Keeping the Peace

by Linda Cunningham

  “We got what we wanted,” Peter said sullenly.

  “Yes, you did, Peter. The police department couldn’t have done a better job. We didn’t know what was going on, and you three got your mother out of harm’s way. That’s what’s important.”

  When he dropped them all off at the house, he hugged each of them. He held his wife for a long time, then finally kissed her and let her go. “Go take a hot bath. I’m not sure when I’ll be home. I’ll have to go to the hospital and then try to catch up with Gabriel. I suspect he’ll be calling you. If you hear from him, let me know.” He kissed her again and watched her until she was inside the house.

  At the hospital, John learned from the attending physician in the ER that Richard Seeley was, indeed, dead. He had a wound on his right hand from the explosion of the old revolver, but that had not been life threatening. He had drowned, probably already unconscious from where his head had struck the windshield on impact. John sighed. It was terrible to think of people being so desperate, so unable to communicate their distress, so unable to help themselves. Worse, he was saddened to think that he would have to tell old Bud Seeley, all alone up there on the hill. He could give the nasty job to Steve or one of the state police, but it wouldn’t be right. Because he was chief, and more importantly in a small town, because of the connection with Melanie, as remote as it might be, the job was his, as distasteful as it might be.

  “Thank you,” John said, shaking the doctor’s hand on his way out.

  “Don’t mention it,” said the doctor automatically. Then he added, “Things have been pretty busy, Chief. I hope they settle down for you now. Are you feeling okay yourself?”

  “I hope they settle down, too,” John said, smiling wryly, and he walked out the door into the frigid night. He started the Suburban and headed for the inn. It was ten o’clock, but for some odd reason, he didn’t feel tired, even though he couldn’t remember when he had really last slept. He took a back street and drove past the police station. There was a light still on. He stopped and went in to see who was still there or, as he had to do quite frequently, to shut off the lights the last person to leave had left on.

  Steve Bruno and Jason Patterson were pulling on their coats as he opened the door.

  “Hey, Chief,” Jason said. “We thought you were still at the hospital. Becky just left. Me and Steve were locking up.”

  “Thanks, but you should both be home. State dispatcher will keep an eye on things. Did Cully go home?”

  “He went with Caleb to help him with the fire engine. I guess he’ll go home after that. Or sleep at the fire station.”

  “Who’s on tomorrow?”

  “I think I am,” Jason said.

  “Why don’t you call in a couple of the auxiliary guys for the weekend. And you both stay home,” said John. “I don’t anticipate any uproar this weekend.”

  “We didn’t anticipate the last three days, either,” Steve said, cramming his hat on.

  “You’re right, there. I guess I should keep my mouth shut. Call the auxiliary anyway and go home. I’m going to the inn to speak to Strand, and then I’ve got to go up into the hills and tell old Bud Seeley his grandson is dead.”

  “That’s rough,” Jason said.

  John nodded, said good night, and took his leave.

  The door to the inn was open. There was a dim light at the front desk, but no one was around. John could hear noises from the kitchen, so he went in. The chef and the kitchen crew were cleaning up after the dinner crowd. Bill Noyes was going over receipts at a little desk in the corner.

  “Hey, John,” he addressed the chief. “What now?”

  “I think everything’s pretty much blown itself out,” John said. “I need to talk to Strand.”

  “Not here,” said Noyes.

  “Really? Do you know where he went?” John would have put money on finding him at his own house, talking to Melanie.

  “A limo came after him a while ago. Here, come with me. He left some stuff for you.”

  John followed the innkeeper out to the front desk. Noyes went around back and shuffled through a pile of papers. He surfaced with a large manila envelope. “This is for you. He told me to make sure you got it before tomorrow.”

  John took the envelope. “Anything else?”

  “He told me to tell you he had to leave tonight. He couldn’t be away from the band any longer, what with the concert coming up tomorrow night. He said to say thanks to you and Melanie. He’s staying at the Hanover Inn if you need to talk to him.”

  “Hmm,” John muttered. “Well, thanks, Bill. Good night.”

  “Good night, John,” said the innkeeper cordially.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  JOHN HEADED OUT OF TOWN TOWARD HOME. He tossed the envelope on the seat beside him. He would look at it from within the comfort of his own kitchen. As he approached his house and swung the Suburban into the driveway, he could see all the lights on. Debbie Cohen’s car was there, as well as his in-laws’ pickup. The third vehicle he recognized as Tim Cully’s truck. He sighed, but he was grateful to have his family intact and healthy after the threat they faced.

  “John.” Surprisingly, it was his motherin-law who approached him first. She put her arms around him in a light embrace and brushed her cool cheek against his. “I’m glad you’re safe,” she said, releasing him.

  John was amused. Catherine Dearborne had touched him only once before in all the time they had known each other. Immediately following Michael’s birth, as she gazed at her first grandchild, she had laid her hand on his arm and told him his son was beautiful. Well, he thought, every twenty years was better than not at all. “Thanks,” he said.

  Automatically, he put out his left arm, and just as he unconsciously expected, Melanie was there beside him, her arm around his waist. “Nobody’s tired,” she said in an effort to explain the houseful of family and friends.

  He squeezed her as he said to Cully, who was standing on the other side of the room with Mia, Emmie, Peter, and Michael, “Cully, you should go home. You need to rest now.”

  “Just following up, Chief,” the young man said, flashing a brilliant smile.

  Tom Dearborne, taciturn as usual, said from his chair at the kitchen table, “Glad you’re back safe, John.”

  “John. John!” Juxtaposed to his father-in-law, Debbie enthusiastically threw her arms around him. “I am so very, very glad to see you! Oh, we were all beside ourselves, what with a murder and a blizzard and a rock star!” Conversation was never hard for Debbie.

  “It is pretty unbelievable,” he conceded. “Everybody all fine here?”

  “Everyone is fine,” his wife said. “Come sit down at the table and have some tea. We’ve all got to unwind. Where is Gabriel?”

  John took his chair and leaned on the table. “I thought he’d be at the inn, but when I went there, Bill told me a limo had picked him up and taken him up to Hanover. Personally, I was irked. I thought he’d come here. I still have to ask him some questions in order to put this whole fiasco to bed.”

  “He had to get to his band,” Melanie said. Debbie set a steaming cup of tea in front of both of them. “That’s what we were talking about when Seeley burst in on us. He said they always did a new song at every concert, and this concert’s song wasn’t finished yet.”

  “Ah, the poor guy’s got problems, then,” John said sarcastically, making Tom’s lips curve almost into a smile.

  John sipped his tea. Debbie hovered around the back of his chair, ready to help her friends should they wish the slightest thing. It was her nature.

  John said to Melanie, “I have to go tell Bud Seeley about his grandson. Will you go with me?”

  “Oh, my, how awful,” Debbie said with a sigh.

  “Of course I’ll go,” said Melanie. “We should go tonight, shouldn’t we?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I’m ready when you are,” she said.

  “Let’s see what the famous Gabriel Strand has left for us, first
.” He put the manila envelope on the table and opened it. Inside was a letter and a pile of badges on lanyards.

  “What is it, Dad?” Mia asked, sidling up close to her father. “What does it say? Read it.”

  “Shhh,” John said. Then he began to read. “Dear Chief Giamo. It sounds weak, but thank you for saving my life. Please understand that I didn’t try to avoid you after this evening’s incident. I just had to get back to my band. It’s been a week since I’ve seen them, and we have a song to complete before tomorrow night’s concert. I would like to invite you and your officers, as well as your whole family and any friends you might want to bring along to the concert. I’m enclosing backstage passes—” Here, John was interrupted by shrieks and screams of delight. Mia and Emmie were hugging each other and jumping up and down. He raised his voice and continued. “Backstage passes for everyone. Just tell them who you are. I hope I can get to see you after the show. Again, thanks for everything you did for me. I know you saved my life. It’s hard for me to think about, but as they say, the show must go on. Tell Melanie I thank her for everything, too. Gratefully, Gabe.”

  “This is totally, totally awesome!” Mia said. “Backstage with Ragged Rainbow!”

  “Hmm,” said her father. “I guess we’ll have to go, then.”

  Melanie looked at her husband. “We should go get this over with before it gets much later.”

  Debbie said, “I’m going to stay here. Jim is at the hospital all night tonight anyway, and Emmie isn’t going to leave under these circumstances, so I’m not going home alone. I’ll clean up and get everyone settled. You go do your job.” She put both arms around the two of them as they sat at the table and hugged them. Debbie’s reaction to almost any action was a hug, but because it came from her most honest of hearts, it was always appreciated.

  Telling Bud that his grandson was dead was the hardest thing to do, but it went as well as they could have expected. When they had approached the man’s home, he met them at the door in his longjohns, with the pack of dogs barking and whining around his old, bent legs. He knew why they had come, and they sat with him for over an hour at the table, sipping on the syrupy coffee. He told them stories about his grandson before he had been taken away. He asked some questions involving the murder, the hostage incident, and the drowning. John answered them directly. A man like Bud Seeley demanded directness. He finally allowed Melanie to call his daughter so that he would have some family support. To Melanie’s relief, the woman sounded reasonable, promising to come down in the morning.

  At the end of their visit, Bud walked them to the door. “Come back in the spring,” he said to Melanie. “I got some of them Mille Fleurs your uncle liked. I’ll give ya a hen and chicks.”

  Melanie smiled though unshed tears and thanked him profusely.

  Afterward, driving home, John and Melanie were silent, turning the whole dark episode over in their minds. John was the first one to speak as they came to the stop sign where the dirt road joined the main route. There were no cars coming, but he stayed stopped. The sky was beginning to lighten. He sighed. “You okay?”

  Melanie shrugged. “Yeah. Sad, though, isn’t it? I feel so badly for the old man. To have had that child and raised him until he was eight years old and lose him, and then lose him again.” She shuddered. “I just don’t like to think about it.”

  “You didn’t get hurt getting pulled through the ceiling or anything?”

  “Oh, no. John, you should have seen our children. They were a team. They’re almost grown.” He looked over at her. He could see tears in her eyes. “They rescued me.” Now she began to really cry, softly, but her shoulders convulsed with the sobs she tried to repress.

  John reached over and took his wife in his arms. They sat like that, watching the sky go from velvety purple to pale lavender with the first light of day. He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go home and get some sleep.”

  She nodded and slid back into her seat. They turned south onto the main road.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  IT WAS SATURDAY NIGHT, and the Giamo entourage was backstage at the Ragged Rainbow concert in the hockey rink in Hanover, New Hampshire. Present were the Giamo family; the Cohen family, this time including the oft absent Dr. Jim Cohen; Steve Bruno and his wife; Jason Patterson; and Tim Cully. Becky Dearborne and her family had politely declined, their musical tastes seemingly incompatible with this genre.

  The concert was set to start at nine, and they’d been there since seven. John had spent much of the first hour exchanging conversation with Hanover’s police chief and some of the officers on duty. Then he turned his attention to the increased activity around him. The crew was setting up the stage. John had to admit it was fascinating to watch. It was a whole segment of society he had previously known nothing about. He watched them work on their instruments. He heard the backup singers complaining about the clothes they were supposed to wear. A skinny little man was darting back and forth shouting orders at everyone he met. John noticed his children were enthralled.

  Gabriel approached them. He wore skintight jeans and a black T-shirt and had his guitar slung over his shoulders. He was ready to play.

  “I’m glad you came.” He smiled broadly and extended his hand to everyone. He hugged Melanie and Debbie. John watched the young man. Strand was in his element. This was his world. Melanie blushed as she returned his embrace, and John wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against him.

  “This is so great, Gabe,” Mia said, reaching out with both hands to the musician. “Thank you so much for this. Thank you.” She was really being nice, thought John. She had dropped her edge. He was happy to see her transcend the teenage girl defense and give in to honest enjoyment. She even took Cully’s hand and dragged him out from behind her where he stood. “Do you know Tim Cully?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Gabriel said. “We’ve met. Good to see you here, Tim.” No one who knew him called Cully “Tim,” except perhaps his mother. It made John smile.

  “Good to see you, Gabe,” Cully said. “I’m glad everything worked out.”

  The musician’s face changed then. He held the young officer’s hand in mid-shake. Perhaps he had developed a healthier respect for cops, thought John. He nodded his head vigorously. “Me, too. I’m glad too. Thank you, thank you.” There was a slightly awkward pause, and Gabriel said, “I’ve got to get going. We’re on in two minutes. Enjoy yourselves, everyone.”

  The crowd was chanting. The musicians were taking their places.

  “This is it,” Gabriel said as he prepared to walk on stage.

  “Break a leg,” Melanie said.

  Gabriel looked at her. Impulsively, he smiled, leaned over, and kissed her on the mouth. Then he walked out on stage, and the crowd noise surged.

  “That took balls,” Michael said, looking at his father.

  “What the hell!” Peter said indignantly. “Mom!”

  “Don’t worry, guys,” said their father, who was surprisingly jovial. “I can afford it.”

  “Stop talking, you guys!” Mia hissed. “They’re on.”

  The show was fantastic. The music was good; the band was truly talented. Gabriel was full of energy, obviously revved by the crowd’s adoration.

  Melanie stood on tiptoe and whispered in her husband’s ear. “I can smell the testosterone.”

  He laughed and whispered back, “Think the Cohens will have sex tonight?”

  She winked at him. “I don’t care about the Cohens, as long as we do. More of that crazy make-up sex.”

  John coughed.

  “Are you blushing?” Melanie whispered, laughing.

  He squeezed her hand in his.

  There was an intermission as the set on stage was changed. The musicians tweaked their instruments, and the backup singers shed their costumes and appeared in Tshirts and jeans.

  “They always play the real music in the second half of the show,” Mia said.

  “How would you know? You’ve never been to one of
their shows,” retorted Peter.

  “Shut up for once, Peter!” Mia hissed back as Gabriel stepped up to the mike.

  The crowd immediately hushed, on edge.

  “This is where we always introduce our new song,” Gabriel said. “Well, this song is special. For a special lady. I fell in love this week. I fell in love with a real lady, but it’s not to be. She’s married, and she loves her husband. Too bad for me, but she inspired me to write this song. Here it is. This song is dedicated to you, Melanie. I hope you like it.”

  Backstage, Melanie looked uncomfortable. The Cohens were staring at her. Her children were staring at her. Her husband stood behind her, his big arms wrapped around her. “He’s overreacting,” she muttered to her friends.

  “I think it’s wonderful!” Mia said. “Mom, Ragged Rainbow is doing a song about you. That’s huge. Listen.”

  It was the wee hours of the morning. John and Melanie Giamo were climbing into bed.

  “Well, what a surprise that was!” she said.

  “You inspired him,” John replied, crawling under the covers of the bed, naked. He loved to be in bed first so that he could watch her undress. He never tired of it. He thought she was the most beautiful woman he knew.

  She unhooked her bra and let it slip to the floor. She didn’t put on a nightgown, but slipped in beside him, naked too.

  “Does this mean that we share in the royalties?” he asked.

  “Ha,” she laughed. “I doubt it.”

  “Well, he named the song after you. He said you were the inspiration.”

  “Who knew?” she quipped.

  “You did,” John said. “You knew very well, but I don’t care. You’re in bed with me.”

  “And that’s right where I’ll always want to be,” she said, and then she switched off the light.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to my Omnific Team—Elizabeth Harper, Coreen, Lisa, CJ, and Kim. Once again, many thanks to Cindy Campbell who did a wonderful job of unjumbling the complicated parts of this story and smoothing out the wrinkles along the way. Thank you to Traci Olsen for holding my hand when needed and coming up with some creative marketing. Thank you, also, to my children for providing me with constant inspiration, and a special salute to Rick Cloud, chief of police in my small town.