Inside, the living room that was once very tidy looked messy. Mrs. Shaw quickly gathered up a few things so they had a place to sit. She dumped the pile into the corner. “I’m sorry for the mess. I’m still not feeling . . .” Her words trailed off.
“Is everything okay between you and your husband?”
“Yes. Thank you for asking.” Her words and tone were proper. “So what can I do for you?”
“As you probably know, your conversation is not the only one that has been recorded. Dozens are on there. We’re trying to figure out how this person is doing it. One theory is that he or she may have planted a listening device inside your home.”
Mrs. Shaw looked startled. “You mean, like a bug?”
“Yes. They can be very small and virtually undetectable.”
“But nobody’s really been to our house except friends and family.”
“No repair jobs? painting? Anybody like that?”
“No. Not that I can recall.”
“Do you remember where the conversation took place? the one that ended up on the Web site?”
“Right in here. By that window. Tim was angry. He was staring out the window at the Caldwells’. Standing right there.” Mrs. Shaw pointed to a spot near the center of the window.
“Gavin, get your flashlight, start looking under tables, lamps that sort of thing.”
Gavin started with the coffee table.
Mrs. Shaw watched, disbelief in her eyes. She shifted her focus back to Frank. “Tim’s a good man.”
“I’m sure you love him very much.”
“No, please, listen. That night . . . the night he said those things, he was angry. Do you understand that? He was saying those words to me. He was just venting. Nobody else was supposed to hear them. And when he found out they were on that Web site . . .”
“Yes, ma’am. I know. He lost his temper.”
“He would never intentionally harm me. You have to believe that.”
Frank gestured toward the TV. “Have you noticed any interference? any strange sounds coming from your electronic devices?”
“No,” Mrs. Shaw said, watching Gavin check their phone.
“Or while you’re on the phone, has it sounded funny?”
“No.”
Gavin turned off his flashlight and returned to the couch. “I can’t find anything out of the ordinary. I mean, besides this entire situation.”
Frank shot him a look. He quickly sat back down.
Mrs. Shaw gazed out the window again. “Are we going to be charged? for the cat incident?”
“It’s not up to us,” Frank said. “The reports have been turned over to the DA. He’ll make that decision.”
She sniffled and fingered the material of her pants. “One day everything is normal, you know? Everything is fine. And then it’s gone. Suddenly, like a blink of the eye, your life has changed forever.”
Frank noticed Gavin staring at him. Mrs. Shaw looked at him with an unusual expression too.
Frank stood, blowing out a hard sigh, shaking off the heaviness that suddenly engulfed him. “I know, Mrs. Shaw. I know exactly what you mean.”
14
“This is stupid! This is so stupid!” Stomp, stomp, stomp. “My father is a moron! You’re a moron, Father!”
Damien sat at the kitchen table, sipping orange juice as he listened to chaos erupt one story up.
Even Kay joined in. “Damien,” she hollered down the stairs, “what time is it? You didn’t give us enough time!”
Damien checked the kitchen clock. “You’re fine. You’ve got plenty of time.”
“I hate you for this!” Jenna continued. At age five, the word hate got her a time-out, and this kind of tantrum at eight would’ve gotten her grounded. But these days, it was a hopeful sign that her emotions were all still intact.
Hunter descended the stairs first, his feet dragging down each step as if someone had poured lead in his shoes.
“Looking nice, dude,” Damien said when he got to the bottom.
Hunter scowled, then went to the fridge to get the orange juice.
“Your sister and mother are taking it well,” Damien quipped, adding a smirk.
Hunter smirked back. “Yeah. I think Jenna’s going to light you on fire with her tongue. If she ever makes it down here.”
“Oh, she’s going to make it down here all right.” Damien waited patiently, his resolve building with each minute that ticked by. Yes, this was a good move. Taking your family to church helped build a foundation, and that was what they needed right now. Some help out of the quicksand they’d found themselves sinking in.
A loud thumping, like roofers were up top, caused Damien to look up. Jenna stomped down the stairs, glaring harder with each step.
Damien smiled. “You look beautiful. Thanks for getting up early for this.” She actually wore a dress that fluttered around her legs as if she were wrapped in a white butterfly.
“Save it,” she said, throwing open the door to the fridge.
“More of that talk and we might have to make this a weekly tradition,” Damien said, an eyebrow raised.
She peeked around the fridge door. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes.
“This is more for you than me,” Hunter said, casting an evil grin her direction.
“Shut up. Please shut up about it. I’ve got a headache. Probably because I had to wake up at the stroke of midnight.”
“You’re only eight hours off,” Hunter said.
Damien snapped his fingers at him. This could go on for hours if he didn’t run interference.
Jenna noticed the orange juice already on the table and grabbed a glass. She tossed herself into a chair. “You just don’t get it. I’m exhausted. I don’t need another day to wake up early.”
“You can take a nap later,” Damien said.
“Whatever.” She scanned the orange juice carton. “Can anybody say ‘pulp-free’? How hard is it?”
Kay hurried down the stairs, fingering her hair. “How do I look?”
“Really nice. Love the dress.”
“This old thing? Ugh. But I wear suits all week. Didn’t want to wear another.”
“Why do we have to dress up anyway?” Jenna moaned.
“Because that’s the proper way to dress,” Kay said. “Your bra strap is showing, by the way.”
“Just shoot me,” she said, laying her head on the table.
“Let’s save that for later,” Damien said, standing and grabbing his suit jacket. He smiled. “Now, off to the torture chamber.”
Otherwise known as church.
The two-mile drive was relatively quiet, except for an occasional grunt coming from the backseat. There was something different about Sunday mornings. The air sparkled with freshness. The noises all seemed subdued. People waved and walked their dogs. Maybe he should bring the Sunday morning drive back.
Better yet, write it as an op-ed piece! Perfect.
He remembered going to church with his parents. His father dressed in his best suit, an expensive fedora topping his head. It was the only time his dad wore a hat or showed his mother any affection. On Sundays they held hands and talked lightly.
The mood was quite different in his own car, but maybe it would change once they got there.
The church parking lot was crowded, and Damien hesitated, wondering if a two-year absence qualified him as a visitor.
“Right there,” Jenna said. “It’s wide open.”
Damien pulled in and parked. Everyone except him was slow to get out. Damien led his family to the front entrance.
A greeter opened the door and smiled. “Welcome.”
They stepped into the large sanctuary. A balcony loomed above them like an encroaching thunderstorm. Plenty of seats to choose from on the lower level. “Where do you want to sit?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jenna muttered, her arms crossed.
“Fine. Let’s just go down this aisle a
few pews.”
As Jenna led the way, Damien noticed she seemed particularly self-aware, messing with her hair and glancing around. Suddenly she stopped and turned. “Let’s not. How about the other side? There are more seats over there.”
“There are plenty of seats here. Look, just up ahead is an entire pew.”
“No, I like the other side.” She pushed between all of them. “Come on. I see the perfect spot.”
“Oh, wait!” Kay said. “It’s Shannon and Susan! Jenna, Zoey and Caydance are with them. Come on!” She hurried forward, waving and smiling.
Hunter shrugged and followed.
Damien glanced back at Jenna. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?” Damien caught the dread in the deepest part of her eyes. “You don’t look okay.”
Jenna’s gaze drifted down the aisle, then to him.
Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder. Damien glanced behind him.
A man with a gigantic smile was offering his hand. “Hi. Pastor Caldwell. I didn’t recognize you and your family. I just wanted to say hello and welcome.”
Damien looked down the aisle. Jenna was making her way to her seat.
“What was your name?”
“Damien Underwood. My family is down there.”
The pastor smiled, and Damien suddenly recognized him as the man whose cat was hung.
“I’m sorry to hear what happened in your neighborhood,” Damien said.
The man nodded, his welcoming eyes turning sad. “I am sorry to hear what is happening to our town.”
“Your friend Tim Shaw. Have you spoken to him?”
“Oh yes. Of course. He is ashamed of so much . . . what he was heard saying, what he did to his wife. I’m trying to help him deal with that guilt.”
“So you don’t think he did that to your cat?”
“No. I’ve known the man for a long time. My wife has had a hard time with what he said about me. It is a tough thing to hear a friend’s words. I pray for her. For all of us. There is going to be a lot to forgive when this is over.” His eyes turned cheerful again as he gently patted Damien on the arm. “I’m so glad you’re with us today. I must get up front. It’s almost time for the service.”
Damien nodded and joined his family, sliding into the end seat just in time to hear Kay address Jenna. “Honey, say hi to the girls.”
Jenna offered a half smile to the two girls sitting one row ahead. “Hi.”
“Hi, Jenna,” one of them said. Then the girls turned around and giggled.
Damien glanced at Jenna, who only stared forward, expressionless.
“I didn’t know you came here,” one of the women said to Kay.
“We haven’t come in a while. But glad to be back. This is my husband, Damien. Damien, this is Shannon Branson and Susan Sanders.”
Damien shook their hands. Shannon was overly made-up, as if she hoped that fresh-face youthful look would hold on, and when it didn’t, she’d freaked out. Damien was glad Kay didn’t overdo it. Susan’s sharp eyes studied Damien. She was smiling, but it looked scrutinizing, like how rich people greet everyone who is less rich. Damien gave a short smile, and the woman finally turned back around. He noticed Jenna again. Her eyes had glazed over, and she blinked slowly. Damien leaned into her. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
Jenna nodded. But it was the kind of nod that didn’t ring true.
Not surprisingly, the sermon was about gossip. Damien thought the pastor did a good job of not pointing fingers but rather showing the destruction of gossip and also the importance and power of truth in words.
Damien found himself uplifted. Even the family seemed in a better mood as the service ended. Jenna wrapped her arm around his waist as they left. Hunter saw a friend from school and hurried toward the foyer. Kay stayed and chatted with the cheerleading moms.
Damien held tight to his daughter as they walked. “Hey, what do you say we go eat at Chicken Annie’s?”
“Fried chicken, are you kidding me?”
“When you were five years old, you used to eat four pieces. Your face was a mess of grease. You wanted to have your birthday party there!”
Jenna laughed. Giggled, actually. He hadn’t heard her giggle in a long time. She sounded like a little girl again. “I guess one piece won’t kill me.”
“It might, but it’ll be worth it. Go find your brother, will you? I’m starving.”
Jenna nodded, and Damien watched the crowds for Kay. But soon his ears tuned into a conversation nearby. He couldn’t help but listen. Their small words drowned the hundreds of nearby voices.
“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t show my face the day after my divorce was settled.”
“You know why he’s here.”
“And why she’s wearing a short skirt.”
Damien turned, trying to get away from it. He noticed Kay and waved at her. She held up a finger as she finished her conversation. That was when Damien noticed Zoey and Caydance. They both crossed their arms, glaring at someone across the room. Damien couldn’t figure out who they were looking at.
“Let’s go,” Jenna said, coming up from behind with Hunter in tow.
“Jenna, who are those girls looking at?” Damien asked, pointing.
“Probably their own reflection. Let’s go, okay?”
Kay joined them and they left, but Damien couldn’t help but steal another glance. Whoever it was could be at the receiving end of a lot of unpleasantries.
* * *
After breaking up an impromptu scuffle in front of the Chinese restaurant, over a conversation off the Web site that may or may not have been about the tall guy’s wife, Frank took lunch and heaped a giant serving of lo mein onto his plate, then pushed his tray down the long self-serve buffet line. He skipped the hot and sour soup but decided on a couple of egg rolls. He joined his rookie back at the table, eyeing the kid’s steamed vegetables and rice. He watched him dash it all with a splash of soy sauce.
“Careful,” Frank said, taking the soy sauce from him. “That sodium can kill you.”
Gavin stared at Frank’s heaping plate, then looked at Frank. He cracked a small, hesitant smile, unsure, Frank guessed, of whether or not Frank was kidding. For a cop, the kid was lacking some serious gut instincts.
“Chinese food is less healthy than it looks,” Gavin said. He pointed his fork toward the egg roll. “Don’t let the cabbage in there fool you.”
“And don’t let the smile on my face fool you.”
Gavin stopped pointing and started eating. “You know,” he said after a moment, “I’ve been thinking about this Web site. I read somewhere that there’s a program that can be loaded onto cell phones, and then someone can listen to conversations wherever the cell phone goes. Even if the cell phone is turned off.”
“Interesting idea.”
“I went by one of the cell phone stores here, just asked some questions. Nobody seemed particularly nervous.”
“That’s what you’re going on, whether people seemed nervous or not?”
“I figured if they’d done something, they wouldn’t like me asking around.”
“Yes, because criminals have a long history of not being able to hide under a facade.” Frank tilted his head. “It’s going to take more than that.” Gavin looked wounded and Frank sighed. “But it’s a good thought. It might explain some of this.”
The wounds slid right off Gavin like Chinese noodles off a chopstick. His face was back to bright and cheery. “Also, there are some pretty powerful listening devices that use laser beams. But they’re really expensive. And of course come with explicit instructions on how illegal it is to listen to private conversations.”
“Yes, those types of warnings always discourage the bad guys.”
Gavin leaned in. “You think this is a bad guy?”
Frank twirled his noodles. “He’s breaking the law. It’s up to someone else to decide whether he’s bad or good.”
A shadow passed over their plates,
and Frank was just about to order another Diet Coke when he looked up. “Angela?”
“Hi, Frank.” She had a hand on her hip and an attitude on her face. She glanced at Gavin, who sank back into his seat while staring at her as if she were a wild zoo exhibit. The idea that Gavin cowered to a harsh look from a female was not boding well with Frank. What was he going to do when a bullet stared him down? “Can we have a moment?”
Frank indicated Gavin should leave.
Gavin gathered his plate, water, and utensils and wandered off to find another table. Angela slid into his seat.
Frank kept eating. “I’m minding my own business here.”
Her face softened. “I know, Frank. I know.”
“How did you find me?”
“It’s Sunday. You eat at this buffet every Sunday unless you’re not working, in which case you order supreme pizza and stay at home.”
“I might’ve changed my routine since we were together.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
Frank finally set his fork down. He was rapidly losing his appetite. “Why are you here? To harass me some more?”
“Who is harassing whom?”
“I hate when you talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you ain’t never met a piece of grammar that didn’t turn you on.”
“And I hate when you use ain’t.”
“I know.” Frank smiled.
“And we wonder why we didn’t make it.” Angela stood. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
Frank waved her back into her seat. “No, please. I’m sorry. Yeah, I’m kind of reeling from you reporting me to my supervisor. But I’ll get over it.” He started eating again. “You look nice.”
“Frank, I don’t have . . . I don’t know who else to turn to.”
Frank shoved his plate to the side. “What’s wrong? I can tell something’s wrong.”
She nodded, tears brimming. “I’ve gotten . . .”
“Yes? What is it?” Frank reached across the table and took her hand. “Ang, you can tell me. You know that. What’s going on?”
“I’ve gotten myself into a terrible mess.”
“Talk to me.”
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