Keeping the Peace

by Linda Cunningham

  The men nodded and grunted, confirming their understanding, and moved off in their own directions. John went into his office and closed the door behind him.

  “John.” Melanie let go of Gabriel’s hand and stood up. “This is awful, John.”

  He tried not to sound exasperated as he answered her. “Melanie, what are you doing here? The roads are still bad. This is police business.”

  “It’s my fault, Chief,” Gabriel said. “I called Melanie. I didn’t know what to do. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  Of course he called Melanie, thought John, but he said, “Melanie, let’s just go home. I’ll follow you in the Suburban. Strand, you come with me.”

  Melanie nodded and led the way out of the office.

  Once in the car, with the heater on and headed toward home, John glanced over at his companion. Strand had been silent the whole time, and now he stared straight ahead. His face was pale, and there were blue shadows under his eyes.

  John said, “The girl, Tiffany Carroll, who was with Bruce Blake said the person who murdered Blake thought he was you.”

  Strand looked genuinely surprised. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because according to the girl, the person said, ‘Now you’ve got what you deserve, Strand.’ Something like that.”

  Gabriel shook his head slowly back and forth, then buried his face in his hands.

  “Is there anyone you know who would want you dead?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s probably some deranged fan.”

  “Hmm. Maybe. You didn’t have a conflict over anyone with a girl?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend right now.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t have girls on the road. I’m not stupid. Even I know about groupies.”

  Gabriel gave a kind of mirthless laugh. “I will tell you that there are girls on the road, as you say, but I’ll also tell you that we’re a lot more careful than…than people used to be. We’ve got to be. At least smart people are. And my band is smart.”

  “Bruce Baker wasn’t so smart.”

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  “So you’re telling me there is no one out there you know of who has a grudge against you or felt slighted. Maybe someone whose feelings were hurt somehow. Did you fire anybody lately?”

  “No, no, we didn’t. Look, there’s these fan sites online. Some of the people post pretty weird stuff. A couple of them say weird stuff about me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, like who I should be going out with or who I’m secretly engaged to. When you’re in entertainment, it always happens. Sometimes they threaten you when you go out with somebody. Sometimes they threaten you when you don’t. It’s always a risk. Ask anybody.”

  “I don’t know anybody in entertainment except you. So you’re sure?”

  “That’s right.”

  John had been a policeman for twenty-four years. He knew a lie when he heard it, but this was going to take some time. For some reason, Strand wasn’t telling him the truth. Maybe it was an internal problem within the band itself. “Okay,” he said. “For now, all I’ve got to do is keep you safe. The killer still thinks it was you who was killed and won’t know better until the news gets it.”

  Strand looked up. “Then what?”

  John could hear the fear in his voice. “Well, then it’ll be obvious you’re not dead, and there may be a second attempt on you. These types stick around until they see confirmation of their crime in the news. They always like to see their work showcased. It’s important to them. Then they bolt. Unless they’re local. I’m going to have a look at those fan sites.”

  The musician nodded. “I can show you.”

  “These fans, are they mostly male or female?” John asked.

  “It’s hard to say. Mostly, they go by fake names and code words, so it’s hard to tell what they are.”

  They drove on in silence until they reached the house. Once inside, John shed his outer clothes and heaved a sigh of relief.

  Melanie, who had arrived home just ahead of them, threw her coat across the back of the couch, saying, “I’ll make breakfast.”

  Gabriel sat down at the end of the kitchen table and leaned forward on his elbows. John sat heavily, facing the windows, blankly watching the chickadees hammering the sunflower seeds open with their tiny beaks.

  Melanie bent across the table to set Gabriel’s cup in front of him. The hoodie she wore wasn’t zipped all the way up, and her breasts swelled provocatively forward, giving the musician a clear view of her cleavage. John stifled a sarcastic eye roll and pretended not to notice Strand’s gaze as he lifted his own coffee to his lips.

  Why did she have that effect on people, on men? Did she do it purposely? His mind wandered as he watched the wild birds. Could any of the local gossip here and there throughout the years be true? He rubbed his eyes. No, people were just jealous of her. The only daughter of a prominent family, the owner of the local news rag, well-to-do. Beautiful. He tried to objectively critique his own wife. Was it her beauty? Melanie was certainly that, with her trim figure and ruffled hair, her made-up eyes and brilliant smile, but there must be lots of women like that out there. Weren’t there? Finally, in his mind, he acquiesced. No, there was something about Melanie. Something riveting and mercurial. Something that made her irresistible and drew you in.

  He shook his head to clear his thinking, choosing to confront this another time. He said this to himself every time these questions rose, every time he heard a whisper, every time he saw the way other men looked at her. Every time he saw her smile at another man.

  John noticed the young man fidgeting. “Calm down, Strand. There’s nothing to be done right now. No one knows you’re here. You’re safe. We can have a look at those fan sites, though. I want you to show me what you were talking about.”

  Mia and Emmie came into the room, dressed in their baggy sweats. They plopped sleepily down at the table. Mia was wearing her sling.

  “No school? I thought Becky said they had things up and running,” said John.

  Mia shook her head. “Nope. When the power came back on, the heat didn’t. The school is ice cold.”

  “At least that’s what my mom says,” interjected Emmie.

  “Want some coffee, girls?” Melanie asked.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Mia shifted in her chair. “My shoulder hurts. Right up into my head.”

  “I’ll get you some Tylenol, baby,” said her mother. “You’re going to be sore for quite a while, I’m afraid.” Melanie set the pills in front of Mia. “Any sign of the boys?”

  “Yeah, snoring.”

  “Well, let them sleep.”

  Suddenly, Gabriel started as though a gun had gone off. “You’ll excuse me, please. I want to call my mother before she sees the news this morning. You don’t know what might leak out, and I really don’t want her thinking the wrong thing.”

  Melanie put her hand on his shoulder. “We understand, Gabriel. Go call your family.”

  As he stood up from the table, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him. Gabriel embraced her in return and held on an instant too long. The chief watched as the musician’s fingers spread out across his wife’s back. Mia and Emmie watched, too. Finally, Melanie drew back. Gabriel left the room without looking at anyone.

  “Jeez, Mom,” said Mia.

  “What?” Melanie smoothed her sweatshirt and took a seat at the table.

  “You’re old enough to be his mother.”

  Melanie’s eyes narrowed as she glanced at her daughter. “Not quite.”

  John said, “He’ll never go home if you keep giving him that kind of treatment.”

  Melanie smiled coquettishly at her husband. Then her face sobered. “The boy needed comforting.”

  “I think you accomplished that,” John groused into his coffee mug.

  “Who could be trying to kill Gabriel Strand?”

  “There are crazy fans out there, is what
he tells me,” answered John.

  Mia had slopped some coffee onto the marble topped table. She absentmindedly drew the drop out in long wisps along the tabletop with her spoon. “Probably that stalker,” she said, not looking up from her creative endeavor.

  “What?” John asked sharply.

  “Mia!” said Melanie. “Stop making that mess!”

  “I’ll get a paper towel,” Emmie said.

  John persisted. “Mouse, what did you just say? What stalker?”

  Mia sipped her coffee. “Well, apparently there’s some stalker that’s been giving his mother trouble.”

  “How do you know that?” John was incredulous.

  Emmie spoke up this time. “We read it, Chief. It was in one of the tabloids.”

  “Yeah,” said Mia. “I’ve got it in my room. Some mental harassment thing.”

  “I’ll get it for you, Chief,” Emmie said, jumping up from the table.

  John put down his coffee mug and buried his face in his hands. Melanie reached over and sympathetically ran her fingers through his hair.

  “What’s the matter, Dad?”

  John looked up at Mia, shook his head slowly, and sighed. “I knew when I questioned Strand that he was keeping something from me. I’ve got four cops down at the station embroiled in this case, and my teenage daughter just comes up with a crucial fact. At the breakfast table, no less!”

  “Don’t forget her friend,” Emmie added as she came back into the room. She reclaimed her seat beside Mia and put the glossy magazine down in front of him. John smiled at her as he took up the magazine.

  “Thanks, Nancy Drew.” John looked carefully at the magazine. There was a picture of Angelina Jolie on the cover. She was wearing large sunglasses and carrying one of her children. Bulleted teaser headlines were listed down the left-hand sidebar of the publication. Angelina—Pregnant Again? Lady Gaga—Who Is She? Jay-Z Wants More Children—Now. There was nothing on the outside about Ragged Rainbow or Gabriel Strand. John thumbed through the pages.

  “I think it’s toward the beginning, Dad,” instructed Mia. “It’s in a section of news highlights. I think it’s called Entertainment Legalities or Legal Entertainment or something like that. It’s just a blurb.”

  He found the headline in bold print: Ragged Rainbow Front Man Confronts Mother’s “Friend.” John read aloud, “Ragged Rainbow front man Gabriel Strand filed for an Order of Protection against Richard Seeley, a college placement counselor and former math teacher. According to sources, Strand maintains Seeley, who once dated the singer’s mother, has appeared uninvited numerous times at the family’s Beverly Hills home, troubling both his mother and younger sister. Seeley claims to be a friend of the family and has made a statement, saying Strand is ‘controlling and overreacting.’ Ragged Rainbow is on tour. Strand was unavailable for comment.” He looked up at the girls. “Anytime either of you wants a job as a cop, see me first. I think I may have to fire Cully. Now, I’m going to collect Mr. Gabriel Strand and take him back to the station for more questioning.”

  Chapter Eleven

  MELANIE HAD BEEN SITTING SILENTLY, listening to her husband read. “Can’t you just talk to him here, John?”

  The young musician had impressed her more than she cared to admit. Last night, when she had thought for a moment that the worst could have happened, well, she didn’t want to think about that now. She buried the thought as deeply as she could. She avoided John’s eyes when he answered.

  “I don’t think so,” John said as Peter slouched sleepily into the kitchen and over to the coffee pot. “Too chaotic.”

  “Are we gonna be stuck here all day again?” Peter grumbled.

  Melanie watched her son pour his coffee. He was the only one in the family who drank it black, something she always found curious. She turned her attention back to her husband and the problem at hand. “I’m sure we can get more out of Gabriel here.”

  “We?” said her husband.

  She knew she was pushing the envelope, but she persisted. “I’ll help you. He trusts me, John.”

  “Everybody with a Y-chromosome trusts you, Melanie.”

  “Wow! Dad!” Mia said, arching her eyebrows at him over her coffee mug.

  “Will you girls get out to the barn and take care of the horses?” Melanie said impatiently. Everything seemed to be grating on her nerves right now, making her uncharacteristically edgy.

  “He should have a lawyer,” John said.

  “Well, you can tape it, if he agrees to speak without a lawyer.”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Mia said sarcastically. “He seems to like Mom.”

  Melanie raised her voice. “Girls! Get out this minute.”

  “What’s going on?” grunted Peter, putting down his coffee mug.

  “Dad’s found out somebody’s trying to kill Gabriel Strand,” his sister said.

  “Who is it, Dad?” Peter asked.

  “We don’t know that yet.” John shook his head in exasperation. “Now, Melanie, this place is a circus. Look around you! Pretty soon, Michael will come down and want steak and eggs or something and will offer yet another opinion. This is a home, not a courtroom.”

  “Yeah, you should keep your work at work, Dad,” said Peter.

  “Peter! Don’t talk to your father like that!” she snapped.

  Michael came into the room, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  John threw up his hands. “That does it!” He stood so quickly that his chair tipped backward, scaring the dogs. “I’m the chief of police! Somebody give me the respect I deserve!”

  “Mom,” Michael said, “can I have breakfast?”

  “Get your own, ya big baby,” said Peter.

  John bent over and righted the chair.

  It was hopeless, Melanie thought. Maybe John was right. Still, she was loath to let Gabriel out of her sight. “Everyone, listen to me,” she said. “This is a serious situation. There was a murder last night at the inn.”

  Michael looked at his brother for explanation.

  “Somebody’s trying to kill Gabriel Strand,” Peter explained casually.

  Michael’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to respond, but John spoke first. “Since you all seem to be so interested in my work, I just thought of another place you might help me.”

  The four young people were all quiet at once, for the first time that morning.

  Michael spoke first. “Help with what, Dad?”

  “Do you know anything about fan sites or, I forgot what they call it, where people discuss celebrities online, I guess.”

  Melanie could tell he was struggling with the current lingo.

  “You mean message boards?” asked Mia.

  “Ooh, yeah,” cooed Emmie. “I read those a lot. There’s a lot of real crazies on those. Why do you want to know, Chief?”

  “Yeah, why, Dad?”

  “Strand said that they sometimes threaten him through the Internet or say untrue things. He says he gets threatening e-mails sometimes, too.”

  Peter snorted. “Those people are just shut-ins from East Bumfuck.”

  “Peter!” John barked.

  “Sorry,” he answered somewhat sarcastically. “East Overshoe.”

  Melanie ignored the whole thing, trying to draw everyone’s attention back to the problem at hand. “I think the point your father is trying to make,” she enunciated clearly. “The point he’s making is that there might be a clue or a real threat from a real killer on one of those pages. Perhaps you girls could scan the message boards. You seem to know how to navigate them.”

  Mia stared at her, then she perked up. “Emmie and I can do that, Dad!”

  “They can, Dad,” said Peter. “It’s all they do anyway.”

  Melanie knew John had had about enough from his youngest. “Peter,” he said quietly, “are you going to help with this, or can you find something to do, like bring in wood, clean the barn, help your mother with the laundry? What’s the matter with you?”

  “I want to go
to the gym!” Peter whined. “Only, Mr. Music in there wrecked our car, so I’m stuck here.”

  Melanie began to load the dishwasher. “Peter, you work out too much anyway. I don’t like it. You’ll damage your joints and stunt your growth or develop arthritis or something. Why don’t you and Michael go skiing?”

  Michael said, “I gotta get back to school pretty soon.”

  Mia had left the room during this testy discourse, but she returned now with her laptop and sat down next to her father. Emmie sat on his other side. Melanie watched as they leaned into him, as they had since they were small children. They were at such a precarious age, she thought. They still smelled like just-bathed babies to her, but she could feel another energy, too. It was the adult in them trying to get out and be noticed. One day, it would prevail. It goes so fast, she thought, caught in this little glimpse of the transition taking place before her eyes.

  “So,” Mia said. “Look at this, Dad. Here’s one. This is a message board on the Celebrity Scope site. See?”

  Melanie leaned over her husband’s shoulder, and they peered at the screen.

  Mia went on explaining, “See these icons? You can pick. You can click on Television, Movies, Talk, or Music. So, say I just saw a Ragged Rainbow concert, and I want to learn the latest news—”

  “Or lies,” injected Michael.

  Mia gave him a withering glare but continued, “What I do is click on Music.” She clicked. “And then, in the Search bar, I type ‘Gabriel Strand.’” Mia typed the musician’s name. “There,” she said, triumphantly. “Then the whole message board pops up.”

  Melanie leaned closer. It was a page of comments by different contributors with bizarre code names. There was L.A.girl90210…Lollypopkid…Phizzboy.

  Mia went on, “See, there’s pages of comments. Sometimes, they kind of meld together into a sort of conversation. Sometimes, people just post opinions.”

  “Are all these pages discussions about Strand?” asked John.