by Roslyn Woods
She looked at the table and saw that Margie and Donald already had beers. She leaned close enough to say in his ear, “Anything light,” as she took in the general mix of the people in the dark space. It was definitely Austin weird, with people of every stripe jammed beside one another at small tables, toes tapping. This was where the rich and poor came together in this town.
It seemed as if Dean was gone for a very long time, but Shell could see the counter was packed, and out of the crowd that was standing near the bar, a blond man of about thirty came toward her and tried to take Dean’s chair.
“Sorry,” said Shell in a loud whisper. “Someone is sitting here!”
“Well, I’d like to be sitting here, too,” he said. “I’d like to be sitting by a pretty lady like you…” He was obviously drunk, and Shell was instantly aware that this could become embarrassing. She was thankful to be at the back of the seating area. At least he wasn’t loud, but she hated the fact that she was about to have to raise her voice or enlist Donald’s help to insist on saving Dean’s chair. Just then Dean returned with a beer and a bottle of water. He placed them on the table and had already read what was happening.
“Excuse me,” he said to the man in a low but strangely threatening voice. “The lady’s with me, and that’s my chair.” There was something forceful about him that defied argument.
“Sorry man,” said the drunk with his hands up like he was being arrested in a cowboy movie. “I thought she was on her own,” and he wandered off into the darkness as Dean sat down.
“You okay?” he whispered to Shell.
“I’m fine, but thanks. You saved me a little problem,” she said softly.
“This kind of thing happen to you a lot?”
“Every day. It’s a curse.”
“I think you need a body guard,” he said, with a soft laugh.
David Holt was singing songs from the eighties and nineties. “Here’s a song I like. It’s a request from Margie,” he said. “You might know this one…”
Shell looked over at her friend in the darkness, but she couldn’t catch her eye as the guitar started, the percussion slowed, and the bluesy voice began.
If it was a better time
If things weren’t in the way
I’d try to make you mine
I know I’d try to make you stay…
Holt had the rough sort of voice that got under your skin. Shell felt a lump forming in her throat. She was warming to the idea that Dean might care for her, and she knew that all her reservations about him were melting away. It seemed as if everything that had happened since she met him had magnetized her to him, and he was sitting beside her in the dark with a murder charge looming over him. Shell knew that there might never be a chance to be with him. She knew that the timing was awful, and she regretted the fact that she hadn’t been the one to meet him two years ago instead of Amanda. Tonight, and these moments listening to this music together, might be as much as they would ever share.
It was close to eleven when there was a little break between numbers, and Donald leaned across the table and told Dean and Shell that he and Margie needed to get home.
“Thanks for thinking of this. It was great,” said Dean, leaning across the table toward his little sister. “You’re sorta taking care of me, aren’t you?”
“Only a little,” said Margie. “I wanted to go out, too. Thanks for buying our dinner,” she added as she stood up and came around the table to hug her brother and Shell goodnight. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she whispered to Shell and gave her arm a squeeze.
“Okay,” her friend replied.
After they had gone, Dean said to Shell, “Are you about ready to go, too?”
She nodded and picked up her things. They walked out into the cold and Dean opened her door and handed her up into the car, making sure her shawl was carefully in. There was a moment when she thought he might say something, but he turned away and closed the door. He came around, started the car, and pulled onto South Lamar heading north toward Hyde Park. They were silent again, and Shell decided he must be dealing with some kind of inner struggle as she watched the lights of the city passing by. Maybe he was suffering over Amanda and her affair with Ray. They crossed the river before she spoke.
“Did you enjoy the music?”
“Yes. It was great, wasn’t it?”
“I liked it a lot.” She was hoping he wouldn’t fall silent again.
“Little Wing wasn’t bad, was it?” he asked.
“It was great,” she answered. “You wanna come over for some wine or a nightcap? You picked such lovely wine for all of us, but you’ve hardly had more than a taste of anything all evening.”
He didn’t answer immediately, but he was changing lanes, and Shell kept her eyes on the skyline. There was The 360 rising above so many of the other buildings, reminding her of her parents, of her aloneness.
“Are you sure you want that?” he asked after a minute.
“Yes.”
“It’s not too late?”
“Not for me. Is it too late for you?”
“No. It’s not too late for me.”
Sadie was barking at the door when they pulled into the carport. “It’s okay, girl. We’re just coming through,” Dean said, as he unlocked the door.
“Maybe she should come with us. Bitsy’s been alone all evening, too.”
“Good idea,” said Dean, signaling Sadie to follow.
They walked through his kitchen and down the back steps. Shell led the way through the cold and unlocked her own back door. Once inside, the dogs ran around for a minute barking joyously at nothing and everything.
“Okay, that’s enough. Cut, Sadie!” said Dean after a minute. He smiled as Sadie stopped barking and curled up on the rug in front of the couch. In a moment Bitsy curled up beside her.
“They’re good friends now, aren’t they?” asked Shell looking up at Dean who was standing closer to her than she had realized. He didn’t speak but bent closer and kissed her. She let the shawl fall as she reached up to put her arms around his neck. When he kissed her the second time he held her close, and there were no words for a while.
“I know this is wrong of me,” he whispered into her hair after a few moments. “I should go,” he added, but his arms still held her close against him.
“No. I don’t want you to go,” she said. “I want you to stay with me.”
Chapter 50
It was the sweetest night Shell could remember. She woke a few times in Dean’s arms and listened to his breathing. “Are you sleeping?” she whispered.
“Once in a while I drift off, but I’m too happy to stay asleep,” he answered softly.
“Me too.”
But she must have slept at last, because she finally found herself waking as the sun was coming up, and Bitsy was jumping at the side of the bed. She was surprised by the happiness she felt when she opened her eyes and Dean still lay beside her. Now he slept so peacefully, she crawled out of bed as carefully as she could.
She put on her robe and tiptoed to the kitchen with Bitsy and Sadie following at her heels. She let them out the back and added water to the bowl.
Nothing has ever felt this right before, she thought. Even so, a worry tugged at her. She started coffee brewing and went to take a shower and dress in jeans and a soft, green shirt. As she applied a new band-aid over her stitches and a single, light coat of mascara to her eyelashes, her face in the mirror was flushed. It was strange to be both happy and nervous at the same time, but this was her reality.
Her preparations for breakfast had just begun when Dean came into the kitchen. He stood behind her and kissed her neck. “Hi, Shell,” he said softly. “How’s my girl?”
“I’m good. Better than good,” she said, turning and putting her arms around him.
“I’m feeling pretty guilty about giving into my feelings for you,” he said, drawing her closer. “You can’t want to be mixed up with a murder suspect.”
“You soun
d like I didn’t have any part in it.”
“I couldn’t resist you, could I?” he said, smiling.
“I hope not. We can fight the suspicion of the police if we have to.”
“I hate having to face it.”
“Maybe you won’t,” she answered, but even as she said it her stomach knotted a little.
“You think I should go down to the station to talk to them about the breach of the storage unit?”
“Yes. They’ve gotta realize the breach has something to do with the murder. Should I come with you?”
“I was hoping you would.”
“I will, then.”
“I should go home and take a shower,” he said.
“Okay, but don’t you want to have some coffee and eat first?” Everything in her wanted to prolong their happiness.
“You’re very persuasive in the morning,” he said, laughing.
It was half past nine when Dean finally went over to his house to take a shower. It was much warmer today, and from her back door, Shell could see how much the dogs had grown to love running and playing together. They’re like sisters, she thought, with a smile.
Dean had promised to be back in a half hour. Shell did dishes, made the bed, and tidied the living room. Only as she ran the vacuum around her paint cans did she remember that Carmen was supposed to come over in the afternoon to paint. She decided she had better call her.
“Carmen? Hi, it’s Shell. Sorry to interrupt you…I might be at the police station with Dean a little late for painting today…We need to talk to them about a break in at the storage unit…He doesn’t know who…I can leave a key under the mat…Okay…See you later, then.”
She checked her watch. It had been forty-five minutes since Dean left, and she could hear the dogs barking in the back. She looked out the front window and saw something that made her heart jump into her throat. Three identical, beige cars were parked in front of Dean’s house. Two were on the driveway, and one was on the curb. Shell recognized them because they were exactly like the car Gonzalez and Wilson had driven when they had come by the day Dean had reported the intruder.
She would never remember how she wound up in Dean’s kitchen. She must have run out the back and up his back stairs, but she wasn’t conscious of her steps. Only what was happening to Dean mattered to her now.
He was standing in the living room arguing with Gonzalez.
“I don’t understand this, and I don’t consent to this,” he was saying as she came into the room. “How can you show up with a warrant to search my house? What cause have you got?”
“You read the warrant, Mr. Maxwell, and it says we can search for a .25 caliber pistol and an orange Longhorn hooded sweatshirt,” said Gonzalez. “If there’s nothing here, well then, you don’t have anything to worry about. Do you have either of these items?”
“No, but this is my home. These books are, many of them, valuable first editions. You can’t just—”
“I’m afraid we can, Mr. Maxwell, and I’m very sorry. I hope you won’t give us trouble. Please sit down here. We have a right to search, and we have a right to detain you.” He nodded to Shell and added, “Your girlfriend, or, uh…Miss Hodge, can stay, but she’ll have to remain quiet. I’ll ask the officers to be careful with your books.”
“And my computer equipment, please. And please ask them not to mess with my surveillance cameras.”
“Okay,” said Gonzalez.
They had already started. Four gloved officers, three men and one woman, were taking books off the shelves and stacking them on the living room floor. Wilson, the fifth of the searchers, was opening and closing the built in drawers and cupboards on the north wall of the room and glancing up at Shell every few moments. She could see him looking from her to Dean and back to her again. He was putting together the truth with just a few moments of looking. She and Dean were a couple, and he didn’t like it. Gonzalez appeared to only be watching as the work progressed.
“What would cause a judge to sign off on a search of this kind?” Dean asked.
“All we needed was for someone to say they knew of your having a gun,” said Gonzalez.
“But I don’t,” said Dean. “Whoever said anything like that is lying.”
“I can’t really talk to you about it now.”
Dean was stunned. Shell sat beside him on the couch in complete silence. After a while she whispered, “I’m texting Richert. What else can I do to help?”
“Just stay with me,” he said quietly. “This should be over soon. There’s nothing here.”
She took the cell phone Dean handed to her and texted Richert while Wilson glared at her. Police searching my house. Come over as soon as possible. Next, she texted Margie on her own phone. Police searching Dean’s house for a gun. We’ve texted Richert. Not sure what happens next.
In a few minutes the officers were in Dean’s office. He fidgeted since he had been asked to remain seated where he was, and he didn’t know what they were doing to his books and computer equipment. It didn’t take them long.
“Sergeant!” shouted one of the male officers. “I’ve got a pistol!”
“What?” Dean stood up. “I don’t own a pistol!”
“You’ll have to sit down, Mr. Maxwell,” Gonzalez said, and he waited as Dean reluctantly took his seat again and ran his hand through his hair. Then, turning toward the hall, Gonzalez called, “Let me have a look at it!”
The officer brought it into the living room with a happy expression on his face. “It was behind the books on the third shelf to the right of the computer,” he said, handing two plastic bags to Gonzalez. One contained the gun, the other, the clip. “It’s a .25 caliber, all right, and the clip was in.”
Shell was astonished. “Behind the books?” she asked, standing up. She was remembering Sadie’s fixation on the office the night after she had seen Kojak leaving Dean’s house.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to sit down, too, Miss Hodge,” said Gonzalez. “All will be revealed in due time.”
In a moment Wilson emerged from the bedroom carrying an orange hoodie. He glanced at Shell before he addressed Gonzalez. “Look what I’ve found at the back of the closet,” he said triumphantly. “And it looks like there’s blood on it.”
Wilson held up the hoodie so his boss could examine it. “Okay?” he asked, eagerly. Shell could see how he wanted this. He was actually taking pleasure in accusing Dean.
“Okay,” said Gonzalez reluctantly. “Bag this,” he said to the female officer. “I’m afraid I need to make a call. You’ll need to stay put,” he said to Dean as he walked out onto the front porch. For the first time, Shell could see a slump in the sergeant’s shoulders. He looked world-weary.
“He’s getting a warrant to arrest me,” Dean said quietly. He reached for Shell’s hand and held it while they waited. She could feel the rapid pulse at his wrist, and she could see his jaw repeatedly clenching while the clock on the wall ticked relentlessly.
It only took a few minutes. Gonzalez came back into the room and nodded at Wilson who took handcuffs from the clip on his belt and said to Dean, “Mr. Maxwell, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Amanda Maxwell. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you…”
She could hear her own heart then, thudding at her temples, and she swallowed down a wave of nausea. This was impossible. Wilson was cuffing Dean. Dean was looking at her with an indescribable expression on his face. “I didn’t do it, Shell!” he said.
“I know,” she said, tears aching behind her eyes. “I know.”
Then, looking at Gonzalez, Dean said, “Who would be stupid enough to keep these things? Who would keep the gun and a sweatshirt with blood on it? Who? Tell me that!”
“It happens,” Gonzalez said quietly. “For some people, these are trophies.”
“Trophies? Look at me Sergeant! I’m an innocent man,” he said desperately.
“Try not to talk, Dean,” Shell said quietly
. “Richert is on his way.”
“He’d better meet us at the station then,” said Wilson, smiling smugly at Shell. She felt anger rising from her belly and into her throat as he gloated, “We’re going downtown.”
Chapter 51
Lately Shell had been remembering her dad a lot. She could see him in her mind’s eye walking away and looking back at her. His back had always been very straight, and she always waited for that look. He did it that last day. It was a thing with them. He would look back and wink at Shell. Today she watched Dean’s face as he looked back through the window of the unmarked car that was taking him to the station. He just stared at her with unreadable eyes, and she ran out onto the street and watched him until the car was out of sight.
She walked back to the front porch feeling stunned and trying to make sense of what had happened. She dropped onto the steps just as Margie and Donald pulled up and jumped out of the minivan. They hurried to the steps where Shell sat, but they already knew that Dean had been arrested. The police cars were gone and Shell was alone.
“Tell us what’s going on,” said Donald.
“Somehow they got a warrant,” Shell said, rubbing her eyes with her shirt sleeve. “Someone told them they knew of Dean having a gun. Gonzalez said that was all they needed. There were five of them tearing his house apart with Gonzalez looking on.”
“And?” said Margie.
“And they found a pistol behind the books in his office. They found a Longhorn hoodie in the back of his closet with blood on it,” she said. “They arrested him and just took him away. There was nothing I could do.”
Just then she saw someone pulling up in a blue Isuzu pickup.
“That’s Ken Richert,” said Margie.
It was the first time Shell had seen him, and he didn’t look like a lawyer. As he got out of the truck, she could see that he was close to forty. He had shoulder-length brown hair, was tall and lanky, and his brown eyes were deep-set and conscious. He wore a casual gray shirt and jeans with cowboy boots, and his only nod to his profession seemed to be a slightly wrinkled sports jacket and a weathered, leather briefcase. He hurried over to the steps in long strides.
