by Mary Logue
“What night?” Mrs. Stickler sank into a chair opposite Claire.
“Friday night.”
“Oh, we were all here. Watching some TV. Clarence and I try to make it to the news. Doesn’t always happen, but then we went to bed.”
“Andrew too?”
“Well, I suppose. He stayed on in the living room. Lets us use the bathroom first, you know. I thought I heard him come upstairs. Hard to be sure. Some nights I just go out like a light. But where would he go?”
“Does he ever just go out for a drink?”
“Not much. Most of his old friends aren’t around anymore. Plus, he doesn’t like to drink if he’s gotta work the next day. He’s real conscientious that way.”
“You know Tammy Lee Johansen, Mrs. Stickler?”
“Sure I know her. Since she was a little girl. Andrew and she were real close for a while, but it was hard when he went off. I think they stayed in touch. I’m not quite sure what happened there.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but Tammy died on Friday night.”
“Oh no.” Mrs. Stickler brought her hands up to her mouth. “Car accident? She drinks a lot, I know.”
“No, unfortunately someone hit her and killed her.”
Mrs. Stickler stood up as if she’d been shot. “Not Andrew,” she said in a wail. “Never would he do that.”
“I’m not saying he did. I’m just checking on things. According to Tammy Lee’s sister, they’d seen each other.”
“Yes, that’s right. I think Andrew ran into her at a bar, and Tammy did call here once or twice recently, asking for Andrew. I didn’t think too much of it. I heard she’s engaged to be married to some railroad guy.”
“Do you know if Andrew and she got together?”
“Not that I know of—but I don’t keep track of Andrew’s goings-on. It’s not easy on him, living back at home at his age, but he’s saving up to buy a house. I told him he can come and go as he pleases, just to be quiet if it’s too late.”
Just then Mr. Stickler walked in, a solid man wearing a barn coat and a John Deere hat. “Andrew here?”
Claire stood up and shook his hand. “No, I’m Claire Watkins.” Then she made herself say it: “Acting sheriff.”
“That so?” He took off his hat and she saw the white line across his forehead: farmer’s tan. “What can we do for you?”
“She was just asking about Andrew. That poor Tammy Lee was killed,” Mrs. Stickler broke in. “I told her Andrew was home with us on Friday night.”
Mr. Stickler nodded slowly. “That’s right. We all went to bed after the news. Same as usual.”
“He couldn’t have gone out again?” Claire asked.
“Might have, but I doubt it. I don’t sleep that sound anymore. But some nights he don’t sleep so well either. He gets up and goes for a walk. It’s been hard on him, being back here, readjusting.”
“Has he seen Tammy Lee, as far as you know?”
“Don’t really know. But if he did, it was just for old times’ sake. He had just starting going out with some new girl—seemed to be quite interested in her. Guess she’s smart as a whip. Didn’t say who she was.”
Claire felt a jolt as she realized who they were talking about. She thanked them and walked toward the door.
Mrs. Stickler said, “Sorry to hear about Tammy Lee. She wasn’t a bad girl—just had a lot of gumption. She would have settled down, I’m sure.”
Meg sat on the edge of her bed with the phone in her hand. She was going to call Andrew and tell him she wanted to see him tonight. Even though she knew they shouldn’t meet.
She put the phone down and wiped tears away. It felt like someone else was being taken away from her before she even had a chance to know him. Like her dad. She picked up the last picture she had of her father before he was killed.
In it, Dad and she stood happily together, just back from trick or treating. She had been a ballerina. Looking back, she saw that it had been a ridiculous choice, but she had been going through a pink phase, a girly phase. Her mom had been too busy to come up with much of a costume, so her dad had run out at the last minute, when all the costumes were gone, and bought three pink slips that she wore one on top of the other. He had made her a tiara out of tin foil. She’d thought she looked beautiful.
Her mom had come through in the hairdo and make-up department, pulling her dark hair back in a tight bun that gave her a headache and putting on pink lipstick.
In the picture her tall dad was holding her hand: a bedraggled ballerina, slips drooping, a puffy purple jacket over her outfit, and a crown that sat sideways on her head.
But she looked so happy.
She had a full bag of candy and for the last few houses her dad had let her run up all by herself, as if she was old enough to be on her own, and ring the doorbell and yell, “Trick or treat!”
Her dad had pretended he could hardly carry her bag of candy, it was so full.
After he had died, Meg let the bag of candy sit in its hiding place under her bed until, months later, her mom made her throw all the dried-up, rotten candy away.
Meg put the picture back on her bedside table, then picked up the phone and dialed Andrew’s cell number. He answered after three rings. “Stickler.”
“Watkins. I guess I should say Meg.” Hearing his voice, she knew how much she wanted to see him again.
“Hey.” His voice lit up. “We still on for tonight?”
“Just to talk.” Meg said. “I’d like to meet you tonight—just to say goodbye for a while.”
There was a long silence, then he said in a low voice, “Whatever.”
“Where’s Meg?” Claire asked when just she and Rich sat down for dinner.
“She went out about an hour ago. Didn’t say where she was going, but said she wouldn’t be home for dinner,” he said as he put a platter of pork chops on the table. Steaming mashed potatoes and a bowl of corn the color of butter sat next to it.
“I asked Andrew Stickler not to see her for a while.”
“That’s fine,” Rich said as he took a pork chop.
“Is it?” She lifted her head up and searched his face. He always felt more levelheaded than she did. He didn’t seem to worry quite as much.
“Yes, he’s under your command, he’s involved somewhat in this case, you’re just taking prudent precautions.”
That made Claire smile. “I like that phrase: ‘prudent precautions.’ That does describe it, but I feel like I’m not trusting my daughter to make her own decisions.”
“You get to be wrong once in a while, Claire.”
“So you think it’s wrong?”
“No, I just don’t think you need to worry about it so much. Your daughter is near perfect. You’ve done a great job raising her. She’ll figure it out, even if it means breaking the rules sometimes.”
“I know you’re right. I know it. But this case has got me all jittery.”
“Eat your supper. That will make you feel better.”
“Nothing like a pork chop to calm a person down,” she said as she grabbed a chop and piled mashed potatoes and corn on her plate.
They ate in silence. But Claire couldn’t stop thinking about the case. It was digging into her in a horridly uncomfortable way. Was she getting tired? Was it the way the murder had been done—the burned bones? Was it her age?
Or was it that she was now the sheriff—whatever that meant—and she was more in charge than ever, completely responsible?
She hated that one of her own men was somewhat involved with this murder—if she was honest, even in spite of Andrew’s alibi that mainly checked out—he was still a suspect.
Then there was Meg.
That was it—her daughter was at the center of it all.
Claire would do anything not to have her hurt.
Rich reached over and touched her hand. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”
“Oh, you know the usual. Why would anyone kill Tammy Lee Johansen? Why do we kill each
other?”
Rich rubbed her hand, but he gave her no answer.
CHAPTER 13
Meg had walked down to the wayside rest from Rich’s house. It wasn’t that far, maybe about a mile; however, it was colder out than she’d thought, and she wished she had worn gloves. She stood by the edge of the parking lot and rubbed her hands, waiting to see the Jeep’s lights turn off the road.
Then, just to look like she wasn’t waiting so hard, she turned herself around and stared at the lake. The color of the water was turning. As the weather got colder, it appeared to Meg that the lake turned sluggish gray as it thickened toward ice. Odd to think that she would be gone from this place soon. To live someplace in the city, without the huge presence of the river to always be beside her. From her bedroom window she could look out and see the lake.
Hearing tires on gravel, she spun around and saw Andrew’s Jeep pull into the lot. He drove right up to her and stopped a few feet away. Almost in a single motion, he turned off the car and jumped out.
“You look cold,” he said. “You want to get into the car?”
As much as Meg wanted to be in the warmth, she knew that being that close to him in an enclosed space would not be a good idea right now. She needed the answers to some questions before she would be comfortable with him. “No, I’m fine. Who knows how much longer it will be this warm.”
“So we’re talking about the weather now?” he asked as he walked up to her and put his hands on her shoulders.
Tears came to her eyes. She wiped at them.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” he said. “This isn’t going to last long.”
“No, it’s not this.” She waved her arm. “I’ve been thinking about my dad.”
“You mean your real dad?” he asked. She had told him that her father had been killed in the Twin Cities when she was young.
“Yeah, you know they always say it’s the death that’s so hard. I know for me, because it was so dramatic, getting run down by a car, that’s often what everyone else has reacted to. But it wasn’t the awfulness of his death that has haunted me. It’s the hole, the missing, the gone forever part of it. Do you know what I mean?”
He nodded, and then as if sensing she needed a word, said, “Completely.”
“That goneness never ends. Birthdays, Christmas, and he’s not there.”
“I’m sorry, Meg.”
“Well, I don’t want you to go away, just when I met you.”
“I won’t.”
She tucked her head and lowered her voice. “I wish you could have met him, that he could have met you.”
“But isn’t Rich like your dad now?” he asked.
Meg lifted her head quickly. “Absolutely. And he’s the best. Don’t get me wrong. But I come from my dad. Mom says I have his weird sense of humor, even his laugh.”
She was forced to look into his eyes. They were smiling at her.
“That’s where you get that deep laugh.” Then he touched her face and said, “It’s going to be fine. We’ll figure out what happened to Tammy Lee, and then we’ll be able to see each other again.”
“My mom talked to you.”
“Yup, the sheriff herself.”
“I heard you went out with her—that girl that got killed.”
He nodded. “I did. When I was a kid. Before I joined the service. Feels like another century. Weren’t a lot of choices around this area. Besides, I had no idea you even existed.”
“Well, no, because when you were twenty, I was twelve.”
“Bet you were cute then.”
“Rather awkward. Braces, wild hair, pimples. No, twelve wasn’t one of my better ages.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on the nose. “Cute.”
While she wanted to lean into him, feel the comfort of his jacket, his arms, she stepped back slightly and asked, “Have you seen her since you’ve been back from Afghanistan?”
“Hey, I don’t mind getting the third degree from your mom. It’s her job. But what’s with you?”
“I can’t help it. I want to know what’s going on.”
“I did see her a time or two, but just because we ran into each other. It was okay. You know she was engaged to be married. She wanted to get together, but I told her I was busy. Didn’t have any need to see her.”
“Who broke it off between you?”
He looked down at the ground. “I did. I’m not proud of it, but I had to. I just felt so far away from everything when I was in Afghanistan. I couldn’t handle even thinking about home. So I wrote her an e-mail. I know it’s the coward’s way, but I didn’t get the feeling it broke her heart. She agreed immediately. I think she was tired of waiting for me. Tammy liked to have a good time in all ways.”
“Okay, too much information.”
“Look, Meg. She was my first girlfriend. We had fun together. But that’s all. I’m not saying that what you and I have is more. Who knows. We just met. But already I feel like we have more in common than Tammy and I ever did.”
“Oh,” Meg said. His words were making her feel better, but she wanted to get even warmer. “Maybe we could get into the car. It is rather cold out here.”
When the phone rang, Claire was just brushing her teeth. She spit out the toothpaste and ran for the phone, as Rich was already asleep in bed. Meg hadn’t come home yet. She was probably calling to tell them where she was. Not that Claire was worried.
“Hello?” she said.
“Yeah, is this the deputy?” a gruff man’s voice asked.
“Yes, this is Claire Watkins.” She didn’t recognize the voice and didn’t feel like explaining that she was actually the sheriff for the time being.
“Yeah, well, I heard you called. I camp down to the park nearly every weekend. My name’s Gib Swenson. Live up Double S a ways.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Well, I just heard about the bones that were found in the fire. You know, the big boat. That was something, that fire. We had a ringside seat, the wife and me, right by our RV.”
“Do you know something about the bones?” Claire asked.
“Not for sure, but we set up our RV the night before the big burn. We came down after work, so it was getting kinda late. I’d say it was after nine o’clock. Anyway, we got it all set and we were getting ready for bed. I had a snack, some cereal, I often do that. Sitting in the front part of the RV at the window, just looking out at the lake, thinking, you know.”
Claire sighed. He was taking his time, but she didn’t want to rush him. She listened carefully.
“Then I thought I saw a movement over by the boat. Didn’t think too much of it, because they’d been working on that thing pretty much night and day for the last couple weeks. But still, it seemed kinda strange because I could see someone moving, but I couldn’t see no lights on.”
“How could you see anything?”
“Well, there’s the lights in the park, they let me see a little, although they’re not very close to the boat. The moon was out, too—not full, but gave off some light. And this was the other thing—it looked like he was carrying something. Again, I didn’t think much of it, because they were always putting more stuff on the boat to make sure it would burn. But the way he was carrying it, slung over his back, seemed odd.”
“Now, you’re saying ‘he.’ Do you think it was a man?”
“Now that you mention it, I guess I just assumed it was a man. Kind of a big guy, had to be strong to be carrying that load. The way he moved. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was a man.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, he disappeared. Couldn’t see him anymore. I washed out my dish—the wife doesn’t like me to leave it dirty in the sink—and went back to the window. The man stepped away from the boat and he wasn’t carrying anything anymore. Then he walked out to the road right there and got into a vehicle and drove away.”
“What kind of vehicle?”
“Some kind of car, couldn’t see it that good, muffler going a bit. Do you think
that was the guy who done it? Who killed that girl?”
“Could be. What time did you say this was?”
“Well, I figure it was close to eleven. I watched the news and got ready for bed before I ate the cereal. Yeah, pretty close to eleven.”
“Could you come down to the department tomorrow so we could get a statement from you, Mr. Swenson? Anything you can remember would be a help.”
“Sure. I’ve got chores in the morning, but I could come in after that.” He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he asked, “Do you think if I would have gone out there I could have saved her?”
“Probably not. Plus you could have gotten hurt yourself.”
“If I would have known … .” He trailed off.
“You’ve helped us with this information. Thanks for calling.”
“When I heard about the bones, I wondered. Terrible thing.”
Doug lay on his back in the twin bed in his grandmother’s spare room, and tried not to go to sleep. His nightmares were getting worse. Always he was back in Afghanistan, in those craggy hills, climbing through the rocks and bushes, trying to stay alive, trying to get away from whatever was following him.
He couldn’t stand the dreams anymore. He had to stop them. And he knew what he had to do.
He was all ready. Tomorrow or the next day he would carry out his mission. Call Andrew and set it up. Time to get this baby off his back. He almost didn’t care what would happen to him afterward. He had taken a vow, and he would stick to it.
Closing his eyes, he tried to stay alert. He could feel them all around him, creeping up. There was no way he could get out of the hole he was in.
He jerked his eyes open. The light shining down the hallway was like a star in the sky, showing him he was in his grandmother’s house. He could hear her gentle snore in the next room.
He reached down and felt the stock of the gun that was lying beside the bed. The cold metal reassured him. He had what he needed.
He closed his eyes again. This time he was walking forward, not skulking in the weeds. He was taking action. He was carrying out his last duty. It would be enough.