Mossy Creek: A Maggie Mercer Mystery

by Jill Behe

  He started the Cherokee and pulled out of my drive.

  I blinked. Every thought in my head just went … POOF! … into the twilight zone. How can he say something like that and be so calm? How do I respond? Could I respond? He makes me feel like a bowl of oatmeal—all hot and mushy—then expects me to speak like an adult?

  “Maggie?”

  I blinked again. “Yeah?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  See what I mean? No. I’m not all right. I have bats in my belly doing back flips. I can’t form a single intelligent sentence. You’re driving me crazy, you idiot man. But, I couldn’t say any of that, not out loud. “I’m fine.” Standard female response, specifically designed to pacify, I guess would be a good way to describe it, most of the opposite sex.

  “Not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “Second thoughts?”

  “Yeah. About tonight.”

  He really didn’t have a clue. If we didn’t go out tonight, the insanity would be complete. The strain of it all would do me in. “No, not at all. I’m trying not to think about it too hard.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Wyatt.” He could be so exasperating. “I’m so jazzed about tonight I can barely function. If I don’t think about something else, I won’t survive long enough to experience it. And reading that diary did not help. Not one little iota.”

  He chuckled. Hmm, sounded like relief. Figured he’d enjoy knowing that. “I’ll try to stay civilized during the day. But tonight, look out.”

  “Yeah. That’s kind of what I was afraid of.”

  Ricky, also in uniform, was leaned up against his Dodge Ram waiting when we braked in front of the office. Wyatt and I got into the department issue SUV, Ricky hopped in the back, and we took off for the funeral home.

  * * * *

  THE PARKING LOT of Eshlemann’s Funeral Parlor was all-but-overflowing by the time we pulled in. Wyatt parked in a VIP slot—because he was there in his official capacity—and we all got out. Ricky beat Wyatt to my door. We congregated in front of the vehicle.

  Wyatt was doing the nervous-but-gotta-be-strong thing. I knew he was upset about not being there for Mac the way he wanted to, and having to hide all those feelings so he could be the law enforcement presence and maybe catch the bad guy.

  I was edgy about the whole idea of a teenager being a casket, among other things.

  “I’d like us to stay together, and in the back, if at all possible. Keep your eyes open for any and all odd behavior.”

  Ricky blew out a sharp breath and wagged his head. “This whole day’s gonna be odd, y’ask me.”

  I squinted at him as we all started across the lot. He noticed and shrugged, but didn’t elaborate. Inside the chapel, we signed our names in the guest book and sidled along the back wall behind the last pew.

  I looked around. The atmosphere was thick and hushed. Off to the left, a skinny blonde woman in a navy blue suit was softly playing the organ. I didn’t know her, so she was probably an out-of-town relative.

  Up front, Miranda’s casket of white and gold stood on a raised platform. An 8” x 10” of her high school graduation photo sat on top the closed lid.

  That alone had me tearing up.

  I didn’t mention my subconsciously disturbing state of mind before because it was too hard to keep the images at bay. Staying busy was a huge priority so I wouldn’t have to think. The reason I needed the distractions—what I couldn’t bear to think about—was how I would come to grips with one of my boys being in that box. I couldn’t bring myself to even briefly project the thought of it.

  Miranda had been such a vibrant energetic young woman. Remembering that, my chest got tight. Super-imposing one of my sons in her place … allowing just that much of a vision in … my heart jumped, then constricted painfully.

  No. Stop. Don’t go there.

  Today was bad. It was hard to stem that horrible numbness—real and imagined. The squeezing anguish that comes out in uncontrollable groaning. I’ve known grief, but not like this.

  This was agony.

  When my husband died, yes, it was a deep raw wrenching of my heart, and I missed him terribly. But dealing with his death was different because his illness had lingered over a three year period. It’s difficult to explain to someone who has never been a caregiver for any length of time, that what one feels—at the time of expiration—is almost relief.

  To suddenly lose someone, as Mac had, especially at Miranda’s tender age, and under these circumstances, was unimaginably devastating.

  I honestly didn’t know how he was able to stand it.

  The sobbing in my heart nearly overpowered me. I fumbled for a few tissues from my purse when the first drops began to leak from my eyes. Wyatt moved behind me and I jumped a little when I felt him wrap his hands around my waist.

  Whoa.

  Why would he do that in this place?

  But then, Ricky moved closer and took hold of my arm, leaning against me in a sort of sideways embrace, and I understood that they were both trying to comfort me. I don’t know if either of them had a clue about what had me so upset, but I was grateful for their support. Never had it been more apparent how close the three of us were. Of course we were close, and I knew that, but never like this. They were my extended family. The hugs from ‘my guys’ effectively countered the cold dread and fear that had invaded my heart.

  My birth-sons were safe.

  I snuffled up the tears and dabbed my eyes clear as the service began.

  Mac was a mess; the heart-breaking weeping, understandable. His sister and brother-in-law, and both sets of the grandparents, sat in the front row, there for support and comfort, but they weren’t faring any better than he.

  There wasn’t an empty seat anywhere. Miranda’s classmates, and fellow cheerleaders, crowded into the first several pews right behind the family, openly showed their grief.

  The mayor and his wife were in the far corner. She sat rigid. I stared. Her face, very out of character, was a mask of cold anger. Mayor Patterson bawled, unapologetically. His appearance was shocking. I’d never seen him so unkempt in public before.

  Poking Ricky in the ribs, I jerked my chin at the two across the room. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. The mayor was definitely not handling things well. His wife, even worse.

  Reverend Blanchard, patient and solemn, concluded the service with a prayer, and everyone said, Amen. “If there are any of you who would like to accompany us to the graveside, there will be a brief ceremony and prayer. At the conclusion, the ladies of the church have prepared a light luncheon buffet over at the church social hall. All are welcome to attend.

  “We will dismiss by rows, and you may convey your last respects to Miranda Annabelle Richards, and extend your condolences to her family.”

  Mac, and everyone in the front row, stood and took their places next to the casket.

  When the service moved to the gravesite, Wyatt again kept us in the back—it was easier to watch all the activity from there. This time, when he wrapped his arms around my waist, he pulled me back against his chest. It was very arousing, but I was frustrated, too, as if I were committing sacrilege. Here I was, getting turned-on at a funeral. How sick is that? I should be sad, somber. But I didn’t make him let go.

  “Thanks, Maggie.”

  Goose bumps whooshed down my arms at his voice in my ear. “For what?”

  “For letting me hang on to you.”

  I gave his hands a squeeze and leaned my head back under his chin. “You’re welcome.” Good thing I hadn’t made a fuss.

  The graveside service was a surprise. Not only was there no keening or wailing—except for the mayor—but, it was calm, peaceful even. As if, a relief.

  Maybe it was. Perhaps now, with a sense of finality, Mac could relax. He did appear calmer, but one of his relatives may have given him something.

  On the other hand, Ellie must have stayed in the car, or maybe she was hiding. A good thing, eith
er way. Her husband was no less vocal than at the chapel. I was embarrassed for the man, and glad not to be anywhere near him.

  Clark Kent - sorry, Danny Harris - and Bruce Prescott, his photog buddy, were on hand. I saw him nudge Bruce to get a picture of the weeping mayor. I could only cringe at the thought of tomorrow’s headline.

  Just as Rev. Blanchard ended the final prayer, Wyatt leaned forward and whispered in my ear, again.

  I gasped as goose bumps covered me from head to toe.

  “We won’t be going to the luncheon. We need to get back to the office.”

  Disappointed, I wrinkled my nose—those ladies always put on a good spread—but nodded my assent.

  He continued, “I can’t wait for tonight, Magdalena.”

  I bit my lip to hold back a whimper.

  ANTICIPATION WAS GOING to kill me.

  CHAPTER 21

  SATURDAY LATE MORNING

  BACK AT THE STATIONHOUSE, we gathered in Wyatt’s office to go over our notes and discuss the case. Wyatt called the Patterson’s, again. Obviously, they hadn’t gone to the luncheon at the church hall, either. They agreed to a 2:30 pm appointment. What a surprise. After the way the mayor acted at the funeral, I didn’t expect either one to consent, especially on such short notice.

  “What’d you find out from Al?”

  Ricky shook his head. “His place was all closed up for the day. Stopped by his house. Wife said he went fishing; left around five am. She says he does that every few weeks, and he’ll be back in the store tomorrow. I could take a ride out to the lake, if you’d like.”

  “No. Tomorrow morning will do. Well, guess that takes care of that for the moment.” Wyatt leaned forward and pushed his coffee cup across the table. “Rick, would you mind getting me a refill?”

  “No problem, boss.” Ricky stood.

  “One sec, though.”

  I looked at Wyatt.

  He made eye contact, then focused on Ricky. “Before the grapevine has a chance to get rolling on this, I … we, want to give you a heads-up.”

  I tried to get his attention, but he ignored me.

  Ricky shifted his stance. “What’s up?”

  Wyatt grabbed my hand. “Maggie and I are gonna start dating.”

  I blinked, and my jaw dropped. Wow. Cool. He’d made it official … and with our closest friend.

  Ricky barked out a laugh and slapped his thigh. “’Bout time.” Wyatt and I stared. He shrugged, grinning. “You two have been dancing around each other for months. Y’all finally came to your senses.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Upset? Gimme a break, Maggie. You’re two of the best people I know. More like a mom and dad since my own moved to Florida. How could I be anything but happy for you?” He opened the office door. “One thing, though.”

  “Yes?”

  He gave me a pointed look. “Ya gotta invite me over next time you make cookies.”

  Wyatt snorted. “Aw, quitcherbellyachin’ and find your own girl. Your poor pitiful me act is wearing thin, bud. If she doesn’t bake, send her over to Maggie’s. I guarantee Maggie’ll teach her right.”

  He got a wistful look on his face. “Yeah. Find my own girl. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake.” I was such a sucker when it came to him. “Tell you what. Until you find her, I’ll invite you—”

  “Hey!”

  “Shut up, Wyatt.” I winked at Ricky. “Every once in a while.”

  “Thanks.” He grinned and left the room.

  Wyatt squeezed my hand, reminding me he still held it, and leaned forward to kiss my temple. “That was nice.”

  A shiver danced along my neck. “Yeah,” I breathed. “I thought so. He’s such a good catch. What’s wrong with the girls in this town?”

  “He’ll find someone, in his own time. Maggie, about that peacekeepers badge.”

  I blinked. With his abrupt change of subject, my neural pathways paused, then switched lanes. “What about it?” I thought he’d told the borough I hadn’t accepted it.

  “I talked to a couple council members, in reference to our mutual concerns with the … uh, flirting, etc.”

  “You what?” My face got hot. Lord, have mercy; he talked to the very people who could put the kibosh on … whatever it was we’d started. To lay his job on the line, though; to confess that….

  Even as my brain went spastic, the rest of me was secretly pleased. I guess he’d been more bummed about my reluctant refusal than he let on. Now wasn’t that just something else?

  “They gave their approval.”

  Oh, geez. “What, like, we have to have their permission to flirt with each other?”

  “I guess.” Obviously he didn’t understand my irritation. “I took it to mean that neither of us would get fired for acting on our … uh, attraction.”

  Well, when you put it that way. My insides started doing cartwheels, but I was still muzzy-headed. “You really think so?”

  “That’s how I’m taking it.”

  “That’s good. I will, too, then. Thanks, Wyatt.”

  “Took effect immediately.”

  “So, like, right now?”

  “Or, like from the day you got the letter.”

  “Seriously?”

  Ricky came back in with the coffee. He looked at me and chuckled. “By that dazed expression she’s wearing, I guess you told her?”

  My eyes narrowed. “He was in on it, too?”

  “I might have mentioned something about it.”

  “How long have you been keeping this to yourself?”

  “He talked to me about it the day we … well, the day we bought you those flowers.”

  They both grinned.

  I sighed, outnumbered, out maneuvered, but happy.

  “There’s just one minor stipulation.”

  Silence.

  Wyatt cleared his throat. “One of the members I spoke with was Roberto Sporelli. He ‘suggested’ he’d overlook the miniscule possibility of any fraternization, if we’d start buying donuts from his shop again.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Ricky was looking too innocent. “Sounds like a bribe to me.”

  Wyatt’s shoulders rolled. “He promised us a discount, but I told him there’d be no problem.”

  I laughed. Oh, how auspicious is that? I can smush it in Vicki’s nose every morning!

  An hour later, we were still in Wyatt’s office talking over the case when we heard the front door open. Technically, we’re all off duty on the weekends, but with the murder case unsolved, we’d been coming in every day. We weren’t expecting visitors.

  I got up to find out who had come in, and was surprised to see Susie and Evey. They stood nervously by the front door, heads together, whispering.

  “Hello, ladies. What can I help you with?” I pulled Wyatt’s door shut and went to stand at my desk.

  Evey grabbed Susie’s arm and propelled her in my direction. “Is the police chief in?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’d like to speak with him, if we could, please, before we lose our nerve.” She glanced at Susie.

  I was about to ask them why, when Susie spoke up. “It has to do with, um, it might have to do with Randy’s death.”

  “Wait right here for a minute, please.” I went back to Wyatt’s office and poked my head in. “Susie Chapin and Evey Peters are here to see the police chief.”

  I returned to the girls. “He’ll be right out.”

  A moment later, he proved me right. “Ladies, how may I be of assistance?”

  “There’s something we, um, need to tell you,” Susie said. “It may be related to Miranda’s case.”

  Wyatt gestured toward the doorway where Ricky stood. “Why don’t we have a seat in here, and you can tell us all about it.”

  The girls quickly glanced at each other, and both nodded.

  We all sat around Wyatt’s makeshift conference table, and a tape recorder was set up. Wyatt made it official. “The following a
re statements given by Susie Chapin and Evey Peters, on this twenty-first day of June, 2008, in the presence of Officer Ricky Anderson, Police Dispatcher Magdalena Mercer, and myself, Chief of Police Wyatt Madison. Who wants to go first?”

  Evey said, “Susie, why don’t you? It happened to you first.”

  “Um, okay. Well, it started about three years ago, in the middle of my senior year.”

  Wyatt interrupted her. “Excuse me, Susie. Would you clarify what year that was, please? For the record.”

  “Oh, sure. It was, um, January of 2006. We’d just gotten back from our Christmas break.”

  “That’s great, Susie. Thank you.”

  “Sure. Well, the school secretary called me to the office. She told me the mayor and Mrs. Patterson were in the market for a babysitter—Kendall was about six months old by then—and she wanted to know if I’d be interested.” She looked around at us. “Well, of course. Right? I mean, yeah, seventeen is getting on the old side of the babysitting thing, but I mean, it was The Mayor. Besides, I liked Ellie, I mean, Mrs. Patterson. And little Kendall was a doll. Totally adorable.

  “The night of my first gig, Dad told me he’d drive me over, and to call when I was done. I could’ve driven, but we only had the one car, and with my mom so sick at the time, I didn’t want to leave them without— Well, I mean, if there’d been a— If she’d….”

  Evey laid her hand over her friend’s. “It’s okay, Suz. They understand.” She looked at us. “Right?”

  We nodded.

  For many years, her mother had been extremely ill: emphysema and a variety of other ailments. Hanging on by a thread during Susie’s high school years, she’d died the winter after her daughter graduated.

  The girl swallowed her grief. “Um, well, that first night, the Pattersons were back really late, I mean, it was after one in the morning. I asked to use the phone, you know, to call my dad, cuz, I mean, it would’ve been rude not too. The mayor said not to bother my dad, that he’d take me home.

  “I said how I didn’t wanna put him out, and he said it was no problem. I mean, really, getting a ride home with the mayor? Hey, I was somebody. My friends were gonna be so jealous. If I’d only known.