by Lisa Bork
I burst into laughter as my cell phone rang. I fumbled for it in my purse and answered, still grinning.
“Jolene, it’s Isabelle. Are you busy right now?”
“Not really.”
“Can you come give me a lift? Please?”
An odd request, considering Isabelle lived an hour away. I thought I detected a note of desperation in her voice, too. “What’s going on?”
“Can you just come? I’ll tell you when you get here.”
I checked the digital readout on my office wall clock. A little less than two more hours to closing time. Danny was at football practice right now, and he had a birthday sleepover party immediately following. I’d dropped the gift and his things off at his friend’s house this morning, promising to pick him up at nine a.m. tomorrow. Ray could be at work for hours.
Cory was slumped in his chair again, his brow furrowed, eyes clouded. He could use a trip to the gym to release some stress.
“We just decided to close up early today. I’ll leave now. Where are you?”
“Sitting outside the jail.”
EIGHTEEN
TWO VISITS TO JAIL in one day—an all-time high for me. I pressed the gas pedal of my Lexus to the floor and made it to Isabelle’s town within forty-five minutes, worried and fearful after her call.
I found Isabelle sitting in the lobby of the police department on a scarred wooden bench. She did not look herself. On most work days, she wore form-fitting suits with fashionable shoes and elegant jewelry from her husband’s jewelry store, attracting attention everywhere she went with the fine gems and her brilliant smile, two excellent assets. Isabelle’s flat face and mousy brown hair tended toward homely, but those assets gave her the illusion of radiance.
Today, however, her flowered skirt had a tear in it, revealing the red slip she wore beneath. Her lightweight white sweater had a three-inch pull culminated by a hangman’s loop, and her hair held leaves. Scratches on her skin were visible at her wrists. Pink pumps in her hand matched the flowers on her skirt. In her other hand, she clutched her open purse. Gold jewelry gleamed inside it.
Isabelle threw her arms around me and choked back tears. She and I had roomed together for six years at college while we pursued our undergraduate and master’s degrees in business. She’d been brave enough never to question me about my mother’s death and to stay at my house with Erica and my dad, who defined eccentric. She was also the only one in my life who never called me by a nickname. I liked to think that meant she took me seriously.
I hugged her tight, then pulled back to assess the damage again. The most dreadful thought popped into my mind. “Isabelle, have you been”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“raped?”
She burst into laughter. “Oh, thank God you came. No, I have not.”
“Then what happened?”
A uniformed officer passed by us, glanced at Isabelle, and shook his head with a smile.
She looped her arm through mine. “Let’s go outside to your car, shall we?”
Once we settled comfortably in my bucket seats, she fussed with the rip in her skirt, trying to smooth the two raw edges together. “I did something really stupid. Promise not to tell even Ray.”
I thought of how much trouble that same promise to Cory had created. Then I went ahead and made it anyway.
Isabelle sucked in a deep breath. “This afternoon I decided to take time off to do some yard work with Jack. Put away the patio furniture for the winter, stuff like that. He’d been home all morning, and I had just gotten home and was going upstairs to get changed when the phone rang. I heard him tell someone that he’d come by, just like last time. Then he came upstairs to tell me he needed to get fertilizer for the grass. He took off. I got in the car and followed him.
“He went to another bed and breakfast, not too far from our house. I waited for him to come out. A half hour went by. I decided to park a ways down and peek in the windows to see if I could spot him. I went around the house, looking in all the windows. One room was a bedroom and two people were in the bed … ah … doing it. I couldn’t see their faces, but, of course, I thought it was Jack and another woman. I pressed my nose right up against the window.” She closed her eyes.
I tried to wait patiently. I couldn’t. “And?”
Her eyes flew open. “And it wasn’t him. It was some other couple. She saw me first and screamed. Then the guy saw me and leapt out of bed. And I saw … well … all of him. I tried to run, but I got caught in the shrubs. It slowed me down. By the time I got around to the driveway, a man had come out on the porch. Not the naked one. I think it was the owner. He came running after me. I got in my car and peeled out, but he must have gotten my license number because the police pulled me over a few blocks down the road. They arrested me for peeping. They fingerprinted me and everything. It was awful and embarrassing.”
A tear rolled down Isabelle’s cheek and dripped off her chin. She didn’t seem to notice.
I wanted to hug her again, but I was afraid she wouldn’t make it through the rest of her story.
She breathed deep again. “I explained what happened. I apologized up and down. I offered to pay for any damages to their shrubbery. The officer couldn’t keep a straight face. He left me sitting in the interrogation room for a while, then he came back and said no one wanted to press any charges. The officer said I could go home.
“My car was towed to impound. I asked for a ride over there. He refused. He said I should call my husband. He said we needed to talk and now would be the perfect time.”
She wrung her hands. “Oh, Jolene, I couldn’t call Jack. I’ve been arrested. I have an arrest record. What if my clients find out? What if they hear why I was arrested?”
I took her hands in mine, stilling them. “I don’t think anyone will find out, since you weren’t charged or arraigned. We can go get your car. It’ll be okay.”
Isabelle’s tears flowed freely. “I’m acting like a crazy person.”
I fumbled in my purse for tissues and handed them to her. “Love will do that to you.”
She blew her nose and dried her eyes. “I thought everything was going to be okay. Jack and I did it the other night. Twice. I thought maybe he had just been under stress or maybe he was just getting older.”
“Was he still at the bed and breakfast when you left?”
“I don’t know. It all happened so fast. I don’t know if his car was still there or not. But I already talked to him. He called and left a message while I was at the jail, wanting to know where I went. I called him back and told him I had an emergency at work. He seemed to buy my story. He offered to pick up Cassidy and make dinner.” She buried her face in her hands. “God, I am such an idiot.”
“You are not an idiot.”
“And that officer. The way he talked to me. He was so patronizing. I felt like a two-year-old.”
“He’s just glad you’re not a real peeper. It would blow their profiling to have women in flowered skirts and pink pumps take up peeping.”
Isabelle’s smile was weak, but a smile nonetheless. “Don’t ever tell anyone, okay?”
“I swear.”
“What am I going to tell Jack when he sees me like this?”
I thought for a second. “Let’s get your car, then we’ll stop by the mall. I’ll go in and buy you a new outfit while you pick the leaves out of your hair. Jack won’t notice a new outfit, will he?”
“God, no.” She glanced at her scratched wrists. “Just make sure it’s long-sleeved.”
_____
I arrived home around seven thirty. Ray’s patrol car was parked in the driveway. He was in the living room, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, watching the sports channel on the flat screen over the fireplace while eating leftover stir fry.
He didn’t acknowledge my arrival, a sure sign he was angry. I eased onto the couch beside him, picking up the pillow Erica made to hold to my chest. I fingered the words on it, thinking Isabelle was like another sister to me.
I c
ontemplated the best way to approach Ray and settled on a neutral course. “Are you in for the night?”
His gaze never left the television. “I’m on patrol tomorrow. Max and Gumby are going to Albany. They have appointments with the Potters, the Gleasons, and even Brennan’s father, who is apparently half dead in a hospice.”
“Really? What’s wrong with him?”
“Pancreatic cancer.”
“Does Brennan know that?”
“I don’t know what Brennan knows, and Catherine won’t let him tell me.” Ray scraped the bottom of his bowl with a piece of cornbread, soaking up the remaining stir fry sauce.
He was mad, all right. I tried to make amends. “I saw Catherine today. She wanted me to tell her everything I planned to tell the sheriff.”
“Did you?”
“No, I wanted to tell him first. Is it okay if Cory and I talk to her?”
“Now you’re checking with me?” Ray gathered his dishes. “Now that I’m not the one to ask?”
“Because you’re not assigned to the case?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re disappointed?” I wanted to say “angry,” but why fuel the fire?
Ray rose off the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. “I’m the errand boy. I got the warrant to search Brennan’s house. We collected the yearbook and check registers.”
I followed Ray. “Does Brennan know you took all that?”
“Yes. The sheriff and Max asked him about the payments.”
“What did he say?”
“I don’t know. I’m not assigned to the case.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was highly unusual that the department wasn’t talking among themselves, sharing information and theories. Ray must be devastated to be left out—and it was all my doing.
I focused on the facts he did know. “So Max and Gumby are going to talk to everyone tomorrow? Cory and I never got to meet Suzanne Gleason.”
“She’s on the appointment list. They’ll probe into the divorce and try to map out exactly where she was when her husband ended up in the street. Ask about insurance money, that kind of thing.”
“And her son?”
“Again, probe into their relationship. Ask if he benefits from insurance policies.”
“That’s a lot for one day.”
Ray rinsed his empty beer bottle and set it in the bin under the sink. “It’s a start. The guy who shot the YouTube video is in Europe for the next month working. His wife can’t find the original. She’s waiting for him to call her.”
“Will Brennan have to sit in jail all that time?”
“I don’t know if a judge will let him out on bail now that two deaths are linked to him. I’m guessing his fingerprints will be all over the oar used to knock Engle into the water. It’s his dock. The message makes it look like he called the office and lured Engle to his house. Catherine is good, though. She might work it.”
Ray leaned his back against the kitchen countertop. “Not to change the subject, but Danny called to remind me that it was our turn to bring the team snacks. I doubt if I’m going to be able to make the game tomorrow, but I can run over to the grocery store and pick up some sports drinks and granola bars now. Do we need anything else?”
“Nothing I can think of. Do you think Brennan—”
Ray held up his hand. “Enough. I’m not going to talk about this with you anymore. You know if you and Cory weren’t involved, I’d be on this case.”
“I know, Ray. I’m sorry. I really am.” If Cory and I hadn’t gotten involved, Wayne Engle might still be with us, too. That would be tougher for me to forgive and forget.
My dismay must have shown on my face, because Ray’s expression softened. He moved closer to run his thumb over my lower lip then brought his lips close to my ear. “Hey, we’re definitely home alone tonight. While I’m out, maybe you’ll think of ways to make it up to me.”
His hot breath sent chills through me. My mouth felt dry. “I’ll wear your Christmas present from last year.”
He pulled away and smiled wickedly. “I forgive you already.”
I admired the view his tight jeans provided as he headed for the front door. God, I loved following the man through the grocery store, taking in that view. How fortunate that he still loved and wanted me, too—even if I did cost him a big case. Ray was never one to hold a grudge.
He paused before leaving the house. “Check the mail. I think you’ll find it interesting.”
I went over to the wicker basket we kept by the back door and flipped through all the unsolicited catalogs, bank card offers, postcards for oil changes and new mufflers, the request for a water meter read, and a few unwanted bills. A single blue envelope was left.
I flipped open the already torn flap and pulled out the card from inside. Confetti spilled from it to my floor.
Balloons decorated its face. The card cover read, “A Really, Really Big Surprise!”
Inside in blue script, the card said, “You’re invited to a surprise party of monumental proportions. Isabelle and Jack are cele-
brating their ten-year wedding anniversary. Please join us for the celebration to end all celebrations.” A popular party house near their home was the site for the celebration, on a Friday night two weeks away.
A list of local bed and breakfasts was included for out of town guests with a handwritten note from Jack, indicating he had blocked rooms at all of them. I felt certain the one he visited today was included.
Another handwritten note fell to the floor. I picked it up. It said, “Jolene, please, please keep this party a secret from Isabelle. She does so much for me, and I really want to surprise her. I didn’t give you that much notice about the party so you won’t have to keep the secret as long. I can’t wait to see Isabelle’s face! Thanks, Jack.”
I couldn’t wait to see it either.
NINETEEN
SUNDAY I STOOD ON the sidelines of Danny’s first football game, surrounded by a group of parents who were even more excited than their kids. The fathers analyzed every play and call, yelling out advice to their sons. Mothers shrieked words of encouragement and triumph every time a play went off successfully and groaned each time the opposite was true. For the most part, the players ignored them, undoubtedly playing their best and hoping not to be the one who messed up during the game. They all wanted to be the one to make the winning touchdown and be carried away on the shoulders of their peers. I knew Danny did.
He’d chattered nonstop on the drive over. Every topic started with, “You know what, Jolene?” Then he’d proceed to tell me about his team or the coach or the professional football games he watched with Ray and how his team tried to emulate some of the plays. He talked about the different football positions and why he was a running back. He repeated dozens of things Ray had told him, making me feel all the more guilty to be the one with him at the game instead of Ray, stuck on patrol because of me.
Although I’d done my best to make everything up to Ray last night, he’d left for work this morning with a dejected look on his face. It wasn’t even the patrol duty so much as missing this very important game. So far, though, he hadn’t missed much.
Danny spent the first quarter on the bench. Apparently his team had a lot of players and the coach was making sure every player got in the game. But Danny cheered on his teammates, whooping when plays went well and screaming, “Shake it off” when they didn’t.
The opposing team’s players never changed, although they had plenty of benchwarmers. It was clear all their superstars were in the game. They scored two touchdowns, including one following a fumble by one of Danny’s teammates. His failure turned out to be good luck for Danny. The coach sent him in to replace the other boy, who sat on the bench and hung his head. His shame was almost palpable.
The next couple of plays, the ball was carried by or thrown to other players, not Danny. He still bounded up to the huddle and listened intently to the quarterback each time, nodding with enthusiasm as they broke an
d hustling to his position on the line.
On the final snap before the end of the first half, Danny got the ball. He froze for a moment, seeming shocked that he’d caught it, then turned and headed for the goal line. His legs pumped, ball tucked tight to his chest, his other arm outstretched to ward off a tackle. With a final burst of speed, he crossed the line.
Touchdown.
My eyes filled with tears. I clapped until my hands stung.
Danny danced, his knees knocking and arms whirling. His teammates jumped on top of him.
“Yeah, Danny, way to make the play! Wooo!”
I turned to find Ray behind me, screaming, his arm raised in triumph.
“Aren’t you on duty?”
Ray’s gaze never left the field. “Yep. Think of this as community relations.”
I rolled my eyes.
Danny jogged off the field with his team.
Ray high fived him. “Great play. You look good out there.”
Danny’s eyes lit up. “Thanks. Can we get the snacks out now?”
“Sure.” I walked over to the cooler and lifted the lid. The kids crowded in, grabbing sports drinks and energy bars from the box Danny offered. I backed away to give them room, ending up next to Ray.
“Danny’s got good hands. He’s got speed. He reminds me of Sean.”
Sean, Ray’s brother, had played football in high school, a running back no less. Ray and I attended every game. Sean was a star player, never on the bench, always in the game. He dreamed of being a professional athlete, and the scouts encouraged him. But in his senior year, he got injured. His knee was shot. He lost his drive for everything. Until he discovered drugs, that is. I hoped Danny wouldn’t turn out to be another Sean. “He definitely looks good out there. I think he’s having fun.”
As they ate, the boys replayed every moment on the field, clearly pumped after getting on the scoreboard. When the whistle blew for the third quarter, Danny hustled to the bench to watch the defense take the field.
Tired from my big night, I headed for the bleachers and took a seat about halfway up. Ray continued to follow Danny up and down the field whenever the offense was in the game, his lips moving although I couldn’t hear what he said. He’d become one of those fathers, blending into the sideline masses.
