by T. F. Walsh
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be private.” He set his hat on the counter.
“You and I,” she snapped a second black bag open, “need to talk.”
“Excellent idea. I’m listening.” He crossed his arms.
“A real conversation this time. Where you give answers. Real ones, related to the question.” She stared at him, failed to see even a twitch that might be a nod of agreement. “I’m tired of having you soak up all my words as if you’re a gigantic sponge. Then you turn stiff and refuse to drip out any meaningful response. I’ve given you facts, my impressions of events, even the files Detective Wilson doesn’t know I copied.
“And you give me nothing. Oh, I can see that you’ve organized or memorized everything from a spark in your eyes for an instant here and there. I want on your ‘need to know’ list.” She ended loud enough to startle any human on the premises.
“Feel better?”
She looked away from him, glanced at the bag at her feet, and pursed her lips. A pound or two of unanswered questions and puzzles that had grown in the last few days shifted. “You could start with your first response to this morning.”
He tapped his left foot in either impatience or deep thought.
Laura knelt down and began to ease the second bag over the first. “Do I get answers?”
• • •
“Are you sure you want to mediate a family dispute?” Laura hesitated two steps inside the mayor’s cheerful kitchen.
“I raised three children and lived with my in-laws for a year. What I walked into at your shop a quarter hour ago barely moves the needle on the ‘family squabble’ meter.” Kathy Miller scooped coffee beans into a small grinder and gestured her guests to the table. “Not much in this world that can’t be solved over doses of caffeine or chocolate.”
“Chocolate contains caffeine.” Daryl turned away and checked his latest text message.
“Thank you, Mr. Precise.”
Laura bit back a smile. When Kathy arrived in the shop she’d assessed the situation and taken charge within less than two minutes. Without accepting excuses from either of them, the mayor insisted they come to her home and talk it out.
“Do you want help?” Laura offered while removing her coat.
“Sit. Be a guest. I don’t put people to work the first time they cross my threshold. I wait for the second.” Kathy’s full smile turned into a scowl directed at Daryl’s phone.
“What? This is work.”
“And the woman standing within an arm’s length of you is your niece. Unless that thing spits out the name of a particular murderer you better give her due attention.”
“See what I put up with.” Daryl shrugged and pulled out a chair for Laura. “She thinks she can order me around like one of her patients.”
“My patients follow directions better. Including the half deaf ones,” she continued to arrange homemade cookies on a plate.
Laura immediately formed a picture of the elderly care center residents obeying Kathy Miller, RN. Her clear speech and smiling eyes would be difficult, even futile, to resist.
“My employee is out of town on delicate business. I’m following the action long distance.”
“He’s capable. Trust him.” Kathy banged a cupboard door as punctuation.
“Employee? I understood Frieberg Investigations to be a one-person agency.” How many secrets can one uncle keep?
“That changed recently. Brad passed the exam in November.” He returned Laura’s stare.
She forced her mouth to close and stay tight. Brad wore another hat? Big Ears Brad grew up complicated in addition to handsome. She glanced away from Daryl’s investigative gaze until she could spin her thoughts back to the topic at hand.
“A man can’t devote a lot of time to a pro-bono murder investigation unless a second person helps find the deadbeat dads and assorted missing persons.”
His tone made her feel like the naïve student who didn’t read the entire assignment. “I wasn’t aware.”
“Because he never says a word before a project is complete.” Kathy turned an empathic smile to Laura. “It’s not easy to keep a secret in this town. But Daryl manages better than most.”
“Now that,” Laura nodded, “I find easy to believe.”
“So. Shall we address the topic of the day? You go first, Laura. Start at the beginning. I’ve got the entire day to listen.” Kathy set the cookie plate mounded with three variations of chocolate chip in the center of the table.
“I’m not sure where the beginning is.” She pushed up her sweatshirt sleeves and stalled for time. “I think I’ve made someone angry. The way my mind adds things together at least one person views my business as a threat.”
“Specifics?”
“The traffic stop on Monday might be the start of it.” Laura found Kathy’s face more inviting than Daryl’s closed expression. “I’ve been thinking about it. When I renewed my auto registration in October, I checked and all four screws were on both front and back plates. Early Tuesday, when I moved the remaining license plate to the back, even the screws were missing. All of them. Does this county have a problem with theft of out-of-state plates?”
Daryl met her gaze and rubbed an index finger behind his ear without saying a word.
She continued her account of a warning ticket and visit to the Missouri Department of Revenue website to purchase a replacement. “That’s one reason I’ve brought Roger’s truck to town yesterday and today.”
Daryl nodded. “That’s a good temporary solution. It might be a prank.”
“Alone I’d agree.” She blew across her coffee. “I haven’t told you about the phone calls.”
“When?” Kathy settled in the chair beside Daryl.
“Monday. Well, maybe Sunday. The landline collected half a dozen ‘dead air’ calls during the afternoon and evening. When I checked the machine Monday evening, a man laughed. He mumbled ‘city girl’ and a few other phrases that could be taken as hints to go back to St. Louis.” She gripped her coffee with both hands and managed to keep her voice from breaking. “I can’t leave now. I’m committed to this more than ever. Bridge went out on the road back.”
“What’s changed, Laura?” Daryl swallowed a bite of double chocolate chip cookie. “Aside from losing considerable money with the store deposit, why do you sound trapped?”
“Friday,” she drew a deep breath and stiffened her arms against the table edge, “I signed for a letter from Data Diagnostics. That’s the computer services firm I’ve worked at for the past four years. They’ve gone out of business. Nothing to go back to even if I wanted.”
“Did you suspect anything?” Kathy leaned forward.
“In hindsight I can see it. We lost a large contract in June. Rumors a few months ago hinted the owners were looking for a new partner.” She sighed. Neither of her table companions offered anything so she plunged forward. “I stayed preoccupied with my own problems. I put my job in a separate box and opened it only when scheduled. My own time was filled with prodding police, and getting frustrated with Picket Fence Insurance. Have you . . . ” Laura pressed her teeth into her lower lip at the memory of Kathy’s widowhood and stopped in the nick of time. Of course she had her share of delayed insurance claims stories. “Sorry, where was I?”
“Spending your summer grieving,” Kathy offered.
“Thanks,” Laura nodded. “Somewhere along the line I started to put my energy into carrying out our dream. I found out fast I couldn’t put the store in any of the places Scott and I considered. Half of them gave me the chills when I drove past. That’s when I began visiting Crystal Springs and related websites.”
Daryl tapped the table beside his mug. “Keeping secrets must run in the family. Any particular reason you didn’t tell me about the letter?”
“Nothing you could do about it.”
“Point made. Now tell me more about the phone calls. Did you recognize the voice?”
“Male. Distorted. Maybe talking around a wad
of gum.”
“Did he use your name? Mention St. Louis or Missouri specifically? Are they still on the answering machine?” He pulled his smartphone close and started tapping in numbers.
“Must you?” Kathy walked two fingers toward his phone.
“I’m going to listen to the messages, my dear.”
Laura darted her gaze between the couple behaving as marriage partners. “I deleted the first ones.”
“No problem. I’ll bring the recorder into town later and retrieve them.”
“I thought they only did that in the movies.” Laura winced as the first of yesterday afternoon’s messages growled into the kitchen.
Chapter Twelve
“Where do we go from here, Goldilocks?”
Tonight? Tomorrow? I’m too tired to think past the next minute. Laura buried her face in a towel. At least she could pretend half of her high color came from the exertion of the three-on-three basketball game they’d just completed. “I’m tired. It’s been a stressful day.”
“We could stop at Jack’s for a drink or a game of pool before I take you home.” Brad stuffed the last ball into the mesh bag and tied a loose knot.
“I’ve had enough games for one day.” Which one should she start the tally with? Hide and seek with the correct person at the phone company? Name the dead cat at the shop? Twenty, thirty, or forty questions in Kathy’s kitchen?
“Okay. I’ll accept that.” He folded his own towel before pushing it into his duffel. “My day ended so well I thought you might celebrate with me.”
“I’ll take a rain check or snow check unless that offer’s good for tonight only.” Stretching both arms high she wondered how many body parts would ache tomorrow. She’d called on muscles neglected too long while scrambling for the ball and attempting passes around defenders. Shooting free throws in her driveway didn’t begin to challenge her body like this.
“I’ll make an exception for you.”
She managed a smile that shrank to minuscule in the presence of his wide grin. A moment later, she finished pulling on her sweats and zipped her bag closed. At the other end of the gym, three women put away the last of the volleyball equipment and the janitor readied his dust mop. Open gym—Crystal Springs’ style—drew to a close for another week.
“I’ve had a good time. I needed a change of pace in my activities.” Not true. The exercise satisfied her body. Her heart’s desire wouldn’t be found on a basketball court. Add a little luck and the workout tonight might gain her an extra hour of real sleep.
He matched her stride through the commons and out the main door. In the soft glow provided by scattered lights in the high school parking lot, she risked a glance at his profile. Strong. Protective. Evidence of the soldier. And something more that her mind refused to name.
“Our chariot awaits,” he opened the passenger door of his truck and extended his arm to assist her into the tall vehicle.
Laura tossed her bag on the floor, gripped the assist bar, and drew in a quick breath. His hand supported her elbow while she entered. Through layers of parka and sweatshirt her skin tingled. She found her tongue after too much silence. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
She snapped her seat belt and hunted for a witty remark as he stowed his bag and settled behind the wheel. She recalled the boy reaching for controls on the tractor with a cocky grin. One more glance and she decided the adult beside her with his quiet control and confidence suited her need for a friend better.
“I plan to take the Ridge Road home. Any objections?” He maneuvered out of the school parking lot.
“You’re the driver.” I’m drifting again. I need to reclaim active participation. “Is there any particular reason?”
“Affirmative.”
“Let me guess. It takes twenty seconds less.” She blinked herself to greater attention and studied his hook on the steering knob.
“I’m curious if your neighbor is home tonight.”
“Which one?” Neighbor enjoyed a wide meaning in the community. He could be referring to any of a dozen or more homes visible from the road.
“Myles.”
She shivered with the heater blowing full force on her feet. “I didn’t know he lived on the ridge.”
“He rents at the second Rice place. First house north of the tree farm.”
“Does he . . . ” she paused long enough to let her mind get ahead of her mouth. “Does he have a shooting range?”
He turned his head for a brief look at her before he returned concentration to the road. “He does. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I’ve seen the trophies in his office window.” Her attempt at casual failed in her own ears. How could it make a difference who practiced within earshot? Yet. She shook away an image of Myles, Scott’s double, aiming at a target. “I’ve heard gunshots when walking with the dogs. Twice now.”
“His target area is one possibility.”
“There’s more?” She stared out the windshield, trembled at the memory of a snub nosed revolver. A forced breath sent it away.
“If the wind and weather’s right you can hear mine.”
Recent ex-military and private investigator were in his hat collection. She shouldn’t be surprised, yet the certain fact of it twisted something inside. “Do you shoot often?”
He adjusted in his seat. “Enough to stay competent. From your hesitancy, I’m guessing firearms and you don’t go well together.”
“We don’t. It would take a lot for me to even touch one after . . . ” She banished the remainder of her non-relationship with guns. “Is that part of your job with Daryl? Toting firearms around?”
“We don’t carry.” He slowed for a curve. “Keep permits in case we need to. Hence the gun rack behind you. But most cases need more computer than shooting skills.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I never really liked them. And then . . . ” Her voice faded as an image of blood drenched dress shirt swam before her eyes. She swallowed, licked her lips, and stayed in the present. “Scott was shot.”
“I heard.”
Heater, engine, and tires on frozen gravel swelled to fill the cab. She counted posts in the passing line fence. Assume every farmer keeps a loaded rifle in the house. Advice from Roger during one of those childhood summers surfaced. She knew where the keys to the gun safe at the farmhouse were kept. She’d seen them in the milk glass dish on the dresser yesterday when making up the master bedroom with fresh sheets.
Brad drew her attention when he cleared his throat. “Have you ever been snowmobiling?”
“It’s not a big sport in St. Louis.”
“As soon as we get another couple of inches, the fields will be good. I could give you an introduction. There’s a nice trail network for a winter tour.”
She glanced at him the same instant his gaze darted her direction. They immediately broke the connection and each looked straight ahead. The uncertain light made it impossible to identify mischief, humor, or sincerity in his eyes. “Um . . . I’ll think about it.”
“And here’s our reception committee.” He turned into the driveway where Taffy and Cocoa romped in a noisy welcome.
“I found him.” Laura leaned back and closed her eyes before her voice replaced the noise of the heater. “Ten or fifteen minutes after it happened. When I searched for a pulse, his wrist was still warm. Almost normal.”
• • •
I found him. Brad held his breath while Laura’s words ricocheted in his skull. Almost normal. He knew about the tricks of the recent dead. In civilian life he wanted to lock that knowledge in a box available only to medical personnel. A spouse didn’t deserve the nightmare sure to follow.
His introduction to close up death came on his first deployment. His soldiers had placed Garcia on a makeshift stretcher. Brad gripped his section as they scurried to the relative safety of an abandoned house. Only after they set their comrade down did Michaels, the best medic in the squad, release his pressure from the wound and whisper, “He’s
gone.”
Yes, he knew too much about the mass of flesh and bones without life. A tremble attacked his torso at the image of Garcia and others leaving with their eyes open and lips pleading to stay.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t need to know.” Laura fumbled with the seat belt on the other side of the cab.
“You needed to say it. Therapy. The shrinks get a few things right.” The dusk to dawn light on the high pole put her features into soft shadow. He captured more determination than defeat in the set of her chin and her posture. Persistent Laura, the girl who practiced cartwheels on her grandmother’s lawn, was still buried somewhere in the cautious adult beside him.
Did she consider him a safe person to speak with? As a girl, Laura held her words until they gathered meaning. He opened his hand, rubbed the palm against the familiar steering wheel. “A professional would ask one of those open-ended questions without an answer.”
“Psychology is over-rated.”
In one well-worn phrase, she’d distilled more than two years of his personal experience. “Well said. Maybe neither of us has found a practitioner with the right life experience yet.”
“How would you advertise for that? Wanted: amputee counselor with combat experience and murdered spouse?”
“I see you want to share. I appreciate that.” An instant later, his good arm surrounded her shoulder and pulled her close, across a gap he’d nearly closed without being aware.
She fit into him perfectly, her check against his chest and one arm relaxed across his waist. He wanted to keep her close, safe from the outside world. He lowered his chin until it gently rested in a nest of hair at the base of her braid. Would she allow him past her defenses again? Or would tomorrow bring regret that she’d shared? He closed his eyes and listened to his heart pounding.
“Brad.”
“Hmmm. Thinking deep thoughts?”
She rubbed her head against his chest, even her negative gesture stirring his body to a new tempo.
“Don’t tell,” Laura eased away, adjusted her torso until she sat upright and they touched side by side.