Doubtful.
“She should have just given me the phone.”
“Why was it so important to you? In this day and age, those types of photos are everywhere.”
Otis growled. The unexpected sound made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and Peter cast her a worried look. She smiled at her son, trying to convey, We’ll be fine. There’s an angel here.
“She had pictures of my son.”
Sandra expected him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “And is your son married?”
“Yes.”
She still wasn’t content. She wanted her curiosity satisfied before the police took over, because after that, she’d have to wait and read the papers just like everyone else. “That seems like a lot of effort to protect your son’s marriage—”
“I don’t care about his marriage. He’s running for office. And he will win.” He finally looked up at her. “He will win now, thanks to me.”
She wasn’t so sure. Would people vote for a murderer’s son? And wouldn’t the pictures come out in the course of the investigation? Wouldn’t the media find out? If Otis’s son was much like his father, maybe she should tell the media. Then she remembered Otis’s dear sweet wife and decided she wouldn’t do that. One could hope that the son was more like his mom, although he did have an extramarital affair with Treasure Foss—
Bob’s head snapped toward the door and then he stood up and hurried to the window. Seconds later, the rest of them heard approaching vehicles. Blue lights flashed into the room, and Peter’s shoulders relaxed. She scooted over beside him and kissed him on the cheek.
“Wait! Before they come in here, I have to ask you something.” Otis sounded scared.
He should be scared. “Go ahead.”
“Who put me on the snowmobile?”
Should she lie? Tell him she’d done it? He wouldn’t believe that. She tried to act confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said through gritted teeth, “I remember someone carrying me to the snowmobile, but there’s no one else here.”
“I carried you!” Peter blurted out.
Oh great, now her sleuthing career was turning both of them into liars.
Otis scoffed, “You? Impossible!”
Peter’s face clouded over. He didn’t like being doubted, even when the doubt was founded. “Fine then. Don’t believe me.”
The door to the cabin opened, and Otis glowered at Sandra. “I know there was someone else there, and since neither of you are wet, I’m assuming that someone else also went into the water after me. I’d sure like to thank that person.” There wasn’t even a hint of gratitude in his voice.
She leaned toward Otis, glad this was probably the last time she’d ever have to lay eyes on the man. “I promise you. There wasn’t another human being around for miles.”
Chapter 32
The first cop through the door was her least favorite referee—Dwight Padalecki. “Sandra!” he cried as if they were long lost friends.
She forced a smile and granted him a nod.
Another officer followed him into the small cabin, which was rapidly growing smaller. Officer Long, according to his name tag, looked back through the doorway and beckoned to two paramedics.
“Are you okay?” Dwight’s concern surprised her.
Sandra got to her feet and her son followed suit. “We’re fine, but Otis here is the one who took a dip. He might not be fine.”
Dwight turned and looked down at Otis. “This is the man you’re accusing of murder?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. That was the Dwight she remembered.
“I’m not accusing him of anything. I’ll leave that up to you.”
“A-huh.” Dwight stared at her as if examining her. Examining her for what, she didn’t know.
She squirmed under his gaze. One of the paramedics put a blood pressure cuff on Otis, while the other checked Peter’s pulse. Sandra stared back at Dwight, trying to will him to question Otis while she was still there.
The male paramedic, whose name tag read, “Jordan,” asked Otis if he was in any pain.
Otis pulled up the leg of his pants. “My ankle is killing me. I fell out of a tree.”
To his credit, Jordan didn’t laugh at this admission. “Why were you in a tree?”
Otis jutted his chin out toward Sandra. “I was trying to hide from those nuts, but I dropped my phone, and when I went to catch it, I fell. Also, my lungs hurt, and”—he reached for the top of his head—“I have a huge bump from where some old lady hit me.”
Way to go, Ethel.
Dwight was being too quiet.
“Have you been to the theater?” Sandra asked.
He nodded. “What a tragedy.” His voice held no emotion. He could have been relaying what movies were playing in town.
Sandra couldn’t help herself. “There’s a smudge of nail polish on the wall inside of the stairwell’s railing. I think it matches her nails. She had a phone with evidence on it. I’m not sure where it ended up. I think Gloria Trembley has it. It’s got illicit photos on it, and there’s a hammer under the register—”
“I think our forensic-trained police officers can handle collecting the evidence without help from a soccer mom.”
She sneered at him. She couldn’t help it. “You make it sound as though being a soccer mom is a bad thing. Did you find the phone?”
He didn’t answer her and stepped away, signaling that the conversation was over.
But it wasn’t. Sandra stepped toward him. “Before she fell, the hammer was on a ledge near the top of the stairs. Otis just told all of us that she tried to hit him with it. If that’s true, I’m sure her fingerprints are on it.”
Dwight knit his brow together. “All of you? Isn’t it just you and your son here?”
She flinched, hoping Otis hadn’t heard Dwight’s question, but he had.
“A man might wonder,” Otis said. “Sure seems like there was someone else here, doesn’t it?”
“That’s what I meant,” she hurried to say. “He told the two of us.”
The suspicious look on Dwight’s face remained, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t like he was going to figure out there was an angel in the room, and even if he did, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Bob appeared beside her. “That was close.”
She bit her lip.
“I’m going to go.”
This news made her sad. She didn’t necessarily want to find another dead body anytime soon, but that was the only time she got to hang out with him. “Thanks for your help.”
Dwight started. “Wow, um ... you’re welcome. But we’re just doing our jobs.”
She fought not to roll her eyes and as soon as Dwight looked away, she smirked at Bob and gave him a little wave.
“Thanks for inviting me to help. If you need anything else, just holler.” And he was gone.
Dwight’s partner began to question Otis, and Sandra crept closer to hear, but it was her turn with the paramedic. No, nothing hurt; no, she wasn’t having any trouble breathing; no, she wasn’t dizzy; no, she didn’t need to go to the hospital—
“Yes, you’re both going to the hospital,” Dwight declared, and motioned toward the door. “It’s protocol.”
Jordan began ushering her out the door, and she surrendered to the inevitable. She wasn’t going to get to hear this conversation. Oh well. It wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t like she didn’t know who the killer was. “Goodbye, Otis. I’ll check in on your wife.” He didn’t respond, and she allowed herself to be led back out into the cold and aboard the waiting ambulance, where Peter was already loaded up. The paramedic climbed in behind them and slammed the door. “What about Otis?”
“The police will bring him in.” The vehicle started to move.
“To the hospital? I doubt he’s okay. He was in really cold water for several minutes. He wasn’t breathing when we first got him out.”
He gave her a small smile. “You’re so kind
to be worried about him. And yes, I heard about how you pulled him out of the water. Pretty incredible, when he’s bigger than you are. And he was wearing several layers of clothing.” He looked down at her torso. “Come to think of it, you all are.”
“The heat in the theater went out with the power, so we all put on costume clothes to warm up. Good thing too, because when Otis took off running, I never thought we’d be riding around on old snowmobiles and playing in a pond.”
He chuckled. “Makes sense. But really, he must’ve weighed a ton. Still impressive that you were able to get him out.”
“I helped!”
Jordan gave Peter a bigger smile. “You must have!” He looked toward the windshield. “Must have been a fight or flight thing. Pretty incredible what adrenaline can do when we need it to.
Right. Adrenaline. That was it.
Chapter 33
“Wait, what?” Her husband’s eyes were as big as beach balls, and Sandra feared they were going to pop right out of his head.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” She felt miserable. Nate had every right to be furious with her.
Nate, Sandra, and Peter sat on the living room couch as morning sunlight started to peek through the windows. She and Peter had changed into their pajamas, and Nate had made them hot cocoa. She was desperate for a hot bath followed by soft sheets, but Nate wanted to talk first.
“It’s bad enough that you think you’re some kind of private eye, but you can’t drag our son into it! He could’ve been hurt!”
“You’re right. But I made the best decisions I could as fast as I could. I didn’t ask to be in that theater in that situation. But once it happened, I just tried to be as smart as I—”
“Smart?” He raised his voice. He never raised his voice at her. “It was smart to leave Peter alone with Ethel so he could get snatched? It was smart to chase after Otis once he’d left you all perfectly safe behind? It was smart to run into the woods when you found his truck? It was smart to steal a snowmobile when you don’t even know how to drive—”
“Dad, stop!” Peter stood up and glared at his father, his empty cocoa cup dangling from one hand.
“It’s okay, honey. Your father is right.”
“No, he’s not!” Puffy-eyed Peter was indignant. Sandra had never seen him so exhausted. “I was perfectly safe the whole time, Dad, because the angel was always there!”
Everything froze. Peter’s face made it clear that he didn’t even know he’d spilled any beans.
With mouth hanging open, Nate leaned back into the couch cushions and looked at his wife, who quickly looked at her hands.
After the world’s longest awkward silence, Nate said, “The angel?”
Peter looked at his mother. “You didn’t tell him?”
She didn’t respond. She had told him. Months ago. But he hadn’t believed her.
Peter fell back into the couch. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t know it was a secret.”
“It wasn’t a secret,” she said softly.
After another long stretch of quiet, Nate said, “Sandra, I’m not sure what to think. You stopped talking about this delusion, so I thought it had passed. But now you’re telling our son about your imaginary friend? That’s serious. Maybe we should talk to someone professionally.”
“He’s not imaginary, Dad.” Peter sounded exasperated.
Nate didn’t look at him. “I understand why you’d believe your mother, but angels don’t appear to soccer moms and then help them chase old men through the woods.”
She wished people would stop using the phrase “soccer mom” as though it were derogatory. She vowed to wear her T-shirts more proudly and to get a sticker for the minivan—really claim the title.
Peter stood up and stepped in front of his father. Then he knelt in front of him as if he was about to talk to a child. “Dad, I saw him too. His name is Bob, and he’s awesome.”
Nate’s eyes ping-ponged between Sandra’s and Peter’s. “What do you mean you saw him?”
“I mean that he’s real. I saw him at the theater. He talked to me. Then he’s the one who found me in the shed. And he’s the one who found the phone. How else could we have ever found that phone in the dark? Then he stole the front seat of the van from me. And he went into the woods. And then”—Peter grew more excited—“he jumped into the pond and pushed Otis to the top. Twice! Because we dropped him the first time. Think about it, Dad. How else could Mom and me have gotten a man out of the pond? Neither of us were even wet, except for our sleeves, because we helped to pull him out.”
The color drained from Nate’s face. “Oh my goodness.”
Sandra gave him a minute to let it all sink in. Then she added, “And remember how bizarre it was that the soccer ref just happened to drop his gun so I could get away?”
Nate nodded slowly.
“Yeah, that was Bob too.”
More silence. Then, “I don’t know what to say.”
She scooted closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything. But it’s been a long night. Maybe we could talk more about this later. The bathtub is calling to me. I can hear it.”
He put his hand on her leg. “It can’t be true. It just can’t.” Apparently, he couldn’t hear the bathtub calling to her.
Peter frowned. “Dad, you believe in angels, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Nate said quickly, “but they just don’t do these things—”
“Yes, they do.” Peter stood up. “May I go to bed now?” He was done talking.
Sandra couldn’t blame him. She gave Nate a chance to answer, and when he didn’t, she granted permission.
Peter was almost to the stairs when he turned back. “Dad, it’s weird, but Mom is good at this stuff. I mean, I think it’s partly just ’cause she has an angel partner, but also, she’s good at it. And I promise, I was safe the whole time.” Peter used the banister to pull himself up the stairs.
Nate stared at the empty stairs. “We need to tell him not to tell anyone else. They’ll think he’s nuts.”
“I think he knows that, but yes, we’ll remind him.”
They sat there for a few minutes, watching the room grow brighter.
“So, it’s really true?”
“Yep.”
“Why am I having so much trouble believing it?”
“Because you’re practical and logical and this is new information for you. I didn’t believe it either at first.”
He looked down at her. “I’m so sorry. I practically accused you of being insane!”
She forced a chuckle so that he wouldn’t feel too miserable. “I know. It’s okay.”
Nate squirmed in his seat. “Can you make him appear right now? So I can see him?”
This time the chuckle was real. “I can’t make him do anything. He’s an angel, not a genie. And no, I don’t want to bother him. He’s probably exhausted, but if we’re ever in danger, I will definitely ask God to send him back. And if that happens, I will definitely ask Bob to show himself to you. I don’t know if he will. He’s not supposed to do that unless it’s absolutely necessary, but I will ask him. But right now, I just really want to take a hot bath.”
Nate turned his head and lightly kissed her on the temple. His lips felt like feathers. “Sure. You’ve certainly earned it.”
Chapter 34
Sandra’s family had just settled at the table for supper when her cell phone rang.
“Please ignore that,” Nate said. He likely assumed, along with everyone else at the table, except for baby Sammy who was too young to assume anything, that it was reporters calling again. She was a local celebrity again, and her phone had been ringing off the hook.
Two seconds after her phone stopped ringing, his started. The reporters hadn’t called Nate yet, and Nate never ignored his phone, so he popped up to answer it.
“Hello? ... Yes ... Yes ... This is his father. ... Are you serious? ... Well, no, I just thought ... You know what? Can I talk to my fami
ly and then call you right back?” He hung up the phone and sat back down at the table.
Sandra couldn’t take the suspense. “What was that?”
He picked up his fork. “That was Peter’s director, Frank Flamatti. He says the show is still on, and wants Peter to come to rehearsal tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding,” Sandra said.
“I know.” Nate picked up his fork and took a bite of pasta.
“Who’s going to play Mrs. Walton?” Joanna piped up.
No one answered her.
“I can’t believe it,” Sandra said.
Nate swallowed. “Me neither.” He looked at his son. “Do you even want to finish the play? You don’t have to. You don’t have to go back there—”
“I want to. Definitely.” Peter shoved an entire stick of garlic bread into his mouth. Normally, Sandra would’ve scolded him for that, but she was too distracted by the issue at hand.
Nate looked at Sandra. “What do you think?”
She shrugged. She didn’t know what to think. She was still in shock. She understood that the show must go on and all that, but they’d lost two of their actors, and it wasn’t like they had understudies. And Sandra was sure that the back stairwell was still an active crime scene. Well, maybe not sure. She had no idea how that stuff worked in real life. But pretty sure. “I guess it’s up to Peter. If he wants to finish, then I can support that.”
“You don’t think it will be too traumatic for him?”
“Dad!” Peter rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t traumatic!”
Nate narrowed his eyes in skepticism. “It wasn’t traumatic to see a dead body and then to be shoved into a shed by someone wearing a grizzly bear costume?”
Joanna’s eyes grew wide.
“Not a grizzly bear,” Sandra softly corrected for her sake. “It was Smokey the Bear.”
“Right. That makes it all better.” Nate was oblivious to the fact that he was frightening his daughter.
“Why would Smokey be mean to Peter?” Joanna asked, and Nate finally caught on.
The Showstopper Page 12
