrester said as he burst into the room. His old khaki shorts were covered in grime, his graying hair tucked under a Cubs hat. “We voted for you, you know.” He grabbed her in a bear hug, forgetting the filth on his shorts.

  “I got your bouquet. It was very thoughtful. Thank you.” She was relieved his booming laugh had masked the tremble in her voice. She had almost forgotten how easy it was to be around Jessie’s parents.

  Elle spent more time here during high school than at her own house. At the time, she was oblivious to how few years she had left with her parents. It was a safe haven. Free from judgment and punishment. Now, she felt guilt.

  “So polite now. Where’s the rowdy girl we remember cannonballing into our pool?”

  Janice handed Elle a glass of sweet tea. “Leave the girl alone. She’s here on official business. She has to be professional.” Her smile was that of a proud parent.

  Chuck and Janice Forrester inhabited their surroundings like uncut gems. The dirt from their earlier activities was only surface deep. Beneath their faded and worn clothing was the same understated elegance of the house.

  Elle sank into the couch, feeling the cushions envelop her, clinging to her thighs, cool against the fabric of her uniform. She took a sip of sweet tea. Her fa
ce puckered.

  “Not sweet enough?” asked Janice. “I forgot, you like lots of sugar.”

  “It’s fine.” And she took another sip before placing it on the coffee table. Her hands regretted it immediately. Now they had nothing to do but twist themselves into knots on her lap. “The reason I’m here—” And she stopped. Gazing into the serene and curious faces of Jessie’s parents, like glossy eight-by-tens come to life, she lost her nerve. This was the last time they would ever be happy. Sitting here together on their couch. The clear glee at seeing their son’s ex. Refreshed from an afternoon of being productive. And she would be the one to shatter it.

  “What is it? Has something happened to EJ?”

  Being back in this house a million thoughts came to mind. Had Buck, the evil cat that stalked Elle her entire junior year, finally died? And if so, had they buried him in the backyard next to the tulip garden? She still had a scar on the back of her thigh from his claws. What happened to the blue couch, velvet to the touch, the one she’d given her first hand job on? Did they know that while they’d been at a PTA meeting she and Jessie had been here siphoning from their liquor cabinet? Was the screen on Jessie’s window still loose? Could it still be popped from the outside with a well-placed key? Did any of that matter now that she was the only person left to remember?

  She decided to treat it like any accident. “This morning I was called out to the old Maverty house for a noise complaint.”

  Chuck actually laughed at the mention of the house. “Are kids still using it as a clubhouse? I remember you and Jessie used to get into a fair amount of trouble in that place.” Elle hoped to God he wasn’t aware of even half the trouble they’d gotten up to in that house.

  Janice shook her head, the knot in her scarf coming loose. Almost as an afterthought, she slipped it off and folded it, smoothing the fabric onto her lap. “I don’t know why they haven’t torn that place down yet.”

  “The historical society declared it a landmark building last year.”

  Janice turned to her husband, shocked, almost like it had been his choice and not the society’s. “I don’t know why. That place is a fire hazard if anything.” She shook her head, harder this time. “What a silly, sentimental thing to do. Some child is going to hurt themselves there and then they’ll be sorry.” She looked to Elle. “Isn’t there anything you can do? Can’t you barricade the place?”

  Elle shrugged helplessly. “They would just tear them down.” She remembered the lengths to which the sheriff’s department had gone to back in her day to keep Jessie’s crew out, even going so far as to board up every window and door. It didn’t matter, though. They always found a way back in. Eventually, Sheriff Bailey realized the futility of it. When Elle took over she did little more than keep an eye on the place, just to make sure the kids didn’t go too far.

  Chuck patted his wife’s knee. “Elle came to tell us something. Let her tell us.”

  Elle smiled weakly. With her heart pounding against her sternum, she proceeded to tell the Forresters that their only child had been found murdered in the old Maverty house. Instead of that happy, carefree girl who used to date their son, the Forresters would always remember Elle in this moment. She would forever be the one who shattered their ideal existence. It was this that paralyzed Elle. Scared her more than anything. She’d spent the ten years since she’d come back constructing this professional exterior, giving the people of Turlough someone they could rely on and respect. In order to do that, she’d wrapped her past up like a package and left it where it belonged, in the past. Now it was like she was taking the package out and leaving it to tarnish in the sun.

  And when she finished, her heart in her throat, she didn’t get the reaction she expected. There was no crying. No screaming. In fact, there was no sound coming from the Forresters at all. They stared in polite silence at Elle as she clung to her knees.

  Then Janice laughed. “That’s impossible. It can’t be Jessie. He called me from Chicago two days ago. We wanted to know if he would be down for the festival, but he said Cindy and he couldn’t make it. They never do, but I always ask. Just in case.” She looked at her husband to confirm this.

  “I wish it weren’t true. But it is. I found his body this morning.”

  “No. You’re mistaken,” Janice said, shaking her head from side to side. But each sway left a small chink in her composure. Elle moved to kneel beside her, taking her hands. Cupping them.

  Janice recoiled at her touch. “Get out!”

  Her yell was so unexpected, so charged with hatred, Elle fell backward onto the carpet. Janice reared, towering over Elle.

  “How dare you? How dare you tell such lies? Get out of here.” Her face contorted in anguish. A sob bubbled out.

  Chuck enfolded Janice in his arms. “You better leave, Elle.”

  She was being pulled in. Again. Case had warned her about this. Elle dragged herself up to full height with support from the coffee table. She blinked a few times, hoping to erase the sight of the Forresters huddled together for support. “I’ll be back tomorrow to ask you some questions. In the meantime, you know where to reach me if you need anything.”

  “Don’t come back. You’re not welcome here,” Janice said, her tears falling freely. “Not anymore.”

  “If you like, you can come into the station, Mrs. Forrester. But I will need to ask you questions about Jessie.” Elle moved closer to the door, stepping past the line of the carpet dividing the living room and front hall. “I’ll give you time now.” Her voice was subdued but firm.

  “What about? About identification?” asked Mr. Forrester.

  Elle shook her head. “I knew him well enough to—You won’t need to come in for that.”

  He nodded. But Elle didn’t notice. She had turned and walked out of the cool house into the heat of the afternoon.

  Chapter Six

  A wall of grease belted Robin in the face as she entered Dell’s. The smell stormed her nostrils. As they passed to take a booth, Robin heard one of the younger men cough “Ice Queen” into his napkin. She was sure Elle had heard it too, because the muscles in her back tensed.

  Elle wanted to put as much distance between her and the Forresters as possible. But small towns only offered so much.

  Before she had even climbed into the cruiser, Robin said, “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but is there anywhere to eat around here?”

  Elle started the car but didn’t say anything. If Robin hadn’t been there she would have liked to rest her head on the steering wheel. Just for a moment.

  The change was palpable. From when she entered the house until now. There was a scoured look to her. Robin figured she could use some food. “What about that diner across from your office? I imagine it has a bit of local flavor to it,” she said.

  “I’m not all that hungry.”

  “Really?” She took in her pale face and general dishevelment. “When was the last time you ate?”

  She thought about it. “Last night, I guess.”

  “No breakfast?”

  “Coffee.” Then she said, “Look, if you’d been doing what I was doing all morning, you wouldn’t be hungry either.”

  Robin held up both hands in supplication. “It wasn’t an accusation. The way your deputy reacted, I suspect it was more gruesome than the glance I caught.”

  Elle noted Robin hadn’t mentioned her reaction and was grateful. “It’s not exactly the outcome I was expecting when I took you out on that call. I hope you didn’t see too much.”

  Before she had a chance to answer, Elle pulled into her spot at the sheriff’s office. Parking spaces weren’t assigned, but it was generally understood that the sheriff got the closest one to the door. Not that the other two were far. Still, it was the tradition of the thing.

  Even as Elle entered the diner, followed by Robin, she knew it was a mistake. The place was only half full, but everyone stopped to stare. Most were curious, some indifferent, a few hostile. Of course they’d heard. This town was as g
ood at keeping secrets as a torn pocket was at storing change. Elle stood staring at the curtain of faces waiting for a show. She shored her face and chose a side booth near the back.

  “What was that all about?” Robin cocked her head toward the grubby, bearded man in the greasy overalls near the front. Elle had deliberately sat with her back to Frankie Cheever.

  “Let’s say he’s the type of guy who doesn’t take rejection well.” Frankie was the type of guy whose misogynist attitude amplified with rejection. Assuming that if Elle wanted nothing to do with him, there must be something wrong with her. “Ice Queen” was one of many terms he’d come up with to let her know it.

  “How you feeling, honey?” Tully asked. She set two cups of coffee on the table without asking. “You must be a wreck, and to think you’re going to have to investigate and all.” Her tone was sympathetic, but her face resembled a child who’d discovered Christmas was coming twice this year. She scanned the counter behind her. “And isn’t it a shame? I’ve only got blueberry pie left.”

  Tully Dell ran Dell’s Diner with a robust efficiency like an all-in-one espresso maker. With very little outward effort, she managed to do a variety of tasks in a short amount of time. Like her husband Neil, she had an ample figure. Only her breasts were bigger. They spilled over her apron, giving the appearance that you could rope them in to stop them from flopping about. Her face was open and pleasant, but like a charity plate, you tended to give more than you meant to.

  “It’s okay, Tully. I’m not hungry.” Even key lime pie couldn’t dissolve the dead lump in her stomach.

  “Don’t give me that nonsense. You weren’t in for breakfast and I know you didn’t have any at home ’cause Neil said you slept in your office again.”