by J. C. Kenney
“I would have sworn this door was locked when I left.” He gave the exterior doorknob a close examination as he dug a set of keys out of his pocket.
We were nearing the moment of truth. If I’d damaged the locking pins, Roger’s key wouldn’t work. If it worked, but in an abnormal fashion, it would raise suspicion. While he was busy with the door, I slipped the pick inside my jeans in case he asked me to empty my pockets.
I held my breath as he inserted the key in the lock. It went in effortlessly, like an ice skater across a pristine, frozen lake. He turned the key, and the bolt came right out. No muss, no fuss. He tried it three more times before throwing up his hands.
“Fine, you win. Somebody must have left it unlocked when they went out for a smoke break or something.” He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “I’ve got another question for you. How did you know to pay my office a visit the night it just happened to be unlocked?”
“Luck? Fate? I don’t have an explanation.” Again, I needed to keep my story simple. “All I can tell you is that after mulling over my conversation with Lori, I had to do something. I know it was a rash decision, and, for that, I apologize.”
He let out a little hmpf and closed the door. With a dramatic flourish, he switched the thumb turn into the locked position. So much for me waltzing out the back door.
“Think about it, Roger. What are the odds that the one night I decide to try to get a look at that file turns out to be the night someone forgot to lock that door? And then you show up in time for me to explain the situation. Now you get to tell the police about the check, and I can turn my attention to the remaining suspects. All in the name of finding justice for Brittany.”
“You talk a good game. I’ll give you that.” He chuckled as he brushed some dirt from his boot. “Care to tell me who these remaining suspects are?”
“I’d rather not.”
“I see.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’d be willing to tell the police.” He took out his cell. “The choice is yours, of course.”
Touché. He’d lost every advantage he had on me, and I sensed he wasn’t interested in losing this latest one. There were times when discretion was the better part of valor. This was one of those times.
“You might want to sit down for this.” I headed for his office and tried to ignore the image in my mind of an angry and dangerous Roger looming over me as he followed, mere steps behind.
Once we were seated, I told him about my list of suspects—Tommy, Lori, Willie, and the gamblers. I put most of my emphasis on the gamblers. While I had no evidence that Georgie’s gambling problem had led to his death, it was easier to accuse nameless criminals of murder than a local business owner, a police officer, and the mayor’s daughter.
Plus, the missing check fit into a narrative involving gambling debts as easily as Roger slid his key into the lock I’d picked.
When I was finished, he let out a low whistle. “And you figured all this stuff out by yourself?”
“Being accused of murder is a powerful motivation tool.”
“Can’t argue with that. I think I need a drink.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a half-full bottle of brown liquor and two shot glasses. “Care to join me?”
“Thank you.” I was a wine girl who occasionally didn’t mind a beer. Given my tiny size, hard liquor scared me. Then again, something told me turning down the offer would be a perilous move. Besides, after breaking and entering, how frightening could one drink be?
He filled both glasses to the rim and handed me one. The alcohol had a potent smell that made me wrinkle my nose. I raised my glass to him and sook a sip.
And almost choked on the bitter liquid.
Meanwhile, Roger knocked his back in one swallow and refilled his glass. He kept his gaze on me as I blinked away the burning sensation in my throat. The way he was looking at me had to be some kind of test, so I straightened my spine and downed the rest of the liquor in one eye-watering, breath-robbing swallow.
“You’ve got guts, Cobb.” Roger slapped the desktop with his palm and threw back his second drink. “I admire that. Too many people around here are sheep, content to stay inside the fence because they’re afraid of standing out from the crowd.”
“My parents taught me that if I believed in something, I needed to give a hundred and ten percent to it. Even if it meant ruffling a few feathers here and there.”
He was quiet for a moment, staring at his empty shot glass as he ran his index finger around the rim. At last he let out a long breath. “Do you really think Lori killed him?”
If I was in the middle of a minefield before, now I’d been blindfolded. Well, simple answers and the truth, or at least something coming close to it, had gotten me this far unscathed. “Do I think she did it? I don’t know. Do I think she could have done it? It’s possible. What I do know is the police haven’t interviewed her yet. It’s understandable, given the circumstances. Still…”
Roger poured himself another drink. “Beating up on the mayor’s daughter wouldn’t look good. I see what you mean.” In a practiced, single move, he emptied the glass. “What do you want to do now?”
A new theory was forming in my head, but I didn’t want to share it, so I kept to the path of being mostly truthful. “I’m going to keep my eyes and ears open for the fallout from your report to the police. While I wait for that, I’m going to keep working on the gambling angle. It’s possible—”
“No. I mean now.” He tapped the desktop. “Do you want to have another drink, or do you want to leave?”
“Oh.” My cheeks started burning, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. “I better pass on another drink. The first one’s already going to my head. Do you mind if I get going?”
“Nah.” He waved toward the door. “Get out of here. Use the front door. I don’t want to have to lock the back door again.”
I didn’t have to be told twice. When I was at the door, I paused. “Do you mind keeping this between you and me?”
“Do you really think you can catch the killer?”
“No doubt about it.” It was true. I wouldn’t rest until the murderer had been brought to justice.
“Then this never happened. I’ll tell my wife the door didn’t shut all the way and the wind must have blown it open. Since I was here, I decided to do a little paperwork. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work do to.”
He grabbed a stack of papers from his inbox with one hand and a yellow highlighter with another.
I pulled the door until a click confirmed it was closed. Then I got out of there as fast as my legs would carry me.
When I reached my bike, I jumped on it and pedaled like I was in a final sprint at the Tour de France. At one point, I glanced at my bike computer mounted on the handlebar. The readout said I was going thirty-four miles per hour. Other than going down one of the ultra-steep hills in the state park, I’d never come close to that speed.
My furious pedaling didn’t stop until I was within a half mile of my apartment. My lungs were screaming for air. My neck was protesting from my constant looking back to see if Roger had changed his mind and was chasing me. My thighs burned with the heat of a blast furnace from the insane pedaling effort.
It wasn’t until I coasted to a stop by the courtyard gate that I realized I wasn’t wearing my helmet. Riding helmetless was a mortal sin in my book. I’d gotten lucky when I was hit by a car riding my bike during my college days. It was a glancing blow that sent me to the pavement but left me uninjured. Thinking no harm, no foul, I gave the driver a thumbs-up and went about my business.
When I got home, I removed my helmet. A quarter-sized indentation in the crown, right where my head had impacted the curb, took my breath away. The implication was as clear as fine crystal.
Ever since that fateful day, I’d been a vocal advocate of bike helmets. I bought the twins new helmets every year. I admoni
shed cyclists without helmets about the danger to which they were subjecting themselves.
And I never, ever turned a pedal crank on my bike without having my head protected.
My heart was still thump, thump, thumping away as I checked my saddlebag. The helmet was right where I’d left it. Relief flooded through me. It hadn’t fallen off or been left behind for someone to find. My secret was safe with Roger.
As I climbed the steps after putting my bike away, utter exhaustion, both physical and emotional, came over me. My mission was accomplished, but at what cost? I’d thought myself so virtuous for unearthing the secrets of others, while having nothing to hide.
Not anymore.
I could try to justify my actions by telling myself the end justified the means. But it didn’t change a key fact.
Now I had my own secrets to hide.
Chapter Twenty
After a night filled with dreams of being chased through the forest by a ten-foot-high lock pick riding a motorcycle covered in skulls and shooting mulch at me, I finally dragged myself out of bed when the snooze alarm went off for the fourth time. The sheets were sweat-soaked, and my muscles ached as though I’d pedaled my bike the entire one hundred sixty miles it took to get from the western border of Indiana to the eastern border.
I rarely deviated from my routine of feeding Ursi, making coffee, and eating breakfast. Over the years, I’d learned a dependable routine in the morning set the stage for a productive day.
This day, I was so gross I headed straight for the shower. After feeding Ursi, of course. She was my number-one priority all day, every day. While she’d never said as much to me, my orange-and-black companion had employed other methods to convey the message in no uncertain terms.
The cool water cascading from the showerhead joined forces with my eucalyptus-infused bath products to elevate me to a zen state for some much-needed meditation. I focused on creating a quiet inner self. In doing so, I set aside, for a while, the questions, doubt, and second-guessing swirling around in my head like a tornado.
When I shut off the water, I was renewed in spirit and reinvigorated in purpose. What was done, was done. I’d made a choice to break into the Parke Landscaping building. Even though my intentions were good, what I’d done was wrong. I’d accept any consequences from my late-night adventure like an adult.
I perused social media while I ate a breakfast of sliced fruit sprinkled with chia seeds. According to Sloane, the tiny seeds were nutritional powerhouses, aiding in everything from heart health to weight management. Given her outstanding race results over the last six months, it couldn’t hurt to give them a try.
It was probably silly to get my hopes up that news of Roger’s tip would have made it online already. It was only a little after ten in the morning, after all. Still, when it came to Rushing Creek, the only thing that traveled faster than a juicy rumor was light, and it was a neck and neck race between the two.
Ursi had just jumped from my lap, having had her spine sufficiently scratched, when a notification popped up in my time line that made me smile. After reading it a second time to make sure I wasn’t imagining things, I pumped my fist in victory.
Roger had come through.
According to the post, an unnamed tipster had contacted Rushing Creek police suggesting they investigate a twenty-five-thousand-dollar payment to Georgie that might be missing. It claimed a subpoena was in the works so the police could get access to Georgie’s bank records.
Now, it was up to me.
I poured another cup of coffee and got comfortable on the couch. First, I updated the notebook with a summary of last night’s escapades, edited to avoid incriminating myself. Next, I went to my suspect list and removed Roger. Lastly, I went to the beginning and read through to the end.
My hope was that by reviewing everything in one sitting, something would jump out at me. A piece of information I’d overlooked. A question I’d forgotten to ask. A suspect I hadn’t yet identified.
I was bummed, but not surprised, that the key piece of evidence didn’t jump off one of the pages and give me a hug. With one suspect eliminated, I was making progress. As it stood, until Al came up with the names of Willie’s gambling buddies, I was down to three suspects I could pursue.
Willie seemed like the least likely of the trio. The man made my skin crawl, but if gambling debts truly led to Georgie’s demise, the guilty party was probably one of Willie’s associates, not the man himself.
Lori checked all the motive, means, and opportunity boxes, but one question lingered. If she wanted to do away with Georgie, why do it in such a convoluted way? She lived with the man, for crying out loud. She could have poisoned him or smothered him with a pillow.
That left me with Tommy.
He checked the boxes better than Lori, but if I was going to enter the minefield of investigating a police officer, I needed to tread with the care of someone walking on thin, cracked ice. On top of that, I needed to figure out how, or if, the million-dollar insurance policy fit with Tommy’s status as a suspect.
As I was working on a plan of action, I received a text from Mom. She was going to the 9/11 memorial service. It was being held at noon on the county courthouse lawn. She wanted to know if I was free to join her.
I responded with a thumbs-up, followed with three exclamation points. During my years in New York, I’d met a few family members of those unfortunate souls who didn’t survive the attack on the Twin Towers. Those experiences had humbled me and served as reminders of the importance of living a life trying to help others.
A little while later, as I headed down the stairs, the front ones this time, questions formed in my head.
Was I serving anyone by investigating Georgie’s murder? Was I being motivated by anything beyond self-preservation and the desire to make sure I didn’t go to jail?
As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I gave an emphatic nod. Yes, my efforts to catch the killer were in the service of others. Chief among them were Lori and Brittany. And, of course, Georgie himself.
Georgie might have been a loser, but that didn’t mean he lacked the capacity to get his act together and become a good spouse and a good father. The parallels between Georgie and Thornwell were striking. Both were men with serious problems. At least Thornwell had changed, had been given the time to change.
Georgie would never have that chance.
I couldn’t let the killer get away with robbing him of that chance.
* * * *
Two dozen rows of white folding chairs had been set out on the courthouse lawn facing the building’s main entrance. Every one of them was occupied. The citizens of Rushing Creek weren’t lacking in their patriotism.
I found Mom enjoying the shade of a red oak tree in a back corner of the lawn and chatting with people from her office. We hugged as the Rushing Creek High School Choir gathered in front of the crowd to perform “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
After that, a couple of local officials gave patriotic, if uninspiring, speeches. The service concluded with a twenty-one-gun salute and the playing of “Taps.” The choir’s stirring a cappella performance was the highlight of the service. At half past twelve, we were finished.
“Well? What did you think?” Mom’s eyebrows were raised, and her head was cocked to the side, indicating that she wanted my honest opinion.
“It was nice. Do they do this every year?”
“Yes.” Mom brushed dust from her sleeve. “The exact same thing. Every year. It’s gotten stale. You need to get involved with the planning committee for this. Your experience living in New York would add an important perspective.”
“Come on, Mom.” While she’d let me know how happy she was I’d gotten involved with the park and Angela’s election bid, she’d also been after me to join a group that had a long-term function. “It’s not like I was living there when the towers came down.”
&nbs
p; “But you were there when the new One World Trade Center building opened. I remember how excited you were. Nobody here has the kind of experiences you bring to this town. Don’t forget that.”
Experiences. Yeah, both good and bad. “I’ll think about it. Fair enough?”
“Too late.” Mom smiled. “I already gave your name to the committee chair. Think of it as penance for keeping your meetings with Luke and Rachel from me.”
She had me. We both knew it. There was no point in trying to argue about it.
“I’ll let you know when I hear from the committee.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” She hugged me. “I need to get back to work. Luke and Sloane invited me over Friday after work so I can see the fruits of their remodeling. Come with me. I’ll pick you up at six.”
Aha, now I had the advantage. With Mom’s long-standing opposition to her children cohabitating before marriage, she was no doubt having trouble visiting them on her own. She needed a wingman. I could totally do wingman.
“Sure. Should I bring anything?”
“Chips and your homemade guacamole?” When I agreed, she gave me another hug and told me she loved me.
As she walked away, I chuckled. Mom might be having her struggles, but she was still smarter than her three kids combined. She was also going to be okay. That made me happy.
With the service over, I headed for Creekside Chocolates. It had been too long since I’d devoured one of Diane’s amazing hot chocolates. I needed to rectify that lapse immediately.
Diane was cleaning her glass counters when I entered the shop. “What’s up, girlfriend? Give me a minute to finish my post-lunch-rush tidying up. The usual for you?”
“Yep. I’m in desperate need of your finest.”
I went to the tables by the shop’s front picture window and threw away cups and napkins that had been left there. Diane was a great friend, so I never passed up a chance to give her a hand around the store. At the moment, I was the only customer, so when I finished cleaning the tables, I straightened the products on the shelves containing the boxes of chocolate samplers.