“That’s why we need to carry guns of our own,” one man grumbled. A low rumble moved through the audience. “That way the bastards will know who’s really in charge.”
“Not at all a good idea,” Bree said firmly. “I’ve had to work on too many crime scenes where the victim’s own gun was used on him or her.”
“Then what should people do, Detective Fitzpatrick?” Cole called out from the back of the room. “What do they need to do to protect themselves?”
“Carry a personal alarm. The kind where you pull a cord and it emits a screeching sound. That will attract attention. Take a course to learn how to properly use pepper spray,” she recommended. “Take a self-defense course that will not only teach you how to defend yourself, but will give you a little confidence to boot.”
“What about a large dog?” someone else asked.
“They’re a good deterrent and make for good company,” she agreed.
“I can see our time is up.” Joshua stood up and moved over to stand next to Bree. “I’d like to thank Detective Fitzpatrick for coming here and giving us some good ideas on how to protect ourselves.” He started clapping and the others joined in.
What Bree noticed most was the tall man now standing in the back of the room.
“I’ve brought some magnets for you to put on your refrigerator or by the phone,” she said, holding one up. “Please, help yourselves.”
Bree stood by the podium as many of the seniors made their way to the front. She smiled and spoke to each person Joshua and Renee introduced her to.
“Thank you for explaining who we need to beware of,” one frail silver-haired woman said, laying her trembling hand on Bree’s arm. She lowered her voice. “Sometimes I feel very frightened.”
Bree had only to look into her eyes to see that she wasn’t speaking lightly. Fear spoke a stark message in her gaze. Bree didn’t hesitate. She plucked the magnet out of the woman’s hand, dug a pen out of her pocket and quickly wrote on two of the empty lines.
“This is my cell phone number and this is my home number,” she said quietly. “If you need to, call me directly, all right?” She tucked the magnet back into the woman’s hand and curled her fingers over it. “I am very serious. You call me anytime, day or night.”
The woman offered a tremulous smile, then turned away to walk slowly to the door. Bree watched her thoughtfully.
“Estelle Timmerman,” Renee murmured in Bree’s ear. “Poor dear. She used to be such an incredible woman. She was in the Women’s Army Corps during World War II. She faced each day with a smile. She and her husband did everything together. After his death, she seemed to change overnight. Became timid. Quiet. I’ve tried countless times to find out what’s wrong, but she tells me it’s nothing. I’ve been able to persuade her to go on some of our day trips, but it hasn’t been easy. I worry about her.”
“Sometimes what someone sees as something very wrong, we would see as nothing,” Bree murmured back, making a mental note to check on the woman.
She was meeting the last of the group when her senses picked up Cole Becker’s presence. She turned and offered him a brief smile that wasn’t the least bit friendly.
“I found your talk informative, Detective,” he drawled. “I think our senior citizens will feel safer after knowing their options. I know I do.”
“Something tells me that most criminals would run the other way if they ran into you,” she said.
He nodded sagely. “True. Power of the press and all that.”
Bree suddenly realized that everyone else seemed to have disappeared, leaving her and Cole alone. He appeared to have realized it, too.
“Lunch tomorrow?”
“I’m busy.”
“Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Busy,” she said glibly.
“March 7, 2004?” Cole asked without missing a beat. He reached for the box of magnets, but she beat him to it.
She smiled. “Dentist in the morning. Seeing my psychic in the afternoon, and I’ll be washing my hair that evening.” She headed for the door. “Have a nice day, Mr. Becker.”
As Bree entered the reception area, Renee approached her.
“Don’t tell the sheriff, but I believe I got the better deal, too. I didn’t have to familiarize myself with mountains of paperwork,” she confessed with a big grin.
“Next time you must show us what your dog can do,” the older woman requested.
“He’s a working police dog. He doesn’t do tricks,” Bree warned.
Renee chuckled. “Don’t worry. We don’t expect him to shake hands or sit up. Perhaps you could show us how he catches a suspect.”
“Now that he can do,” she assured her.
“Come back anytime,” Renee invited.
“I’m not exactly in the right age group.”
Her eyes twinkled with laughter. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you a special dispensation.” She laid her hand on Bree’s arm. “Perhaps you’d be free for lunch one day. I’d like the chance to get to know you better.”
“I’d enjoy that,” she said sincerely.
Renee’s smile was sly. “Poor Cole must not have said the right words.” She turned away when one of the women called her name. “Thank you again, dear,” she said to Bree as she took her leave.
Bree walked out to the truck with the box nestled in her arms.
She disarmed the vehicle alarm and set the box on the floor of the back seat. She expected to see Cole Becker in the area and found herself feeling strangely disappointed that she didn’t.
“I am not going back there!” Sara’s strident voice could be heard as Bree pulled the Expedition into the garage.
She could hear every word even with the vehicle’s windows closed.
Jinx whined and pawed at the back of the seat.
“I hear them, too,” Bree said with a deep sigh.
“What are you complaining for? I was the one who got the dork of the year award,” David yelled back.
“When’re we gonna eat? I’m really hungry!” Cody wailed.
Bree shut off the ignition and pulled the key free. Her fingers hovered over the garage door opener button.
“Maybe we should go out for a hamburger,” she mused. Before she could give in to her first thought, she pushed the button. As she climbed out of the SUV, she listened to the whir of the garage door sliding downward.
When Bree opened the back door, the first thing she noticed was the sudden silence that dropped over the room. Then the spicy scent of garlic and oregano tickled her nose.
“Spaghetti?” she asked, walking through the room. “It smells good. Thanks for starting dinner, Sara.”
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
“Mom?” Cody was right on her heels as Bree headed for her bedroom.
“Give me a minute.” She pulled her lock box off the closet shelf and deposited her weapon inside. “What is it, honey?”
“I got to feed the parakeet today,” he told her.
Bree dropped onto the bed beside him and wrapped her arms around him.
“So it’s not so bad, after all?” she asked.
He gave a fleeting grin and shook his head. Before he could say anything, shouting erupted from the kitchen.
“I don’t give a—!” David yelled at his sister.
“Cuss jar,” Cody whispered, burrowing closer to his mother. “That’s a dollar word.”
Bree urged him onto his feet and together they walked back to the kitchen. She found brother and sister facing off in what she knew was only the beginning.
“Did you pay your dollar?” she asked her stepson.
David muttered something under his breath as he reached into his pocket, then pulled the cork top off a large earthenware jar with Cuss Jar engraved on the front.
“Add another dollar to it,” Bree instructed.
“He’s being a sh—!” Sara’s complaint was cut off by Bree’s upheld hand.
“Dollar from you, too. Want to go for two?”
/> “But I didn’t say it!”
“No, but you were ready to.” Bree pulled open a cabinet door and withdrew a bag of dog kibble. She filled the large plastic dish set by the refrigerator. Jinx wasted no time heading for his bowl. “Dare I ask if anything good happened today?”
Sara swiped her hand across her eyes. “They’re all lame at school,” she complained.
“You’re the one who’s lame,” David muttered.
When the kitchen timer dinged, Bree felt as if she was listening to the gong announcing the next round in a championship fight.
“David, drain the spaghetti and pour the sauce over it, please,” she directed. “Sara, you want to get the garlic bread out of the oven?”
Bree watched her stepson set the bowl on the table as they all sat down.
“It looks good,” she said cheerfully.
Her rule regarding no battles at the table held true. The children’s conversation was chillingly polite.
After dinner, Bree loaded the dishwasher while the three children disappeared into their rooms to do their homework.
She enjoyed the peace and quiet in the kitchen as she rinsed off dishes and placed them in the machine. For the next half hour, her only companion was Jinx, who lay sprawled on the floor.
“If I could get you to do the dishes, you’d be the perfect partner,” she informed the dog.
She should have known her quiet time wouldn’t last long.
“Mom!” Sara yelled. “Where’s my pink lace top? I want to wear it tomorrow.”
“Mommy!” Cody joined the chorus.
Bree threw up her hands. She looked down at the dog, who looked back at her with a quizzical expression on his face.
“Who are these children and why do they call me Mom?”
Chapter 3
Cole should have been working on next week’s column. He knew what he was going to write. Had already drafted it in his head. It would be easy enough to type the words into his laptop computer. He’d done it many times before.
Trouble was, he didn’t want to write his reflections on the new school year compared to his memories of school. Not when something in town had been brewing for quite a few years now. All he had to do was find some hard facts to back up what he’d only been able to suppose so far.
He was hoping Bree Fitzpatrick would be able to help him in that matter. A reminder of another story that needed to be written.
He stared at the bulky file folders and the contents he’d been accumulating for the past year. They were stacked haphazardly around the easy chair in his living room.
With all the research he’d done so far, why hadn’t he been able to find some hard proof that he could take to the authorities? Considering the stories he’d investigated and written in the past, this one should be a piece of cake. It had started late one night when he’d been feeling stuck on what to write about. He’d pulled out some of his uncle’s files, looking for ideas for his column. A sticky note attached to a file folder had caught his attention. Too many are dying.
Cole knew his uncle wouldn’t have written such a cryptic note unless there was something behind it. Sometimes, he feared that note had something to do with his death. So he’d done some digging of his own. And discovered, indeed, too many people were dying.
Even with the large senior citizen population in the county, the numbers were still too high for his peace of mind. He did what digging he could, but he still couldn’t find enough solid evidence to indicate foul play.
Cole’s gut told him a lot of these deaths weren’t accidents or from natural causes. Now he just had to find the connection.
He’d mentioned his suspicions to Roy once. The sheriff had listened and, when he was finished, explained that he could understand his concerns, but that Cole had to look at it from the sheriff’s point of view. What he was talking about sounded a hell of a lot like some sort of conspiracy theory. If Cole came up with some evidence Roy could follow up on, then he’d be happy to do whatever was necessary to investigate.
Cole figured Roy had mouthed all the right words and hoped he would move on to something else.
Cole did. After all, he had a newspaper to put out.
But it didn’t stop him from gathering information every chance he got. “Casual” talks with victims’ friends gave him insight into their lives that he couldn’t have gotten any other way. He’d drunk gallons of coffee and eaten pounds of homemade coffee cake while discovering bits and pieces about various residents that he kept filed away. Pieces of information that didn’t always make sense.
Sure, it was possible for someone suffering from inoperable cancer to succumb to a heart attack. No reason why someone diagnosed with impending blindness as a complication due to diabetes wouldn’t die from slipping in the shower. Some of the deaths Cole could have believed were suicide, but there was just something about them that didn’t add up in his mind.
Maybe he was looking for a story that wasn’t there. Seeing things that didn’t exist.
Except for Uncle Charlie’s notes.
Uncle Charlie who hadn’t had one fanciful bone in his body.
Cole leaned back in the easy chair that faced his big-screen television set. He had CNN on now, but the sound was muted. An open pizza box had two pieces of mushroom pizza remaining. A can of beer sat on the table by his elbow. For now, he was content to think about Bree.
Ordinarily, he kept his distance from a woman with children. Trying so hard to get her to go out with him wasn’t his usual modus operandi.
He didn’t consider himself good relationship material. A failed marriage had taught him all he needed to know—he wasn’t good in the long run. After his ex-wife told him his work came before anything else and she was tired of not meaning anything to him, he’d decided she was right.
Except things weren’t the same after she left. He felt as if he’d failed. Going after any and all stories, no matter how dangerous, was his way of coping.
Amazing how a bomb almost turning him into confetti had got him to make a few changes in his lifestyle. He took life a little easier now. But one rule was still hard and fast with him: any woman he dated knew from the get-go he wasn’t the commitment type.
Marriage and family weren’t meant for him. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying an evening, and maybe even all night, with a woman.
It wasn’t the thrill of the hunt Cole thought about when it came to Bree. He’d outgrown that behavior years ago. No, what he felt was a tug toward the lady. All he wanted was the chance to follow through on his interest.
But first he had to convince her he wasn’t such a bad guy.
“Did you look through the files I sent you?”
Cole’s husky drawl filtering through the telephone line was surprisingly devastating to a woman who believed she was immune to the man.
Bree thought of the manila envelope delivered to her home. There was no note inside, but there didn’t need to be. She knew the identity of the person who’d sent her copies of accident reports and a few doctors’ statements. Clipped to the first page of each report was a lined sheet of paper filled with neatly printed comments.
No way he could have fallen in the shower. He preferred baths.
Medical report more fiction than fact.
Any reason why only Holloway signed off on most of these accidents?
Heatstroke theory doesn’t wash.
“Tell me something, Becker. Why me?” she asked now.
“You look like a lady who likes a challenge.”
Bree picked up her pen and began doodling on the pad in front of her. Anyone looking at her would think she was taking notes.
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re as irritating as poison ivy?” she asked.
His chuckle was like a warm breeze in her ear. “That’s a new one. Trust me, I’ve been called worse. Come on, Bree, help me out here.”
“Again, why me?”
“Because you’re new to the area. You don’t have any preconceived ideas
about any of these people or their deaths. Because you worked homicide and were good at it. And because you don’t believe anyone should die unnecessarily.” The humor had leached out of his voice as he spoke quietly, but with a note of determination.
“You have no proof,” Bree stated.
“There’s proof out there. And I plan to be around when it shows up.” He was silent for a moment. “I feel that proof is there on your end.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Think about it. Whenever there’s a cover-up it usually goes back to the cops.”
She straightened up so quickly, Jinx raised his head to watch her.
“Don’t go there, Becker,” she warned.
He couldn’t miss the ice in her voice. “All right, big mistake. Let me apologize by taking you out to dinner.”
Bree laughed in spite of herself. The man never quits. “I would think you’d have dates running out of your ears. If I were you, I’d think twice about trying for a woman who has three children, two of them in high school.”
“Ordinarily, I’d be running the other way,” he said candidly. “I guess there’s just something special about you.”
“No, there isn’t.” She matched his candor with some of her own. “You’re not used to being turned down. Good-looking guy like you.”
“You’re weakening, Detective. You just admitted you think I’m good-looking.”
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” Roy could be heard saying to someone.
Bree looked up just as he stopped at her desk.
“Please, ma’am, don’t apologize for calling,” she said in her calm official voice, as if she’d been occupied with a business call. “If you think your handyman has been seen on America’s Most Wanted, you should call us right away. We’ll certainly check on it. Thank you for calling.”
“Coward!” She heard Cole’s accusation as she laid the receiver in the cradle.
Roy dropped a file folder on her desk.
“It’s one of those cases that should be simple, but isn’t,” he told her. “A uniform was out there early this morning to take the initial report, but the complainant is still up in arms. She wants action. This is a situation that’s been escalating for some time now. I’m hoping that sending you out there will diffuse it. I’ll warn you, Mattie Williams isn’t too easy to deal with and, personally, these calls are more crank than legit. But I’m not going to have anyone say we didn’t follow up on a call just because we don’t take it seriously. The day could come when it would be serious.”
Small-Town Secrets Page 5
