3 Loosey Goosey

by Rae Davies

  Well, that sounded completely uncreepy, saying the dead woman liked to have a good time.

  “And I might have asked how long he’d known her, because I had the distinct feeling that her relationship with HA! was deeper than that one protest.”

  This was new. “Why do you feel that?”

  “FriendTime? Did you see her page? The goose is all over it.”

  Pauline did get around.

  “Ben is not on FriendTime.” No need to agree that Pauline was.

  “The goose is, and I doubt she’s updating her status by herself.”

  Damn him for not being an idiot. I kept my knowledge of who might be posting as Pauline to myself.

  “Posting on a page is a long way from having a relationship,” I replied. If the opposite was true, I’d be guilty of cheating on Peter with more than one TV star.

  “True, but it shows he was aware of her.”

  I shrugged. “That means nothing.”

  “It means—”

  I waved my hands. “Back to your conversation. Who was there?”

  “Your brother.”

  “And...”

  He paused, thinking. “At one point or another, everyone, I guess. Even some of the beef ranchers were standing close by. They’re who called the police. Some guy named Richard Danes. He wanted everyone arrested and hauled off, but the police didn’t really do much that I saw.”

  Which meant he hadn’t witnessed my headlong dash and subsequent de-signing of Ben. That actually, now that I thought about it, gave Ben an alibi, at least for hitting Daniel. Ben had been in full view, very full view, of everyone up to that time.

  Just to make sure that my guess was right, I asked, “Did you see me there at all?”

  His face turned suspicious, but he answered. “No. I don’t remember seeing you. Why?”

  Another wave of my hand. This time dismissive. “Just establishing a timeframe.”

  Basically, though, what Daniel was telling me was that everyone who had been at the Capitol today might have overheard whatever he said to Ben and might have decided afterward to bash him in the head.

  Another idea occurred to me. “Was Gary there then?”

  “Yes.”

  I made a note on my hospital notepad to ask Gary if I could go over all the pictures he took this morning. Photographers tended to avoid snapping pictures of reporters, but it would still give me some idea of who was where when.

  With that decided, I mentioned to Daniel that the piece I wrote about his assault should carry my byline only. “Unless you plan on Ted running it as an opinion piece,” I added.

  “Funny. Fine.” He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

  A nurse came in as if she’d been standing guard watching for some sign that I’d outstayed my welcome, but I was done anyway. Well, mainly done. “What about your notes?” I asked.

  Daniels eyes cracked open. “What notes?”

  “On the Tiffany Williams story.”

  “They should be with my stuff.” He motioned to a blue plastic bag that had been set on a credenza by the window.

  Inside, I found the clothes Daniel had been wearing at the Capitol, but nothing more.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “What do you mean? You’re holding the bag.”

  I held up the jeans and shirt. “This is what I mean. Nothing but clothes.”

  He started to sit up, but the nurse held him back with a look.

  “What about my phone and wallet?”

  I felt his pants’ pockets and pulled out a leather wallet. “But no phone and no notebook.”

  He cursed in a highly inappropriate manner.

  I slid my gaze to the nurse.

  He cursed again. “Someone took them.”

  We both looked at the nurse then, but our loss didn’t seem to rattle her in the slightest.

  “When a patient is admitted, everything on them is logged in. There will be a record in admissions of everything you had on you when you arrived, along with the names of the two people who witnessed the items being placed in the bag. If something was taken, it was before you got here.”

  Daniel was done cursing, it seemed. He just looked tired now.

  I replaced his items in the bag and retrieved the notepad that I’d been using. “I’ll check with the paramedics. They could have fallen out in the ambulance.”

  “Or on the grounds,” Daniel suggested, but with no fire.

  I nodded, even though I doubted that. I’d seen the officers going over the area around Daniel’s shrub. If his phone and a notebook had been there, they would have spotted it.

  “I’ll let you know,” I added and reached out toward his leg. Realizing that I’d been about to give him a reassuring pat, I froze and jerked my arm back.

  Luckily, the reporter didn’t notice. He’d already closed his eyes and drifted into oblivion.

  I nodded to the nurse and hurried from the room.

  Back in my rig, I reviewed our conversation. The fact that Daniel’s phone and notebook were missing didn’t mean for certain that whoever hit him had taken them or that whoever hit him did so because of something Daniel knew about Tiffany’s death.

  But logic certainly pointed that way.

  Which made my job simple. Just find his phone and notebook, and all would be well.

  How hard could that be?

  Chapter 12

  I crossed the paramedics off my list quickly.

  Turns out that paramedics don’t take kindly to being accused, or thinking that they are being accused, of stealing an unconscious reporter’s belongings.

  I scurried back to my rig, started the engine, and pulled out without taking the scowling receptionist up on her offer to stick anything anywhere, including places where the sun didn’t shine.

  Who knew that those in the business of helping those who helped others could be so vehement in their protection of those other helpers?

  I certainly did now.

  This left the police, and, although I was fairly confident that if they had found something that belonged to Daniel, they would have let him know, I called anyway.

  George answered, and with my recent conversation with the paramedic’s receptionist at the top of my mind, I worded my question carefully. “I went by to see Daniel at the hospital. While I was there, he realized his phone and notebook were missing. He had both at the Capitol. I thought the police would want to know.”

  No accusation this time. Just a good citizen reporting a potential crime.

  “Okay.” I could hear papers shuffling. “I’ll add it to the report.”

  That was nice, but not exactly what I was going for.

  “Any chance I could talk to the officers who were with him until the paramedics arrived?”

  “He think the paramedics took them? I wouldn’t—”

  Not wanting to go down that path again, I cut him off. “No, no... just wondering if they saw either item.”

  “You think the officers took them?”

  “No...” I sucked in a breath. I obviously needed a refresher on dealing with others. “What I mean is, if they were there, would they have been taken as evidence maybe? Like if they found them lying on the ground later?”

  George grunted and his chair squeaked. After a few seconds of tapping, on his computer I assumed, he replied, “No phone and no notebook were found.”

  “How about a weapon?” I already knew the police had found and bagged the piece of fencing, but getting verbal confirmation that they believed it was the weapon used against Daniel would be nice.

  “Can’t tell you that.” His chair squeaked again. I could envision him pushing away from his desk to lean back in his chair. “Why you want to know anyway? Don’t tell me Ted has you back under his thumb.”

  My feathers ruffled. “No... I am not under Ted’s thumb.” I was insulted that George would think such a thing.

  “So you aren’t filling in for Daniel?”

  “Well, yes.”

/>   “Uh huh.”

  I could feel George shaking his head, but he was wrong. This time I had the upper hand. I was the one being served by this agreement.

  To confirm that fact, after hanging up with George, I drove to the Daily News office. Daniel’s notebook might have been stolen, but there were still his desk and computer files to go through. I didn’t exactly have Daniel’s permission to go through either, but then they weren’t his property either. They were the Daily News’, and I was pretty sure Ted would hand both over without even a flutter of a lash.

  My time at the News was a bust, at least so far as searching Daniel’s computer and desk. The untrusting little weasel had a password on the computer and not any of the ones normal people might use, like “password.” I looked around his desk for a sticky note with his password on it, but apparently Daniel thought he worked for the FBI. No sticky note, no scribbles on his desk calendar, nothing.

  I tried inside the desk next, but it was locked up too.

  Seriously, the guy had a complex.

  I spun around in his chair, frustrated. At this time of day, the newsroom was empty, but management, a.k.a. Ted, was normally around. I leaned to the side to check his office. No Ted, but I did see something else that caught my eye.

  An 8x10 printout of me sliding down my brother’s legs and revealing all nature gave him for the world to see. The nature part had been discretely blurred, but there was really no mystery as to what was hiding under that blur.

  I shot to my feet and stalked to the door. There, I paused.

  Take the photo or not take the photo? My small town morals nipped at me for all of ten seconds. Then I bolted into the office, grabbed the photo and, tearing it in pieces as I walked, bee-lined it to the back door.

  Not feeling the tiniest bit guilty, I dropped the pieces into a trashcan and walked to my ride. Destroying the picture made me feel better, but it far from solved my problem, make that problems.

  The picture was just a copy. The original, I was sure, still lived on the News’ server. And there was no way I was getting authorization to go digging around in that. But I knew someone who most likely already had that authority, plus access to any other pictures taken at the protest.

  Maybe my luck would change, and there would be one of someone standing over Daniel with a bloody metal pole.

  It could happen.

  I called Gary, but he couldn’t meet me that afternoon. He was busy following beef ranchers and protesters around Helena. He did, however, agree to meet me at Cuppa Joe’s the next morning.

  Forced to be satisfied for now, I went back to Dusty Deals to write the story of Daniel’s attack and follow up on Everett’s progress getting the truck.

  When I got there, Betty was busy moving things around to make room for the things I’d told her were coming from the Antlers. She’d made a stack in one corner of the room of things “the store could do without,” all mid-century or just plain old modern.

  Phyllis would not be pleased.

  “Is this enough?” she asked. “Because I can get rid of more.” She eyed a Scandinavian blown glass ewer that, according to Betty, looked like a urinal. According to Phyllis, it was classic and irreplaceable.

  Honestly, if I’d seen it at a yard sale for a quarter, I’d have walked on by.

  I rescued the piece and set it behind the counter. “I’ll move that for now.”

  Betty snorted, but left the item where I’d placed it.

  “I don’t know if this is enough room.” I turned in a circle with my arms out, estimating the space. “But I can’t afford to get rid of anything else.” I stopped to stare at Betty’s pile. “I might have to get a storage unit or take things out to my house for a while.”

  “Rhonda has that garage, and she only uses half of it.”

  Borrowing half of Rhonda’s garage would certainly be better than taking a truck down the gravel road that led to my house.

  I went to get the all-clear from Rhonda, offering to pay her for the space, of course. She said fine and no, which, being cheap, I gladly accepted.

  Then, after giving Betty the thumbs up for Everett to deliver the Antlers items to Rhonda’s and emailing my story to Ted, I headed home.

  It had been a long emotionally trying day. I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with my dog and watch whatever non-intellectually challenging program I could find on TV.

  I was driving by the campground when I remembered Ben.

  I hadn’t talked to him since the protest. I hadn’t really talked to him much then. But as far as I knew, his sleeping choices were still limited to my house and the grocery store floor.

  He also had no car.

  I cursed Stone for the millionth time and headed back to town.

  I found Ben at the grocery store drinking wheat grass and plotting things for the next day that I didn’t want to know about.

  Hope, the goose impersonator, wasn’t there. She was, Ben said, off somewhere with Eric. I bottled up the lecture I was saving for her, got my brother and Pauline into the Jeep, and once again headed toward my house.

  I was just warming up to a nice lecture on how he couldn’t be walking around Helena naked, at least not until I figured out how to get our mother’s Internet connection shut down for good, when I saw police cars coming toward us. We were almost to the turn for my road. I put on my signal. Two cars passed us and then Stone.

  I glanced in my rearview mirror just as he did a uie and turned on his lights.

  I let out a big sigh and pulled over. While I waited for Stone to get out of his vehicle and stalk toward us, I gazed sadly at the road that led to my house.

  So close.

  “Ms. Mathews.”

  The detective was the epitome of professional politeness. This did not bode well.

  “I’m going to have to ask your brother to step out of the vehicle.”

  I realized then that the other police cars had followed Stone’s lead. Two officers were now standing on Ben’s side of my rig, waiting for him to exit.

  I looked at Ben, wishing I had some piece of sisterly advice that would magically change what I feared in my core was happening.

  “Here.” He handed me Pauline, who had, at Stone’s approach, started bobbing her neck and in general warming up for attack.

  After checking to make sure I had the now-squawking goose under control, Ben opened his door and stepped out on the gravel that covered the highway’s shoulder.

  The door closed behind him, and I dropped my forehead onto the steering wheel. Pauline, not one to give up without a battle, rammed her bill into my hair and squawked even louder.

  Without a word, Stone turned on his heel and walked around my rig to where my brother waited.

  They were arresting him. I knew that without looking. My heart pounded and a sweat broke out on my body. Fight or flight. Pauline, still struggling, voted fight, and a big part of me agreed.

  But, unlike Pauline, my brain was bigger than a walnut and, despite what my mother and Peter might think, I did have some degree of sense.

  Fighting wouldn’t fix this. Running, however, wouldn’t either.

  Pauline had shifted from aggressive to sullen. I set her on the passenger seat next to me. She pinned me with a beady accusing glare.

  “I can’t stop them,” I explained, as if the goose could understand. And maybe she could. She turned her head in disgust and pounded on the passenger side window with her beak.

  “Damn it.” I grabbed at her, but she dodged me, slipping through my hold and moving into the back seat. There she flapped her wings and honked, yelling at me I knew, telling me what a horrid failure of a sister I was.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t see you doing anything to help either,” I grumbled. Which was, of course, completely unfair. Left to her druthers, Pauline would be outside the vehicle right now, fighting for Ben.

  I sucked in a breath and stepped out onto the gravel.

  My foot had barely touched the ground and one of the officers was
beside me.

  “Please step behind the vehicle.”

  I glanced at Pauline, but her attention was on Ben. At least she’d decided to give my windows a reprieve—for now.

  As I walked to the rear of my rig, Ben, Stone, and the other officer walked into view from the other side.

  Ben’s hands were behind his back. My gaze shot to Stone.

  “Your brother is under arrest.” He motioned for the uniforms to take him to one of the marked cars.

  “But—” I stepped forward.

  The officer closest to me immediately stiffened. “We are going to have to ask you to wait here, ma’am.”

  Under normal circumstances, the ma’am would have hurt. Now I didn’t even flinch.

  “It’ll be fine, Luce,” Ben assured me. “Just take care of Pauline.”

  The officers closed in, one on each side of him and led him off, like he was a skittish, crazed horse that might bolt or buck at any moment.

  My brother stayed calm as ever, walking toward the car as if they’d just offered him a ride to lunch.

  Once the vehicle had turned around and was headed back to Helena, I spun on Stone.

  “What do you have against me?”

  He turned just his head to look at me. “Against you?”

  “Against me. Harassing me and now Ben.” I was frustrated, and I knew it showed. That frustrated me more, especially because the detective was just so darn controlled.

  “I do not harass. I investigate, and my investigation led to evidence that led to your brother as a suspect in Tiffany Williams’ murder.”

  Murder. The word hit me like a metal bat to the chest. I blinked and staggered backward one step before regaining a grip on my composure, or what composure I’d had.

  I’d known Stone thought Ben was involved in the chef’s death, but hearing the word and knowing my brother was now sitting in a squad car in handcuffs... I shook my head, hoping I could shake this reality right out of it. Unfortunately, when I looked up, Stone was still there.

  I may have growled. His eyebrow twitched.

  “Go home, Ms. Mathews, and call an attorney. Your brother is going to need one.”

  With that last piece of unneeded advice, he stalked back to his car.

  I waited for him to drive off until giving into the weakness in my knees. Then I let them fold beneath me and just knelt there on the side of the highway, wondering how the hell things had gone so wrong so quickly, and for Ben, the one person in this world who I knew would never hurt anyone or anything, not even his bossy, know-it-all sister who really knew nothing at all.