Small-Town Secrets

by Linda Randall Wisdom

  “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” She countered with a question of her own.

  “I was until I heard the garage door go up.” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “David, when you enter the FBI Academy, you think you’ll be going in there as an adult. I’ll make sure every wall in that building has a copy of one of your baby pictures on it.” She uttered the threat in a pleasant voice. “Along with some of those oh-so-cute stories your father told me. Running outside naked so you could play in the mud. Things like that.”

  “Don’t let Sara see all that guilt on your face or you’ll never hear the end of it, since you won’t let her date unless it’s with a group,” he warned her.

  “I’ll stand on the Fifth.”

  David grinned. “I figured you would.”

  Chapter 13

  Bree felt as if she’d just crawled into bed and fallen asleep when the telephone rang. Which turned out to be true. The clock showed it had been only twenty minutes since she’d crawled under the covers.

  “Fitzpatrick,” she mumbled into the receiver.

  “Detective.” Randy Larkin’s nasal drawl, tinged with something more serious, chased away the lingering bits of sleep still trying to hang on. “I’m sorry to wake you up.”

  “That’s all right,” she assured him. “What’s up?”

  “I’m afraid we’ve got a bad situation here,” he said in a low voice, as if he was afraid he’d be overheard.

  She sat up and switched on a light. “What kind of situation are we talking about?”

  “Ma’am, there’s been a bad accident out here on the highway. I tried calling Sheriff Holloway, but he ain’t answering his cell phone or pager. Joe at Dispatch said to call you.” He still sounded apologetic. “That it’d be better if I got you direct rather than going through him.”

  Bree bit back the curse that threatened to erupt. She knew she was on the list to be called in the event of an emergency. She also knew the young man had been with the department for only a few months. His shaky voice told her he’d found something a hell of a lot more traumatic than anything he’d come up against in his short career.

  “Were there any fatalities?” she asked crisply.

  “Yes’m. The driver is dead. Looks like she lost control of the car and ran off the road. No other vehicles were involved.”

  “Tell me where you are.” Bree jotted down the location. “You’re sure the driver is dead?” She stood up and pulled her nightshirt off over her head, then put the cordless phone against her ear again.

  “Ma’am, Detective, there’s no way anyone could have survived. It was a bad crash.”

  “No other vehicle, you say?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She breathed a silent prayer of thanks that there weren’t more victims.

  “No witnesses? No one taking a late-night walk? Anything?”

  “No, Detective.”

  Her mind started to run in high gear. She ran for the bathroom. “Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes’m. Detective.”

  Bree pulled on the clothing she’d worn to Cole’s house and took enough time to brush her teeth and run a comb through her hair. She knocked on David’s door.

  “I thought you were going to bed.” He gave a jaw-cracking yawn.

  “There was an accident out on the highway,” she told him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.” This was always the part she hated. Having to leave them in the middle of the night.

  He nodded. “Gotcha. I’ll take Cody to his soccer game, drop Sara at the library, since she has that project for history class and she’s supposed to do her research the old-fashioned way with books and not the Internet. No prob.” He yawned again.

  She reached out and touched his shoulder. She hadn’t noticed until now how much it had broadened in the past year. Her boy had grown up. “I’m sorry I’ve had to count so heavily on you this year.”

  “Hey, better me than Sara.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

  Bree called to Jinx and quickly drove out of the garage. Because of the late hour, there was no traffic on the highway and she reached the accident scene in no time. As she parked behind the patrol car, she noted with approval the flares the deputy had laid out on the road.

  In the glare of the headlights, she could see the young man’s face was a faint shade of green. She looked at him and felt a hundred years old, while he looked not much older than David.

  “You okay?” she asked, walking swiftly toward him.

  He nodded. “Sorry, it’s my first…”

  “Just tell me you didn’t throw up anywhere in the vicinity.”

  “No, ma’am, uh, Detective.”

  “Try Bree, it’s easier.” She patted his shoulder.

  “It doesn’t look like an accident, ma’am. I called the crime scene investigator, along with the coroner’s office, and asked for a tow truck to come out,” he told her.

  “Good. I’m going to go down and take a look. Jinx, stay.” She switched on her flashlight, then adjusted the small headset for her voice-activated microphone and the tape recorder in a small fanny pack she’d secured around her waist. Bree discovered that tape recording her impressions gave her immediate access to her thoughts without having to stop and write everything down. She also found it more helpful when she filled out her reports.

  As she made her way down the steep side of the ditch, she noted the car headlights were still burning, but the engine was switched off. She called up to Randy and asked if he’d turned the engine off and learned he hadn’t.

  “It wasn’t running when I found it. I think the engine died when the car crashed,” he explained.

  She looked around at the dry brush surrounding them and breathed a sigh of relief that the crash hadn’t started a fire. “Probably a good thing it did.”

  Bree flashed her light around, dictated the make, model and estimated year of the car.

  “Driver appears to be female. Age—” She stopped stockstill when her light reached the front seat and struck the driver. “Oh my God.” Bree felt the breath leave her body in a rush.

  “Detective, uh, Bree, is everything okay?” Randy called out.

  “Yes,” she called back, even as her senses screamed No! Everything is all wrong! This shouldn’t have happened! Speaking in a monotone, she finished recording her observations and slowly climbed back up to the road. She was barely aware of the Crime Scene Unit van and the coroner showing up, or the blinking lights of a tow truck in the distance.

  “Hey there, Bree.” Will Gregory, the crime scene investigator, greeted her. “You got the lucky call, huh?”

  She nodded. “Victim is a resident of Warm Springs. Her name is Renee Patterson.”

  Will’s shock told her he, too, knew the woman. “Renee? What the hell was she doing out here at this hour?”

  Bree shook her head. “I don’t know.” She looked back at the car.

  “Damn, I’m glad I don’t have to give the news to Joshua,” Will muttered, as he pulled on latex gloves. “I’m surprised he hasn’t called the station about her, what with her being out at such a late hour.”

  Will went down with the coroner, who officially announced Renee deceased. After that, Will went to work taking photographs and searching for any evidence that might indicate foul play.

  Bree remained on the highway, watching Will work his way around the car. She spoke in monosyllables to the coroner and tow truck driver as they waited for Will to finish his work.

  When he finally returned, he carried several evidence bags, which he stowed in his kit. One he held up in front of Bree.

  She flashed her light on the evidence bag to better read the note written in a graceful script.

  “No,” she said decisively. “There is no way I will believe that Renee committed suicide. I didn’t know her all that well, but she didn’t seem the type to want to kill herself.”

  Will glanced toward Randy, who was smoking a cigarette and talking to the t
ow truck driver. Will lowered his voice. “Then you noticed the inconsistencies, too.”

  She nodded grimly. “Why would someone as levelheaded as Renee want to kill herself? Would she want to leave Joshua, who she loved so deeply, behind? Know that her death in this manner would cause him so much pain?

  “And if she was going to do it, why try something as risky as crashing her car into a ditch? There’s the chance of only ending up badly injured or, God forbid, paralyzed. No one desiring death would take that chance. And what about all those cuts on her palms? Those kind of cuts would only show up if, by reflex, she threw her hands up to protect her face when the car hit the bottom of the ditch.” She held her arms up, crossed at the wrists, to demonstrate.

  “Yeah, they don’t want their faces messed up,” he agreed.

  “Exactly. Something deep inside me doesn’t want to believe this was a suicide,” she stated. “She loved her husband too much to leave him this way.”

  “It sounds good but we have evidence that says otherwise. We have a note allegedly written by the victim which pretty much seals the case. Maybe at the last second she regretted what she was doing and put her hands up in some futile hope of protecting herself.”

  Bree looked at him. “Renee Patterson wears glasses. Where are they?”

  Will shook his head. “Maybe they flew off. I’ll check under the seat when I get the car back to the garage.”

  She stared down at the crash scene. “Will, does it seem odd to you that so many senior citizens die in accidents?”

  “I guess I haven’t thought about it too much,” he admitted.

  “I’ve been wondering about it,” she said in a low voice. “That maybe not all these were accidents.”

  Will shook his head. “I sure hope not. Because if you’re thinking murder, you know what you have to do. This kind of death, it’s usually the spouse the investigator looks at first. I’ll be honest. I wouldn’t like to see Joshua as the prime suspect,” Will said.

  She stared down into the ditch, where the taillights still glowed red.

  “Damn, it’s never easy.”

  When Cole stumbled into his kitchen he didn’t expect to see a familiar SUV parked in his driveway. The driver’s seat was empty.

  He opened the front door and found Bree seated on the front steps.

  “The doorbell still works,” he said, stepping outside and dropping down beside her. He winced as the feel of ice-cold cement seeped through the lightweight cotton of his pajama pants. One look at her set features told him that whatever reason brought her here, it wasn’t for a repeat of last night. “What happened, Bree?”

  She shook her head as she continued to look off into the distance. He took her hand, nestling it between his two. He hoped his touch, and his silence, would soothe whatever demons haunted her.

  “I just left Joshua Patterson’s house,” she said finally.

  Now he knew it wasn’t good.

  “Barely a half hour after I got home I was called out to an auto accident on the highway,” she continued in a monotone. “A car ran off the road into a ditch. Driver was dead when the deputy found the wreck. I went down to check it out and discovered the driver was Renee.” She took a deep breath. “Crime Scene Unit discovered a note allegedly written by Renee. She didn’t want Joshua to suffer the indignity. What indignity she meant we have no idea.”

  Cole tightened his grip on her hand as he swore long and colorfully.

  “Why didn’t I hear about this on the scanner?” he asked himself, referring to his police scanner. Then he remembered he’d been having problems with the electrical connection. Something he’d meant to replace and hadn’t yet.

  Bree shook her head. “Do you have any coffee?” she asked in a voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

  “Brewing now.” He stood up, gently pulling on her hand to urge her to her feet. He didn’t put his arm around her, because he knew the last thing she needed was any semblance of comfort. But he didn’t release her hand.

  The rich aroma of coffee filled the house as they walked back to the kitchen. Cole filled two cups, handing one to Bree.

  “I thought Holloway handled all the accidents,” he commented.

  “Dispatch couldn’t get hold of him, so they called me.” She rubbed her eyes before she drank down half the cup. She didn’t wince as the almost scalding liquid slid past her tongue.

  Cole noticed her eyes were bloodshot, her lips unadorned and slightly chapped. Her hair was windblown and she hadn’t bothered to push it back behind her ears. She wore the same clothing she’d worn to his house.

  Now that was a nice memory.

  What she had encountered later on wasn’t even remotely nice.

  He ran his palm over his hair. “Dammit, there was no reason for her to die. I should have tried harder to set up a meeting with them. Maybe we could have learned something.” He verbally beat himself up.

  “She lost control of her car, Cole.” Bree’s voice bore no expression, nor did her face. “As far as the crime scene investigator is concerned, it’s an accident.”

  Cole refilled her coffee cup. “What did Joshua say?”

  She shot him a harsh look. “I’m not going to have you print his words.”

  He lost his temper at her assumption. “What the hell kind of person do you think I am? Dammit, Bree, I’m not asking as a newsman. I’m asking as a friend of the Pattersons.”

  Bree rubbed her eyes. Weariness seemed to take over her bones. “How do you think he took it? I had to go over there and tell him the woman he’d been married to for over fifty years was dead. He didn’t take it well at all. I don’t like it when the victim is someone I know,” she whispered. She glanced at her watch and pushed herself off the chair. “I need to get back to the station. I’ve got reports to write.” She picked up her cup and drained the contents.

  Cole risked rejection then by standing up and gathering her into his arms. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as if using him as her anchor.

  “There’s been enough death,” she whispered against his neck.

  “What can I do?” He felt helpless. And he knew Bree felt the same way. An emotion he knew was as alien to her as it was to him.

  “You might want to go over to Joshua’s.” She leaned back so she could look into his face. “But say nothing about my telling you about it. Let him assume you heard it another way. The way this town’s grapevine works, half the population probably knows by now. He’s a shattered man. He’s going to need his friends.”

  “I’ll go over there as soon as I’ve showered and dressed,” he promised. “What about you? Are you all through with everything? You going to have a chance to sleep? You’re more than welcome to stay here.”

  She shook her head. “I have to go to the station and write up my report,” she repeated grimly. “The thing that bothers me the most is not knowing the reason behind these deaths.” She turned to go.

  He wasn’t about to just let her leave. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her in a way that left him hard and aching and her completely dazed. She muttered something about having to go as she made her way back to her vehicle.

  It wasn’t until Cole was stepping into the shower that he realized the slight taste of salt from Bree’s lips had to have come from tears.

  What had he gotten her into? Was there a chance she would be the next victim if they got too close to the truth?

  “Damn printer,” Bree muttered, resisting the urge to give the equipment a good swift kick. She stabbed the print button with her forefinger, but received no results. She knew she should at least get a sign that the office-shared machine was spitting out her report. She spat a curse at the printer, its manufacturer and anyone else who had anything to do with the technology in general. As if sensing doom was at hand, the printer began whirring, shooting papers into the waiting tray. She picked them up and skimmed the words.

  She knew at first glance there was nothing unusual about her report. The facts listed were succinct: the d
river intentionally ran her car into a ditch. The suicide occurred sometime between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m. The vehicle’s air bag did not inflate upon impact and the driver did not survive the crash. Evidence as to the victim’s mental state before the accident was a note left on the passenger seat. It detailed her sorrow and her wish to end her life. The writing and signature were confirmed to be the victim’s own. Because of the note, the crash would be listed as a suicide. Case closed.

  So why didn’t Bree feel confident about it being a closed case, when the facts pointed to it being a cut-and-dried suicide?

  She signed her report and carried it into Holloway’s office. He looked up. A scowl marred his features.

  “That the report for the Patterson suicide?” he asked crisply, holding out his hand.

  She nodded as she passed him the report. “To be honest, I don’t think it was a suicide. You’ll see that I noted my thoughts in the report.”

  “Really?” He cocked an eyebrow. He nodded toward the chair across from him before settling back in his seat and perusing the report.

  Bree dropped into the chair and waited.

  Holloway finally leaned back and tossed the report on his desk. “You’ve decided she didn’t commit suicide because she tried to protect her face. What about the handwritten note left on the passenger seat? Or are you going to have the handwriting analyzed to ensure it was written by the victim?”

  Bree ignored his sarcastic jab. “She wore glasses. They were nowhere to be found,” she explained. She was aware she was probably making a major mistake in lecturing a man whose law enforcement experience exceeded hers by a good twelve years. In other words, she could be the one committing suicide—political suicide.

  “True.” He surprised her by replying amiably. “But women are also known to change their minds at the last minute. Renee Patterson had been under a doctor’s care for the past few years because of health problems. A toxicological screen is being run, right?”

  Bree nodded, wary of saying too much. She wondered if he was setting a trap.