Tommy's Mom

by Linda O. Johnston

  In a moment, they were both running up the steps.

  Holly turned on the light as she entered the room and picked up the small, sobbing boy.

  Gabe stood at the door, watching. Tommy was better off being held by his mother than anything Gabe could do right then. Feeling a little helpless, he glanced around.

  On the dresser was a photograph he had noticed before: Holly, Tommy and Thomas Poston. The whole family, in happier times, a posed studio photograph in front of a bright blue background like a brilliant morning sky.

  Thomas was holding Tommy, and Holly beamed at them both. Staring lovingly at her husband.

  Lovingly. At her lost husband.

  Whom she missed. Whom she had probably, in her imagination, just been kissing.

  Damn! Gabe thought. Was his sanity being swept away by his sex drive? No way.

  He’d been there once before, the second-best substitute for a woman missing another man.

  The rebound lover, told to go pound salt when the lady he’d thought he’d loved had decided it was time for her to move on.

  “I’ll skip the coffee tonight,” he called to Holly, whose lovely, shocked face was pressed against her son’s. Ignoring the hurt in her eyes, he walked out.

  Chapter Five

  What had she expected? Holly wondered as she sat on the bed and rocked the whimpering Tommy in her arms. She hummed a soothing lullaby, but her own thoughts were anything but peaceful.

  Of course she had felt sorry for Gabe after the story he’d told. He had lost everyone when he was very young. At least he hadn’t been totally alone. His experience had been that cops took care of other cops’ families. The Sevvers taught him that. Holly realized how special they, and most particularly Lionel, must be. Gabe’s story explained why he’d once said he was sort of an uncle, but that it was too complicated to explain. He was part of the whole Sevvers family, though not by blood.

  As a result, Gabe felt the sense of duty imparted by his own background. That was his only connection to Tommy and her.

  She closed her eyes, inhaling the fresh baby shampoo scent of her son’s soft hair, holding him tightly. She needed soothing, too, for making such a fool of herself.

  “Hushabye, hushabye,” she sang half-tunelessly, without remembering much of the song or its words.

  Cops had an inherent sense of duty that overrode everything else in their lives. Hadn’t her father and Thomas proved that over and over?

  If Gabe felt his obligation was to take care of Tommy and her, he’d do it. And since that obligation also meant finding Thomas’s killer, Gabe would stop at nothing to achieve that, too.

  But eventually he’d feel he’d done his duty. Then, he’d be distant. Gone like all cops.

  This time, Holly’s emotions wouldn’t be involved.

  Sure, she found Chief Gabe McLaren an outstanding specimen of manhood. What woman in full possession of faculties and female hormones wouldn’t?

  And the fact that his kiss would have knocked her socks off if she hadn’t been in bare feet…? Irrelevant.

  He’d stoked her long-dormant desire to near-flame status. She was darned curious what it would be like to make love with that gorgeous, sexy man.

  But it wouldn’t happen, since she couldn’t engage her body without her emotions getting in the way.

  No, she’d allow him into their lives just enough to encourage Tommy to talk, to protect them, even to help around the house. But that was all.

  Feeling her son’s small body relax in her arms, she finished by crooning, “We’ll get along, just the two of us.” She laid him down gently in his bed and kissed him good-night once more.

  “HEY, JIMMY, how about a little insight from you this morning before I head out?” Gabe asked Detective James Hernandez, whom Gabe had stolen from the Sacramento police. Jimmy was now the highest-ranking detective on the N.B.P.D..

  “Where’re you off to, Gabe?” Jimmy nearly dwarfed the doorway of Gabe’s office, his arms full of files. His stance was firm and planted, as if daring someone to move him.

  He was damn good at his job. Gabe respected him. He liked him. Other than Aunt Evangeline, Jimmy was Gabe’s closest friend here.

  Not that he could afford to be friends with anyone else, because of his covert assignment.

  Holly Poston’s lovely face popped uninvited into his thoughts. Forget it, McLaren. Holly wasn’t a friend. She wasn’t anything to him but a victim, a fellow cop’s widow. And yet his thoughts kept turning to her…

  “Gabe?” Jimmy interrupted his thoughts. “You want to daydream, or you want my help?”

  “Your help. It’s about the Poston case.”

  Jimmy’s face registered frustration. “Yeah, damn thing’s growing stale already.” He stepped farther into the room and continued in a low voice, “Like the other one.”

  “We won’t let it get stale,” Gabe asserted.

  Any more than he’d permit that other one to die.

  Jimmy and he had both put time into the other investigation—their own personal off-duty time. But so far, they’d hit nothing but dead ends.

  “I want to throw all the manpower needed into getting it solved,” Gabe continued. “Yesterday. There’s still a lot of physical evidence to sort through, but it’s not going to be easy to figure out which prints, hair or skin samples were left by the bad guy instead of one of Sheldon’s customers.”

  Jimmy nodded. “Yeah. The bad guy could even be one of his customers. And not even a murder weapon yet.”

  “Right. I’m going to Sheldon’s this morning. He’s been questioned by Al and you, but not by me, except for a couple of minutes the day of the funeral. I want more of a sense of what he went through. I gather he was cooperative but not particularly useful.”

  “A clunk on the head can do that.”

  “He told you Poston and he were arguing so they didn’t pay attention when someone came in?”

  “Yeah, some kind of friendly argument about the Angels versus the Dodgers. They had a running bet. Sheldon was ahead and Thomas wasn’t a good loser. But he hastened to tell me it was all good-natured fun. Nothing to lose one’s cool and kill a friend over.”

  “Got it.” Gabe had read that in the reports of the interview with Sperling. Had used it around little Tommy and earned Holly’s ire… Holly again! She wouldn’t leave his thoughts in peace. “I’m off now,” Gabe told Jimmy a little too gruffly.

  The detective frowned. “You want me along?”

  “Not unless you want to come.”

  Jimmy gave a laugh and held up the stack of files. “There are plenty more that need my attention when I’m done with these.”

  “Gotcha. Call on the radio if you think of anything I should ask ol’ Sheldon.”

  A BELL SOUNDED as Gabe walked in the door. Sheldon Sperling’s shop was a clutter of shelves filled with expensive, artistic knickknacks and walls covered with landscape and still-life paintings, colorful decorative primitive masks, plates with pictures of wide-eyed children and leaping sealife…and stitchery. Brightly colored fabrics hung everywhere, supported by long, thick dowels, in scenes representing sunrises and sunsets, palm trees in which plumed birds nested, and more. Gabe found it cheerful and appealing.

  He found their creator, Holly, appealing, too….

  The place smelled of the sea a couple of blocks away, and something spicy, as if the owner were brewing tea.

  “Can I help you?” Sheldon emerged from a doorway at the back of his shop. He still walked slowly, shoulders hunched beneath a Hawaiian print shirt whose faded colors only seemed to emphasize that he, too, seemed faded. His hollow cheeks were so pale that Gabe wondered if he had powdered them. “Oh, it’s you, Gabe. What can I do for you?”

  “I know you were questioned officially before, Sheldon, but I’d like a personal rundown of what happened the morning you were attacked and Thomas Poston killed.”

  The ruefulness in his drooping eyes made him appear woebegone. “Sure, Gabe, but like I’ve told ev
eryone who’s asked, there are a lot of gaps in my memory. I suppose the head wound did that. Come into the back. I picked up some scones from Biscuit’s Bakery, and I’ll brew more tea.” The bakery was another shop along Pacific Way. Gabe had noticed it, and the delightfully sweet odors wafting from it, before.

  “Don’t go to any trouble,” Gabe said, but he followed Sheldon.

  In a few minutes, the men were seated around the large table dominating the center of the back room. A steaming mug of something that smelled like Oriental spices sat in front of Gabe. One wall was a floor-to-ceiling conglomerate of enclosed cabinets. Along the outer wall was a large sink, and it, too, was set into wood cabinetry.

  “Some of my artists give demonstrations and even classes here,” Sheldon told Gabe. “Everyone sits around this table and listens, or even tries their hands at creating something. The tourists love it. Usually there’s no charge, but they buy a lot of the works of whoever is demonstrating that day. I keep supplies here for the classes.”

  “I see.” Gabe leaned toward Sheldon. “Look, this is probably getting as tedious as hell, but I want your description of what happened that morning. Okay?”

  Sheldon nodded, but his expression was grim. “I realize you’re doing all you can to find out who did this terrible thing, but you’re right. It is getting tedious. And upsetting, since I can’t even begin to forget about it. But okay.”

  Sheldon’s story followed the reports. Thomas and Tommy had come in early that morning, as was their habit. They were all planning on heading to the Naranja Diner for breakfast, but Sheldon needed to finish organizing his products for the day, and Thomas agreed to wait. So Tommy wouldn’t get bored, they settled him down in the back room with crayons and a coloring book, then Thomas and Sheldon returned to the sales area.

  They had talked as Sheldon worked. “Well, yes,” Sheldon said with a sheepish expression on his face at Gabe’s question. “We were arguing about baseball. It was one of the things we did—all in good fun, you understand. We kept track of bets on paper. Thomas owed me about fifty dollars, I think. We never collected from one another, since sometimes I’d win and sometimes he would.”

  “I get it.” Gabe paused. “And then what happened?”

  Sheldon’s head drooped. “I wish I knew.” Gabe had to strain to hear. “Thomas and I were in the middle of our discussion…well, argument. I half heard the bell on the door ring to indicate someone had entered, but I was so engrossed I didn’t even look that way. And then… I felt something hit me, hard. That was all. I didn’t see who it was. I don’t even know what happened to me, let alone how Thomas was attacked.” He shook his head. His recessed, sad eyes met Gabe’s. “Sorry. That’s all I know. Except that when I was well enough, I verified there was cash missing from my register—about five hundred dollars, what I usually put there to start the day.”

  “And a letter opener, too?”

  “Yes, a very nice one, unique, with a long metal blade and pretty, colorful ceramic handle. I picked it up in the Bahamas. The artist was—”

  Gabe interrupted. “I see. Now, I know you weren’t aware of it at the time, but could you show me where Thomas’s body was, and where you were after the attack?”

  “I’ll show you what your detectives told me.” Sheldon picked up his teacup and preceded Gabe back into the other room. Gabe left his own cup on the table.

  Sheldon pointed out the area near the door where Thomas Poston’s body had lain. “I know that was correct, since the people I hired to clean up afterward scrubbed blood off the wooden floor there. Not to mention all that black, sticky, fingerprint powder off nearly everything.” He glared at Gabe. “Fortunately, they used common sense and mostly checked the register and countertops for prints, rather than ruining any of my artistic pieces.”

  “And no artwork was missing?”

  “No, nothing I’m aware of. Except that letter opener, of course.”

  “Okay, then. Where did they say you were found?”

  Sheldon winced visibly. “Over there.” He pointed to the floor behind a set of shelves far to Gabe’s right, almost along the wall. “I don’t know how I got there, whether I’d been dusting some pieces there or if I was dragged behind the shelves, but that’s where I’m told I was when the patrolmen came in.”

  Gabe walked in that direction and knelt. The wooden floor needed to be waxed, but other than a little dirt where floor met shelves, it was clean. He saw nothing useful. Nothing at all.

  “What about little Tommy?” Sheldon asked. “He was in the back room most of the time, but I was told he came out here and probably saw his daddy and maybe me, too, if he walked around. Poor child. Has he said anything helpful yet?”

  Gabe rose to his feet again and shook his head. “So far, the little guy isn’t talking to anyone about anything.”

  “Holly told me she’s taking him to see a child psychologist to help him get past this terrible thing.”

  “Yeah,” Gabe said. “Anyway, thanks. I appreciate your making the time to talk with me.”

  “Did talking to me give you any insights?” When Gabe slowly shook his head, Sheldon’s look hardened. “Please catch the son of a bitch who did this, Gabe. Not just for me, or for the money I lost. Thomas Poston was a friend.”

  THE NARANJA BEACH City Hall had always seemed to Holly to resemble one of the missions that had dotted California in the days of Spanish dominance centuries ago. Some missions still stood. City Hall wasn’t one of them. It had been constructed in the 1920s. But the charm of its daubed pink adobe walls, center courtyard and tile-lined bell tower was undeniable, especially contrasting with today’s bright, cloud-free azure sky.

  “This morning, we’re visiting Mayor Sevvers, sweetheart,” Holly told Tommy as she bent inside the back seat of her minivan to unfasten his seat belt. “Can you help me carry some costumes?”

  Her son slid onto the sidewalk and nodded importantly. He looked adorable in his denim cut-offs and orange Naranja Beach T-shirt, his dark hair ruffling in the slight breeze. But there were shadows beneath his bright brown eyes.

  “Great!” She gave him a hug, then headed for the rear hatch and opened it.

  Glancing in at the heaps of clothing she had been sewing, Holly hoped she had remembered everything. As usual these days, she hadn’t slept well the night before. She’d gone to bed shortly after settling Tommy down after his latest nightmare, but had lain there wide-eyed, worrying about her son.

  And thinking of Gabe.

  He’d suffered childhood trauma as Tommy had. He seemed to have turned out a well-adjusted, self-confident man.

  A sexy man…

  Oh, yes. She’d considered that damn kiss a lot, too. Hope you enjoyed it, she scolded herself. It won’t happen again.

  Since she wasn’t sleeping anyway, she’d risen early and done some last-minute stitchery on the costumes she had been commissioned to sew for the Naranja Community Theater.

  “Here, Tommy. You take this.” She handed him two folded aprons, then smiled at his pleased grin. She filled her own arms but would have to make more trips to the van for the rest.

  The lobby of City Hall was even more magnificent than its exterior, with exquisite tilework on floor and walls. As they waited for an elevator, Holly glanced around in alarm. How could she have forgotten that the police station was at the rear of the first floor? What if Tommy saw a cop in uniform? Would he fall apart again?

  Tommy had also been to the station with Thomas several times. Would this additional reminder of his daddy upset him?

  The elevator arrived quickly—all the more fortunate because Holly recognized a local reporter—one more persistent than the rest who was still, after all her refusals, trying to get her to give an interview.

  Holly hustled Tommy inside. “Do you want to push the button?” When he nodded, she told him to touch the number three for the top floor.

  The receptionist helped to carry some of the things Holly had toted upstairs into Evangeline Sevvers’s inner
sanctum. The mayor’s office was appropriately subdued, notwithstanding the flamboyance of its current inhabitant, with dark wood paneling, a vast but plain-looking wooden desk, and beige leather chairs.

  “Sit down, sit down,” Evangeline said, standing immediately upon their entry. As usual, she wore an attractive, feminine suit. Today’s was a brilliant lime green that contrasted appealingly with the unusual red of her hair, a cloud of waves about her long, narrow face. Her blouse was tailored, and she wore a multicolor scarf about her neck. This time it was her bright scarlet lipstick that clashed with her hair.

  Holly wondered whether her own denim skirt and dark blue blouse were dressy enough for visiting this estimable office. But she wouldn’t worry about it. Unlike Evangeline, she didn’t need to impress anyone.

  “What do we have here?” Evangeline gestured toward the pile of clothing. She regarded Tommy expectantly, as if he would explain.

  He held out his arms, proffering the garments he held toward her, but, as Holly anticipated, didn’t say a word.

  “Can you tell me what these are?” Evangeline persisted.

  Tommy’s small brow puckered, and his lower lip trembled. “Tommy’s still taking a vacation from talking right now,” Holly quickly interjected in a bright tone tempered by a warning glance at the mayor. “He’ll speak again when he’s ready.”

  “Okay.” Evangeline ruffled Tommy’s hair as he climbed onto the leather sofa. The mayor was known for political aspirations and for her brashness. But Holly knew her as a kind woman.

  After last night, she had more insight into why. Evangeline was a Sevvers, part of the family who had taken in the orphaned Gabe. Holly ached to ask Evangeline about Gabe and his childhood. For Tommy’s sake, of course. Maybe she would have some suggestions.

  And Holly was curious about the man who had kissed her….

  But she couldn’t ask in front of Tommy.

  Instead, she said, “I think I’ve brought everything—overalls for sanitation workers, aprons for shopkeepers, T-shirts for lifeguards, yellow vests for crossing guards and polka-dotted pajamas for the actor playing the fire department’s dalmatian mascot.”