Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets

by Terry Odell

  He accepted the handshake. “Friends.” Her hand was dry and warm in his. Smooth. In the dim light, he couldn’t read her eyes, but she didn’t let go. And then he wondered, if they’d grown up close, would he consider her more a sister than a woman? Because he was definitely thinking woman. So what? Sister or woman, it didn’t matter. What it meant was he now had one more person to protect.

  Or could he trust her with the truth?

  Chapter Eight

  Gordon stood inside the doorway, taking in the scene, finding the detachment needed to keep from smashing his fist through the wall.

  Betty Bedford was secured to her wooden desk chair. Her ankles were crossed in front of her, bound with duct tape. Another wide belt of tape went around her torso. Her arms, taped at the wrists, were behind the chair.

  A nuisance, a pest, a thorn in his side she might have been, but she was a vital woman, barely into her sixties. She should have been pestering him for years to come. Her bright, eager eyes, now filmed with death, stared into nothingness.

  He took three deep breaths, counted to ten, and called out to Doc Evans, who doubled as the city coroner.

  Doc straightened from his crouch next to the body. “She’s been murdered.”

  Yeah, that was a fairly easy call. The slit throat was a dead giveaway. Kind of hard to do yourself when you were tied up. Or tie yourself up afterward. And her shop was in ruins. Heaps of clothing in the center of the room, all her quirky ambience pieces broken and strewn helter-skelter. Cardboard boxes, contents spewed, lay upended amidst the debris.

  “You going to call the Sheriff’s Office in on this one?” Doc said.

  “Ya’ think?” Gordon scrubbed his hands over his face. “While we’re waiting, what can you tell me?”

  “I’m no medical examiner, but I’m willing to go out on a limb and say cause of death was exsanguination.” He pointed to the pool of blood at the base of the chair. “She died in this chair, judging from the blood. And from the way the blood’s dried, I’d say she’s been dead several hours. The ME will be able to tell you more after an autopsy.”

  “Thanks. Hang tight.” A homicide in Mapleton. There’d been one close call, a couple of thugs thinking they could lie low in Mapleton after robbing a Denver jewelry store about fifteen years ago. His father had been in the thick of things, and if not for the quick thinking of Dix, Betty Bedford might have been Mapleton’s second homicide victim instead of the first in fifty-some-odd years. Gordon took a moment to collect his thoughts, giving another silent thanks to Dix.

  He pulled out his radio, then changed his mind and used his cell to call Dispatch. Buzz would be monitoring the radio, and he wasn’t ready to cope with a reporter. Buzz meant well, but his normal stories were gossip, although he called them human interest. This kind of a story would have him salivating, there’d be a special edition of the weekly paper, and he’d no doubt call in every media contact in Colorado. Hell, he’d probably call CNN.

  Gordon wasn’t surprised when Connie answered his call instead of Irv. Even Angie had shown up at the scene.

  “Hey, Chief. Irv called me. Said he felt a little out of his element, so I came in early.”

  Irv, retired from another small town force, worked three nights a week as a dispatcher. Gordon thought he’d applied for the job as a way to live with his insomnia.

  “Thanks. I need you to call the County Sheriff’s Office. Get them to roll their Crime Scene Response Team to Vintage Duds.”

  “Already done.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I was left out of the loop on this one?”

  She lowered her voice. “Chief, I dropped the ball. I assumed Irv had already called you. I should have asked.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to fault Connie. “It’s over. Good to know the department runs even when I’m not around. What else has gone down that I should know about? Recap, please.”

  “Vicky McDermott called it in. Irv rolled the medics and another car. Then he called me. From what he said, I figured we were going to need all the help we could get.”

  “You thought right. Get me three fresh uniforms to maintain the perimeter.”

  “On it.”

  “And if anyone but me calls, your vocabulary has been cut to two words. ‘No comment.’ Pass the word to the rest of the staff.”

  “Roger.”

  “Good work.” He hung up and backed out the door. Vicky McDermott stood sentry with her clipboard. She looked pale. He thought of Mrs. Bedford in the chair and figured he was probably a few shades lighter than normal too.

  “Someone get pictures?” he asked her.

  “Solomon, sir. He brought the good camera. All I have is that dinky point and shoot.”

  “No problem. The county guys will bring all the fancy gear. I’m going to check around. Then I’ll need your report. Say, my office in half an hour?”

  “Yes, sir.” She hesitated, like she wanted to say more.

  “What is it?”

  “I keep wondering if I could have done something to prevent this. Or been here in time to see the bad guy.”

  “I’m sure you did everything according to procedure. I shouldn’t have given you two addresses to cover on top of your normal patrol duties.” He pulled his ball cap out of his pocket and tugged it on. “For what it’s worth, I’m kicking myself too. But hindsight isn’t going to help us now. We have to pull together and find the creep who did this.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll have my report ready.”

  Her stride was steady as she walked to her car. Buzz, appeared from behind Angie’s van, dropping his cigarette into his coffee cup as he trotted up. “Chief! Chief!” He had a pen and notebook at the ready. “Can I get a quote? What happened?” Buzz stood on tiptoe and craned his neck, trying to peer into the shop.

  “Buzz, you know we’re going to have to notify next of kin before you can run with any story. We don’t need your sensationalism.”

  “What do you mean, sensationalism. I write in-depth studies.”

  “For starters, your Holocaust article was uncalled for. Mapleton’s got a sizeable Jewish population. “

  Buzz flapped a hand. “Hey, that was only the first article. I’m thinking my series will be picked up by the national papers.”

  “Think about the consequences next time you print a one-sided article. You don’t want to alienate your readers, or they won’t read the next installment.”

  “Hey. Not my fault they cut the bit where I explained I’ve got a whole series planned, showing all sides of the picture. I’ve got a hot lead on some new information. I’m lining up interviews with people from town. I’ve got a publisher interested in a book deal.” He shifted his gaze toward the shop. “But this is more immediate. I promise not to print anything until you give me the word. You’ve got to give me something, Chief. This is big.”

  “What do you know?”

  “Officer McDermott found Mrs. Bedford’s body. And her throat was cut. Do you have any suspects?”

  Damn. That was already too much information.

  “You know as much as I do, Buzz. And I’m counting on you to keep your word. If I see a special edition of the Weekly, you’re going to be so far out of the loop, you won’t know who won third prize for the best canned beets at the County Fair.”

  Buzz glowered, then stomped toward his battered old RAV4. “Just doing my job,” he muttered, smacking his fists against his thighs.

  Gordon waited until Buzz drove off, then found Ed Solomon, camera around his neck, leaning against the wall in the alley behind the store, but away from the door to Vintage Duds. Keeping the scene uncontaminated, Gordon thought, allowing himself a quick glow of pride that his officers knew their jobs.

  Solomon had been on duty all day, and the security light above the door emphasized the shadows under his eyes. He snapped upright at Gordon’s approach. “Chief.”

  Gordon nodded. “Didn’t expect to see you, but thanks for coming.”

  Solomon’s lip twisted upward i
n a half-smile. “Hey, pass up a chance to be part of the only homicide in Mapleton history since—well, since before my time, anyway.”

  “Mine, too. What did you find?”

  Solomon pulled out his Maglite, flicked it on and pointed the beam at the Vintage Duds door. “No sign of forced entry. If our guy came in this way, either the door was unlocked, or Mrs. Bedford let him in.”

  Gordon cursed under his breath. She’d probably heard more noises, thought she was catching her ghost, and opened the door to confront it. But it wasn’t a ghost.

  Solomon swung the light along the gravel-covered alley. “No prints I could find, nothing unusual, but we don’t have any snazzy toys to find the less-than-obvious stuff. No cigarette butts, no candy wrappers. Not like the alley behind Finnegan’s.”

  “Yeah, Mrs. Bedford had everything spic and span tonight.”

  “I heard the radio traffic. Another ghost watch.” Solomon made a clucking sound. “A ghost wouldn’t leave prints, or need to open the door.”

  “You saw inside?”

  Solomon sobered at Gordon’s tone. “Definitely not a ghost.”

  “Any flesh and blood individuals show up?”

  “Couple of lookie-loos, but I convinced them they should be elsewhere. And Buzz, of course, as expected. I sent him on his way, too.”

  “Of course. The man must have a scanner on twenty-four seven. The other merchants know?”

  “Nobody’s come by.”

  He made a note to touch base with them. Maybe the rumor mill had stopped grinding and they hadn’t heard. If they had, they’d have been here. “Crime Scene Response team is on its way. I’ve got a couple of things to check at the station, but I’ll be back. Until then, grab some tape, block off the alley, let’s say one store in either direction. Same thing out front. Might as well show the locals we’re putting their tax dollars to good use.”

  “Will do.” He started off.

  “Hang on,” Gordon said. “Give me the memory chip. I can copy the files and start investigating.”

  Solomon slipped the camera from his neck and extracted the chip, placing it in an evidence envelope he pulled from his jacket pocket. Gordon signed for it, then waited until Solomon returned with the yellow tape. After helping set the perimeter, Gordon stormed to the station to deal with the communication snafu.

  Calmly. Professionally. With great finesse and understanding. Or so he told himself as he resisted the urge to peel rubber as he left the scene.

  ###

  Megan drifted along with the swirling fog of the pain medication.

  “Megan?”

  She squinted, finding Justin’s silhouette at the foot of her bed. Right. They’d been talking. “Hmm.”

  “Pill taking effect? You think you can sleep now?”

  “Maybe.” She scooted down in the bed, closed her eyes, and sank into the mattress.

  Shapes and shadows danced in her head. Dreamy, ethereal. An abstract ballet. Something lurked at the edge of the shadowy figures. With a rush, it stormed into the midst of the dance. Sharp, jerky motions. A male form. Thick, blocky. He wove in and out among the dancers, tripping them, knocking them down, destroying the graceful patterns of their movements.

  She strained to see him more clearly. Discern his features. He had none. A mask? Heart pounding, she reached for his face, frantic to pull away the covering. He grabbed her arm.

  “Megan. Wake up.”

  She struggled to free herself.

  “Megan. It’s me. Justin. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”

  Soothing tones, repeated over and over. You’re safe. Wake up.

  She shot to the surface, gasping, as if it were from the depths of the ocean. “Justin?”

  “Welcome back.”

  She raked her hand through wet, tangled hair. “Whoa. That was some pill.”

  “Maybe next time half will be enough.”

  “I think I prefer the pain. How long was I like that?”

  “Not too long. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

  She looked at the clock. It was after six. “You were here the whole time?”

  “No, you crashed about five minutes after you took the pill. I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I came in when I heard you.”

  “Heard me? Was I talking in my sleep?” Her mind had cleared enough to know she wasn’t supposed to be talking, although she wasn’t clear on the details yet. She clenched her good hand into a fist, trying to make order of the muddle in her head.

  “Nothing intelligible,” he said. “Mostly groans.”

  It didn’t matter. It wasn’t whether she talked, but whether the man thought she’d talked. She shuddered, and the shudders grew into uncontrollable shivers. Her throat tightened.

  Justin snaked his arm behind her and she clung to him. Just for a minute. Just until she got centered. Heat radiated from his body. She absorbed it like sunshine on a winter day. She buried her face in his chest, concentrating on his steady heartbeat, trying to slow her own to match.

  “Oh, God, Megan. Easy. You’re safe.”

  “Just hold me for a second.”

  “I’ve got you. Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise.”

  If only. But now, he was here, he was strong, and she did feel safe. She wasn’t shivering anymore. Enough. This was Justin. He was practically family. She took one last deep inhale, soaking up his scent before pulling away.

  “Thanks,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

  “Any time.” He brushed his fingers along her jaw. Rough, calloused fingers, but oh, so gentle.

  Water gurgled through the pipes. “It’s nearly six,” she said. “Rose and Sam will be up.”

  “If you want to sleep in, they’ll understand.”

  And invite the nightmares? “No, I’ll get up. I have to scrounge a plastic bag for my wrist so I can wash.”

  “Need any help?” He grinned.

  “In your dreams.”

  “I meant scrounging the plastic bag.”

  She ignored the feigned innocence in his expression. “Right. Please.”

  “No problem. Back in a jiff.”

  “Justin?”

  He turned. “Something else you need?”

  A way out of this mess. She shook her head. “Thanks.”

  He dipped his head, then went into his bedroom, closing the door on his side of the bathroom. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes followed the cracks as if they were a roadmap that would lead her to answers.

  When no illuminated route appeared, she sighed and got out of bed. Steadier on her feet than she’d been last night, she padded into the bathroom to check the damages. The swelling on her forehead had gone down, but there was a nice collage of purple and yellow surrounding the red lines where the scrapes had scabbed over. Makeup wasn’t going to help. Deciding a bath would be easier than a shower for keeping her bandage dry, she turned on the taps.

  And was immediately doused with cold water. Some idiot hadn’t flipped the diverter from shower to tub. “Justin!” she squealed.

  The door flew open. Justin appeared, plastic bag in hand, panic in his eyes. “What happened?”

  He stood there, his eyes widening. His gaze wandered across her body, and she realized her cotton nightshirt bore the results of her impromptu shower. She grabbed for a towel.

  “Damn it, Justin, don’t you know enough to set the water for the tub after you shower?”

  His mouth curved into a grin. “I don’t take baths.”

  She snatched the bag from him. “Out. Out, out, out.”

  Downstairs, the doorbell rang.

  Chapter Nine

  Gordon smelled the coffee as soon as he stepped out of his SUV at the Kretzers’. Seeing lights and movement in the kitchen, he strolled to the door and rang the bell. Sam, hair disheveled, wearing a flannel robe and leather slippers, peered out, then opened the door.

  “Gordon? Is something wrong?”

  “No. Sorry to come by so early. I wanted to check on Megan.
Has she remembered anything more?”

  “She’s taking a bath, I believe. If you’d like to wait, the coffee’s ready. You can ask her yourself.”

  Good as Rose’s coffee was, Gordon couldn’t linger. He almost mentioned what had happened at Vintage Duds, but decided these folks didn’t need any more excitement. They’d find out soon enough. “No, I have to get to the station. Have Megan call if she regains her memory.” Inhaling one last lungful of coffee-scented air, he turned to leave.

  Rose’s scuffling footfalls sounded behind him.

  “Gordon, wait a minute, please.”

  He pivoted and gave her a patient smile. “Yes?”

  She came closer, cleaned her glasses and gave him the once-over. Self-consciously, he rubbed his hand over his unshaven jaw. She made a tsk-tsk sound.

  “Why are you here so early? You wouldn’t show up unannounced at six-thirty in the morning simply to check on Megan. And to look at you, you haven’t been sleeping. What’s going on?”

  Damn, she could read him like his mother. Better, maybe.

  “I’ve been working a case since early this morning. And if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting at seven.”

  “Should we be worried?” she asked. “Is this about Megan’s accident?”

  “No, not at all.” What the hell. Better to hear it from him instead of the gossip mongers. “There was an…incident at Vintage Duds.”

  “Incident?” Sam said. “What kind?”

  “It might be a homicide.” Might be? Talk about sugar-coating. “That’s what my meeting’s about, so I need to go.”

  “Was it Betty?” Rose asked, one hand to her mouth.

  He nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  She blanched. “Her family. They know?”

  “We called her sister. She’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Can we help? She has no family here, but maybe a memorial service?”

  Gordon put his hands on Rose’s shoulders. “That’s very kind, Rose.”

  “You’ll tell me how I can help?”

  “Promise. I’ve got to go.”

  Sam walked him to the SUV. “There is something you’re not saying.”