Iris Avenue

by Pamela Grandstaff

“Since you don’t have anything to do,” Ed said, “you can help me find a new car.”

  “You feeling alright?” Scott asked him.

  “I’m serious. I’ve never actually purchased a car. In college I walked or took the bus; after I married Eve I drove her car. I’ve been driving Dad’s truck since he died.”

  “Did the old rust-bucket finally give up the ghost?”

  Ed’s father’s ancient truck was built before seat belts and air bags were invented, and you could hear it coming from a few blocks away.

  “It still runs, but I’m carrying Mandy and Tommy around in it now and I need something safer with more room.”

  “Like a mini van.”

  “No,” Ed said. “Don’t even think that.”

  “So, an SUV?”

  “No gas guzzlers. I’ve been reading about hybrids. I’ve got a report on the best ones to buy.”

  Ed pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Scott. Scott unfolded it, looked it over, and nodded.

  “Looks like you’ve done your homework,” Scott said. “I’d be glad to help but you should probably talk to Patrick. He knows way more about cars than I do. He helped me buy my Explorer from some guy up at the ski resort; got me a good deal.”

  “Patrick’s still mad at me for tripping him up under the net last week.”

  “He’ll be over that by now. Ask him.”

  Ed looked as if he didn’t want to, but he accepted his folded paper back and said he would.

  “How’s it going?” Scott asked him.

  Ed shrugged.

  “The dog’s happy. Everyone’s feeding Hank because no one can remember whose turn it is, so he’s getting fat. Tommy’s still quiet but he seems fine. I enjoy having him around. He’s developed into a fierce Scrabble opponent.”

  “You’ve left out the most crucial roommate.”

  “She’s great; it’s me who’s the problem. After Eve left I had this quiet, peaceful life. Now, suddenly I’m sharing a bed and a bathroom with Mandy and we’re eating every meal together. I’ve lost all my privacy.”

  “There are compensations, I imagine.”

  “Oh, yeah, absolutely. It’s just taking me some time to adjust.”

  “She’s crazy about you. She seems happy.”

  “I know,” Ed said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Too set in my ways, I guess.”

  “Maggie used to say that, too,” Scott said. “That was one of her excuses, anyway.”

  “I guess you heard she and her mother went to see Brian in prison.” Ed said.

  Brian was Maggie and Patrick’s oldest brother. They also had a brother named Sean.

  “Brian and Maggie started screaming at each other and she and her mother were escorted out of the facility,” Scott said.

  “I feel sorry for their mother,” Ed said. “It’s getting harder and harder for Bonnie to believe it’s all been a big misunderstanding.”

  “Easier I guess for Maggie to write off a brother than Bonnie to write off a son.”

  “Kind of like Maggie wrote you off?” Ed said.

  Scott shrugged, said, “I did what I did, and now I’m paying for it. I’m not mad at her for being sore about it. I just miss her.”

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “We run into each other on the street and she’s polite. She doesn’t look me in the eye but at least she doesn’t sock me in the nose.”

  “It’s a small town.”

  “Yep, and we both have to live in it.”

  “Is it too soon to talk about other fish in the sea?”

  “I don’t have a line in,” Scott said. “One would have to jump out of the water and land in my boat.”

  The station’s front door opened and county sheriff’s investigator Sarah Albright came in. Ed greeted her and left.

  “Hey,” Sarah said to Scott. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure,” Scott said, and motioned for her to sit in the chair Ed just vacated.

  Sarah Albright was an ambitious violent crimes investigator for the county sheriff’s office. She had worked with Scott on the recent murder investigations in Rose Hill. After putting up with her abuse for several weeks Scott finally called her out on the constant sexual harassment and barrage of put downs she dished out at every turn. She came to see him in the hospital after he was attacked and they agreed to call a truce; since then Sarah had been acting in a much more professional manner. Scott found out through the grapevine that Sarah had been reprimanded and was attending some re-training classes.

  “Your ex-girlfriend’s brother escaped from prison yesterday,” she said.

  Scott almost jumped up, his impulse being to run straight to Maggie’s side. He sat back in his chair as he remembered he would no longer be welcome.

  “How did that happen?”

  “His cellmate stabbed him. He lost a lot of blood and was unconscious when they took him in an ambulance to the hospital. On the way a tire blew out. The guard got out of the ambulance; Brian overpowered the medic, brained the guard with a fire extinguisher, and escaped into the woods next to the interstate. Lots of crap hitting the fan over this one, as you can imagine.”

  “Any county folks involved?”

  Sarah grinned, saying, “Nope. All state police. You can bet some heads will roll.”

  “They don’t think he’ll come here.”

  “No, not likely. I thought I ought to let you know. I thought you might want to inform the family.”

  “I appreciate that. Thanks.”

  “I hear from my friends in D.C. that the feds are back in town.”

  “About Brian?”

  Sarah shrugged, saying, “Could be about Theo.”

  Theo Eldridge had been the first murder victim in Rose Hill this year, back in January. During that investigation, Maggie uncovered evidence that Theo was blackmailing a few high powered politicians and prominent local citizens. Scott discovered Theo was also involved in a dog breeding scam and drug trafficking. The feds collected all the evidence Scott and Sarah had gathered, left town, and no one had heard another thing about the investigation.

  “I was thinking of getting some breakfast while I was over this way,” Sarah said. “You’re welcome to join me, purely professionally, of course.”

  Even though she was an attractive, petite brunette with dark eyes and a sexy self-confidence, Scott was turned off by the constant contempt she displayed for his job, his town, and all the people he cared about. Since they called a truce she hadn’t said anything the least bit objectionable, but still, he could tell she wanted something more than his professional attention. He wasn’t about to encourage her lest she fall off the wagon completely.

  “I guess you haven’t heard the diner closed,” Scott said. “The owners moved to Florida. You can still get something at the bakery or the bookstore.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Sarah said. “That’s too bad. You want to split a donut?”

  “No, I better get back to work. Thanks again for stopping by,” he said. “I’ll let the family know about Brian.”

  Maggie’s brother Patrick Fitzpatrick worked at their Uncle Curtis’s service station every morning, so Scott left the police station, crossed Rose Hill Avenue, and walked down the block to see him. The March sky was bright blue with no clouds in it, but the wind still felt arctic. In Rose Hill the month of March was ordinarily a cold, gray, slush-and-mud-fest, with only the occasional spring preview day to brighten things up. Today was one of those brightened-up days.

  Patrick was talking to a young woman as he filled the tank of her expensive sports car.

  “You should come to the Thorn this Saturday,” he told her. “Scooter Scoley and the Snufftuckers are playing.”

  “No, thanks,” the young woman said. “My idea of a good time is not listening to a bunch of old geezers playing fiddles and banjos.”

  “Ah now, you gotta love the bluegrass music,” Patrick told her. “It’s the music of our people.”

&nb
sp; “Your people, maybe,” she said. “It sounds more like a cat fight to me.”

  “You’ve wounded me to my core,” Patrick said, clasping his hand to his heart and staggering back. “I may never recover.”

  Patrick’s crooked grin was enhanced by bright blue eyes and a strong cleft chin. The young woman seemed torn between putting him in his place and enjoying his attention. After she paid him, Patrick leaned down in the driver’s side window and said something to her Scott could not hear. Her face flushed a deep pink in response.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  Scott waited until the girl drove away, and Patrick waved to her as she went.

  “These young kids don’t appreciate their musical heritage,” Patrick said, as he pretended to throw a basketball to Scott, who pretended to catch it and throw it back.

  “She’s an Eldridge College student,” Scott said. “She’s probably from some place a lot more sophisticated than Rose Hill.”

  “Practice tonight,” Patrick said, pointing a finger at Scott. “If you’re late I’m gonna make you run sprints ‘til you puke.”

  “Don’t worry,” Scott said, following Patrick into the station, where a couple of old coots sat by the gas fire, smoking and gabbing. Patrick’s beagle Banjo looked up from where he lay on a bed in the corner and wagged his tail at the sight of his adored master; Patrick ignored him.

  Scott pointed to the office; Patrick nodded and then led the way. Once the door was closed on the tiny, grubby space, which smelled like motor oil and gasoline, Scott told him about his brother Brian. Patrick listened with no expression, although a nerve jumped in his temple and Scott could see he was clenching his jaw.

  “They don’t think it’s likely he’ll come here,” Scott said.

  “My brother often does the unlikely,” Patrick said.

  “Do you want me to tell Bonnie?”

  “No,” Patrick said. “I’ll tell my family; you go tell Ava.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Patrick said, and Scott rose to leave. Patrick opened the back door of the office for him, so he could exit via the alleyway behind the station.

  “I’m sorry about all your family’s trouble, Patrick,” Scott said. “If there’s anything I can do ...”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “You want me to keep an eye on Ava’s place?”

  “That’s none of my business. You can work that out with her.”

  Ava was the wife Brian had abandoned many years before, leaving her alone with their two small children. Afterward, with the Fitzpatrick family’s help, Ava restored her rundown Victorian home and turned it into a bed and breakfast. Patrick had stepped in as a surrogate father to Ava’s two children and had fallen head over heels in love with his beautiful sister-in-law. Scott was one of the few people who knew about their affair.

  Scott found Ava in the kitchen, cleaning up after her guests’ breakfast. As always happened, Scott’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of her and he felt a little lightheaded. Ava had that magical combination of perfectly proportioned facial features, a dancer’s body, a glowing complexion, and the serene, self-possessed demeanor that gives some women a sort of star quality. She underplayed her beauty by dressing plainly, but she still had a striking effect on people, who often stared and bumped into things as she passed by. She smiled as Scott entered the kitchen through the back door, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

  “Hi Scott,” she said. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Just working, you know,” he said, and felt like an idiot who can’t think what to say to a pretty girl.

  “Sit down here and we’ll catch up,” she said, and poured him a cup of coffee. “I haven’t seen you in awhile. How’s the head?”

  “It’s okay,” he said as he sat. In addition to his recent head wound, Scott was also prone to migraines.

  “I know you and Maggie are on the outs at the moment,” she said, “but you and I are good friends. I won’t let you drop me.”

  “I won’t, I promise,” he said. “Ava, I have some bad news.”

  Ava Fitzpatrick had come to expect bad news over the past couple months. After Theo Eldridge was murdered back in January, the reading of his will revealed a large bequest left to Ava, and the town gossips were still working overtime on that scandal. Patrick was at one point a suspect in Theo’s murder, and Ava had ended their relationship in order to protect him.

  Ava’s husband, Brian, who’d been missing for over six years, turned up next, threatening to kidnap her children if she didn’t pay him off with Theo’s bequest. Shortly thereafter he fled town, abandoning the child he’d had with a second wife he was suspected of killing. His ex-drug supplier and an FBI agent visited Ava shortly thereafter, one with dire threats and the other with lots of questions.

  Ava cooperated with the FBI in order to get Brian apprehended, but not before she coerced him into signing over guardianship to her of the infant son he abandoned in Rose Hill. The six-month old baby was the spitting image of Ava’s own redheaded son Timmy, and it seemed to Ava that he was meant to be her child.

  Unbeknownst to anyone but her attorney brother-in-law Sean, Ava was in the process of mortgaging her bed and breakfast in order to pay off Mrs. Wells, the gray-haired drug titan to whom Brian owed half a million dollars. Mrs. Wells had offered to knock off ten percent if Ava delivered Brian to her, but Ava decided to cooperate with the FBI instead.

  So, when Scott told her he had some bad news for her, Ava wasn’t surprised.

  “Are my kids okay?” she asked him, glancing at the crib in the corner of the kitchen, where the baby they were calling “Little Fitz” lay sleeping peacefully.

  “The kids are fine. This is about Brian.”

  “What’s he done now?”

  Scott told her what he knew and she grew weary-looking as she listened.

  “He’ll come here or contact me,” she said. “The FBI will be back before nightfall, you watch.”

  “Sarah says the feds are already in town.”

  “That’s great,” Ava said. “My kids were just beginning to feel safe sleeping in their own beds.”

  “I’ll have Skip and Frank keep an eye on your place.”

  “Thank you. Please tell them to watch the school, too.”

  “I’ll make sure the principal and the teachers know. We’ll keep them safe.”

  The oven timer dinged. Ava rose, took a tray of muffins out of the oven, and put two on a plate for Scott. She still wore a cast from breaking her wrist rescuing Little Fitz, but didn’t seem to favor that hand or feel any pain from using it.

  “Scott, I know I probably shouldn’t be asking you this, but do you know how I could go about getting a gun?”

  “No, Ava, not with kids in the house. I won’t let you.”

  “I know, I know,” she said. “But I don’t feel safe.”

  “Would it help if I stayed here at night?”

  “Scott, that is so sweet, and even though I probably shouldn’t I’m going to take you up on that offer. People will gossip about it, but I can’t afford to worry about how things look anymore. If you don’t mind doing it I won’t mind what people say.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I only have Duke to feed, when he bothers to come home at all. I ought to warn you, though; he’ll probably follow me here.”

  “Don’t worry about that cat. He walks with Timmy and Charlotte to and from school sometimes, and I feed him on the back porch. I hate to make you sleep on the sofa every night but my rooms are all booked.”

  “I don’t mind the sofa, and that way I can come and go and not disturb you and the kids.”

  Ava gave him a key to the back door, along with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “You’ll eat like a king,” she said. “I’ll make sure you have a good breakfast every morning and a good dinner every night.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Scott said, but he was already looking forward to it.


  Ava’s hug and kiss kept him warm all the way back to the station.

  County Animal Control Officer Hannah received a call to come out to the Roadhouse, and when she got there she found a big, burly dumpster service driver sitting on the bumper of his truck, crying. He was holding something against his chest, down inside his jacket.

  “Hey, buddy,” Hannah said as she approached him. “Are you okay?”

  The man looked up at Hannah through red eyes, his cheeks stained with tears.

  “I don’t understand people,” he said.

  “Me neither,” Hannah said. “Did you call about a dog?”

  He pointed at the garbage dumpster sitting between the Roadhouse and the motel behind it.

  “Somebody dumped a litter of pups in there. Who does something like that?”

  Hannah patted him on the shoulder.

  “I know, buddy,” she said. “I know.”

  He sniffed a little, and wiped his eyes with the back of a grimy hand.

  “You got one of those pups in your jacket, there?” she asked him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “The other ones are dead.”

  He held out his jacket so she could look down at the tiny black pup he cradled there.

  “Look there,” she said. “You saved one.”

  “I can’t keep her,” he said. “My wife’s allergic.”

  “I’ll find her a good home,” Hannah said.

  “You won’t kill her,” the man said. “I won’t let you take her unless you promise.”

  “Listen, little girls this cute are easy to find homes for. Before you know it this dog will be chasing squirrels all day and sleeping inside every night. I promise.”

  The man carefully lifted the pup out and Hannah tucked it inside her jacket.

  “I find all kinds of awful stuff in dumpsters,” he said. “I even found a dead guy once, but that didn’t bother me nearly as much as this.”

  A man came out of one of the motel rooms behind the Roadhouse and when he saw the dumpster driver he stopped in his tracks. He looked familiar to Hannah, and not like someone she’d ever want to meet alone behind the Roadhouse, even in broad daylight.

  “What’s going on?” he said as he approached.