Dangerous Habits

by Susan Hunter

  “But it wouldn’t be risky for Miller. All he had to do was run up behind me, and give a quick push, and run away. And it worked, right? Because no one saw him and you don’t believe me.”

  I didn’t like the way my mother was looking at me, and the gentle way Karen said, “You need to take a step back. Think a minute, Leah. If a source came to you with this, there’s no way you’d run with that story. You’d demand the facts, and the facts just aren’t there.”

  “I didn’t imagine that someone pushed me off that bluff. And I’m not imagining that Miller abused and then killed Lacey. I’m getting closer to proving it every day. You want facts? Wait and see. I’m going to make sure everyone knows what he did and that he pays for it. And then you can thank me for finding the truth. I’m going to bed.”

  My angry exit was marred somewhat by the fact that it hurt like mad to stand, and I wound up doing more of an old lady shuffle than a righteous reporter strut down the hall to my room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Karen put a hand on my mother’s arm as she started to get up and come after me.

  Twenty-Four

  I came awake gradually the next day, until I tried to execute a slow stretch that quickly ended in a yelp of pain. Every part of my body ached and the cut on my leg both throbbed and itched. I realized that the sun was streaming through my windows. The windows on the west side of my bedroom. What time was it?

  I sat up cautiously, but it didn’t seem to have any impact on the pain level. About a 7 on a 10 point scale. I leaned slightly to reach my watch on the nightstand and was rewarded with a protest twinge from my rib area. I looked at the time. Squinted. Looked again. It was 2 p.m. I’d slept for 12 hours straight.

  Inch by inch I managed to get up, maneuvered into a clean T-shirt and jeans, but didn’t even try to bend over and put on a pair of shoes. Instead I slid my feet into some flip-flops and clopped my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and then looked closely in the mirror.

  My face was a mass of scrapes and beginning scabs. I had a dime-sized purple bruise on my right cheek. My hands were in worse shape—nails broken, fingertips cracked and split, knuckles abraded and my arms, though relatively unscathed, felt like someone was pulling them out of their sockets every time I forgot and extended them too far.

  My thigh was covered with a bandage above my knee where the stitches were, and judging by the generally oozy looking state of it, a dressing change was in my future. I just didn’t have the stomach for it. On the counter was the Vicodin the doctor had prescribed, but I decided to tough it out. Instead, I grabbed a couple of ibuprofen and washed them down with a glass of water. Then I began the thousand mile journey down the hall with a single step of my lime green flip flops.

  I found my mother drinking a cup of tea at the bar.

  “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Like I’m going to work without being able to check if you’re still breathing. You get at least 24 hours special treatment. What can I fix you?”

  “Mom, you don’t—”

  “I know I don’t have to. How about eggs? Toast? A grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup?”

  “Grilled cheese and soup would be great. I can’t believe I slept so long. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “Obviously, you needed it. You should still be in bed. Your poor face. You look like Rocky. The first movie. How does your leg feel?”

  “It’s OK. I’m all right. I look worse than I feel. The story of my life.” I lied, because she looked so worried. “Oh boy, I better call Max.”

  “I already talked to him. In fact, you had a steady stream of visitors this morning. Max stopped by; Miguel came to see you; Karen ran in on her way to work; Coop called and said he’d be by later, oh, and he had one of his officers bring your car back. Even Ellie stopped after she took Alex to school to see how you were doing.”

  “Ellie came by? Wow, I must have been closer to dying than I thought if she came to check on me. She was pretty mad last time I talked to her. Of course, maybe she was hoping for bad news.”

  “That’s not funny,” she said, looking over her shoulder as she buttered two slices of bread. She placed one into a hot iron skillet, topped it with sliced cheddar and then the other piece of bread. The sizzle made me realize how hungry I was. She reached in the cupboard for a can of tomato soup before saying, “About last night. I need you to understand. It’s not that I don’t believe you—”

  “It’s just that you don’t believe me,” I said. “No, it’s OK, Mom. I get it. You think I’m overwrought, and I’ve gone off the deep-end about Miller. Fine. I don’t want to fight about it. I’ll just prove to you how wrong you are.”

  She didn’t answer, and it took me a minute to realize that she was crying.

  My mother almost never cries. Carol Nash will yell, nag, rant, croon, cajole, but not cry. Not unless her heart is breaking.

  I stared in horror, finally getting it. What I was putting her through, why she kept negating my findings, trying to get me to stop. She was really, seriously scared. I heaved myself up, wincing as my muscles cramped in protest, and lumbered over to her.

  “Mom, it’s all right. I’m all right. Nothing happened. Nothing is going to happen. I’ll be careful.”

  “It already did happen, Leah. Something did happen. Someone pushed you off that bluff, and if it weren’t for the fact that you’re so damn stubborn, you’d be at the bottom of the river.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Of course I do. Do you think I’m an idiot?” She snuffled, and reached for a Kleenex.

  Just then we both smelled something burning. “Damn!” She picked the pan handle up without a potholder and dropped it with a clatter. I grabbed a dish towel and lifted it from the burner, then turned off the stove.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Before I could answer, the front doorbell rang. The opening bars of “I Shot the Sheriff” were playing as I looked through the glass panel.

  I opened the door and said, “Hello, Detective Ross.”

  He flashed his badge. “I got a few questions for you, Leah. Can I come in?”

  “Actually, how about we sit on the porch?” I was mindful of my mother with her tear-stained face and burned grilled cheese.

  He cocked his head, making little fat rolls ooze over the tight collar of his shirt. “You sure about that? You might feel more comfortable if we talk inside, private like.”

  “No, that’s all right. It’s a nice day, and I could use the fresh air.” I pointed him to one of the chairs on the wide wooden porch. I leaned against the railing facing him. It seemed easier than the struggle to sit down and get back up again. I didn’t want Ross to watch me wince. He didn’t say anything about my bruises.

  “All right then, let’s get right to it. Leah, we got a complaint about you today from Mrs. Miller Caldwell.”

  “What, she didn’t like a headline in last week’s edition? She couldn’t just write a letter to the editor?”

  “It’s a little more serious than that. Mrs. Caldwell says you been stalking her.”

  “What?”

  “Two or more unsolicited contacts is stalking in Wisconsin. Mrs. Caldwell says you showed up at her house uninvited on Thursday. Says you accosted her daughter there, too. And she says you texted her 15 times on Sunday with threatening messages.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You weren’t at the Caldwell’s on Thursday?”

  “I was, but—”

  “Did you accost Mrs. Caldwell in the driveway?”

  “No! I—”

  “You didn’t tell her that she didn’t have a very bright future?”

  “I may have said something like that, but I—”

  “You didn’t send her threatening texts on Sunday?”

  “Of course I didn’t. What did they say?”

  “Well, now, why don’t you tell me?”

  “How would I know? I didn’t send them. I didn’t even have my phone o
n Sunday. I lost it Saturday night. I still don’t have it. Check with my mother, check with Miguel Santos.”

  “Lost your phone. Huh.” He stared at me for a minute, his dull mustard-brown eyes narrowed. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and there was a faint sheen of oily perspiration on his mostly bald head.

  “Mrs. Caldwell says you were in her driveway where you proceeded to harass and threaten her on Thursday morning. She says you accused her husband of criminal sexual conduct. What do you say to that, Leah?”

  “I say she’s lying, or you are.”

  His fat cheeks burned bright with two red spots, but he didn’t react otherwise.

  “Are you denying you went to the Caldwell ’s on Thursday?”

  “No, I’m denying I was uninvited. Miller Caldwell asked me to stop by and talk to him. So, I did.”

  “Let me get this straight now. It’s your story that you weren’t waiting for Mrs. Caldwell, and didn’t approach her and threaten her?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? No!”

  “Did you post a comment on the Miller Caldwell for Senator website suggestin’ that he had sex with a minor?”

  “No.”

  “Leah,” he said, standing up as though finally realizing he’d lost his power position while he sat and I towered above him, “you know, and I know, your sister was a druggie who died because she was drunk and high. You can’t change that by telling people all over town that I screwed up the investigation.”

  “Is that what this is really about, Detective Ross? Did I hurt your feelings? Are you trying to arrest me for slander? Because last time I looked, that’s a civil offense not a criminal one, and you should know—it’s not slander if it’s true. And I’m doing nothing but telling the truth when I say you screwed up the investigation. Or, to give you credit, maybe you were persuaded to give it less than your best by Miller or his wife?”

  His right fist clenched, and I watched him willing himself not to grab me and shake me—or smack me. I knew the feeling. He waited a minute, and as his hand relaxed he said, “Nash, we can clear this up quick and easy, or we can do it slow and painful. Are you willing to give me a look at your phone?”

  I knew I’d gotten under his skin when he switched from calling me Leah to calling me Nash.

  “I told you, I lost it. When did you say Georgia got those threatening texts?”

  “Between 5 p.m. and 11 p.m. yesterday.”

  “Interesting. During a big chunk of that time I was hanging from a branch 50 feet over the Himmel River. Then I spent a couple of hours semi-conscious in the hospital, surrounded by medical personnel, then I was back home with my mother and a friend. You should do your homework, Detective Ross.”

  “I’m a good investigator, and I always do my homework, Nash. See, I know that you can get an app that sends out texts for you at a preset time.”

  “You can?” I asked, temporarily diverted.

  “Yeah. So, you set up your little alibi, and then while your phone is ‘missing,’ it sends out the texts.”

  “You think I threw myself over a cliff, and almost died, to set up my alibi?”

  “You’re a smartass. That don’t mean you’re smart. What’s your cell number, Nash?”

  “I’m sure you know.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and punching in numbers.

  In a second, the sound of “Rumor Has It” came tinnily from the direction of my car, parked next to us in the driveway.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  A triumphant smile sat on his piggy little mouth.

  Heaving myself off the railing and down the three steps to the sidewalk, I Frankenstein-walked over to my car and opened the door. There was nothing in the front seat, but the phone kept ringing. Louder now. With an effort, I opened the back door and at first glance didn’t see it. Following the sound, I shifted the blanket I’d tossed in the back. There on the floor behind the passenger seat was my phone. Ross was looming behind me.

  “It wasn’t here. I looked all through my car. Ask my mother, ask Miguel.”

  “So how come it’s there now?”

  “Anyone could have put it back here. My car was in the parking lot at the county park all night. It’s been in the driveway unlocked since this morning. Anyone could have had access to it.”

  “So, your story is someone stole your phone, sent threatening texts and emails to Georgia Caldwell, and then they just put it back in your car, all nice and neat. Why would anyone do that?”

  “I don’t know. To cause me problems, to distract me from finding out what happened to my sister.”

  “We know what happened to your sister. She got drunk, fell down and died. End of story. But now we got a new story. This ain’t exactly your first rodeo is it, Nash?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It says here,” he said, ostentatiously pulling a small notebook out of his jacket pocket, “it says right here that you don’t play nice with others, Nash. A couple of your old bosses said you were,” and here he paused to read from his notes “not a team player, impulsive, stubborn, unpredictable.”

  He shook his head in a parody of sad disapproval.

  “The picture I got is that you’re too bullheaded and full of yourself to hold a job for very long. Yeah, a few said you were good, but it seems like you’re one of those types that are more trouble than they’re worth. Pain-in-the-ass types. High maintenance. And, oh, let’s see here.” He made a minor production of flipping through the pages of his notepad. “It says you got fired from your last job for harassment.” He gave me a little smirk.

  “See, I told you I was good at homework. Seems your boss, Ms. Hilary McKay—your ex-boss that is—got some scary texts from you, after she started dating your ex-boyfriend. Some sick, angry stuff, Nash. You ever been in anger management?”

  “Oh, come on, that’s ridiculous. It was just a joke. It’s not even what happened.”

  “No? Ms. McKay says it is. She says you were unstable, and she had to fire you, and she feared for her safety.”

  “Oh, really? Then how come she didn’t press charges?”

  “She felt sorry for you.”

  “That’s not true. She didn’t press charges, because the texts were sent anonymously and she couldn’t prove they were from me. Which they weren’t. She jumped to the conclusion it was me, and never really let go, not even when the guys that actually did it FOR A JOKE came forward when she came unhinged.

  “I didn’t know anything about it until she came unglued and freaked out at me in the office. I didn’t do it. Maybe you should have had your mother check that homework you did. Didn’t you learn anything after you botched Lacey’s investigation?”

  The angry red spots had spread so that his entire face was suffused with a dark maroon color. I started to walk back to the porch, but his bulk blocked my way. He was close enough for me to see a few drops of spit spray from his mouth when he said, “Button your lip, you wiseass.”

  The front door opened, and my mother stepped out onto the porch. “Everything all right out here?”

  Ross turned and nodded to my mother, “Everything’s just fine, Mrs. Nash. Just getting some information from your daughter.”

  “I wonder if you wouldn’t want to come up here on the porch to wait, Detective.”

  “Wait ma’am?”

  “Yes. I’ve called our lawyer. She should be here any minute.”

  As if on cue, Karen’s SUV pulled into the driveway, and she was up and out beside us almost before the engine turned off.

  “Detective. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m investigating a complaint.”

  “Leah, you don’t need to say anything.”

  “Detective Ross, are you arresting my client?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Then I suggest you leave. She has nothing more to say to you.”

  “Wait a minute. Arrest me? You’ve got to be k
idding.”

  “Leah, be quiet.”

  I shut up more out of surprise than compliance. Karen had never spoken that sharply to me before. I guessed that was the difference between friend Karen and attorney Karen.

  “Don’t think you can erase anything off your cell phone. We can get the records, you know. And, trust me, I’m gonna do a very thorough job investigating. Just like I did on your sister.” Then he turned and left.

  “Leah, inside.”

  Once we got into the living room, Karen said, “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. He said Georgia Caldwell had accused me of stalking her, that I’d shown up at her house and threatened her, and that I sent her a bunch of threatening texts.”

  “Did you?”

  “No! I wouldn’t do something that stupid. Besides, my phone’s been missing for two days. I just found it in the backseat of my car.”

  “But didn’t you look there before?”

  “You don’t seriously think I did this?”

  “You were very upset about Miller. This might have seemed like a good way to get under his skin.”

  “Oh, I’m so stupidly upset that I’d set myself up for a slam dunk conviction by using my own phone to stalk his wife? Come on, Karen.”

  “Take it easy, Leah. I had to ask. But if you didn’t do it, who did?”

  “Somebody had to have taken my phone. Probably Saturday night at Miguel’s, and then put it in my car either last night at the park or today.”

  “Who would do that? Why?”

  “To set me up, to damage my credibility, to get Max to turn against me, to prove I’m a mad, crazy troublemaker. In other words, Miller or Georgia would be perfect candidates.”

  “Who might know that you suspect Miller of being involved with Lacey?”

  “Max, Ellie, Mom, you, Miguel, Miller, Georgia, Coop, Marilyn Karr, maybe Mary Beth Delaney, anyone she told in her family, anyone that overheard me talking to you at Miguel’s—”