But then, Corinne already knew. She’d tried to warn him. And yes, Michaela was unstable, maybe even mentally ill. But that didn’t make his actions any less wrong. Maybe it made them worse! Not that he’d recognized her instability before she accused him. Still, he knew in his heart that his attitude had not been right. Not from the beginning.
It had stroked his ego to have Michaela attracted to him. He’d never admitted that. Not to himself or to Corinne. And trying to pretend he was merely a victim kept his family at risk. It was time to man up and take this bull by the horns.
* * *
Corinne sat cross-legged on their bed, waiting for Jesse to quit pacing and tell her what was going on. The longer he paced, the more worried she became.
Finally he stopped and sat on the edge of the love seat in the window alcove, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“Jesse, what is it? You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you. There’s just something I . . . need to tell you.”
Her blood turned cold. There was only one thing she could think of that would cause him the kind of anguish she saw on his face right now. And she couldn’t bring herself to put it into words. But that didn’t stop the images from forming in her mind. Images of her husband with that woman. Of them—
“Corinne, I feel like I need to come clean.” He looked up and met her eyes, but she couldn’t find the reassurance she was looking for there.
“About . . . her?” The cold in her veins turned to ice. But the tears on her cheeks were warm.
“Yes, but—” He started shaking his head. “Don’t cry, babe. It’s . . . it’s not what you must be thinking. At least not what that look on your face says.”
For the space of another breath, she let herself hope. Jesse rose from the love seat and went to his knees at the end of the bed where she sat. He reached for her hands and enfolded them in his, kissing her fingertips. “This feels embarrassing and awkward. I just need to confess that . . . I let Michaela’s attention go to my head. I liked the way it made me feel to have someone admire me the way”—he closed his eyes—“the way she seemed to. I should have nipped it in the bud. I should have run as far as I could run from her, but even though she has no basis for her accusations—none—I did probably encourage her just enough to keep her flirting with me. I’m so sorry, babe.”
“Jesse.” Relief warmed her, wrung her out. “What man wouldn’t like that kind of attention? I’m not saying it was right, but . . . I understand.”
“If I hadn’t been so foolish, so immature . . . If I hadn’t all but put out a welcome sign to her, maybe we wouldn’t be where we are right now. And I want you to know I understand what you said about me needing to be cautious when I’m teaching. I blew you off, but I see now what can happen from a seemingly harmless flirtation. Please forgive me, Corinne.”
“Of course I forgive you. I’m just so glad that’s all it was. That you didn’t—” Her voice broke.
“No. Of course not. I would never do that to you. To our girls. You can trust me, Corinne. I’ve learned a very important lesson here. I just hope I can get us out of this mess.”
She started to speak.
But he held up a hand. “That’s another thing I think God showed me: I was so afraid of this coming out publicly and . . . humiliating me. But maybe I need to be humiliated.” Again he hung his head. “I let my pride thwart my better judgment—even when it could have meant putting you and the girls in danger. I’m so sorry.”
She loosed her fingers from his and took his face in her hands. “I love you, Jesse. It’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.”
“I think we need to go to the police.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes. I agree.”
“I would go myself, but I think it’s important they hear firsthand the things you experienced—the day she talked to you in the grocery store, and the things Sadie said.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I feel bad that we doubted her.”
“I know. Do you think she’ll have to talk to the police?”
“I don’t know. I hope not. I’d just as soon the kids not be involved at all.”
“Unfortunately, Michaela has already involved them.”
He nodded. “The dispatcher said the police would come to our home if we preferred.”
“I think that would be good. We can let the girls watch a movie or something. But if they want to talk to Sadie or the other two, they’ll be here.”
“Yes, and it won’t hurt for them to be aware of our house when they patrol.”
She sighed. “You know the neighbors will talk.”
“I know. But I don’t think we have a choice.” He stood and offered her his hands.
Feeling better than she had in a very long time, she let Jesse pull her up into his embrace.
“Dear God,” he whispered, “help us to do the right thing. Please get us through this without our girls getting hurt.”
He tightened his arms around her, then started to pull away, but she felt compelled to add her prayer to his. “I confess, God, I’ve felt . . . hatred toward Michaela, but something must have hurt her deeply sometime in her life to cause her to inflict this much pain on us. We don’t know why any of this has happened, but please”—she swallowed hard—“give her healing for whatever has made her this way.”
Jesse drew back and looked at her. “You’re an amazing woman, do you know that?”
“No, I’m not. But—I’m trying to be . . . understanding. What she’s done isn’t normal. There must be something in her life that has caused her to go off the deep end. And whatever it is can’t be good.”
“I’m not sure I can be so generous, but . . . I’ll try. Let’s go make that call, shall we?”
She nodded, feeling relieved and terrified at the same time. What were they about to set in motion?
22
To Jesse’s great relief, the officer who arrived at their front door the next morning was attired in plain clothes, and the sedan parked in their driveway was unmarked.
Looking pale, her voice thready, Corinne invited the man into the living room. At the last minute, they’d enlisted Danae to watch the girls for an hour. If the officer wanted to speak to Sadie, they could arrange it for another time.
The more Jesse and Corinne had “rehearsed” what they knew to tell the police, the more Jesse wondered if they’d be taken seriously. Almost everything was “alleged” or conjecture on their part.
Still, he wouldn’t take chances where his daughters were concerned.
The officer introduced himself as Lt. Jerome Harrald. He looked to be about their age, with a military bearing and haircut.
Jesse led the way through the entry hall.
“Would you like something to drink?” Corinne asked when they reached the living room.
“No, thank you. I just finished coffee. But if you’d like to get something, feel free.”
They both declined and sat down beside each other on the sofa across from the occasional chair the officer had chosen.
“So, I understand someone has been giving you trouble?” he said. He slipped an iPad from the briefcase he carried. “You don’t mind if I take notes while we talk?”
“Of course not,” they said in unison.
“And if you’d like to file a complaint against this person, we can take care of that as well.”
They both nodded their agreement, and Jesse felt a frisson of excitement—or maybe relief was a better term. He felt like he was finally doing what he should have done long ago to keep his family safe.
“So why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what has been going on, what your concerns are, and what you hope to accomplish by involving us.”
Jesse was a little surprised by that last part. What did they hope to accomplish? To be relieved of the threat that Michaela might continue to frighten or harm Corinne or their daughters. That was all. But what would it take to insure that? Even if they were able to get
a restraining order against Michaela, could she ever be trusted to abide by it? Her actions had become increasingly odd and threatening, indicating just how unstable she must be.
He and Corinne took turns recounting the events, beginning with the day Jesse had been called into Frank’s office and informed about Michaela’s accusation of sexual harassment.
“Were charges actually filed against you?”
“No. According to my boss, it was just a ‘warning.’ He said she’d have to file the papers she gave him with the State Department of Labor before it was official.”
“And to your knowledge has she done that?”
“No. At least no one has told me if she has.”
He nodded and turned to Corinne. “And you say she has been stalking you since this occurred?”
“It feels like stalking. I don’t know what the legal definition is.”
He brought the iPad to life, opened a program, and scrolled through several pages. “To meet the criteria of stalking in this state, we would have to prove that she purposefully and through her course of conduct, harassed or followed you with the intent of harassing you. Could you say with confidence that was her intent? And did she actually follow you?”
Corinne sighed. “I don’t know how I could prove it. I suppose anyone watching would have said she was just making small talk with me—and the girls. She spoke to them also. If you knew the situation, I think you would have seen how she was . . . toying with me, for lack of a better word. But what woman would make an effort to have a conversation with the wife of the man she’s accused of harassing her? And I couldn’t prove it, but I don’t think it was accidental that she ‘ran into me’ in the grocery store. I think she followed me. And then followed me to my sister’s afterward.”
“But you didn’t see her?”
“No,” Corinne admitted.
“Again, evidence—proof—is the issue.” Lt. Harrald typed quickly on the small keyboard attached to the iPad cover. “Now, you said she picked up the two younger girls at your sister’s home and took them for a ride? Did you witness this?”
“No,” Corinne said. “I discovered them missing from my sister’s backyard where they’d been playing. The yard is fenced. But the only entrance is through a side yard. She could have parked in the street and let herself into the yard. Since we’d just talked with her at the grocery store maybe an hour before that, the girls would have remembered her. In fact, our middle daughter—Sadie—insists that’s why she went with Michaela. Because I’d talked to her, so she wasn’t technically a stranger.” Corinne laughed weakly.
“Well, if this woman did, in fact, pick up the children in her car without your permission, that would definitely reach the level of endangering the welfare of a child, second degree, probably, depending on the age of the child. How old did you say your daughters are?”
When they told him—Jesse even jumped up and retrieved a recent photo of the girls from the end table—Lt. Harrald seemed taken aback.
“This one looks about the same age as my son. And they were playing outdoors by themselves at your sister’s?”
“Yes, but my sisters and I were just inside. We could see the girls from the windows of the room where we were visiting. That’s how I knew they were missing. I looked up to check on them again, and they were gone. For all we know Michaela Creeve had just abducted them moments before.”
Jesse could feel Corinne’s defenses flaring. This was what he’d feared—that the blame would be turned back to him, because of Michaela’s charges of harassment. He opened his mouth to pick up Corinne’s defense, but then thought better of it. It might only make them look guilty if they protested too much.
“Again,” Lt. Harrald said, “without witnesses and evidence, we have no proof that Ms. Creeve did what you’re accusing her of. We would need to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that she committed . . .” He scrolled again on the iPad and read, “acts of criminal negligence, in a manner that creates substantial risk to the life, body, or health of a child less than— Oh, well, this says less than seventeen years, which your girls certainly fall within that criteria. But again, we’d have to prove the act was committed.”
“But what about the ribbon she sent?” Corinne sounded on the brink of panic.
Jesse was feeling the same. “She is the only one who could have known our daughter—Simone—was wearing a green ribbon that day. And that the ribbon had gone missing. Our other daughter, Sadie, told us that Michaela took a ribbon from Simone’s hair in the car.”
“And you’re sure it’s the same ribbon she allegedly mailed to you?”
Jesse didn’t like the way he kept labeling everything alleged, though he guessed it was necessary for an officer of the law to train himself to speak—and think—that way.
“If it’s not the same ribbon, it’s identical,” Corinne said. “Same style, length, exact same color. It even still had wrinkles and creases in it from being tied in her hair.”
“Why do you think she would mail the ribbon to you? It was addressed just to you, Mrs. Pennington, is that correct? Could I see the letter?”
Corinne rose and went after the card, handing it to Lt. Harrald when she returned. “I think she was just . . . taunting me. I think she’s mentally unstable. To the point of being dangerous. Could you get fingerprints off of this?”
He examined the envelope and its contents. “If this were a homicide there might be methods that could lift at least partial prints. But”—he waved the envelope—“this doesn’t constitute a threat. No matter what you believe it to be, to a judge it looks like a greeting from a well-wisher.”
Jesse had the brief note memorized: Just thought you might have been missing this. May she wear it in good health. And Lt. Harrald was right. Without any other proof, Michaela’s note didn’t sound in the least threatening.
“I’m sorry,” the officer said. “We simply don’t have the resources, and given the lack of evidence for criminal intent, it’s not likely we’d pursue it at this point. Is there anything else that could serve as evidence? Or a witness, perhaps? Maybe some of your sister’s neighbors saw something the day Ms. Creeve allegedly took the girls?”
“No,” Jesse said. “We canvassed the neighborhood after we found the girls—hoping for that very thing. But most of the neighbors were at work when it happened, and the one elderly woman who thought she’d seen them, had too many details wrong to be credible.”
Lt. Harrald typed something on the iPad keyboard, and Corrine threw Jesse a look that said “do something!”
Jesse turned to the officer. “If we tried to get some sort of . . . I don’t know, restraining order or something, would we risk getting in trouble for falsely accusing her—if it turns out we can’t prove she did it?”
“A judge would have to issue a restraining order after making the determination that it was necessary. But you could certainly file a complaint without risking any consequences of false accusations. Even if there isn’t enough evidence to reach the level of ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ for court conviction, you still have the right to file, and your accusations would not be considered false because you believe them to be true. But again, we need proof before we can take any substantive action. You have to realize that by requesting a restraining order, you’re asking the court to limit Ms. Creeve’s freedom. We don’t take that lightly.”
Jesse sighed and bit his tongue. It seemed like her actions had already limited their freedom. “So where do we go from here? We really do feel this woman is a threat. And her actions have escalated—or at least they’ve been ongoing. I don’t want my wife to have to look over her shoulder every time she goes to the grocery store or takes our daughters to story hour at the library.”
“I certainly understand your concerns, Mr. Pennington. What I could do is interview Ms. Creeve to see if we can find any merit to your complaint.”
“But . . . she’ll just lie about it the way she did to us,” Corinne said.
“We might be
able to get her to be more forthcoming. People usually are when they’re talking with law enforcement.”
Jesse was dubious, but he didn’t say anything.
“But if you talk to her, she’ll know we contacted the police. That might just set her off and make her do something worse.” Corinne twisted the hem of her shirt. She’d practically shredded the fabric since Lt. Harrald arrived.
Jesse’s own nerves were equally frayed. They seemed to be in a lose/lose situation. “So we couldn’t get a restraining order on her in the meantime? To keep her away from our children?”
“We can direct you to the court that deals with orders of protection. You would complete an affidavit of the allegations, and then it would be up to the judge to make a determination as to the necessity for an immediate ex parte order of protection.”
“Ex parte? I’m not sure what that is?”
“It just means it would be a protection of you, without giving Ms. Creeve an opportunity to present evidence to the contrary of your charges.”
“And do you think a judge would do that?” Corinne asked.
The officer frowned. “Frankly, I don’t see that you have enough evidence that she’s the one who did this.” He held up a hand. “I’m not saying I doubt what you’ve told me, but a judge is going to require proof.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?”
“I’d continue to be cautious where you and your daughters are concerned. Be very aware of your surroundings at all times, be on the lookout for her following you or attempting to interact with you in any way.” He pointed out the front window. “I notice you have your house on the market?”
“Yes. We may actually have a buyer,” Jesse said.
“Are you selling because of Ms. Creeve?”
Jesse and Corinne spoke at the exact same instant, except he said no and Corinne said yes.
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