John blinked. “Is that where he’s staying now?”
“Yep.”
“Can I see it? I don’t have a warrant, but I’m not going to search it.”
“Sure, I don’t care. And it’s my house.”
They followed the old man past the chimney block and up a stairway littered with piles of old magazines and newspapers and bunches of clothing. At the top of the stairs was a hall with two doors opening off it on each side. The hall was as cluttered as the stairs, and miscellaneous extension cords ran the length of it. A bare bulb with a pull string hung in the middle of the ceiling.
John pointed to it. “Can I turn on the light?”
“Sure, go ahead. Richard’s room’s the last one on the right.”
John pulled the string and, followed by Melanie, went down the hall. He opened the door to the bedroom. The room was neat and clean. A homemade braided rug was on the floor. White, gauzy curtains hung at the window. The wallpaper was old, probably hung in the forties, but it was in good condition. Crocheted doilies were on a bureau and the arms of an overstuffed chair. There was a small bookcase in the corner. A double bed with an iron headboard was made up with a beautiful patchwork quilt. A bedside table with a lamp and a book on it completed the furnishings. There was a suitcase in the corner, flopped open. John walked over to it and looked in, but he did not touch anything. Melanie waited in the doorway.
“This is his room. Always was. We always kept it ready for him, and after my wife died, I did the same. He’s been here three nights now. Guess the skiing must be pretty good, what with the snow we just got.”
John had a sudden thought. “Mr. Seeley,” he said. “Do you own a gun?”
“Well, now, let’s see,” said the old man. “I got my deer rifle. I got a shotgun, and I got a twenty-two pistol.”
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Melanie’s eyes grow wide and her mouth move as if to speak, but she knew her protocol and remained silent. John said kindly, “Can we go back downstairs? I’d like to talk to you about why we have to speak to your grandson. Also, can you lay your hands on that pistol? I’d like to see it.”
The old man eyed him again with his beetle-like stare, but he nodded. “Go on down to the kitchen,” he said. “The gun’s in the table by my bed. I’ll get it.”
John led the way downstairs, and they sat at the table waiting for Bud.
“What about fingerprints?” Melanie whispered.
“If he suspects anything, he’s going to wipe that gun clean before he hands it to me,” John said, keeping his voice low.
“I may be old, but my hearing’s still good,” yipped the little man from behind them.
Melanie started, but John only arched his eyebrows.
Bud came around to take his seat at the table. “I’ve always been a law-abiding citizen, Chief, and I’m not stupid, neither. I figured out pretty quick when you asked about Richard that he was in some kind a trouble, though I didn’t reckon it had to do with guns. I didn’t wipe nothing ’cause there was nothing to wipe.”
John looked up at him.
“The gun’s gone, Chief.”
John said, “You didn’t misplace it?”
Bud snorted. “I ain’t touched that gun in twenty-five years. Just keep it there in case anybody comes snooping around. I live here alone, ya know.”
John felt his wife’s hand on his knee. He cleared his throat and said, “Richard Seeley is suspected of the attempted murder of one man and accidental killing of another in the process. Although we haven’t even seen him yet, circumstantial evidence points to him as a person of interest. The crime was committed with a twenty-two-caliber pistol, and I wanted to come out here and talk to you, to make sure we were on the right track. Now that we’ve found that Richard Seeley is staying with you and that your gun is missing, we have enough evidence to at least pick him up for questioning. That is, as long as we can find him.”
“You don’t know where he is?”
John shook his head.
Bud placed his gnarled hands on the table. “He was here last night, but I get up at four thirty every morning, and he was gone by the time I had my coffee.”
Melanie leaned forward and, as was her habit, took the old man’s hand. “Mr. Seeley,” she said, “are you feeling all right?”
John expected the hand to be withdrawn, the question to be rebuffed with a snort, but instead, Bud sat there, letting Melanie hold his hand. It was that Y-chromosome thing again, he thought.
Bud said, “I can’t say I like sitting here with you telling me my grandson murdered somebody.”
“Oh, Mr. Seeley—” Melanie started.
“We’re not telling you that at all, Mr. Seeley,” John said over her. “We’re saying we’d like to talk to him and that there is circumstantial evidence connecting him to the crime. We need to know because the man who was meant to be murdered may still be in danger.” The police chief stood. “I’ve got to get back to my office, Mr. Seeley. I want you to know how much I appreciate your cooperation and understanding. It’s got to be very difficult for you.”
Melanie released the old man’s hand, patted it, and stood beside John. Bud stayed seated, staring at the table top. Melanie and John exchanged worried looks, but the old man rallied. He stood up, straightening himself as much as his bent form allowed. He reached out and shook the chief’s hand.
“Like I said, I’m a law-respecting person. I’ll help you, and if it turns out Richard’s done all this, well, then, I’ll help him, too. Sounds like maybe he could use it.”
“Thanks, Mr. Seeley,” John said, going out the door, “and if Richard shows up here, just give us a call and don’t tell him we’ve been here. We need to talk to him.”
With that, the interview was over. John and Melanie slogged back through the muddy snow to their vehicle and climbed in.
“The poor old man,” Melanie said softly.
“Yeah, he’s a real Yankee, though, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is. Stoic as they come, and realistic. Sometimes it seems that people like that bear more than they have to just because of their own attitudes and constantly trying to live up to, well, pre-determined, archaic standards that no longer apply.”
“Like your parents?”
“Ha! I guess so, yes, but they’ve softened up a lot, John.”
“Not at first. I thought they were both going to kill me.”
“What? When we ran off?”
“Yeah. I’m still sure they would have rather seen you a widow than married to me.”
“They thought I was pregnant.”
“I know.”
“I think it might have been the best day of my life.”
“When you got pregnant?”
“No, oh, that was, too, but I was talking about when we got married.”
“Really? Why?”
“Well, it meant we were together forever. It did to me, anyway. Didn’t it to you?”
John smiled at her. “Yeah, I suppose it did.”
“You sound dubious. What was the best day of your life, then?”
“The night we slept together for the first time.”
Melanie blushed and looked down at her hands. “Good answer,” she said. “Why, though?”
“Because it meant we were together forever.”
“Really?”
John had slowed the Suburban to a crawl. “Yes, really. After that, I knew I couldn’t live without you.”
“I don’t like the way we’ve been lately.”
“How have we been?”
“You know,” she said. “We’ve been distant. The other night was the first time we’d had sex in about two weeks!”
“That must be a record for us.”
“It’s not funny.”
John sighed and wiped his hand over his care-worn face. “What’s going on with you and Gabriel Strand?”
Melanie stifled guilt that bubbled to the surface at his question. She answered as evenly as she could. “Are you st
ill fixated on that?”
He glanced over at her as he drove. “Yes. I am. Tell me about it.”
“I’m old enough to be his mother!”
“Melanie!” He pulled the Suburban as far to the side of the road as he could and stopped.
She gave him a long stare and then looked out the windshield.
“Mel, what’s going on? I need to hear it from you. This case is getting more and more convoluted. Who am I harboring in my own home?”
“There is nothing going on between Gabriel Strand and me.” She spoke so quietly, causing him to lean in slightly to hear her. “There could have been. Yes, I have to tell you. There could have been something going on. He…he spoke to me in the barn this morning.”
“Spoke?”
“John, he kissed me.”
“He kissed you,” John repeated. “In the barn. This morning.”
“Yes. I didn’t even know it was coming. He’s just a kid, John, and he’s frightened. I guess…I guess I was the nearest thing to hold on to.”
John blew angrily through his nose. “And how did you feel about that?”
“What do you mean?” It was impossible to hide the unnatural tone in her voice.
“I mean, how did you feel when he kissed you?”
“I was shocked, I think. I—I don’t know. I just stood there.” She hung her head and let her voice trail off.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Well, I set him straight. I told him it wasn’t possible. I told him I couldn’t reciprocate.”
“Thanks for that,” he said sarcastically.
“Don’t be cruel.”
“Cruel! You tell me you and this rock star are locked in an amorous embrace in our barn. Who’s cruel, Mel? Who’s cruel? Did you kiss him back? How do you feel about him?”
She unbuckled her seat belt and whirled in her seat to face him. “How do I feel? I felt pretty damn good! I felt like somebody valued me. I felt like it had been a long time since I’d had that kind of attention.” Panic had its cold hands around her throat, and she raged on. “If I were younger…If I were younger and single, he’d be just my type. He’s a good person, and I like him. But this made me very aware of something, John.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“It made me realize how much I love you! It made me realize there will never be another man for me. Not ever. I love you. I miss you, John! I miss you. I’m tired. The kids wring everything out of me some days. They’re just weaning themselves, and it’s hard. They demand. The paper demands. The animals demand. I’m always serving everybody. I’m so sorry. I neglect myself, and because you’re part of me, you’re neglected, too. That’s how I feel. That’s all I can say. Where have you been, John? Do you still love me? Do you still want to be with me and nobody else? How do you feel?”
He sat staring at her. Tears had begun to brim on her lower lashes. “If something came between us,” he said softly, “if we were separated by anything, I wouldn’t want to live. I love you so much, Melanie Dearborne. I have loved you all my life, since we were children. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh, John! We were really in love, weren’t we?”
They looked at each other. Bundled in their winter clothing, it was hard to move, but Melanie put out her hands to his face. They leaned toward one another over the console and kissed. It was a romantic kiss, there in the wilds of Vermont on the white ribbon of road, the new snow making it appear littered with diamonds in the afternoon sun.
“Yes,” he said, “and we’re still in love, but it’s different now, isn’t it?” His hand slid down her parka to where her breast was under the thick material. “Like now, all I want to do is go home with you, get naked, and stay in bed for two days. We can’t, though, because, as we speak, our house is inhabited by a horny rock star and three kids. Maybe more, for all I know. And two dogs and a wood stove and noise. All I want is you and a bed.”
Melanie’s guilt was retreating, jabbing at her a little less. She was feeling reassured by his protestations of devotion to her. “Those are the rewards of love,” she whispered.
“No,” he said, “this is the reward of love.” His hands went up under her parka, and he caressed her. “Do you think we’ve got time before the next snow plow comes through?”
She laughed and pushed his hands away. “No, I don’t. And how would it look for the police chief to be caught in a compromising position in the middle of the work day? In the town vehicle, no less!”
He sighed and scowled. His hands returned to the steering wheel, but the vehicle remained stationary. “We’re husband and wife. We can compromise each other anytime we want. Twenty-five years ago, we would have done it, right there. No excuse could have stopped us.”
Melanie nodded. “It is different, yes. But, John, you’re my best friend in the world, and I love you more than anything. The only reason we would have done it here twenty-five years ago is because we couldn’t go home and do it because we weren’t sleeping in the same bed yet.”
“Do you still…” he said softly. “Do you still desire me? Even with a couple extra pounds?”
Her guilt rose up and slapped her across the face. “Of course! You’re the sexiest man I know. To me, that’s all that’s important. When we’re somewhere, with bunches of people all around, you’re still the only one I want to leave with.” She spoke the truth, and it comforted her. Her attraction to Gabriel was fading in the heat of her husband’s desire for her.
Involuntarily, she moved toward him.
“Get in the back seat,” he said with a slight growl in his voice.
Her stomach leaped, and she scrambled over the console like a teenager.
He shut the vehicle off, got out of the front seat, opened the back door, and got in beside her. A click of the keys locked them in.
She watched as he took off his jacket, wadded it into a ball, and placed it against the far door. She felt his hand on her chest as he pushed her backwards. She searched his eyes. They were glassy and hard and boring into her own. He unzipped her parka and pushed her sweater up around her neck. Reaching behind her, he unclasped her bra, exposing her breasts. He squeezed them hard with both hands and bent over her, kissing her. She opened her mouth and let his tongue in. He bit at her lips and pulled away. Dropping his head to her chest, he played with her taut nipples with his teeth and tongue until she moaned and writhed. He gave a wry smile as he unzipped her jeans and slid them down over her knees. He pulled off her heavy snow boots and one leg of her jeans. Grabbing her thighs in his big hands, he forced her legs open, pushing one over the edge of the seat and hoisting the other up over the seatback. His roughness surprised her, frightening and exciting her at the same time.
Bracing herself with one foot on the floor, she surrendered completely to him, lying on the seat in her panties, trembling. He pulled the crotch of her panties to one side, lowering his head. His tongue penetrated her, and she moaned again. He straightened up, on his knees on the seat, and recklessly pulled off the offending panties. She moved her leg back on the seat, but he pushed it off again, cupping her mons in his hand. He squeezed her hard and then shoved two fingers into her up to their hilt. She cried out, and then his other hand was over her mouth. Her eyes closed in rapt pleasure as his fingers moved in her, working her to a fever. Her face flushed, and she nearly lost her breath.
He removed his hand and held his finger up to his lips. “Not a sound,” he whispered. “Open your legs.”
She obeyed.
“Wider,” he said.
She opened them as wide as the space permitted. He spread the folds of her vulva until her clitoris, hard and throbbing, was exposed to him. He flicked at it with his fingers, pulled at it, squeezed it. Melanie trembled uncontrollably and arched her back. She opened her mouth. Instantly, his hand was covering it again.
“No sound,” he said again.
She shuddered, crazy for her orgasm. Suddenly, he pulled back. The car was beginning to cool off, and her skin prickled
with the cold, adding to the intensity of her sensations. Desperately, she reached for him, but he laughed harshly and pushed her arms back.
“Don’t move,” he said.
He was dominating her, she realized. This was about him. And yet, she was being driven to distraction by it. He reached under her with both hands and spread her buttocks, running his little finger over her anus, poking at it, rimming it, pushing at it until he pushed in up to his first knuckle. Now she cried out as delicious, sharp waves of lust washed over her. He laughed, pushing in farther, moving in and out of her, flicking at her engorged clitoris at the same time.
John straightened up again, pulling back from her. He tore off his shirt and unzipped his pants. His holster dropped to the floor of the car. He was erect and hard. He knelt over her for a second, one hand on the shaft of his penis, one hand on her belly. Then he buried himself in her wetness and began his thrusts. It was all she needed. Her orgasm flooded her senses almost before he entered her, and the muscles of her vagina squeezed him into her until she felt him give himself over to his passion and explode within her. He collapsed on her, and they lay, breathing in unison and waiting for their heartbeats to slow.
Finally he stirred and, partially raising himself, kissed her on the mouth. “Nobody could get me going like that except you,” he whispered.
She gave a little laugh. “That was, um, a little different. Amazing.”
“I love you,” he said.
“And I love you,” she answered, satiated.
They dressed. Melanie climbed back over the console, taking her seat demurely. She watched John as he stood outside, strapping on his holster, straightening his jacket, and pulling on his leather gloves. A thrill went through her again, and she sighed.
John got in and started the car. “We got away with that one!”
“We did,” Melanie laughed. “I feel like a guilty kid!”
“Speaking of guilty kids, we’ve got a house full of them. We’d better get back.”
“Our kids aren’t guilty.”
“They must be, of something. And Strand is definitely guilty—of trying to seduce my wife.”
Keeping the Peace Page 16