Instead, he hooted with disbelief and shook his head in admiration. “Damn, Corinne. My girl could run fast. I finally caught her at the top of the hill. She cussed at me like I was the devil himself, but that devil had a hold of her. And me, too. I grabbed her by the arms and tried to shake him out. She spit in my face, and I threw her away from me. She tumbled backwards, rolling and tumbling to the bottom. I watched her go and didn’t feel a damned thing.”
Fred straightened as if to move.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “How could you kill your girl? What possessed you to do that?”
“You can’t shoot.” He snatched for the rifle.
I fired. The barrel jerked and the bullet tore into his shoulder, knocking him back against the wall. The sound of gunfire rang in my ears. The rancid odor of my fear, the stench of Fred’s hatred, and the gun smoke thickened the air between us. Bile ran up my throat. I choked it back down and steadied the rifle barrel, aiming directly at his chest.
The scream of approaching sirens came from outside. Hurry, hurry.
Fred cocked his head, listening. He pushed away from the wall, lurched through the doorway, and staggered down the hallway toward the top of the stairs.
Rifle pointing at his back, I followed. “Stop!” I screamed, rifle tight against my shoulder.
He swiveled and glared poison at me. “You’re right. If I run, I can’t send you to join Edgy where you damned sure belong. Rot in hell!”
He lunged at me and batted the rifle barrel downward.
I pulled the trigger.
The bullet punched into his leg, and he crumpled against the banister. The wooden rail cracked loudly and then snapped. He tumbled through the air and hit the floor below just as officers entered through the kitchen door, weapons drawn, yelling at me to drop the weapon.
I did. Couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. I sank to the floor, unable to stand any longer. “He tried to kill me,” I gasped to the first officer up the stairs.
A city police officer kicked the rifle toward another officer standing slightly behind and to the left of him. “Mrs. Cooper, I have to secure the scene, and to do that I need to restrain your hands with flexicuffs until we sort this out.” He sounded all business.
I tried to stop the shaking in my hands but couldn’t.
“I’m Officer Morgan,” he said as if knowing his name could calm me. He held one of my hands steady and fitted a plastic band around it, then the other. He slid the locking mechanism up into place. The plastic around my wrist was firm but not tight. He had left room for my uncontrollable tremors. His kindness brought my repressed tears to the surface.
Morgan carefully led me down the stairs, making sure I didn’t lose my balance because my hands were shackled against my spine. It’s the little things that stick out in a state of shock.
Fred moved, trying to get to his feet, struggling against his hands locked behind him.
Another officer immediately pressed his hand on Fred’s back. “Stay still, sir. An ambulance will be here any moment. Why did you want to hurt Mrs. Cooper?”
Fred turned his head at an angle the officer couldn’t see and grinned slyly at me. “She shot me!” he yelled. “I came right over after she called and told me she could hear someone upstairs breaking things. She was scared. But then she got to bragging about shoving my Edgy off the cliff.”
I gasped. My unsteady legs weakened but I forced them not to buckle. I straightened and said to the officer, “I want to call my lawyer. My cell phone is upstairs with his number in it.” My voice hadn’t quavered.
Morgan guided me into the living room where I wasn’t visible to Fred. “Sit down on the window seat. Do you have a landline? Your cell is part of the crime scene and we can’t move it.”
“In the office. Mr. Basset’s number is inside the flap of a notebook beside the phone.”
I settled onto my best place, my safe place, the one holding all my thoughts and unfulfilled dreams. On those cushions, I had read to toddler Patrick and baby Marley, teaching them to read before the normal age. Mel had held me there when we forgave each other the mistake of growing distant and uncaring. I had kept watch on my neighborhood and the increase in traffic over the years from that window seat. And now I waited there in plastic flexicuffs.
Finally, Officer Morgan came with my phone and dialed Mr. Basset’s number, then held the phone against my ear. Two rings. Please, please answer. I can’t leave a message saying I shot Fred.
“Yes, Mrs. Cooper. What can I do for you?” His voice sounded so normal over the phone.
I choked back tears and said, “I shot Fred Brewster.”
“Dead?”
“No, I hit his shoulder and leg.”
“Where are you?”
“My house.”
“Don’t talk to anyone, I don’t care who it is. Keep your mouth shut. Got that?”
I nodded to the officer after Mr. Bassett reassured me he’d be right there, which meant right there with me, and it couldn’t be soon enough. I‘d never been so frightened or felt so alone. Marley would come on the fly if I called her, but I couldn’t have her see me in handcuffs and hear Fred accuse me of murder. Not yet, anyway.
Detective Theo Wood rushed through the open doorway, shot a snide gotcha look, and charged toward me. He bent down near my ear.
I flinched and leaned away.
“We have you,” he chuckled, and he reached out and patted my knee.
“Take your hand off me,” I snarled, pulling my hands against the cuffs so hard the plastic band dug in.
“I better check those cuffs.” He grabbed the back of my head, shoved my face into my lap, and pulled up on my arms, stretching my shoulders back. “Like I figured, they’re too loose. Damned young guys they’re hiring for officers.” He tightened the cuffs until they squeezed deep into my skin, mashing my arms together. He set the lock to hold them tight.
I struggled under his forearm holding me down. There was a noise at the door.
Theo quickly removed his hand from my back and stuffed it in his pocket as if he was savoring the feel of me.
Timothy Bassett strode across the room, zeroing in on Theo Wood. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We got her for attempted murder.” Theo Wood couldn’t have sounded happier.
“Is that right? What it looks like is you’re subject to a citizen complaint for battery. Mrs. Cooper will file a civil suit as well for inappropriate touching and harassment. You keep your hands off her, and you talk to me if you have something to say. Understand?”
Theo Wood’s nostrils flared and his eyes protruded, but before he could say a word, Mr. Basset warned, “Don’t even think about saying something you’ll regret.”
Theo Wood glared daggers. “Another time.”
“Bring it on,” Bassett growled.
Theo turned and crossed to the group of police officers waiting at the bottom of the stairs while Fred was being loaded onto a gurney to be transported to the hospital.
Beads of sweat ran down Mr. Bassett’s forehead while he tracked Theo Wood until he was out of immediate earshot. The feisty lawyer then pushed his hands through his hair, wiped his hands on his sweatpants, sat down beside me, and said calmly, “I’m ready to hear the story, Mrs. Cooper.”
The whole ordeal poured forth without hesitation. He listened without interruption. By the time I had run out of words, tears were dripping from my chin. I couldn’t wipe them away with my hands cuffed behind my back. I rubbed the side of my chin on my shoulder, trying to dry my face a little. Dear Mr. Bassett reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and shook out a clean white cotton handkerchief with the picture of a hound dog embroidered on one corner. He gently wiped my cheeks.
“I have these made to give to my tearful clients. You certainly qualify. Now stay dry while I go visit with those officers and the detective who thinks he’s a mighty man. I’ve got news for him.” Mr. Bassett placed the hanky on my knee and padded away, leaving me to stare at the archway
with nothing resolved except my somewhat drier eyes.
No one had told me they believed what I had said about the shooting, not even Bassett. What if they believed Fred instead of me? How would anyone understand he loved Edgy and yet threw her over the brink of the hill? I also believed he had shot Lester for spying on Edgy and bullying her. Randal had barely escaped Fred’s vengeance by leaving. I was the last one Fred felt he had to punish. He truly believed I had driven Edgy to take drugs to numb a pain so deep that she couldn’t find relief any other way.
It was a sick way for Fred to think.
In my heart, I knew grief gone out of control was why Fred had gone on the attack. And Timothy P. Bassett needed to convey that to the county attorney.
I lost track of time while sitting alone at a small table in a metal chair in a severe interrogation room at the Justice Center. I closed my eyes against the glare of the overhead light and the sickening beige walls. This room was not built for happy times, but good Lord, couldn’t they put a dash of color somewhere? My fear-driven adrenaline finally was used up, and my jittering slowed as I stared at the dull walls. Thankful that my arms were no longer restrained, I crossed my forearms on the table and rested my head on them. I closed my eyes, trying to blank out the past few hours, but my thoughts ran unchecked. I fought to set aside the feel of pulling the trigger on Mel’s rifle. Twice bullets flew, twice I hit flesh. Poor, deranged Fred.
How could anyone actually think I killed Edgy?
I jerked upright when the door suddenly opened and a man I didn’t know entered, followed by Detective Langnecker and stoic, serious Mr. Bassett.
Scary as hell.
But no Theo Wood.
I hadn’t seen my lawyer since the police car hauled me away. I can’t put into words how demeaning that ride was. The whole time, I slouched down in the corner of the back seat of the car marked as a Kalispell police department vehicle, praying no one could see me. My skin still crawled as if stares chased after me.
Bassett rounded the table and settled on a corner near me. His brown eyes bored into mine, and he winked. The first pebble of hope sent ripples into my pool of anxiety.
The new man was athletic and had silver-tipped hair. Taking charge, he cleared his throat. “Mrs. Cooper, I am Steve Johnson, county attorney. All calls on our official lines are recorded as they come in. The nine-one-one dispatcher was relaying what was happening at your house to the officers. I just listened to it and clearly heard Mr. Brewster say he pushed Mrs. Brewster down the hill.”
I trembled as the words registered. I fought for composure. Mr. Bassett rested a hand on my shoulder for a moment. He pressed down a little, giving me the warmth of his palm.
Johnson continued. “We played the recording for Mr. Brewster. He confessed to it and also to shooting Lester Fitch.”
I locked my fingers together in my lap and sat a little straighter.
The county attorney explained, “The state arson investigator just provided information on the accelerant used to start the fire in the Stafford home. He found it in the garage of Mr. Brewster when we executed a search warrant. We presented it to him, and he admitted setting the fire as well.”
I could barely breathe.
“You’re no longer a suspect in those crimes. As far as shooting Mr. Brewster twice, I have concluded that was done in self-defense and you are free to go. I’m sorry for any discomfort you have experienced.” He nodded to me and left the room.
Was my freedom that cut and dried?
Detective Langnecker walked around the table and softly touched my arm. “I hated investigating you.” He looked at Bassett. “Are you taking her home, or do you want me to?”
“I take care of my clients.”
This time, I walked out of the Justice Center completely free from the weight of suspicion over Edgy’s murder—the accusation that had hurt me the most. Mr. Bassett and I loaded into his auto and drove away in silence under the umbrella of the neighborhood maple trees.
I glanced at his profile. “I don’t have my cell phone. Will you please call my daughter and tell her I’m coming to her place? I can’t face my house yet.”
“Good idea, Mrs. Cooper.”
“Please call me Corinne.”
He glanced at me. “There’s something I like about the sound of Mrs. Cooper.”
I agreed. Proper names should be used between clients and their lawyers. Showed respect both ways.
“Thank you, Mr. Bassett.”
“By the way,” he said in a voice that held self-confidence. “I spoke to Sheriff Metcalf and Arlen Renny. They’re going to review Theo Wood’s file. I was informed that a witness came forward with information supporting your alibi and stated she had already told Theo Wood about it. The rotten dude never reported it. And he is also in scalding hot water for harassing you. A good hunch says he won’t be a detective when they get done.”
Chapter 26
A week had passed since Fred had confessed to the authorities what he’d done and I had come to terms with my part in it. I kept telling myself I had shot in self-defense, but still, I was the one who’d pulled the trigger and fired bullets into Fred. I suffered anguish over that until Marley scolded me about my feelings of culpability. “Mom, will you please just set it aside? You did what you had to do.” I tried to follow her advice to make peace with myself as we put my house back in order. Little by little, nervous tension assaulted my hands and stomach less often. It was a relief not to feel so queasy.
After the story hit the local newspaper and the gossip eased, the neighbors gathered around with hot casseroles and cookies. Ida’s husband, bless him, even repaired the stair railing, and it looked as good as new. And Ida took it upon herself to completely clean up all the blood from Fred’s wounds. Marley visited often and made sure she got her share of the food. Bruce came over with her a couple of times, and that made me glad.
This morning, the clock on the wall told me to quit wasting time, and I decided to set aside my self-pity. Gardening in the backyard was a sure cure for maudlin thoughts. I bravely lifted my chin and walked outside to the potting shed. Boldly, I grabbed a round-nosed spade and a hoe.
I carried them to the ground where the tree had stood, sank the tip of the spade into the dirt, and turned over a clump of soil to make a new rose bed. I had thought of planting dahlias or daisies or geraniums, but something about roses reminded me of Edgy, vibrant at times and faded at others and a little prickly to boot. Never knew when she’d poke you with something that made you pay attention to your attitude.
I picked up the hoe and hit the clod of damp, earthy-smelling dirt, breaking it into smaller chunks. I should be using the tiller.
“Hello, Corinne.” Dean walked across the lawn, Stetson on his head, Western boots on his feet, and plaid shirt tucked neatly into his jeans.
Such a picture. “Good to see you,” I said and took another whack at the dirt with the hoe to cover my surprise and the quickening in my chest.
“Looks like you could use a little help.”
“Are you offering to dig up my new rose bed?”
“Nope.” A dimple appeared on his cheek when he smiled. “I just dropped Ruth off at Marley’s and came to take you for a ride in the new truck.”
I leaned against the hoe, studying his expression. He looked at ease and in a good mood. “Where are you planning to drive?”
“Let’s just go for a ride in the country and talk.” He reached for my hand.
Why the heck not?
I dropped the hoe and let him lead me to his white king cab truck. It was nice to feel easy with him. No more shadows hung over Dean now. There never had been any except in my suspicious, confused mind after Edgy’s death. I regretted my mistrust of him.
I stopped short. “It’s a Nissan and not a Ford?”
He tipped his hat at me. “Surprised you noticed that.”
“I can’t believe a cowboy would own something besides a Ford.” I grinned a little and slid inside. I didn’t as
k again where we were going, just allowed the ride to happen. He would tell me in his own time.
Dean headed east on Highway 2 and then took Highway 35 across the bridge over the Flathead River. Nostalgia touched my soul as we drove past McWenneger Slough, a good-sized body of water rimmed with cattails, brush, and tall trees where a variety of birds raised their young. When Patrick was small, we’d spent hours in an old aluminum boat tossing handmade flies or worms to catch perch while always hoping a good-sized cutthroat would nibble our hook. Marley had refused to join us. Not enough action for her. Mel was always at work or somewhere else. The fishing was between Patrick and me.
Dean turned onto Columbia Falls Stage Road and headed north into the fertile farmland stretching to the base of the Rocky Mountains.
“I haven’t been on this road for a long time.” My voice carried some sadness.
Dean slowed a little. “Why are you sad about that?” He’d sensed the change in my mood.
“My great-grandparents homesteaded a place just off Fairview Road. My grandparents took over and then my parents. They all worked the land, and I did, too.”
“Didn’t know you were a farm kid.”
“Something I don’t talk about very often. I was the one who had to sell the old farmstead, and I’ve always regretted it. My husband never wanted to deal with it.”
“Sorry.”
I shook my head. “Hasn’t mattered for a long time. It was just another wound in the long line that Mel and I dealt to each other.”
“How long were you married?” His tone sounded cautious, like maybe he shouldn’t have asked or maybe because he had to ask.
“Just over forty-six years.”
“A lot of living happens in that length of time. Some hurts, some doesn’t.”
He understood.
I gazed out onto the beauty of the rich land and high mountains. Content, I set aside old memories and was about to ask again what he’d been up to on all those errands he’d claimed to be doing when he slowed to turn from the blacktop onto a rough, gravel country road. The truck vibrated, and he slowed enough to stop its shuddering on the washboard surface.
Blame the Car Ride Page 23