by J. C. Kenney
Jeanette let out a long sigh and rubbed her eyes. She, like the rest of the department, no doubt, was under a lot of pressure, and the stress was showing.
“I think he’s hoping something will break and he won’t have to.”
My smartwatch went off. I was due at the police station for my strength demonstration.
“I gotta go.” I gave Jeanette a hug. “I’ll tell you one thing. If Matt won’t talk to Lori, I will.”
A little while later, I pulled open the door to the Rushing Creek Police Department with authority. A wave of confidence was building as my snooping picked up steam. My heart went out to Tommy, but his spot on the suspect list couldn’t be denied. As the cool air from the HVAC system washed over me, I added Lori to the list. Connections with City Hall be damned. If she had killed her boyfriend, she deserved to have the despicable deed uncovered.
For a second, I debated making a detour to the mayor’s office. It was in the section of the municipal building adjacent to the police department. I could claim I was dropping by to discuss the park’s construction progress and try to turn the conversation toward Lori. I decided against it. First things first. If he was available after the demonstration, I’d try then.
With my course of action plotted, I stepped inside. An electronic ding dong sounded as the door swung closed behind me. The police department’s lobby area was deserted. I figured Matt and whoever else was on duty were getting the demo ready, so I went to push open the swinging gate and practically cut myself in two.
The gate didn’t budge. My momentum carried me headfirst over the barrier as my knees banged against it with a sound like two gunshots. My arms spun like pinwheels in a stiff wind, and I cracked both elbows on the tile floor. My feet eventually followed the rest of me over the barrier, and I finished my tumble on my back.
It was probably the most insane way anyone in the history of Rushing Creek, Indiana, had ever gotten past that gate.
I concentrated on the fluorescent lights directly above me while I waited for the spots in front of my eyes to go away. As the ringing in my ears subsided, heavy footfalls alerted me to the arrival of helpers and impending massive embarrassment at my predicament.
“Allie? What in God’s name happened?” Matt got down on one knee and did a quick physical assessment. Satisfied I hadn’t suffered any serious medical trauma, he helped me to my feet.
“Did you”—his gaze went from me to the gate and back to me; he pointed at the offending piece of office furniture—“fall over that?”
Behind him, an officer covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.
My knees stung, my elbows ached, and my cheeks were burning. The discomfort and embarrassment combined to light a fire of indignation inside of me. I was here to prove my innocence, not be the butt of jokes.
“Why is that thing locked? That’s a safety hazard. I could have been killed.”
The officer who’d been trying not to laugh moved around me and flipped a switch on the gate. It was Pete Naughton. In his forties, Officer Naughton was known for his patience with the public and his easy smile. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Sorry about that, ma’am. With the murder investigation going on, we’re increasing security.”
“Ma’am?” I squeezed my eyes shut. My utter humiliation was complete. After a moment to gather my thoughts, I opened my eyes and glared at the officer. “It’s Ms., as in Ms. Allie Cobb.”
I turned my attention to Matt. “Chief Roberson, as we agreed, I’m here for the strength test. Are your preparations complete?”
“They are. If you’ll follow us.” He turned on his heel and walked down the hall. He appeared to be treating this exercise seriously. I made a mental note to thank him for that.
Halfway down the hall, we turned left into a conference room. A rectangular table large enough to seat twelve had been pushed against the far wall. A bolt cutter lay on the polished surface. In a corner of the room, three chairs had been chained together. A heavy-duty padlock held the chain in place.
A video camera on a tripod had been placed ten feet from the chairs. Officer Naughton took his position behind the camera.
Matt handed the bolt cutter to me. The tool was about three feet long and ended in an intimidating set of silver jaws. The black rubber handles made it easy to maintain a grip, which was good since the contraption was heavy and unwieldy.
I looked at the lock. There was no way I was even going to make a scratch on it. I shook my head. My freedom’s on the line. I needed to give it my best effort.
Matt took a few minutes to explain how the demonstration would go. Once he gave the signal for the camera to start rolling, he would make a short introductory statement for evidentiary purposes. Then I was to state my name, confirm that I was appearing voluntarily, and attest that I was going to execute the demonstration to the best of my ability.
To keep calm once we were live, I closed my eyes while Matt recited his lines. Once he was finished, I stepped into the camera’s field of vision. Harkening back to my days on the Rushing Creek High School Debate Club, I looked into the camera and spoke in an unhurried, clear tone.
My approach toward the lock was a little unsteady as I wasn’t sure how to actually cut it open. With a grunt I hoped the camera’s audio recorder didn’t catch, I hoisted the cutter in the air. It took some effort to open it far enough to fit around the lock’s U-shaped piece of metal, which some research had told me was called a shackle.
Once I was confident in the cutter’s position, I squeezed the handles with all my might. A surge of adrenaline coursed through my system when the jaws began to burrow into the shackle.
I took a breath and squeezed again. And yet again, but the jaws refused to budge. I even opened the jaws and tried to slam them closed, hoping the tiny extra amount of momentum would finish the job.
When my final effort at cutting the lock was unsuccessful, Matt stepped between the camera and me and spoke a few words to conclude the demonstration. Then he asked Officer Naughton to give us a few minutes alone.
He gave the shackle a close examination, speaking into a digital voice recorder as he did so. At one point, he used a ruler to determine how deep of a cut I’d put into the metal bar.
“Nice work, Allie. You made it a third of the way through.”
“Does that mean I aced the test?” With the demonstration over, the adrenaline I’d been running on since I took my tumble was running out. I slumped into a chair and massaged my elbows. A warm bubble bath was in my near future.
“It was more of a pass-fail proposition.” He pulled up a seat next to me. “You cut that lock a lot deeper than I expected.”
“You’d be surprised how strong I can be when I’m angry. Don’t mess with She Hulk Allie Cobb.” I growled as I flexed my arm muscles like body builders do.
Matt laughed. “I’ll remember that. Before you go, I want you to know I don’t think you killed Georgie. I know this little dog and pony show”—he waved toward the lock that was still hanging from the chain—“doesn’t officially put you in the clear. But you’re innocent as far as I’m concerned. You always were. It’s not in your nature.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” It was true. Despite the fact that I was innocent of murdering Georgie, it made me feel good to hear Matt say it. “What now?”
“We get you out of here. Your elbows are already starting to bruise. I don’t want anyone claiming your fall affected how you did in the demonstration.”
As we walked down the hall, I promised to keep Matt apprised of anything I learned. Before I could ask him to do the same, he leapt ahead of me and held open the gate.
I smiled and shook his hand. “Thank you, Chief. Let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”
With the demonstration behind me, I swung by the mayor’s office. The receptionist, who still hadn’t warmed up to me after I had pulled a fast one on
her to gain access to the mayor almost a year ago, told me he was out for the afternoon. When I asked if she could tell me where I might find him, she said she didn’t know and wouldn’t tell me if she knew.
With a bow, I asked her to please let the mayor know I stopped by and wished her a good afternoon. There was no point in further antagonizing the woman. I had more constructive things to do.
As I stepped into the bright afternoon sunshine, the gears in my mind were turning. I had three suspects—Roger, Tommy, and Lori. They each had the motive, means, and opportunity to kill Georgie. Despite the aches and pains in my knees and elbows, I had no doubts I was headed in the right direction until a question brought me to a halt.
Who did I go after first?
Chapter Ten
Allie Cobb’s newest rule of investigation—when your body hurts, and you’ve got a lot on your mind, go to Soaps and Scents to get some personal care items.
I loved the businesses in Rushing Creek. Like me, most of them were small operations. Unlike me, they depended on the Rushing Creek community for much of their income. For that reason, I went to great lengths to patronize as many of them as I could.
It was easy to support Soaps and Scents. The owner, Shirley Price, had the most awesome vibe that combined equal parts hippie, Wiccan, and scientist. She dressed like she’d just returned from the Woodstock festival, all the way down to her ever-present Birkenstocks. She celebrated the traditional American holidays but had an additional devotion to the summer and winter solstices. Her fragrance of choice, patchouli oil, completed the picture.
Appearances could deceive the unwary, though. Just because she had a wardrobe and belief system that was out of the norm, she was no airhead, like a lot of intolerant people wanted to believe. She could talk at length about the science of essential oils, mindfulness, and alternative medicines. And whenever someone wanted to doubt her bona fides, she could pull out her chemical engineering degree.
Shirley was the real deal.
My bergamot oil supply was running low, and I was in major need of the calming effect it had on me. I figured I’d get a bottle to use in my diffuser, along with a bar of bergamot and Earl Grey soap I’d been dying to try. Then I’d have a long, relaxing bath in my claw-foot tub.
The gentle jingle of wind chimes welcomed me as I entered the store. Before I got too far, I took a deep breath and reveled in the day’s featured scent. It was peppermint, one of my favorites.
According to Shirley, peppermint oil could be used in a variety of ways, including as an energy booster. On a couple of occasions, when I was up late editing and didn’t want to resort to a cup of coffee, I’d rubbed a couple of drops of peppermint oil on my temples. The boost to my alertness level had amazed me and turned me into a true devotee of Shirley’s products and advice.
She was also a kind soul who never had a cross word for anybody, even the disagreeable Ozzy Metcalf. In the fifteen months since Shirley had opened her store next door to Ozzy’s woodworking shop, the man had alternated between passive-aggressive behavior and complete boorishness.
Ozzy was anywhere between sixty and seventy-five, depending on who I talked to. He’d never been known to be teddy-bear friendly, but the gray-haired, bespectacled artisan had been a valuable member of the Rushing Creek business community for over forty years. He donated to local causes and every year taught a class on basic woodworking with the Rushing Creek Library. His work was stunning, too. The man was a true artist.
His artistic brilliance didn’t make his boorish behavior toward Shirley acceptable, though. Things boiled over when he lodged a complaint against Shirley, alleging that the scents emanating from her store created air pollution and a public nuisance.
When I heard about the dispute, I made it my personal quest to ensure that Shirley emerged the victor. I don’t know why the issue mattered so much to me. Maybe it was because Shirley had been so nice after Dad died. Maybe it was because her products had truly made a positive difference in my life. Whatever the reason, I hired a lawyer to represent Shirley and paid the legal bills.
“Allie.” Shirley enveloped me in a tight hug, even lifting me off the ground for a moment. “All hail the conquering hero, the Kickboxing Crusader.”
“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “What’s with the over-the-top greeting?”
“This came in the mail today.” She handed a me piece of paper. It was a letter on official City of Rushing Creek letterhead.
I read the letter once, then a second time. It was short, only three paragraphs, but what it lacked in length, it more than made up in significance.
“Yeah, baby.” I hugged her back and then read it aloud. Our antics caught the attention of two women in the shop, who gave us nasty looks, but I didn’t care. It was from the Rushing Creek Zoning Commission and said Soaps and Scents wasn’t breaking any laws or violating any local rules. Ozzy’s complaint had been dismissed.
“Couldn’t have done it without you. I was so worried I was going to have to move the shop. You have no idea how much of a relief it is to have this off my shoulders.”
“Glad I could help.” And I was. I’d spent my whole life as the underdog. When I was a teenager, I promised myself I wouldn’t sit idly by if I saw an injustice being done to someone. Ozzy’s complaint was such an injustice. It felt good to prevail.
It felt better to make a difference.
“As a token of my gratitude, I have something for you.” She went behind the sales counter. When she returned, she was holding a brown paper bag and sporting an ear-to-ear smile. “Enjoy.”
The bag contained a collection of spearmint-scented items—body lotion, bubble bath, shampoo, and lip balm. My eyes clouded over, and I had to swallow twice to get rid of the lump that had formed in my throat.
“There’s something else.” Shirley leaned toward me. “As a peace offering, I asked Ozzy to meet me for breakfast to see if we can reach a compromise on our differences. He said yes. We’re going to talk Monday.”
“That’s great, but you shouldn’t have to do that.” I pointed at the letter. “Not after getting that.”
“Which is why I want to. One of the things I’ve learned in my years on this Earth is the value in offering to share control when you have it. Ozzy and I have never really talked to each other, so this is the perfect opportunity to build a bridge where none had existed.”
I shook my head. The woman had a graciousness about her I could only hope to attain someday.
Shirley asked me to stick around and have a cup of herbal tea after she took care of the other customers. With a wink, she said it would be our victory celebration. Given the way my knees were beginning to ache, I gave an emphatic yes and took a seat behind the counter.
An hour later, I left Soaps and Scents with a light heart and a tranquil soul. While I loved my apartment, my coffee, and my kitty cat, there was a certain magic to sitting in Soaps and Scents, sipping a warm cup of chamomile tea, and chatting with Shirley.
We’d focused on pleasant things, like Sloane and Luke’s wedding and plans for the Fall Festival. They were topics that were important, but not heavy. It was the kind of conversation I needed to have with people more often.
At a languid pace, I made my way back to the pub for my weekly dinner with the sibs. The afternoon sun warmed me but didn’t leave me sweat-drenched. September really was an ideal time to live in Rushing Creek. It had all the benefits of good weather without the summer vacation crowds. The Boulevard still got congested on the weekends, but it was a small inconvenience. That was Rushing Creek in a nutshell. It was a pleasant place to call home, and the problems tended to be small.
Except for murder.
I brushed the morbid reminder aside as I arrived back at the pub and put the gifts from Shirley in my bike’s saddlebag. I was making headway on the case and saw a path forward, but it needed to wait.
Now, it was time t
o unwind with my sibs while we checked in with each other about Mom.
As usual, I arrived before Luke. Rachel wouldn’t take a break until he was on the scene, so I took our usual corner booth and tried to catch up on work e-mails. I’d reduced the unopened items in my inbox by half when a hairy hand got in the way of my phone.
“Enough of work, sis. Time to focus on your family.” Luke took the seat across from me as I put my phone down on the table.
He was right. Not that I liked to admit it, but I often got so immersed in a project I let it consume me. I’d stopped counting the times I stayed up all night editing a story while forgetting to eat and feed Ursi. This was one of those times. Between work and the investigation, I was on my way to becoming overwhelmed. I needed to step back and put my sibs and Mom at the forefront.
We were chatting about a new housing addition being built west of town when Rachel joined us with the traditional Cobb meeting dinner—a plate of deluxe nachos. All conversation ceased for a few minutes while we dug into the six-inch-high mountain of cheese and salsa-laden tortilla goodness.
“I can’t stay long. The twins have their first soccer practice tonight.” She took a drink from her tumbler of water. Her children, Tristan and Theresa, were six and keeping her busier than ever now that they were in school.
Thankfully, there wasn’t much to discuss this week. When there wasn’t much to talk about, that was a sign Mom was doing well.
I talked about my time spent with her on Sunday, leaving out details related to the case, of course. Luke reported he’d dropped by her house Monday evening with some pork burgers from the Labor Day fest and they’d spent a few hours hanging out in the backyard. He also said Sloane was planning a new training route so she could go past Mom’s house twice a week. Rachel didn’t have anything to report.
“Sorry, guys. Between the kids’ schedules and Matt working sixteen-hour days right now, I’m maxed out.” Her sigh as she stared at the ceiling spoke volumes. My sister never sighed. She’d once said a sigh was a sign of weakness. That was a trait she didn’t want in her life.
