by Pamela Tracy
Her dad was in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, just staring at the closet. He had a shirt on, plus a tie, but no pants. Laying Ryan on the couch, she placed protective cushions on the floor and then—glad for something to do, something to take her mind off her troubles even for a moment—turned to help her dad with his pants.
When she finished, her dad went back to staring at the closet. On the couch, Ryan continued sleeping. She sat down next to her father, thinking about decisions she didn’t know how to make.
Maybe a minute passed, maybe twenty, before her dad finally moved. He stood, rounded the bed and picked up the newspaper that waited on the bedside table. She noted how the bottom half of his shirt was unbuttoned and how he put the paper down, picked it up again and then did the same three more times until she gently removed it from his hand.
“Dad, how are you doing today?” She didn’t really expect an answer. “Would you like me to read some of the articles to you?” Immediately she decided that was a bad idea. There might be something in there about the murder. Information she needed to know but couldn’t stomach just ten minutes after returning to Sarasota Falls.
He sat down on the couch, one of his hands going out to pat Ryan’s foot. She checked her phone. A message from her service provider, but nothing from Larry. Could he get to her father, and what should she say to the front desk to warn them? One thing was for sure—she’d made the right choice returning. It wasn’t just herself and Ryan she had to consider. It was her father, too.
“So, Dad, did you hear that Abigail Simms’s son got a new job? He’s working at the car wash.”
Her dad wasn’t listening, but Ryan stirred, looked at her, turned over and went back to sleep.
Shelley kept talking, more to fill the silence than anything else. “When I picked up Ryan from preschool the other day, everyone was talking about whether or not all-day kindergarten would be offered next year at the elementary school. Guess I should be thinking about all that, huh, for the future?”
If she had a future...
Her dad started nodding at her every word—as she’d jabbered on about the weather, politics, TV shows—but he offered no response for over an hour. Just when she was about to say her goodbyes and figure out her next move, he spoke up. “I have a daughter named Shelley. She’s a little younger than you.”
She sat back down. “I am your daughter, Shelley. I’m here visiting you, Dad. I brought you some peppermints for your candy bowl.” At a convenience store halfway home, she’d spent money she didn’t have for candy he shouldn’t have. Because...because she might have to leave, disappear, figure out how to keep her children safe from their father.
And in the process she’d lose contact with her own father when he needed her most.
“Shelley’s in college. She’s studying finance,” Dad said.
“I graduated a few years ago, Dad. With a major in English and a minor in finance.” Those were happier days, when she believed everyone was a friend and the world was for the taking.
He continued, “She’ll finish school in a month.”
Shelley shook her head. She’d worked her way through college as a bank teller. Once she had her diploma in hand, she’d moved back to Sarasota Falls and intended to apply at the local branch. Her mother’s illness, followed by her father’s Alzheimer’s, had changed all that.
“We’re hoping she moves back home for a while,” her dad said. “I wonder where my wife is. Martha? Martha!” After a moment, he surmised, “She must have gone to the grocery store.”
Shelley smiled, playing along.
“You will stop by again?” her father asked. “When Martha’s here. She can probably answer your questions better than I can.”
Shelley wanted to tell him she’d be by again and soon. Instead, she bit back tears and patted his hand. She hadn’t asked any questions. Today she’d merely filled his candy dish, watched Ryan sleep peacefully on the living room couch, chattered aimlessly and stayed close to her father, wishing more than anything that he could put his arms around her and say, “We’ll get through this. Larry Wagner’s not gonna touch you. Somewhere out there, someone will see to it that justice is done.”
The baby kicked.
“Ow.” Shelley couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath.
“Martha, we need you,” her father called, waking Ryan up.
“Want Pooh,” Ryan wailed.
“If Martha were here, she’d give you Pooh,” Shelley’s dad said.
Shelley fled the room. Right now, all she wanted was someone to help her get from today to tomorrow.
But that person didn’t exist.
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE CARS DOWN from the entrance, Oscar called Riley and told him Shelley was at the care center. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” Riley sputtered.
“I had the time, and we needed to find her. That’s what I did. I—”
“And now,” Riley said, his voice steel, “you’re going to wait for me.”
Oscar said, “Yes, sir,” and recorded the time and date on his report.
He’d barely finished when Shelley burst out the front door, ran to her car and began frantically scrounging through the trunk. Oscar practically fell off his motorcycle in his hurry to get to her side.
“Looking for something?”
She whipped around, and when he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes, his chest tightened. He hated that she’d been hurt. And he might very well hurt her more because he was a man with a mission—hunt down her ex and no way could she avoid being caught in the cross fire.
Then her lips pursed as her eyes went up and down his uniform, recognition immediate. “A cop?” she said. “It just figures.”
“One of Sarasota Falls’ finest,” he said. “So, what are you looking for?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“What if I told you that the only reason I’m here is you?”
Surprise flickered on her face for a moment, but she recovered quickly. “Then I’d tell you that you have too much free time.”
He didn’t hesitate before responding, “I wish that were true.”
She took a deep breath and then released it. Oscar waited. Finally she turned back to her trunk and said, “I’m looking for one of Ryan’s toys. He’s inside and upset.” As if to prove it, she grabbed a coloring book that had been squished in a corner and was wrinkled from its proximity to a suitcase.
Oscar nodded and slowly walked around the car, noting the fast-food wrappers on the floorboards as well as the toys in the backseat and the suitcases and such stashed in the trunk.
“Want to tell me why you’re all packed up? Going somewhere? Returning, maybe? Does it have something to do with what you saw in your neighbor’s living room?”
He watched expressions flitter across her face as she tried to compose a safe response.
“The truth always works best,” he advised.
“I heard about Candace. I’m so sorry. She seemed like a nice woman. But I’d already planned on having an adventure today with Ryan. We went to Santa Fe, the children’s museum there, and just got back. It’s been some time since we’ve seen my dad, so we stopped by.”
“You have a receipt from the museum?”
Riley would admonish him for interrogating without him or his permission, but Oscar didn’t care. He was in Sarasota Falls partly to investigate Shelley Wagner, and that was what he was doing.
“It’s none of your business.” She looked back at the care center as the wind picked up, billowing her oversize shirt and emphasizing her pregnancy. She tugged at a loose strand of hair, curling it behind her ear. He remained quiet for a moment. Her hair was limp against her head and needed combing. Not once in all the time he’d been watching her had she been anything less than put together. This
was a woman on the edge, and she needed to talk to him.
“I promise,” he told her, “whatever you say, I will listen to and believe.” It was an awkward promise, because he intended to honor his declaration, but knew, just knew, she wouldn’t tell him what he really wanted to know.
She didn’t respond.
“Is someone after you?” He nodded toward her suitcases.
She looked at him with a serious expression. “Everyone’s after me. Because Larry Wagner was my ex-husband, I must know where he is.”
“I’ve never seen you like this.” Too late, he wanted the words back.
“I just met you yesterday. How would you know what I’m like? Oh, wait—you’ve been watching me?”
“Not long.”
Shelley stared at the sky. He wanted to tell her that she’d find no answers there. He doubted she’d appreciate the advice. She focused on him again and shook her head—dismissing him as she closed the trunk and turned toward the entrance.
Two steps had him by her side. “Chief Riley’s on his way. He has a few questions he’d like to ask you. Why don’t we go inside and sit down?”
He watched her hands fist, release, fist.
She quickly looked left and right, searching for something. He looked, too. Then she turned and marched back inside, past the front desk and down a hallway. Oscar stayed right behind her. He faltered at the door she passed through. It led to a combined bedroom and living area. An older man, her father, sat on the couch. His black hair was uncombed and unruly. The television was on, but the man wasn’t watching. Ryan, who Oscar had met yesterday morning, clutched a pillow, his cheeks wet, his head on Shelley’s dad’s leg. Shelley’s purse was on the floor at her father’s feet.
“Everything okay?” Oscar asked.
“No, nothing is okay, but if you’re asking if my dad and son are all right, then I think so.” She sat on the edge of the bed, looking from her dad and Ryan to him. “What do you really want?”
He recognized the tone of voice. She was trying to sound brave.
“Just for you to share what you might have seen in the neighborhood yesterday,” he said as he sat down.
Chief Riley appeared in the doorway.
Oscar watched as Shelley tensed. Thanks to her ex-husband, she probably knew that now started the questions, and more questions, and then a million more, and a file and reports to go in that file.
“So, Shelley,” Riley began. “Looks like you found trouble again.”
Actually, Oscar thought, trouble had found her. He watched as emotions danced across her face. She felt some kind of pull, a connection that he couldn’t tell whether was good or bad.
Probably bad.
It resembled the longing he’d felt ten minutes ago, wanting to pull her into his arms.
Riley glanced at her father, his face softening. “Is there someplace private we can talk?”
Oscar stood. “I noticed a few vacant rooms earlier. One of them should do.” He needed to ignore the connection between himself and Shelley and act like the professional that he was. He didn’t blink, didn’t give her a chance to say no. He stepped toward the door, expecting her to follow.
Except she didn’t move. Instead she asked, “What makes you think I know anything?”
“You want us to start with you leaving the scene of a crime and then fleeing the city?” Riley said.
She looked from Riley to Oscar, and he had to give her credit. She kept her voice steady. “I didn’t flee. I took Ryan to Santa Fe for an adventure. I had nothing to do with that girl’s death, nothing.”
“I hope that’s the case,” Riley said.
Shelley looked up sharply. “It is.”
“I didn’t like it there,” Ryan mumbled. “Mommy forgot to pack Pooh.”
“I hate when that happens,” Oscar told the little boy. “My mom once forgot my stuffed Spider-Man. I cried for an hour.”
Ryan nodded.
“I had to hold on to a pillow.” Oscar smiled. “It made it a little better.”
Ryan nodded again and clutched his cushion tighter.
Oscar sat back down, facing Shelley. “We pretty much know your every step starting early yesterday morning.”
“Because you knew who I was yesterday morning.”
He heard accusation as well as an edge of disappointment thread through the question. “Yes, I did. But—”
Luckily Riley interrupted. “We didn’t start looking for you, Shelley, until your landlord told us you’d packed up and left. With a murder just across the street, and a witness putting you at the victim’s window and looking in, you became a priority.”
She grimaced. “I don’t want to be a priority.”
“Good,” Riley said calmly. “Tell us what you know.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Shelley Wagner, you know plenty,” Riley accused her.
“I’m Shelley Brubaker,” Shelley corrected him.
“I knew a woman named Shelley Brubaker.” Shelley’s father spoke up from the couch. “Can’t remember if she was a relative or a neighbor. But she was a good girl.”
* * *
SHELLEY WANTED TO tell her father that Shelley Brubaker was no longer good, but if she did that, she’d start crying. No way, not in front of the cops. “Dad, I’m taking Ryan to Cara up front, and then I’m going to go down the hallway and talk to these gentlemen. I won’t go far.”
Then she looked at the two cops, the ones ready to escort her away as if she were a criminal. Bad enough to deal with Riley, but Officer Guzman was the man from yesterday, the nice one with the German shepherd. She’d thought he was just a guest at Bianca’s bed-and-breakfast.
She took Ryan by the hand. He came willingly, holding the cushion and looking up at Oscar somewhat in awe.
“I ’member you,” he said. “You have dog.”
“Peeve,” Oscar supplied.
“I like dog,” Ryan said.
Shelley silently agreed. She liked the dog, too; she didn’t, however, like the cop. She followed him, determined not to cry, noting how Riley brought up the rear, in essence trapping her.
She’d known Riley all her life. He was a good cop. He’d been the officer she’d called just six months ago after the first frantic phone call came from an irate friend who’d just been notified by her bank that she no longer had any money.
Shelley’d already been gathering the proof that her husband had taken her for every dime. She hadn’t, however, known the full range until she’d heard the shrill voice. “I went to buy Christmas presents and my bank card was rejected!”
Shelley still remembered holding her cell phone tight, letting the truth of the words sink in and knowing the black hole of her life had just gotten blacker.
“The bank says,” the caller continued, “that the money was withdrawn by your husband. The check I wrote him was for six hundred dollars, and the check he presented was for six thousand dollars. All I had!”
Shelley’d mumbled an apology, followed by a promise to find out what had happened, and then tried Larry’s cell number: disconnected. Before she could move off the couch, three more calls came from friends experiencing the same thing. Then the bank president had called. Seemed Larry had been busy that morning. The bank president deemed it suspicious activity. Soon the whole town knew.
By the time Chief Riley arrived, Shelley had checked the dresser where Larry kept his things. His clothes remained, except for a few favorites. She’d have never noticed them gone if she hadn’t looked.
She’d been so upset, she’d thrown up.
Once the story broke, Shelley became the scapegoat. No surprise—she’d been the one left behind with no money to start over. She’d changed her phone number and email address, but still the calls and emails came. Mos
t were from people who wanted her to pay them back. Not possible. Riley couldn’t offer any meaningful advice except that she “wasn’t the only one it had happened to.” Not what she needed to hear, but she’d seen it in his eyes. She was just one more victim: not a role she desired and not one she intended to keep forever.
Now here she was again, walking down the hallway with Chief Riley, curious glances aimed her way and an unsettling feeling of guilt warring with the flutter of the baby’s movements.
A shout came from her father’s room. “I think Shelley Wagner was a neighbor!”
Shelley blinked hard. She would not cry.
Riley offered, “Maybe it would be better if we headed to the station and—”
“Not an option, unless you’ve got a warrant for my arrest.” She wasn’t heading anywhere. Thanks to Larry and the myriad of police officers who had taken over her life six months ago, she knew her rights.
“That can be arranged,” Riley said.
Shelley rolled her eyes and led them down a hall. After turning Ryan over to Cara, who worked the front desk and always had time for the little boy, Shelley headed for the piano room. On weekends sometimes it held as many as forty people: patients, staff, visitors. During the week, it was usually empty unless Mr. Vaniper was in the mood to play.
He was and doing a perfect rendition of “Send in the Clowns.” If she hadn’t been on the brink of tears, she’d have laughed. Who were the clowns? The cops? The people her ex-husband had ripped off? Her?
Mr. Vaniper, who had the room next to her father’s, wore his black tux. He played music he no longer remembered the words to in front of an audience he didn’t know wasn’t there. The tune came to a crescendo and ended. Mr. Vaniper wandered from the room.
Officer Guzman stepped up to the front desk and said something to Cara while Chief Riley escorted Shelley to a beige couch, covered with roses and vines, flanked by two pink high-back chairs. A coffee table with a fake flower arrangement was in front of the couch. Shelley sat on a chair. No way did she want to be trapped between these two cops. Her innocence had dissolved almost as quickly as her trust in the system.
