by Paula Matter
JC snorted. “Yeah, writing in that notebook of his. He was—”
“A pain in the ass, always causing trouble,” Dick finished.
“Jack wasn’t so bad, not really,” Sam said. “He liked things to be done like in the old days. Jack was set in his ways, that’s all.”
“Were y’all in here last night?” Bobby Lee raised his hand at me. “I know you didn’t work last night, but were you here yesterday?”
“For a few minutes to get my paycheck, and that was around five thirty or so.” I glanced at the others waiting for confirmation. No one made a sound. “I imagine the rest of these guys were here, since they usually are every night.” I leaned back, crossed my arms against my chest. If they weren’t going to back me up, I sure wasn’t going to help them.
“Okay. Gentlemen?”
Dick spoke up first. “JC and I left at the same time, about eleven thirty, wasn’t it, JC?”
“Yeah, it was right after the news ended, and Jack was still here when we left,” JC answered. “And we saw Kevin come out about the same time.” Kevin nodded.
“What time did Jack leave last night, or better yet, this morning, Sam? You closed up, right?” Bobby Lee asked.
“I was training the new girl.” He took a sip of coffee. “Not real sure when Jack left. I didn’t pay too much attention.”
I bit my tongue to keep from making another outburst, then thought better of it. Clearly I was on my own. “Yeah, where is Abby anyway? She should be here instead of me.”
Pete, who had said nothing at this point, leaned forward. “Abby’s going back home. Said she didn’t like the small town, and that she missed Ft. Walton Beach.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I stopped by this morning to let Sam here know.”
So much for having two nights in a row off, I thought.
“I’ll bet this is the first time a woman left you for a change. What? You weren’t man enough for her to stay?” Kevin said, laughing.
“Shit,” Pete answered, grinning. “More like she was too flaky for me.” He puffed out his chest and sat up straighter.
Bobby Lee said, “Y’know, Pete, I’m gonna want to talk with her sometime.” He jotted something down in his little notebook.
My coffee had become cold and I stood up to get another cup. I headed into the little kitchen behind the bar, grabbed the second pot that Sam had made, and brought it around to refill cups. Dick glanced longingly over at the beer tap as I freshened his cup. JC placed his hand over his cup and I was sorely tempted to not notice and pour coffee anyway. I emptied the pot and went back into the kitchen. I took some time to rinse out the pot, empty the filter basket, and wipe up the coffee grounds Sam had somehow managed to spill all over the counter.
By the time I returned to the bar, the men were shuffling away, heading to the back of the room near the offices. They generally used the tables in the back to hold private meetings, and it was obvious I wasn’t included. I thought about leaving, but curiosity got the better of me. I slid up onto my barstool and did the only thing I could do.
Wait.
And watch. A huge mirror took up the back bar wall, and I positioned myself so I saw them all getting settled at one of the long tables. I could easily see over the rows of liquor bottles lined up on the shelves. I doubted any of the men would pay much attention to me, and if by chance one of them did, I could easily look away. I’d pretend to take a deep interest in the row of bottles. I practiced shifting my eyes from the bottles to them just in case. I couldn’t hear them, but I could watch them.
JC hadn’t sat down, and he pulled something out of his pocket and showed it to Bobby Lee. The police chief examined the object, then he looked up and our eyes met in the mirror. Nice bottle of Jack Daniels. When I looked up again, Bobby Lee was holding the object in one hand and scratching his head with his other.
Curious as hell, I forced myself to stay rooted to my stool. My gut clenched, always a good signal for me to keep alert. Four times out of ten, I listen to my instinct, and it was screaming for me to stay put.
A flurry of movement caught my eye. The men were moving back up to the bar. Pete and Kevin made a quick turn and went out through the front door of the building. The others continued toward me. I swiveled around to face them.
Bobby Lee stopped in front of me and held out his palm. “Maggie, is this yours?” A wadded up piece of purple fabric with long strands of red hair lay in his hand. A scrunchie?
My hand automatically went to the back of my head, touching my ponytail. “It might be, Bobby Lee. I don’t know. Why?”
Instead of answering me, he glared at the men. “Y’know, y’all shouldn’t have touched this seeing as how it could be evidence. Somebody get me a baggie or a paper bag so I can put this away for safekeeping.”
Sam made a beeline for the kitchen.
Bobby Lee reached to unclip his handcuffs from his waist.
“Oh, c’mon, Bobby Lee, is that really necessary?” Dick asked. “I think she’ll go along without creating a fuss.”
“Go along?” I asked. “Where am I going?”
Bobby Lee took his beefy hand off the handcuffs and rubbed it across his mouth. “Maggie, I need to take you down to the station for questioning in the murder of Jack Hoffman. This”—he held out the scrunchie—“was found on the floor of Jack’s truck.”
Three
This had to be some kind of joke. I’m on my way to the slammer and Bobby Lee decided to get an Egg McMuffin. I figured he’d leave me in the backseat while he went inside, so I planned my escape. No door handles, but I was pissed off enough that maybe I could kick the door out. Yeah, right. I couldn’t even stop my legs from shaking.
He pulled the cruiser into the drive-thru lane. Turning his head to look at me, he asked, “Want anything, Maggie?”
Yeah, I want you to let me go. I want to cry. I want to throw up. I want to kill the bastards who’ve done this to me.
Not one of those things could I say aloud, so I just shook my head no.
“You sure? I’m buying.”
And then I wanted to laugh. Hysterically. Loud enough that I’d wake up from this horrible dream. Instead, I closed my eyes, rested my head on the back of the seat. Suddenly feeling as though someone was staring, I opened my eyes.
Peggy Dougal, fast-food server extraordinaire, gaped at me through her little window as she passed a bag of food to Bobby Lee. Terrific. The news of my riding around in the back of the police chief’s cruiser would be all over town within the hour.
I leaned forward and, loud enough for Peggy to hear, I said, “Hey, Bobby Lee, thanks again for letting me ride with you this morning. Sitting back here gives me a good sense of what it must feel like to be a prisoner. Great research for my book.”
Bobby Lee turned to me, his mouth open.
“Drive,” I muttered. “Get me the hell out of here.”
Minutes later, I walked through the front door of the North DeSoto Police Department. Bobby Lee led me gently by the arm behind the counter, through the small station, and stopped at a closed door. He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and just as gently said, “Here you go, Maggie. I need you to wait in here.” He unlocked and opened the door. “This is our holding cell, make yourself comfortable.”
A stainless steel toilet, sink, and waste can on one side of the six-by-six room, a wooden bench bolted to the floor on the other. No computer. No desk. No phone.
Phone. I’d watched enough Law & Order to know my rights. “Hey, don’t I get to make a phone call?” I’d need somebody to take me back to the club to get my car.
“In a bit. Go on and have a seat.” He nudged me forward a little. “You can use the phone after I’ve written up my report. I won’t be long.”
Whoa. Report. A quick memory flashed back to two years ago when I’d been part of one of his reports. As if a fog had lifted, I came t
o my senses. I slapped my palms against the doorjamb, locked my knees, and took a deep breath.
“Now, Maggie—”
“Chief. I am not going in there. If you have any questions for me, we’ll talk in your office. We both know how you handled your last murder investigation, don’t we?”
Bobby Lee cleared his throat, reached around me, and closed the steel door.
Last year the county built a new police station after the last bad hurricane wiped out the old one. The police chief had his own office now, and that’s where Bobby Lee led me. He stopped at a coffee station inside his door, pushed the power button, then pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk. I sat on the edge of one of them, my back straight, hands in my lap. The window behind his desk offered a view of River Walk Road, and the St. Johns just beyond.
His chair squeaked as he sat down. Steepling his pudgy fingers, he looked at me across the desk. His nameplate read Robert E. Lee. Bob E. Lee. Oh, now I got it.
“Well. Maggie. What we have here is a very serious situation,” he began. “That piece of evidence was enough to bring you in, but I’m sure there’s more information you can give me. Like, who helped you? A little thing like you wouldn’t be able to tackle someone Jack’s size.”
I took a deep breath. “A scrunchie? You consider that evidence?”
“I’m not at liberty to say—”
Unbelievable. I blinked a couple times.
“Aw, Maggie, you ain’t gonna start crying on me, are you? No need for that. Just tell me what happened.”
Crying, hell. More like screaming and spitting and pitching a fit. Another deep breath. My hands felt clammy and I wiped them on my jeans. Never let them see you sweat.
“Bobby Lee, when can I make my phone call?”
“We’ll get to that.” He waved his hand and said, “Right now we’re talking, that’s all. Trying to get to the bottom of this. Now, Maggie, what can you tell me?” He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his fat neck.
“I’d like to make that phone call now, Bobby Lee. Please.”
He leaned forward, causing the chair to groan. “All right, all right.” He turned his desk phone around and pushed it toward me. “Go ahead.”
My hand froze in midair over the phone. Who could I call? My friend Brenda would come in a heartbeat, but I had no clue where she was. Mom and my brother Tony were in Miami. Sam? His behavior toward me earlier made me wonder how helpful he’d be. My hand jumped when the phone suddenly rang.
Bobby Lee pulled the phone back and answered. For a split second I considered leaving. That meant I’d have to walk all the way back to the club, so I stayed put and listened to his side of the conversation. Which apparently was all about me. Terrific.
“You were able to get verification? Okay. Three thirty a.m. Definitely Maggie’s. Got it.” He talked, listened, stared at me, and scribbled on his notepad paper. His multitasking almost impressed me.
Bobby Lee hung up and stared at me for a full minute, a frown creased on his sweaty forehead. He scooted his chair back and walked around behind me. I tensed, waiting to see what he was up to. Who had he been talking to? I relaxed when I heard him at the coffeepot.
“Milk, sugar?”
Sugar? I sprang from my chair. “How dare you call me—” Oh. He held a sugar bowl in one hand, a spoon in his other. Get a grip, I told myself. “I’ll do it,” I answered. He took his mug and waddled over to his chair. I fixed my coffee—lots of sugar and milk—and sat back down. I took a gulp from the cup.
“Maggie, care to explain why you were at the VFW at three thirty this morning?”
Coffee spewed. Everywhere. Across his desk, on his little name sign, all over my lap. I jumped up, brushed the legs of my jeans, looked at him, and said, “What? What the hell are you talking about?” I let loose with a slew of words that’d make any sailor proud.
“Sit down.” He wiped his handkerchief across papers, his notebook on his desk.
I glared at him. “Answer me.” I pressed my hands flat atop his desk. I hoped he couldn’t see my legs shaking. I wished my body would get its act together. The madder I get, the more my hands and legs shake and it makes me look like I’m scared. And that only pisses me off, so I shake more. Vicious cycle.
“Maggie, sit down.” Bobby Lee’s hand rested on his gun. He shifted in his chair and placed his other hand on his handcuffs. “Now.”
Okie dokie. My mother didn’t raise me to do the yes sir, yes ma’am shit, so I simply sat. But I wasn’t going to be quiet.
“C’mon, Bobby Lee, you know I had nothing to do with Jack’s murder. I mean, I never liked him, but if I went around killing all the people I don’t like, I’d be one busy person.” That certainly didn’t come out right. I’d try again. “Y’know, I’m not the only person who didn’t like Jack. He was always busy writing stuff down in that little notebook of his. He kept track of the stupidest things to bring up at the monthly board meetings. Most of the members didn’t like him, and didn’t want to wind up in his notebook.”
Good one, Maggie. Now it sounded like I had an accomplice—exactly what Bobby Lee suspected in the first place. Maybe it was time I shut the hell up.
Before I could stop myself, I said, “Besides, if I had wanted to kill Jack, I would’ve poisoned his beer.” Ouch. I closed my eyes, lowered my head, and waited.
“You done?”
Keeping my head down, I nodded.
“That was Dick on the phone calling to tell me the security company verified you—”
My head shot up. Bobby Lee raised his hands, the scowl on his face warning me.
“They said your code had been used early this morning. Now, that doesn’t prove that it was you, just that someone used your number.”
Whoa. Could he be starting to believe me? But who the hell was out to get me? Well, apparently Dick topped the list.
“And this”—he held up the baggie with my scrunchie—“is another piece of evidence because of where it was found. It’s all I have to go on. Now, tell me. Were you or were you not at the VFW at three thirty this morning?”
“Oh, please. Lots of people have a security code. And keys.” I ticked their names off my fingers. “JC, Dick, Sam, Kevin, Pam, Diane. Why aren’t you asking them questions?”
“I’ll get to all of them. Right now I’m talking to you, little lady.”
Little lady? I almost lost it again. I counted to ten, took a deep breath, and stood. “Are we done here? Because I’ve told you all I know. Just like the last time.”
He recoiled as if my words had hit him. Good.
“Chief, I promise you I will not let you screw up this murder investigation. Not like you did two years ago.” I turned and started to walk out.
“Aw, shoot, Maggie, I’ll give you a ride home. Or back to the club to get your car.”
“I’m fine on my own,” I said and walked out onto the town square.
On my own. That’s exactly where I was. But I sure wasn’t fine.
Four
Aw, hell, might as well start walking. Behind the police station, and the courthouse and post office on either side of it, was where I headed. A riverfront walk from the town square more or less meandered its way to my neighborhood. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d walked a mile. I swear, I could sometimes kick myself for being so stubborn. And mouthy. And grouchy.
But I was working on it. About four months ago, Thanksgiving to be exact, I had decided to embark on a get-your-shit-together-and-find-something-to-be-thankful-for journey. The club was closed for the holiday, but Sam had written me up the day before. Members were complaining about my crappy attitude. He felt awful about it, but JC and Dick demanded something be done.
I shivered as a cool breeze off the choppy, gray St. Johns River blew past me. I pulled my jacket collar closer, leaned against the railing, and looked southeast to
ward St. Augustine. I’d have to go back there someday.
“Good morning,” a voice near me said.
Turning my head, I watched an elderly couple approach. I smiled and answered his greeting. She wore a light cardigan across her shoulders, and curly gray hair poked out from underneath his Detroit Lions visor. Tourists. The shorts, brown sandals, and white socks were a dead giveaway.
“Have a nice day, dear,” she said, and they continued on down the path.
Sweet couple. Nice they were able to grow old together.
I pushed away from the railing and went on my way. I strolled past the gazebo, the community swimming pool, and the gurgling spring. I could just make out the tall sign of the North DeSoto shopping center in the distance. Another ten, fifteen minutes until I got there, then five minutes more to the house.
Daily walks. I’d add them to my get-my-shit-together plan. Today’s walk could be the beginning. About sixteen blocks. Not too bad for my first time. Maybe I could lose the extra twenty-five pounds if I kept this up every day. I could even buy one of those rolling carts like my neighbor has and do my grocery shopping every week.
Right. Who was I kidding? I shopped twice a month and that was mainly for coffee, frozen pizza, and microwave dinners. My stomach grumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything today. I’d stop at Winn-Dixie and get myself a reward for walking all this way. Something healthy, nutritious. Fresh fruit, maybe a carton of orange juice. Eager to get started on my new plan, I entered the store and was wandering up and down aisles when it hit me. I had no cash in my wallet, and my debit card would be laughed at if I tried to run it through the scanner. I dug into my pockets and came up with some lint and three quarters. Terrific.
I ended up buying a king-sized Snickers bar on sale. Usually I eat them frozen, but I tore into it. I picked up my pace, crossed the main road, which led me into a mostly residential section. Between the nearly fifty hours or so a week I worked at the VFW, cleaning Pam’s house once a week, and Diane’s once a month, I had little time left to really explore my neighborhood. We’d moved up from Miami when Rob got transferred to run the local Radio Shack six years ago. We’d been so busy with the renovations, we’d only met one neighbor—a little old lady named Dottie who’d brought us flowers—and we hadn’t ever ventured too far from the house. The places we needed to go to—Winn-Dixie, the credit union, Lowe’s—we found our first week here. We never had to drive far to get anywhere. Living in this small town had been an adjustment for us, still is for me. I remembered how we laughed the first time we saw the sign welcoming us to North DeSoto Pop. 2,214.
