“Sure. Will you bring Julia?” If Julia was coming, Miranda would buy another air mattress, make chocolate chip cookies.
“No. Her mother’s flying her to Spokane and then to her sister’s ranch near there after we three have Thanksgiving dinner with my demented dad and completely-crazed sister. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” He went on before she could respond. “The trip’ll be good for Julia. I told you Julia’s done with the diapers, right? And she’s sleeping a lot better.”
“You did. I’m so glad. That has to be a relief.”
“You got that. Yesterday after school she talked to me about how she misses her nana and she cried, but, hell, so did I. The grief guru says she’s probably through the worst of it and he’s going to cut her loose before the New Year.”
Harry called frequently from the car as he drove to and from Seattle where he and Holly still searched for an affordable and suitable place with a reasonable waiting list for their dad to live. As Miranda gradually got to know Harry and learned a little about Holly and their dad and even his ex whom he was putting though college, it struck her as ironic that at this sad time in his life, her boyfriend had even more responsibility than ever before. But thanks to Crime Stoppers, Miranda had a little less.
She no longer felt responsible for solving Isaac’s murder herself or with the help of Detective Ladin, and this was a great relief. More confident that Isaac’s killer would soon be apprehended, she used a few hours of her new free time to treat herself to some retail therapy with Pauline. As she reported to Harry, “Ever since I eyeballed Rabbi Golden’s cowboy boots, I’ve wanted a pair. Tomorrow Pauline’s going to help me look. But she says we have to have lunch at Los Hernandez in Union Gap. I’ve been sending guests there without having gone myself.”
“You’ll love it. Have the pork tamales. And then in the spring, I’ll take you for some of their asparagus tamales. Unbelievable.” And sure enough when they spoke the next evening, he asked, “So, how were the tamales?”
“Amazing. I bought some to freeze. And there were a lot of Western wear shops nearby. Is that a message from God or what? I got my boots in the second place we looked! They’re not white like the rabbi’s, though. White’s just not practical. ”
Having indulged her whim, Miranda caught up on her promotional work. She planned a long-overdue open house with the goal of collecting sample menus, flyers, and maps for her guests and of disseminating her own promotional paper. She set a date and e-mailed invitations to the owners and/or managers of mostly Lower Valley tourism-related businesses and city officials.
You’re invited to an open house at Breitner’s B&B in Sunnyvale
November 16, at 5:30 pm
(See enclosed map for directions).
Network with other Lower Valley entrepreneurs over wine, beer, or cider and goodies!
Bring your menus, your brochures, your business cards to share!
If you want to bring an edible or potable sample of your product, feel free.
Looking forward to meeting you,
Miranda Breitner, Innkeeper.
CHAPTER 22
Guest book: “This is the first guest book I’ve ever written in. My mom says this place is awesome. The rooms and the food and the cost are all awesome but if you ask me the awsomest thing is Rusty. He’s so gentel. I petted him a lot.” Gary Howes
She was delighted when almost a dozen folks showed up, not counting Darlene, Pauline, Nelson, and Rosemarie who offered to come “in case nobody else does.” The people who did stop by were a lively crew, eager to compare notes and share strategies for attracting clients while they nibbled muffins and scones with tea or washed them down with the cider Darlene and Nelson brought from a nearby mill. Some sampled wine that a new vintner provided, which complemented a longtime local cheese maker’s contribution. Oskar Hindgrout walked in with a few jars of jam and a frown, muttering about murderers until Miranda handed him a sugarless cupcake and suggested he lighten up.
Annette showed up with tira misu and Dylan, her small son. Unfortunately, at the sight of Rusty bounding to greet them, the boy stopped short at the door, eyes wide and lips quivering. He refused to cross the threshold until Miranda banished poor Rusty to her second floor apartment. Reassured, Dylan came in, sampled a ginger scone, and fell asleep on the bed in front of the TV in the one empty guest room that Miranda pronounced open for inspection. The mayor of Sunnyvale sent his regrets along with the promise of an extra supply of town maps.
After they all left, Miranda surveyed the used glasses, coffee cups, plates, and crumpled napkins and declared the event a success. Heading up the stairs to liberate Rusty and take him out, she heard the doorbell. She assumed it was Annette returning to collect the mittens little Dylan dropped on his way out, so she ran down to let her in.
But it wasn’t Annette. It was Detective Alex Ladin stinking of beer. Brushing up against her, he strode in as if his arrival needed no explanation and he needed no invitation. “Looks like you had quite a party here. Sorry I’m late.” He shed his jacket, and when she didn’t move to take it, dropped it on a stool.
“It was an open house and now I’ve got to clean up. My B & B guests are due back soon and I don’t want them to return to this mess.” She wanted him gone, but she sensed that telling him so would work against her.
“Yeah, I saw your overnight guests leave. All four of them. Said they were going to dinner at Heritage U and to hear some lecture. I gave them directions. They’ll be gone awhile.” His voice was low, menacing. How long had he been lurking outside, waiting for her open house guests and her B & B guests to clear out? Her gut clenched.
“Any new leads on Isaac Markowitz’s killer?” She asked only because he might think it odd if she didn’t. She hoped to keep up the pretense that he was calling on police business.
“Yeah.” He looked around, eyeing her as she bustled about collecting dishes and glassware and stacking them above the dishwasher. Apparently in no hurry and unconcerned about whether or not his presence was appreciated, the detective ambled over to the counter. He surveyed the room again, toying with a glass empty of all but ice, sliding it from hand to hand along the countertop.
The rattle of the ice in that glass made the hairs on Miranda’s arms bristle as they had when she’d seen the rattler that day in Cowiche Canyon. She tried to keep her voice from trembling. “I’m glad there are new leads. I know you can’t talk about them, but I’m glad there’s some progress.”
“Yeah.” His second one syllable answer made it very clear that Detective Ladin wasn’t there on police business. “So what kinda party was it?” He waved the glass at the stacks of plates.
“Like I said, it was an open house. I’m still trying to get the word about this place out to local business people. I wanted them to see the renovation. Most folks remember this B & B as a ramshackle old farmhouse. I wanted them to see this room and the breakfast setup and a typical guest room.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop. “And I asked them to bring some of their own promotional material for me to share with guests.” She pointed to the basket of pamphlets and business cards and began to name the people who brought them. The detective came around the counter and flipped carelessly through the flyers. She was only partway down her list when he jerked his head up and cut into her recitation. “Hey, where’s your hound? Wasn’t he invited to the party either?”
“Thanks for reminding me.” Still jabbering, she turned to climb the stairs. “One of the guests brought her son and he’s scared of dogs, so I had to lock poor Rusty in my apartment.” Even as these words tumbled out of her mouth, she knew they were wrong. She tried to negate them. “His mom just phoned. She’ll be here any minute. The kid left his gloves.” She turned and pointed, this time to the small green mittens at the end of the counter.
Undeterred, the detective grabbed Miranda’s extended arm and yanked her down the step she’d climbed. He pulled her so close to him she had to breathe
his acrid breath. “Don’t worry. She won’t get in. Looks like we finally got a few minutes to ourselves.” He pinned her arm behind her so that her back arched, thrusting her breasts against him. She felt his hard-on pressing her stomach, his breath hot in her ear. She tried pushing him away with her free hand, but he swatted it aside and pawed at her chest. She swallowed a scream. There was no one to hear her but Rusty who was barking.
Continuing to hold one arm behind her back, the detective pushed her to the open guest room and shoved her inside. Rusty’s barks were muted. Miranda stood there, numb, dumb, and still as a statue, her spirit breaking along familiar fault lines. He tore open her long denim skirt and pulled it down and off with his free hand. He ripped off her panties with a force that propelled her backward, closer to the bed. “There’s your red hair.” His voice turned husky. “I remember that head of hair you had. I bet you had on knee socks back then too. You wore glasses.” During Detective Ladin’s nostalgic monologue, Miranda stood naked below the waist except for socks and boots, passive as a paper doll, waiting for him to pull a gun and rape her.
Finally he released her arm. Her relief was tempered by the realization that he too had both hands free. “Hey, Red, stop acting like you don’t want it. You want it alright and you want it rough. I know you do, just like I know you’ll keep your mouth shut.” With one hand he pulled her sweater over her head and dropped it while with the other hand he opened his fly. He stepped out of his jeans and jockey shorts. She heard a thud as they hit the floor. She knew denim and jersey don’t thud, hoped that thud was the sound of his gun hitting the wooden floor. Before she could look, he scooped her up and hurled her onto the bed where she landed hard, limbs akimbo. She heard his next words as a low, scornful hiss. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, won’t you, Meryl?” Reminding his captive of his hold on her further aroused the detective.
But hearing her birth name on the lips of this pig also aroused Miranda, infused her with adrenaline, and reminded her that she wasn’t a naive and helpless thirteen-year-old girl anymore. She was a grown woman, furious, fierce. She didn’t have to lie there and let another cop literally fuck her over. No. That wasn’t going to happen. She had a promise to keep.
As the leering detective followed his penis to the bed, Miranda sat up, reached behind her, unhooked her bra, flicked it aside, and leaned back on her elbows. She heard his breath catch, saw his eyes widen at her unexpected and seductively deliberate display of her big and beautiful breasts. Focused on them, he didn’t notice her bend one of her strong runner’s legs until he lowered himself and she kicked him in the balls as hard as she could.
Even as he fell to the floor spitting out the words “Goddamn Jew cunt” over and over, Miranda was on her feet grabbing her skirt, praying her keys and cell phone were still in its pocket. She snatched up his jeans too, but she didn’t stop to look for the gun. From the doorway, she pulled her cell phone out of her skirt pocket and snapped a photo of the half-naked lawman writhing and cursing on the floor. Then she locked the room door and sprinted across the lobby. With not a second to spare, she took the stairs to her apartment two at a time and liberated Rusty.
On their way out of the B & B, Miranda pulled on her skirt and held it up with one hand while seizing her parka and Rusty’s leash from the hook at the door. She and Rusty took off in her truck. Looking over her shoulder and shaking, she made straight for the Sunnyvale police station a couple of miles away. En route she called 911. She was afraid her voice would break and garble her words, but it didn’t. Instead, her successful escape made her voice strong and her message clear. “This is Miranda Breitner of Breitner’s B & B in Sunnyvale. Yakima County Sheriff’s Deputy Detective Alex Ladin just tried to rape me at my B & B. I kicked him in the groin, locked him in one of my guest rooms, and left. I think he’s armed. I’m not safe while he’s free and neither are my four guests who’re due back soon. I’m driving myself to the police station in Sunnyvale as I speak. My B & B guests need police protection. Now. Tell the cops to break the window nearest the front door if that door is locked.”
She parked in front of the police station and ran into the squat stone bunker-like building with Rusty at her side. Approaching the desk sergeant, she reached into her parka pocket, pulled out her cell phone and clicked on the photo of half-naked Yakima County Sheriff’s Deputy Alex Ladin in the fetal position on the floor of a guest room at Breitner’s B & B. She slapped the phone down on the counter without letting go of it. “This sheriff’s deputy just tried to rape me.” Sergeant Cruz took only one look before Miranda snatched her phone back. “I’m Miranda Breitner.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I just sent two officers to your B & B.”
CHAPTER 23
Guest book: “This place is homey and the grub’s good. And it’s a magnet for good lookin gals. The manager’s cute enough and nice, but I saw a gal at breakfast who really rocked my world. With scenery like that, who cares if somebody got killed across the street? I’ll be back next year.” Joecowboy Philadephia, PA
As they talked, the new chief, a serious looking fifty-something man with the loose jowls of someone who’d lost a lot of weight updated her. “According to my officers, he’s gone from your B & B, Ms Breitner. But I’m ordering those two men to collect evidence and stand watch there. May I see your photo?”
While keeping her cell phone in one hand, along with the waistband of her skirt and Rusty’s leash, she flicked the image to enlarge it with the other and she held it out for the chief to look at.
He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “That’s Sheriff’s Deputy Detective Alex Ladin all right. How did he get into your place?
“I let him in. I met him when he began investigating the murder of Isaac Markowitz at the plant across the street. He’s made moves on me before tonight and threatened to blackmail me when I didn’t comply. I tried to discourage him, but I guess I didn’t succeed. Also tonight he smelled of beer when he showed up. And he had no police business to bring him to my place.”
Chief Walters gave his forehead another rub.
“Chief Walters, what if…”
He looked her in the eye. “Don’t worry, Ma’am. He won’t bother you again. We’ve got this. We’re going to hunt him down and bring him in. Take a seat, please.” He pointed to a lone chair in the nearly empty lobby of the station. “This is the best seat in the house. It’s not very private, but it’s more comfortable than a bench in the back.”
She sat.
“I’ve already got another two officers tracking him, and we put out an APB. Meanwhile, Ms Breitner, when we get him, we’re keeping him right here in Sunnyvale’s guest facilities until I have a chat with Sheriff Carson.” He hesitated. “Attempted rape is above my pay grade. It’s the sheriff’s territory. But given that the accused is one of his deputies… Anyway, right now, the sheriff’s way up in Naches dealing with some bodies that turned up in a car in a ditch near the river.” He shook his head, causing his jowls to sway. “We work with Sheriff Carson, count on his deputies for backup, so we gotta do this by the book, right? We gotta do the paperwork. You say you’re pressing charges? ”
“Yes.” Miranda made her voice loud and clear.
“Good.” The chief scratched his head and lowered it just a little. “I don’t have a lady here to ask you, but do you have any bruises or cuts or other evidence of physical injury?”
“No. I have my ripped skirt, his jeans and shorts, and a sore shoulder. I didn’t fight back until I thought I had a chance of winning.” Miranda realized that what she said was true but that it made her sound a lot more experienced with fighting off rapists than she was. She wondered where the words came from.
“I’ll get Sergeant Cruz to bring the paperwork out here. What do you take in your coffee? It could be a long night.”
“Black is good. Thanks.” Miranda couldn’t explain it, but she actually felt almost safe in the company of this courteous and seemingly conscientious police officer. He wasn’t Oliv
ia Benson, and this small town police station wasn’t exactly Law and Order’s SVU, but at least he knew and wanted to follow proper police procedures.
The Chief turned around and spoke again. “It’s bad that cops all over the country are disgracing the uniform. When the public loses confidence in us, it’s even harder for the good cops to do their job. And that’s not good for the public.”
Miranda nodded and let him have his Blue Bloods moment. He left her to tremble at her narrow escape, to wish she had on underwear, and to mutter to her dog. Rusty hadn’t taken his usual position prone at her feet but stood close enough to her chair to rest his head in her lap. “Jesus, Rusty, that was close. And it’s my fault. I never should have locked you up. I’m so sorry.” As she violated her vow not to ever become one of those people who talks to her dog, she caressed Rusty’s ears and leaned over to kiss the bony spot between them.
Still holding onto the waistband of her skirt, she sipped her coffee. “Remember when that pig first came to the B & B and you shat on his shoes? You never liked him, did you? Somehow you knew. I should’ve read a little more into that shit ‘cause you’re a good judge of character, right?” She kissed him between the ears again. “Damn, Rusty, I need a safety pin. Hey, who’m I kidding? I need a whole new life. Again. That’s what I need, don’t I?” Rusty licked her hand. “But I fended off a rapist! So I shouldn’t be sitting here feeling sorry for myself, should I?” Sergeant Cruz interrupted her one-way conversation when he presented her with a clipboard loaded with papers for her to fill out.
As she wrote, police officers brought in a couple of heavily-tattooed young men in handcuffs. Later on, other officers escorted in a cursing stoop-shouldered older woman with a black eye. And finally two cops herded in four young men who couldn’t walk a straight line and whose wild eyes screamed drugs. She stopped writing to eavesdrop on the arresting officers talking to Sergeant Cruz. One of the four had driven their vehicle into a truck which burst into flames. The driver was badly burned and apples covered the road, “like a red carpet, I swear.” The arresting officers led their prisoners into the back of the station, presumably to be interrogated or to await legal counsel. To her surprise, Miranda was not unduly upset by the presence of these typical police doing their typical police work.
Murder in the Melting Pot Page 25