The Whistle Blower

by Robin Merrill

  He gave it to her willingly, and she repeated it to Chip. “A man named Birch beat me up and shoved me into his trunk, and then another man, I don’t know his name, but I’ve been calling him Junior in my head, well, he tried to shoot me, but I got his gun, and I still have it.” She looked down at the gun in her hand. “But they’re still after me. They say Mike White sent them.” Before she could even finish that sentence, he talked over her to tell her units were on the way. She realized that her whole body was shaking, and she looked at the phone owner. “Can I sit down?”

  “Of course, of course!” he rushed to say and guided her toward the couch, which she collapsed onto.

  “Stay with me, Sandra. We’re on our way.”

  “Sorry ... I’m all wet,” she said, only vaguely aware of how peculiar she sounded. This was the softest couch in the history of couches. She’d never been so in love with a couch.

  “Would you like some coffee? Hot cocoa?”

  At the same time, Chip asked, “Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

  She didn’t know whom to answer and was overwhelmed. She shook her head at both of them. “I don’t think so. And water would be great.” For just a second, she thought, no, shouldn’t drink water, then you’ll just have to go to the bathroom again, but then her logical brain kicked in. That would be an okay thing now. For the rest of her life, it should be fairly easy to get to a bathroom.

  The man returned with a bottle of water, which she snatched out of his hand and then drank from greedily. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. It was no wonder. She’d exercised more today than she had in her entire life. Then he draped a blanket over her the best he could while she continued to hold the phone to her ear. She didn’t know why she was doing this. “Can I call my family?” she said into the phone.

  “Stay on the line with me. Detective Slaughter has already called your husband. We’ll take you to your family as soon as we—”

  “Oh no!” she cried, and the couch-owner jumped. “You probably scared them to death!” She realized she was whining, but couldn’t help it. “Someone named Slaughter calls him and tells him I’m being chased by a murderer? Are you nuts?”

  Chip didn’t answer, and Sandra was glad for it. She didn’t want to talk to Chip anymore. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. As the seconds ticked by, the phone got heavier and began to slide away from her ear, and she let it. Before it hit the couch, Bob caught it and ended the call.

  Sandra fought to stay awake, but she knew she was losing the battle. Just before she nodded off, Bob whispered into her ear, “You did great. We’re definitely going to be able to clear Frank’s name.”

  Without opening her eyes, she tried to smile, but she didn’t know if her lips obeyed the command.

  “Thanks for your help,” he said. “You might not see me again, but it’s been a pleasure.”

  “No, wait!” Her eyes popped open, and she grabbed his arms. “I need one more thing from you.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  She leaned toward his ear and whispered her request.

  He scrunched up one side of his face. “That’s not really what I do.”

  “Then talk to the angel who does it,” she said, and then felt she was being too demanding. “Please?”

  He nodded. “I’ll make it happen.”

  Well beyond pleased, Sandra allowed herself to drift off to sleep. As she did, she thought she heard Bob say, “I’m an angel of the Lord. When the police get here, do not mention me. I was never here.”

  Later, looking back on this memory, she would swear she’d seen the man agree, but that didn’t seem plausible. In her memory, he hadn’t even seemed surprised. He’d acted as though he encountered angels all the time.

  Surely, she was misremembering that part of her adventure. Perhaps she’d dreamed that bit.

  Chapter 49

  The ER doc diagnosed Sandra with dehydration.

  “I’d better not get a bill for this. I could’ve told you that I was dehydrated.” She was certain that she would get a bill, but she didn’t mind. She was happy to be alive.

  He told her that he wanted to keep her for a few hours, just for observation, and to get some fluids into her, but that she could go home after she got some rest. She didn’t argue with that. She’d never been so tired in her whole life. In fact, she didn’t know it was possible to be as tired as she was and still be awake.

  She wasn’t awake for long. Despite the bright lights and shouts and alarms of the ER, she conked off as soon as her head hit the pillow, and she wasn’t pleased when Detective Chip and Detective Slaughter woke her up.

  “What?” she said, her voice thick with sleep.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but we’ve just got a few questions.” He asked them, and she answered them to the best of her ability. Chip gave her a good belly laugh when she described her toilet tank cover maneuver, and she found that rewarding. Even Slaughter curled up one corner of her mouth.

  At one point, Chip said, “You’re lucky you got away when you did.”

  “I don’t feel all that lucky.”

  “No?” Chip raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just tell me that Wilfredo abruptly dropped his gun?”

  “Wilfredo? Who on earth is that?”

  Chip smirked. “Mike’s son.”

  “Oh.” She thought Junior was a better fit. “Yes, he just dropped it.” She wished she could tell him more, but she knew she wasn’t supposed to. “I think he had a seizure or something.”

  “Or something,” Slaughter repeated.

  “What did Mike do?” Sandra asked. Then she realized that was a bit ambiguous. “I mean, other than taking money to fix high school soccer games. I’m assuming he was involved in larger crimes?”

  “He sure was. He fixed college games too.” Chip laughed at his own joke. Then he added, “He was mostly into drug trafficking, but we’re finding evidence of all sorts of related crimes. There’s evidence to suggest he’s already killed some people.”

  Sandra’s breath caught. That was scary. “That explains why he owns a funeral home. How convenient ... I wonder why he was a soccer ref at all. Sounds like he had enough other stuff to keep him busy.”

  “According to his son, he just really loves soccer.”

  Even bad guys had to have hobbies. “Has anyone told Frank’s widow, Isabelle? She should know that Mike’s been caught.”

  “I don’t know if that’s happened, but we’ll make sure that it does.”

  “And there’s no evidence that Frank was mixed up in any of this, right?”

  Chip shook his head. “No, why? Do you think he was?”

  “No, no,” Sandra said quickly. “But someone broke into Frank’s house. Really trashed the place looking for something. I think Isabelle was a little worried that Frank had crossed over to the dark side.”

  “We are aware of the break-in,” Chip said.

  “You are? I didn’t think Isabelle wanted to report it.”

  “She didn’t. Frank’s son did. Apparently, Mike thought Frank had some evidence. According to Wilfredo, Frank gave Mike a week to turn himself in and resign or he was going to blow the whistle on his scam—”

  “The reffing scam?”

  “Yep. Apparently, that’s all Frank knew about. But if Frank reported that one relatively small crime, and the police got to poking around in Mike’s affairs, imagine what they would’ve uncovered. Mike couldn’t have that.”

  “So he had his son poison him?”

  “Yep. Gave them a game together and told Wilfredo to take care of it.” Chip shook his head, disgusted.

  “Make sure Isabelle knows all this, okay? It’s important that she knows what a good man her husband was.”

  Chip lowered his notepad and looked at Sandra curiously. “You seem to be excessively involved in this whole thing, Mrs. Provost. It’s almost like you were trying to do some amateur investigating.” He raised his voice at the end of his sentence.

  Was that a q
uestion? If it was, was she supposed to answer it? She chose not to.

  “If that was the case,” Chip said slowly, “I hope you’ve learned how dangerous that can be.”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. I’m all done getting stuffed into trunks.”

  “Good. That’s good to hear.” Chip turned to go. “You take care of yourself, Mrs. Provost. Feel better soon.”

  “But I did sort of help, didn’t I?”

  Chip chuckled, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of turning around.

  Chapter 50

  As Sandra came through a wide door that opened onto the waiting room, her family assaulted her with hugs. They almost knocked her over backward, and she’d barely regained her balance before Nate’s lips were on hers. She let him kiss her and then tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. He gently grabbed the back of her head and pushed his lips against hers. She stopped trying to get away and let him kiss her. After all, she couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed her like that.

  “Enough, Dad!” Peter said, and Nate pulled away, laughing.

  “Sorry, son, but I’m so in love with this woman, and I can’t believe we almost lost her.”

  Her cheeks got hot. “You didn’t almost lose me,” she said, feeling sheepish.

  “Well, still, I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he said, and squeezed her hand.

  “Can we go home?” Sandra asked.

  “Yes!” Nate declared and headed for the door. “The police say you’re perfectly safe. In fact, one of the officers who caught the kidnapper says he’s a friend of yours. I guess you guys ref together?”

  Huh? Had all this turmoil affected her memory? “I don’t know who you mean.”

  “I can’t remember his name, but his voice sounded just like that cop from Everybody Loves Raymond.”

  Sandra laughed. “Oh, yeah, that guy. I’m not so sure we’re friends.”

  “Oh, okay, well, you’re famous now, so everyone wants to be your friend. Anyway, he told me that they caught both men.”

  “Both men? Weren’t there three of them?”

  “Right. They already had the ringleader.”

  Oh yeah, right, thanks to my not-so-anonymous phone tip.

  Nate was still talking, processing out loud. “... unbelievable. Mike seemed like such a stand-up guy. Not that I knew him well, but what I did know of him sure had me fooled.”

  “He had everyone fooled.” Except me, but she left that last part out of the spoken conversation.

  “And they found the other two goons still out in the woods looking for you.”

  “Are they hurt?” Sandra asked.

  Nate stopped walking and looked at her. “Are you seriously concerned about their welfare? You are such a woman of God!” He kissed her again.

  “Dad, seriously! Stop!”

  Sandra smiled at Peter and ran her hand over his head. She wasn’t truly concerned for their welfare. She was just curious if Junior’s angel-induced injuries had vanished just as quickly as they’d been inflicted. “Have you heard their names?”

  Nate knit his brow together.

  “The criminals. I just thought it was funny that one of them was named—”

  “Wilfredo!” Peter piped up. “I remember because it made me want Alfredo sauce.”

  “Oh-ma-gawsh!” Sandra erupted, and they all jumped. “Alfredo sounds amazing! Can we get Italian takeout on the way home?”

  Joanna’s eyes grew wide. Mom never suggested takeout.

  “Sure, sweetheart,” Nate said, “whatever you want.”

  “Great. Get an extra order of breadsticks, please.” Sandra didn’t know how long this outpouring of affection would last, but she was going to enjoy every second of it. Maybe she should get kidnapped more often.

  Nah. She didn’t want to do that ever again.

  They stepped out of the hospital, and Peter slid his hand into hers. “I’m proud of you, Mom. You’re such a rebel.”

  Sandra laughed. “Thanks, honey.”

  “Seriously. The cops said you beat the guy up with part of a toilet.”

  She laughed and reached into her pocket to see if the nail was still there. It was. She thought maybe she’d put it in her jewelry box when she got home. She didn’t even know why, but she wanted this keepsake.

  Nate opened the passenger side door for her and helped her into the vehicle. She accepted his help, even though she found it a little over-the-top. She was also finding that it gave her some butterflies in her stomach, butterflies that either hadn’t been there for a while, or had suddenly woken up from a long slumber.

  “I’m so, so happy to see all of you, but I’m also super tired. So, let’s eat and then I’m going to lie on the couch and fall asleep. You’re all welcome to cuddle me as I do so, but just don’t be offended when I snore.”

  They all laughed. This was another new thing. They usually didn’t find her all that funny.

  “You know, guys, you might give me a complex.”

  “What?” Nate asked, his brow etched with concern. He was looking into her eyes, waiting for what she’d say next. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that.

  “Well, it’s just that, I do heroic things all the time. I drive everybody everywhere and am never late for anything even when I’ve got to be in three places at once. I get grass stains out of whites, and I cook amazing meals for like three dollars a pop. And now you guys are all impressed because I thumped a guy with a toilet.”

  Joanna giggled. “You’re funny, Mommy.”

  Nate leaned across the van and kissed her gently. Then he caressed her cheek as he said, “You’ve always been my hero for all those things. But I took you for granted, and I’m sorry. I won’t let that happen again.”

  Chapter 51

  It was the worst Fall Fest ever. While Sandra enjoyed having her family fawn all over her, she wasn’t so keen to have the entire town do it. She suspected people had turned out for the festival just to get to talk to the local celebrity. She couldn’t wait for the next dramatic event, so that people would forget all about her.

  She was grateful that Nate had found someone else to facilitate the pony rides, so that he could stick with her. The two of them strolled around the grounds with Sammy, and Nate interfered whenever anyone trapped them for too long or asked too many annoying questions. “Did you think you were going to die?” “How did you ever allow yourself to get kidnapped in the first place?” “Why didn’t you just press your panic button?” On and on it went, and Sandra would have left the Fall Fest by now if not for the small favor she’d asked of her favorite angel.

  It hadn’t been granted yet.

  She was trying to be patient.

  Though Nate didn’t know it, their haphazard strolling route had really been a loose tail of Peter’s movements—except for that brief detour to support Ethel’s whoopie pie booth. After that delightful distraction, Sandra and her stomachache had steered them back onto Peter’s trail. So far, he’d wandered around the festival alone. Apparently, Sandra’s celebrity status did not extend to her children, and for that, she was grateful.

  A gaga pit was set up next to the bobbing for apples pool. They didn’t have enough players, and one of the boys waved Peter over. Sandra didn’t know why they didn’t just draw from the gaggle of girls standing around the perimeter giggling. Apparently, for now, gaga was an all-male sport.

  Sandra watched closely while pretending she wasn’t watching it all. To the best of her recollection, gaga was not Peter’s favorite game. But as she watched, boy after boy got knocked out of the round until it was just Peter and Ethan left standing in the pit. For the first time, Sandra wondered if Peter was accomplishing this success on his own power.

  Then Peter wound up and delivered the ball with such force that Sandra knew divine intervention was in play. The ball traveled so fast that Ethan didn’t have a prayer of getting out of the way, and it smacked him squarely in both shins.

  He cr
ied out in surprise, and then his face darkened in anger. He jammed one finger into the air and made a circle. “Rematch!” he cried, and everyone hopped back into the ring.

  But Ethan fared no better in the second match, and one by one, the girls started to cheer for Peter instead of for him. The more frustrated he got, the worse he played. It took all the willpower Sandra could muster not to beam with pride. Instead, she forced herself to hang back and secretly gloat from afar. She and Sammy sat on a nearby swing set and silently cheered Peter on, while he wiped the ground with them in the second round and then again in the third. After three losses, Ethan no longer wanted to play and stormed off for the basketball court.

  Sandra understood his thinking. Ethan excelled in basketball, so was going to where he felt most comfortable. He looked over his shoulder, obviously expecting all of his cronies to follow him, but no one did. “Hey!” he hollered. “Get over here. We’re playing basketball now!”

  Jack hustled after him, and the rest of them followed in a trickle. At first, Peter showed no interest in playing basketball, and Sandra couldn’t blame him. Basketball was certainly not his thing. He had never shown any interest or ability. But the pretty girls were pulling on each of his arms, and grudgingly, he followed them to the court.

  Ethan wound the ball at his chest. “Check.”

  It was evident that Peter did not know what this word meant. He looked around, stupefied. Sandra didn’t know what it meant either.

  “Give me the ball back, doofus!”

  “What is going on?” Nate asked, apparently noticing for the first time that his son was involved in some social drama.

  “Not sure,” Sandra said, even though she had a pretty good idea. “Let’s go check it out.” She tried not to look overeager as she tucked Sammy back into his stroller and headed for a spot closer to the basketball court.

  By the time she got there, the game was well underway. Someone threw Peter the ball, and though he bobbled it, he then got control, pivoted toward the hoop, and shot the ball. Sandra was no expert, but it sure looked like textbook form.