by Ritter Ames
“It’s on a Cobb salad. All of that and much more. Best part is that all the different ingredients are lined up separately on the salad plate, not mixed up together in a bowl. You can pick and choose or mix and match everything, to get the taste you really want every time.”
He slowly nodded his head. “I think my stomach virus should be able to eat that kind of a salad.”
“Oh, good.”
“I’ll tell Jamey it’s not a regular one.”
“You do that.” I’d forgotten to mention the romaine lettuce, too, but it probably wasn’t a positive.
Abby watched him race off and waited until he was pounding up the stairs before she leaned close and whispered, “Why was Mac covering his ears?”
“Dek told Mac I could tell when he was lying to me because I have special mom powers, and I see his ears turn red if he tells a lie.”
Abby’s eyes grew wide. “Now, every time...?” I nodded. Our laughter erupted simultaneously.
“Does Jamey believe that too?” she asked.
I waved a hand and shook my head. “Nah, Dek pulled the same trick on Jamey when he was five, but our oldest soon figured out his dad was pulling his leg. He didn’t do the hands on his ears strategy, though, that’s pure Mac.”
“Why doesn’t Jamey tell Mac?”
“Tell him what? His dad’s pulling his leg, or that hiding his ears tells us for sure every time he’s lying?”
She frowned. “Both, I guess.”
“Have you never heard of sibling rivalry?” I asked. “Besides, I don’t doubt he will happily reveal the truth when he figures out a way to humiliate his little bro for Mac’s naiveté at the same time.”
“Okay, I get it. Reminds me how lucky I am to be an only child.” She gave a huge sigh and grabbed the handle of her purse. “Well, I’ve finished the Coke. It’s time to make peace with my mother. But I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Sounds good. If you’re still awake, we can plan strategy.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely on the agenda.”
She drove off, and I called the boys to dinner. The salad was a hit, and Jamey especially liked my homemade ranch dressing.
As I rose to clear the table, it was time to go back into mom-mode. “It’s a school night, so if you guys get your baths done in the next half-hour, you can have some game time before you need to go to bed and read,” I said, as I carried the stacked plates to the sink.
“I think I’d like more reading time instead,” Jamey spoke up. “I found some really interesting books today.”
“Me too,” Mac said. “Can we just read longer?”
“Sure. No argument out of me. Now scoot and take your baths. And don’t slop water all over the bathroom.”
The boys disappeared in a blur.
Honey got up to follow them, but I stopped her by pulling bacon pieces from the salad and letting her see me set them in one of the salad plates.
“Just a minute, baby. You are such a good girl. I promised you a treat earlier, and you’ve been patience personified.” When the dog lapsed into hyper mode, I realized I’d made the mistake of saying t-r-e-a-t out loud. I covered the big bowl and put it in the refrigerator, then scooped the bacon into my hand and fed her a couple at a time. Her tail went into overdrive.
Yes, she always stationed herself under the table during dinner, to catch any wayward food accidents, or whatever the boys didn’t want to eat and tried to smuggle down to her, but she never begged. That alone made her a dog in a million. However, I didn’t need her in the bathroom while the boys were bathing, or I’d have a wet dog to contend with as well. No matter how many times I told the boys to keep her out of the tub. Our Lab wasn’t a water breed for nothing. She never wanted us to give her a bath, but if she found water and had any opportunity to enter it on her own terms, there was no holding her back.
After the bacon, she had a barking fit and headed for the backdoor.
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to shout about it. Just ask nicely.” I opened the door and flipped on the back light.
She zoomed outside, still barking. I left the door ajar and finished clearing the table. By the time I’d loaded everything into the dishwasher, Honey still hadn’t returned.
“Darn dog, probably wants to play so she can coerce me into rubbing her belly again.” I called up the stairs to check on the boys and tell them I was going to the backyard. They hollered back they were fine.
I stepped onto the back stoop. “Honey, are you coming in tonight?”
No answering bark. No blonde Lab.
Pulling the door closed, I took my phone from my pocket and held it as I rounded the house. I didn’t know if I did it for the flashlight app or the 9-1-1 option, but I knew I wanted to keep the device ready for any need. When I got to the side fence, the gate was unlatched and wide open.
Panic raced through me as I hurried into the driveway and found only my Honda wagon.
“Honey! Honey!” I ran to the street, screaming her name as I looked both directions. In the distance, a white blur ran into the street, heading my way. I nearly flew down the asphalt, praying a car wouldn’t come before I could get to her. I didn’t dare tell the dog to get out of the middle of the road and risk confusing her. It was a better risk to catch her myself.
I got to her just as a set of headlights flashed down the street, signaling that a pickup was heading our way. I grabbed her collar and pulled Honey back to our sidewalk, wanting to sob in relief at finding her so quickly. Then I started wondering how the gate, with its double latch to keep Honey from escaping, was open so the dog could run free.
When we reached our front yard, I dropped to my knees and hugged our crazy, loveable Lab. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Do you understand?”
She opened her mouth to grin, and something long and silver dropped out. It was a skinny screwdriver. It was too dark to see if there was any writing on it, so I put it in my pocket and said, “Let’s go in the house, girl, and we’ll see what kind of treasure you found.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
ONCE WE GOT BACK INSIDE, Honey decided she was more interested in finding where the boys were than what her treasure was. I was more interested in discovering what she’d already found and let her head upstairs without reminding her not to get wet. The sound of splashing and laughter filtered down from the second floor, so I called out, “Any water that leaves the tub better get mopped up pronto.”
Jamey’s head popped out of the bathroom door. “No problem, Mom.”
No, I didn’t believe him, but at least he understood what he needed to do next.
I headed back to the kitchen, grabbed a towel and wiped the slobber and dirt off the silver item. It was a handy screwdriver with a flathead on one end, a Phillips head on the other, and nice rubber grip in the center with some Honey-sized teeth marks. The question was, of course, where did our curious Lab get it? There wasn’t any name on the tool—the manufacturer’s or an owner’s. Which left me with another task to add to my schedule.
Honey had one major flaw to her personality. She was a kleptomaniac canine. If something wasn’t in someone’s hand, then it was fair game, and likely to end up in her mouth—and eventually at our house. I’d made numerous mea culpa deliveries to neighbors when I discovered their outdoor items discarded in our backyard. She was like a toddler; best policy was to always check her mouth for contraband if I ever took my eye off her when we were walking anywhere. Now, I’d have to canvass the neighborhood to see who owned the item.
I tossed the screwdriver into the timeout box on top of the refrigerator. Usually, just the boys’ things landed in the box, but it seemed the safest place to keep the silver prize away from Honey too.
Upstairs, running feet headed for the bedroom. I looked at the clock and saw the boys made their half-hour goal with a minute to spare. Though the adrenalin still coursing through my body said it felt like more than thirty-minutes had passed.
“I wonder
how mad Abby’s mom is at me?” I knew better than to call. If her mother was angry, a phone call would set her off. But I could text, and if things were too rocky Abby would ignore it, and I’d have my answer from the silence.
For the second time in fifteen minutes, I pulled my phone from my back pocket. The battery was dead.
“Darn it. I forgot to plug it in last night.”
Good thing I found Honey so quickly, because I didn’t have either of the helpful phone aids I’d thought I had when I ran blindly after her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d looked at the screen, but I figured the power gave out hours ago. That’s what came from having a busy day, no time to check for phone calls.
Sure enough, I plugged it into the charger and waited a minute to turn it on. As the screen powered up, a buzz alerted me about a message. It was from Brian Baker, coming in the early afternoon, about an hour after Mrs. G and I had left the station. He said they needed more information and asked me to return to the station. That I could help them by answering some follow-up questions which had come up in their investigation.
“Great. He’ll think I’m avoiding him.” I figured Abby’s mom had to understand if I called and asked Abby’s advice on this, even if they were eating dinner. I left my cell at the charging station and plugged the Ooma line back in and called.
“I thought you unplugged this line,” Abby said, in way of greeting.
“Battery is down on my cell. Is your mom super mad?”
She laughed. “Not more than normal. Is that why you called?”
“I wish.” I launched into a summary of Brian’s message. “What should I do?”
“He’ll likely be off-shift now,” Abby said. “Call and leave a message on his voice mail. But don’t ask for a callback tonight.”
“Did not even enter my mind.” I paced the living room, making a footprint montage on the neutral carpet. “But I’m worried he won’t be gone, and I’ll have to talk to him. Or should I hang up if he answers?”
“No, don’t hang up. He’ll know it’s you from Caller ID.”
“I can turn that off with Ooma.”
“No, you can’t turn off Caller ID to the police. Everyone else might see private number or something similar, but your information appears if it’s going to a law enforcement line.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“This is the kind of priceless information you get with your eighty-seven cent retainer.”
Laughing, I realized how truly tense I was and made a kind of sob sound, asking, “If I can’t hang up, what should I do if he answers?”
“Pretend you’re talking to voice mail, say the same thing, then say goodbye and hang up. You’re following up on his message. You’re being professional. Under no circumstances do you answer questions over the phone about Saturday night, Sunday morning, or anything else relating to Carlisle.”
“What if he doesn’t want to wait for me to come in the morning and he comes here and arrests me tonight?”
“Did you touch the murder weapon?”
“Of course not.”
“Then they have nothing to hold you for beyond smart-mouthing a guy who annoyed you, and who ended up dead the next day. Stop worrying or you will appear guilty. If there’s one thing we both know, Brian is a by-the-book personality. He won’t arrest anyone until he has all his ducks quacking in unison, so keep your beak closed except to say you and I will be in tomorrow to talk to him.”
“Well, I’ll be one duck who won’t get a wink of sleep tonight,” I said.
“Just as well. We need to go back over everything you’ve seen, said, or heard before you speak to him again, anyway. From what you said earlier, that may take all night. Now call Brian.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hung up, and I got a new line and dialed the police non-emergency number. When an officer answered, I asked to be connected with Brian. As Abby expected, his voice mail kicked on after four rings. I stuttered through my message, apologizing for not calling back sooner, explaining about my dead battery, then giving another apology for not remembering to charge my battery the previous night. Finally, I remembered what I was supposed to say and told him we’d be by the next day per his request. As I hit the off button, I wondered how guilty I’d sound when Brian played back my message.
“Very,” I mused. “Very guilty, very irritating, and very much an airhead.”
A ping from the kitchen said I had a text, and I hurried in to see if my worst-case scenario was coming true and Brian was on his way over to arrest me.
It was Dek. I almost cried in relief.
I typed:
“Boys,” I called up the stairs. “Get dressed and down here quick. Your dad’s calling.”
By the time they sailed down in pajamas and robes, with a decidedly damp dog at their heels, I had the laptop on the table and ready to receive Dek’s Skype connection. Sometimes when I thought of how much money we’d overspent on phone calls before the internet and the addition of Skype and Ooma, I wanted to scream. In seconds, the computer speakers started playing the bebop music that signaled an incoming video call, and Dek’s beautiful, tired, unusually scruffy face appeared on the screen.
“You decide to quit shaving since we talked last week?” I asked.
“I love you too.” He grinned. His straight white teeth almost glowing amongst the stubble. “It’s been kind of crazy here, and I’ve had to cut corners time-wise.”
I caught my lower lip between my teeth, then said, “As long as those are the only corners you’re cutting.”
He smiled, and I wanted to fall into his brown eyes. “They are. I promise.”
Taking a deep breath, I pulled Jamey and Mac closer. “Why don’t you and the boys talk first, so they can get to bed on-time.”
“Good plan. Hi, guys.”
“Hi, Dad,” Jamey said, grinning into the screen.
“I miss you, Daddy.” Mac’s lip jutted out, like he was close to tears.
I stepped behind the work island and let Dek take the lead. The location allowed me to watch their interaction and hear the conversations, but I stayed out of anyone’s line of sight. The boys covered how their first day back to school had gone, and how I was driving them to and from school. They asked their dad where he was and what he was doing, and Dek offered a little history and current events info on Turkey. I chewed my lip, and like Mac, I missed him. I missed him a lot.
The room behind him was nondescript. I used to ask where he was, but too many of his connections were through military channels and he couldn’t tell me. Now, I didn’t ask because I was basically a chicken.
When they started repeating themselves, I said, “Okay, fellas, tell Daddy goodnight and head for bed. You have books up there begging to be read by two overly smart young men.”
“Aww...” they moaned.
“Yeah, boys, your mom and I are going to get to the kissy parts of the conversation now.” Dek grinned and winked.
“Ewwww!” Both boys said lightning quick goodbyes and bolted upstairs.
“Oh, you’re good,” I said, laughing and matching the size of my husband’s grin.
“I still remember what it’s like to be a kid,” he said.
“Mostly because you still are one,” I teased.
He laughed and blew me a kiss through the screen.
Honey wandered into the living room and stretched out in the middle of the floor deciding it was her bedtime, too.
Dek retrieved my attention, asking, “What’s this new chauffeur service you’re running three times a day?”
I shrugged. “Should have known you’d pick up on that.”
“Especially since you were the one who said the boys needed to walk to school with their friends and have a normal childhood, not one where they were always dropped at the door for everything. What happened to the woman who said all o
f that because her hometown is so safe.”
Taking a deep breath, I said, “My hometown might not be that safe anymore.”
“What happened?”
Quietly, I gave him the scoop as efficiently as I could, emphasizing that the victim was from out of state, and this could have nothing to do with our neighborhood, except be a good place for the murderer to dump the body.
“And Abby is staying with us this week, so she’ll be here to help keep an eye on things.”
“The police won’t let her go back to Dallas? Or is she concerned you may need a lawyer if she doesn’t stay close?” he asked.
“Pretty much both. The detective in charge strongly suggested she hang around a few days. But given the fact the victim and I had words the night before, and I found him dead the next day, she thought it a wise move to be my litigating shadow this week. She even made me give her a retainer to make it official.”
His eyes widened. “A retainer? How much?”
“Eighty-seven cents. That’s all I had in the mad money cup.”
He chuckled silently, then said, “I’m not saying I won’t be worried about you, but it sounds like you have a plan in place. If I can get back sooner, I will. At the moment, however, I expect to fly into Tulsa on Saturday. I’ll text you the flight number and arrival time when I get it.”
“I’ll keep an eye on my inbox.”
He stared at me and shook his head. I watched his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. “Please be careful, Lissa. If anything else happens, stay in the house all week. Promise me.”
“The boys have to go to school.”
“Say they’re sick. Say they have the mumps. That takes at least a week to get over.”
“Except the school has their medical records that show they’ve had the MMR immunizations.” I reminded.
“Then think of something else, but make sure you three stay safe. Promise me.”
“I promise that if anything serious happens I’ll pull the boys out of school and offer any wild excuse necessary—I might even try the truth. And we will barricade ourselves in the house until you return. Does that cover it?”