by Terry Odell
Gordon thought of Rose’s face when she’d seen the living room. “I agree.”
Justin seemed to accept the temporary truce. He bundled the sheets and piled them by the door. “Give me a hand?” He gestured to the mattress laying half off the box spring. The two of them repositioned the king sized mattress where it belonged.
Justin cast a curious glance his way. “Come to think of it, why are you here instead of one of your underlings? Why is the Chief of Police on clean-up detail? Shouldn’t you be solving a murder?” The curiosity in Justin’s eyes shifted. His gaze shot a challenge like darts at a dartboard.
So much for a truce. “Maybe I am,” Gordon said.
“You suspect me? Of killing someone? I’ve gone from potential victim to suspect?”
“No, I don’t think you killed anyone.”
“So, why are you here? Did the hot-shot homicide detective decide you weren’t good enough to work on the murder, so he sent you to take care of some penny-ante crook?”
Gordon ignored the taunts. Something had set Justin off. And maybe that something hid a lead. Something he could follow.
He wandered past the open bureau drawers, leaving Justin with his grandmother’s intimate garments. The night table drawers were open, their contents dumped onto the floor. “Guy must have been in a hurry. How long were you gone?”
Justin appeared to be replaying his timetable. “My grandmother’s appointment was at eleven. She wanted to stop at the church to see about a memorial service for Mrs. Bedford. I’d say we left here about ten.”
Pure Rose. Although the Kretzers were Jewish, Megan’s parents weren’t. Rose and Sam had respected the Wyatts’ wishes and raised Megan in her faith, although they also included her in their own. She’d ended up embracing both religions. Small wonder, considering the double holiday celebrations, and the foods that accompanied them. The social connections Rose had made through the church hadn’t been severed, even after Megan left Mapleton.
Justin continued. “Doctor Evans was running behind schedule, and by the time we got out of there, it was nearly one. My grandmother had errands to run. My grandfather went with her. Megan and I went for coffee. I’d say it was between two-thirty and three when we got home.”
“No way for anyone to know when you’d be home, then.”
“No, other than the doctor’s appointment, everything was spontaneous.”
Gordon’s cell vibrated at his waist. “Hepler.”
“Chief, I think you should get here,” Laurie said. “The vultures are descending.”
Damn. The press conference. “On my way.” After disconnecting, he scooped what he assumed belonged in the night table drawer and set it on the bed. “I’ve got to go. If anything seems the slightest bit out of line—anything—call 911 and have them put you through to the Mapleton dispatcher.”
Gordon slipped into his office via the rear entrance. Damn, where had the time gone? He buzzed Laurie. “Is Detective Colfax around?”
“He’s on his way. I called him right after I called you.”
Good to see she had her priorities in order. “Thanks. Send him in as soon as he gets here.”
He needed a prepared statement. This was a far cry from the usual Mapleton media interview, which usually entailed meeting Buzz at Daily Bread for coffee and a sandwich. There was a strong possibility this might be picked up by the networks. Newspapers were bad enough. His palms sweated at the thought of making a fool out of himself on national television. Press conferences. Media vultures. What a waste of time.
He closed his eyes, picturing Dix and his father sitting in some eternal cop bar, laughing, lifting their boilermakers, peering down at him. He felt like a rookie with his training partner putting him through the wringer.
You accepted the job. Suck it up.
As he organized his thoughts and jotted notes, it occurred to him that this might be putting things into a clearer perspective, and might actually help him move the investigation forward. While he worked, something niggled at the back of his mind. Something he’d made a mental note to ask, and then forgotten.
He rubbed his neck. His brain was more like the midway at the carnival, and his stomach felt like he was riding a Tilt-a-Whirl inside a fun house. It would come to him eventually.
Gordon looked up when Colfax strode into the room and flopped into a visitor’s chair. He carried two cups of coffee and set one on the desk. Gordon nodded his thanks.
“You want me to handle the media?” Colfax asked. “I’ve worked with some of them before. No offense, but you look a little green around the gills.”
Tempting as it was, Gordon wasn’t going to let his own insecurities keep him from doing his job. “No, I’ve got it.”
“How are you going to spin it?” Colfax asked.
“I thought I’d tell the truth.”
Colfax grinned. “A novel approach.” He sipped his coffee before going on. “It’s not what you say, it’s what you don’t say. My advice, for what it’s worth. Stick to the facts. Keep it short. And you’re under no obligation to answer their questions. Better yet, no matter what they ask, give them what you want them to have.”
Gordon laid out his talking points. “You have anything to add?”
Colfax arranged his features into a perfect “impassive yet concerned” expression and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen. I know you understand that we cannot talk about an ongoing investigation. Be assured that the Mapleton Police Department and the County Sheriff’s Office are cooperating and working diligently to apprehend whoever is responsible for this travesty.” He grinned again. “You’ll notice I gave you top billing.”
“I thought I’d read a statement, then turn it over to questions. For both of us.”
“Not a problem.” Colfax’s grin disappeared. “When you answer, it’s good to let a little outrage show.”
Damn, but the man apparently enjoyed this stuff. “How do you stand it? Having all those people screaming questions and wanting dirt, not facts?”
“Come with me,” Colfax said and walked out of the room.
Curious, Gordon followed him down the hall to their briefing room. Colfax stepped toward the white board and stood a respectful distance away, as if it were a shrine. “I do it for her,” he said, indicating the photos of Mrs. Bedford. “All the crap, all the misquotes, all the interruptions at home when you’re trying to have a life. They all fade away when you get the assholes who do stuff like this. And sometimes, it’s a lead you get because someone saw you on the news or read an article in the paper.” Colfax rested his hand on Gordon’s shoulder briefly, giving a hint of a squeeze before backing out of the room.
Gordon lingered, staring at the white board for several long, heart-wrenching moments before tackling his statement. He lifted his gaze.
Just watch. I’m going to nail this.
###
Megan’s talk with Justin would have to wait. Gordon had appeared, told them he was sending another officer to supervise locking up, then thundered out of the house, obviously upset. What had he and Justin talked about upstairs?
“You know,” Rose said, sweeping her arm across the room. “Maybe we should give some of it to charity. To people who need it. We hardly use half of it. The house is too crowded.”
Her tone was less than convincing.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Megan said.
Rose sank to the floor and burst into tears. “These were my things.” She looked at Sam, who hurried to her side and draped his arm over her. “Our things. Our memories. We should have the right to crowded memories, don’t you think?”
Seconds later, Justin appeared in the room, panic on his face. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“She’s fine,” Sam said.
“Someone comes into my home and tosses everything around and you say I’m fine? Betty Bedford is dead, and you say I’m fine?” Rose wiped tears from her cheeks. “I’m not fine. I’m angry.”
“We weren’
t here,” Sam said. “That’s the important thing. We’re around to enjoy these memories, crowded or not.”
“Sam’s right,” Megan said. “We should be thankful nobody got hurt.”
Justin helped Rose to the sofa. “You’re leaving,” he said. “You, Opa and Megan. And not to Selma’s. Nowhere in Mapleton. Where will it be? Denver? The Springs? You’re going to a nice hotel. You’ll sit by the pool, you’ll dance, you’ll get a new hairdo. New clothes.”
“Ridiculous,” Sam said. “No crook chases us out of our house.”
“He’s not chasing you out,” Megan said. “Remember, the police said we can’t stay here yet. Not until they’re done doing whatever they have to do. And I think Justin’s got a great idea. When’s the last time you treated yourselves to some special time together?”
“She’s right, Oma. You always talk about blessings in disguise. Why not take advantage of the forced vacation. You know. When life gives you a lemon, make lemonade.”
Megan watched Sam take a deep breath and nod to Justin with a hint of paternal pride. “The boy is a smart one, Rose.”
“Only if he comes, too. Or maybe he and Meggie should go home. Come back another time. If it’s not safe for us, it’s not safe for him,” Rose said.
“I’m not leaving,” Megan said, almost in unison with Justin’s protest.
“Then it’s settled,” Justin said.
Sam smiled at Rose. “Where would you like to go? Consider it an anniversary celebration.”
“Sam, our anniversary isn’t for six months.”
“So, it’s a very early anniversary celebration.” Sam brushed his thumb down Rose’s cheek and kissed away the tears. “Besides, you’ll go crazy at Selma’s. The small bed with the lumpy mattress. You won’t sleep a wink.”
Justin pulled out his phone. “Where do you want to stay? I’ll make reservations.”
Rose peeked up at Sam. “You remember that hotel in Denver? Where we—” Good grief, Rose’s cheeks turned a color that matched her name.
Sam took Rose’s hand and brought it to his lips. Megan could feel the heat in that simple gesture. “I do,” he said.
This was going to be some lemonade. Megan smiled at Justin, whose relieved expression spoke volumes.
“But it’s so expensive,” Rose said. “A plain motel would do.”
Megan caught Justin’s questioning glance, accompanied by a surreptitious rubbing of fingers against his thumb in a “money” gesture, pointing to her, then himself. She smiled and nodded in understanding.
Justin shook his head. “Don’t worry about the cost, Oma.”
“Consider it a gift from me and Justin,” Megan said. What better use for some of her savings. Give Rose and Sam a good time and protect them. A two-fer.
While Justin made the arrangements, Megan went upstairs to pack. Seeing the mess, she could understand Rose’s feeling of violation. She peeked into Justin’s room, which looked almost as bad.
She walked down the hall to Rose and Sam’s room. Their clothes hung in the closet, and with the exception of the fingerprint powder, the room passed for normal. Normal if you didn’t know what a neat-freak Rose was.
That must have been what Justin and Gordon were doing. How could she have believed Angie for half a second? No way Justin was at the root of those premonitions of hers. A chill ran over Megan’s neck and shoulders, trickling down her spine. Angie had said she thought something bad was going to happen. Could her vision have been right for a change?
She dismissed the thought. Coincidences happened. This was one of those times when the odds were in Angie’s favor.
Rose’s footfalls shuffled down the hall. Megan forced a smile before she turned to greet her. Rose paused at the doorway, as if she was afraid to enter.
“It’s not bad in here,” Megan said. “Maybe they didn’t have time for your room.”
Rose, hands folded across her chest, gazed around the room, and then at Megan. Megan could feel Rose sucking the lies from her words.
“If you say so,” Rose said. From her tone, Megan knew Rose was playing along, making it easier to cope with the reality.
“I’ll help you put a few things into an overnight bag. I agree with Justin. It’s a perfect excuse to buy some new clothes.”
“If you say so,” Rose said again, even more despondent sounding.
A dagger pierced Megan’s heart. She drew Rose against her chest and encircled her with her arms. If anything, Rose felt even smaller and more frail than she had when Megan arrived. “Come on. You and Sam are going to have a great time. You’re not going to let whoever did this spoil your life. This is a crack in the sidewalk. You’ll jump over it and keep on going.”
Megan’s heart warmed at Rose’s smile. “I seem to remember saying that to you.”
Megan kissed her on the cheek. “Hundreds of times. I know you’re strong enough to get beyond this. And it’ll be fun. Shopping together, like when I was a kid.”
“You’re right, sweetie.” Rose strode to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. She hardly looked inside as she tossed some underwear and a nightgown onto the bed. “Simply because I can’t stay here doesn’t mean I’m a sniveling coward.”
“Way to go,” Megan said. She found the small overnight bag, open, on the floor in the closet. “And why don’t you grab some things for Sam. I’ll go pack my bag.”
Maybe, once Rose and Sam were settled in for the night, she could snag some private time with Justin and tell him what she knew.
Chapter Thirteen
Gordon printed a dozen copies of his statement for the press conference, then kicked the font size up before printing his own. Last thing he needed was to lose his place and stumble. He rapped the pages on his desk, fanned them so they’d be less likely to stick together, and slipped them into a file folder. He picked up the phone and called for Laurie.
Her shoes clicked along the floor. Heels. Not her usual footwear. She’d upped her makeup, and wore a gray skirt with a deep blue blouse under a tailored jacket instead of her normal trousers and pullover.
He extended the papers. “I’m putting you in charge of distributing the statements if you think you can handle it.”
“Of course I can.” She beamed as she took the stack.
What was it with people and the media? Did everyone else yearn to be part of the news? He didn’t release his grip on the papers. “Repeat after me. I’m sorry, but I’m not a sworn police officer. You’ll have to direct your questions to someone in an official capacity.”
She gave him a quizzical look, as if she thought he was joking.
“I’m serious, Laurie. Whatever you say will be taken out of context and twisted until you won’t recognize a single letter of the alphabet in what you said. I need to know you’re going to stick to the script.”
Her expression grew solemn. “You can count on me.”
“I am.” He let go of the pages.
“Um, Chief?”
“Yes?”
Her quizzical expression returned. “I know it’s not my business, but are you going to wear that for the press conference?”
He peered down at the jeans, sweatshirt and lightweight hiking boots he’d grabbed when the call came in early this morning. “Think a uniform might make me look like I know what I’m talking about?”
“Couldn’t hurt,” she said. She crossed to the small closet and fetched the black garments, still in the plastic bag from the dry-cleaners.
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
She grinned. “As long as I didn’t have to iron it.”
After he changed, he took off for a much-needed trip to the men’s room. Washing his hands, he stopped to study the man in the mirror. No question. His nerves and lack of sleep were screaming loud and clear. He splashed water on his face, finger-combed his hair, and looked again. Straightened his tie. Not a whole lot better.
Damn, he was a cop, not a television personality. What difference did it make what he looked like?
/> He went to his office, put some drops in his eyes, and picked up the folder. Colfax met him in the hallway, and they walked toward the lobby of the municipal building together in silence. Gordon pulled the door open. Beyond was a familiar space. The smell of floor wax and air freshener. The muted sounds of people milling around, waiting for their number to be called at the driver’s license office, or for someone to finish in court.
Since he’d become Chief with his own office, Gordon rarely used the main entrance. Was the lobby more crowded than usual? Was everyone waiting to see him make a fool of himself? He wiped his palm on his trousers.
Throwing up was not an option.
“Nothing to worry about,” Colfax said.
“I look that bad?”
Colfax grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “Your statement’s golden. Break a leg.” He pushed against one of the double doors that led outside where the vultures waited, holding it open so Gordon could pass through first.
Gordon attempted to mimic the expression Colfax had demonstrated earlier. With a death grip on his file folder, he marched outside. A lectern crowded with microphones sat in the center of the wide brick stoop. He nodded to the mayor, and took his place behind the lectern, setting his folder against the narrow wooden lip. He sensed Colfax taking a position behind and to his right.
Halfway down the stairs, his officers had erected stanchions, as if this were a red-carpet event. One officer stood at either end, keeping the media at bay. Laurie stood alongside one, holding a large envelope, and flashed him a two-fingered salute. The stanchions were her idea, he’d bet. He nodded at her smiling face.
No smiling faces on the other side of the barrier. Cameras with their annoying flashes. Reporters with microphones, people shouldering video cameras. More microphones on booms, poised like oversized furry caterpillars.
