by A R Kennedy
Vinnie didn’t want to remind her that she was not a popular person in town. She had killed a town resident. “Let’s check the backyard again.”
He followed her through the front door through the kitchen to the backyard. The floodlight turned on when they stepped onto the patio. They both scanned the yard but saw nothing. “Okay, he’s not here. Any place he might go?”
Cecilia shook her head no. “I can’t think of any place.”
Pugliese headed back to his patrol car. “I’ll put a call out and we’ll look for him.”
“Wait,” she said. “Um…you think maybe you shouldn’t broadcast my dog is missing?”
He nodded his head. She was probably right. “I’ll find him.”
“Thank you,” she called out, as he walked away.
Pugliese got back in the patrol car and debated where to go to look for the missing dog. He hoped no calls came over the radio. He didn’t want to explain he was looking for a dog. Never mind her dog.
He drove down the rest of the block, seeing no golden retriever. He turned the car around. Vinnie had no idea how far a dog like that could get. He passed the Chandler house again and could hear Mrs. Chandler yelling for Ferris. He made a left at the end of the block onto a small side street that went to the local reservoir. A half mile up the road, Vinnie saw the golden retriever sitting at the end of the clearing.
Hoping not to spook him, Vinnie got out of the car and walked slowly over to Ferris. The dog noticed him but remained sitting. It looked like he was waiting for someone. Vinnie walked over to him and patted him on his head. “You okay, boy?” The dog looked no worse for wear. Just a few leaves and sticks stuck in his fur from running through the woods.
Vinnie looked around the area and wondered why Ferris had run to this spot and why he sat here, as if waiting for something. Or someone.
A foot from where Ferris sat, Vinnie saw tire impressions. It looked like a truck had been parked here a few days ago, right after the last rain. The tire impressions remained in the dried mud.
“Let’s go, boy,” Vinnie said and lightly touched Ferris’s collar. Ferris obliged and jumped in the backseat of the patrol car when Vinnie urged him to.
Vinnie pulled up to the Chandler home and got out. Cecilia came running out the front door when she heard the car door close. Before she could ask, he let Ferris out of the backseat and opened the gate. Ferris ran to Cecilia and she didn’t try to brace herself from the incoming tackle.
“Oh, thank God!” she told Ferris, as he licked her face. “I love you, little one! What would I have done if you were gone? You can’t leave me like that.” After a minute of nuzzles, he ran into the house to his water bowl, parched from his adventure.
Cecilia got up and found Vinnie observing the scene. She went over to him, went to hug him, and thought better of it. She held out her hand and peered at his nameplate. “Thank you, Officer Pugliese. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you found him.”
Vinnie could see how much it meant to her. He’d once returned a lost child, at a strip mall, to a mother and had seen that same look.
Halfway through his shift, Vinnie headed back to the station. The chief’s car was parked in the lot. The incident with Mrs. Chandler and Ferris had troubled him.
He leaned into Owens’s office. “Working late, Chief?”
Holden withheld a smart aleck reply and asked, “What do you want, Pugliese?”
“To talk to you about the Chandler case,” he answered, entering the office and closing the office door.
Owens sighed and placed his pen down. “There’s nothing to talk about. We arrested her. Briscoe’s prosecuting her. We won’t agree about it.”
“Maybe we will…” Pugliese said. Holden furrowed his brow, surprised by the possible change in opinion. “I think I may have been wrong about Mrs. Chandler.”
Owens leaned back in his chair and observed his patrolman. “Why this sudden change in heart, Vinnie?”
“She lost Ferris.”
Holden shot up. “What! Oh my God! CeCe must be out of her mind.” He went to grab his jacket and head out to Cecilia’s. She might be mad at him but she’d accept his help for Ferris’s sake.
“She was.”
With one arm through his jacket, Holden turned and asked, “Was? What do you mean?”
“I found him. He’s fine.”
Holden flopped back in his chair, glad Ferris and Cecilia were alright. He shoved away the small part of him that was disappointed he didn’t have an excuse to see her.
“Found him on that side road by their house. The one to the reservoir, you know?”
Holden nodded yes. He concealed his surprise that Ferris had found the spot he had parked his truck when he went to the Chandler home. Holden guessed he wasn’t the only one missing his visits.
“There were tire tracks there. Pretty recent. You think Jeremiah hired someone else to scare Mrs. Chandler?”
“I think Jeremiah learned his lesson,” Holden said, knowing the cause of the tracks.
“Okay…but Ferris. He was just sitting there, like he was waiting for someone. It was kind of sad. But not as sad as when Mrs. Chandler thought he was gone. They only have each other now that Mr. Chandler is gone.”
Holden nodded agreement and they sat in the office, silent, for several minutes.
“What’ll happen to Ferris if she goes to prison?” Vinnie asked.
To Holden, the better question was: What would happen to Cecilia if she went to prison?
CHAPTER 38
Cecilia was summoned into the defense team’s office for trial preparations. Michael sat at the head of the table and she sat next to him, feeling like a guest in her own dining room.
Wyatt was at the other end of the room, talking to someone on the phone. She couldn’t tell if it was related to her case.
Michael slid over a piece of paper, titled Witness List. “Tell me what you know about the following people.”
She nodded understanding.
“Do you know Sydney Soloway?” Michael asked.
“No, don’t recognize the name,” Cecilia answered.
“He lives down the street,” he told her.
She shrugged. She could recognize neighbors’ faces but not their names. That was more Joey’s realm than hers. He could have probably told Michael everything about the neighbor—how long they had lived in Folley, their children’s and pets’ names and ages, what car they drove. Cecilia would be lucky to match the neighbor with their house.
“Think about it,” he said, tapping his finger on the name. “Think if there’s any reason he’d be testifying against you.”
She nodded understanding.
He sighed and continued, “Fine. Dr. Kinney.”
“Ferris’s veterinarian.”
“Any reason he’s testifying for the prosecution?” Michael asked.
“He stitched Ferris up after the attack.”
“And before the incident, was he Ferris’s vet?
“Yes, but Joey always handled that.”
Michael’s cell rang and he slid the paper to her. “Go through the list. Tell me anything you know about each,” he said before answering the phone and leaving the room.
Cecilia ran her finger down the list. The police chief and Officer Vincent Pugliese were also on the list.
Her finger stopped at Chief Holden Owens. She regretted their last meeting. She had no way to contact him. She couldn’t just call the police and ask to speak to him. And anyway, what would she say?
She tried to push thoughts of Holden, and their evenings drinking Mountain Dew in her kitchen, from her mind.
Vincent Pugliese was next.
She had information on both officers, about their visits to her house, that could be damaging to them. But they both were trying to help her, and Ferris, and she wouldn’t use that against them.
Cecilia stared at the name Soloway, Sydney and tried to think who he was. She heard Michael curse from the kitchen and got up t
o see what the problem was.
Michael was using several paper towels to slop up spilled coffee. Ferris was at his feet trying to help, lapping up the spilled coffee from the floor. “Sorry, Cecilia. Ferris jumped and bumped my arm.”
“No problem,” she said, grabbing a few paper towels. She got down on the floor and nudged Ferris away. “You have enough energy. You don’t need caffeine.” He licked her face before trotting away.
With the floor cleaned she stood up and found Michael attending to the spilled coffee on his dress shirt. “I’m going to need to change this.” He checked his watch while taking off the shirt. “I’ll never get to the hotel and back and get everything Wyatt wants done by the end of the day.”
Cecilia took the shirt and checked the size. “You can wear something of Joey’s.” She headed toward the stairs and the master bedroom. “Come on.”
Michael hesitated. “I do not want to wear a Beastie Boys T-shirt.”
Cecilia smirked at him. “That is not all your options. It’s the best option but not your only option.”
Begrudgingly, Michael followed and prepared to spend the rest of the day in a ridiculous shirt. Abigail and Wyatt would tease him unmercifully.
He followed her into her bedroom and to Joey’s closet. She slid the door open, revealing an organized closet. Suits, dress shirts, and jackets hung grouped by color. The T-shirts and jeans were folded and stacked on shelves.
“You still have all his clothes?” he asked, marveling at the closet.
“Yes. It’s just like he left it.”
Michael turned to her, finding that hard to believe.
“Well, I picked up the dirty clothes he’d left on the floor but the closet…it’s the same as when he left for work that day.”
She remembered being mad at him that day that he hadn’t packed yet. They were going into the city for a long weekend. He assured her he’d pack in five minutes after work. If he had packed, she knew she would have left the bag just how he would have left it.
She sat on the bed while Michael perused his options. “I had no idea he’d have suits like this.” He checked the labels and said, “Nice.”
“He wasn’t always in construction. When we met in the city, he was wearing a stunning blue suit, crisp white shirt, pocket square that matched his tie. I’d never seen a more handsome man.”
Michael chose a white dress shirt with light blue stripping. As he buttoned it up, he asked Cecilia, “When did he die?”
She could have answered with the exact day and time but roughly answered instead. “Ten months ago.” Michael nodded but could think of nothing to say. He returned downstairs and to work.
Cecilia was left looking at the closet and remembering the man it belonged to. She smiled remembering him, and how handsome he was.
Mayor Townsend was online trying to find cheap airfare to escape Folley for the next few weeks. The trial was getting closer and he wanted to get away. Far away.
His desk phone buzzed. “Your sister, sir.”
“Tell her I’m busy.”
Peggy Gabbert walked into his office. She was dressed in mourning black. “Busy with what?” she asked.
He closed the browser before she got to his side of the desk. “Business.” He pointed to a chair, on the other side of his desk. “What can I help with you?”
“I called Stewart. The hotel has plenty of rooms available. No media plans to attend the trial.” She sat and crossed her legs. “That darn defense team is still there. He hasn’t found a way to kick them out yet.”
“Peggy!” he scolded her. “You can’t get them kicked out of the hotel.”
“Why not? I don’t want them here. I don’t want them helping that woman!”
Townsend didn’t bother to remind her of Mrs. Chandler’s legal right to counsel, something her son was afforded countless times. At his expense. He paid for it with his money and his hair. He blamed Bobby for the premature loss of his hair.
He glanced at the computer. Maybe he would take a medical vacation and get hair plugs.
Noticing his lack of interest, she yelled, “George!”
“What do you want from me, Peggy?”
“You have to get more involved.”
“Haven’t I done enough?” While he was alive, he didn’t add.
“Tsk,” she scoffed. “We need the media back.”
“This town does not need the media back.”
“More coverage is good for both of us.”
Townsend glanced at his reflection in the computer monitor. More coverage would mean more hair loss.
“More coverage means more visitors to the town. More visitors means more money to the town’s businesses. More business means more taxes,” she explained.
This was not the tourism he wanted for Folley.
“Ask around, I’m sure your voters want the revenue. And they want to see you stand by your family.”
At first, Townsend would have agreed. Everyone had rallied behind her. Bobby’s funeral was heavily attended. But it was hard to stand by her after the media reports of his juvenile record surfaced.
Townsend had waited for a backlash after the reports of the many dropped charges, the minimal sentences, and incomplete community service, but it never came. Briscoe dealt with the media briskly, reporting he was too busy preparing for the trial to address them. They quickly lost interest and moved on.
The backlash Townsend feared never arrived. He’d always been careful with Bobby and Briscoe. He’d made sure his dealings with Briscoe were always observed. He was obliged to help his sister but he liked being mayor and didn’t want to lose the job because of his nephew’s antics.
“The town does not need more media attention,” Townsend said.
“It’ll help,” she assured him.
The situation frustrated him. He couldn’t win either way. He’d pull out his hair if he had any left. “How?” he asked, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.
“Keeps my boy in the news. Keeps him alive,” she pleaded.
He loved his sister and her pain hurt him but there was nothing more he could do. “Peggy, I’ve done all I could. I kept him out of jail.”
“You didn’t keep him out of the morgue,” she cried.
“Peggy…I think we should stay quiet. We don’t want to bring more attention to him. Other…incidents may come to light.”
She wiped the tears off her face.
“Bobby hurt that woman,” he continued. “If he had lived, there was nothing I could have done for him. He would have gone to jail. Maybe it’s better—”
“What!” she yelled. She stormed out of his office.
His secretary looked in. “Well, that went well.”
It went better than he expected. She was gone.
He opened the internet browser and booked a trip.
CHAPTER 39
“Cecilia!” Michael called from the dining room.
She finished the email she was typing and sent it. He yelled again as she worked on one more email before she answered his calls.
Wyatt peeked in the office. “I’m sure you can hear him.”
“I can. Sorry. I’ll be right there.”
Wyatt walked into her office and looked around. “This is how Joey set up his office?” he asked, surprised by the classic feel. It had the air of an older man.
“No, his dad.”
He walked around to Cecilia’s side of the desk and looked at the two framed photos. He recognized Cecilia and Joey, on their wedding day. He pointed to the other wedding photograph. “Who are they?”
“Joey’s sister and brother-in-law, Brittany and Jeremiah.”
It could be a coincidence but he didn’t know too many Jeremiahs. “What’s their last name?”
“Coleman,” she answered after sending the last email and closing the laptop.
Wyatt nodded. They headed to the other home’s office.
Michael yelled again for her, with even more urgency, as she entered the doorway. “Oh, so
rry. Didn’t see you.”
Wyatt headed over to his stack of Folley Press newspapers and started flipping through to the one he needed.
Abigail spoke. “We’re completing the witness list, and would like a character witness. We might not call him or her but it would be good to have a couple on the list.”
“A what?” she asked.
“A character witness. Someone who could vouch for you. Vouch for your good moral conduct and background.”
“Umm…” She stalled, trying to find an answer.
Without looking up, Wyatt said, “Please don’t say your sister. She’s a social media nightmare. Briscoe would devour her on the stand.”
Cecilia laughed. Janna never entered her mind. Only Holden.
Wyatt found the paper he was looking for. He held his finger over a name. “Your brother-in-law, Jeremiah Coleman, you said?”
“Yes,” she answered. “But he wouldn’t be a good character witness. You can’t call him.”
“Oh, no.” Wyatt handed the paper to Abigail and pointed to the article. “Anyone else you can think of as a character witness?” Cecilia bit her lip. Wyatt interpreted the silence correctly. “Okay, don’t worry about it. Sometimes character witnesses backfire anyway.”
“You know that new study agrees—” Michael started.
“Jury selection starts tomorrow,” Wyatt interrupted. “Abigail…”
“I’ve got some clothes for you. This is the first time jurors will see you. First impressions and all that.”
“Clothes?” Cecilia asked. “I have clothes.”
The defense team exchanged a look. “We’ve seen your clothes,” Abigail answered.
“Abigail picked you up a few things. Things that would be more appropriate than tight jeans and your husband’s old T-shirts and sweatshirts.” Wyatt signaled for them to leave. “She’ll also explain accessories.”
Wyatt handed Michael the paper after the two ladies left. Pointing to the name he recognized, he told Michael, “Get me everything on this that you can.”