In the Dog House

by V. M. Burns

  Officer Keep-My-Cards-Close-to-My-Chest looked at the results but didn’t say anything to me. Instead, he walked over to the wall of policemen and conferred.

  As they huddled, a car pulled alongside the officers and then parked in front of my car. The officers went on high alert. Each of them automatically moved their hands to their hips to their weapons.

  Suddenly, the air felt tense and static filled.

  The car doors opened. Stephanie and David got out.

  “Get back in your vehicle.”

  “Don’t move.”

  “Stay where you are!”

  The officers yelled and moved toward my children, their weapons drawn and pointed.

  “Stop! Those are my kids,” I yelled and started to move forward.

  “Stay where you are,” someone shouted.

  I froze.

  Suddenly, a Dodge Charger pulled up with lights flashing and skidded to a stop in between Stephanie and David and the ready-to-fire policemen. Officer Joseph Harrison leapt out of the car. He motioned for David and Stephanie to stay put, then walked over to the patrolmen and spoke to them.

  I couldn’t hear what was said, but the result was that the officers visibly relaxed. They all put their weapons back in their holsters. Their shoulders eased, and eventually they all walked back to their vehicles.

  I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I exhaled.

  Officer Harrison walked over to me. “Stephanie called me. You okay?”

  I was so thankful to see him, I hugged him. “Yes, and thank you for coming.” I might have clung to him for an uncomfortably long time because he motioned that Stephanie and David could come over.

  “Is it okay for me to get out of the car now?” Dixie yelled.

  I laughed and pulled away in time to see the last of the police cars roll away.

  Stephanie ran and threw her arms around my neck and hugged me close. When David arrived, I pulled him into a group hug and clung to my two children as tears streamed down my face.

  Officer Harrison walked over to his vehicle and let Turbo out of the back of the car and walked him to the side of the road, where he sniffed and then relieved himself. When they were done, they took a slow walk back to us. I suspected he wanted to give me time to gather my emotions.

  “Thank you so much, Officer Harrison,” I said.

  He nodded. “Glad I could help, and it’s Joe.”

  Stephanie walked over, reached up, and kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come.” She choked up, and seeing my daughter so emotional made me emotional. I started crying all over again.

  Dixie ran back around to the passenger side of the car, reached inside, and pulled out a box of tissues. Obviously, she’d found the box of tissues in the glove box as she had been digging for the vehicle registration. She brought the box around, and Stephanie and I both made good use of them.

  I stared from Stephanie to Joseph Harrison. “You say Stephanie called you?”

  He nodded.

  I turned to Stephanie. “How did you know?”

  A semi sped past us so rapidly, the ground shook. It sounded like a freight train, and it generated a huge gust of wind that nearly tore David’s cap off of his head.

  Detective Harrison started to speak, but stopped when two more semis passed with double the effect of the last truck. He mouthed the words, Follow me.

  We nodded our understanding and then got into our respective vehicles.

  When I opened the car door, David hurried over and whispered, “Mom, maybe I should drive.”

  I nodded and got in the backseat.

  Detective Harrison drove to the next exit and got off. There was a twenty-four-hour truck stop restaurant right off the interstate and he pulled into the parking lot.

  Inside, the tiny restaurant was practically empty, which worked out well, considering there were five of us and a dog. I thought the staff would have balked at the idea of a dog in the restaurant, but apparently Turbo was well-known there. When the skinny-as-a-rail waitress spotted us, she hurried to the back. When she came out, she put a bowl of water on the floor and a huge bone in front of Turbo before she even greeted us. Turbo lapped up nearly half the bowl of water and then lay down and gnawed on his bone.

  Once the important guest was taken care of, the waitress diverted her attention to the rest of us. “Hi, Joe, you brought company this time.” She smiled broadly.

  Officer Harrison nodded but didn’t elaborate.

  The short, perky waitress had big blue eyes and long, thick, dark curly hair. She’d braided her hair and pinned it to her head. “Coffee?”

  We all nodded and she hurried to the back and came back with a pot and five cups. She put a non-sugar sweetener in a blue wrapper in front of Officer Harrison and then filled each of our cups. When she was done, she asked. “You want menus?”

  We shook our heads, and Officer Harrison said, “We’ll just have the coffee for now, Carla.”

  Carla nodded and went back to wiping down the already-clean counters.

  We sipped our coffee and sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes.

  “You must come here often,” Stephanie said. “The waitress knows you and Turbo so well.”

  The question seemed nonchalant, as though she was merely making casual conversation. However, when Stephanie graduated the bar and had her first court case, I went to Chicago to see her. I was impressed at the way she questioned witnesses. She started out as though she was merely making casual conversation, but with each answer, she drew her noose tighter and tighter around the person’s neck, and before they knew what hit them, she had blindsided them into revealing their darkest secrets.

  Officer Harrison smiled. “I’ve known her for twenty years.” He took a sip of coffee. “She’s my sister.”

  I doubted Officer Harrison noticed the tips of Stephanie’s ears. They turned red when she was embarrassed.

  “How wonderful,” I said. “She’s so cute.”

  Officer Harrison looked toward his sister and his eyes softened. “She’s a good kid. She works here at night to pay for school. She’s taking classes during the daytime.” He took another sip of coffee. “I worry about her, so Turbo and I come by whenever we can to keep an eye on things.”

  I was already viewing Officer Harrison quite fondly, and hearing this just made him rise a bit higher in my estimation. I suspected Stephanie was looking at Officer Harrison quite fondly too. “So, you said Stephanie called you?”

  He nodded.

  I turned to stare at my daughter. “But why?”

  Stephanie put down her coffee and started to explain. “Joe…I mean, Officer Harrison…gave me his card. I got—”

  “No, I mean how did you know anything was wrong?” I paused. “Don’t get me wrong, I totally appreciate the help, but how did you know?” I turned to Stephanie. “How could you possibly have known what was going on and where we were?”

  Dixie piped in. “That was me. I texted her.”

  I should have known, but in my own defense, a lot had happened in the past few hours, and I was completely rattled. I had nearly been arrested and the very thought of it made my stomach quiver. Drinking those glasses of wine was stupid, and I should never have gotten behind the wheel of the car. While I didn’t feel the wine had impaired my reflexes, I was old enough to know better. I was already an emotional basket case. The last thing I needed to do was mix my emotional muck with alcohol and a nearly two-ton weapon. It was stupid, and I was thankful I hadn’t injured myself or anyone else. I stared into my coffee cup at the ripples the liquid made when anyone jolted the table. One small bump by anyone transferred through the table into my cup. The results varied from small ripples to what amounted to waves that caused my coffee to slosh outside of the cup onto the table. I could see how one b
ump in the always-under-construction interstate, an errant piece of debris, or a deer could have led to a serious accident in which an innocent person could have been injured…or worse. Something tugged at the back of my mind, but, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what it was.

  “Earth to Lilly.” Dixie touched my arm.

  The unexpected touch jolted me back from the precipice of despair but caused me to jump, spilling most of my coffee onto the table.

  Carla hurried over with a towel and the coffeepot. She quickly wiped up my mess and refilled my cup without missing a beat.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Mom.” Stephanie reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

  “Accidents happen.” David yawned.

  I shook my head and took one of the extra napkins Carla had left before she hurried away. “I’m not talking about the coffee.” I dabbed at my eyes. “I am sorry I spilled the coffee, but I’m sorrier I did something so stupid. I should never have had those two glasses of wine. I shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel of the car. Thankfully, no one was injured, but that situation could have turned out so much worse.” I stared at my children. “I’m really sorry.”

  Stephanie squeezed my hand again.

  David nodded and took a drink of coffee.

  They say confession is good for the soul. So, I decided, in for a penny, in for a pound. I took a deep breath. “I’ve been debating whether or not I should do this, but…I raised my children to be truthful and to trust that justice will prevail. There’s no right way to do a wrong thing.” I took another deep breath. I then proceeded to tell Officer Harrison about the gun we’d found in the glove box of the car.

  “Where’s the gun now?” he asked.

  I nodded to Dixie and she put her purse on the table.

  Officer Harrison looked around the restaurant. The only other person there was a trucker sitting at the counter with his back to us. He nodded and Dixie reached into her bag, pulled out the weapon, and placed it on the table in front of him.

  He looked at the weapon. “I’m guessing you’ve both handled this?”

  We both nodded.

  “I’m afraid we didn’t even think about fingerprints,” I said.

  He picked it up. “I doubt if the killer would be stupid enough to leave his fingerprints on the weapon.” He examined it and then put it inside his jacket. “Have you ever seen this gun before?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not fond of guns. That’s the gun that killed him, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “We won’t know for sure until we get a ballistics report, but it fires the same type of bullets, nine millimeter, which is what killed him. I’d say it’s almost certainly the murder weapon.”

  “It’s obvious someone is trying to frame her. Why would she leave the gun in the glove box?” Stephanie asked.

  Officer Harrison’s facial expression hadn’t changed, but something in his tone told me he wasn’t happy. “The district attorney will say she hadn’t had time to dispose of the gun yet.”

  “Time? She could have driven to Lake Michigan any number of times and tossed that gun into the lake,” David argued.

  “Maybe.” Officer Harrison shrugged.

  “If she was guilty, would she have confessed she had the gun and given it to you? You didn’t know she had it. She could have kept her mouth shut and driven to the lake or found the nearest sewer grate and gotten rid of it. You would never have known,” Stephanie argued.

  Officer Harrison stared into his coffee. He was silent, but his silence spoke volumes. The air was electric and tense. When he eventually looked at Stephanie, there was something in his eyes that told me where his allegiances lay. He was a cop, first and foremost; he was a cop who had a duty to fulfill, and he intended to perform his duty, no matter who got hurt.

  Stephanie must have seen the same thing I did, because she nodded briefly and closed her eyes for several seconds. When she opened them, it was as though a veil had dropped, shading her inner self. “Alright then, I guess we know where we stand.”

  When she spoke, I felt as though the temperature had dropped ten degrees, and I shivered.

  For one brief instant, there was a flicker in the back of Officer Harrison’s eyes, a pleading, hungry look that flashed for a nanosecond, but as quickly as it came, it passed. “I’d better get this gun to the station.” He stood. Turbo rose slowly and stretched with the bone still in his mouth. Officer Harrison waved to his sister and walked out into the sunrise.

  CHAPTER 8

  The limousine was scheduled to arrive in just a few hours, so we paid for our coffees and left a generous tip for Carla. Then we hurried home to dress for the funeral. As I showered, I tried not to think about the fact this might be the last time I got to take a shower alone for many years. On television, the shower situation in prison was never ideal. I briefly wondered how long I could go without showering before my own body odor would knock me out. I reined my thoughts away from that rabbit trail. It was best not to stroll down that path.

  I dressed in a black sheath dress, with black stockings, and looked at myself in the mirror. Mourning didn’t suit me. I felt like such a fraud. I was sorry Albert was dead. I didn’t wish death on anyone, but I was far from the grieving widow. I looked in my closet and found a black suit. I donned the skirt and a charcoal gray blouse. I replaced the black panty hose with nude and put on sensible black ballet flats. One last look in the mirror assured me I looked appropriate, without being overly somber. I grabbed my Bible and rosary from the dresser and headed downstairs.

  David was downstairs in a black suit, with a new white shirt that still bore the wrinkles from where it had been folded before he took it out of the bag. He must have picked it up at the airport on his way home. The mother in me was tempted to tell him to take the shirt off so I could iron the wrinkles out. However, the mom in me also realized my son was grieving the loss of his father. Regardless of their relationship, Albert was still his father. The fact the two of them weren’t close probably made this even harder. There had to be a part of my son that wished things had been different, yet knew now they could never reconcile and have a better relationship. Someone had taken that option away. As a mom, I needed to provide whatever love and emotional support I could to my children. His father was dead, and it didn’t matter if his shirt was wrinkled or not. I walked up to my son and gave him a hug.

  He seemed startled at first but hugged me back in a perfunctory manner.

  When I felt him pull away, I held on to him tighter and refused to let go. Initially, his body was a bow, drawn tight and ready to fire. After the hug continued, his shoulders relaxed and his body slumped. When I felt his sobs and the dampness of tears on my neck, I knew he would be okay. He needed to grieve, to cry and to release the emotions I knew he wouldn’t allow himself to show at the funeral. My son, the actor, would put on the performance of a lifetime. He would push his emotions down deep within himself and put on the stoic exterior mask he’d learned to wear after years of hiding his emotions.

  I don’t know how long we stood that way, but when he’d cried himself out and the sobs ceased, only then did I slacken my hold and release him. When he stood up, I took his face in my hands, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered, “I love you.”

  He looked in my eyes for confirmation. He must have found it, because after a brief pause, he nodded.

  David and I had always understood each other. He was a strong, independent spirit, and I was thankful to have him in my life.

  When I stood back and looked around, I saw that Dixie and Stephanie were wiping away tears. I looked at Stephanie. She was a different animal than her brother. She wouldn’t keep her feelings bottled up. Stephanie was more likely to join a kickboxing class to kick some butt rather than bury her feelings and let them fester. She smiled, and I knew she was okay. I held out my hands to hug her anyway and engul
fed my daughter in a warm embrace. However, from the first moment, I could tell the difference between the two.

  When the doorbell rang, we separated. Dixie went to open the door, while Stephanie and I shoved tissues into our purses.

  We walked outside, and when the driver opened the door, I was surprised to see that the vehicle was already full. Inside were Albert’s mother and father, grandmother, two brothers, and their wives. In fact, the limo was completely full, and there was no room for me or the children.

  Mrs. Conti refused to look in my direction but stared straight ahead. “I told him not to stop. There’s no room, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Part of me wanted to reach in and pull them all out of the car one at a time. I sensed the frustration and anger rumbling inside of Stephanie—like the winds of a hurricane. Perhaps it was that sense of right and wrong—and of justice—that lived in both of us that wanted to shout, This isn’t right! There was another part of me that felt weary. I had been up all night and was tired. I was facing the likelihood of being arrested for a crime I hadn’t committed. Part of my brain wondered if there was even such a thing as justice. There were certainly a lot of people who had been tried, convicted, and executed for crimes they hadn’t committed. Would I be one of them? Before I allowed those dark, melancholy thoughts to engulf me, I shook myself.

  “Fine.” I slammed the limo door shut. I marched toward my SUV and dug my keys out of my purse. “We’ll take my car.”

  David hurried to catch up to me. “Perhaps I should drive.” He took the keys out of my hand.

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “I know you’re not, but I could use something to do.” He walked over to the passenger door and held it open for Stephanie, Dixie, and me.

  We got into the car, and he closed our doors and then hurried to the driver’s side and got in.

  “This is crazy,” Stephanie huffed.

  I shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  Stephanie stared at me. “Why are you so calm?”

  “Yeah, why aren’t you yelling and screaming? I would be, if my mother-in-law tried that crap with me!” Dixie said.