by Debby Mayne
"The chief," he said as he pressed the TALK button.
I got out and walked around the car to talk to the people in the SUV. A smile quickly formed on the face of a man who appeared vaguely familiar. "Hey Summer," he said.
Squinting, I leaned forward to get a better look at him. We obviously knew each other, but I couldn't remember where.
"You helped train me way back when I first got into police work," he said. "I rode with you for a couple of days."
"Oh yeah, now I remember." Only problem was I couldn't remember his name.
"I'm John Shackley."
The name didn't ring a bell, but I'd trained so many people I lost track of them. "So you're in Atlanta now, huh?" Duh. Could I have said anything more obvious?
"Yep. There's a lot more action here."
He obviously liked it. "Oh, I'm sure there is."
Vince got out of the car, and I followed. I was relieved to finish my inane conversation with John Shackley.
"Are we clear to go in?" I asked, half hoping he'd tell me I wasn't allowed anywhere near the scene so I wouldn't have to continue chatting with John, but deep down knowing I'd go crazy with curiosity if I couldn't see inside the house.
"As long as you're with me, you can go. But you have to stay right by my side," Vince replied. "The chief said not to let you wander around on your own."
I grimaced. "He must have heard about my reputation."
Vince nodded. "His Nashville connection said you tend to get caught up in stuff, and you follow trails without telling anyone." He gave me an apologetic smile. "But that's probably what made you a great cop."
"Thanks, I think."
"C'mon, let's go."
By the time we got to the Essie McClure's front porch, the forensics guys had already gone into the house. As I walked inside, I was surprised by how modern the place looked. The contemporary sofa was flanked by a couple of sleek looking rocking chairs. Instead of a traditional coffee table, there was a modular unit that served the double purpose of storage and surface area for refreshments and magazines.
A big-screen TV had been wall mounted, and directly beneath it was a portable electric fireplace. The hardwood floors glistened everywhere but the places garden-style rugs had been strategically placed to indicate seating groups. Vases of fresh-cut flowers added a touch of life to the pristine room.
Vince glanced at me. "Nice place, isn't it?"
I nodded. Either Ms. McClure was a decorating genius, or she'd hired someone.
"Hey, Vince, c'mere," John hollered from the hallway. "You gotta see this."
I followed Vince down the hallway to what appeared to be the bedroom area. The decorations back there weren't quite so updated. I nearly tripped over a tattered runner in the hallway, and when I got to the bedroom where John stood in front of an oversized, weathered dresser, I saw more signs of an elderly person living there.
"Take a look at his," John said, pointing to the dresser. Several drawers were open, and papers had been scattered everywhere, with quite a few of them on the floor. "Looks like we're not the first ones here."
"I thought you guys were here yesterday."
"We did most of our work outside. Harry walked through while the rest of us collected evidence from the yard."
"Y'all talking about me?" a man said from the doorway. I assumed he was Harry.
Vince gestured around the room. "Did you come back here yesterday?"
Harry glanced at the mess and nodded. "Yes, and everything was all neat and tidy. Looks like someone has been here since then."
"A very messy someone," I added. "But I suppose if he … or she needed to get out of here quickly—"
"Yeah," John said, interrupting me. "That eliminates her children. They'd have a reason to be here."
"Not really," I reminded him. "No one is supposed to go past the crime scene tape, not even her children."
"Oh yeah," John said. "I knew that."
Vince gave me a brief smile before placing his hand on John's shoulder. "Of course you did."
I pointed to the padded chest at the foot of the bed. "Looks like whoever came through missed something." A small, neatly folded throw was draped over the still-closed chest.
"That's probably filled with more blankets," Vince said.
"Why don't we check?" I said. "Do you have an extra pair of gloves?"
John glanced at Vince who nodded before pulling a pair of disposable gloves from his bag and handing them to me. I pulled them on and carefully opened the chest.
"See?" Vince said as he gestured toward the chest full of linens and blankets. "Nothing significant there."
"Wait a minute." I leaned over and reached down the side to feel for anything else. "There's more stuff underneath."
We cautiously lifted all of the blankets, tablecloths, and linen napkins and placed them on the corner of the bed. There must have been at least a dozen file folders, all of them labeled, staring up at us.
"Hmm." Vince's mouth formed a straight line as he looked at me in amazement. "Interesting."
"Yeah, let's see what we have here."
John gently touched my arm. "Let me do that. I don't want to mess with protocol. Defense attorneys are sticklers about that kind of thing."
"You're right," I said as I took a step back. "Knock yourself out."
John stilled and slowly turned to me. "What?"
Vince laughed. "That's a figure of speech. She's telling you to go ahead and do what you need to do."
"Why didn't you just say that?" John asked as he went back to his task of removing all of the file folders. As he placed them on the other corner of the bed, I looked at the labels and realized we had quite a bit of information that could possibly help solve this case.
Beneath the stacks of files were journals—at least a dozen of them. John picked up one and put it in a box.
My curiosity got the best of me. "Can you open one of them and see what kind of stuff is written in there?" I gave him the best pleading look I could manage.
"Nosy little thing, aren't you?" John said.
Vince didn't give me a chance to reply. "She was one of the best detectives they ever had at the Nashville Police Department. Nosiness comes with the territory."
"I'll take that as a compliment." I nodded toward the journals. "So how about it?"
John glanced at Vince, who gave him a clipped nod. He opened one and started reading aloud. "Looks like a diary to me."
I smiled at Vince. "And it looks to me like we might have hit pay dirt."
We got all of the journals and files boxed up. Vince asked me to follow him around the rest of the house to see if we could find anything else. As we looked in the two extra bedrooms, I was surprised that they were all still neat and tidy. One of the rooms had a double bed with an old-fashioned chenille bedspread, a distressed antique nightstand, and a Victorian lamp. Across the room was a tall chest of drawers that didn't quite match anything else, but it still looked nice.
I stood back as Vince opened each drawer and declared it empty … until he got to the very bottom. "More journals," he announced. "Go get John."
"Do you trust me enough to be out of your sight?" I teased.
"Maybe I shouldn't," he replied.
"I'll be right back." I disappeared before he changed his mind. Despite the temptation to wander around on my own, I knew that was a bad idea. John and Harry had just come back from taking all the boxes to the SUV when I found them.
"She sure did like to write," John observed. He flipped through a couple of the journals that had older dates on them. "These things are all full."
After we finished going through the guest room, we went to the other spare bedroom that Ms. McClure had converted to a craft room. In one corner was a sewing machine perched on a card table. In another corner was what appeared to be an old kitchen table with a glue gun, some wire cutters, and several small baskets filled with more craft supplies.
"She was a busy woman," Vince said.
"Yes,
" I agreed, "but I don't see any signs of interaction with other people."
Vince nodded. "It is odd that a woman with children—and grandkids—wouldn't have photos of her family."
John made a sound from the closet before backing out. "You spoke too fast. Here's one of her with a bunch of people."
Vince and I both turned around to see what he had. And in spite of the fact that I'd never been easily surprised, I gasped.
Chapter 5
The large framed photo would have been a beautiful portrait of a loving family, except on the front row was a scowling little boy holding a gun that looked exactly like the one we'd found in the garden.
Vince's eyes widened. "Whoa."
"Yeah, my sentiments exactly." I stepped closer to the picture, narrowed my eyes, and got a better look at it. "I can't imagine letting a little kid hold a gun like that."
"That's probably why she didn't have this picture hanging on the wall." John shook his head. "It's pretty creepy if you ask me."
I studied the picture for another few seconds before turning to Vince. "Did you ever find out who the gun was registered to?"
He held out his hands. "It wasn't registered."
"We'll need to take this photograph in and have it analyzed to see if it really is the same gun." As soon as those words came out of my mouth, I realized I'd fallen back into detective mode, and I was telling the guys what to do. "Sorry, I got kind of carried away."
Vince chuckled. "You heard her," he told John. "Let's see what else we can find."
The closet was jam-packed with all kinds of odds and ends, and we had to continue handling things with extreme caution, so it took us a while to go through it. We finally came away with several more boxes filled with potential evidence, including more photos of family, a shoebox of rejection letters from the community garden club, and a tiny cedar container filled with memorabilia.
"Looks like the investigation team will be busy until we find out who killed her," Vince said.
John made a face as he nodded. "Unfortunately we're running short on manpower lately."
"You need to go ahead and take that stuff in," Vince said. "Let us know if there's anything we can help you with."
I noticed that Vince said "us" and "we." I wondered if he was including me. As much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, I hoped that was the case. Nothing got my adrenaline going like investigating a tough case. It was like a moving puzzle that shifted each time you plugged in a piece. And I loved every minute of it. The only thing I hated was the fact that it often involved a murder, and the very thought of someone taking another person's life gave me the creeps.
We helped John load everything into the SUV and then stood and watched as he drove away. Finally, Vince turned back to me and smiled, but he didn't say anything.
"What now?" I asked.
"All depends." He held my gaze for about a minute. "Do you need to go back to the hotel for anything?"
"Not really."
"Would you like to go to the station with me?"
I tried to act nonchalant. "That would be okay, I guess."
He cast a sideway glance in my direction. "I'm not twisting your arm."
"I know you're not." I swallowed hard. "Yes, I'd really like to go to the station with you." As I spoke those words, they felt as though they carried more than what I intended … almost a commitment.
The look he gave me let me know he understood. I liked Vince. He was smart, easy to be around, and kind.
We rode to the station in silence, allowing my thoughts to form and then become jumbled. I was okay with that, though, because I'd been through this enough times to know it was part of the process and would work itself out as the investigation progressed.
As soon as we pulled into the station parking lot, my cell phone rang. It was Mr. Van Houghton. My insides tightened as I stared at the phone.
"The day care center?" Vince asked.
I nodded. "Unfortunately, yes."
He pointed at the phone. "Answer it. I'll go on inside and wait for you in the lobby."
I appreciated his giving me privacy to talk to Mr. Van Houghton, but I still didn't know what to say. I punched the TALK button and answered.
"What if I offer you a bonus for taking the job?" he asked. No greeting or asking me how I was.
"A bonus?"
"Yeah. I'm thinking a bonus with half being paid in your first paycheck and half in ninety days … if you last that long."
"What kind of bonus?" Money really wasn't that important to me because if I didn't want a job, no amount of money could get me to do it. I was still on the fence about this one, which wasn't a good sign.
"Ten thousand?" he said, somewhat tentatively.
"I'm going to have to lease an apartment," I said without hesitation. "Aren't most leases at least a year?" Okay, so I could be moved by the right amount of money.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you there's a small apartment behind the day care. No one has used it in a while, so it probably needs a little bit of work, but you can stay there until you find something you like. Electricity and water are included."
"Can I stay for ninety days?"
"Yes, that's fine."
"Rent free?"
He sighed. "Yes."
"I'll take it." No way could I turn down that kind of money and apartment. I could get a new secondhand car and not have to worry about a lease.
"Can you start tomorrow?"
"I have to go back to Nashville and get my things." I thought about the investigation and my unspoken commitment to Vince. No way could I leave him in a lurch. "How about I start in a week?"
"A week?" Once again he sighed. "I guess that'll be okay, but not more than that. I have other things I need to be doing with my time."
"I'm sure. I'll pick up most of my belongings and be back soon." I paused for a moment. "I can probably start in less than a week."
"That'll be good. Just let me know." He cleared his throat. "Don't worry about dishes and stuff like that. It's completely furnished."
"Sheets?" I asked.
"You might want to bring your own sheets and a mattress pad. The bed is quite old."
I mentally made a note to bring sheets, the heaviest duty mattress pad I could find, and a large can of disinfectant. "Thanks. I'll see you then."
"If you're still in town, I need for you to stop by and sign the contract."
"Contract?" I asked.
"Yes. You don't expect me to give you half of your bonus without a signed contract, do you? If you don't stay the full ninety days, I'll want it back."
"Oh, of course." I figured that even if I hated the job, I could do it for ninety days.
We chatted for a few more minutes before he was called away from his desk. After I hung up, I got out of the car and headed into the station. Vince was standing by the door, his hands in his pockets, waiting for me.
"Sorry it took so long."
"No worries." He took a long look at my face and squinted. "Something happened to you." His comment was more of a question than a statement.
"What makes you say that?" I asked.
"The look on your face. There's something different."
"You're good," I said. "Yes, something did happen. I accepted the job at Tiddly Winks."
His eyebrows shot up. "I didn't see that coming. Why?"
"Well, they really need someone as soon as possible," I began.
"And?" He gave me a half-smile.
"And he offered me a bonus to take the job and stick with it for ninety days."
"Okay, now it makes sense. To be honest, I'm glad because that means you'll be here in Atlanta."
My heart did a little double-time beating, until I took a deep breath and reminded myself that it wasn't a good idea for me to get involved with a law enforcement officer. The temptation would be too great to get right back into the field that I'd been trying so hard to avoid.
"So what do you have so far with the investigation?" I asked.
H
e pursed his lips before speaking, and that said more than words. He could only tell me so much, and beyond that, I had to read between the lines. "There are actually several things. First, I mentioned that the gun wasn't registered, but we found some documents that make us think it belonged to Ms. McClure. Second, I finally got in touch with her sons who are still on vacation. They didn't sound shocked when I told them what happened."
"Didn't their sister tell them?"
"Nope. As far as I know, they heard it first from me."
I shook my head. "You don't think they had anything to do with the murder, do you?"
"I doubt it," he said, "but that has to remain on the list of possibilities." He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "The guy in the house behind her is a raving lunatic. Since the murder, he has called the station several times demanding we do something about that tree in Ms. McClure's backyard."
"He's thinking about the tree, even now?"
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly blew it out as he opened them and looked at me. "I know. It's hard for me to fathom how someone can be more worried about some stupid tree than the fact that his neighbor was murdered in her own yard."
"Has anyone questioned him yet?" I asked.
"Not yet, but he's on the list. Problem is, he said he was on his way out of town, and we'd have to wait until he gets back."
I noticed the same reactions in Vince that I'd had before I decided to retire from law enforcement—the tired eyes, the weary spirit, frustration, and the commitment to justice that kept him going. When I worked on a murder case in the past, it consumed my life, which was probably why I'd never been able to stay in a serious relationship very long.
We were still standing in the lobby of the police station, and I really wanted to see the rest of the place. "Do you have an office?"
"I share space with a few other officers." He gestured toward the door beside the reception desk. "Why don't we go on back? You can have a seat, and I'll get you a cup of coffee."
As we walked through the station, I took a long look around. There were a few differences, but for the most part, it looked like where I'd worked in Nashville. I felt at home in the space with the sparkling tile floors, an acoustical ceiling overhead, some cubicle partitions but not enough to provide privacy, and a combination of wood and metal desks that were mostly unoccupied.
