Abide With Me

by Shellie Arnold

  “Stay there, and eat it quick. Not long before lockdown. We’ve got to get you to your cell.”

  “Thank you.”

  All the saliva had dried up in Nick’s mouth. He could barely choke down the peanut butter and jelly sandwich amidst gulping the water.

  Franklin led him down a series of halls. They took an elevator up to the fourth floor, and Nick’s knees nearly buckled. Bare concrete stretched between two rows of metal doors facing each other for the full length of the building. The smell of disinfectant over grime and sweat made the sandwich curdle in his stomach. They walked halfway down the row of doors on the right, and Franklin unlocked a cell.

  Nick went inside, put his hands through the tray slot so the cuffs could be removed.

  “It’s a light weekend, no roommate for you yet. Hang in there, buddy.” Franklin left.

  Nick looked at the metal toilet, sink, and the small cot. He sat.

  “Lights out!” Nicholas heard, and his cell went pitch black. A thick, dizzying darkness that removed every point of reference. If he hadn’t already been sitting, he might have fallen over.

  Someone screamed. Others cursed. Profanity and sneering chuckles lanced the air.

  “Lights out!” A booming voice came over the loudspeaker. “You all know the rules. Last warning.”

  His eyelids drooped; his shoulders sagged into the lumpy mattress. He should have been too scared to sleep, too bothered by the eerie silence interrupted by the occasional drip of the sink bolted to the wall. But his body was on Spain time. To his body, it was six hours ahead, almost tomorrow morning.

  Then, wariness churned. Simon planned to question Angelina about millions Nick had supposedly stolen from others. Maybe your wife knows where the money is. But there was no money to find.

  Detective Reedy had speculations of his own about Nick and Angie’s marriage. How do you know she didn’t run off with Gavin Hawk? You’re never home.

  But Angie would never …

  He opened his eyes to utter darkness. Had something been missing in Angie’s voice today?

  In the early years, she’d often asked to accompany him abroad. They’d had some rocky patches since; then at some point, she’d stopped asking.

  When, exactly, had that happened? And why had he not noticed until now?

  ***

  Between traveling from Europe, the time differences, and being arrested without going home, Nicholas hadn’t showered or shaved in two days.

  He’d been given a small toothbrush and a travel-size tube of toothpaste, which he’d used twice this morning. As he watched his metal tray and used plastic silverware be slipped from the slot in the door, he swallowed down the lump of runny eggs and dry toast he’d devoured almost without chewing.

  Officer Franklin had warned him last night. They distribute breakfast, delivering trays down one line of cells, then up the other. Eat fast. They’ll come right back around picking them up. Three, five minutes tops.

  God’s truth, he thought, rising from his bunk. He’d never eaten so quickly in his life. The small container of juice hadn’t been nearly enough liquid to wash the food down. Now, he cupped water from the faucet in his hands and drank heartily, despite its sulfur smell and hard-water taste. Dasani, this was not.

  He sat again.

  He had no books. No work. No internet. Just four concrete walls and a small window in the door, in a room twice as big as the twin cot against one long wall.

  With the exception of plane trips, when was the last time he’d been this still? Even while flying, he always worked. He wasn’t comfortable having nothing to do.

  This situation was simply a gross misunderstanding. PGI wasn’t his company. In a couple of days, a week at most, the prosecutor would realize the truth, and Nick would be absolved, released, and could go on with his life.

  He raised both hands to his face, lowered them as he again thought of Angelina and his latest investment she knew nothing about. That deal could be the reason behind his arrest. If the worst happened—if he learned the investment was less than legal, and Angelina didn’t forgive him for making yet another financial decision without her—exactly what kind of life would he be going home to?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Someone was following her.

  Angelina had vaguely noticed the dark sedan as she’d paid her parking fees when leaving the airport. The car had nudged up behind hers rather than taking the other open lane.

  Now it followed at a distance as she passed the red water tower, Benson’s Hardware, and the Downtown Diner.

  She crossed the railroad tracks at the east edge of town. Turned toward home. About five miles out, she approached The Barn Church. The familiar horse silhouette in a front loft window made her smile. But as she glanced again in the rearview mirror, the sedan closed the gap, and her smile faded.

  She reached into her purse for her cell. Placed it on the seat beside her. Located the panic button that would immediately place a call to 911 if necessary. Maybe she should turn around and head straight to see Nicholas. Cops would be at the jail, right? If she needed protection, she’d have it.

  But she needed to stop by the carriage house above the stables first. Nicholas had said the house might be searched. The police wouldn’t have damaged or seized her paintings, would they?

  And she needed to steel herself before seeing her husband. She didn’t want him seeing on her face what she’d wanted to do yesterday in Vegas, because she didn’t yet know how to explain herself, even if she wanted to.

  She’d realized some things during her solitary night in the Paris Hotel and earlier today as she’d flown across the country. She refused to live the rest of her life lonely and alone and married in name only.

  Never again would she feel ashamed of or embarrassed about her wants and needs, or be left to search elsewhere for companionship.

  And she wasn’t going to let Nick’s current situation sway her into staying in a loveless marriage. If he’d gotten into trouble, it was his trouble.

  She deserved a life.

  She reached the long stretch of white cross-fencing marking their property and slowed before her driveway. The sedan slowed as well, then drove on.

  Angelina took a relieved breath. She turned onto their quarter mile lane. Drove between the front pastures. At the stand of pine trees shielding the house from the road, she took a fork to the right.

  She continued to the back of their thirty-five acres. Past the stand of pine trees, the land opened again to more pasture. She pulled up to the stables, complete with carriage house, which had sat unused until last fall when she’d had it renovated. The classic barn-red siding with flat black crisscross braces on Dutch doors held such a welcoming sweetness, she sighed inwardly at the sight.

  She parked, carried her luggage up the metal stairs to the apartment, and laid it on the sectional sofa in the center of the room, which doubled as her bed. The cool, open space with its white-washed vaulted ceiling boasted sightlines out windows lining both walls.

  The end-to-end tables she’d placed below the windows for brushes, palettes, paints, solvent, rags, and other supplies appeared untouched. Her paintings, thankfully, were unmoved. Both those carefully stacked at the end wall and the unfinished works on easels.

  She needed a few minutes to compose herself and maybe eat something before going to see Nicholas. And, yes, she might call Pierce and ask if he’d meet her there.

  Angelina walked to the bank of windows at the front and opened one for fresh air. Normally she felt perfectly safe out here by herself, but after believing that car had been following her …

  She heard tires on the gravel driveway and peered up the lane. The dark sedan had returned, taken the fork, and now parked beside her car. A man and a woman, badges clipped to their belts, got out and climbed the stairs.

  She grabbed her phone and dialed Pierce.

  The visitors knocked as he answered. “Hello?”

  “It’s Angelina. I’m home, and I think ther
e are two cops at my door. Would you stay on the phone with me? Until I’m sure who they are?”

  “Sure.”

  Holding the phone at her side, she cracked open the door the length of the security chain. “May I help you?”

  The woman held up a badge. “I’m Detective Jernigan.” She motioned with her head. “My partner, Detective Niles. May we escort you to the state prison where your husband is being held? The State Prosecutor would like to ask you some questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “He will decide that, ma’am.”

  Angelina looked from the female officer to her partner, then back again. “Do I need my own lawyer?”

  “That’s entirely up to you.”

  “Angelina?” Pierce’s voice called from her phone.

  “They want me to go with them. To the state prison. I guess Nicholas was moved last night?” she asked the female and received an affirming nod.

  “Hold on,” she told Pierce.

  “Are you arresting me?” she asked the officer.

  “Not at this time,” Detective Jernigan said. “You can drive yourself. We’ll follow.”

  Angelina heard, then saw, more cars arrive.

  “We have a warrant to search all your and Mr. Rousseau’s property, including this carriage house and stables,” Niles said.

  “Excuse me a moment.” Angelina lowered her phone and closed the door in the officers’ faces. She unhooked the security chain and leaned back against the doorframe, scanning her work area, her sanctuary.

  What had Nicholas done? And why would he implicate her?

  She’d long since accepted he rarely considered her feelings, but had he become hostile? Vengeful toward her now?

  She’d never have thought him to be the kind of person who would hurt another to deflect from his own pain. Or had he somehow learned she’d moved out, and this was payback?

  “They’ll follow me to the prison,” she told Pierce.

  “I helped Nick secure another attorney. He should be there now talking with the authorities before he sees Nick. Call me if you need a lawyer, too.”

  “Thank you.” She ended the call and opened the door.

  “We need to go, Mrs. Rousseau.” Detective Jernigan spoke into the radio clipped at her shoulder. “Jernigan and Niles en route with A. Rousseau. ETA fifty minutes. Alert State Prosecutor of same.”

  “Roger, Detective Jernigan,” the voice on the other end said. “Upon arrival, proceed to interview room 3-B.”

  “Copy that,” Jernigan said.

  Angelina looked at the people now lining up behind the officers on the stairs.

  “They must be careful with my paintings.” Her breath came fast. “My first solo exhibition is in Mobile in two weeks. They cannot destroy my work. I’ll show you anything, just don’t damage the paintings. I use oil on canvas. I’ve several that aren’t dry.”

  Niles looked over at Jernigan. “What kind of timeline did Simon want?”

  “ASAP, I was told.”

  Angelina thought of Nick. How could he do something that threatened her work? “I’ll stand to the side and tell you how to handle them, but you must not damage them.”

  “Ten minutes probably won’t matter,” Jernigan spoke to Niles, then looked back at her. “You can show the technicians how to handle the paintings, then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Thank you.”

  Niles and Jernigan entered. A half-dozen others followed.

  “Quick demonstration, Mrs. Rousseau.” Niles motioned the others forward. He pulled aside a man her age who gave her a lingering look. “Go through her luggage.”

  Angelina told herself not to be embarrassed and went straight to the wet canvases so the officers could examine those first. Then she showed them how to safely move and re-stack the others.

  “Anything else in here we need to be careful of?” Jernigan stood at the door.

  “No. We can go now.”

  Angelina got back in her car, then lowered her window as the detectives passed by. “I don’t know the address of the prison. For the GPS?”

  Jernigan rattled off the location, repeating as Angie input the information.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Can’t you ask me what the State Prosecutor wants to know?”

  “He wants to ask his own questions. Are you willing to go, or will we have to come back with a warrant?”

  “I’ll go,” Angelina said and waited to lead the detectives off her property.

  ***

  Angelina wished she’d followed the officers instead of the other way around. She didn’t like them behind her, and at each stop sign, at each red light, she worried she’d pulled up too far, or not far enough. She tried to keep her speed below the limit, and more than once caught herself readjusting her hands on the steering wheel.

  At the security gate, she was given a pass to display on her dashboard and directed to visitor parking. The attendant was friendly enough, but Angelina didn’t like watching the gate arm lower behind her and the dark sedan.

  They parked.

  “This way,” Detective Jernigan spoke as she passed.

  Angelina needed something to do with her hands. Something to hold. She braced against the dusty breeze and grabbed her purse.

  The building exterior was putty brown. The door, metal of the same color. It closed behind them with a buzz and a thud, opening to a lobby of dirty yellow walls and flecked, worn terrazzo tile.

  At once, she wanted to turn around and leave. Drive back to the carriage house, lock herself inside, and lock out the world. She should have refused to come. She should have stayed with her paintings, moved each one herself and made arrangements to talk with the State Prosecutor another day, another time.

  They reached a metal detector, complete with armed policemen strolling up and down the line of those waiting to enter.

  “Empty your pockets into the tray. Place your purse or other belongings on the conveyor belt. When directed, step through,” the attendant stated and repeated the instructions.

  “Always busy on a Saturday,” Jernigan said to Niles.

  “Right. But if you visited someone here on a regular basis, wouldn’t you get used to the routine? Most of these people act as if they don’t know where they are or why they’re here. Our country’s doomed.”

  Angelina scanned the folks in front of her. If Nicholas were convicted of a crime, he could spend years here. She’d go through this process every time she visited him.

  Wouldn’t that be a switch? Nick waiting on her to come see him.

  Still, the thought brought no satisfaction, only sadness.

  They reached the front of the line. Niles and Jernigan went ahead. Angelina passed through the metal detector. Her purse was confiscated, and a policeman motioned her away from the line where he emptied her purse into a plastic box.

  “Is something wrong?” Angelina asked.

  Finally, he held up her keys with her metal Eiffel Tower keychain.

  “Here’s the culprit,” he said. “Cute. You can reload.”

  “Thank you.”

  Angelina didn’t take the time to re-organize. She simply dumped the contents into the center pocket and continued on.

  She followed Niles and Jernigan until they arrived at interview room 3-B, a small gray space on the third floor, complete with what she believed to be a one-way mirror. A dozen people could be watching and listening.

  How she disliked being made a spectacle.

  “The State Prosecutor should be with you momentarily.” Niles and Jernigan closed the door as they left; immediately, it reopened.

  “Mrs. Rousseau? I’m State Prosecutor Darrin Simon.” He wore a tailored suit, a strategically charming smile, and no wedding ring.

  He stood across the table with arms crossed, looking down at her. She didn’t know whether to hold his gaze, look away, or stare straight ahead. She’d never before been inside a prison, let alone into an interview room for questioning.

  “
Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said.

  “It seemed the wisest decision. How can I help you, Mr. Simon?”

  “To the point. I like that. When was the last time you spoke with your husband?”

  That was easy. “Last night. He called me.”

  “You were at a wedding? In Vegas?”

  “Yes. Should I get myself a lawyer?”

  “Do you need one?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “What do you know about your husband’s investments?”

  She looked in his expressionless, gray eyes. “I don’t know anything about my husband’s investments.”

  “What do you know about his business?”

  “I don’t really know anything about my husband’s business, other than he travels extensively. He’s an efficiency expert in high demand.”

  “And you never travel with him?” His slight grin was both mocking and flirtatious.

  She thought of the first years of her marriage when she’d asked Nick to let her accompany him during summer breaks. When she’d counted the days of his trips, anxiously awaiting his return. The later years that had passed; the birthdays, holidays, and anniversaries he’d been absent, despite his promises to one day take her with him.

  She blinked slowly. “I have never accompanied my husband on any trip, business or otherwise. Although I did meet him once in Gatlinburg right after I graduated from the art institute. The location was convenient for both of us.” They’d spent a few days there before traveling to Rowe City to look for a home.

  Simon sat on the corner of the table, leaned forward. “And why didn’t you ever travel with him?”

  Because he didn’t want me to—she gulped back the words. Because what I wanted wasn’t important. Because even though he married me, he didn’t care if we ever spent time together.

  Simon pulled back, his expression sobering as if he’d read her mind.

  “He never took you anywhere? Never shared his business dealings and accomplishments? His long-term plans?”

  The flash of confused pity in his eyes made her look away. In another time, another life, she probably would’ve thought him handsome despite his fair features, in a young Kenneth Branagh sort of way.