by A R Kennedy
“We have Ferris.” They both laughed. Joey pulled her in to hug her and she placed her head over his heart as he squeezed her tight. She watched Ferris, who sat a foot behind them, headphones still in place. His tail tapped urgently, wanting to get in on the hug. “Really, CeCe, I need you to do this. For me. I worry when I get stuck at work and you’re home alone.”
She nodded but said nothing. His guilt for working late was not enough to sway her.
“I’m serious, CeCe. What happens if someone broke in? You need to be able to protect yourself. Our children.” He knew a hypothetical, like an unborn child, would not sway her. She would need a concrete example. “How about me? Would you use it to protect me?”
“Of course, I would.” Cecilia loved him more than anything and couldn’t picture her life without him. He was her best friend since the moment they met five years ago. “But goodness, Joey. I don’t think I could shoot someone.”
CHAPTER 11
Cecilia was dozing on the couch when something woke her. She immediately looked for Ferris, who remained sleeping in his bed. The doorbell rang again.
Since the funeral, she couldn’t remember ever hearing the doorbell. It rang fairly constantly in the days after his death, before his funeral. Joey’s friends coming to pay respects. Neighbors dropping off casseroles. As if she had any appetite. Floral deliveries from friends and family from out of state.
Today, like then, she had no desire to answer it. If she ignored it, they would go away. A third time, the doorbell rang. A low moan emanated from Ferris. Fearing that another ring would wake him up, she answered the door.
Cecilia didn’t recognize the woman standing at the door. She couldn’t make out the man behind her either, whose face was blocked by a large video camera. The camera had a local news station’s logo on the side.
The reporter thrust a mic toward Cecilia and, without introducing herself, she asked, “Tell us why you killed the local teenager, Robert Gabbert.”
Cecilia stood shocked. She hadn’t been out of the house in hours. In front of her house, there were now two media trucks. Cecilia looked up and down the block and couldn’t see any neighbors. The houses were separated by at least a quarter of a mile on the block. It was nothing like their old home, where you could shout from your window to the neighbors and they could make out every word you said.
Despite the spread-out neighborhood, she often saw neighbors walking their dogs or pushing baby carriages up and down the quiet street. Especially on a cool late summer day like this, she expected to see neighbors. She wouldn’t know their names but she’d recognize their faces and wave politely as they passed. And they would return the wave.
The reporter asked the question again.
Cecilia had thought she’d been attacked by a man. Not a boy. He was strong. He had held her down. That was no child. What he had wanted to do to her was certainly not motivated by a child’s yearnings. Something had to be wrong. Her head hurt too bad to process what the reporter was saying. She still couldn’t process what Chief Owens had told her. How was it possible that she had killed the intruder?
The reporter asked the question a third time. This time with more urgency. “Ma’am, why did you kill local teenager Robert Gabbert?”
Cecilia finally mustered the ability to speak, but not the ability to answer that question. “Please stop ringing the bell. The dog is resting.”
She closed the door.
On her side of it, Cecilia slid down it and held her aching head.
Daniel Briscoe marched into the station. His entourage, being only his assistant Marcy Thompson, trailed a step behind him. Marcy’s legal pad was held close to her chest, ready to take notes whenever he barked them at her.
Briscoe and Owens had a good working relationship. They usually communicated via email or through Marcy. They rarely interacted with each other face-to-face. They both liked it that way. They had only ever argued over one subject, Robert Gabbert, and they were headed for another round.
Briscoe stormed into the Chief’s office and shouted, “Give me one good reason that Chandler woman isn’t in your holding cell.”
Marcy scribbled on her pad. Owens wasn’t sure if she had been ordered to keep a transcript of his every word or was trying to make herself look busy.
“Good afternoon, Dan. Please come in,” Owens answered. He plastered a fake smile on his face. He wanted to avoid escalating the argument and ignored the fact that Briscoe had barged into his office. “Marcy, always a pleasure.”
“I asked you a question,” Briscoe spat.
Briscoe’s entourage had grown as he had stomped through the station. Now, everyone in the station stood outside Owens’s office and waited for an answer.
“Close the door, Dan.”
The prosecutor made no move for the door. Owens slowly stood and leaned on his desk. Even leaning over, he was an intimidating figure and Briscoe buckled. He signaled for Marcy to close the door. She scurried over and shut it. With a wave of Owens’s hand, the group outside scattered.
He sat down again before answering. “It was self-defense, Dan.”
Briscoe remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest. “She shot him. He was defenseless.”
“Defenseless?” Owens shook his head. “He had a knife.”
“A knife versus her gun? He had no chance.” Marcy stood behind Briscoe scribbling down every word uttered.
“He had every chance, Dan. She told him to leave.” Owens looked at Marcy and added, “Repeatedly.” He stared at her, ensuring she wrote that down. He watched as she underlined it.
Briscoe harrumphed. “A grown woman versus a boy.”
Owens shook his head. “He was not a boy. He was an adult.”
“A teenager!” Briscoe shot back. Marcy flinched at the shout, but she kept transcribing the conversation.
“An eighteen-year-old man who you know was trouble.”
“Trouble? He was spirited is all.” Briscoe smirked and sat down in one of the two available chairs. Marcy didn’t leave her post, standing behind him.
“Spirited? Bull.”
It was the worst-kept secret in the town. The mayor’s nephew, Robert Gabbert, had been arrested several times. And every time he was, he was given a second chance. Owens had known it was only a matter of time before he escalated. He had told Briscoe this, repeatedly.
“He was trouble. You of all people should be glad he’s dead. How many more times could you sweep his crimes under the rug?” Owens asked.
“Indiscretions,” Briscoe corrected him.
“Indiscretions? Bull!” Owens slammed his fist onto his desk.
Startled, Marcy recoiled and her writing hand flew off the page. She furiously erased the stray mark.
“He was escalating and you know it.” Owens lowered his voice. “You’re lucky he didn’t rape the Chandler woman. There’s no way she’d let that be pleaded out to community service.”
“Well, he didn’t, did he?” he asked, with a smirk on his face.
Owens used all his strength not to slap that smirk off his face. He knew assaulting the prosecutor wouldn’t be viewed as an “indiscretion.” Not with the whole station watching. “He didn’t even serve his community service since his last ‘indiscretion’, did he?”
“Irrelevant.” Briscoe leaned forward and tapped his finger on Owens’s desk. “She shot him.” He tapped the desk again, a little harder this time. “She killed him.” With more force, he tapped the desk a final time. “You will arrest her for it.”
“Oh come on! What am I charging her with?”
“Second-degree murder.”
Cecilia was resting on the bed, not sleeping but not awake either. Ferris was lying next to her. A luxury he had never been afforded before. The stresses of the night forgotten, he snored lightly. Cecilia’s cell phone rang, disturbing her from her attempts at sleep. It did not disturb Ferris.
She answered it without checking the caller ID. She quickly regretted it when she heard her
sister’s voice. “Did you kill a child?” her sister asked.
“What?” Cecilia asked.
“I got a Google Alert for your town. Nothing ever happens there. But today for the first time ever I got a Google Alert.”
Cecilia got up and walked to the front of the house to look outside. There were now three media trucks.
“They said there was a murder. And they showed Joe’s house.” She sounded excited at the hint of a scandal. “Your house,” she clarified. “I saw you on the news. What were you wearing?”
Cecilia looked down at herself. She had changed out of the scrubs, having thrown them out after scrubbing the kitchen clean. She now wore her usual life-after-Joey attire—one of his shirts and whatever she could find for pants. Today was a Van Halen T-shirt and black leggings.
Cecilia plopped in the chair next to the window. She continued to peer out at the street, hoping not to be seen.
“I gotta go, Janna.”
“Cecilia? What’s going on?” Janna pleaded for information.
Cecilia didn’t miss that she didn’t ask if she was alright. She only wanted gossip. It reminded Cecilia how different she and her sister was.
Cecilia would not have called at all.
She watched as activity sprang from the three vans. Cecilia leaned forward to see what the cause was. She knew they thought it was good. For them. She doubted it be good for her.
The newscasters, with their camerapersons at their heels, smoothed out their hair and their outfits. Those behind the cameras readied themselves for the shot as well, placing their cameras on their shoulders and fiddling with controls.
The front of the house was blocked by the news trucks, so the police car pulled into her driveway.
“I have to go, Janna,” she said again.
“What? You have to tell me what’s going on!”
“I don’t know,” Cecilia answered, after she ended the call.
There was only one other time Cecilia could remember seeing a police car in her driveway.
That one had brought bad news as well.
CHAPTER 12
Then
Cecilia sat at her desk in Joey’s office. Hers was the smaller of the two desks in the office. The large antique mahogany one had been her father-in-law’s. They both held it in such reverence that even Joey avoided using it, even though it was rightly his now.
Cecilia was completing her last job of the day. The last item on her to-do list before she could shut down the computer for the weekend. She checked her watch. Joey should be home in under two hours. She’d have enough time to shower, pack, and be ready when he got home. He promised this weekend they’d go back to the city for a relaxing weekend. She hadn’t been there in over six months. And that had only been for an afternoon for a funeral.
Ferris was at her feet. He would be remaining in the country for the weekend, stowed away at the local veterinarian’s for boarding.
The doorbell rang.
Ferris remained at her feet, undisturbed.
“Aren’t you supposed to bark? Aren’t you supposed to hear someone approaching before they ring the bell? Isn’t that what dogs do?” she asked.
He looked up at her but his body remained at her feet.
The doorbell rang again and this prompted Ferris to move. She checked her watch again. She never had visitors this time of day. She never had visitors any time of day. The only people who regularly came to the house were the mailman and the UPS driver. The mailman never rang the bell. The UPS driver would ring once, before depositing her package at the front door.
The doorbell rang again. Both Cecilia and Ferris left the office to check out who was the cause of their midday disturbance.
Cecilia walked from the back of the house, through the kitchen, to the front door. Ferris followed her. She opened the door without asking who was there. She would never have done that when she lived in the city. She wondered when she had started doing that.
“Mrs. Chandler?” he asked. He was dressed in a brown uniform and a cowboy hat. “May I come in?”
She nodded yes to both questions.
He removed his hat as he crossed the threshold and sat in the living room. “I’m Sheriff Winkins.”
Cecilia nodded understanding.
“I’m here about your husband.”
“Joey?” she asked. She could not think of a reason why a sheriff would be at her house about her husband. She doubted the police made home visits if he’d been arrested. But Joey would never get arrested.
She stood at the doorway into the living room. Ferris stood behind her. His head cowered down by her knees, trying to sneak a peek at the stranger.
“Yes, Joseph Chandler. Ma’am, could you sit down, please?”
She and Ferris remained frozen at the doorway. “Joey’s at work, sir. I can give you his phone number, the address. He’s at the office.”
“Ma’am, can you please sit down?”
A pit began to form in her stomach. She looked down at Ferris and wondered if he felt that same dread. The low moan coming from Ferris indicated his mutual distress.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I’ll call him.”
He motioned for her to stop and tried to get her attention. “Ma’am.”
She ignored the sheriff. She didn’t like being called “ma’am.” She didn’t like this stranger in her house. She didn’t like the growing fear in her heart. She didn’t like the dog rubbing himself against her leg, leaving his golden hairs all over her pants.
Cecilia pulled up her call history and tapped the last call, Joey cell. The phone rang before going to voicemail. “I spoke to him a couple hours ago. He was going out into the countryside to check some site.”
She had laughed when he’d said it. She retorted that they were already in the country. Joey assured her they were not.
Cecilia dialed his number again. Four rings, then voicemail. She struggled to find her voice and the voicemail disconnected before she could leave a message.
“Sometimes the cell doesn’t work at the sites. Or maybe he left it in his car. He does that.” She tapped her phone again, calling the office number. It rang several times and then went to voicemail. She checked the time and stared at her phone. “The secretary should be there. Unless Joey let her go early. He does that.” She stared at the phone, willing it to ring. To see Joey’s face pop up on the screen. Him calling her back. “We’re going home this weekend…into the city…soon. Once Joey gets home.”
The sheriff put his hand over hers. Ferris growled softly. She hadn’t even noticed that the sheriff had gotten up. “Please, ma’am, have a seat.”
Keeping her hand, he escorted her to the couch. Ferris jumped onto the couch.
She started to tell him to get off because he didn’t belong on the couch. But she knew it didn’t matter. She feared nothing would matter ever again. Ferris placed his head on her lap. He returned to his light moaning. Cecilia placed her hand on his head and gently stroked his fur.
“Ma’am,” she heard the sheriff say.
“No, please, no.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chandler to tell you—”
“No, just one minute. Please, let me have one more minute.” She took a deep breath. “Just give me one more minute to be his wife.”
CHAPTER 13
Holden Owens sat in the passenger seat, looking at the Chandler house. He did not want to be here. He didn’t want to go in that house. Worse, he didn’t want to come out of that house with Cecilia in handcuffs.
Pugliese got out of the car. Arresting a woman who had been assaulted only a few hours ago did not weigh as heavily on his mind. He had been first on the scene and saw this as a career opportunity. He straightened his hat and readied himself for the cameras.
Owens heard the shouts of the reporters, coming up the drive. “Tell them to stay back,” he ordered Pugliese.
“Keep off the property,” Vinnie told them in his most commanding voice.
Holden slowly got
out of the car. Pugliese was answering reporters’ questions. “Let’s go, Pugliese,” Holden commanded. “I told you to keep them back, not talk to them.”
“Well—”
Holden stopped Vinnie before he could voice an insolent reply. “Yes, you needed to talk to them to tell them to stay back. No, you did not need to say anything else.”
Pugliese nodded understanding and started to walk to the front door.
“No, get back to the car. Call for backup. I want those vipers held back when I come out with her.” Holden watched Pugliese’s smile vanish from his face. He was looking forward to arresting Cecilia far too much. He remained standing in front of Owens.
“I gave you an order, Pugliese. I expect this one to be followed. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Chief Holden Owens rarely pulled rank. He rarely felt the need to. He feared this was just the beginning. He could read a room. The station had no qualms about arresting Cecilia. The woman from the city had killed one of them. They all knew Gabbert was a bad one of them. But he was still one of them.
He passed secretaries crying for “Bobby” as he and Vinnie had headed out of the station. These same women who had shaken their heads at Gabbert the last time he had been arrested. Owens couldn’t even remember what that arrest had been for. There had been so many.
Those women weren’t crying for the woman he attacked and had planned to rape. Nope, it was always us versus them in a town like Folley. He knew that too well.
For a time, it had been them against him. When he had first moved to Folley. But at some point, he had become one of them. Usually, he thought that was a good thing. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Most had probably forgotten he had been born outside of Folley. Most, but not all. His resistance to arrest Cecilia had reminded them.
Owens glanced back, confirming Pugliese had done as he was told. He stood, arms crossed, leaning against the trunk of the car. The frown on his face suited him to his first assigned task. The media remained at their post, off Cecilia’s property. Owens resumed his walk to the front door. He took a deep breath before ringing the front doorbell.