She'll Never Tell

by Hunter Morgan

  She recalled that before the accident, she had been very unhappy. Depressed. She hated her job, she hated Jake, she hated herself. She had felt trapped and unable to do anything about it. But she'd known that if she left Jake, she'd spend the rest of her life alone and that wasn't what she had wanted. What she had wanted was to be thin and beautiful.

  And suddenly that wish had come true. The accident that had given her this new body and face was a fairytale come true. Her mind raced. She could start her life all over again. Leave Jake, take the kids with her, find a job that was rewarding, that made her want to get up in the morning. Maybe she'd even meet a new man.

  She smiled at the thought. She'd been a virgin when she'd slept with Jake her senior year in college, just two weeks before they graduated, three weeks before they married. She'd never even dated anyone else, not by her definition or Phoebe's. In college, she had been in love with Jake, thrilled that a man as good-looking as he was would have paid any attention to her. She had married him because he had asked. Somewhere between getting real jobs, applying for a mortgage, and having two children, that love had faded. She could barely remember now what it had felt like.

  Marcy passed a couple in their late twenties, walking hand-in-hand, obviously in love by the way they were looking at each other, talking in hushed, intimate tones. Maybe newlyweds. She wanted to walk hand-in-hand with a man who looked at her that way.

  So now she had the chance. The question was, did she have the guts to take it?

  Chapter 3

  "I don't understand why I have to go to school." Ashley slumped in the front seat of the dark green police cruiser, arms crossed over her chest. "There's only four days left." Claire glanced at her fifteen-year-old, forcing herself not to cringe. Her beautiful blond-haired daughter had dyed her hair jet black, outlined her blue eyes in thick black eyeliner, and added a nice gray lipstick to complete the makeover. To finish off the look of the dead, Ashley had crafted an ensemble of black: intentionally torn jeans, black T-shirt sporting a screaming skull with snakes shooting from the eye cavities, and a hardware store-quality chain around her waist for a belt.

  Police Chief Claire Drummond's daughter had gone Goth. It was the talk of the town. Or at least it had been before Patti's murder.

  "Because there are four days left. That's why you have to go." Claire signaled to make the turn into the school's circular driveway. She didn't dare leave Ashley out front on the street where her daughter preferred to be dropped off. That almost guaranteed a call from the attendance officer checking up to see how Ashley was feeling, since she had missed another day of school.

  Ashley groaned and slid down farther on the bench seat, shielding her face with her right hand so the students walking up the sidewalk wouldn't see her in the police car.

  Claire took notice of the silver rings on her daughter's slender fingers. The count was up to one bat, three skulls, and a python. The black fingernail polish was a nice touch.

  "Stop looking at me," Ashley huffed. "Why are you always looking at me?"

  "Just trying to figure out how I spawned you from my loins," Claire said lightly.

  When Ashley had taken this bizarre turn on her dazed and confused teenage journey, Claire had vowed to try not to be judgmental. She'd promised herself that she would try to tolerate the phase, reminding herself again and again to choose her fights carefully. Life wasn't about what clothes or shade of lipstick a person wore. It was about who they were inside.

  Ashley's grades were still decent, she only missed curfew on occasion, and she never missed a day at work at the local garden center. Claire was still fascinated that a girl wearing black lipstick and a chain around her waist could take such pleasure in working in a greenhouse. She had actually caught her daughter a few weeks ago talking baby-talk to a tray of geranium seedlings while watering them.

  "Please," Ashley groaned. "I try not to think about the fact that you and Dad had to have sex to conceive me. Gross."

  Claire laughed as she pulled up to the curb. Comments like that actually pleased her. It meant, chances were, Ashley wasn't considering having sex with anyone anytime soon. "Go straight to work after school, then to Grandmom and Grandpop's."

  "I know."

  "Do not stop at the Dairy Cream."

  "I know."

  "Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars."

  "Mom, I know." The moment the cruiser rolled to a stop, Ashley had the door open and was reaching for her backpack on the seat behind her. Black, of course.

  "I might be late tonight. I've got several interviews to conduct." Claire's mind began to shift as she transformed from mother to police chief. Switching hats was difficult sometimes. Even harder when she was concerned about Ashley the way she was right now, and she had something big going on at the station. Patti's murder definitely qualified as something big.

  "I can get Pop to take me home after dinner."

  "No."

  Ashley cut her kohl-lined eyes at her mother. "Why not? I stay home alone by myself all the time."

  "Not when there's a man out there who just killed a woman."

  "Her boyfriend did it," she said, her voice taking on that you're an idiot tone that teen girls did so well. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

  Claire arched an eyebrow. "And you have evidence to support this theory of yours?" She gripped the wheel. "The truth is, between the two of us, I don't think Billy Trotter did it. I can't see him working up enough energy to kill someone. And if he didn't do it, that means someone else out there did."

  Ashley frowned. "Whoever it is, he better not come after me. I'll kick his ass."

  Claire shifted her gaze to look out the windshield. "Language, young lady."

  Ashley yanked her backpack onto her shoulder and climbed out of the cruiser, black army boots untied with the laces dragging behind her.

  "Bye," Claire called after her. "I—"

  The door slammed.

  "Love you," Claire finished quietly. Then, with a sigh, she shifted the Olds into drive and pulled slowly around the school, making sure Ashley was inside the front door, being greeted by the principal, before she turned onto the street.

  Using her car radio, Claire checked into the station-house with Jewel, the gum-popping dispatcher, saying she'd be right in after a coffee stop. Jewel had already called in their order.

  "Morning, Claire," Loretta greeted her at the diner's cash register.

  "Good morning, Loretta. How are you?" Claire took a stool at the luncheon counter and gave a wave to Ralph, who was serving up someone's plate of fried eggs, sunny-side up, and a double of link sausage.

  "I'm doin' all right, considering." Loretta closed the old-fashioned cash register with a ching and handed the departing customer his change.

  Claire nodded. "You get any sleep last night?"

  Loretta leaned over, parking her huge, flower-covered breasts on the counter. "Hard to sleep thinking of my sweet Patti dead, lying next to that trash barrel."

  Claire smiled grimly and patted Loretta's swollen hand. "We're going to find out who did this to Patti. I swear we will."

  "I got every faith in you." Loretta stood up and slapped the gold-speckled Formica countertop. "Now, what can I get you for?"

  "Jewel called in the order for two black coffees to go, two jelly donuts—"

  "And a bran muffin," Loretta finished for her, already grabbing two Styrofoam cups.

  "So I'm predictable." Claire lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. Today the badge affixed to her neatly pressed uniform seemed heavier than usual. "Boring."

  "Not boring, just regular." Loretta teased.

  Claire smiled, glancing around the diner, taking in who she saw, what she saw. In this line of work, she had learned to be observant wherever she went, on duty or off. When Loretta returned with the coffees and a white paper bag, the police chief met her gaze. "You have time to talk for a sec?" she asked quietly.

  Loretta's gaze flickered to her customers, then ba
ck to Claire. "We got 'em all fed. They can sit tight for a second without a top-off on their coffee."

  Claire pulled a small pad of paper from her breast pocket. "I need any information you can give me on Patti that might help us figure out what happened."

  "Well, like I told Patrolman McCormick, she didn't come into work that day like she was supposed to. But then, Patti didn't always get around to giving me a call when she was out sick or whatever."

  Claire didn't have to ask what she meant by whatever. She knew Patti. The young woman had drunk too much and dabbled in drugs on occasion, though nothing too bad, to her knowledge. Mostly a little weed and painkillers she scored from Billy Trotter.

  "Do you remember seeing anyone around that week who stood out? Any strangers?"

  Loretta stroked her chin that sported several hairs. "It's June, Claire. We've already got some early birds staking out their section of the beach. Seth Watkins said he had half his company's condos rented last Saturday night. Been a lot of strangers sittin' at these tables in the last week."

  Claire made a note to check with the realtor on his weekend renters. Maybe he noticed someone who didn't fit the usual early summer vacationer profile. "But anyone who stood out? Anyone who didn't strike you quite right?"

  Loretta leaned on the counter again. "I tell you who you need to be lookin' at, and that's that no-good trailer trash, Billy Trotter. You know his father went to jail for beatin' the hell out of Kat right before she left him a few years back. Happened in Ocean City. I guess they got tanked and things got out of hand. They say that kind of thing can run in a family."

  "I'm aware Billy has an alcohol problem, and I am going to talk to him. But I still need you, and Ralph, too, to think through the last week. Any arguments Patti might have had with a customer? Any new man in her life she might have mentioned?"

  Loretta grinned wryly. "Well, you know how Patti was. Seemed like there was always a new man in her life."

  Claire tucked the pad and pen back into her pocket and reached for the coffees and paper bag. "You think on it. Give me a call. Now what do I owe you?"

  "Not a thing, and you know it."

  Claire started for the door. "Loretta, how can you make money if you never charge me or my boys for breakfast?"

  "A couple of donuts a week, a couple pots of coffee, is pretty cheap security, considering the times, sweetie. Knowing you and the boys are out there keepin' our streets safe makes us all breathe a little easier."

  Apparently we couldn't keep Patti safe, Claire thought, but she kept it to herself. "Thanks, Loretta. You have a good day."

  "You, too."

  Going out the door, Claire ran into Morris Tugman.

  Damn, she thought. To think, a minute sooner and I could have gotten out of here without this aggravation this morning.

  "Claire."

  "Morning, Mayor." She nodded, but kept going, hoping she'd get lucky and he'd go about his business.

  He blocked the door. "So how's the investigation going?"

  She halted. The luck just wasn't with her this morning. "Very early stages, Morris. I really can't say. Patti's been dead less than forty-eight hours."

  "But you've picked up that Billy kid? The one who works in that head shop on the boardwalk, lives on his grandparents' farm in that eyesore trailer?"

  The head shop was a constant source of aggravation to Claire. Owned by a man from Pennsylvania who had a string of them, the locals hated it. But it apparently made good money, and the business did employ half a dozen local kids Memorial Day to Labor Day. They didn't sell anything illegal, just T-shirts most parents would find inappropriate, incense, band stickers for cars, that kind of crap. It was currently Ashley's favorite store because they had an entire section of studs to place in various pierced regions of the body, necklaces and bracelets that resembled dog collars, and racks of black clothing. So far, studs only adorned Ashley's ears and nowhere else... that Claire was aware of.

  "Actually, Billy's been working at Calloway's all winter." She was tempted to tell him she was surprised he hadn't remembered seeing him behind the bar. Apparently Morris liked to park himself on a bar stool at Calloway's, with a shot of Jack Daniels, on occasion. "There's certain protocol we follow when questioning suspects, you know that, Morris." She tried to focus on the mayor's bushy eyebrows and not the ridiculous toupee he wore. Ashley and half the people in town called him Mayor Rug Man, her father, the retired police chief included. "I intend to speak with Billy myself today. I was just doing some preliminary interviews first."

  "You look into Ralph?" The mayor leaned against the glass door, propping it open, but still preventing Claire from escaping. He pointed in the direction of the diner's kitchen. "He's crazy, always talking about aliens and shit. And he admitted himself here in front of half a dozen people that he had been in love with her."

  It was difficult to take a man who was wearing a green and yellow shirt with multicolored parrots on it seriously. Especially when it had to be a size triple-X shirt to accommodate Morris's ever-increasing spare tire, and the parrots were life-size. "The coroner promised to get me her initial report by four. I'll draw up a full list of people I need to interview, once I have that information."

  "Well, sounds like you have everything under control." He shook a finger, obviously unconvinced. "But the minute you think you're over your head, Claire, you call in the state police. You hear me?"

  "Yes, sir." She ducked under his arm. "I'll keep you posted."

  "You better. Unsolved murders make it hard on employment contracts up for renewal, you know."

  Morris's words that sounded close to a threat were still ringing in Claire's head when she reached the station, used her pass card to get in the back door, and delivered the coffee and donuts to Jewel.

  "What's up this morning?" Claire asked, grabbing a pack of sweetener from the counter behind Jewel's desk. The dispatcher, a cute brunette, also served as a receptionist and worked in a glass room that was accessible only from the rear offices, with a reception window in the public waiting room. Everyone at the station called it "the fish bowl."

  "Let's see." She took a sip of her coffee and gave a crack on her gum. "Mrs. Peterson's locked herself out of her house again. McCormick just sent Savage out to climb through the bathroom window... again. Mr. and Mrs. Arquette think someone has broken into their house and stolen the remote control to their new plasma screen TV—"

  Claire glanced up, stirring her coffee with a red plastic stirrer. "This thief didn't steal the TV, just the remote?"

  Jewel glanced down at her purple legal pad. "Nope, just the remote. I took notes just the way you showed me. Mrs. Arquette called at seven thirty-four, said someone had broken into the house between the end of the news last night and when Mr. Arquette got up at six-thirty and tried to turn on the Weather Channel."

  Claire sucked the coffee off the end of the stirrer. "No one else in town even has a plasma TV. What the hell are they going to use the remote for?"

  Jewel giggled. Popped her gum.

  Claire gestured with her finger, twirling it in a circular motion. "Skip forward to something I need to know."

  "Captain Gallagher, headquarters, state police, wants you to return his call." Jewel handed her a pink "While You Were Out" slip and then slid into her office chair. "Thanks for the donuts." She pulled Claire's muffin from the bag, placed it on a paper plate, and took a bite from her own donut.

  Claire grabbed the muffin and walked out of the fishbowl, closing the door that automatically locked behind her. Jewel had been working for her for eighteen months, and she still couldn't get used to watching the dispatcher eat with gum still in her mouth. "I'll be in my office."

  "Alrighty."

  Claire closed her office door behind her before sliding into the chair behind her desk. Setting down the coffee and muffin, she stared at the pink slip of paper with Kurt's work number on it. Before accepting the position as Chief of Police of Albany Beach, Claire had been a lieutenant with the st
ate police and had worked with Kurt on a couple of cases. He had thought her taking this job had been a step down for her, instead of up. He didn't understand her desire to follow her father's legacy in the town she had grown up in. He also hadn't understood why she had broken up with him after they had dated for two years.

  It had been that tired, age-old, male versus female commitment issue. He said he loved her and he saw no reason to spoil what they had by getting married. She thought that if they had no intention of making the relationship more permanent than a quickie on the nights she could get a baby-sitter, there was no sense in continuing the relationship, period. Though by choice, the breakup had hurt Claire deeply. Deeply enough that she hadn't even attempted to date since then, but she was still certain it had been the right decision.

  She punched Kurt's number and extension into the phone and reached for her bran muffin. He picked up on the first ring before she had a chance to chicken out.

  "Captain Gallagher," he said, his tone clipped. She could see him now, hunched over his paper-scattered desk, sensual mouth pulled in a frown as he thought through some detail of a case that didn't sit right with him.

  "Kurt—Claire."

  "What the hell's going on down there in Sussex County? First week of June, families heading for our beaches, and you've got a dead woman in a dumpster?"

  She pulled off a piece of the bran muffin, thinking that from the sour tone of Kurt's voice, he needed the regularity more than she did. "The victim wasn't in the dumpster, she was next to a trash barrel."

  "Wrists slashed, but not a suicide?"

  Claire breathed a little easier. She could talk to Kurt just as long as it was about work. As long as they didn't cross the personal threshold, she was just fine. "Not unless she's one of the walking dead. My ER doc says that she'd bled out more than half her blood volume."