by E B Corbin
Roxanne’s first thought was to get the hell out of there then she froze in place at her second thought. “Mr. Patterson,” she called out. No answer. “Mr. Patterson, it’s Roxanne Boudreaux here,” a little louder. The silence in the office grew daunting. Her common sense told her to back away, until her curiosity won out.
She moved through the hall taking tiny, hesitant steps, glancing into the two open doors on either side. One room appeared to be a break room, with a miniature sink, water cooler, microwave and a small table with two chairs tucked in the corner. The door to a mini-fridge stood open, along with the cabinet doors above the sink but nothing lay scattered around.
Once again, a nagging feeling urged her to get out of there.
Ignoring her rising apprehension, she slowed her breathing to steady her pulse before heading to the room opposite the break area. The second door led to small office with a desk, copier and two wooden file cabinets. A wall of bookshelves stood empty; the open desk drawers were empty as well. Nothing littered the floor— merely an extra office. Roxanne didn’t bother to enter the room, instead proceeded to the remaining closed door. A brass plaque with the name Ralph Patterson hung on an oak paneled door at the end of the hallway.
With a deep breath, she tapped the door. “Mr. Patterson? You there?”
No response. She hesitated a moment. “What the hell, I’ve come this far” she rationalized and reached for the knob.
The room spread before her in shambles, much like the reception space. File cabinets hung open. Desk drawers pulled from their rollers and thrown on the floor with the contents dumped on top of the desk. Books pulled from the shelves littered the floor. No sign of Ralph Patterson. As Roxanne backed out of the room, she heard the front door open.
“Don’t move. Put your hands on your head,” a voice shouted.
Roxanne put her hands on her head, turning around despite the order not to move. She saw Luke Meyers with a second officer dressed in the same tan uniform. Both had their guns drawn, pointing at her.
“I think there’s some mistake,” Roxanne said. “I’m supposed to meet Ralph Patterson.”
“Christ.” Luke returned his gun to its holster. “You should not be here. What were you looking for?”
“Nothing. The door was open. I walked in and found this.” Roxanne indicated the mess.
“Are we going to find your fingerprints all over this?” the other guy asked.
“I didn’t touch a thing… only, maybe the outside door handle,” Roxanne confessed. “And I opened this door.” She inclined her head toward Ralph Patterson’s office.
The second cop, whose name tag read Bud Mercer, looked dubious. Shorter than Luke, Bud exhibited the same broad shoulders minus the pot belly—probably because he was younger by at least ten years. He sported the same short buzz-cut as his partner, yet his unlined face lacked Luke’s hint of meanness. He flashed a look at Luke for approval before he said, “Come out slowly. Don’t touch anything else.”
“Fine, fine.” Roxanne nodded toward the gun still in his hand. “Would you mind pointing that thing somewhere else?”
“Put it away,” Luke told his partner. When Bud protested, Luke cut him off. “I don’t think Mizz Boudreaux is much of a threat.”
“I’m not.” Roxanne gradually lowered her hands. “I’m an innocent bystander.”
“Step all the way out to the sidewalk,” Luke told her. “We’ll take your statement before we decide how innocent you are.”
“But it’s covered in snow and I’m not wearing boots.” She held up one foot to show her still-damp tennis shoe as evidence.
“You can’t stay in the hallway,” Luke said. “And we need a statement.”
“I won’t be much help,” she said. “I don’t know what happened here. What you see is what I saw when I arrived. It’s pretty obvious someone had a grudge against Mr. Patterson. Where is he by the way? He was to meet me here.”
“He’s in the hospital. He was hit by a car this morning.”
“Oh, my God! How awful! Is he all right?”
“He’s in surgery right now. We won’t know how bad until we talk to the doctor.”
At that moment, an attractive older woman pushed her way through the entrance maneuvering in front of both cops. Her shoulder length ash-blond hair hung in a fashionable bob, and her black wool coat looked expensive. Her blue-gray eyes sparked with anger. “Is this her? Is she the one who did this? Look at this mess! Why aren’t you arresting her?”
“Hold on, Mrs. Patterson. We’ll take care of it. She claims she found the place this way.”
The newcomer fumed, “Well, what’d you expect her to say? You caught her red-handed. She probably ran Ralph down too.”
“Wait a damn minute!” Roxanne held up both hands as if to ward off an attack. “I had a meeting scheduled with your husband. I don’t even have a car right now. I couldn’t run over anyone.”
Luke gave her a questioning look. “You don’t? You had one last night.”
“Yes, but someone ran me off the road going to my aunt’s place. It was towed this morning to… to…” Roxanne shook her head in disgust. “I forget the name of the place.”
“That’s convenient.” Patterson’s wife said. “Probably had it towed after you hit my Ralph and ran off.”
“Just calm down, Mrs. Patterson,” Luke said. “We can check on her car. See if she’s telling the truth.” Luke turned to Roxanne. “Why didn’t you file a report on your car?”
She replied, “I have no idea who did it and didn’t see the point.”
“You didn’t see who ran you off the road?” Bud asked in disbelief.
“It was dark!” Roxanne spit out. “I know it was some big-ass truck or SUV. I was too busy trying to stay alive to give you a better description.”
With a shrug, Bud shied away from her anger, remaining silent after her outburst.
Luke brushed it off, “We’ll take you to the station to get your statement. You can file a report on your accident at the same time. You’ll need it for your insurance anyway.”
“This is ridiculous,” Roxanne muttered then decided she’d rather give her statement in the warmth of the police station rather than standing in the cold slush outside on the sidewalk with Ralph Patterson’s wife glaring at her. She held out both hands. “Do you want to cuff me too?”
As Bud reached for the handcuffs on his belt, Luke stopped his hand. “Now, I don’t think we need those. I’m sure Mizz Boudreaux here isn’t planning on running off.” He turned to Roxanne. “Are you?”
“Of course not. Let’s get this over with.” She marched out of the hallway and out to the street with both police officers behind her.
Ralph Patterson’s wife shouted after them, “Just ’cause she’s got a pretty face, don’t you let her get away with this, Luke Meyers!”
◆◆◆
They loaded Roxanne into the back of an official SUV with Oilville Police Department emblems in gold painted on both doors. It felt like a cage, with plastic-coated metal mesh separating her from the two silent officers. A lethal-looking shotgun locked in place between the front seats. She noticed no handles on either door in the back. God only knew when the last time the interior had been cleaned. It gave her the willies, but at least the ride wasn’t long.
The police station looked much the same as Roxanne remembered from the night before except a middle-aged woman now occupied the empty desk facing the entrance. The woman had a rat’s nest of salt-and-pepper hair piled on top of her head, a nasty expression on her waspish face. With her pasty-white skin, she resembled a cadaver come to life. The nameplate on the desk read Gertrude Miller.
“What are you two up to now?” The woman spoke to the two officers, ignoring Roxanne, her voice as thin and reedy as her face. It went right through Roxanne like the screech of bad brakes at a busy intersection.
“Need to get a statement from Mizz Boudreaux here.” Luke took Roxanne’s elbow leading her along the hallway. “We’ll be
in the conference room if you need us, Gerty.”
“Conference room, my ass,” the woman grumbled. “It’s a piece of shit room where you question suspects. Don’t often get suspects.” She gave Roxanne a pointed look.
Her heart kicked up a beat. She hoped it didn’t show.
“Mizz Boudreaux” Luke said, “is not a suspect right now. We need her official statement about what she was doing in Ralph Patterson’s office.”
Gertrude sniffed, “You found her in Ralph’s office? That don’t sound good.”
“I had a meeting scheduled with him,” Roxanne snapped. She should have kept silent. All these accusations were getting to her.
Gertrude ignored Roxanne, turned to Luke, softening her tone. “How is Ralph doing?”
Luke shrugged. “Haven’t heard. Have you?”
“Nothing since the two of you rushed out of here like your pants were on fire. Shouldn’t you be off duty now?” She pointed a bony finger at Luke.
Luke shook off the intimidating gesture. “Thought I’d help Bud out. A lot going on this morning.”
“Well, don’t think the chief’s gonna approve any overtime for you,” she snorted.
“Don’t want it.” Luke led Roxanne in the opposite direction from where they talked last night.
While Luke deposited her in a small room with a scarred table and three chairs, Bud went somewhere then came back with a yellow tablet and a pencil. He dropped them on the table in front of her. “Write down what happened from the time you broke into Patterson’s office.”
“I didn’t break…” With a sigh, she gave up trying to protest. She stared at the yellow number-two pencil. “A pencil? Really?”
“Just write,” Luke said. “We’ll be back when you’re finished.” Luke followed Bud out.
As they shut the door, Roxanne heard the lock click. What the hell?
CHAPTER SIX
She finished the brief statement in less than ten minutes growing more impatient as the seconds ticked by. Without a watch, time dragged. She paced the tiny room, her anger mounting. When she stopped by the door, ready to beat on it for attention, she heard angry voices on the other side.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” It sounded like Callahan.
“Just getting her statement,” came the muffled reply.
Roxanne couldn’t tell if it was Luke or Bud, but at this point she didn’t care. She pounded as hard as she could. “Hey, I’m done. Let me out of here!”
The door opened immediately. Bud stood there, his face red from anger or embarrassment, no telling which.
Callahan broke into his crooked smile when he saw her. He sure looked good. She fought off her compulsion to throw her arms around his athletic shoulders in gratitude. Instead she grabbed the legal tablet from the table shoving it at Bud. “Here’s your damn statement. Now, I’m leaving. Do you have any problems?”
Bud looked like he would rather be anywhere else than facing down two angry people. He blinked at the two paragraphs she’d written. “This is all you have to say?”
“It’s all I know.” Roxanne’s eyes darkened. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“No, no, I don’t think so,” Bud stammered. “Let me check with Luke. See if he has any questions.”
“If he does, he can call me. He has my number. I’m not waiting any longer.” She took a few steps toward the front of the building, half-expecting Bud to stop her until Callahan stepped in behind her, blocking Bud’s access. “Ready?”
“More than,” she stated.
They walked past Gertrude ignoring her scowl.
As they approached his Suburban, Callahan asked, “What was that about?”
“I don’t really know.” Roxanne took a deep breath of fresh air. For a change, she welcomed the cold sunshine. “I never got to meet with Patterson. He was in an accident this morning.”
“Yeah, I heard. A hit and run.”
“Shit! I had no idea it was a hit and run. No wonder his wife accused me of it.”
“You met Sylvia?”
“You might say that. She came in the office screaming… accusing me of all kinds of things.”
“Well, did you do them?”
She spun to face him. “What? No!”
“Easy. I know you aren’t responsible for Ralph’s accident. But what happened after I dropped you off?”
“The front door was open, so I went in. The place was in shambles. I think someone wanted something awfully bad.”
“The word around town is you were caught trashing the place.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” She sighed throwing up her arms. “I didn’t do anything except look for Ralph Patterson. After a few minutes Luke and Bud came busting in with guns drawn.”
“Both of them?” Callahan raised his eyebrows while helping her into the Suburban.
“Yeah—a slow Sunday morning for them, I guess.”
Callahan grunted then moved to the driver’s side. He drove away with no further questions but his frown told her he was not pleased. Whether it was something she did or the actions of Luke and Bud, Roxanne had no way of knowing. If nothing else, she appreciated the silence as she gazed out the side window.
They were in a part of town she’d never seen. Stately homes stood on a tree-lined street. Most were old Victorians, two or three stories high with peeling paint and sagging porches. Many had been converted to apartments with two front doors leading off the porches. Three or four cars of questionable vintage sat in the driveways or at the curb.
As they continued along the same street, the houses gradually changed to well-kept dwellings, freshly painted in a wide variety of colors. Some were in muted, earthy reds and browns, one a vivid blue with yellow trim and rust-red accents, another a gray-blue body with white trim. Blown-up Santa Clauses and reindeer, snowmen and candy canes gave way to Christmas wreaths and lights, alongside a manger or two. Carols filled the air as they passed one house. Roxanne’s head swiveled from side to side, trying to take it in. “Who owns these fancy places?”
“Believe it or not, there’s still a few families in town who haven’t blown all the oil money their grandparents left them. That place there?” He pointed to the vivid blue house. “It belongs to the mayor. The O’Malley’s place is on the corner. They have the only insurance agency in town. Next door are the Haynes who own the supermarket out on Highway 10. And there’s Henry Oldinger’s place. He’s the other attorney in town. Patterson and his wife live across the street from Roxy.”
“So, where is Roxy’s place?”
“Right here.” They turned into the driveway of a Folk Victorian cottage, painted a deep, woodsy green with darker green window trim and plum porch posts. It belonged in Architectural Digest.
Roxanne sat staring at the house, thinking it the perfect place, if only it were in Pittsburgh. The walkway and the driveway had been cleared after the snow last night.
Callahan shut off the motor then climbed out. He walked to Roxanne’s door opening it while she stared. “Well… Are you waiting for something?” he asked.
“Don’t be a smart ass. I’m busy taking in my inheritance.” She stepped out of the Suburban, her eyes never leaving the house in front of them.
Callahan slammed the car door. “You seem mighty certain Roxy left it to you.”
“Patterson mentioned in the letter I’m the sole heir. You know of someone else she’d leave it to?” Roxanne shifted her attention from the house to Callahan.
“Not this place, but Patti over at the diner hoped she’d be the new owner, and Tom Madison, the farmer working Roxy’s land is planning the spring planting. I don’t know for sure, but I think he might hope for something too.”
“You seem to know a lot for someone who doesn’t even live or work here.”
His grin turned sly. “I hear things.”
Roxanne stepped into the melting snow following Callahan to the front porch before she remembered they didn’t have a key.
“Not to worry.�
� Callahan reached to the top of the door frame. “Roxy kept a spare up here.” He found a brass key which opened the door without a problem.
Inside the rooms were immaculate, and not as cold as Roxanne expected. The remodeled interior opened the rooms while keeping the ornate wood trim and molded plaster ceilings in place. The contemporary furniture served as a low key counterpoint to the huge marble rococo fireplace in the living area. Roxanne’s eyes wandered over each room with fascination, admiring her aunt’s great taste. Roxanne wished yet again that she had spent time with Roxy before she died.
In the dining area, Roxanne stopped. A large walnut table with an almost black finish dominated the room. Eight chairs, cushioned in deep maroon, surrounded the table. As she scanned the contents of built-in shelves along the wall, several pictures caught her eye. In one, when her family had vacationed at Disney World, six-year-old Roxanne’s hair blew in the wind as she spun inside a teacup. In another, Roxanne dressed in cap and gown held her high school diploma aloft, her face beaming with happiness. There were several others of herself which Roxanne had never seen before. She wondered how her aunt came into possession of these pictures if her mother hadn’t contacted her sister in close to forty years.
“You coming?” Callahan called from the kitchen door.
“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute.” As she pulled her attention away from the photos, she heard a click when the old radiator clanked to life. “What the hell?” She turned to Callahan.
“I adjusted the thermostat.”
“But Patti told me… Oh, never mind.” She shook her head, dismissing the thought. “Did you find the car keys?”
“Right here by the back door. I’d suggest you take the pickup, since the TR3 isn’t very good in this weather.”
“She has a TR3?”
“You’re familiar with it?” Callahan raised his eyebrows.
“That surprises you? I happen to be extremely familiar with antique sports cars.”
“Humpff… never expected you’d know much about old cars.”