by Sara Rosett
It was Mitch’s car. I could tell because he was in it. What was he doing?
I made a lumbering U-turn at the end of the street and parked behind him. I marched up to the idling car and stopped at the passenger door. The automatic door locks clicked to unlock the car. I yanked the door opened and leaned down. Mitch’s face was a mixture of guilt and irritation. “This is careful?” I demanded. “Sitting on a deserted residential street in the middle of the day? Alone?”
The irritation won out as he said, “If you’re going to yell at me, at least get in the car. You’ll draw less attention that way.”
I didn’t move. “Why?”
He lowered his voice as if that would motivate me to do the same. “Because if someone is yelling in the street it might tip off Carrie that someone is watching her house.”
“You’re watching Carrie’s house?” I asked more quietly, not because I was worried about drawing attention, but because I wasn’t sure I’d understood Mitch.
“Yes. Now, would you get in the car?”
I didn’t move. I didn’t like his peremptory tone.
He leaned closer and added, “Ellie, please.” His voice was more pleading and less bossy, so I slowly slid in the seat and closed the door.
“What’s going on here? Working out of your car today?” I asked archly. It looked like he’d been there for a while. An open laptop was propped up against the steering wheel, his cell phone sat on a stack of papers on the dashboard, and a half-empty bottle of Dr. Pepper rested in the cup holder. He reached in the back and dragged his soft-sided lunch box into the front seat. I’d insisted on packing his lunch this morning. I’d figured with all the strange things going on, it was better for Mitch to eat something that I’d prepared rather than something he bought. You know, just in case.
“Yes. CBTs,” he said as he took out the turkey sandwich I’d made for him. CBT was short for Computer Based Training. Mitch had several training lessons he had to complete using the computer. Sometimes he did the computer training at work in the squadron. Other times, he brought the laptop home or took it on a trip to complete the training. “Had lunch yet?” he asked.
I took a sandwich half and said, “No, I haven’t. And no cracks about how cranky I get when I haven’t eaten. This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you.”
He’d been poised to say something, but changed his mind. We ate in silence for a few minutes as he tapped a few keys on the laptop. I said, “So. Technically, you’re working?”
“There’s no technically about it. I am.”
“Mitch,” I said with a sigh. “You do realize how vulnerable you are here?”
He looked at me for a moment, then said, “This is why I didn’t tell you. I know how you worry. No, wait, before you say anything else, hear me out.” His gaze held mine.
“There have been plenty of opportunities for someone to hurt me. I’ve gone jogging for the last three nights. That’s the ideal time. That’s when I’d do it, if I were trying to take me out. I’m alone and I’ve been jogging through the new part of the development. It’s mostly deserted out there. But nothing has happened to me. This street is a whole lot safer than that situation. It’s the middle of the day in a residential neighborhood, a neighborhood that’s on base.”
“Granted, it’s probably the safest neighborhood in all of North Dawkins, but I don’t like it. You’re still sitting here alone. Bad things happen on base, too.”
“I know,” he said, his voice somber. “I’m only doing this because the police haven’t done anything with Denise’s coin. No one’s even been by to pick it up.”
“How do you know that?” I asked and realized I was pointing my half-eaten sandwich at him accusingly. I retracted my hand and took a bite of the sandwich.
“I called and asked her this morning. They’re not taking it seriously.”
“So you decided to take things into your own hands and come out here and watch Carrie’s house?”
“Yes, I did,” he said calmly, and when I would have said more, he added, “And, don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing, if the situation were reversed. I know you and you would do the same thing. In fact, you have done the same thing.”
I swallowed my words. He was right. I had done quite a bit of sleuthing on my own and I’d usually tried to keep Mitch in the dark about it because I knew he wouldn’t want me to do it and he’d worry about me.
He continued, “I think you’re right, that something is going on with Carrie. She may have sent the coins, but if the police aren’t going to pursue it, then the only way we’re going to find out what’s going on is to check up on her ourselves.” Mitch held out a bag of Sun Chips. “Truce?”
“Okay,” I said reluctantly as I took one out of the bag. I was usually the one arguing for action with Mitch lobbying to let the officials handle things. I wasn’t sure I liked my new position, but I didn’t want Mitch to get hurt. On the other hand, I’d never been one to wait around for someone else to do things. “With one condition—keep me in the loop. I want to know what you’re doing.”
“Deal,” he said with only the tiniest hesitation as he carefully selected a chip.
“Have you seen anything?” I asked.
“Nothing more interesting than kids going to school and dog walkers. This really has got to be one of the most boring neighborhoods,” he said with a sigh. “So why are you here?”
I told him about the picture and said, “Colonel Barnes was there when I got there.”
“In the house?”
“Yes.” I reached for another chip. “He said he was picking up some paperwork and didn’t want to bother Denise today. Apparently, he and Bonnie checked the mail for the Pershalls when they were out of town so he knew where the key was. Do you think that’s a little odd?”
“Yeah, especially if she didn’t know he was coming over at all. I wouldn’t want someone inside our house if we weren’t home.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll tell Denise about it today after the funeral. Megan, Henry’s wife—you remember her from the last squadron cookout, don’t you? Medium height, really fair with whitish blond hair and the new baby? She’s joined the stroller brigade. She told me that Henry thinks Colonel Barnes will be the next squadron commander.”
Mitch shrugged one shoulder. “Could be, but it’s hard to predict stuff like that. He might get it, sure, but it’s not like it’s a foregone conclusion that the D.O. will step into the commander slot. I think that’s a decision the higher-ups at the command level make.”
“Denise said there was some sort of rivalry between those two. And remember, he was one of the people she thought might have something against Colonel Pershall,” I said, dusting the crumbs from my fingertips.
Mitch stared down the street, thoughtfully. “I know Colonel Barnes is ambitious. He’d love to be squadron commander because it would help him get promoted to general—he even jokes about it, saying things like, ‘When I’m a general you won’t get away with things like that.’ He’s always laughing, but people don’t joke about things like that unless it’s something they’ve thought about.”
Mitch didn’t talk about becoming a general someday. In fact, it was usually the opposite. “That’s true, you never joke—or even talk—about being a general,” I said.
Mitch was still staring at Carrie’s house, but when my words registered he said, “That’s because it’s not going to happen. There’s too much politics involved for me to even get to that level.” He went back to studying the street. “But would Colonel Barnes kill Colonel Pershall? I don’t know. They go way back—roommates at the Academy, I think.”
“I guess the obvious thing would be to find out what he was doing last weekend, if he was even in town.” I pushed my bangs off my forehead. Even with the windows down and the blustery day, the temperature inside the car was uncomfortable. I pulled a piece of paper, a flyer that someone had left on the car advertising tax preparation, out of the pocket on the door
and began fanning my face.
“Shouldn’t be too hard. I can check the schedule.” Mitch reached for the ignition. “Want me to turn the air conditioner on?”
“No, that’s okay,” I said as a breeze swept through the open windows. “If Colonel Barnes murdered Colonel Pershall, why would he target you, too?”
“I have no idea,” Mitch said as he crumpled the chip bag, frustration obvious in his tone. “It’s not like I’m in competition with him for the commander slot. I’m way down the rung from him on that ladder. Maybe it’s not me, specifically. Maybe he’s got some sort of grudge against military personnel in general. Maybe it’s a random thing. Or, what if we’re wrong and Carrie didn’t place the dry ice bombs? Maybe Colonel Barnes did.”
“I don’t know,” I said, fanning slower as I worked out my thoughts. “The dry ice bombs could have been random, but the other things were pretty specifically aimed at you. And he lives on base. If he wanted to target military folks, he’s got plenty right in his backyard—literally. Why would he go all the way out to our house and sabotage the leaf blower and possibly your tire? Have you had a run-in with him? Made him mad?”
“Not that I know of. We haven’t even flown together for, man, I don’t know how long. Months, probably. I do see him in the squadron, but that’s usually passing in the halls or maybe at a commander’s call.”
“There’s got to be something,” I said. My fanning created a tiny breeze, lifting strands of my hair up and floating them around my face.
“Well, I don’t know what it could be, but I’ll look at his schedule for last weekend.”
I checked the time. “I should go. The funeral starts soon.”
“I know,” Mitch said and shut down the laptop.
“Are you going to stay here?” I asked, eyeing his blue coat hanging in the back. I didn’t think attendance at the funeral was mandatory, but I doubted Mitch would want to miss it.
“No. Gary Donahue—” he broke off.
I took my hand off the door handle. There was movement on Carrie’s porch. She was walking carefully down the steps. “Doesn’t look like she’s going to the funeral,” I said. She wore a red T-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap and was carrying several pieces of poster board. She deposited those in the backseat of her car, then returned to the house.
Mitch dialed a number on his cell phone. “Gary. Mitch here. It looks like that little project I mentioned—well, I might need you to meet me.”
I could hear Gary’s response clearly in the confined space of the car. “Let me know the place and I’ll be there. Today’s my day off.”
Gary Donahue was a friend from church. He was a police officer in North Dawkins and a part-time reservist in the air force, which meant he worked one weekend a month. They hung up and I asked, “Gary’s backing you up on your surveillance?”
Mitch nodded. “I can’t stay here all day. I do have to show up at the squadron. I called him this morning and talked to him after Denise said no one had picked up her coin. Gary says there’s something going on in Dawkins County that’s tying up most of the law enforcement personnel. He couldn’t give me any details, but he said that’s probably one reason nothing’s been done. I told him if no one else was going to check up on Carrie, then I would, and he offered to relieve me during the funeral. Said I was only taking him away from mowing the yard.”
There was a short silence, then Mitch said in a deliberately casual voice, “By the way, I heard some interesting news about the investigation. The toxicology report said Colonel Pershall had a drug in his system—I’ve forgotten the name—but it was similar to those date rape drugs. The killer probably used it to get an advantage over Colonel Pershall because he was such a big guy.”
I frowned. “I don’t suppose Gary is your source on this?”
He switched his gaze from the house to my face and gave me a significant look, then refocused on Carrie’s house.
“Okay,” I said, taking his silence as a yes. “Why would Gary give you that kind of info?”
“Oh, come on, Ellie. You’ve twisted a few arms in the past, too, so you could find out what was happening on the inside of an investigation. The info won’t go farther than me.”
He was right. I’d convinced a few well-connected friends to share tidbits of info with me in the past, but I couldn’t help teasing him a little. “You told me, though. Maybe you’re not so discreet after all.”
Even though he kept his face in profile, I could see a hint of a smile as he said, “You’re my wife. Telling something to me is like telling you. I don’t want you accusing me of holding out on you. I figure the more we know, the better. And,” he swiveled his head slightly, “I know I can trust you implicitly.”
“True. I am the soul of discretion.” I smiled back at him, then turned serious. “I wonder how the murderer got Colonel Pershall to take the drug?”
“Traces of it were found in one glass at the golf course restaurant. Five Pines was celebrating its anniversary by serving mint juleps to members and guests all weekend. Colonel Pershall’s golfing buddy says free mint juleps were delivered to their table, but he didn’t notice the server. Couldn’t even say if it was a man or a woman. They found a black shirt with the Five Pines logo in a trash can near the restaurant.”
“So that’s what the waiters wear at the restaurant? Black shirts?” I asked, switching the fan to my other hand. “Did you and Jeff go to the restaurant when you played there?”
“We did. It was crazy. Yeah, everyone who works there wears the same thing, black polo shirt, black baseball cap, and khaki pants.”
“So someone could blend in pretty easily if they were in the company uniform?” I said thoughtfully. “And you said it was busy?”
Mitch nodded. “We won’t go there again. It was packed—Saturday afternoon and all.” Mitch shifted a bit and said, “If someone was dressed like an employee, it wouldn’t be hard to slip in the restaurant, add something to a drink, and deliver it to their table. It’s the kind of place where one person takes your order, but a different person brings your food.”
“Who was his golfing buddy?”
Mitch shrugged as he slipped the laptop into its case. “Don’t know.”
I made a mental note to ask Denise if she knew who Colonel Pershall had been golfing with that day, then said, “Really? You mean our very own Deep Throat wouldn’t tell you more?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Mitch’s gaze sharpened. Carrie emerged from the house with a backpack slung over her shoulder. She locked the front door, let the screen bang shut behind her, and trotted quickly to her car.
Tips for Busy, Budget-Minded Moms
Whenever you can, consolidate tasks to make more time in your schedule.
Don’t run errands every day. Save the errands and do as much as you can at one time.
Fold laundry while watching your favorite television show.
Bring work/tasks with you to children’s activities. You can get a lot done while waiting in the carpool line or at swim practice.
Add a little relaxation to your commute by listening to books on tape.
Chapter Thirteen
“What will you do now?” I asked.
“Follow her,” he said, fastening his seat belt. “I’ll call Gary when she stops and have him keep an eye on her.”
I didn’t want to leave Mitch, but I had to get to the funeral. I still had the photo of Colonel Pershall in my van and I’d promised Denise I’d get it to the chapel, so I really should get there early to get it in place before the mourners arrived.
Mitch saw me hesitating and said, “Trust me?”
I’d trusted Mitch for years. We’d spent a lot of our marriage apart with him jaunting off to different parts of the world and I’d decided early on that I had to trust him. I knew some wives who constantly checked up on their husbands when they were away and always suspected trouble, but I’d vowed not to do that. Mitch was trustworthy. “You know, that’s one thing I’ve never worried about. N
ow’s not the time to start,” I said as Carrie’s car rolled out of the driveway.
“I’ll be at the funeral. I may be late, but I’ll be there,” Mitch said.
“I’ll save you a spot at the back.”
I pulled on the handle, but he put a hand on my arm and said, “Wait until we see which way she goes.”
Carrie backed into the street, her car pointed in our direction.
“Down,” Mitch said, but I was already scrunched over.
The car surged by us and we cautiously popped our heads back up. “Okay, she’s turned,” Mitch said and then gave me a rather lingering kiss.
“You’re going to lose her,” I said, a bit breathless.
“Nope. Base speed limits, remember? Plenty of time.” He smiled as I stepped out of the car, then he spun the wheel into a U-turn and was off.
I hurried to the van and executed my own U-turn, or I tried. A car parked on the opposite side of the street forced me to make a three-point turn. A minivan isn’t the ideal choice for shadowing another car. Good thing Mitch was doing the tailing. When I finally got to the corner, I could see Carrie’s blue Accord at the four-way stop at the edge of base housing. Mitch was hanging back with another car between him and Carrie.
Carrie turned right at the next street. It ran the length of the base and would end at the front gate. I watched Mitch let another car slide between him and Carrie before making the turn.
I signaled for my turn—the base cops are sticklers for obeying traffic rules—and turned into the chapel parking lot past the sign that listed the service times for Protestant and Catholic services. I knew there were also services for other faiths, including Jewish and Muslim, but they worshiped in other chapel buildings down the street. Like most of the other buildings on base, the chapel was built with red brick and if you didn’t notice the small steeple almost hidden among the magnolia trees and the high stained-glass windows that lined the building, you wouldn’t realize it was used for religious services.