by K. J. Emrick
Hope was a wonderful thing.
It was late when Jerry came home. He looked exhausted and Cookie couldn’t blame him one bit. Big cases like this took a lot more work on the part of the police than anyone ever realized. The paperwork alone must have taken hours to complete. The interviews with the victims and the suspects could be draining. She’d seen that in lots of cases he’d worked before. Even when there were other officers helping him, he was still the very heart of the investigation.
He wasn’t the sort of man to delegate to other people either, but at the same time there was only so much of the work that could be handed out to others to do. Especially in a big case like this one. Every piece of paper would have his name on it, and so he needed to make sure that all the lowercase j’s were dotted and all the places for initials were, well… initialed.
By the time he came home, Clarissa and Rick were already asleep in their room. At least, Cookie assumed they were asleep. They had both come up after the shop was closed, and said a very quiet goodnight to her, and then gone to the spare bedroom and closed the door. They must have eaten something from the downstairs kitchen because they certainly didn’t eat supper with her. For all Cookie knew, they were still awake in there, sitting and talking. Lord knew they had a lot to talk about.
She’d gone down herself to check on the bakery after they went into their room and everything had been perfect. Things were in their rightful places, all the doors were locked, all the food stuffs were put away, and the kitchen was immaculate. She couldn’t have done better herself. She had to say this much for Rick. His problems had nothing to do with his ability to run a bakery. She found some of the meat pastries he’d made, leftover in the big kitchen refrigerator downstairs, and tried it for herself. It tasted wonderful. The man could cook, and the man could run a business. If he ever got himself squared away, then Cookie would have no problem leaving the business to him when she retired.
As long as Clarissa was with him, that was. Rick would always be an addict, even when he got himself clean. It wasn’t something that ever really went away. Every person going through that needed someone in their lives who loved them enough to keep them on the straight and narrow. That was actually true of everyone, she supposed. Any big troubles in our lives were always easier to handle when there was someone to stand by us.
Sitting at the dining table in her apartment now, with Cream nestled comfortably in her lap, Cookie looked down the hallway to the door of the guest bedroom. She had to admire Clarissa for standing by Rick. She just hoped that it didn’t backfire on her. Standing by your man was noble unless he refused to get out of the quicksand and started dragging you down with him.
So far, Rick hadn’t run away. He’d been told he was going to start getting help tomorrow whether he thought he needed it or not, and he was still here. That had to count for something.
She heard Jerry coming up the stairs before he opened the apartment door and smiled at her, sitting there with a cup of tea in front of her and a dog in her lap. “Did you wait up for me? You didn’t need to do that.”
“I missed you,” she said simply. It was the truth. They’d spent most of the morning together and yet she still felt like she’d hardly gotten to see him at all.
“You mean,” he chuckled, “that you were curious about what the investigation had turned up.”
“That too, I suppose.” She took a sip of her tea. Her other hand was settled on Cream’s back as he twitched in his sleep, chasing after a rabbit or a car or an airplane. Even little dogs needed to dream big. “How did things go after I left? Did Mara confess?”
He took off his suitcoat and dropped it over the back of the chair across from her as he sank himself down into it. “No, she did not. For the first hour or so, she protested she was innocent. For the next hour, she insisted she had been framed somehow. After that she refused to even speak to us except to say one single word.”
“Lawyer?” Cookie guessed.
“You got it. I am absolutely starving. Do we have anything to eat?”
“Actually, yes. I brought up the rest of Rick’s meat pastries from today. There’s four of them left in a donut box in our fridge.”
She started to get up, gently sliding her hands under Cream to take him off her lap, when Jerry stood up quickly and made a patting motion at the air with his hand. “It’s all right, I’ve got it. Let the little guy sleep. So. Rick’s really working out, is he? That’s good.”
“Well, it’s a matter of taking the good with the bad,” she told him.
She could hear him behind her at the counter, putting two pastries from the box onto a plate and then into the microwave. “Good and bad? How so?”
Cookie took a moment to wrap her hands around the teacup again before answering. She couldn’t keep this from Jerry any longer. She’d called her daughter earlier, and Madison had cried and yelled about what had happened to Clarissa, and only calmed down after a long, long talk. She was on her way now, and expected to be here tomorrow, which was good. Cookie thought she might need all the support she could get when the time came for Rick to actually follow through on his promise.
That was going to include Jerry.
The microwave beeped that it was ready, and he brought his plate of food over with a fork and a can of soda and started to eat as she began explaining everything to him. The expression on his face slowly changed as Cookie got further into her story, and soon the half-eaten pastries were forgotten. He’d known that something was up, and he may even have guessed at what the real problem was but hearing it from Cookie obviously put everything in a perspective for him.
“Drug addiction is a hard habit to break.” He shook his head, lowering his voice like Cookie had done so their guests wouldn’t hear them talking about them. “If Rick has agreed to get help then that’s a good first step. Following through is going to be the trick.”
“Yes,” Cookie agreed. “That’s just what I was thinking.
“You said you found some of his stuff. I don’t need to know what kind, or how much, or anything like that. Just tell me you took care of it?”
She nodded. “I did. He won’t find it.”
“Good. Addicts will break every promise they make if it means they can keep on being addicts. You understand that, right?”
“I do. I knew I had to try something because I couldn’t let them go on this way. He’s the man my granddaughter wants to marry. She’s still sees him as the boy she used to sneak around with. He never used to be like this. He used to be so full of life and so sure of himself. He was worth Clarissa’s time.”
“And now?”
“Now…” Cookie thought about it, and then shrugged. “Now I hope that he finds his way back to himself.”
“He’s going to have a rough time of it. He could be fighting this for the rest of his life.”
There was no judgment in his words, only the facts and an honest concern for what was going to happen to Rick. Cookie nodded along with him, and gave him a loving smile, knowing that she had done right to tell him about the problems in her granddaughter’s life. Jerry only cared about getting Rick well. He was a good man.
“We should get to bed,” she suggested. She was terribly tired, but she still wanted to hear about the rest of his day. “Tell me what happened with Mara first. Did you take her to see the judge?”
“Tomorrow,” he told her. “We’ll be doing that part of it tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ve got everything else taken care of. All the paperwork. All the reports. We counted up the money. There’s only just under fifty thousand dollars left.”
“That’s all?” She was surprised. At least two million dollars had been taken in that robbery. Now there was less than what an honest man could make in a year working a full-time job.
“Yup,” he told her, taking another bite of his dinner. “That’s all there was. I mean, we know some of it burned up in the crash. Mara must have spent the rest. Sure made counting it easier than if it had been everything that was
stolen from the bank.”
Cookie found that very curious. The actual robbery happened twenty-five years ago. As the accomplice to the crime Mara would have only gotten a part of the take. Wouldn’t she have used up whatever her cut had been by now? Mara was not well-to-do. She had to pour an enormous amount of money into building up that hair salon of hers. Even being the only hairdresser in Widow’s Rest, she certainly wasn’t getting rich off the business. So how did she manage to have fifty thousand dollars of it left over?
Hmm.
“I know that look,” Jerry told her. “What’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?”
“I was just wondering.” She was doing more than wondering. Several things were starting to come together in her mind in ways that she simply hadn’t seen before. “What if we’re wrong about how, or rather why, the money was in Mara’s home?”
He sat back in his chair, the meat pastries finished and nothing but crumbs left on his plate. “You’re thinking… what? Mara wasn’t the accomplice in the robbery, but the robber instead? The witnesses working at the bank all said it was a man.”
“But they never found a body,” Cookie argued, “and we both know that witnesses can be notoriously unreliable, especially in tense situations. And Mara’s mother was in the vault the whole time. She never even saw the robber…”
Oh. That was what had been bothering her earlier! She’d thought her mind was troubled over the container of drugs she found in her fridge, but no. It was this other thing she’d been thinking about.
The bag of money, found in Mara’s home. That’s what was bothering her.
Jonathan Graham, pointing to an accomplice.
The fact that the backpack wasn’t mentioned in any of the original police reports.
My house, Mara had said, is becoming like Grand Central Station.
And lastly, Mara’s background check.
Put it all together, and it all pointed to something else entirely.
Cookie picked Cream up in her arms and stood up from the table. Her little Chihuahua stirred in his sleep, but he never woke up. His hind leg kicked in whatever dream he was having. “You said you’re keeping Mara at your station until tomorrow?”
“Yes,” he said, a little confused. “We let Graham go and gave his cell to Mara. Jason drew the short straw to watch her overnight. She won’t be going anywhere. Why?”
“Because I think that we need to ask some more questions.” She bent down to settle Cream in his doggie bed under the dining table. Then she went over and gave Jerry a hug. “They can wait until tomorrow, though. For now, I’m looking forward to getting my husband into bed.”
As tired as she was, sleep was the last thing on her mind.
Chapter 9
In the morning, Cookie put a sign in the window saying that the bakery would be closed today, sorry for any inconvenience. She added a few hasty words inviting everyone to come back in tomorrow from opening until noon for half price off muffins and danishes. She needed to have the day off with everything they had planned, what with the trip to the police station and then a hard conversation in front of them to convince Rick to get help. At the same time, however, she didn’t want to alienate her customers. She’d already been away from the store all that time for her honeymoon. If she took another day off now people might just decide to go to the next town over to the newly built chain bakery.
Not that she was too worried about the people in Widow’s Rest passing up her fresh made goodies for frozen and reheated donuts that had been mass produced in a factory. It just never hurt to give the customer a little extra.
She and Jerry didn’t wake Clarissa and Rick on their way out. It was odd, actually, that they weren’t up early to tend to the bakery. She supposed they actually must have been up late, talking about their future, and their present.
Cookie left them a note instead, telling them that they would hopefully be back before noon, and not to worry about the bakery today. She asked them to wait here for them to get back and although she didn’t specifically say why, they all knew the awkward conversation that was coming up between everyone. If Rick was still here when she got back, then there was a lot of reason to hope he was ready to listen.
Cookie insisted on driving them to the police station. Jerry could always have one of his officers drop him off later if need be, she told him, but she was an old woman. She shouldn’t be without her transportation all day!
He’d laughed, and handed her the keys to her car, and kissed her cheek. “You’re never old, as long as there’s cakes to bake.”
She felt her heart skip a beat. It was such a lovely sentiment, and it was exactly what she’d been needing to hear. All this worry over how old she was getting. Ridiculous. She had this man here to keep her feeling young. All this worry over her granddaughter and Rick. As reasonable as that worry had been, she’d only gotten through to Rick when she held onto her hope and spoke to him out of love. Even the situation with Mara. No matter how bad things got, there would always be cakes to bake.
Besides, she was obviously rubbing off on him. He’d just used a cooking metaphor to cheer her up!
The sun was just coming up as they set out for the station, painting the sky red against a thin backdrop of clouds. What was the saying? Red sky at morning, sailors take warning? She never quite understood that. Why would sailors be scared of a red sky? And why just sailors? Shouldn’t the saying be made for everyone?
Everyone should be cautious when the sky was red in the morning. That’s what the saying should be. If she believed in omens, this would be one for sure. Here they were again. The mystery wasn’t over yet.
Were they ready to have one last discussion with Mara Kelsey?
She looked over at Jerry, at the strong lines of his handsome face and at the thoughts brewing behind his eyes. Yes, she told herself. They were ready. Whether they got the confession they were looking for or not, they would do their best to make sure the truth came out.
The real truth.
Things were pretty quiet inside the police department, she thought, considering they had just arrested someone in connection to a really old and important case. Loretta Hill was back at her desk, working at the computer. She gave Jerry and Cookie a nod on their way in. Jerry stopped and spoke to her for a moment, giving her a couple of quick instructions for the day. She wrote everything down and then closed her notebook as she headed out of the office.
“You got a good officer when you hired her,” Cookie told Jerry. “She’d make a good second in command. A lieutenant or sergeant or whatever the Widow’s Rest PD has a position for.”
Jerry nodded. “I’ve thought the very same thing. Problem is, she doesn’t have the seniority. If I give that spot to anyone I either need to give it to the person who’s worked here the longest, or I need to give a civil service test and hope Loretta gets the highest score.”
Cookie really didn’t know much about how such things worked. She supposed that all sounded fair, though. “So who has the most seniority after you? You’ve been with the department for a very long time. Who’s next after you?”
“Chief!” came a shout from the hallway. An officer in a pressed uniform was coming out from the back in a rush. His handlebar mustache was waxed to perfection, making it a couple of shades darker than the thinning brown hair on his head. His forehead had a permanent frown line etched into it.
This was Patrick Flanagan, and now Cookie knew the answer to her question. After a number of retirements and shakeups when Jerry took over as the chief of police, Patrick Flanagan had become the second in command.
Cookie didn’t know him very well. She didn’t know Loretta Hill all that well either, but she had a much better sense from Loretta than she did from Patrick. He was a very fastidious man, in love with that mustache, and although he wasn’t an imbecile, he didn’t have the head for police work that Jerry did. Jerry needed someone to be his second in command who would complement his style, not someone who would be constantly askin
g him for direction every ten minutes.
Like now, apparently.
“I’m glad you’re here, boss. I wasn’t sure if you wanted us to take Mara Kelsey’s fingerprints now or after she’s formally charged in front of the judge.”
From the corner of her eye, Cookie saw Loretta Hill huff as she made her way out the door. Obviously she knew the answer but didn’t think it was her place to give it. The two of them shared a smile. Yes. Cookie liked Loretta. She was a down to Earth kind of woman.
“Patrick,” Jerry said, “you were supposed to take her fingerprints last night. When I left, I specifically said to take her fingerprints.”
“Sure.” Patrick shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I just wasn’t sure if you meant then, or after her arraignment.”
Rubbing his forehead, Jerry blew out a breath. “It doesn’t matter now. Cookie and I are going to talk to Mara again. We’ve got some new questions.”
“Oh, good. I’ll come back with you.”
“No. Just me, and Cookie.”
The look that crossed Patrick’s face was so much like a kid being left out of an after-school baseball game that Cookie actually felt sorry for him. The ends of his mustache twitched as he pursed his lips. “Your wife isn’t a police officer, Chief. She’s got no legal standing to interview prisoners.”
“I’m aware of the rules,” Jerry told him, making it obvious that he didn’t like being questioned on it, either. “Cookie knows Mara. She might have an easier time getting her to talk than I would, being the police chief. So. She comes with me to talk to Mara. That’s my call.”
Patrick’s back stiffened in response to that not-so-gentle rebuke. Cookie almost expected him to salute. “Understood, Chief. I’ll just be out here at the front desk if you need me.”
He turned on his heel and walked past them. Jerry didn’t bother trying to smooth over the ruffled feathers he’d caused. Cookie didn’t know if that was because he wanted to get on with questioning Mara with what they now suspected, or if he was just tired of fixing Patrick Flanagan’s fragile ego. Either way, they were at the back of the police station a few seconds later, where they found Jason Stiller at a small desk in front of the holding cell where Mara Kelsey sat miserably on a metal bench, staring at her shoes.
