Mossy Creek: A Maggie Mercer Mystery

by Jill Behe

  “Do you want me to go along? Or, I’m sure your rookie officer would.” I doubted Ricky wanted to, either. Was probably happy that he didn’t have to.

  He shook his head. “No. But, thanks.” He set his hat on his head and adjusted it. “Hopefully, this won’t take long. I’ll fill you guys in as soon as I can.”

  On his way out the door, he turned, winked, and gave me a salute. He knows how much I … admire him, in that hat. I had to fan myself.

  “We’ll be here.”

  He waved and was gone.

  Something had to break soon.

  Didn’t it?

  * * *

  IT WAS after five by the time he got back … and he looked pissed. On his way past my desk, he glanced over, took off his hat, and went into his office.

  The door slammed shut.

  Ricky, writing up a report about a fender-bender out on County Road fifteen, looked up at the unfamiliar sound, then over at me.

  He mouthed, ‘Uh oh.’

  Wyatt didn’t show anger. Ever. Well, he might in private, but I don’t remember ever seeing it.

  A few minutes later, the man stepped outside his door. “I apologize. Could you both come in here, please?”

  Ricky and I exchanged a quick look and obeyed.

  We hadn’t even gotten inside the office before Wyatt began to speak. “I’m not mad, not really. I’ve got all this aggravation building, and don’t know how to get rid of it.” He started to pace, but stopped after two passes.

  “Maggie told us what Annetta shared with her. I have to conclude, from that, and listening to Evey and Susie earlier today, that Mayor Patterson is now our prime suspect. However, that does not prove he’s the killer. I don’t even know if I can actually charge him with anything. The girls were over sixteen—the age of consent. They would have to initiate the paperwork to press charges. I’m sure they’d have a case. Then again, it would be his word against theirs.” He shook his head. “I could talk to the judge over at the Greene County Courthouse.

  “As for my questioning of Mrs. Patterson. She did confirm that their marriage was anything but rosy. When Ridge first suggested they use high school seniors, she felt uncomfortable, but went along with his idea. At the beginning, everything went smooth. The girl the school recommended—Susie—was infatuated with the baby, and got along with her and Ridge, or seemed to. When both the first two teens called to tell her they would no longer be able to sit for Kendall, she was disappointed, but not suspicious. To quote: ‘I liked them both. I trusted them to care for my son, without reservation.’

  “When Miranda was hired, the trouble started. Ellie didn’t come right out and accuse the girl of having an affair with Ridge, but she was definitely more reluctant to talk about her.” He stopped and looked at us. “I have a confession.”

  “A confession? You?”

  “I think there’s something a little bit odd about Mrs. Patterson.”

  “That’s it? That’s your confession?”

  Ricky whistled, and leaned back in his chair. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “I mentioned to Maggie that I wasn’t sure I could trust her. I can’t quite put my finger on the exact reason why. But now I’m more convinced. Everything she said was just a little bit too practiced, too rehearsed.”

  “Like what, for example?”

  “Take, for instance: She says Ridge changed at about the time Kendall was six months old, and they started leaving him with a sitter—a teenage sitter. To me, that’s a leading statement. To me, it says, I suspect my husband is luring girls to our home with Kendall as the draw, and the girls being the lambs to the slaughter, so to speak.

  “Next, she says Ridge always insisted on taking the girls home, even though two of them had their own cars. So that means, what? I suspect my husband may be having sex with them? That just smacks of looking the other way, to me.”

  “Wyatt—”

  “Wait. She never accuses him, never confesses her real thoughts to me, either. But, when she starts to tell me about Miranda, the suspicion … the mistrust, gets more pronounced. According to her, Ridge’s excuses start to sound lame. He takes too long—in her opinion—to come home. She says, this time around she confronts him. He laughs at her. Tells her, basically, that her fears are absurd. How could she possibly think he would do anything untoward with a teenage girl?

  “Now, I was never an A-student in English, but ‘untoward’? You know anybody else who talks like that?” He shook his head, like ‘never mind,’ and kept on going.

  “You realize this is all speculation, right? Just my personal opinion. But, it’s based on the way she gave her answers, and the emphasis she used. Not necessarily the words themselves, but the drive, behind them.”

  He went to his desk and sat, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, back to Ellie’s … story. She confirmed the banquet scenario, and that the school secretary called Miranda to babysit. Ridge had a fit. He didn’t want to use Miranda anymore. She was demanding more money. Here again, the emphasis—the innuendo, if I may—is that it’s the girl’s fault. She wonders whether Miranda is blackmailing her husband. Are they doing things behind her back? At the same time, Ellie says, Miranda’s attitude confuses her. The girl seems just as friendly as always. She also said that Miranda drove her own car that last night.” He sat forward, arms on the desk.

  “Now, Sunday, late morning, early afternoon, Ridge decided he wanted some alone-time. Told her he was going out to the lake, and he’d be gone a while. Mac has verified that, yes, the mayor was at the lake on Sunday, almost all day. Ellie says he didn’t come back until after midnight. He was a wreck—muddy, disheveled—and pretty drunk, to boot.

  “His story was that he almost hit someone on Foggy Bottom Road, on his way back from the lake. It was dark, and this person just jumped out at him before disappearing across the road, away from Old Bear Creek Swamp. He got out of his car to traipse around the mucky swampy embankment, but didn’t see anyone, so he went back to his car. That might have been about the time Wylie-James went into the swamp.

  “Okay. Monday morning, Ellie hears about Miranda and freaks out. Why? Because of how Ridge looked and acted the night before, she’s convinced he had something to do with it. Why didn’t she call and talk to me about her suspicions? She’s afraid of her husband ... so she says.

  “So, now, I have to decide. Do I believe her story? Some of it, I’m sure, is true. Other parts?” He shook his head. “Not so much. I need to talk to Ridge; to tell me he was at the lake. I know, yes, Mac substantiated that, but I need Ridge to verify or deny, Ellie’s speculative accusations. I need him to explain how he got so filthy.” He threw up his hands. “But I can’t question him. He isn’t available.” He slapped them back on the desktop. “And that raises another question. Why is he unavailable? Where did he go so suddenly? What emergency came up, so quick, that an emotionally unstable man would drop everything and run to take care of it?

  “By the way, when I left, the First Lady of Mossy Creek was sobbing , and not very convincingly. Says she’s going to file for divorce, and move back to Jansen City, to live with her folks.”

  Wow.

  Ricky’d puckered up his mouth, thinking.

  My scalp was itchy and I could feel a headache beginning to pound behind my eyes. “Okay, I’m gonna ask this, but I want to make it clear that it isn’t a slight to your ability as an investigative officer.”

  “Doesn’t sound good, boss.”

  “Go ahead. Lay it on me. I can take it.”

  “Funny.” If I’d been closer, I’d’ve smacked him. “I just…. All that questioning was good and informative….”

  “But?”

  “But, I didn’t hear anything about an alibi.”

  He looked surprised. “Oh, I thought I mentioned that at the beginning.”

  “If you did, I missed it.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Well then, maybe I didn’t.” he shrugged. “Okay. I did ask her
where she was that night. She says she was home, alone, waiting for Ridge to get back, worrying that he’d been gone so long. She indicated that it was quite possible she may have even been giving Kendall his bath.”

  I nodded. “Pretty thin, but not surprising. Not verifiable, either.”

  “True.”

  “A lot of the people I questioned had similar flimsy excuses,” Ricky added. “A few had actual solid, couldn’t-have-done-it, alibis.”

  “So, in essence, we haven’t eliminated anyone in particular.”

  Ricky flipped his notebook shut. “Except the ones who couldn’t have done it.”

  “I mean the ones high up on the suspect list.”

  “Yes. Of the ones in the top five on our list, we don’t have enough to eliminate them.” Wyatt leaned back in his chair, again, and rubbed his hands over his face. “Look. It’s late, and we’re getting punchy. We’ve had a long rough day. Let’s call it a night and meet back here tomorrow, around 10, or so.”

  “Sure, boss,” Ricky nodded, getting to his feet. “I’ll run by Tate’s on my way home, too. Maybe they have some news on that ring, by now.”

  “Good idea. And, in the morning, don’t forget to stop by the Corner Grocer’s and talk to Al.”

  “I won’t. Night, Maggie. Wyatt.”

  My, “Night, Rick,” followed him out the door.

  I went to my desk.

  It was after eight. Not that late, but we’d expended a lot of energy and I, for one, was exhausted. My body was telling me, in no uncertain terms, it was time to go home and sleep. My feet—unused to the dressy pumps I’d worn all day—were making it known, that if I didn’t soon set them free, they were going to go on strike. I contemplated taking the shoes off, but I’d only have to put them back on when…. Oh, crud. When Wyatt took me home. I’d forgotten, again, that I didn’t have a car. I’d also almost not remembered that we were supposed to have a date tonight.

  I glanced toward his office. He was leaned up against the doorframe, watching me. As soon as we made eye contact, he straightened and started forward.

  Butterflies began to flutter hysterically in my belly. Yeah, I know, they were bats before, but they’d morphed. These were definitely butterflies—way more ticklish than bats.

  Maybe I wasn’t so tired, after all.

  “Today didn’t pan out the way I wanted,” he began, getting closer. “I didn’t figure on being here this long. Do you still want to go to dinner, or should we wait until next week?”

  I frowned. Why do they make us the bad guy? Usually, they tell us, it’s because they want to do what we want to do. But that’s not always the case. I sat and indulged myself in observing him, not sure how to answer.

  Then it came to me. Men let women make the decisions because we’re better at it—not always, mind you, but sometimes—more logical, more practical. Men are so.… Men, have one-track minds.

  “I would love to have a meal with you, Wyatt, but today was lots busier, and much longer than usual … for both of us. I’m dressed for a funeral, not a date. You’re in uniform. How about a compromise?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s only a suggestion.”

  He gave a nod.

  “Today was emotionally draining, which carries over into the physical. But, if you were to take me home now, I’d be too agitated to rest. I need a distraction. Something to help me unwind and relax.”

  He moved closer and wiggled his eyebrows.

  I waggled my finger. “Don’t go getting any bright ideas, Romeo. Just hear me out. Annetta’s is still open. We could go grab something there; then, since you have to take me home, if you want, I could make a pot of coffee and finish baking the rest of those cookies. Um, mainly because, by the time we finish a meal and get to my house, it will be really late.

  “A second suggestion; we call and order something to-go, pick it up and take it to my place. Or third, postpone everything until next week, if your offer still stands, we could do something more like we’d planned for tonight.”

  He stood, just looking at me. Finally, he shifted. “Let’s go.” He held out a hand and helped me to my feet. “Wait by the door while I turn off the lights and lock up.”

  I watched him. He’d not chosen any of my ideas, but something was different. His movements had purpose. Made me giddy. The butterflies were madly dancing. This—tonight—would have been my first official date with Wyatt Madison. I wondered how long he was going to make me wait to find out if we were still on.

  I stayed by the door as he went through the building turning off lights, copy machines, and the coffee pot, before making his way back to the front. He reached behind me and turned off the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. I moved to turn the doorknob, but he caught my arm.

  Before I had any clue of his intent, he said, “I didn’t get to do this this morning.” His mouth closed over mine.

  Just when I focused enough to respond, he shifted.

  “Let’s go get something to eat. I’m starved.”

  Flustered, befuddled, and a little annoyed, I nodded. I couldn’t have formed words if my life depended on it.

  “Maggie?” His voice was low and husky.

  I bit my lip. “Hmmm?”

  “You excite me.”

  Talk about a rush. Whoo. “I … I do?” Those darned flutters went into overdrive. Hyperventilation was next, I was certain.

  He opened the door. “Yeah, you do. Is it all right if I do something about that?”

  “Oh.” My brain was mushy goo. “Absolutely.”

  “Excellent.” He grasped my elbow as I descended the steps. Good thing, too, because my knees were so wobbly I would have fallen. “We should walk to Annetta’s. It’s a beautiful night.” We started down the sidewalk at a fast clip.

  “Sure. Okay.” I frowned at his pace. He had such long legs, and I was in … painful, heels. “Wyatt?” Maybe I could slow him down just a little bit.

  “Yeah?”

  “You excite me too, big guy.”

  At his sudden stop, I just missed stepping on him. He turned to face me, way too intense. “Good. I’m really glad to hear that, Magdalena. How many dates do we have to have, before you’ll let me sleep with you?”

  Then, he smiled. A smile so hot, it scorched.

  How serious was he? I’d been dreaming about him for the past year. Melt the walls fantasies. Here was my chance to make those dreams reality. At the same time, I didn’t want him to think I was fast and loose.

  He must have read my mind. “Maggie, we’re both adults. We’ve both been married. I don’t want to take advantage of you, but I’ve been, well, I’ve been having some pretty vivid dreams about you, for about a year now.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Wow. Him, too.

  “Hell, I noticed you in high school, but you were with Bernie Mercer. Then again when I came back, almost before I was free to look around. If you want to wait, I’ll understand. Just be warned, I’m going to use every opportunity I get to make you hot and bothered, until you can’t take it anymore.”

  I had to smile. Wow. All these revelations. High school? Geez. His promise stepping up the onslaught was telling, too. But, it wouldn’t take that long. If this week was any indication of how he’d make my life miserable when he wasn’t even trying, I could only imagine how much more frustrated I’d be when he was.

  Go for it, Maggie Lou.

  “All right, stud, which side of the bed do you prefer?”

  CHAPTER 24

  HE SUCKED in a breath and bent over at the waist. Shocked, thinking he was having a heart attack or something, I grabbed his arm.

  Huh.

  “Wyatt? What’s wrong?”

  He grunted. “Damn, woman. You cut me off at the knees. I’m not sure I can walk straight, right now.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  He straightened, not quite all the way, and moved into my personal space until we were almost touching from head to toe.

  I could feel his an
swer before he told me.

  “Magdalena,” he murmured. “I’m so hot for you right now, it’s painful. And, it’ll be pretty obvious when we get into a well-lighted area. You shouldn’t say things like that without giving a guy some warning.”

  It was his own fault, though I did have to bite my lip as my body reacted to the way his body was reacting. “You didn’t put any sensors on what you said to me. Besides, it’s so much more fun this way,” I said, a little on the sarcastic side. Then I put my hands flat on his chest and looked up at him, fluttering my eyelashes, over-dramatically. “I guess we’ll just have to skip dinner and go right to the dessert.”

  He closed his eyes and rolled his neck. I thought I even heard a groan. “Oh man.” He recovered pretty quick, and caught my hand. “Let’s go, babe. The Jeep’s across the street.”

  * * *

  OH, we did go to my place, cuz that’s where the cookie dough was. Ha, you thought we were going to have that other kind of dessert, didn’t you?

  Shame on you.

  Y’all, I might liberally speak my mind about most things, but I draw the line at what exactly happens in my bedroom. Although, to be truthful, nothing has in the last ten years or so. Not since my man up and died on me. I just wasn’t interested in anyone else until Wyatt crossed my line of sight.

  Anyway, you can go right on ahead and fan yourself. Shoot, we were still in the kitchen. Of course, we weren’t just baking cookies. I had changed my clothes and was now dressed in my comfy stuff. There were about two trays of cookies to bake, and one was about to come out.

  “Maggie, since we kissed last night, I can’t stop thinking about you.” He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to comment. “I think about you all the time, but this past week, and especially since I got a taste of you last night, it’s been non-stop; and not just thoughts. I feel like a hormone-raging teen who just invited you into the back seat of his car.”