by Gail Oust
“I’d like to stop by your office tomorrow and talk to her.”
“Save yourself the trouble. Wanda took time off to visit her grandkids in Omaha. Don’t expect her back till Monday.”
“Ready, Daddy?” Lindsey returned to the kitchen, purse in one hand and a wrap in the other. “Sean and his father will meet us at the club. After dinner, Sean said he’d give me a ride home.”
“Have fun, sweetie.”
CJ gave me a jaunty salute, Lindsey a peck on the cheek; then both trooped down the stairs and left me to my lonesome except for Casey as company.
I vented my frustration on a sack of hapless potatoes. Peels littered the sink like confetti in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. By the time I calmed, I realized I’d peeled enough potatoes to feed a family of four. I told myself I’d use the leftover mashed potatoes over the weekend to top a shepherd’s pie.
With dinner under control, there was little left to do but wait. I abandoned the kitchen in favor of the living room, where I curled up in a corner of the sofa and patted the spot next to me, a signal for Casey to join me. Picking up the TV remote, I clicked it on and absently stroked Casey’s head. “Guess we’ve been deserted, boy.”
Casey licked my hand in a canine show of solidarity.
I stared at the television, no longer interested in players in tight blue and silver uniforms racing back and forth across the screen. I blocked out the roar of the crowd when they protested a referee’s call. I had a choice to make. I could either sit alone, wallowing in self-pity, or take action. Slowly an idea coagulated out of the doldrums. When Precious’s brother Junior had stopped in yesterday for marjoram, he’d mentioned that, for the first time in several years, the entire Blessing clan would sit down to dinner together. He’d gone on to report that McBride had given his staff the day off to spend with their families. In their absence, he’d volunteered to man the station.
No reason we both had to eat alone. No reason at all. Perhaps with a full stomach the man might be more inclined to share a tasty morsel or two of information. If he questioned my intentions, I’d tell him to view the meal as a peace offering of sorts for tossing him on his backside and damaging his manly pride. Casey cocked his head in confusion when I sprang off the sofa and rummaged through the hall closet for a picnic hamper.
When the oven timer buzzed, I took the items from the oven, covered them with foil, then mashed potatoes and whipped up some gravy. That done, I loaded up.
Minutes later I was at the police department and parked beside McBride’s Ford F-150 pickup. The hamper was so heavy I needed both hands to haul it inside. “Yoo hoo,” I yodeled in my best Dottie Hemmings fashion. “Anyone home?”
McBride appeared in the hallway. “What the…?”
“Hungry?” Seeing him standing there frowning at me, I almost lost my nerve.
At last he strode over and took the hamper. “What do you have in here, bricks?”
“I don’t like eating alone.”
He stared at me, long and hard. I stared back, trying without success to read his thoughts. For a second I feared he might order me to leave and take my food with me. Maybe accuse me of trying to bribe an officer of the law. Or, worse yet, tell me Shirley Randolph had already provided a Thanksgiving feast.
“C’mon back to the break room—aka command central, home of the friendly neighborhood hotline.”
As he started down the hallway, I let out a pent-up breath and followed.
Upon reaching a room at the far end, McBride shoved the phones and forms on a utility table aside to make space for the picnic hamper. While he did this, I slipped out of my jacket and hung it over the back of a folding chair. “Junior Blessing told me you gave your employees the day off.”
“No reason they shouldn’t spend the day with their families. What about you? No friends or family to fuss over?”
“Nope, I’ve been deserted,” I said, beginning to feel more cheerful.
I began unloading the hamper while McBride watched a bit warily. Along with the food, I’d thrown in a few extras—items such as a plaid tablecloth, contrasting napkins, and a fat vanilla-scented candle. “Sure you didn’t forget the kitchen sink?” he inquired drolly.
“Don’t tell me a sense of humor lurks down deep inside?”
A ghost of a smile played around his mouth. “Merely making an observation.”
I proceeded to haul out the food. “I didn’t roast a turkey this year, but chicken is the next best thing.”
“I always thought turkey was overrated.”
Finally I set out plates and flatware. “Sorry”—I shot him an apologetic look—“nothing fancy, just everyday. I didn’t have any use for the fine china and fancy silver, so I sold them on eBay after my divorce.”
“China and silver? Also overrated.” He smiled and the dimple in his cheek that I found so appealing made an appearance. “Can I help?”
I handed him a knife. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
While McBride carved the chicken, I uncovered the various dishes I’d brought. He took the chair opposite me and was about to dig into the mashed potatoes when I stalled him by taking his hand. Startled, he almost jerked it away.
“First,” I said, “we say grace.”
My heart warmed as his fingers, strong and competent, curled around mine. Bowing my head, I repeated words of thanksgiving I’d been taught as a child. Looking up, I smiled. “Now, help yourself before it gets cold.”
McBride wasn’t bashful about heaping his plate and diving in. I derived a simple pleasure from watching him enjoy the meal I’d prepared. Even though it wasn’t elaborate, he didn’t seem to mind.
“So this is what a real home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner tastes like,” he said, taking a second helping of dressing. “Seems I’ve been missing out all these years.”
I paused in the act of pouring gravy over my potatoes. “Surely you’re joking.”
“No joke,” he said, shaking his head. “Before my mom took off, she’d spend the day either sleeping or reading a gossip magazine. She believed holidays should be a day of rest and relaxation, not spent slaving over a hot stove. In the meantime, my dad guzzled beer in the living room, then passed out in front of the TV. My sister Claudia and I had to fend for ourselves, which usually meant a frozen dinner.”
I sampled the sweet potatoes over which I’d dribbled maple syrup, butter, and a sprinkle of cinnamon. “I thought you told me once that you’d been married? Didn’t your wife cook?”
He sliced off the second drumstick. “Before she died in a car wreck, Tracey and I only had one Thanksgiving together. I was on duty that time, still in the army, so ate dinner in the mess hall.”
“What about all the Thanksgivings since? Surely with your charm and good looks, someone would have taken pity on you.”
“Lack of ‘charm’ has always been a shortcoming of mine.” He helped himself to the last of the mashed potatoes. “Usually I volunteer to work holidays. I’d grab a bite to eat at some place unlucky enough to be open like the Waffle House.”
“How about a slice of pumpkin pie? Even Melly can’t find fault with it.”
“Let me put on a fresh pot of coffee first,” he said, getting to his feet. “Be right back.”
While he was gone, I packed up the dishes and returned them to the hamper. A day that had started out dismal had taken a surprising turn for the better. McBride had been more open than usual about his personal life. Against my will, I found myself drawn to him. In the distance a phone rang and I heard the low rumble of McBride’s voice as he spoke to the caller. Prepared for a wait, I cut two generous wedges of pie.
Unable to sit still, I prowled the break room. In McBride’s absence, I thought I’d set the room back to the way it had been before my arrival. I moved the phones back into position and picked up the stacks of papers, then paused when I realized what they were—forms used to record hotline tips.
I knew I shouldn’t peek but couldn’t resist. I leafed through the ti
ps, looking for one dated a week ago. Then I found it. A person who refused to give their name reported Reba Mae near the opera house the night of Sandy’s murder. A scrawled note said the voice sounded like that of a female.
“What are you doing?”
I jumped at the sound of McBride’s voice. The papers in my hand fluttered from my nerveless fingers to the floor. “I, ah…”
“Dammit, Piper.” He advanced into the room, his face dark with anger, and set the cups he held down on the table with enough force to send coffee sloshing over the rim. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive for bringing me dinner. The entire time you only wanted a chance to snoop around.”
“No, that’s not true,” I protested, feeling on the verge of tears.
“Learn anything interesting while you were nosing around?”
I could sense from his expression he wasn’t ready to believe anything I had to say. “What if that was the reason I’m here? Can you blame me for wanting to help a friend? Do you really think she’s guilty?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think. My job is to follow the trail of evidence.”
“And your so-called trail is leading straight to her doorstep.”
He didn’t answer; he didn’t have to.
CHAPTER 28
BRIGHT AND EARLY the next morning, McBride stormed into Spice It Up! “All right, where is she?”
McBride’s sudden arrival had the same effect as someone pressing the PAUSE button on a DVR player. The shop, which had been bustling with patrons thanks to the Black Friday rush, grew still. Everyone froze.
I excused myself from waiting on a customer and walked over to him. Standing as he was in the center of the floor, he looked like a force of mass destruction. Lindsey, who had been drafted as my assistant, sidled closer. “Mom,” she whispered anxiously, “should I call Daddy?”
“It’s okay, sweetie. I haven’t done anything to merit a lawyer.”
McBride, his expression hard as flint, hooked his thumbs in his belt and widened his stance. “Last time I checked, aiding and abetting a fugitive was still a criminal offense.”
Melly, another of my “helpers,” edged next to me. “Piper, dear, I’m asking Cot to come down. He’ll put an end to this harassment.”
“McBride, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re not making a lick of sense,” I said, all the while reminding myself to remain calm and not to let him upset me.
“Don’t play games with me, Piper. You’ll lose.”
I didn’t doubt that for an instant. He’d play dirty if he had to, but he’d play to win. Lindsey and Melly flanked me on either side, ready to leap into the fray. I’d thank them later for their staunch support, but right now I had a tiger to tame. I gestured at the shop full of women who gawked unabashedly at the mini-drama being played out in front of them. “Being a man, perhaps you’re not aware this is Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the year. Please, state your business, McBride, and let me get on with mine.”
He looked around, probably aware for the first time we had a large audience. “We need to talk,” he growled. “Lady’s choice. Here or my office?”
“I can hardly leave with the shop as busy as it is. What about the storeroom?” I suggested.
“Fine,” McBride muttered. Taking my elbow in a firm grip, he hustled me toward the storeroom at the rear of Spice It Up! Lindsey and Melly followed our exit with perplexed and worried expressions. Each, I noted, held a cell phone in her hand. McBride shut the storeroom door with a finality that bordered on a slam.
“What is wrong with you?” I demanded the second we were alone. “Did you spoon too much macho on your Wheaties this morning?”
“Where’s your friend?”
“My friend…?” I raised a brow. “Unlike others in this room, McBride, I have a lot of friends. Care to be more specific?”
His breath hissed out, and I could see that instead of taming a tiger I was provoking one. “I’m talking about Reba Mae Johnson. If you know where she is, now would be a good time to tell me.”
“Reba Mae? Missing…?” The news came as a shock. Didn’t she realize running away would make her look guilty even though she wasn’t?
“Enough of the wide-eyed innocent act.” McBride’s laser-bright gaze, sharp enough to do surgery without anesthesia, didn’t leave my face. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. I sent one of my men over to bring her in, but she’s disappeared.”
“What do you mean disappeared?” I asked, struggling to process all this. “She never takes Friday off. Did you check the Klassy Kut?”
“Of course we did. Who do I look like, Barney Fife? Officer Moyer found the beauty shop locked and a sign in the window big as life: CLOSED TILL FURTHER NOTICE.”
“Reba Mae would never up and leave without saying something to me or her boys!” I brushed a curl off my forehead with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “Have you checked with them? The family was going to her uncle Joe and aunt Ida’s for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Clay and Caleb deny knowing anything about their mother’s disappearance. That leaves you as the lone traveler on the information highway.”
“I swear, McBride, I have no idea where Reba Mae could be. She didn’t say a word about leaving.” I felt like a bug under a microscope beneath his scrutiny. “What about her car?”
“Her Buick vanished along with her. I’ve issued a BOLO—be on the lookout,” he explained for my benefit.
I stared at a coatrack mounted on the far wall without really seeing it. “You don’t think…” My thoughts were so jumbled, it was difficult to organize words into sentences. I moistened my dry lips and began again, “You don’t think whoever killed Sandy…?”
McBride looked at me as though I’d taken leave of my senses. Well, maybe I had. It’s not every day a girl’s BFF simply vanishes without a trace. “No,” he said, allowing a trace of frustration to creep into his voice. “I think your friend got wind of the fact she was about to be arrested and is on the lam. And”—he gave me a mirthless smile—“who better than you to give her a heads-up?”
“Dear…?” Melly’s muffled voice came from the other side of the closed door. “Are you all right? Do you need any help?”
No, I wasn’t all right. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or scream. I was in way over my head—and so was Reba Mae.
McBride placed his hand on the knob but didn’t open the door. “If you know where Reba Mae’s hiding but don’t tell me, you’re in for a world of hurt.”
I stood on the threshold of the storeroom and watched McBride march out. In my absence, Melly and Lindsey had summoned reinforcements. CJ and Judge Cottrell Herman formed an honor guard on either side of the shop’s exit. Eyes straight ahead, McBride passed through the gauntlet without acknowledging their presence.
* * *
For the remainder of the day, I forced myself to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. Rather, I focused on my customers. Thankfully, Brandywine Creek was unusually busy with an influx of relatives visiting for the holiday. From the look of things, business was also booming at Yesteryear Antiques and Second Hand Prose. Tapping into my marketing playbook, I’d developed a little Black Friday strategy of my own. With each bottle of vanilla extract sold, a jar of sea salt could be purchased for half price. As a result, my day’s total reached an all-time high—even better than the day preceding last July’s barbecue festival.
After locking up for the night, I felt more wired than tired. Melly had deserted me in order to primp for an evening of bridge. Lindsey and a group of girlfriends were headed to the Augusta Mall in a quest for Black Friday bargains. To keep him from getting underfoot Casey had been cooped up in the apartment all day, and he was ready for some exercise. Truth be told, I could use a little exercise myself for stress relief. “How about we go for a run, boy?”
He thumped his tail, signaling his willingness.
I quickly changed into sweats and running shoes. I snap
ped on Casey’s leash and picked up the day’s receipts on the way. “While we’re out, we’ll drop these off in the night depository at the bank.”
Casey barked his agreement, and we took off. By the time we reached the bank, I’d found my rhythm. I jogged in place while taking a good look around. McBride had emphasized developing situational awareness. If he could see me now, he’d be pleased to know I’d taken his advice to heart.
The area surrounding the bank was well lit with floodlights, making it bright as day. Even so, I examined the shrubbery for boogeymen. I didn’t see anything suspicious, yet I had an uneasy feeling I was being watched. Goose bumps pebbled my arms. Was that the same creepy sensation Madison experienced? It didn’t help any when Casey started to growl. Feeling vulnerable, I hurriedly took the money bag from the waistband of my sweats and dropped it into the slot.
As I jogged away, I tried to convince myself that carrying so much cash on my person accounted for the attack of nerves. My mind on autopilot, I turned down a residential street. Almost without realizing it, I found myself not far from Reba Mae’s home. Drawing nearer, I slowed my pace, then, my mind made up, went up her front walk and rang the bell.
Clay answered the door. “Hey, Miz Prescott, c’mon in. My brother and I were just about to phone you.”
Clay stood aside for Casey and me to enter. Caleb rose from a recliner when he saw us. “Don’t know about you boys,” I said, “but I could sure use a big hug.”
I’d scarcely gotten the words out before I was engulfed in a three-way bear hug. “We’re worried sick about Momma,” Clay mumbled against my neck.
“Not a word,” Caleb said, his voice choked. “Not a single word.”
The hug over, I stepped back. “Did you search the house? Maybe your momma left a note of some kind. Hinted at where she might be.”
Clay shook his head miserably. “We hunted high and low but couldn’t find a thing. That’s why we wanted to talk to you. She tells you everything.”
“Not this time,” I said sadly. “I didn’t have a clue she was planning to run off until Chief McBride burst into Spice It Up! this morning demanding I tell him where she was.”