Protector

by Laurel Dewey

  Jane figured she would play it close to the vest. “Well, the perp sounds like a pro. I mean, there aren’t a lot of older burglars out there who bring hardware to the scene.”

  “That’s true.”

  “You’re putting a 24-hour watch on my house, right?”

  “I don’t have the manpower for that. But I did ask patrol to concentrate more of their night watch around your block.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jane said with a dubious tone. “Okay, so let’s say just for the hell of it, that this is not some sort of ‘odd coincidence’ as you put it. Let’s say that there is some kind of motive behind the attempted break-in. I got to ask myself two questions: Why me and what’s he looking for? As far as I was told, the media doesn’t know I’m on this case. The DA’s office doesn’t know either. In fact, as far as anyone’s concerned, the last case with my name on it was the Stover murder. The only people who could drop my name regarding the Lawrence case are you and Chris. That’s saying that this burglar has got some tie-in with the Lawrence murder. But we’re just flyin’ blind through shit, aren’t we? So then I ask, what’s this asshole looking for? It’s gotta be information. Right?” Jane thought she heard a distinct pop on the phone. “What was that?”

  “What?”

  An indignant flush came over her face. If Weyler was recording this conversation or having it monitored by someone, she was not going to dish out any more information nor was she going to let anyone think she was stupid. “I heard a pop on the phone. A pop?” Jane said in a leading tone.

  “I didn’t hear a pop.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Jane felt as though someone hit her square in the jaw. She turned around and looked at Emily sitting in the car. Suddenly, a boiling rage curled along her spine. “Goddamn, you fuckers!” Jane said under her breath.

  “Jane? What is it?”

  “Hey, I know!” Jane said sarcastically. “Maybe it’s that elusive Texas mob we keep talking about. Maybe I’ve got the fucking mob on my ass!”

  “Jane, you’re not making sense.”

  “Really? Well, shit, I’m sorry. I’ve got people trying to break into my house and I can’t do anything about it! How am I supposed to feel?”

  “Look, I don’t know that it’s anything to worry about,” Weyler said gently. “I just felt I should touch base and tell you what happened.”

  “Yeah. Thanks,” Jane said brusquely.

  “Jane, are you okay?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jane said, wondering how many people were waiting for her answer on the other end.

  “It means what it means. You’re not . . . I hope to God you’re not drinking.”

  Jane was blown away by Weyler’s comment. “Fuck! I should be so lucky!” Her words poured forth with venom. “I’m not getting drunk and I’m not stupid, either!”

  “I never said—”

  “Listen to me.” Jane turned away from Emily and spoke quietly but directly into the phone. “You’ve got an innocent little girl involved in this mess. A little girl. If that doesn’t mean shit to you, then so be it. But it means something to me!”

  “Jane! My God! I’m well aware of your situation! I don’t want anything to happen to that child! We’re doing everything we can on this end.”

  The voice automated operator broke in on the call. “You have twenty seconds left. Please insert one dollar for another five minutes.”

  “How’s it going with the kid?” Weyler said, ignoring the automated voice.

  “It’s going,” Jane said succinctly, not willing to throw any more information in Weyler’s direction. “I’m out of quarters,” Jane added, knowing full well she had a pocketful of change. She quickly said good-bye and hung up the phone with a hard slam. Back in the car, she lit a cigarette and rolled down the window.

  “Is everything okay?” Emily asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jane replied uneasily.

  Emily stared into the distance. She was still silently beating herself up for zoning out in front of Dan. And the photos. She knew Jane would go ballistic if she knew Dan saw the photos. “Was that phone call ’cause of me?”

  “No.” Jane took a drag on her cigarette. “What made you think that?”

  “I don’t know. Just wondering, that’s all.”

  Over the next few days, Dan kept his promise, driving by their house every morning, afternoon and evening. A few times, he stopped in to make minor improvements on the house. One day he improved the reception of their television by installing a used antenna on the roof. This addition brought in PBS and NBC when the sky was clear and the wind was not blowing.

  As the days progressed, Jane sensed the gradual tightening of a noose around her neck. The more she tried to figure it out, the tighter and more mysterious that noose became. There were moments when she wondered if the feeling had to do with the attempted break-in at her house. Other times, she questioned if it was just the daily tedium in Peachville. No matter the source, the unidentifiable stress built exponentially. If the past was any indicator, this anomalous sensation typically heralded a monumental event in Jane’s life.

  June 16 rolled around—the day of Kathy’s “Cherry Jubilee.” Jane hoped Emily would forget the invitation, but no such luck. By four o’clock, Emily was begging Jane to take her to Kathy’s house. As much as Jane hated the thought of being part of the insipid soirée, she realized that not showing up would generate further gossip and derision by the town hens. Finally, she agreed to bring Emily with her on the condition that they would be out of there in two hours or less.

  Kathy and Kent’s house was located atop Strong’s Mesa, a fertile plateau that stretched several miles north and west. The landscape was dotted with two-level, wood and stone houses, occupied by well-heeled retirees and the newly rich. Kent and Kathy fit into that mold via Kent’s real estate sales and Kathy’s modest income managing rental properties and the occasional home sale. Their house was situated on ten acres of rolling green pasture. A bank of floor to ceiling picture windows on one side of the house faced the setting sun, reflecting an almost uncomfortable crimson blaze. The circular drive was packed with SUVs and assorted Subaru wagons. Jane wedged her wagon behind a Toyota 4-Runner with bumper stickers that extolled the driver’s love of craft shows. “I Luv Being Crafty” elicited a groan from Jane and a roll of the eyes.

  Jane and Emily walked across the gravel driveway and up to the large, Mission-style front door. It was several inches ajar—a common practice for small-town folks and an unspoken signal to come in. The humming din of women’s voices could be heard, along with the eruption of an occasional grating cackle. Jane let out a tired sigh and entered the house with Emily close by her side.

  The tri-level house was duly impressive. Vaulted ceilings led the eye upward to various odd shapes of windows that framed the second story. The home was furnished in a combination of Santa Fe Chic and classic old Mexican style. Burnt orange hues blended with soft terra cotta tones that effortlessly flowed into deep burgundy and chestnut accents. It was a showplace and an obvious source of pride for Kathy. Jane and Emily stood outside a clique of two dozen women who milled around a long wooden dinner table, munching on nachos and salsa.

  “Does anybody know how many points a nacho is on the Weight Watchers’ menu?” a woman yelled out.

  Kathy poked her head through the gaggle of giggling females and caught sight of Jane. She excitedly waved her arm and motioned Jane forward. “Hi! Come on in, girls!” Kathy maneuvered her way around the band of women to meet Jane and Emily. “I am so glad you came!” Turning to the cluster of droning voices, Kathy announced Jane and Emily’s appearance. “Girls! Girls! I want you all to meet Anne and Patty Calver! They’re the two new folks in town who I’ve been telling you all about!” Jane wondered just exactly what she had been telling these women when they turned in unison to Jane with a look of judgment across their faces. Emily’s attention was drawn outside through the open French doors to the backyard where Heather and a few other young g
irls were practicing line dancing steps in front of the family’s outdoor trampoline. “Would you like to go out and say hi to Heather?” Kathy asked Emily with a big, toothy grin.

  Emily looked up at Jane. “Is that okay with you, Mom?”

  “Oh, there she goes again!” Kathy quickly interjected. “Little Miss Manners!”

  Jane’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, sure. It’s okay.”

  Emily scooted across the wooden floor and into the backyard.

  “Her stitches are out,” Kathy said, eyes fixed on Emily.

  “Yes,” Jane said tersely.

  Kathy turned to Jane. “That’s odd. Dr. Armstrong didn’t mention your visit.”

  “Kathy!” came a voice from around the table. “We’re gonna need more mason jars for the cherries!”

  Kathy turned to the woman. “I’ve got plenty stashed away in Kent’s workshop! I’ll get ’em for ya!” Kathy took Jane by the arm. “But first, I want to introduce you to the gals!” She escorted Jane to the table and proceeded to point and name each and every woman around the table. In between nodding like a robot, Jane stole a glance toward the backyard where Emily was engaged in her own conversation.

  “We’re practicing our steps!” Heather announced to Emily with a snotty tone.

  “Who’s she?” one of the girls asked Heather.

  “I’m Em—,” Emily caught herself. “Patty.”

  “Don’t you even know your own name?” Heather said with a smirk.

  Emily let Heather’s comment roll off her back. “So, what are you practicing for?”

  The girls looked surprised by Emily’s question.

  “What do you think?” Heather asked. “The dance? At the Peach Pit Days Carnival? I mean, duh!”

  “Is that a big deal?”

  “A big deal?” Heather said with a dramatic gesture. “Oh my god! Where are you from? Yes, it’s a big hairy deal!”

  “Is there a contest?” Emily asked.

  “What do you think, Einstein?” Heather repeated in a mocking tone, taking her place at the head of the line. “Come on,” she said to the other girls, “let’s do it again.”

  “Can I practice with you?” Emily blurted out.

  Heather took a step toward Emily. “Do you know how to line dance?”

  “No. But I’m a real fast learner.”

  Heather spun around and stood back at the head of the line. “Sorry! Only advanced girls are allowed in my group. Besides, you don’t have any cowboy boots. Everybody knows you have to have cowboy boots to be a good line dancer!”

  “Oh . . .” Emily said, dejected.

  The girls continued to practice their steps. Emily turned and walked toward the house, peering through the panes of glass in search of Jane. A hand draped across Emily’s shoulder, causing her to jump slightly.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you!” Kathy said. “You meet Heather’s little friends?”

  “Yes,” Emily replied. “They’re practicing for the dance contest.”

  “Well, that’s what it takes to win! Go join them!”

  “That’s okay. I’ve never line danced before and I don’t have cowboy boots.”

  Kathy turned her lips into an exaggerated frown. “Oh, you poor little thing!” Kathy quickly perked up. “Hey! I could sure use your help bringing in some canning jars! What do ya say?”

  “Sure!”

  Emily trailed Kathy around the corner of the house, away from the gathering women, and followed her into an airy, windowed greenhouse that had been masterfully refurbished into a weatherproof workshop.

  “Okay, now,” Kathy said, plucking her front teeth with her first finger, “where did I put those jars?”

  Emily looked over at a small wooden table. A detailed, three dimensional landscape model filled the table, complete with miniature trees, shrubs, cars and houses. Amazed by the detail, Emily leaned closer to the landscape to get a better look. “Did you make this?”

  Kathy let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, heavens no! That’s one of Kent’s little projects.” Kathy crossed to the table and knelt down so she was on eye level with Emily. “They don’t call him the real estate wizard of Peachville for nothing. He says it’s important for clients to see things visually. This is a model for a luxury home site just over the ridge. He made all those little trees, cars and houses by hand. And he says I’m the crafty one!”

  Emily was totally enthralled. “The trees look real. Like they have leaves and everything—” With that, Emily brushed her finger ever so gently over one of the trees and it toppled over. “I’m sorry!” Emily expressed, genuinely upset.

  “We can fix that!” Kathy said, trying to prop up the tree.

  “Here, let me do it.” Emily did her best to fix the blunder as she poured a drop of glue from a nearby bottle and affixed the tree back onto the board. “I’m real sorry. You can tell your husband I messed it up.”

  Kathy closely watched Emily’s reaction. “I won’t tell him a thing,” she said, her voice suddenly void of all perkiness and the smile gone. “You can trust me, Patty. It’ll be our little secret.”

  Emily looked at Kathy. “Thanks. That’s nice of you.” Emily softly tapped her finger on the tree. “There! Good as new!”

  Kathy smiled at Emily, her blue eyes twinkling. “He’ll never know.”

  Emily glanced over to Kathy and returned the smile. “You’ve got the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, my goodness!” Kathy said, taken aback, “Aren’t you sweet!”

  “I mean it. I’ve never seen anybody with eyes that blue except in Disney movies.”

  “Well, you have made my day!” Kathy said sincerely. Emily pulled her hair behind her ear. Kathy was silent for a few seconds before carefully changing the subject. “How does your head feel?”

  “Fine. Mom says it’s healing really good.”

  “Did it hurt when Dr. Armstrong took out those stitches?”

  “Oh, ah,” Emily hesitated, caught off guard. “I didn’t need to go to see him.”

  “What do you mean? You had to have your stitches out—”

  “Yeah, well, we couldn’t go.”

  “Couldn’t go?”

  “I don’t mean ’couldn’t go.’” Emily was obviously flustered. “I mean, we couldn’t, um . . . we couldn’t afford it. Money’s been really tight since daddy died.”

  “So, your mother took the stitches out?”

  “Yeah. And the best part is she didn’t hurt me at all!” Kathy stiffened as her eyes filled with tears. Emily was confused by the woman’s reaction. “What’s wrong?”

  Kathy reached up and gently stroked Emily’s cheek. “You’ve been through a lot of pain. I can see it in your eyes. You’re so young. You don’t deserve that kind of hurt.” Emily could feel herself slipping away from herself and didn’t want to lose it in front of Kathy like she did with Dan. She quickly turned away from Kathy. “It’s okay, darling,” Kathy said with great compassion.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Kathy said, increasingly concerned.

  “It’s just that, ah,” Emily felt herself falling into the void, “it’s . . . I . . .” The more she searched for the right words, the more she stuttered, sounding more suspicious.

  “It’s okay.” Kathy leaned over and hugged Emily with all her might. Emily resisted before she fell against Kathy’s chest, draping one arm around her shoulder. “You’re so brave,” Kathy whispered to Emily, choking back tears. “You shouldn’t have to endure any of this.” Pulling back, she tenderly cupped her palms around Emily’s face. “Listen to me,” she said with great urgency, “you can tell me anything and it will stay between us forever!”

  Emily felt her heart racing faster as her head spun. She desperately wanted to blurt out the truth. “I’m sorry . . . I—”

  “I can help you!” Kathy whispered. “You have to trust me!”

  “Patty!” Jane hollered from a distance.

  Emily jumped slig
htly and turned to the sound of Jane’s voice. “I have to go!” Emily said, pulling away from Kathy.

  Kathy grabbed the child’s hand. “Patty, I mean what I said. If you want to talk to me about anything, I’ll be there for you!”

  “Thank you. You’re a nice lady.” Emily turned and walked out the door. As she rounded the corner, she ran smack into Jane.

  “Christ almighty!” Jane exclaimed. “I’ve been calling your name for five fucking minutes! Where have you been?” Emily looked back at the open door of the workshop, knowing that Kathy must have heard Jane’s harangue. Not wanting to create more problems, Emily kept walking to gain distance from the workshop. Jane, not understanding Emily’s behavior, angrily followed her. “Hey! Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

  Emily turned to Jane with a “Be careful” look on her face. “Mom, don’t!”

  At that moment, unbeknownst to Jane, Kathy quietly appeared outside the workshop door holding a small case of jars in her arms. Emily motioned with her eyes to get Jane to realize the intrusion. Jane caught the drift and turned around to face Kathy. There was a heavy hush between the two of them as Kathy scrutinized Jane with guarded scorn.

  “I’ll take these jars into the house,” Kathy said, her throat choked with apprehension. “It’s time to pit those cherries.” She quietly closed the workshop door with her elbow and walked across the grass and into her house.

  Jane turned to Emily. “What in the hell was that about?”

  “I tried to tell you but you weren’t watching my eyes!” Emily said under her breath, slightly irritated.

  “Where in the fuck were you all this time?”

  “I was in the workshop helping Kathy get extra jars for the cherries.”

  Jane felt her cop radar encircle Emily and sensed that a lie was afoot. “Then where are your jars?”

  “What?” Emily replied, feeling Jane’s probing eyes.

  “Don’t ‘what,’ me!” Jane said angrily. “You’re not being truthful! What in the hell was going on in there?”

  “Nothing!” Emily said, exasperated. “I know you don’t like Kathy, but that’s ’cause you don’t know her—”