George remembered telling Manziuk that Bart likely had the temperament for murder. He hadn’t been serious, of course. Just annoyed. The truth was Bart was much too lazy to expend the energy to either commit murder or to cover it up. And George sincerely hoped no one close to him, including Bart, fell under suspicion. Let the police arrest Shauna, or perhaps Hildy. Even Nick, although he liked Nick. But not a member of his family or someone from the firm! Although they did say that more often than not it was the husband in these cases. That would be great publicity!
Oh, well, they’d live through it. He just hoped the police made their arrest soon. If they didn’t arrest someone, all of them would remain under suspicion. And that would do the firm no good at all.
George sighed. His stomach still felt queasy. Maybe he should watch what he ate more, like the doctor had said. Or was it his ulcer acting up? Maybe it was his instinct again. Maybe there was more trouble to come.
He picked up the papers he’d been trying to read. There’d be a lot of trouble if he wasn’t ready to go to court with this case. He’d have to force himself to concentrate.
Across town, in a much less affluent neighborhood, Lorry Preston was concentrating on unpacking in the small, third-story room which would be hers for the summer. It was less than a quarter of the size of the bedroom she’d stayed in at the Brodies’, and she had to share a second-floor bathroom with the members of the family as well as another summer intern, but it would be comfortable. The walls were papered in a blue gingham check, and the spread and curtains were off-white and reminded her of old lace. There was a rocking chair, too, with matching blue pillows. The picture of Jesus with little children around him was one she’d often seen before. She felt much more at ease in this home than she had in the Brodies’.
She looked at the framed photograph lying face down on the spread. She sat on the edge of the bed and picked it up. Dean’s familiar smile stared at her.
She hadn’t written to him yet. He’d be worried. Perhaps she should phone. With a start, she realized she hadn’t telephoned her parents, either. What if they read about the murders in the papers?
She opened a drawer and set Dean’s picture inside. Then she hurried downstairs to phone both Dean and her parents. She wouldn’t have to do more than tell them about the murders and that she was fine. She would call Dean later in the week to talk about other things.
But while the short talk with her parents proved very simple, once they were certain that she was all right and that she was away from the site of the murders, the conversation with Dean was more difficult.
“I should never have let you go,” he said in a troubled voice.
“Dean, it was never a question of your letting me go. Don’t be so melodramatic.”
“Lorry, do you know how hard it is for me when you’re thousands of miles away and involved in a murder? Anything could happen.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not the point. I want to look after you. How can I do it when you’re so far away?”
“I thought I was relying on God to look after me.” Her voice was teasing.
“I know that, but he can use me.”
“Oh, Dean, God doesn’t need you to look after me. He can do fine all by himself.”
“You sound as if you don’t care if I’m around or not.”
“Why must you be so serious all the time?”
“You could have been killed!”
“Dean,” she said, her voice perplexed, “I trust God. I thought you did, too. Remember? ‘If I live I live for God, if I die I go to be with him.’ I thought you believed that.”
“I do, but not where you’re concerned, Lorry. I’d go crazy if anything happened to you.”
She hung on to the receiver, her fingers showing white around the knuckles. “Dean, that reminds me. I found your ring in my purse.”
“Put it on, Lorry.”
“I told you I wasn’t ready to make a commitment.”
“I slipped the ring in at the airport. I thought you might change your mind while you were away.”
“Dean—”
“I love you, Lorry. That’s why I’m so concerned about you. What more do I have to do to make you understand? I’d marry you tomorrow if you’d agree.”
“I have to go, Dean. I’ll call you in a few days.”
“I wrote you a letter. You should get it soon. Lorry?”
“Yes?”
“I really believe God wants us to be together. He wants me to take care of you.”
Her hand tightened on the receiver. “I’ll talk to you later, Dean.”
She hung up and went back to her room where she sat in the rocking chair and gently rocked back and forth. She’d attended the same church as Dean while she was going to college in Edmonton. During the last couple of years, they’d drifted together because they enjoyed doing a lot of the same things. But she’d only thought of him as a friend. She wasn’t ready to get serious. There were so many things she wanted to do before settling down and having a family.
Lately, however, being with Dean had become very difficult. He was so certain they were right for each other. So sincerely convinced. He’d declared his love for her on several occasions, once in front of several of her friends. He seemed to be a perfect match.
But was that enough? Wasn’t there something more? Something she should feel? Like the way she’d felt several times when she was with Nick Donovan? Or was it simply because Nick was so experienced in making women feel at ease?
She shook her head as if to shake off her thoughts. Nick Donovan was nothing to her. They didn’t have anything in common. Face it, she was feeling sexual attraction for the first time. She’d thought she was immune to such things.
She would fight it, though. She would have nothing to do with Nick Donovan. She laughed. As if she’d ever see Nick again! He’d only been flirting with her because there was nothing else to do all weekend. Likely he’d already forgotten they’d ever met.
Why did that thought make her feel so much worse?
Shauna had been talking with her family all evening. When her parents finally went to bed, and her three sisters, all of whom reminded her of Jillian, were asleep, she fell exhausted onto the leather couch in Peter’s study.
There had been talk only of Jillian and the funeral and the disposal of Jillian’s possessions. It was all settled now. There would be a service in the city and the body would be taken back home and buried there. Mrs. Jensen wanted it that way and Peter didn’t seem to care. As for her clothes and jewelry, Mrs. Jensen was to take everything home with her. So everyone was happy.
The difficult time would come when they got ready to head home and Shauna refused to go with them. Peter had said to leave everything to him, but she’d need a backup plan just in case Peter didn’t really mean what he’d said. No matter what happened, she wasn’t going home with her family.
After a long time, Shauna fell into a troubled sleep, tossing and turning, seeing Jillian’s face, stained with blood, coming toward her, threatening her, and Bart’s eyes mocking, telling her she was a spineless idiot. She woke up more than once, determined that from now on she would live her own life no matter what anyone said.
Manziuk and Ryan also had a busy night. It was nine-thirty when they returned to the station, having grabbed a couple of hamburgers at a drive-through window.
Ryan led the way to Manziuk’s office and kicked her shoes off before sitting on the edge of the desk.
“Don’t do that!” he barked.
Startled, she jumped off the desk. “I’m sorry. I—”
“No.” His voice was penitent. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid reaction.”
Manziuk hadn’t shut the door, and now another man walked in without knocking. “Long day, Manziuk?” the middle-aged man asked. He was fairly tall, with a solid build, fair hair, and a long, droopy mustache. His nose looked as though it had been broken at least once. The picture of an ex-hockey player, even though he’d never l
aced on a skate.
“Hello, Seldon. You’ve met, I trust.” Manziuk indicated Ryan.
“Yes.” Ryan said. “Superintendent.”
He nodded to her, then turned to Manziuk. “Been over to see Woody yet?”
“No chance. I talked to Arlie this afternoon for a few minutes. That’s it.”
“I was over at four. He’s looking pretty good. Quite a scare, though. He was asking about you. Worried that you’re on a case without him. Good thing he was where he was when it happened.” He shook his head in disbelief. “There’s one good mother-in-law story, eh?” He hit his fist into the palm of his hand. “Well, on my way out. How’s it going? Your report ready yet?”
Manziuk looked at him.
“I guess you’ve been busy. How close are we to making an arrest?”
“I haven’t got the reports from Forensics yet. There are some things I need to know. Fiber checks, mainly. Details.”
“Try to have something for me by noon tomorrow.”
“Provided we don’t have another murder before then.”
“Cross your fingers.” He stepped toward the door. “There’s fresh coffee in the kitchenette.”
Seldon left and Manziuk looked at Ryan. “Well, you heard the man. Let’s get to work. Ford should have something for us by morning.”
“Was that Sergeant Craig you two were talking about? Did something happen?”
“He had a heart attack this morning while visiting his wife’s mother in the hospital. He was gone, but they brought him back.”
“You’ve worked together a lot, haven’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Go and visit him. I’ll start transcribing my notes. When you get back, we can go over them.”
“No, I can’t leave.”
“You’re going and that’s an order,” she said, holding out his hat. “After you get back, we can work all night if necessary. But Sergeant Craig needs you now.”
He stared at her a long moment before taking his hat and walking out of the room.
Manziuk flashed his badge and was ushered into Woody’s room without any argument. He was in a private room in coronary care, hooked onto a whole battery of machines, and at first glance Manziuk didn’t even recognize him. His eyes were shut, and he looked like an old man. His chest rose faintly, and Manziuk knew he was alive. But that was all.
Manziuk quietly sat down in the chair that was drawn up beside the bed. Likely where Arlie had been sitting most of the day. He made little noise, but suddenly Woody turned his head slightly and opened his eyes.
“Paul?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” he said gruffly. “Thought I’d make sure they were treating you okay.”
Woody gave a small chuckle. “Oh, pretty good. You hear what happened?”
“You came to visit Arlie’s mother and you keeled over.”
“Yeah. Pretty good, huh? Pays to look after your mother-in-law. They said if I hadn’t been here, I never would have made it.”
“Fate, I guess. They knew we needed you around.”
Woody smiled. “Yeah.”
“So, I guess you’ll have to take it easy for a while.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Woody’s voice was frail, almost a whisper.
“You hear they stuck me with a woman?”
“Arlie told me. She thought it was funny. You think it’s funny?”
Manziuk snorted. “She’s bossy and she can’t keep her mouth shut. And she fights imaginary dragons.”
“Sounds like you twenty years ago. Come to think of it, sounds like you now.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Woody smiled again.
“Well, the nurse told me I couldn’t stay long. Seems you need a lot of sleep right now.” Manziuk stood up, his immense size making the figure on the bed look even less alive. “So you do what you’re told and get out of here ASAP, you hear?”
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
“All right.” Manziuk put his hand on Woody’s shoulder and squeezed gently. Then he turned and quickly left the room. His eyes were misty, and he didn’t want Woody to see. That would have worried him.
Manziuk drove back to police headquarters and worked with Ryan until midnight.
Loretta was in bed reading when he got home. “Did you see him?” she asked when he walked into the bedroom.
“Not for long. About two minutes.”
“Didn’t he look ghastly?”
“I don’t know. A bit gray. But not too bad.”
He was undressing as he spoke. Methodically. His shoes next to the door with fresh socks in them. Pants and shirt hung over the valet Loretta had bought for Christmas years ago—after he’d bumped his head on the dresser trying to find his pants in the dark when he’d been called to a murder scene in the middle of the night. His shoulder holster was on the nightstand, ready to his reach. The phone at his hand. Alarm set.
He pulled back the covers and collapsed onto his back. His six-foot-five frame made a long mound in the bed, which had been made specially for his bulk. Beside him, Loretta’s five-foot four-inch, one-hundred-twenty-pound form was barely noticeable. “Arlie taking it hard?” he asked after a moment.
“As expected. She’s a good cop’s wife. Just a bit off-putting that it was a heart attack and not a gunshot wound.” Loretta reached over and slid her arm around his neck. “Rough day?”
“Rough year.”
“You could always sell insurance.” It had become a joke, but it was no less the truth. Loretta’s brother was a successful life insurance salesman who’d been trying for twenty years to get Paul to go in with him.
Paul grunted. He turned and put his right arm around his wife. “Kids okay?”
“Yes. They were here when Arlie called. Michael was upset. Lisa went to the hospital with me.”
“Mike okay now?”
“Yes. But I think he’s worried it could have been you.”
“He always worries.”
“It’s tough being a cop’s kid.”
“Anybody could have a heart attack.”
“But Woody isn’t anybody. He’s your best friend. And he’s closer to the kids than their real uncles.”
“I know. How do you think I felt? Out on a crazy case with a girl who’s wet behind the ears as secondary! Knowing Woody almost died this morning, and still might, and all I could do was keep talking to this bunch of lunatics and try to keep the cop who’s taken Woody’s place from saying something stupid!”
“Did you know Woody wasn’t well? Arlie said Seldon told her you made the call not to bother him when you got pulled in yesterday.”
“I just thought he looked tired. He’s not a youngster, you know. He’ll be sixty before he knows it.”
“He won’t be back. At best, he’ll get a desk job. More likely, they’ll retire him.”
He groaned and buried his face against her long black hair. “I’ve worked with him so long,” he said after a minute.
“You’ll survive,” she said coolly. Changing the subject, she added, “I called Conrad.”
“How is he?”
“Fine. London is terrific. Scotland was wonderful. He can’t wait to get to Paris.”
“Did he like Oxford?”
“Loved it. And he thought the people he talked to seemed impressed.”
“So he thinks he’ll get the opportunity?”
“He’s very hopeful.”
“Dr. Conrad Manziuk, Professor of Ancient History, of Oxford University. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
She snuggled against him. “Sounds very good.”
“Lisa okay?”
“Yes. She was sorry she missed seeing you. She’ll try to get back in two weeks. Hopefully, you’ll be able to get some time off.”
“Do you hate being a cop’s wife?”
“Not as long as you’re the cop.”
He smiled. “You know, there’s no way I could do this job if I didn’t have you to come home to.”
“Do you want to
tell me about this case?”
“No. I just want you to be here.”
Jacquie Ryan’s mother was sitting in the living room talking to Jacquie’s Aunt Vida, her cousin Precious, and her grandmother. As was their custom, they were all wearing dressing gowns and slippers and sipping tea.
As soon as Jacquie opened the front door, she was showered with a barrage of questions.
“Where have you been so late? It’s after midnight.” Her mother’s voice.
“What’s happening with your case?” Her cousin Precious was the bloodthirsty one.
“Are you all right?” Her grandmother was always concerned with her health.
“Did anything exciting happen?” Precious again. “Did you arrest anybody?”
“Do you have your gun?” her mother chimed in. “Put it somewhere safe so it doesn’t go off.”
“Mom, you tell me that every single day!”
“Well, one of us has to remember.”
“Okay,” Jacquie said with a sigh. “I’ll put it in a safe place.”
“Then come back and tell us everything,” Precious said.
“You know I can’t tell you much!”
“Come and have some orange spice tea, child,” her grandmother said. “Did you have enough to eat today?”
“I suppose you ate at some greasy joint,” her mother said. “I’ll get you a chicken sandwich.”
“I can warm up some pea soup if you’d rather.” Her grandmother was always warming up something or other.
Jacquie came back from her bedroom, where she’d kicked off her shoes and locked her gun in its drawer. “I’m not hungry. We stopped for food around eight-thirty. I’d like a glass of milk. And I need to get to sleep soon. I have to be back to work by eight in the morning.”
“Child, it’s none of my business, I know,” her grandmother said, “but don’t you think you’d prefer a job where you keep regular hours?”
Her mother took up the theme. “I just wish you’d find a good man and settle down and raise a family. I want to be alive to see my grandchildren.”
“Are any of these policemen you work with single?” Her aunt finally got a word in.
“My goodness, Vida, where did you get your brains?” her grandmother asked, hands on hips. “Not from me, I hope. You don’t want her marrying a policeman. He’d never be home!”
Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) Page 30
