Knickers in a Twist

by Kim Hunt Harris

  Tony.

  I grilled some chicken breasts, onions and peppers for dinner, and Frank brought over some flour tortillas. We settled with our fajitas in front of the TV to watch Frank's favorite Spanish soap opera. I couldn't tell much of what was going on, but Frank filled me in. Just after ten o'clock, my phone rang.

  It was G-Ma. “Turn on Channel 13.”

  “Why? Did the Cowboys announce a new quarterback?” The only time G-Ma felt compelled to call about the news, it was related to the Dallas Cowboys.

  “No, that reporter friend of yours was arrested.”

  “Trisha?!” I jumped up to switch on the TV.

  “Not her, that other girl.”

  I flipped through to Channel 13 and gasped when I saw Misty Monahan being led away from Channel 11 in handcuffs. Bobby and another detective walked behind her, and two uniform cops walked in front of her. I was too freaked out to listen to the voice- over, but a picture of Peter Browning popped up in the bottom corner of the screen.

  “No way!” I said. “Misty Monahan?”

  “That's what they said,” G-Ma said. “She was arrested for the murder.”

  “I need to call Bobby,” I said to G-Ma. “I'll call you back in a minute.” I pushed the end button, then said, “Windy, call Bobby.”

  “I'm gettin' him right now, Sweetie,” Windy said, her little wind streams waving in a digital breeze.

  I got his voicemail. “This is Detective Sloan. Leave a message.”

  “Bobby, why did you arrest Misty Monahan? What do you have on her? Call me back.”

  I hung up. Would Tony consider that being careful?

  “Call Viv,” I said to Windy, just as the phone rang and Viv's face popped up on the screen.

  “Misty Monahan got arrested!” she said as soon as I picked up.

  “I know! I kind of freaked out and didn't hear what they said.”

  “They said obstruction in the investigation of the death of Peter Browning.”

  “Obstruction. Hmmm...” I had no idea what to say about that. That could mean almost anything. We needed more information. “I saw it on 13. Where did you see it?”

  “Channel 13 for me, too.”

  “What are you doing watching Channel 13? Tri-Patrice is going to be mad.”

  “Then don't tell her,” Viv said. “Why were you watching Channel 13?”

  “G-Ma called me and told me about the arrest.”

  “Channel 11 isn't running it,” Viv said. “I'm looking at it right now, and they're talking about a cold front moving in over the weekend.”

  “I guess they're in a bad spot. An arrest has been made in their star reporter's death, but the arrest is another one of their star reporters. How do you spin that?”

  “By focusing on the weather. Apparently this is the rainiest November since 1990-something.”

  Viv and I fell silent, both watching as the newscast went on to a high school football, then college football, then national football. Because this was Texas; if all else fails—football.

  When the camera moved back to Trisha, I studied her face. She wasn't big enough yet to really look pregnant, but her eyes did look tired. Had she been crying? It was hard to tell.

  The sports guy, the requisite “color” personality of the show, was noticeably subdued, although he said all the right things. They went to a national story about the upcoming election, then one about a development in driverless cars. Then a commercial.

  “Are they just going to pretend like it didn't happen?” Viv asked. “Unbelievable.”

  But in the last two minutes of the newscast, the station manager did one of his “In My Opinion” segments, where the rest of the news desk went dark, and he stood to the side in a spotlight and...well, gave his opinion. Sometimes he would use the segment to endorse a candidate in an election, or to complain about a lack of transparency on utility rates, or how Lubbock needed and deserved a minor-league baseball team.

  “Tonight, I want to address something that many of you have already heard about, and we're already seeing mention of it on our social media. As you know, Channel 11 and all of our counterparts around the world, in fact, are tasked with reporting facts. We bring to you the stories that affect our lives and the world around us, both locally and far from home. Oftentimes, those stories become much more than just stark facts—they become intensely personal. Even in those times, it is still our job to be objective and fair in our reporting. But nothing has been more personal to this station than the death last week of Peter Browning or the arrest today of Misty Monahan on charges of obstruction in the investigation into Peter's death.”

  The man stopped and cleared his throat. He took a deep breath.

  “In a team meeting this afternoon, we reached a consensus that we would not—that we simply could not—treat this as any other story. This is our family, and we are all staggered both by Peter's death and by Misty's arrest. We don't even know what to say, except that we are grateful for the outpouring of support that we've received over the last week, and we continue to place the utmost faith in the Lubbock Police Department and in our justice system. As we go through the next few days and weeks, we will do our best to stay on task, to report on the news that matters to you, and to continue to work with the LPD as they discover the truth about what happened to Peter. We ask that you remember that there is a place for justice, and it is time for us to take a step back and let that justice happen. We ask for your patience and your continued prayers and support. We ask for your prayers to continue for the family of Peter Browning. And—” Another deep breath. “And on a personal note, I ask also for the prayers and support of Misty Monahan and her family. I understand the gravity of the situation that she's in, and I know that it might be hard for some of you to even consider what I'm saying. But I would remind you of this fact: in our country, one is considered innocent until proven guilty. Nothing has been proven yet, so at this point Misty Monahan is an innocent woman, and she and her family need your support. Thank you.”

  The soft music started and the lights slowly faded as he turned and walked, head bowed, out of the now-empty studio.

  “Whoa,” Viv said. “I told you she was hiding something.”

  “Literally, if she's been charged with obstruction. Right? Isn't that what that means”

  “I guess it could mean a lot of things.”

  “I called Bobby to ask why they'd arrested Misty, but I got his voice mail.”

  “Call him back. Then tell me what he said.”

  I hung up and did as I was told. I couldn't very well get into any danger calling Bobby, surely. If he wanted to do something nefarious to me, he would have done it long ago when he had more justification than just me annoying him.

  He answered this time. “Sloan.”

  “Bobby, I left you a message. Why didn't you call me back?” I knew why he didn't call me back. He didn't want to. But I liked to annoy him.

  “Oh, Salem, good. I was just about to call you and fill you in on all the news about our latest arrest.” Then he put the phone down with a clunk and laughed. Ridiculously loudly. Like a braying ass, in fact. Then he hung up.

  I called Viv back. “I got nada,” I said.

  “We should go up to the police station and talk to him. We always get more information that way.”

  I considered that for a moment. We had gone to the police station a few times and tried to get information out of Bobby. One time Viv had even faked a heart attack, which is probably a crime, and I was definitely afraid we would be arrested then. Each time we went to the police station, in fact, I'd left feeling like I was lucky to get away. Calling Tony from jail was not something I wanted to do.

  I do love you, but...

  “Let's think of another way,” I said.

  “Back to Channel 11, then,” Viv said. “Somebody there will know something.”

  “Now?” It was 10:30, and I was already up past my normal bed time. I did have work the next day. Besides, Trisha wouldn't be there, so th
e chances of us getting anything good were remote at best.

  “Oh,” Viv said. Not a big sleeper anyway, Viv sometimes had to be reminded that the rest of the human race needed more than two or three hours a night. “Well, as soon as you get off work tomorrow.”

  I tilted the phone away and looked at Frank. “Can you watch Stump tomorrow after work?”

  He nodded toward the pile of plates on the coffee table. “Can you make more fajitas?”

  I gave him a thumbs up and said to Viv, “Deal. As soon as I get off work tomorrow.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Space Cops

  Viv called me at work the next day to say she'd found out where Misty Monahan lived.

  “How?”

  “I was there when she posted bail and I followed her home,” she said.

  “Seriously?” That seemed so...simple.

  “We'll go talk to her in person. She'll be caught on her back foot and we might be able to get something out of her.”

  I didn't care for the thought of facing Misty Mohanah again, but it did seem to be the next logical step.

  I had to wait for my last dog to be dried before I could finish, so I checked my phone for the dozenth time that day to see if Tony had called. It was only one day. He'd said a few days.

  I ordered myself not to be neurotic and needy. Be a grown-up! I said sternly to my reflection in the grooming shop bathroom mirror.

  This did no good, of course. I decided that if I couldn't be a grown-up, I could at least be distracted. I mentally ran down the list of contacts and stories Peter Browning had done that could be connected to his death.

  I couldn't bring myself to watch another video of David Baucum being vilified, but I realized that I had not re-watched the stories about the LPD Christmas toy scandal that had originally put Browning on the local map. I had seen the stories the first time, of course, but it might help to watch them again with the benefit of hindsight.

  I found that link in the list Trisha had sent and played it.

  “Patrice, we received an anonymous tip today on an allegation that—while not felonious or violent—can be described as nothing but heinous.” He punctuated that with a brief shake of his head, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was about to tell us. “Take a look.”

  The scene went to a shot of a giant red Santa bag overflowing with toys. Uniformed police officers stood smiling, shaking hands, and receiving gifts as people came up and handed them toy after toy.

  “The generosity of the South Plains is well known. It's part of the culture. Part of who we are. And at Christmastime, we pull out all the stops. But this year, one generous gift garnered special attention.”

  Switch to the commercial for last Christmas' hottest toy, the Space Cop flying policeman. The Space Cop was impossible to get. The kind of thing that sold on eBay for ten times the retail price—which had been kind of high to begin with. Whether by chance or by design, the manufacturer had not anticipated such a response to Space Cop and hadn't supplied enough, creating the kind of consumer-driven frenzy that legends are made of. Toy stores were reporting fist fights over the few they occasionally got in stock, and there were online maps of Space Cop sightings. Before Black Friday, stores put out announcements that they had no Space Cops in stock, and there were real cops on hand to handle those who didn't believe them.

  And for the police department toy drive, someone had donated a Space Cop.

  The scene switched back to the giant Santa bag, but this time there were special effects lighting and hallelujah music, along with a pan shot of Space Cop on top of the rest of the pile. Misty Monahan had been the one to report on that story, and when she did, Patrice and her co-anchor, along with the weatherman and sports desk, had gone on for too long about how bad their kids wanted a Space Cop and the ridiculous lengths they were considering going to, to get one for them.

  Then the donated Space Cop disappeared. It was just a rumor at first, and there were stories going around that it hadn't been lost, that it had already been given out, that it was just random and nobody knew what was in their gift bags until they left the police department. Browning did one story on it, a very friendly one in the chief of police's office, giving them the chance to explain how the toy distribution worked and to lay the public outrage to rest.

  “Of course we keep everything anonymous and untrackable. Nobody wants to track down some eight-year-old and have them justify the gift they received from Santa. People just have to trust in the process and believe that they did a good thing for a lot of deserving kids and leave it at that. Gifts are gifts. No strings attached.”

  But then Peter Browning received an anonymous tip. One of the cops in charge of distributing the toys had a son who had received a Space Cop for Christmas.

  The cop denied stealing the toy, of course. He said it was a gift from out-of-state grandparents.

  The poor kid was the one I felt sorry for. A teacher from his school came into Flo's Bow Wow Barbers and talked about all the bullying he was getting. Kids were jealous, first of all, because he'd gotten a Space Cop for Christmas, and the rumors that his dad had stolen it were enough to turn the envy into righteous anger and then into full-on bullying. He'd taken so much crud over the next few days that his mom pulled him out of school.

  One would think that would be enough to make people back off and consider that perhaps things were blown out of proportion, but, of course, it wasn't. Browning did a story on the bullying and the kid leaving school. Not a word about how his story had contributed to the furor, of course. Pandemonium erupted from all sides. People thought Browning should back off and quit stirring the pot. Others thought the cops were corrupt and used the charity as a front for furnishing their own Christmas mornings, and others declared they would never give to a police charity again. Rumors started circulating that the entire department was corrupt from floor to ceiling.

  Within a few days it came out that the cop had, in fact, diverted the Space Cop to his own locker. His wife refuted the grandparent story. She was furious that her kid was being bullied, of course, and wasn't going to go down with her husband.

  The cop posted an ill-advised diatribe on Facebook:

  “You try working with these deadbeat parents day in and day out. See how they don't work, they don't take care of their kids, they don't even know where their kids are half the time. And think about them playing the hero on Christmas morning while their kid get the hottest toy around. Meanwhile, you, who's been putting your life on the line for those same deadbeats for the past year, wrap up a sad replica because you can't afford the real thing, despite working sixty hour weeks for months. See if you're not tempted.”

  The post was deleted soon after, but of course someone did a screen grab and it lived in infamy.

  Poor guy. The theft hadn't risen to the level of felony, of course, but he was given the opportunity to quit before he was fired. This opportunity brought fresh outrage, and the police chief eventually decided he was fed up with the whole mess and retired. He'd been on the brink anyway. This was pretty much the last straw. On his way out the door, he made it very clear how he felt about having to lose a good cop over a stupid toy and how he thought the media was more interested in stirring pots than they were in anything the public had a right to know.

  As I scissored my last dog, I thought about what Jessica and Bitsy had both said. People were angry at Browning for pursuing this story. People got a little crazy when they perceived the police or military weren't being fully appreciated. It was a matter of loyalty. That feeling of betrayal could stir up a lot of passion in some people. Could one of them honestly have been angry enough to kill him over it?

  Stump and I drove home, and I thawed beef flank steaks for more fajitas. I checked the fridge and saw that I did not, in fact, have any of the other ingredients.

  “I’ll stop by the store after our interview,” I promised Frank.

  He grunted from the recliner, already wrapped up in his Telemundo soap opera.

>   Misty lived in a duplex—one of a row of duplexes—with a tiny front yard surrounded by a short brick wall. I didn't know what I expected from someone who'd been recently arrested for murder, but it wasn't to be greeted at the door by that person in bare feet, wearing gray sweats and a Red Raiders jersey. I hadn't even knocked.

  Misty opened the door. “Did Patrice send you?”

  “Ummm, no.” I gave Viv a quick glance.

  “Does she know you're here?”

  Jeez-O-Peet , how did someone standing in bare feet and baggy sweats manage to be so intimidating?

  “I—I don't know.”

  Misty frowned, then stepped back, holding the door open.

  I looked again at Viv, who—for once—seemed as hesitant as I felt.

  “Well? Come on.” She motioned with her head for us to come inside.

  I hurried in and sat on the edge of the sofa, making myself as small as I could so as not to give offense.

  After another moment, Viv stepped into the room, shoulders back and nose high. She had recovered her inner snob, I was glad to see. One of us had to show some backbone, and apparently it wasn't my turn.

  Misty sat in a recliner across from the sofa and crossed one leg over the other. “If Patrice didn't send you, why are you here?”

  “I—uh—well...”

  “We want to know why you were arrested,” Viv said. Clearly, Viv wasn't going to be thrown by Misty's attitude a second time. “As I told you before, we're investigating the death, and this is obviously a development that is of interest to us.”

  Misty rocked a couple of times, her mouth set. She let out a breath audibly through her nose.

  Then she uncrossed her legs and sat forward.

  “Peter and I had—well, I guess you’d call it an affair.” She rolled her eyes. “We had a relationship, and he told me he was going to leave his wife. When she became pregnant, I broke up with him. I'm not interested in wrecking anyone's family. Anyway...”

  I did mental math. Misty was also pregnant—at least, she hadn't denied being pregnant when we confronted her in the parking lot, and she seemed like the kind of person who had no problem telling people they were wrong. But she also didn't look pregnant at all.