Sweet Obsession

by J A Whiting

  Ellie came over to the group to give each of them a blanket and then she sat down with them. “How are things going with the case?”

  They took turns giving her the updates.

  “I can see how the bomber gets away with placing the bombs on Agnes Shield’s porch and in Dennis Leeds’s mailbox,” Ellie said. “He dresses like a deliveryman and probably moves efficiently to make it seem like he needs to get his deliveries done in a timely manner, when in reality, he’s moving fast to plant the bomb and get away. People see him and he doesn’t make them suspicious. We all get deliveries now. It’s a commonplace sight. But the bomber must have gone into the Reynolds’s backyard at night. It wasn’t a simple drop off of a package. He had to hollow out a log in order to place the bomb inside of it. That would take some time. Or did he find a log somewhere, prepare the bomb at his home, and then deliver it at night to the Reynolds?”

  “I’d vote for prior preparation of the log,” Angie said, and the cats trilled at her.

  The others agreed.

  “It would take too long to do the preparation on the premises,” Finch said.

  “So this log-bomb proves that the bomber knew the Reynolds had a wood pile in the yard,” Ellie said. “He was familiar with what the logs looked like. He found one somewhere that wouldn’t stand out from the others and he turned it into a bomb. My question is … how did the bomber know about the wood pile? You can’t see it from the street, right?”

  “That’s right,” the chief said. “The wood is at the back of the yard. You can’t see it when driving or walking by the house.”

  “That’s my point,” Ellie said. “The bomber had to know the wood pile was back there. He had to have been in or outside of that house to know the wood was there. He had to have seen it in daylight.”

  The others stared at her.

  “The bomber isn’t choosing his victims at random,” Ellie pointed out. “He’s choosing these particular victims for a reason.”

  16

  Angie and Chief Martin walked into the small office of Blue Sky Painting to meet the owner, Bruce Brown. The man was in his late-forties, had tanned skin, blond hair, and blue eyes. He was wearing jeans and a blue Polo shirt with the name of his company embroidered over the pocket.

  “Have a seat,” Bruce told Angie and the chief. “How can I help you?”

  The chief said, “From our phone discussion, you know we’re assisting the Solana police with the package bomb investigation. We want to talk to you about one of your employees.”

  Bruce sat up straight, his eyes wide. “My employees? Is one of them involved in this mess?”

  “We’re not charging anyone and we aren’t suggesting one of your employees is a suspect.” Chief Martin made sure the man didn’t think one of his workers was a bomber. “When we speak to or about someone, it might be because that individual can help us with the case. They may know something that seems trivial to them, but is actually an important clue to solving the case.”

  Bruce looked slightly relieved.

  “One of your employees lives across the street from the second targeted individual. His name is Dave Hanes,” the chief said.

  One of Bruce’s eyebrows went up. “Dave?”

  “We spoke with Dave recently,” Angie informed the business owner. “He was helpful.”

  “Can you tell us a little about Dave?” Chief Martin asked.

  Bruce took in a deep breath. “Dave is a hard worker. He’s a meticulous painter which comes in handy with trim work and detail work.”

  “How long has Dave worked for you?”

  Bruce calculated in his head. “Three years? Off and on.”

  “Why off and on?” Angie asked. “Does he leave the job on occasion?”

  Bruce looked uncomfortable. “Like I said, Dave’s a good worker. Sometimes, he can be hard to get along with. Sometimes, he irks the other workers. Some guys don’t like Dave. I have to be careful who I pair him up with.”

  “What makes him hard to get along with?” Angie asked.

  It took Bruce a few moments to answer. “Well, Dave is sort of a loner. That might not be the right description of him. He’s better one on one. He seems to like to talk, but he doesn’t like being in a group. Some of the guys can be crude. Dave doesn’t like that and sometimes he speaks up about it which doesn’t go over well with the others. It’s hard to juggle the different personalities.”

  “Has there ever been trouble between Dave and some of the others?” Angie asked for clarification.

  “Yeah.” Bruce rubbed at his chin. “A guy who’s worked for me for about five years can also be difficult. Joe Boles. He gets along great with the other guys, but he likes low, off-color humor so he gets the guys going with his talk. If Dave is around, he gets offended. One day, Dave raised his voice at Joe, called him some names. Joe has a temper, he can be a real grouch, moody. Joe pushed Dave, Dave pushed back. Some blows were landed. I didn’t see it happen. Some of the other workers told me Dave threw the first punch. I made him take a few weeks off. I have to be sure to keep Dave and Joe off the same work team.”

  “Did Joe Boles work at a house across the street from the first bomb package victim? Her name is Agnes Shield.”

  Bruce looked surprised. “Yeah, we had a team there painting the interior and exterior.”

  “My sister and I parked in front of that house the other day,” Angie told him. “A man was very rude to us. In so many words, he told us to get the car out of there. He implied we were stupid.”

  Bruce rolled his eyes and blew out a long breath. “I’ve talked to Joe a million times about not being rude to the neighbors. Unfortunately, he forgets what I’ve told him. I’ll speak to him again about his behavior. I apologize. Please pass my apologies on to your sister.” The business owner shook his head. “See what I have to deal with on a daily basis? If the guys aren’t swearing at each other or throwing punches, they’re talking rudely to the neighbors. It’s a wonder any painting gets done at all.”

  Chief Martin said a few sympathetic words.

  “Does Dave tell the truth?” Angie asked.

  “The truth?” Bruce seemed confused. “I guess so. The conversation between the guys isn’t anything high-level. The things I ask the guys don’t lend themselves to lying. I’d be hard-pressed to know who tends to lie and who doesn’t, so I can’t help you there.”

  The chief asked, “Do you know if Dave has ever been involved in other episodes of physical fighting, either here or outside of work?”

  “Not here, he hasn’t. Just verbal arguments at times. I’ve never noticed him coming to work with a black eye or other injuries that would indicate he’d been in fights outside of work. Joe can push people’s buttons. A sensitive guy like Dave can have trouble holding back when he’s angry.”

  A chill ran over Angie’s skin. Trouble holding back when he’s angry. With a sinking heart, Angie wondered what else Dave could do if he was angry with someone.

  Angie felt fatigued and worn out when she got home after the interview and went straight up to her and Josh’s apartment on the upper floor of the Victorian. Euclid and Circe greeted her at the front door and followed after the young woman when she climbed the stairs to her rooms.

  “I’m tired,” she told the cats. “I think I’ll take a quick nap.”

  Angie changed clothes and crawled into her big, cozy bed with the two felines jumping up to join her. Euclid got comfortable at the foot of the bed and Circe used her front paws to knead at the blankets, purring loudly.

  Angie smiled at the purring. “How can I sleep with all that racket?” she asked the black cat.

  It turned out that Angie could sleep very well despite the noise of the purrs filling the air … as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was deep in slumberland.

  Josh had to be at work late that evening, but Jenna came looking for her sister.

  Angie had left the door to the apartment open and Jenna entered with a knock. When Angie didn’t answer, her twin
went to see if she was having a nap.

  Seeing Angie in bed with the two protective cats on either side, Jenna had to smile. Euclid lifted his head and seeing Jenna, he stood and stretched and jumped off the bed to greet her.

  Petting the huge orange boy, Jenna whispered. “How long has sleepyhead been out?”

  Angie shifted under the covers.

  “Angie? You okay?” her sister asked.

  Rubbing at her eyes, Angie yawned. “I’m fine, just exhausted. My body ran out of gas.”

  “It happens. Did you eat dinner?”

  “As soon as I got home, I collapsed in here. I’m hungry now though.” When she pushed herself up and got out of bed, Circe and Euclid led the way out of the room and down to the kitchen where Angie looked in the refrigerator for leftovers while Jenna made some tea.

  She heated some spaghetti with vegetable sauce in the microwave, took a seat at the kitchen island to eat, and told Jenna about talking with the owner of Blue Sky Painting.

  “That was nice of him to apologize for his employee’s rude behavior towards us.” Jenna sipped her hot tea. “The teams of guys sound like a bunch of kids from middle school, arguing, fighting, throwing punches. Why don’t they just paint and keep their comments in check?”

  “Good luck with that,” Angie said. “I almost pitied the owner for having to deal with all their nonsense.”

  “Why didn’t the owner make the bad-tempered guy take time off from work like he made Dave?” Jenna asked.

  “The guy’s name is Joe. The owner hinted that Joe wouldn’t have handled it well if he made him take a couple of weeks off, and anyway, Dave was the one who threw the first punch.”

  Mr. Finch came into the kitchen from the back door carrying a portfolio under his arm and he greeted the two young women.

  “Is this a good time, Miss Angie?”

  “Yes.” Angie asked Finch to sit next to her.

  “What are you two doing?” Jenna asked.

  Angie reminded her sister how Mr. Finch’s drawings had been causing feelings of unease and anxiety for both of them. Finch removed his sketchbook from the portfolio case and placed it on the island.

  “Shall we just page through it?” Finch asked, and when Angie nodded, he opened the cover to the first picture.

  The colorful drawings had the same themes, family and friends playing or working outside in the yard. The weather was perfect with blue skies and sunny days, and there were cheerful expression on the people’s faces enjoying the weather and their companions.

  “Why do these pictures bother you?” Jenna asked while peering closely at the scenes. “I like them. Everything looks perfect. Everything looks fun and happy.”

  “They look that way, but that’s not what Mr. Finch and I feel from them.” Angie could feel her heart beginning to race.

  Finch kept turning the pages.

  Angie’s eyes widened. “You’ve done so many more of these.”

  “I pick up my colored pencils and pastels and the scenes pour out of my hand. I get lost in the drawing of them. It’s almost like an obsession.” Finch swallowed. It was clear he didn’t like what was happening with the artwork. “Do you feel particularly influenced by one of the pictures?”

  “Not really. My mind is confused.” Some perspiration showed on Angie’s forehead. “My thinking is so muddled. I feel like I want to get away.”

  Finch slammed the cover of the sketchbook. His breathing was coming fast and shallow. “Will you take the book away, Miss Jenna? Put it in the sunroom, please.”

  Jenna snatched it up. “Are you okay?” she asked her sister.

  Angie nodded. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

  Jenna looked to Finch with worried eyes. “Mr. Finch. Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?”

  “I’m fine. I think we’ll feel better once we have a break from the sketchbook.”

  Jenna quickly carried the book out of the kitchen.

  “Shall I destroy the pictures, Miss Angie?” Finch’s voice was shaky.

  Angie reached for the older man’s hand. “Definitely not.”

  17

  The waves crashed onto the sandy beach below the bluff at Robin’s Point. A full moon lit up the area and made the night seem like day. A soft, warm breeze lifted the ends of Angie’s hair for a moment before the strands fluttered back into place.

  While Josh finished up in his office in the resort hotel, Angie took a walk over to the bluff to have a few minutes alone in the spot that meant so much to her family. As little kids, the Roseland sisters spent many happy summers at the Point with their nana in her cottage before the town took back the land and the small houses that had been built on it.

  Josh owned the acreage on Robin’s Point as part of the extensive resort grounds and he’d returned four parcels of that land to the Roselands. Angie and her sisters always felt close to their nana whenever they were on the Point, and on this evening, Angie needed to feel that sense of connection and closeness.

  The package bomb case was taking a toll on her. The cruel intentions of the bomber seemed especially hard to handle even though every case they’d helped Chief Martin with had been difficult. Angie wondered if carrying a child made her more sensitive to acts of brutality or whether working on so many cases exposing the underbelly of humanity was wearing her down. She guessed it was both. Placing her hand on her abdomen, she closed her eyes and cleared her mind to ask her grandmother for the strength she needed to do what was necessary.

  Angie listened as the delicate breeze moved through the leaves of the trees. She heard the power of the ocean as the waves hit the shore below, retreated, and crashed onto the beach, over and over again. Over time, the surging water could eventually erode cliffs and turn that mighty stone into pebbles. She had to remember that things took time, but that one day, strength and patience and determination would prevail.

  Warmth ran through Angie’s veins as she thought of Nana, and her mother, and her daughter and hope fluttered in her chest like the wings of a bird.

  “Angie.” Josh walked towards her over the grass and gently put his arm around her shoulders as he gazed at the silvery path the moon shined over the sea. “It’s such a beautiful night.”

  Angie slipped her arm around her husband’s waist and rested her head against his shoulder. “We’re lucky, aren’t we?”

  Josh kissed the top of her head. “I know I am ... because I met you.”

  Hand-in-hand, they walked back through the beautifully landscaped resort grounds to the cottage they owned tucked away amidst the lush greenery. Because Josh worked such long hours and often needed to be on-hand at a moment’s notice, the couple kept the cottage for convenience, but thought of their apartment in the Victorian as their real home.

  After making tea, Angie and Josh sat together on the sofa and Josh handed her some brochures. “A sales consultant from a Boston-based children’s furniture and accessories store was staying here for a few days. When she heard we were expecting a baby, she left these for us to look at.”

  Angie paged through the brochure. “This crib is really pretty.”

  Josh told her about the company’s reputation for style and quality.

  A second later, her eyes popped. “Did you see the prices?”

  “Do you think it’s too much?”

  “It’s outrageous. You could send a child to college for the cost of this crib.”

  Josh smiled at Angie’s comment. “The price is for the entire room of furniture, not just for the crib.”

  “It’s still too much. How long before Gigi outgrows this stuff and needs an actual bed and dresser?”

  “I thought the things were nice. I want something nice for our daughter.”

  “They are nice, but we’d do our daughter a bigger favor by putting money away for her in a savings or investment account.” Angie pointed out.

  “We can do both … buy the furniture and start an account for her.”

  “We’re going to need to furnish
a nursery here in the cottage and one in the Victorian. I think it’s wasteful to spend so much,” Angie told him. “I don’t like to throw money away. No one knows what the future holds. How about we look for furniture that’s pretty and doesn’t carry the price tag of a small house?”

  Josh chuckled.

  “There’s a new shop in town that carries beautiful things at a fraction of the cost,” Angie said. “Let’s look there.”

  “I’m going to want to spoil her, you know.” Josh rested his hand over his wife’s tummy.

  “Spoil her with love and attention. Those are the things that matter and the things that she’ll remember.”

  With a wide smile, Josh let out a sigh. “How is it that you’re always right?”

  Angie was asleep on the sofa and Josh was in the easy chair watching a movie when Angie’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. Josh glanced at the phone on the side table and sat up fast. He stood and went to his wife, softly speaking her name.

  Angie’s eyes opened. “Is it time to get up?”

  “It’s only 9pm. You were napping.” Josh ran his hand over her cheek. “Chief Martin just sent you a text. I think you need to look at it.” He handed the phone to Angie.

  Pushing herself up to sitting position, Angie rubbed at her eyes and took a look at the message on the phone. “Oh, no.” Her fingers flew over the screen to send a reply.

  “Will you come with me?” she asked Josh.

  “Of course. I’ll change out of my sweatpants.” Josh hurried into the bedroom while Angie made a call to Jenna.

  “Jenna will meet us. She’s going to ask Mr. Finch and Courtney to come, too,” she told her husband as she slipped on jeans and a sweater. “When is this going to end? When will someone figure it out?”

  Josh wrapped her in his arms for a few moments, and then they left the cottage and went to the car to drive to the address in Solana Village.

  “Did the text say anymore?” Josh asked as he turned the car south.