by Diane Kelly
Uh-oh.
Had my backup run him over? Oh, God, I hope not. We’d both be in deep doo-doo for sure.
I mustered every bit of courage I had and forced myself to look back at the street, expecting to see a hundred and sixty pounds of roadkill. Instead, the burglar lay there intact, his left cheek flat on the asphalt as he stared bug-eyed at the tire that had stopped a mere three inches from his face. His mouth flapped, but no noise came out. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp, passing out.
The passenger window came down on the cruiser as I leveraged myself to a stand, my scraped-up palms looking as much like raw meat as the burglar’s nose.
“Is he dead?” Derek called through the window.
I picked a pebble from my bleeding palm. “Get out here and see for yourself.” You dumb-ass Dale Earnhardt Jr. wannabe.
Derek shoved the gearshift into park and climbed out. He circled around his open door and looked down at the guy. He nudged the man with his toe. “Hey, buddy. You dead?”
When there was no response, he knelt down, grabbed the guy by the shoulder and turned him over. The man’s entire face looked like uncooked hamburger now, and the crotch of his jeans was soaked. He might not have died in actuality, but he’d probably die of embarrassment when he came around.
I bent down and checked Brigit. “You okay, girl?”
She wagged her tail happily. She had no idea how close we’d just come to being mowed down in the street by my former partner.
The man on the ground began to moan. As he came to, I helped him to a sitting position, then assisted Derek in getting him into the back of the squad car.
I pointed down the street. “There’s another one back at the house.”
While Brigit and I jogged back down the street to Beverly’s home, Derek climbed back into his cruiser and headed down the road, stopping at the end of her driveway. As my partner and I ran up, we found the old woman repeatedly poking the prone suspect with the business end of a push broom. Pumpernickel stood stiffly next to her, looking off in a random direction, probably unsure where he was and having no idea what was going on.
“I peeked out my bedroom window,” Beverly called as we approached. “I saw this guy trying to get away while you were dealing with the other one. He was wobbling all over the place like a drunk, so I thought I could take him. Turns out I was right.” She gave him one last, solid, bristly jab and stood the broom up proudly next to her. It was taller than she was.
I gave the woman a pointed look. “You know I have to give you the lecture about how dangerous it was for you to confront a suspect, how you should leave the policing up to the professionals, right?”
“Of course,” she said. “Consider me lectured.” She broke into a big grin. “It was worth it. I was excited before, but just wait until the girls at the salon hear I beat the guy with my broom!”
I called an ambulance for the suspect with the head injury, asking dispatch to send another officer to accompany him to the hospital to be checked out. Derek took off for the station with the other suspect, and I jotted down notes for my report.
When we finished, I bade both Beverly and Pumpernickel good-bye. “Take care!” I called from the cruiser, my raised hand waving out the open window.
“Come back for a visit anytime!” Beverly called.
Though I wasn’t technically on duty, and hadn’t been in hours, I wasn’t about to go home. Instead, I went with a team to the apartments of the two men we’d arrested. Meat-nose’s place was filled with stolen electronics, including a laptop with the logo of the company the first victim had worked for. I hoped the computer was still operational. The shaggy Latino’s apartment was filled from floor to ceiling with silver items, jewelry, and box after box of Nouveau Toi products. The Vestments and Eleanor Neely garments were draped over his dinette. The Steve Nash bobble-head stood proudly atop his refrigerator.
Though they’d likely sold some of the stolen property, with thousands of dollars in stolen items still in their possession, these two idiots would be going away for a long time. I was glad I could finally put one in the “win” column. And with this case out of the way now, I could focus fully on the People of Peace investigation. I was more determined than ever to find the baby’s mother and get some answers.
FORTY-FIVE
LOVER AND LIVER
Brigit
Brigit had felt sorry for the old dog who’d tried to romance her. He might once have been a little Latin lover, barking ay-yi-yi and having his pick of the pound, but those days were well behind him now. And while she hadn’t been interested in his overtures, she was nonetheless flattered he’d found her attractive.
When Megan had tossed her a second liver treat after they’d returned to the house, Brigit caught it midair and carried it over to the dog, dropping it in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice, just stared blindly ahead, his mouth hanging open slightly as he exhaled a wheezy breath.
He’s going to need a little help, isn’t he?
She’d put a paw on top of his head and gently pushed down until his nose was close enough to the treat that he could smell it. Unassisted, he reached his head the rest of the way down, picked up the treat with the two teeth he had left, and gobbled it down. He lifted his head and wagged his tail to thank Brigit for sharing.
She’d wagged hers in return. Anytime, little guy.
FORTY-SIX
A STITCH IN TIME
Father Emmanuel
In the middle of the morning the following Monday, Jeb stepped into the doorway of Father Emmanuel’s office at the church. Emmanuel looked up at him. “How’d we do?”
Jeb held out the manila envelope that contained the consignment sales proceeds. “We had a good week.”
“Glad to hear it.” As Emmanuel took the envelope, he noticed Jeb had one of Juliette’s signature bluebonnet blankets draped over his arm.
He gestured to the quilt. “What’re you doing with that?”
“It was returned to the store. It got torn and whoever bought it wants it repaired. I’m going to take it to Juliette and see if she can fix it.”
A situation like this had never happened before. He waved the man closer. “Let me take a look.”
Jeb laid the quilt on the desk and pulled back a corner to reveal one of the bluebonnet squares. The fabric looked like it had been shredded by a pack of rabid wolves. He looked back up at Jeb. “Any idea what happened here?”
“The salesclerk said it got caught in a bedspring.”
Could a bedspring really cause this much damage? He supposed it was possible. He remembered being pinched by a rusty old bedspring once when he was young. It hurt like hell and left a purple bruise on the back of his thigh that didn’t go away for weeks. He looked up at Jeb. “What did you say we’d charge for the repair?” If fixing this blanket would take up time Juliette could otherwise be spending to make a new quilt, it had better be worth it.
“Fifty dollars,” Jeb said.
Emmanuel mentally calculated. “Sounds fair.” Especially since this blanket didn’t appear to be Juliette’s best work. The stitching along the trim looked uneven, the curved, quilted pattern off a bit.
As he leaned in to take a closer look at the odd stitching, Jeb said, “The fish aren’t biting again today.”
Emmanuel looked back up. “How many fish we got in the freezer?” he asked. “Enough for Friday’s fish fry?” The last thing he needed was for the loaves-and-fishes event to be a bust. The mood around the compound had been somber and subdued since news of the death of Juliette’s baby had spread. These people needed a pick-me-up.
“We’re getting there,” Jeb said. “Elijah and Joshua have been out at the lake every day since they got their new fishing licenses, but there’s been a couple days when they came back empty-handed. I saw them on my way over here. They said the fish were nowhere to be found this morning.”
Emmanuel felt his ire rise. Those two men were his least productive in the woodshop and forge. Tha
t’s why he’d assigned them to fishing in the first place. Now it turned out they weren’t much good at catching fish, either. He was barely breaking even on those two, if that. They’d better get on the stick and learn to carry their own weight or he might have to start making some alternative plans for the two of them.
“Thanks, Jebediah,” Emmanuel said, folding the corner of the fabric back over as he dismissed the man. He pushed the blanket toward him across his desk. “Don’t forget to take this quilt with you.”
FORTY-SEVEN
COOPED UP
Megan
Saturday morning, I made the rounds of the burglary victims to let them know we’d recovered their stolen property.
I went first to the home of the man with the Lexus. He came to the door decked out in workout gear.
“We found your laptop,” I told him. “Your bobble-head, too.”
“Fantastic!” he said to me before turning his head to call back into the house. “Hey, honey! The cops found Steve Nash!”
I gave him instructions on how to reclaim his property. I repeated the instructions to Felicia Bloomquist, whom I visited next.
“Thanks so much!” she said. “I didn’t think I’d ever see my stuff again.”
Neither did I.
“Here.” She pushed a box of Sunflower Power snacks into my hands. “Take these as a thank-you.”
I wasn’t sure whether she was actually trying to express her appreciation or simply attempting to unload an unpopular product on me. In case it was the former, I accepted the box and offered a “thanks” in return.
“You know what,” she said, looking me up and down. “Some new inventory just arrived and there’s a coral dress that would be gorgeous on you.” She waved me in. “Why don’t you come try it on?”
What could it hurt? I hadn’t bought myself anything new in a while.
She went back into her office and rummaged through a large cardboard box before returning to the foyer with a dress in a soft shade of orange akin to a Creamsicle. It was long-sleeved, with a peplum waist and a fitted skirt.
I reached out to touch the shiny knit fabric. “It’s so soft.”
“Doesn’t wrinkle, either.” She held it out to me. “Try it on. If you like it, I’ll sell it to you for my cost.”
Brigit came with me as I changed out of my uniform and into the dress in the spare bedroom. When I emerged, Felicia had a full-length mirror out and ready.
“Wow!” she said. “That dress was made for you.”
I had to agree. I liked what I saw as I turned side to side to check myself out from various angles in the mirror. The fit of the dress was perfect and it flattered my figure. “It’s a little dressy,” I told her. “I don’t know where I’d wear it.”
The consummate salesperson, she convinced me there’d be an occasion in my future that the dress would be just right for. “New Year’s Eve,” she suggested, “or maybe a wedding or bridal shower. If you don’t buy it, you’ll be kicking yourself then.”
Before I could say anything more, she reached into a jewelry case and pulled out an amethyst-colored pendant, dangly earrings, and a coordinating bracelet. “This set would be perfect with the dress.”
I put on the pendant and bracelet, and held the earrings up to my ear. She was right. They were perfect.
By the time I was back in my uniform and out of her house, I’d spent $132 on a dress and jewelry that I wasn’t sure I’d ever have occasion to wear. Then again, I carried a gun. If I didn’t find a chance to wear the outfit soon, I could force Seth to take me somewhere fancy.
I headed off in my cruiser. While I planned to take my new dress and accessories home with me, I drove back to the station and stuck the box of Sunflower Power snacks in the cabinet in the break room. Just because I didn’t like the snacks didn’t mean someone else wouldn’t, right? Call me petty, but I secretly hoped Derek Mackey might wolf one down and gag on it.
* * *
Late the following Monday morning, I got a call from the clerk at the Benbrook Burgers, Beer, and Bait store.
“The man from the church took the blanket back with him this morning,” she said. “He said it’ll be fifty dollars to repair it. He’s not sure how long it will take. A couple of days, probably. He said he’d drop it by when it’s done.”
Woo-hoo! After weeks of hoping for a break in the case, we might finally get one. We’d been lying low, trying to watch the compound from a distance, and it had been getting us nowhere. I tried not to think of the possibility that the young woman might overlook my message. If that happened, we’d be back to square one.
Two days later, on Wednesday afternoon, the clerk called me again. “Your blanket’s ready,” she said.
“Great! I’ll come get it after work.”
The instant my shift was over, I zipped home, jumped out of my police uniform, and hightailed it out to the country store. I ran inside, fifty dollars in cash at the ready. The woman was on a stepstool, decorating the higher shelves with garlands of fake autumn leaves. She glanced over as I rushed in. “Hi, there. I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
My mind screamed what my mouth could not. Get your butt down here and get me my blanket! I wanted to see if the baby’s mother had replied to my message. And I wanted to see now.
Unfortunately, the clerk didn’t share my sense of urgency. What seemed like hours later, the woman finally climbed down from the stepstool and went behind the counter to retrieve my quilt. When she laid it on the counter, I handed her the fifty dollars, grabbed the quilt, and tucked it under my arm, heading for the door.
“Don’t you want a receipt?” she called after me.
“No, I’m good!” I called back.
I sprinted to my car, closed the door, and unfolded the blanket, looking for the square that had been mended. It was in one of the four corners. To my amazement, the quilt had been repaired so well that I couldn’t immediately tell which corner was the right one. I had to examine the trim around each one carefully, searching for words stitched into the fabric.
I looked at the first corner. No.
The second. No.
Third. No.
It’s got to be the fourth, then. Bingo!
In response to my questions of how?, when?, and where?, the young woman had sewn bring rope, Friday 8 P.M., and wall by chicken coop.
Though her sentences were not complete, the message was clear. She wanted me to help her climb out of the compound by supplying a rope she could use to climb over the wall.
Given what I’d observed when spying on the compound, I knew the women collected eggs from the henhouse twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening. She must be on duty for egg collection this coming Friday. But my observations had also told me that nobody in the compound ever did anything alone. No doubt someone would be with the young woman that night. Would that someone run back to the church leaders to tell them the young woman was attempting an escape? Or would that someone have mercy, let the baby’s mother climb over the wall unimpeded?
I had no idea how things would play out, but I had to be ready for any eventuality.
I whipped out my phone and dialed Detective Jackson. “I’ve got the blanket back. She responded.”
I read Jackson the words that had been sewn in response to my questions, and expressed my concerns about how the rescue might go down.
“We might buy ourselves and the young woman some additional time if we create a distraction,” she said.
We racked our brains. How do you distract people who live inside an enclosed compound? It was the same conundrum I’d had with getting a message inside. Short of hovering over the compound in a helicopter or shooting off fireworks that could be seen from within, the options for distracting the inhabitants were extremely limited.
Wait … Fireworks …
Why was the idea of fireworks stuck in my head? My subconscious mind seemed to be working on something. I only wished it would tell my conscious mind exactly what it was.
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Boom. The idea broke free. It dawned on me that while fireworks on a random night in October might be too suspicious, a fire might not be. After all, with the grass on the sides of the roadways brown and dry this time of year, fires along the shoulders were fairly common, often caused when smokers tossed a burning cigarette butt out of their car windows as they drove along. If the fire started on the rise above the compound, it would be visible from within the walls. Moreover, the noise from the trucks and hoses could help cover any noise the young woman and I might make during her rescue. After all, we might have to raise our voices to communicate over the wall.
I ran the idea by Jackson. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re brilliant,” she said.
Brilliant? Me? Aww, stop.
“Call Seth,” she said. “See what they’d need in the way of approval to get this done. In the meantime, I’ll put out a call for officers willing to put in some overtime Friday night. You’ll need some backup who can shuttle the girl out of there as quickly as possible, and I want to have other officers in the area in case any poop hits the fan. You never know with these groups. These guys claim to be pacifists, but when they’re backed into a corner there’s no telling what could happen.”
As soon as we ended our call, I phoned Seth. “We need help from the fire department.” I explained the plan Jackson and I had come up with. “It doesn’t need to be a big fire. Something small should work fine. Just enough to cause a distraction.”
“I’ll run this by the captain,” Seth said, “but I’m certain we can make arrangements for a controlled burn. Sure you don’t want us to blow something up, though? An exploding propane tank would be a lot of fun on a Friday night.”
“Only to you.” My Friday nights could stay explosion-free, thank you very much. One bomb in a lifetime had been plenty for me.
* * *
Late Friday afternoon, Brigit and I drove to the fire station to get prepared for the rescue planned for later that evening.
Seth loaded the things he’d need to start the roadside fire into the back of a pickup. Newspapers. A red plastic can with a spout. A small box. Blast sniffed the items as they passed by and sat, his nose pointing into the truck bed, issuing the passive alert he’d been trained to give.