by Pamela Tracy
“So true,” Lucas added.
“I wish they’d taken something besides chocolate chip cookies,” Leann mused. “If they’d taken something like a blueberry scone, we could narrow our list of suspects down to those people who like blueberry scones. Everyone likes chocolate chip cookies, only a few like blueberry scones.”
“I don’t eat scones,” Lucas said.
Tom wasn’t at all tempted to share that he didn’t like blueberry scones, either. Instead, he asked, “You brush for fingerprints?”
“I did.”
“Probably was a kid, then,” Leann agreed with Shelley. “One who still has a conscience. Let’s see, our biggest troublemakers are the oldest Gillespie boy, Mayor Goodman’s grandson and—”
“Jason Bitmore,” Lucas suggested.
“The Gillespie boy’s in San Antonio, Texas,” Shelley said. “He joined the air force and is going through basic training.”
“I thought he’d changed his mind.” Leann frowned.
“Grandma Trina threatened to cut him out of her will,” Lucas said. “He believed her, but I hadn’t realized he’d signed up and left.”
“Timing is everything when it comes to the military,” Oscar said.
Once again, Tom thought about the invisible Sarasota Falls hotline and remembered how he’d been a bit more in the know about the little things back when his wife cared about the town and him.
Now he was forced to rely on others, like Leann, who was pretty good about knowing what was going on. Lucas, however, was better.
Shelley stood, clearly ready to leave, and said, “Maybe Jason wanted money for car repairs?”
“Except your bakery was robbed the same night Jason had his wreck,” Lucas pointed out. “Not only did he not have enough time to consider the cost of repairs, but he was occupied.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Oscar said. “We don’t know what time the bakery was broken in to. It could have been before Jason’s car accident.”
Lucas started typing on his computer keyboard. “Now that I think about it, Jason’s broken in to a building nearby before.”
“Stop!” Tom couldn’t let this go on. It was speculation, and the reception area was not the best location for their back and forth. Also, Jason wasn’t stupid. If he was going to break in to homes and businesses because he needed money, he wouldn’t hit previous marks, not without a good reason. He’d go out of town. And Tom couldn’t think of a good reason.
He straightened and headed for the door. “You find me proof that Jason did all this, and I’ll get a warrant. In the meantime, we’ve got other issues to deal with.”
“If you’re going to see Mrs. Welborn, I can come with you,” Leann offered.
“No, Leann, you head to Little’s Grocery Store, see if you can’t find out who’s recently purchased that brand of cookies left at the bakery. Then head over to the Bitmore house and talk—”
“I can do that,” Oscar interrupted.
“No, because it concerns your wife, I’d like to distance you from the investigation.”
“But—”
“We’re talking about sixty bucks and cookies, taken and returned. This is not something you need to pursue.”
Oscar’s lips went into a thin line, but he retreated. Shelley put her hand on his arm and soothed, “He’s right, Oscar.”
“I know what to do,” Leann said, coming around the desk and readying herself. “I’ll call you,” she said to Oscar, “right after I report to the chief here.”
Oscar nodded, the thin line disappearing.
“What do you want from me, Chief?” Lucas asked.
“Take Shelley’s report, log in the money and call Jason’s parents. See what he was doing last night.”
“On it. Anything else?” Lucas asked.
“Yes.” Tom stared hard at Lucas. Cops were family, and he realized he was stepping on Lucas’s family, but it had to be done. “While you’re building a time line for Jason, I also want you to look for Sarah.”
“My sister-in-law is not—”
“Yes, she is. We have someone living in Sarasota Falls who claims that your sister-in-law was her mother. And those photos were pretty spot-on. I’d think you’d want to know more. All that aside, I want to know why Sarah left and even more why she might have changed her name. Notice I said ‘might.’ If your sister-in-law is alive and well in Greenland, then you’ve nothing to worry about. But if she’s dead, and if she happened to marry Raymond Tillsbury under an alias, I want to know how that all came to be. How they met, when they married, why they left and—”
“All this on the taxpayers’ dime?” Lucas asked.
“There’s a tie-in somehow to Rachel Ramsey.” Even as Tom said the words, he felt a vague surprise. The tie-in to Rachel Ramsey felt like an afterthought, like old news, something brittle, forgotten.
He wanted to know all this information because of Heather.
Someone new, soft, who was quickly becoming impossible to forget.
* * *
THE AFTERNOON LOOKED to be ridiculously slow. Heather called back Ms. Gilmore, who promised to be there at straight-up two. Still, they had a cancellation and one patient came in with a runny nose. Maya promptly rescheduled him.
The few parents who did bring their children in were all talking about Lucille’s funeral, who they’d seen, what their favorite memory of Lucille was and speculation about why Richard Welborn had been in town. Their words only convinced Heather more that she needed to find Tom and share her hypothesis.
At two, Ms. Gilmore showed up with Kevin and Beatrice. Maya ran around the front counter to give all three of them a hug.
“Connie worked here before Marcie.”
“Years ago,” Connie Gilmore said. “Before children.”
Beatrice was a blonde while Kevin had light brown hair, like Connie. They both were well-behaved and quite comfortable with being at the dentist. Kevin followed Maya around the desk and sat in her lap. She promptly turned on her computer and found a learning game.
“Maya spoils him,” Connie said.
“I think Maya spoils everyone,” Heather agreed.
She asked Beatrice to sit down and open her mouth for a quick assessment of the child’s teeth. Then she took Beatrice for an X-ray.
“We have the same red mark,” Beatrice said, pointing to the tiny stain above Heather’s lip.
“That we do.” Over the years, Heather met quite a few people with similar birthmarks. An hour later, with no other appointments booked for the day, Dr. Goodman said, “No sense in keeping everyone here. Heather, go ahead and take off early. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“I can do that.” She quickly cleaned up, sterilized the equipment and grabbed her purse before stepping outside. She sat on the bench in front of the office and punched in the chief’s number. He didn’t answer. This time, she didn’t leave a message.
She sat for a few moments, staring at the church and wondering if she should head over there and force Father Joe to speak with her.
He knew something.
Something that had him avoiding her.
Before she could act, her phone rang. Tom’s voice came over the line. Funny, she’d not even known him a week, had had to overcome a horrible first impression, and now he was the person she most looked forward to talking to.
“Hey,” she said. “I have a theory as to why Richard Welborn was here.”
“I could use an idea or two,” Tom said. “This morning, I visited the hospital and didn’t pick up a single clue as to Richard’s motivation for coming to town. The first phone call though, when I got back to the office, was a man in Roswell who said Welborn came here on a spaceship and was had been forced to return.”
“My theory is a little tamer.”
&n
bsp; “Good, I want to hear it. Why don’t you meet me at the Station. I could use a cup of coffee before I get the key and head out to talk to Richard’s mother. The phone number we have just rings and rings. I know the hospital’s tried a few times, too.”
They picked up their conversation ten minutes later, sitting in a back booth and with Maureen waiting on them.
Heather couldn’t hold off any longer. “I think he came to attend Lucille’s funeral.”
Tom’s fingers faltered on his coffee cup handle. Brown liquid splashed on the table before Tom righted the mug. Shaking his head, he said, “No way.”
“He wanted to make amends.” Heather was sure of it.
Tom apparently hadn’t gotten past her first missile. “You honestly believe he planned on attending her funeral this morning?” Amazement laced his words, but Heather didn’t back down.
“Yes, I do. Maybe he’d intended to disguise himself or maybe he planned on just showing up, turning himself in. He probably couldn’t live with the guilt.”
Tom took a sip of coffee, not looking convinced.
“He was desperate to get here.” Heather had been so sure. Watching all those people going into the church this morning, listening to Maya’s and Dr. Goodman’s memories, and even Ms. Gilmore on the phone saying in a sad voice, “She was my second-grade teacher...” How could you not feel guilty about her death?
“No, he was invisible, except for the rent checks he sent the rental agency, and they weren’t checks, but money orders. Hard to track.” He finished his coffee, smiled at Maureen when she gave him more and then said, “People like that don’t have guilt.”
“You’ve been a cop too long.”
This time his coffee cup didn’t slip. “What?”
“Really. I’ve heard bits and pieces about the accident. He was driving drunk. It’s wrong. He should have to face the consequences. I agree with all of that. I do. But what was he? Midtwenties, like me?”
“Yes.” Tom looked like he wanted to end the conversation.
“You know, Father Joe said he was surprised that Richard would be driving drunk. Of course, I’m surprised anyone would drive drunk. But why would Father Joe say that?”
“Richard was a truck driver. He was gone four, five, six days at a time. A DUI on his record would keep some companies from hiring him. Now, I’m thinking that he’s still a trucker, but likely making less and getting paid under the table.”
“What did he usually do when he drank? Have someone else drive him?” Heather asked.
“Far as I know, he didn’t frequent any of the local bars, but again, he wasn’t in town much.”
“Did he have a previous record?”
Tom frowned at her. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”
“I feel involved. He’s renting the house I apparently own. You arrested me as I was going out to see it. And when you talk about Richard, it’s in the same tone of voice as when you talk about Rachel Ramsey.”
“It is not,” he protested.
Maureen filled his coffee cup again and said to Heather, “You’re right about the tone of voice when he talks about the two of them. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it. I liked Richard. He was a good tipper. He was always in and out of here fast. I got the idea he had someplace to be rather than here.”
“You never told me that,” Tom said.
“You never asked.”
“His mother must be worried,” Heather mused. “You need to get out there and tell her.”
Tom nodded, but added, “I’d prefer having another officer with me. It’s always easier with a partner. Bailey was with me last night, but today everyone’s already doing double duty.”
“Why don’t you take Father Joe?” Maureen asked.
“I tried calling him earlier. He didn’t answer.”
“He never answers my calls, either. Look, I should go with you,” Heather offered. “It’s my key that will open the door should she—”
His face contorted and the “no” came before he even bothered to think it through or let her finish.
“Why not? It’s not like you’re going to arrest anyone or walk into any danger. You’re checking up on her and want to talk about Richard. What the next steps might be, if he recovers. I think it would be fine.” She reached out and put a hand on his, noting how he didn’t pull away and how for just a moment he relaxed.
“I doubt—”
“I remember when the cops showed up at my door. It was a Saturday, and I was cleaning, wearing old sweatpants and my favorite ripped T-shirt. I thought they had the wrong house. They were both young and stammering. It took me a full ten minutes to understand what they were telling me. I will say this, one of the officers was crying while the other gave me the news.”
“Take her,” Maureen said. “Then the news won’t come from the man who was always looking to arrest her boy.”
Tom muttered under his breath, “Why don’t you change and—”
“No, I’ll wear the scrubs. Why waste time? We need to give her time to call someone while it’s a decent hour.”
Maureen waved away their check. “I’ll take care of it. You go on.”
She nodded, but already her heart was telling her that she should rethink this. Being around when the police turned up at someone’s home reminded her too much of her parents. Yet, her mind was saying it was the right thing to do.
He opened the door for her, ever the gentleman. This time he didn’t put a hand on top of her head to make sure she didn’t hit it as he was guiding her in. Instead, he touched her back and heat seared.
No, no, no. This was the man who suddenly brought up Rachel Ramsey every time she started to trust him. And, judging by his tone, his eyes, his profession even, his heart wasn’t big enough for the three of them.
His touch, though, sent a different message.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE LAST CIVILIAN Tom had in his front seat had been Debbie Stilwater. She’d needed a ride home from church because her car wouldn’t start and Lucas was taking a report.
Heather was much cuter—smelled nicer, too.
“You like rock or country?” If she said classical, he’d forgive her, but he wasn’t sure if he could listen to it for more than four minutes.
“Country.”
His favorite, too. He pushed the radio button and Garth Brooks’s voice came out.
“I like his wife, too,” Heather said.
“I saw Trisha Yearwood in concert years ago,” Tom said. “My parents took me. All my friends were into rock bands and going to concerts without parents. I enjoyed every minute and still listen to her CDs when I have a chance. That concert is one of my favorite memories.”
“Where are your parents? I know you’re living in the house you grew up in. Did they move to something smaller? That’s what my parents planned to do when they retired. They’d been talking about Alaska of all places, buying a little store.”
Tom laughed, trying to picture his mother, all four foot eight of her, trudging through the snow. She’d do it, but she’d hate every moment. “No, they moved to Florida, got a condo by the beach. I call them every week. Mom’s having a blast. She’s got Dad into so many clubs, he had to build a spreadsheet.”
“They don’t call you? When my mom was alive I probably called or texted daily.”
“With my job, nine times out of ten, the phone pings with a personal call right when I’m in the middle of something I can’t interrupt. It’s hard to say, ‘You have the right to remain silent...oh, can you just hold on while I take this call from my mom.’”
Heather laughed. “I guess that could be a problem. I’ll keep that in mind next time I have to call you.”
“If you have to call me, it will be about something I need to know.”
&nbs
p; He watched her nod, the smile fading from her face, resignation taking its place.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll figure out what happened with your parents, why they changed their names and if you have a connection to Rachel Ramsey.”
“When will you have the DNA report?”
“Sometimes it takes days, sometimes weeks.”
“I don’t like the waiting.”
“Me, neither.”
Heather stared out the window, not looking at him when she spoke. “I wish Father Joe would be more forthcoming.”
Tom hesitated. He thought the same but knew Joe might be holding back because of his ethics, both personal and professional. That Heather’s parents were deceased should have released him from feeling obligated to keep their secrets, unless he was hiding something else. Mentally, Tom moved Joe to the head of his list of people to see.
Right after Richard Welborn’s mother.
Pulling into the long driveway that led to the white clapboard farmhouse, Tom could only wonder what sort of reception he and Heather were about to get.
“Place looks a little better. I wonder if Richard was doing the work or whether his mother feels up to it,” Tom remarked. “Usually when I’m out here, it’s pretty overgrown and messy.” He parked, got out and hurried around to open the door for Heather. She hopped out of the vehicle.
“I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about the place. If Richard’s mother moves out eventually, what happens then? I’m wondering if I could live here...”
“It’s kind of in the middle of nowhere. You’d have a ways to drive to work and then no close neighbors.”
She laughed. “When I was in Phoenix, sometimes my commute to work was an hour and sometimes it was three, depending on traffic. The drive is nothing. I haven’t, however, lived in the middle of nowhere by myself.”
As she followed him to the house, he realized he didn’t like the thought of her out here by herself. He’d be doing for her what he now did for Richard’s mother: making special out-of-the-way trips just to check in.
She stood at his elbow when he knocked on the door and waited. He’d never even met Richard Welborn’s mother officially. In the last year, he’d only been able to talk with her through the closed screen door once, and that was because he’d caught her outside and made it up the driveway before she could run into the house and pretend she wasn’t there. She’d made it clear he wasn’t welcome.