by Pamela Tracy
She made a note to have her cell phone number changed yet again, but it was a Band-Aid, not a fix. It wouldn’t keep Larry from finding her. Heck, he could get to her bank account even after she’d changed the name on it. He already knew where she was, was even using her dad as collateral.
What she should have done was turn the phone over to the police the minute she’d received his first text. They might have been able to trace his call and arrest him. Something they hadn’t managed to do six months ago.
Eight months ago, though, her ex-husband hadn’t threatened her. And since Larry had walked away from Ryan, Shelley understood that to Larry’s way of thinking, the boy was inconsequential.
She felt like her feet were in wet cement. If she stepped from the mixture, she’d only drag her problems with her. Sure, she could cover up her transgressions, but they would always be with her.
If she stayed, nothing changed.
Nothing changed.
Except she’d have to live with herself.
“Shelley?”
Looking up, Shelley saw Rick Vaniper. He’d been a few years ahead of her in school and had attended her church, but she knew him better now. His grandfather was in the same care facility as her dad, and he’d been ripped off by her ex-husband.
“Rick, how are you doing?”
“Not too good.” He sat next to her.
Shelley shifted uncomfortably. The last hundred times people she knew said those words to her, they were followed by a story about what her ex-husband had done to them.
“You know my brother.”
“Yes.” Rick’s brother was the last person Larry could con. Rick’s younger brother, who might be all of twenty, owned nothing but a drug problem.
“He showed up at the care center last night. Looking for cash and whatever else he could get his hands on.”
“I’m sorry. I know he’s done that a few times.”
“Officer Guzman caught up to him pretty fast. I guess my brother took a swing at the policeman, and now he’s in jail.”
“Maybe your brother will get the help he needs,” Shelley offered.
“I hope. Dad couldn’t make it down to check on Grandpa last night, so I went. I got there right when they were leading my brother out. He made quite a mess. Your dad got in the middle of it.”
“What?”
“Oh, your dad’s not hurt. He was in the piano room when my brother arrived. My brother was so hyped up, he didn’t realize that your dad wasn’t Grandpa.”
“They don’t look anything alike.”
“No, they don’t. What I wanted to tell you, though, is your dad said something that really struck me. See, my brother kept trying to get to him. It scared your dad a bit. But Officer Guzman stood in the way.”
Officer Guzman, whose call she hadn’t returned because her fear of Larry was keeping her from getting important calls that might pertain to her father. Officer Guzman, who seemed always to be where she needed him to be and willing to help.
“After my brother was handcuffed,” Rick continued, “your dad followed Officer Guzman out the door and said to my brother, ‘I forgive you.’”
“Dad never was one to hold a grudge.”
“It made me think about how of all people at the care center for my brother to mess with, it had to be your dad. You’ve gone through enough.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that my wife and I were talking, and if you need anything, a babysitter or just a friend, come on by. One thing my brother has taught us is you can’t always control what the people you love do and that you shouldn’t judge.”
“Thanks.”
He stood, pushing himself off the bench and rubbing his forehead. “Last night was a mess. I had to check on Grandpa, fill out forms and then call my dad and tell him the bad news. Dad’s not bailing my brother out this time. Our son’s turning four tomorrow. I’m supposed to be ordering a cake, but it’s the last thing I feel like doing, and I’m late for work.”
“My mom used to make cakes.”
“I remember. Your mom made the best chocolate muffins. Sometimes my mom used to stop by your house on the way home from work to buy a couple to surprise me, and...”
Looked like she wasn’t the only one who stumbled when talking about family members who messed up.
“You know,” she said, “my mother taught me everything she knew. I can make the cake. I’ll give you a fair price.”
“You’d do that?”
“I need the money,” she admitted.
He pulled out his wallet, peeled off two twenties, handed them to her and asked, “When can you have it done?”
“What time do you get off work?”
“About six,” he said.
“What kind of design were you hoping for?” she asked.
“Legos.”
“Done. Pick it up after six.” Shelley stood, too, using the bench as a crutch. She was feeling more and more pregnant, and moving wasn’t as easy. Baking, though, she could handle.
It felt a little like betrayal to use the grocery store close to the preschool instead of Little’s. It was smaller and a bit more expensive. But she was without a vehicle and crunched for time. Funny, perusing the baking aisle brought back memories of being with her mom, when everyone was healthy and happy. She’d sold most of her mom’s cooking utensils. Luckily, a Lego cake was fairly simple.
She’d no more stepped out of the store than a squad car pulled in front of her and Oscar lowered the window. He accused her, “You’re still not answering my calls.”
“Sorry. I just met Rick Vaniper. He told me what happened last night.”
“I was heading to your place to tell you in person. I let the care center know I’d notify you. Your dad’s fine.”
“I hear you stepped in front of him.”
Oscar laughed. “There really wasn’t much of a need. Rick’s brother took a swing at me and immediately toppled over and fell. I think it was the most entertainment the care center’s had in months.”
“Since the last time he was there.” She remembered one of the nurses telling her that Rick’s brother had stolen Mr. Vaniper’s Purple Heart medal. The staff had taken the theft harder than Mr. Vaniper, who’d thought the crowd around him wanted to hear him play the piano, so he had.
“Hop in. I’ll give you a ride home.”
She hesitated only a moment. She had quite a few items in her grocery bag, and time was flying by. The ride was an answer to an unasked prayer.
“I liked Rick Vaniper,” Oscar said. “He seemed to have his head on his shoulders. What happened to his brother? Do you know?”
“No, no one does. Up until he was sixteen, he was fine. He just hopped on the party train and never got off.”
“I’ve known a few people like that.”
For the first time, Shelley didn’t feel uncomfortable in the squad car. Maybe because for the first time, she was in the front seat. It wasn’t cramped, but no way could she spread out, either. Some sort of monitor was mounted on a steel lever. Every once in a while Oscar glanced at it, but nothing seemed to need his attention. Beneath the dashboard was a radio. Unlike on television, it wasn’t sputtering out the need for Oscar to respond to a crime scene, nor did it report the whereabouts of other officers.
“Are you off duty?” she asked.
“Pretty much. I’m coming in from near the county line. A truck carrying baby pigs overturned last night. Riley got most of them, but a few were still loose this morning, so he and I engaged in a little pig rodeoing.”
“You had to catch pigs?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re looking at Sarasota Falls’ number one champion pig catcher.” He used an old-fashioned Western accent and winked, making her smile.
/>
He wasn’t like any cop she knew. Any man, either. He had a seriousness about him that made him seem mature, although she knew only four years separated them. Yet he could be funny, right when she needed him to be.
“Yes. Life is never boring in a small town.”
He pulled up in front of Robert Tellmaster’s house. Quickly he was out the door, opening hers and then carrying her grocery bag up the apartment stairs.
“I found out something interesting yesterday,” he said while waiting for her to unlock the door.
“What?”
He stepped over a brown stuffed animal and a stack of Legos in order to put the bag on her kitchen table. “Jedidiah Carraby’s brooch is fake. Just like you thought. Want to share what gave you the idea?”
“If it were real, he’d have kept better track of it,” she said.
He changed the subject. “Oh, and remember, you told me that you heard a dog barking at five in the morning on the day Candace was killed. Abigail Simms says her dog started barking at the same time.”
“You think that has something to do with the murder?” Shelley reached in the bag and started unloading items.
He pulled out a chair and sat down before answering. “It could mean that there was suspicious activity going on. Someone coming or going.”
“Interesting. You learn anything else?”
“No.”
She knew doubt when she heard it. Still, this whole conversation was about Candace, not about her, and she wanted him to catch the killer. Really wanted him to catch the killer. Only without her help.
“How much do you know about the Duponts?” he asked.
“They moved here right before I started junior high, I think.” The last of the items out of the bag, she folded it and stuck it under the sink, then sat across from him, glad to be off her feet, before continuing. “My mom took them a cake. The husband opened the door, and Mom handed him the cake. He didn’t invite her in. She said she didn’t feel very welcome.”
Oscar nodded but said, “What about since you moved to this location? Have you spoken to either of them?”
“The woman walks her son three times a day. Morning, noonish and late evening. I’ve nodded at her, but she tends to move fast. I’ve seen the man do it only twice. He always seemed to have an agenda.”
“What do you mean?”
“One time he stopped me as Ryan and I were getting into the car. He said he was sorry about all that happened to me and if I needed anything, he’d be glad to help.”
“And that made you feel like he had an agenda?”
Shelley thought back to the incident. “No, it made me feel like he was coming on to me in a sleazy way.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “He was hitting on you?”
“It’s been known to happen a time or two,” Shelley protested and laughed. “Married men do hit on women who aren’t their wives.”
“Yes, but...” Oscar looked at her stomach.
“Okay,” she admitted, “now you see why it felt so sleazy.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No. I told him that I was busy and would be busy for the next eighteen years.”
“Harsh.”
Shelley liked the look that accompanied the word. It was approving. Still, she hesitated before saying more. She was, after all, confiding in a cop, and yes, anything she said could and would be used against her in a court of law. But what exactly was she sharing, and could it help?
“I learned the hard way,” she admitted, “that being nice just makes the inevitable long and drawn out. I didn’t want that man anywhere near me. But in his defense, he merely nodded and walked away. He hasn’t bothered me since.”
Shelley peered at the huge window overlooking the street. “I can see quite a bit. Mr. Dupont left his house, came to talk to me and then went right back home. Not much of an outing for his son. The only other time I saw him walking the boy, he went over to your friend Candace’s place. She was outside gardening. He left his son in the wheelchair on the sidewalk and came to crouch down by her. After a moment, she shook a shovel at him, and he went back to his son and hightailed it home.”
“You think he pulled the same thing on Candace as he did you?”
“Sure looked that way.”
“You think she felt threatened?”
“Not really. I watched her, and she handled it much better than I did.”
“What do you mean?”
“After he walked away, she just laughed it off. She thought whatever he’d said was funny.”
Oscar leaned forward. “That could have stuck with him.”
“I never saw him bother her again.”
“But you haven’t been in this apartment very long. There could have been other encounters you don’t know about.”
The baby moved, sliding a foot across her abdomen in what felt like a gentle caress. Something Candace Livingston would never get to experience.
“You and Candace were friends,” Shelley said. “If she felt threatened by Mr. Dupont, she’d have told you, wouldn’t she? Before that, she would have told her husband.”
Oscar took his notebook out of his shirt pocket. She watched him write in tiny block letters. While he concentrated on his job, she started organizing her purchases. Funny, his presence should have been making her nervous, but it wasn’t. When he finally finished writing, he yawned—looking suddenly younger—and watched her for a while before asking, “What are you going to make?”
“A birthday cake for Rick Vaniper’s son.”
“Cool. That’s nice of you.”
“Not so nice. I charged him.”
Oscar didn’t look surprised. Instead, he merely nodded.
“I think I might even try to revive my mother’s career. I still have most of her recipes, and I remember what she charged. I need to earn a living, and I can do this at home.”
She looked at the tiny kitchen. Sure, she could make a birthday cake, but she had a two-burner stove and an oven that made a child’s Easy-Bake look upscale.
“Make me some chocolate muffins. A dozen. Charge me the going rate.” He scooted back, the chair legs dragging against the floor as he stood, yawning again before offering, “Should I tell my aunt what you’re doing? I know she’ll be interested.”
“That would be great.” She followed him to the door and held it open as he exited. He paused before going down the first step.
Maybe he felt like she did.
She didn’t want him to leave. She, in just this short time, had started to like having him around.
But he was a cop, and she was keeping a potential murderer’s secret.
“Candace’s memorial is next Friday. Come with me.”
“Oh, no. I really didn’t know her.”
“I realize that. But you might see somebody in the audience who’d visited the house. Please. We’d appreciate your help. Candace...”
It was the look on his face that had her nodding. She wished there was someone in her life who cared that much, felt that much.
She stood at the door until he’d gotten in his squad car and driven down the street and out of sight. Slowly, from the opposite direction, came a white SUV with tinted windows. It paused in front of her apartment and then continued on, picking up speed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
OSCAR WORKED THE whole weekend, both Friday night and Saturday. Ten-hour shifts turned into twelve, then fourteen, and he had to satisfy himself with driving by Shelley’s apartment. Oh, he’d called twice, but no surprise, she didn’t answer his calls. He wondered what it would take.
Once he caught a glimpse of her and Ryan at the park. They were off to the side, away from the other moms and kids. Why? She’d grown up in the town. He’d slowed, looking for a place to p
ark, but then she’d seen him and instead of smiling a welcome, she’d turned away.
He figured that she didn’t want to be seen with a cop. He didn’t blame her. With all she’d gone through, him in the squad car and in uniform would mean questions she didn’t want to answer.
Still, it bothered him how she separated herself. When would the townspeople realize they were punishing the wrong person?
Her loser of an ex-husband was the real culprit.
He spent the next few hours wishing he hadn’t signed on with the police department so that his only job would be watching over Shelley Brubaker. Then he felt guilty because working for the police department meant he had a part in solving Candace’s murder.
It also meant he had hours alone to think.
He came to the decision he didn’t really like being alone.
Monday morning he arrived home just after ten.
“About time you’re here,” his aunt called. “I’ll cook you breakfast.”
“Just toast. I want to shower and get to bed.”
Apparently his aunt agreed. “Shower first. Then breakfast.”
He almost fell asleep standing under the relaxing, hot jets of water.
He was toweling his hair dry when he joined his aunt. “Jack still here?” he asked after acknowledging Peeve, who was looking for some attention.
“I’ve never heard a dog talk like yours,” Aunt Bianca said. “Jack’s over at Cody’s. The medical examiner released the body. The two men are finishing up burial arrangements.”
“I heard,” Oscar said. “They’re aiming for Friday. You want to drive up with me. Shelley’s coming along, too.”
“Well, well,” his aunt said. Oscar didn’t like the sound of it. Probably because she was picking up on a truth he couldn’t accept.
“She’s coming as a witness,” Oscar protested. “She’s supposed to see if she recognizes anyone who might have visited the Livingstons.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said after finishing his second piece of toast. “Shelley’s planning on resurrecting her mother’s home bakery business. I told her you might be interested in placing an order.”
