With His Dying Breath

by Nancy Hogue

  “Daddy,” talking to his voice mail, “Call me, got a bit of info. Luv ya!” She smiled as she heard her dad’s ring tone. “Daddy, you okay?”

  “Honey, this has been a crazy day Got anything?” She cups her hand around the phone and speaks very softly.

  “Daddy, it’s a wig! That woman’s wearing a wig and her clothes don’t fit right. And Daddy, she has a tattoo on her left wrist right at the thumb. A rose. At first I couldn’t tell, but now I know it has to be a rose.”

  “Good work, baby. Don’t know what it all means, but good work! You and your new friend have a good time tonight. Don’t be out late, too much going on in this town.”

  “Okay, Daddy, you too! We’ll be safe. Love you!”

  ‘You too, hon. I’ll see you later tonight. Bye now!”

  She told her dad bye and checked her watch again. In only fifty-five minutes, Chip would be walking in the beauty shop. JJ’s worry over her dad turned into joy thinking about seeing her good-looking deputy sheriff.

  Chapter 13

  “I must have dozed off, Wilson. Please come in!” Wilson stepped into the cozy apartment. A golden glow filled the room as the sun began to set. Samantha closed the door and slid the night latch into place.

  “When you did not answer your cellular phone, I worried. I am so sorry I awakened you.” Wilson noticed the dark circles under Sammi’s eyes and disheveled clothing.

  “I can sleep later. Do you have some news?” Samantha took two bottles of diet cola from the refrigerator and handed one to her new attorney.

  “Thank you. We need to go over yesterday’s event, Samantha, and begin getting our defense plan together. Are you up to that this late in the day?” Samantha nodded. She noticed the dingy popcorn ceiling and could tell smokers had inhabited the room before her. She motioned Wilson to the sofa, but he opted for the kitchen table. He pulled a writing tablet from his leather brief case.

  “Of course. What do you need to know?” Samantha took a glass from the kitchen cabinet. She opened her cola but decided against pouring the soda into the unwashed glass.

  “Just tell me what you remember.”

  Samantha took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and recalled the events of her day. Her voice was soft as she discriminately chose her words. “I arrived home just before one o’clock and pulled into the garage. Blake’s Prius was in the circular driveway out front and I wondered why he was home in the middle of the day. I closed the garage door and walked through the mud room calling him, but I didn’t hear an answer.”

  Samantha stood up and walked to the window. “The French doors to the deck were ajar so I looked out into the back yard, calling him. I thought he might be in the pool house since it’s about time to open up the pool. But he wasn’t out there either. I went back into the house and heard a gunshot coming from the foyer. I crouched behind the kitchen island. Then I heard another gunshot and noises in Blake’s study. I reached the cordless telephone, but there was no dial tone, and my cell phone was in the car.”

  The apartment was no longer bright and cheery, as the sun dropped into the earth for the night. Wilson switched on a desk light, then the lamps on the oak end tables. Sammi sat cross-legged in a lounge chair with her back against the sunset. Her blue eyes stared at the door expecting Blake to magically appear at any moment. She stood and walked back to the table. She continued with her detailed accounting.

  “Then everything got very quiet for a few seconds. I heard the front door open then more gunshots, and I crawled out to the garage. I pushed the garage door opener but it didn’t work. I couldn’t open the car door to get my cell phone, and the keys were in the kitchen. The side door was stuck or something. Anyway, I couldn’t get it open. I heard another gunshot. I crawled into a storage room and locked the door from the inside. I hid behind some boxes and didn’t hear anything else. I didn’t even hear the police arrive.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Nothing. That’s where the police found me,” she said like a frightened child. Wilson noticed her composure was different as nervousness emerged.

  “I was so frightened,” she said. “I was afraid to move, afraid not to move. I was stooped behind boxes in a dark storage room while my husband was being murdered.” For the second time Samantha was crying.

  Wilson went into the bathroom and returned with a box of tissues. He comforted her as best he professionally could and patiently waited until she raised her head. As he handed her a tissue, he asked what the police did when they found her.

  She blotted her eyes and took a drink of her cola.

  “They asked me who I was and why I was hiding. I said somebody was in the house. I told them I heard the gunshots so I hid. They wanted to know why I wouldn’t help my husband. I didn’t know what they were talking about at first. I thought Blake had shot an intruder, and he would come let me know everything was okay. I wouldn’t have been any help to him for that. They asked questions I had no answer for, and then took me to jail. I still don’t know why!”

  Sammi thought if her new Capri pants had a pocket, she would have had her cell phone with her. Why can’t I think of things like that?

  “Samantha, Blake called 9-1-1 after he had been shot and named you just before he died. Listen,” he said pushing the play button on his laptop’s media player.

  “Blake thinks I shot him?” she was devastated. “Why would he say I killed him?”

  “I don’t know, Sammi. I don’t know.” Wilson reviewed his notes, and asked Sammi, “You said you got home about one o’clock. What did you do earlier in the day?”

  “I woke up early that morning because I was to meet Jess at seven for a massage. I was a few minutes late but Jess was already there. He didn’t seem to be his normal self. He had something on his mind and didn’t really seem to be paying attention to what he was doing.”

  “Did he hurt you in any way?”

  “Oh no, Wilson, I don’t mean that. I know that everyone treats me as Mrs. Blake Brockton, you know. Mrs. Moneybags. Appease me, you know, tolerate me because of him. But Jess was different yesterday. Or maybe the way I was feeling. Anyway, that was the first thing.”

  “Was Blake home when you left this morning?”

  “No, I walked in the study to tell him I was leaving but he wasn’t there. His car wasn’t in the garage either.”

  “Does he normally park in the garage?”

  “Well, mostly, especially at night. If he comes home during the day, he’ll just park out front.”

  “So, you don’t know why he was home, just that he expected to be home for a little while.”

  “Yes, I believe that’s an accurate statement.”

  Sammi had started to pace wondering why Blake came home in the middle of the day. She walked from the window to the entry door to the kitchen cabinet before he asked the next question. Wilson watched her closely. “Where did you go after that?”

  “I drove over to Zebulon to get a manicure for my standard, weekly appointment. I guess I got there about nine. She was already there as normal. I always take her a latte so we drank our lattes and talked for a few minutes.”

  “And then?” Samantha had lifted herself to sit on the kitchen counter. She stared at Wilson’s writing pad.

  “Well, it takes about forty-five minutes for the manicure and pedicure. They’re done at the same time. I’d say an hour total allowing the polish to dry.”

  “Where did you go when you left there?”

  “I drove out Bass to the new Riverside mall. Mostly just curious, but I saw a new shop and went in. A clerk I knew from another dress store had opened it. I bought the outfit I had on just that day.”

  ”So far there is nothing out of the ordinary, is there?”

  Staring at his writing pad, she said, “No, I visited my elderly aunt for about an hour. She’s in the nursing home about a mile from there. I read to her every day. Let’s see, I left there and drove down the Interstate to Warner Robins to see a new art gallery. There was a s
ign on the door, closed due to sickness. So I just drove back home.”

  “Due to sickness?”

  “That’s what the sign said. Anyway, I just left and drove straight home. I was actually excited to see Blake was home.” She was now sitting at the table tapping her long nails on the hard surface. She noticed it was an antique gate leg dining table.

  “Did you ever hear Blake talking to anyone?”

  “No. He never answered me, and I called out to him several times. I didn’t venture past the kitchen.”

  “Did you hear anyone else?”

  “No, I can’t recall any voices.”

  “Is there anything else you remember, maybe the previous day or in the last week or so?”

  Samantha’s reticence evolved into boldness as a lioness whose life was threatened. She became angry that she was in this situation again. She was angry that someone had framed her for her husband’s murder. She raised her voice and almost sounded argumentative as her mind tried to picture who would do this.

  “Wilson, I’ve been remembering things from my past all night. I relived our first meeting and realized what a different man Blake was back then. Something happened in the last few months, though. He became a stranger to me. We barely talked anymore and I don’t know why! But it will come to me. I will find out what happened to my husband. You can bank your life on it!”

  She finally realized she could not live a passive life one second longer. Her countenance changed. A hunger filled her eyes—a hunger for prey—a species of one or a ringleader of a group.

  Wilson did not often see a dramatic change in his clients this early in the investigation. Most of them sat back and let him ask the questions, find the answer, research the alibis, ask more questions, and leave their lives in his hands. He could not risk it this time. This case was already on National television. His face and his name were now known across the globe. He had to solve this murder not just produce evidence to doubt that Sammi was the killer. He needed Blake Brockton’s killer found and he needed her to help him. He needed her to recall every detail of everything and everybody they knew. He was glad Sammi was onboard.

  “Well, now. Okay, Sammi, we’re off to a good start. I have another appointment, just to get a notarized signature to release me as attorney-in-fact on another case. So, let your mind relax for now. Your thoughts are jumbled up inside, and we need to get them out and then piece them back together. I’m leaving a legal pad for you. As anything comes to mind, write it down, Samantha, even if it is just a fleeting thought. We cannot take anything, I mean the tiniest piece of information, for granted and cast it aside. Understand?”

  “Yes, I’ll write everything down.” She reached out her hand and offered her tremendous thanks. Wilson flashed a big smile with perfectly straight and brilliant white teeth. She expressed gratitude toward his wife helping her to the apartment, which produced an even bigger smile. She felt secure for the first time in a long time.

  “Now, do you need anything?”

  “Need anything?” Sammi looked at him like he had just asked her to jump out the window.

  * * *

  At six forty-five, JJ finished unpacking the last box of shampoo for the display counter. She broke down the box, left it in the recycle bin, hurried into the bathroom to redo her makeup, and fluff up her long hair. She changed into a midnight blue shorts outfit with her new bone colored Merrell sandals. It was extremely warm for March, even for Central Georgia.

  Chip waited at the magazine counter chatting with Mrs. Young.

  “Wow,” he said as she walked toward him.

  JJ’s eyes brightened as she saw this gorgeous guy waiting for her. Chip was taller than she remembered. He was dressed in khaki slacks and an olive green golf shirt. His skin had the beginning of a deep tan. A glowing JJ floated to the counter, took a deep breath and Chip’s hand as they left the beauty shop. She looked back at Mrs. Young raised her eyebrows and smiled.

  “You look magnificent,” Chip said as he opened her door to his vintage pick-up truck.

  “Thank you and so do you….and you smell so good,” she said.

  “It’s Irish Spring—just plain ole soap!” She thought plain ole soap never smelled this good before! JJ buckled up as Chip started up the vehicle to the vocals of Garth Brooks. “Anything special you’d like to do tonight?” Chip asked as he turned down the volume.

  “Not really. I don’t care much about going to a movie, do you?” JJ adjusted her seat since her legs were longer than the last person to occupy the seat.

  “Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t mind just finding a quiet place so we can talk, get to know one another.” Chip saw JJ smile thinking that was exactly what she had in mind. He eased the truck out into traffic and slowed for a traffic light.

  “I know a place down by the river. There’s a little café that’s still open, and there’s a deck out back if the mosquitoes aren’t too bad!” She did not know what Chip could afford and the menu had appetizers, soups and sandwiches that were very reasonable and for some reason, it was never crowded on the weekend.

  “Mulgie’s, yeah, sounds perfect, I know the place!” Chip turned the truck around and headed down City Boulevard into the city. “How’s Mrs. Brockton? Did you talk to her today?”

  JJ recalled a question from the test—discuss five cultural and political influences of Asia in the Western Hemisphere. ”No, I didn’t have a chance to talk to her today. I had school and that horrible test, and then I went straight to work. It’s Friday so I had to stock all the shelves. Did you see her today?” JJ made a promise to herself that she would not miss another test. At least the regular tests were multiple choice!

  “No, she had been released on bail when I got there at eleven,” Chip said as he slowed for a car turning left into a shopping center.

  “I just can’t believe all that’s happened, Chip,” she said as her mind returned to the present. “I’ve never known anybody who was murdered and especially anyone arrested for murder!”

  The conversation of murder in their hometown continued as Chip turned on to College Avenue, then Mulberry, and onto MLK Boulevard. “Me neither. I see lots of people in jail but I’ve never known them personally. But now, I feel like I know her, too! I only saw Mr. Brockton a couple of times in the music store. Did you know him well?” They were on the Otis Redding Bridge, and both of them commented on how low the water was.

  “No, not well. He got me my job, you know, well, he told me about it. I guess I got it myself. He was at the school every couple of days, it seemed. But, Chip, there was something odd or something that just wasn’t right. You know what I mean?” JJ glanced at the Monitor’s parking lot and saw her Dad’s white Taurus in his parking spot. Dad’s working too hard, she thought.

  “Like what?”

  “Well, one day, I was waiting on a counselor, and he came storming out of her office. Didn’t even speak to me. He practically knocked me down, but it was as if he hadn’t even realized it. He didn’t say he was sorry, say hello, excuse me, or anything. And I’m sure Dr. Christian was crying when I went in.”

  “Dr. Christian?” Chip pulled to the right for a passing ambulance en route to the trauma center.

  “Yeah, the counselor. She isn’t the nicest counselor, but she’s okay. She only works three days a week, and I’d rather talk to Dr. Jacob anyway. She’s great!”

  “What were they talking about to upset her?” Chip had completely stopped as two police cars and two more ambulances approached with sirens blasting.

  “I don’t have a clue. I was thinking about all that earlier. It happened two years ago and for some reason it made a huge impression on me. Wonder what’s going on?” JJ asked as she saw more police cars and two more ambulances approaching.

  “When we get to the café, I’ll found out.”

  JJ continued her story of Mr. Brockton, “Anyway, he had just been so nice to tell me about the job, oh, and then he had the school bus rerouted to drop me off at the beauty shop. Chip, I just
thought of something. Dr. Christian is over the busses or has something to do with them. The bus drivers are always in and out of her office. And she’s out there checking them all the time.”

  “Why would the bus drivers be coming and going in her office? What kind of counselor is she?”

  “I thought she was supposed to help the students, you know, with emotional problems and school problems, career goals, you know, stuff like that!” Chip turned into the parking lot of Mulgie’s, parked the truck, and rolled down his window.

  “Here we are. Listen! Hear the bull frogs?”

  JJ lowered her voice, “Ribbit, ribbit,” Laughing, they headed toward the entrance.

  “Oh, hold on, let me call the station. Hey, he said into the cell phone, what’s happening with all the ambulances? Really….when….how many….wow….no….. Mulgie’s….okay, thanks!” Chip repeated the conversation to JJ. “Let’s go in, I’m hungry!”

  “Just no frog legs for me, ribbit, ribbit!”

  “You are so funny, JJ. You are beautiful, and you are so funny.” JJ thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. She looked forward to a long relationship with this good-looking deputy sheriff.

  Arm in arm under a covering of pink cherry blossoms, her heart filled with joy. She glanced at an old photo of a riverboat above the register as Chip requested a table outside on the riverbank.

  JJ liked what she learned about Chip. He graduated with honors from high school two years ago. His four-year football scholarship to Georgia Southern University ended when he broke an ankle in the third game and decided to leave school.

  He returned home to study criminal justice at Macon State. He loved police work and hoped to be a detective with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Until he could get on with the State, he took a job with the Sheriff’s department. The Sheriff was his cousin’s stepfather but had not met until he interviewed for the job and made an instant connection.

  JJ was amazed that Chip had never had a steady girlfriend. He said he just had never connected with someone other than as friends. He retracted that statement by saying, “I lied, JJ. I have been in love before, but it was a long, long time ago. It was not reciprocated and she really broke my heart,” he said wiping away alligator tears.