Seeking Refuge

by Alana Terry

  “She let you have it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Look, I don’t know her—not really. But she’s a woman. I know women, and we both know men don’t.” Shannon winked at him. “I bet she just realized what a stupid thing she’d done about the time you walked in. She probably just reacted when she saw them, and you happened to arrive right as she realized the danger she put herself in. You probably said she was stupid to do that, and she took out her anger at herself on you.”

  Joe’s eyes slowly widened as he realized Shannon had described the scenario perfectly. He rarely enjoyed even a semblance of intelligent conversation with her, but at that moment, she sounded brilliant. “I think you’re right.”

  “Of course, I am. Here’s what you do. Go back to her house; apologize. Tell her that you were scared and took out your fear on her, and then invite her to the Policeman’s Ball.”

  “But I was going to ask you—” Something in Shannon’s expression stopped him. “What?”

  She looked embarrassed. “I didn’t think you were going to ask me this year. You’ve been spending so much time with Miss Hartfield on this case, and you took her and that little girl to dinner—I just thought you were—well, so when Carlos invited me—”

  “Who is Carlos?”

  “Martinez—” She shrugged. “He asked me this morning after he won the straw pulling or whatever you guys do to decide who has to miss the ball. Poor Judith.”

  As Joe left the shop, he tried not to laugh. Won the straw pulling? Poor Judith? Every officer but Martinez and the chief hoped for the short straw. Joe had tried to buy it from Judith, but she wore it pinned to her shirt like a medal.

  Joe drove around town a few times and then turned toward her house. It was time to face Alexa and somehow apologize. Then again, how could he honestly say he was sorry for saying what he truly thought? A new thought occurred to him. Maybe that was the real genius in the Mars vs. Venus theories. Send men and women to opposite planets and troubles would cease. The sight of a little girl walking with her mother as he turned onto Sycamore court changed his mind. Even with their idiosyncrasies, women made a nice addition to life—usually.

  Alexa answered the door holding a stalk of celery in one hand and a knife in the other. “How did you manage to open the door with both hands full?”

  Still peeved, Alexa eyed him as though unsure if she’d answer the question. “I put the knife down when I came in to answer the door. Then I thought maybe I’d need it, so I grabbed it again. I think I just opened the door with the celery hand. I don’t know. Do you need me to recreate it for your report?”

  Joe ignored the sarcasm and gestured for her to return to the kitchen. “You’d better finish chopping or I’ll be guilty of ruining your dinner as well as your day.”

  Alexa turned on her heel, the knife glinting menacingly in the light. “If that was an apology, it stinks.”

  Something his mother had said once clicked, causing light bulbs to flash. He followed her, ready to pitch in and help, hoping his mother’s insights on feelings would work. His job required facts. Alexa had even called him Friday, for Pete’s sake. He’d better make this good.

  “No, that wasn’t my apology. It was just kind of a warm up. Apologies aren’t my forte. With my job, I have to be sure of my facts and then speak. It saves a lot of embarrassing moments like this one. Know your facts and then share them impartially.”

  “That’s why I call you Friday.” Alexa’s tone seemed softer, giving Joe the encouragement he needed to continue. Maybe Mom was right after all—again.

  “Well, today I—” Joe paused. He’d almost said he’d ignored his good sense and let his feelings take over, but instinctively he knew it was the wrong move. “Oh, you know what I did. I let my fear dictate my actions and tried out for the role of Balaam’s donkey.”

  He passed her the lid to the Dutch oven and waited for her to put the dish in the oven and answer his question. As he waited, he wondered how long it would take her to forgive him. Did she hold grudges? He couldn’t afford to have her upset with him. She still needed protection. Then he realized he hadn’t actually asked for forgiveness.

  When she finally turned around after washing her hands, he smiled. “Will you forgive me? You were scared and fed up—just as I am. You reacted exactly how I would have, and I had no business coming down on you like that.”

  “Mark 11:26.”

  “What? I don’t speak Scriptureese.”

  “Of course, I forgive you. I’ll even invite you to dinner. What time do you get off? I have some theories I’ve been mulling over today.”

  THROUGHOUT DINNER, Joe and Alexa avoided the topic of the SUV. However, over plates of chocolate cake, they sat in the living room and Joe asked the same questions she’d covered with Judith. “She’s a good officer. I’m glad she got here so quickly. With her stint at the school, I didn’t know if she’d even have her phone on.”

  “I’m still sorry I ruined your lunch. I’ll go apologize in person tomorrow.”

  Joe shook his head. “There’s no reason. She knows my job. Why she’d want to do anything with an officer after dating me so sporadically, I’ll never know.”

  “Another officer? I thought she dated you?”

  “Martinez is taking her to the Policeman’s all. Did you know his name is Carlos? I think I knew that, but I’ve never heard anyone actually say it. She called him Carlos!”

  Alexa cocked her head, trying to read his expression. Joe looked uncomfortable as he said, “What!”

  “I can’t decide if you’re bothered that she’s going with another guy or that she’s going with Martinez, or if you’re just relieved and it looks like bother.”

  Joe laughed as she tried to work out her curiosity. “So, which do you think it is?”

  ‘I don’t know. They all fit. Did you guys draw straws?”

  He nodded glumly. “Judith won. She’s wearing hers pinned to her uniform.”

  “So that’s what that was! She doesn’t want to go?” Alexa couldn’t imagine a woman not wanting a chance to dress up and dance.

  “She’s gloating. It’s unbecoming in a woman—even if she is a cop.”

  “Jealous.” It wasn’t an accusation, but rather a statement of fact.

  “Absolutely.” Joe wouldn’t have denied it if he could.

  “I don’t understand. You love to dance. You’re good. You had fun in Chicago and I’m not so full of myself as to think it was just my company. You liked it.”

  “We’re the laughing stock of the greater Rockland Metro area.” He sighed. “You know how the chief is. He wants us to shine. We’re all there. We’ll have one—maybe two officers on duty—that’s it. And a dispatcher working from his house—with a killer on the loose! Is he nuts?”

  As he spoke, Alexa shook her head. “Not buying it, Joe. You never want to go. Why not?”

  “To the other stations around the loop, we’re a laughingstock—hayseeds. Backward station with sub-standard cops since a good one would go somewhere that could and would use his talents. We’re the laughingstock of the entire thing. Even New Cheltenham doesn’t send their entire force.”

  As she watched him, she saw that his distaste for the ball was genuine—likely true of all of the officers. “Joe, I think part of the problem has to do with your attitude. If you went to this thing determined to enjoy yourself, not caring what anyone else thinks, you’d wow them. They are picking up on your insecurity.” He started to interrupt, but she continued. “You’re a great dancer—probably better than anyone there. Go and have a blast.”

  “It’ll just prove them right. I can hear it now. ‘Look, the bumpkin is having fun. Probably glad to get out of Boresville. This is probably the best night of his year.”

  She nodded. “Sure, they might think that at first, but if their wives, girlfriends, or dates envy your date, they’ll be singing a different tune. You look great in a tux.”

  Joe raised his eyebrows at her. “Was that a compliment?�
�

  “Well, it’s true. And even if you didn’t, why do you care what a bunch of other cops think of you? You know you’re a good officer. You know the value and impact you have on your community. Who cares what they think?”

  “Go to have fun, huh?”

  “You’ve gone to be miserable and it succeeded. Try having fun and see if you succeed at that.”

  “I’ll do it—on one condition.”

  Alexa smiled, knowing what he’d say next. “What’s that?”

  “You go with me.”

  She nodded. “I’ll go on my own condition.”

  Joe crossed his arms. “And what would that be?”

  “You buy me an orchid corsage and show me how to do the Lindy Hop.”

  “It’s a deal on one more condition.”

  “This is getting ridiculous. What condition?” Alexa laughed at Joe’s failed attempt at a serious expression.

  “You wear that green dress that looks like pistachio ice cream.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” she sighed with excessive drama, “but I relent. The green dress it is.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “You were going to wear it anyway, weren’t you?”

  “Well...”

  Chapter 28

  IN A TAUPE SEDAN PARKED in front of Fairbury’s coffee shop, a man and woman watched as the woman neared. There was no doubt as to who it was—long before her face became visible. No one but Alexa Hartfield would walk down the streets of Fairbury wearing a WWI era ladies’ suit.

  As she strolled toward the Daily Grind for a meeting with Darla Varney, Alexa prepared herself for the interview. Darrin and Lorie had finally moved into their temporary apartment. Every slight shake, bang of trashcans, or backfire of car made her jump. The ATF had taken over the investigation of the Thorne explosion. The thought made her sick.

  Her eyes scanned the area—an unconscious habit now—for dark green pickups, silver SUVs with out of state plates, and white Ford Focuses. Judith passed her, headed in the direction from which she’d come—checking on her house. They drove down her street almost every hour. Joe and Judith took their breaks at her house—even if she wasn’t home.

  Hardly a day passed without a visit from Chief Varney. As soon as Nolan from Noble Solutions examined her computer, things might change. For now, they had no suspects, no new murders. Then again, a reticence to risk more lives had kept her writing every bit of the book except for the actual crimes. Several negotiations between James and Martine had failed—negotiations for a new contract. The publishers wanted this book, and she was under contract to write it.

  The meeting with Darla Varney threatened to be miserable. The chief’s wife managed to keep her request for a meeting civil, but Alexa had heard tension and deliberately suppressed anger in the woman’s voice. If she left the coffee shop without a request to leave Fairbury, she’d consider the meeting a miracle.

  As she passed a sedan, Alexa made eye contact with an attractive woman in the passenger’s seat. She nodded and continued into the coffee shop, but her mind whirled, trying to remember where she’d seen that face. Once seated, she took out her notebook, mini-recorder, and pen as if preparing for an interview. When her coffee arrived, she used the pretense of drinking to record the license plate numbers.

  Darla Varney seemed flustered by the presence of the recorder. “Is this really necessary, Miss Hartfield?”

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to record a license number, but couldn’t do it without looking suspicious, so I took everything out like this is just a regular interview.”

  “License number?”

  “I think I recognize the face in that Camry out there, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen it. I thought perhaps your husband would run the numbers and see if he finds a familiar name.”

  Darla closed her eyes and folded her hands. Seconds later, she looked at Alexa and sighed. “You know why I asked you to come.”

  “I do. I’m sorry that it’s happening; you do know it’s not what I want, don’t you?”

  “I know.” Resignation filled the older woman’s voice. “It doesn’t help, though. My husband is too old for this. We left all this behind when we came here. This town hardly needs him. He’s a glorified manager, and I like it that way!”

  “You want me to leave.”

  “I do. Take one of your trips until they catch this guy. Stay with your family in California, or move. I don’t care. Just go.”

  Alexa’s face fell at the insistence in Darla’s voice. She’d be hurt. “You know I can’t go, don’t you? You know that they have the best chance of catching this person right here. I’ve avoiding writing for weeks. I can’t do it anymore. My editors are pressing, Joe is pressing, even your husband—”

  “That’s exactly my point. Take it somewhere else. Let other people die. Enough of Fairbury has paid the price. Let it be some other town’s problem now.”

  “You can’t mean that. Some other town’s problem? Whose? Chicago maybe? Was their loss insufficiently brutal for you? I mean, we slashed a throat and poisoned someone here. Chicago lost a teenager with her entire life ahead of her, families lost homes and possessions; more were injured. We’ll just let it be someone else’s problem.”

  Alexa stood. She knew her anger was misplaced—and didn’t care. “I’m sorry, Darla. No matter how badly I want to protect the citizens of Fairbury, those guys down at the station want to protect them more and they’ve determined the best way to do that is for me to stay right here.”

  She pulled ten dollars from her purse and left it on the table. Alexa fought back angry tears as she stormed from the shop and hurried home, her heels making staccato sounds with every step. She wanted nothing more than to live quietly and peaceably with all men. Lately—an impossible dream.

  “I’LL TALK TO THE CHIEF. There’s no reason—”

  “No, Judith. Don’t’ do that. I didn’t mean for this to be about setting her straight. I just wanted to talk to someone, and you know Joe...”

  Judith nodded and rinsed her cup in Alexa’s sink. “No, you’re right. Joe would make sure the chief did something about it. He’s a bulldog, that one.”

  “I don’t think he’s sleeping well. I thought I saw his car drive by a week ago at two in the morning. He wasn’t even working that night.”

  “Was that back when the Sievers bought that pickup?”

  After a few long seconds, Alexa sighed. “Some mystery writer I am. I missed that connection. It was Joe, wasn’t it?”

  “I think so. He mentioned it a while back.”

  The phone interrupted them. Judith stood and waved. “I have to go anyway. Thanks for the coffee, and I’ll run those numbers immediately. If we get anything, I’ll call you—if I can.”

  She waved and pulled out her phone. Darrin Thorne’s voice soothed the raw edges of her nerves. The distressed and shocked victim was gone and in his place, the calm gentleman from the hospital and grateful father in the bookstore. She was not naïve enough to think the nightmare was over for him, but this was a good sign.

  “I’m glad to hear from you. How is Lorie? How’s your new apartment?”

  Darrin laughed at her, good-naturedly answering her questions. “Now that I’ve updated you on the thrilling life of the Thornes, you must pay a forfeit.”

  “Now that sounds quaint. Within reason, I acquiesce.”

  “Remember that training seminar I mentioned? I leave on Sunday. I was wondering what evening might be good for us to have dinner.”

  “Excellent! I hoped you were still coming!”

  “Ok, then how about me upping the ante. I saw that Phantom is playing at the Rockland Arts Center. I thought I might be able to find tickets...”

  Once they settled their plans, Alexa disconnected the call, wandering aimlessly through her home. Desperate to avoid the work calling her, Alexa opened her closet and flipped through the garments, trying to plan what she’d wear the following week, but her heart wasn’t in it. When she found herself pulling
out a bucket and scrub brush to clean the already clean bathtub, Alexa relented.

  She put away her cleaning supplies and retrieved her laptop. As it booted, she took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. It was time to get serious about writing again. Time to kill a few characters and catch the murderer. Time to—

  The phone rang again. She jumped. “May I please speak to Alexa Hartfield?”

  Alexa smiled at the professional opening. She would buy herself cheesecake from the Confectionary if she guessed right. She’d purchased a new washer and dryer two years earlier—when Ray Connors walled in her porch, creating her mudroom. This would be the appliance store trying to sell her an extended warranty. She could almost taste the creamy goodness of cheesecake.

  “Speaking.”

  “My name is Nolan Burke—your brother asked me to call about your computer?”

  “Oh, Mr. Burke. You have just cost me a slice of my favorite cheesecake. I lost a bet with myself. I assumed you were a salesman.”

  Nolan’s deep chuckle assured her that she hadn’t offended him with her joke. “Well, I’m sorry about that. Perhaps you’ll be fortunate enough to be hounded again soon.”

  “Such a gentleman. What can I do for you?”

  “I was calling to set up an appointment. This really isn’t my area of expertise—I’m more of a software and network designer, but I’ll try.”

  “Do you understand what you’re looking for?”

  “Oh, no. An author dangling a preposition! You’ve disillusioned me.”

  JOE LISTENED AS SHE told him about the appointment, nodding. “I’ll try to be there between nine and nine-fifteen.”

  “It’s not necessary. Wes knows Nolan. They’ve been friends since college. I’ll be fine.”

  His voice grew impatient. “I’ll be there. Now let’s talk about Thorne.”

  Alexa sank into the couch. “Joe...”