“He should be finished in a few minutes.” She handed me a cup with the number 300 and an embossed bowling ball beneath the numbers indicating Sue’s claim to a perfect game.
“Actually, you can probably help me as much as Aster.” I sipped the coffee, hoping she wouldn’t mind the questions.
“Are you still wanting to talk to Greg too? I think he’s working late tonight.” She took her coffee to the small table and sat in one of the cane-back chairs.
I joined her at the table. “You can probably answer some of the questions. How long has Greg been digging for Aster?”
Sherry turned her eyes from me to her coffee. She blew a soft breath into the mug as if hoping to cool the hot drink. “Since Aster’s been sick. The extra money sure helps them out.”
I nodded, not wanting to rush into a barrage of seemingly unrelated questions. “Must be hard. And tiring. Is he still working full time too?”
She swallowed a sip and nodded. “Over at the lumber yard. Fifty hours a week. Monday through Friday, and sometimes on Saturdays too.”
So why was he at Tiny Cormack’s the Friday before Trish was killed? I treaded carefully, not wanting to put her on the defensive. “When does he find time to dig?”
“Oh, he does the digging on Saturdays. During season, his boss lets him have Saturdays off.”
“So he was digging this past Saturday?”
She furrowed her brow and looked at me like she didn’t understand the question. “Yeah, for a little while. But he was done by noon. That’s why I said at the game you could come by late Saturday if you needed.”
I drank my coffee while thinking of a question that wouldn’t raise her suspicion any more than I already had. “How’s Brittany? Since she and Emma aren’t in the same class anymore, I hardly ever hear about her.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, I know, right? Funny how that works out. But she’s doing okay. Teenage drama—you know how that goes.”
I chuckled too. “Yeah, and I’ve got two of them.”
Sherry nodded, still laughing. “Greg asked Brittany if she’d help him dig some—he was going to pay her and everything—but the look she gave him, you’d think he’d asked her to clean an outhouse. Didn’t want to get her nails dirty.”
“Oh, God forbid they mess up the nail art.” I told her about Emma’s attempt with the false lashes and thought she was going to spew coffee.
“That is too funny. Girls. What are we going to do with them?”
“Just love them through it, I guess. So I guess she didn’t help her daddy dig this weekend either, huh?”
“Are you kidding? He was back before she even got up.”
“She didn’t want to come to Grandma and Grandpa’s for one of Sue’s home-cooked meals? I’d have helped him for that.”
Sherry shook her head. “Oh no. He wasn’t digging here Saturday. I’m not sure where he was.”
CHAPTER 20
I juggled Ivy, her diaper bag, and her sippy cup in the parking lot of the town hall. Emma carried her own overloaded book bag and an activity bag Doretha had packed full of coloring books, crayons, and toddler-sized puzzles. The parking lot was full; several cars sported bumper stickers showing support for Ed Stinger. Ed’s Cadillac donned a black and yellow striped wrap, giving the caddy the appearance of a bumblebee of mammoth proportions. Ridge’s Expedition was parked at the far end of the lot. The black Beemer parked in a STAFF parking spot belonged to Rick, the town attorney. The thought of seeing him again so soon after the other night dragged me down like an anchor.
The Jackson Creek town hall used to be the town’s three-bay fire station. Citizens decided the volunteer firemen needed more modern facilities more than the mayor and his staff, so they voted to fund construction of a new state-of-the-art firehouse.
A group of Stinger’s campaign workers stood outside the door, handing out campaign material to anyone with an open hand.
I stared at the postcard and rubber bracelet the worker handed to Ivy. “I didn’t think you could campaign on municipal property.”
“Like we really have anyone here who’ll actually enforce the law.” He shrugged and handed the same to the person behind me.
I nudged Emma inside, pointing her toward two tables near the front. The council “chamber” was the three bays that once housed the firetrucks, but now held fifteen rows of folding chairs, ten chairs to a row. The setup made it easy to approximate the number in attendance. Folding tables on a raised platform stretched end to end to accommodate the seven-member council. Why the tables were on a riser was a sore spot with many, giving some the idea the council thought they were above the average citizen. An old podium scavenged from the high school stood to the right of the makeshift dais with a cardboard copy of the town seal glued to its front. Two tables down front to the left were designated for media and the town attorney—me and Rick. This meeting couldn’t be more uncomfortable.
The chamber was filling up fast with a crowd of Ed Stinger supporters. The burning in the pit of my stomach told me this meeting was not going to bode well for Grayson. I spotted him near the front talking with Justin. He was in uniform, full dress blues. I’d only seen him dressed so formally a few times. Tommy’s funeral was one of them.
Nola was on the front row, near the “media” desk. The kids and I made our way through the crowd with several people smiling and reaching out to touch Ivy as if she was a golden calf. All the attention made her burrow into my shoulder. Emma sat in the saved seat beside Nola, greeting her with a warm hug.
Nola draped her arm around Emma’s shoulder. “Hey there, Sugar. You’re more beautiful every time I see you.”
With all the touchy-feely sentiments toward Ivy from strangers just getting through the door, there was no way the toddler was going to let me plop her down beside Nola at that moment. I sat down at the table and put Ivy in the chair beside me. For the moment, she was content with a coloring book and crayons.
I was digging in my bag for my notepad and micro-recorder when Ed Stinger himself knelt down beside me. “I was hoping you’d be here tonight.”
I turned the recorder on and placed it on the edge of the table. “I’m at every council meeting, Ed.”
He draped his arm around the back of my chair and patted my shoulder. “Maybe you can write up a good article and really stir up a bee’s nest.” He chuckled and my skin felt the tiny prickling legs of a swarm of crawling bugs.
Justin shook Grayson’s hand then made his way up to the dais where the rest of the council waited. Ed finally removed his arm from around my shoulder and took a seat behind Nola. The overpowering scent of his aftershave lingered.
Rick was less than ten feet away at the next table and had yet to acknowledge my presence. The crowd settled into their seats as a hushed murmur settled over the room. After Justin called the meeting to order, the council went through the Pledge of Allegiance, a moment of silence rather than prayer because Nancy Farmer was worried about the town being sued for praying, and then approved the revised agenda. With the formalities out of the way, they moved right into the first public speaking session where members of the public had signed up earlier to speak. The second public speaking part at the end of the meeting was first come, first served. Ed Stinger was the first person called to the podium.
After stating his name and address for the record, he pointed toward my table. “That little girl, that beautiful baby is now motherless. That little orphan is a direct product of that man’s incompetence.” He pointed to Ridge. An uneasy rustling moved through the crowd. “As a concerned citizen, I demand to know what precautions his department is taking to ensure our safety.”
Nasty searing bile churned in my stomach while I watched the spectacle. How dare this man use Ivy for his political gain. Ridge’s expression never wavered. Rock steady.
Stinger turned his pointing f
inger toward me. “Ava Logan. Found the murder victim’s body and can attest to the brutality of Miss Givens’ murder. The horrific manner in which that little orphaned child’s mother died is indicative of a serial killer. Citizens are afraid for their safety. We’d like to know what you’re doing, Sheriff Ridge, to make sure Miss Givens’ killer doesn’t strike again.”
“Yeah, what are you doing, Ridge?” a man shouted from the back.
More call-outs followed and Justin raised his hand for quiet. “Order, please. Can we keep this civil? Sheriff Ridge—would you like to speak?”
“He didn’t sign up,” Nancy Farmer snapped.
Justin turned and stared at her, his own anger bleeding through. “But he has the right to defend himself and his department.”
“This isn’t a court of law, Mr. Mayor.” Smugness oozed from Nancy’s self-righteous pores.
“Really? Sure seems like Grayson’s on trial, if you ask me.”
Grayson’s supporters rallied to life, shouting at Justin to let the sheriff speak.
“I say we let Sheriff Ridge speak,” Susan Layton, another council member said. Four of the other members agreed. The lone hold-out, other than Nancy, was Blythe Summers, Stinger’s nephew by marriage.
Summers looked at Nancy for approval. “It’s breaking protocol. If we do it once, we’ll have to do it each time someone wants to rebut a speaker.”
Justin turned to Rick. “Are there any laws we’d be breaking if we let the sheriff speak?”
It was like watching a horror movie through splayed fingers. I didn’t want to look, but couldn’t look away.
After an agonizingly long moment, Rick shook his head. “No. It would show good faith to let the sheriff address Mr. Stinger’s complaint.”
Ed Stinger’s clenched jaw showed his nonverbal disapproval of Rick’s fairness. Made me wonder how tight Ed thought his relationship with the town attorney really was. For a moment, my sympathy rose for Rick and the relationships crumbling at his feet, then I realized one of those was with Ed Stinger. My sympathy waned.
“Would you like to speak, Sheriff?” Justin asked.
Ridge strode to the front of the room, bypassing the podium. He stopped at the dais and turned to face the crowd, rather than the council. “Mr. Stinger, I’m not sure where you got your information—maybe you’ve been watching too many crime shows on television—but I can assure the citizens of Jackson County, Trish Givens’ death was not at the hand of a serial killer.”
“Have you ever dealt with a serial killer, Mister Ridge?” Stinger shot back.
“Have you? I mean, considering all your years in the real estate business?”
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. Stinger shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“With all due respect, Ed,” Ridge continued, much more pleasant than Stinger deserved, “there is no evidence whatsoever to support any fears of a so-called serial killer. Whoever’s throwing that term around is contributing to nothing but town gossip.”
Nancy Farmer snapped to attention. “Well, maybe the State Bureau of Investigation would feel differently. I propose that the S.B.I. be contacted immediately about overseeing this case.”
“You don’t control the sheriff’s department, lady,” a man called from the crowd.
The rumblings were growing louder, with the majority of the crowd throwing support for Ridge.
Justin banged the gavel to quieten the crowd. “Nancy, this council has no say so over the sheriff’s department. The county commissioners handle that.”
“Then perhaps we should propose it to them.”
A man in a khaki work uniform and ball cap stood up in the back. “Why don’t you investigate it yourself since you know everything?” The man’s statement brought shouts of support.
Justin called for order and banged the gavel again. The suddenness of the bang startled Ivy, sending her scampering into my lap, crying. Her pitiful wails and obvious fear hushed the ruckus as the crowd watched what some of them had come to see—a terrified motherless child on full display, clinging to the only safety net she now knew.
Emma rushed over and gently stroked her hair, shushing her in a quiet voice. “It’s okay, Ivy.”
“That right there is a perfect example of what our citizens are now living with.” Stinger adjusted the microphone on the podium to make sure his words were heard over Ivy’s crying.
I’d had enough. His comment pushed me over the edge. “Oh, good Lord, Ed. She’s crying because the sound of the gavel scared her. It has nothing to do with her mother.”
“Do you feel safe, Ava?” Stinger’s eyes burnt through my bones. My slight hesitation in answering fueled his fire even more.
“Didn’t think so. No one feels safe in our community anymore. And why should they? We have a do-nothing sheriff who comes with a history of doing nothing. Case in point—where was he when your very own husband was killed, Ava? I know where he was and I think it’s time the rest of Jackson Creek knows too.”
Every molecule of life-sustaining matter that flowed through my body froze in place. My lungs ceased to take in or push out much-needed air; my heart failed to pump blood through my veins. For the smallest of seconds, even my brain failed me, squeezing out rational thought while wrapping itself around a completely new fear. Could Cole and Emma ever forgive me?
The silence that enveloped the crowd was so total, I was certain they could hear my heart pounding in my chest.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Justin spoke. “Mr. Stinger—you’re not going to hijack a town council meeting and turn it into your own personal campaign platform. I think your allotted time at the podium is up. Next speaker.”
With apprehension, Betty Crowder made her way to the podium, looking back and forth between Ed and Justin as if waiting for one of them to explode. Ed finally stepped aside and relinquished his hold on the microphone, and the audience. I lost Ridge in the crowd; my eyes searched frantically for him, but to no avail. Suddenly, Ed was beside me again, crouching like before.
“So…you want to hear more?” he whispered. “Or maybe I should say, see for yourself. I have videotapes.”
CHAPTER 21
Ed Stinger had whispered in my ear the ugly truth. Afterward, the council continued with their meeting but my attention was elsewhere. It lingered like memories in a cheap motel room. I double-checked the micro-recorder and checked it again to make sure it was recording. Ivy fidgeted in the chair beside me. I checked the wall clock behind the dais again. Ten minutes had passed since the last check.
I couldn’t think, I couldn’t take notes, and I didn’t give a crap about what new crisis the council had moved on to.
I stuffed Ivy’s coloring book and crayons in my bag then turned to Emma. “Get your stuff together.” I knelt beside Nola and handed her the recorder. “I’ve got to get Ivy home. Do you mind staying and minding the recorder?”
She shook her head then spoke in a hushed voice. “Of course not. Leave me your notepad and I’ll take notes for you too.”
After scooping up Ivy, I slung my bag over my shoulder and motioned for Emma to head toward the door. Nola scooted over into my vacant seat at the table.
I struggled to draw air into my lungs. The building’s walls had sucked up every ounce of much-needed oxygen and held it at bay, teasing me. Once outside, I ran to the car, jostling Ivy on my hip, gasping like a drowning victim breaking free of the suffocating water.
“Mom, what’s wrong? Why are we running?” Emma was breathless from sprinting the distance to where we were parked.
“Everything’s fine, baby. I just need to get home.” I threw open the back door and dropped Ivy into her car seat. Fighting the aggravating buckle with one hand, I dug my phone out of my pocket with the other. My hands were shaking so bad, I could barely tap in Ridge’s
number.
Emma gently nudged my hand out of the way and finished securing Ivy in the seat.
“I need to see you,” I said as soon as he answered.
At home, I snuggled Emma and Ivy down in my bed with a movie on Emma’s tablet and a bag of microwave popcorn. Cole was in his room with his headphones on, hunkered down at his desk working on a history project. Finn followed me from room to room, aware of my anxiousness. Ridge waited downstairs in the sunroom.
I stopped in the kids’ bathroom to gather myself, hiding, clutching the cool vanity for support. Emma was suspicious enough already; I didn’t want her to see the trembling I was fighting to control.
Downstairs, Finn trotted ahead of me to the sunroom. Ridge stood at the window, looking out into darkness, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He heard us come in and turned toward me. For the first time in many years, a look of worry shadowed his face.
I fell onto the couch, burying my face in my hands, pushing back the sobs that were ready to pour out of me. I steeled my nerves, telling myself to hold it together. Don’t break down. Not now, not like this. I rubbed my palms on my jeans, hoping to wipe away the nerves as much as the dampness.
A deep breath helped to push the words out. “Stinger has a videotape of us going into a room at the Parkway Inn the day Tommy was killed.” There. I’d finally said it. It had taken me ten years to vocalize the fact I was in a hotel room with Grayson Ridge the day my husband was gunned down. Room 110. Ground floor. Near the ice machine.
“He’s bluffing. He has to be.”
I shook my head. “Stinger Realty bought the inn last year. Apparently, there’s a pending lawsuit where someone was hurt in the parking lot several years ago. The previous owners left a bunch of security tapes and some of them spanned the timeframe of when the person was injured. One of those tapes is the day Tommy was killed. Ed was reviewing the tapes to see if the person’s fall was caught on camera, and he saw you and an unidentified woman. Going into a room.”
Tell Me No Lies (An Ava Logan Mystery Book 1) Page 16
