by Pamela Tracy
“But I believe you’re right about Shelley when you said she hadn’t had an affair with Cody,” Oscar said. “Trust me—”
This time, it was Riley who interrupted with a wry laugh. “As a cop, you can’t afford to trust.” Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Trust me on that.”
Oscar knew all about trust and its power. He could say the word even if he couldn’t believe in it. He’d learned the hard way that trust was fleeting, and now he stayed away from commitments unless they were to his immediate family or his job. Most of all, he spurned serious relationships. He didn’t want to marry, have a family, only to have it fall apart due to his work hours and conditions.
He never wanted to disappoint those who believed in him.
No one had been able to find his father. Now Oscar worked for an organization who not only found people but also actually made the world better.
Oscar would find Larry Wagner.
He would find Candace’s killer.
Unlike the police in his hometown, he would not give up. Funny how he’d wound up on the Sarasota Falls force. It was even smaller than Runyan’s.
Oscar wondered if that was why Chief Riley hadn’t paid more attention to a stranger named Larry Wagner when he’d come to town. Oscar would have.
Chief Riley wasn’t perfect, but he was a decent cop. Oscar hurried to keep up. “Candace wasn’t someone who would cheat.”
“You never know what really goes on behind closed doors.”
“Why don’t you let me talk to Shelley? Maybe, because I’m new and closer to her age, she’d be more likely to share.”
Riley raised an eyebrow. “You do much interrogating? That badge is still pretty shiny. And she already knows you were watching her even before the Livingston woman’s murder.”
“Can’t learn without opportunity.”
Riley shook his head. “I think she’d trust you more because of that fool dog of yours, not your age, but go ahead. Shelley’s car is over there. Convince her to get out of it and come in the station. She’s probably got cold feet.”
Oscar turned around. Sure enough, Shelley sat in her green Impala with her head leaning forward against the steering wheel. Slowly he walked toward her, trying to figure out what to say.
He thought about his job, his town, his state of mind. Maybe right now, as restless as he was, he needed to be here. Needed the ordinary before the extraordinary. He’d decided to be a cop when he was just ten years old and caught a rerun of some old cop show featuring a hero in every single episode. Oscar’d been enthralled. This cop would never run out on his wife and children. He’d wanted to protect people. Oscar figured the FBI was one step beyond that.
Extraordinary.
As much as he wanted excitement, craved it, he’d also loved how just a simple helping hand made a difference. He’d wound up changing a tire while on duty and heard later that it did indeed fall under his job description. Riley called it community policing.
He wished that was all he was doing with Shelley.
He rapped on her window. The look in her eyes as she climbed out of her vehicle told him how unhappy she was, yet she kept a smile for Ryan, who was just waking up and crawling over the seat and out of the car after her. He held a toy truck in one hand and a cookie in the other. “Want to go home. Now. Want Pooh.”
“Not yet,” Shelley said, pulling Ryan close to her side. “We’re just stopping by to answer a few more questions.”
“Don’t like it here,” Ryan said.
“Officer Bailey—that is, Leann—is on her way,” Riley said as they escorted Shelley and Ryan into an interrogation room. “She’ll be here in five minutes to watch over Ryan.”
“This shouldn’t take long,” Shelley said, for the first time her voice soft, no edge. “Can’t he stay with me?”
“Leann will keep him in the break room.” Riley’s tone brooked no argument. “You don’t want him to see some of these pictures or hear any of the details.”
Ryan was wide-awake and assured Oscar, “I like pictures.”
“Then,” Oscar said, “I’ll make sure to get you some pictures of Peeve. Would you like that?”
“I want Peeve.” Ryan looked around as if expecting to find Peeve somewhere nearby. “Can I have him?”
“Well, Peeve has a home. But he’d love for you to pet him next time you see him.”
The look Shelley shot Oscar didn’t promise a second encounter. Ryan didn’t seem to notice. “I can have a dog,” he announced.
“When we move to a house with a backyard,” Shelley promised.
“Ten years.” Ryan’s tone was exactly like his mother’s. He also held up eight fingers.
“Ten years,” Shelley agreed, holding up ten fingers and reaching over and adjusting Ryan’s count.
“Ten years.” Ryan’s voice turned pensive, and Oscar got the idea that a dog was a hot topic in Shelley’s household.
“Peeve’s my best friend,” Oscar said. “I’ve had him since my second deployment in the military.”
Oscar hadn’t picked Peeve from a litter or rescued him. Peeve had done a stint in search and rescue. When a ceiling collapsed, Peeve’s handler was killed. Oscar saved the dog, and then he and the dog went on to save three people buried in the rubble. There’d been no time to think because the next morning, another call came in, a rural neighborhood bombed, and when Oscar arrived on the scene, someone handed him Peeve’s leash.
They’d been together ever since. When Oscar exited the military, Peeve retired and went with him. Now the old dog had arthritis and was losing his sense of smell, so much so that Oscar and his aunt were warming up the dog’s food just to entice him to eat more. “There’s something pretty special about a dog,” Oscar said softly, more for Shelley’s ears than Ryan’s.
“We’ll get a dog. It will just take time,” Shelley said.
Officer Bailey arrived and promptly bent down to give Ryan a hug. “Good to see you, buddy. It’s been a while.”
Ryan smiled. “Name’s not Buddy.”
“We might need a while longer,” Shelley muttered.
Oscar looked at her, thinking that she was really, really young to be going through all this.
“I’m getting dog,” Ryan told Officer Bailey as they disappeared down the hall.
Shelley closed her eyes, and Oscar thought about what Ryan had shared. “Maybe in ten years.” Was that how long she thought it would be before they had a real home again?
Oscar’s aunt, Bianca, was more than annoyed that she’d lost money to Larry Wagner, but other than a decrease in her savings account and an increase in how much her family worried about her, nothing had changed.
Everything had changed for Shelley.
None of it for the better.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE POLICE STATION was overly bright, maybe to blind lawbreakers the moment they walked through the door. It also smelled of lemon cleaner, too much lemon cleaner. Either that or the pregnancy was heightening her sense of smell.
“I need to use the restroom,” Shelley said.
Riley nodded, and she took off down the hall. She wasn’t going to cry, act scared or do anything to let these people know how defeated she felt. After she did what needed to be done, she washed her hands and ran cold water over her face. She was tired of things happening to her. Every time she turned around, some new roadblock appeared. She pulled her phone from her purse and reread her latest text message.
One thing was for sure. Shelley wasn’t going anywhere. But she was seriously thinking about no longer reading text messages, ever. First, her ex must have a dozen phone numbers because if she blocked one, he simply sent a message using a different number. Now her text messages were nothing but bad news. Like the one she’d received back at her father’s care facility that ma
de her knees weak.
Sarasota Falls Bank recently returned one of your checks, bank card purchases, or other transactions due to insufficient funds. While this was probably the result of an oversight on your part, you need to deposit funds to cover the charges shown below and any future transactions that may be presented for payment.
This morning she’d had over two thousand dollars in the account. Money she’d budgeted down to the last dime. Money meant to see her through the next few months and birth of her child. She’d withdrawn two hundred in cash yesterday morning when she’d fled. It might last her until the end of the month since she had food and her rent was paid.
Rent on a garage apartment she’d just tried to break the lease on. Ha, she had the worst kind of luck.
She was due to have a baby in three weeks and she didn’t have enough money for her next bottle of prenatal vitamins.
Quickly she called the bank. The manager was a friend of her father’s. He listened and promised to call her back. She felt like the floor had just been taken from underneath her.
Shelley listened to Officer Leann Bailey offer Ryan ice cream. They must keep it in the break room for all the criminals’ kids.
I am not a criminal, she reminded herself.
No matter her innocence, her association with her ex-husband and his crimes had made her feel guilty, but she would get over that.
“Thank you,” Ryan said, and Shelley could hear him giggling up at the deputy as if she were his preschool teacher. Sometimes Shelley thought that if she ever saw Larry again he’d regret it, not because he’d hurt her but because he’d hurt Ryan, who was old enough to remember, and the yet-to-be-born Isabelle, who would have to know the truth someday. Small towns could be long on memory and slow to forgive, at least when it came to their pocketbooks. And someday, Ryan and Isabelle would have to answer the questions their friends and their families asked them.
Riley beckoned her down another short hallway with “Come this way.”
She followed him to one of two interrogation rooms. “Have a seat.” Riley pulled out the chair for her. Then he surprised her by excusing himself before disappearing out the door.
The table she sat at was old, probably a relic of the seventies, with plenty of scratches. A few crumbs were scattered across its surface. Had someone eaten lunch in here? Depressing. The walls were painted a bland gray color, guaranteed to make people long to escape. The narrow fluorescent light made the room much too bright, guaranteed to create headaches. She started to stand, thinking maybe the door was unlocked and she could sneak out. In her present condition, if she got busted, she could claim another restroom emergency.
Before she even managed to scoot the chair back, Officer Guzman came in. He carried three bottles of water. He set one on the table, handed her one and opened the last one for himself.
He took a long drink, giving her the time to look him over. He sat down next to her. Much too close. She glanced at the door; he’d left it open.
“You live on my street,” she said.
“My aunt does, and I’m staying with her right now, have been for almost two months. Maybe you know her. Bianca Flores.”
Shelley winced. Bianca Flores had planned to add a guesthouse to her B and B, kind of a honeymoon cottage. She’d hired Larry—per Shelley’s recommendation—to find a contractor and laborers. After all, he had know-how and connections.
“I came to Sarasota Falls twice while I was growing up,” Oscar shared. “Once for a whole summer when I was twelve.”
Shelley felt her mouth open and a half laugh form. “Oscar,” she said, digging for the memory.
“My brothers came, too.” Oscar’s words cemented what she was just now catching on to. “There are three of us boys.”
“You were the one who played with me.”
“That was me.”
She was silent for a minute. He was the only one of the brothers who took time to play with a girl.
“You taught me how to catch air riding my bike off a curb,” she said.
“And you let me use your Barbie for pellet-gun practice.”
“I was eight and for the first time glad I owned a Barbie.” Shelley had asked for a pellet gun the next Christmas. That hadn’t gone over well with her parents. She scooted her chair back a bit, changing positions and wishing the baby wasn’t dancing on her kidney again. Watching Oscar examine her way too much like a cop, she asked, “Why did you become a police officer?”
He grinned. “I’m supposed to be asking you the questions.”
“You already did. I have nothing to add. I just want to take Ryan and go home.”
“Back to the garage apartment?” he queried. “What happened to the Victorian your parents owned?”
“You’ve read my file,” she countered. “You know what happened to the Victorian.”
“You sold it to pay for your mother’s funeral and put your father in the care center.”
She waited. Most people said platitudes like “Sorry to hear...,” “Bad luck...” and “Had to hurt getting rid of such a stunning piece of property.” A few less subtle people had ventured a “Well, you didn’t need such a big, rambling place for just one person. The upkeep must have been brutal.”
Oscar looked interested. “I thought your house the coolest ever, next to my aunt’s.”
“I thought the same.” She curled her fingernails into the soft skin of her palms and dug in. If only she hadn’t acted so rashly. Her parents had money set aside, but between the funeral, the medical bills and soon the care center, it seemed to be flowing only one way. Out of the bank account, not in. “That was why I had to sell it, unfortunately.”
She’d sat in this very room a good six months ago and given the details to Riley. Maybe he hadn’t put everything in her file. After taking a breath, Shelley added, “I was thinking about selling it. The day I visited the care center to see about finding a spot for my dad, Cara, the woman at the front desk, was sympathetic. She listened to my story and then handed me an advertisement about a home liquidator.”
Shelley gave a little laugh. Larry’s business had been called Wagner’s Ways: Ten Ways We Can Help You Get Rid of Possessions in a Timely Manner. It hadn’t been original or even catchy, but there’d been whole paragraphs, testimonials from previous clients who extolled Larry’s virtues. One woman claimed Larry had sold her home and belongings—mostly antiques—for more than she’d expected, and now she was living in a retirement community in Florida a full year before she’d planned.
“She was completely fictional, which I didn’t know until later,” Shelley explained after telling Oscar the story. “But to me, it was an answer to a prayer. I should have realized the real estate value and the worth of what was inside that house. But I was still reeling from my mother one day sitting beside me, laughing, and the next being gone.”
“Riley did tell me that your mother had an aggressive form of cancer.”
Two weeks was all she’d had with her mother between “I’ve got a headache” to “I’ve been diagnosed” to “Goodbye, honey. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter than you.”
No, no, no, Shelley would not cry in front of this cop, no matter how comfortable he made her feel. She blinked instead until the tears withdrew.
“Larry came along after your mother’s passing, right?” Oscar asked.
Good—he didn’t notice her reaction. She didn’t want his sympathy. She only wanted him to believe she was innocent and should be left alone, never brought to this station again. If she hadn’t gone to the care center that day, if she hadn’t shared so much with the woman at the front desk, if she’d been more mature and just handled everything herself...
Of course, then she wouldn’t have Ryan or Isabelle.
“I was handed the advertisement two days after we buried my mother. I was still in sh
ock. But I was quickly figuring out that I couldn’t care for my dad like my mother had been doing. He was quickly getting worse. Now I’d know to do more research, but Larry seemed so nice.”
“How long did you date him before getting married?”
Shelley was almost embarrassed to admit, “Just three months.” It made her decide to change the subject, even though it meant going back to another topic she didn’t care to discuss. “And thanks to Larry, I know all about the Sarasota Falls Police Department and what ‘interrogation’ means. You’ve established rapport. What are you supposed to ask me?”
At least she had the satisfaction of knowing she’d surprised him. He recovered quickly. “I’m supposed to see if you’d encountered any of our other neighbors during your walk. I know I didn’t see anybody.”
“You don’t usually walk that early in the morning or I’d have run into you before.”
“I’m the new man on the rotation. I primarily work graveyard, so I get off at eight. I try to take Peeve to the dog park and let him run a bit, and then I come home and go to bed.”
“But something changed yesterday?”
“Just that I had some follow-ups to do on a few cases, so I got home later than usual.”
“And home is with your aunt?”
He hesitated, just enough that she knew there was something he didn’t want to tell her. “It is, for now.”
“Why did you come to town?”
“My family was worried about Bianca. I had the time.”
She nodded, but he didn’t add anything else, so she said, “Often, when Ryan and I go for a walk, we see Mrs. Dupont. She walks her dog, too. Also, Abigail Simms is often working in her yard, but she doesn’t stray from her house unless one of her kids comes to get her, although I think her son is living with her now.”
