Detective on the Hunt

by Marilyn Pappano

  This would be a good night to stay home with a cozy fire, a pot of savory beef stew, fresh corn bread and, just before bed, a steaming mug of hot cocoa. It could be a perfect evening. If a person had someone to spend it with.

  His jaw clenched, he jogged the last twenty yards and opened the heavy door. Ordinarily, it swung back under its own power, but it was struggling against the wind, so he shoved it shut.

  “Brrr.” Morwenna hugged herself as she crossed the room to the coffee machine. “I’m going to need two electric blankets to stay warm tonight.”

  “If you’d settle down with a boyfriend, you wouldn’t need any blankets at all.” That came from Cheryl, Sam’s secretary and department snoop. She was nosy, gossipy and found great fun in harassing one employee or another, and she often stomped on Quint’s last nerve, but she did her job for far less money than it deserved, so Sam cut her some slack. A lot of it.

  Quint couldn’t complain. Sam cut him a lot of slack, too.

  Behind Cheryl’s back, Morwenna was rolling her eyes, then she smiled. “Where is Detective JJ?”

  “She was heading to the hotel last I saw of her.”

  “I like her. We need a female detective around here. I love my guys, but come on, a town the size of Cedar Creek should have a whole lot of female cops, and JJ’s proof that they’re out there. They’re just not here.”

  She moved aside, and Quint brewed a cup of dark Italian roast for himself. “You can only hire from the people who apply.” The department wasn’t overly big, and except for Daniel Harper and Cullen Simpson, every cop in it had been born and raised in Cedar Creek. When Sam needed a new officer, he had more than enough locals to choose from. “Is the boss in his office?”

  Morwenna gestured to Cheryl, who’d been eavesdropping from her desk. Now the woman pretended to be busy on the computer. “How should I know?”

  “Because you’re his secretary,” Morwenna and Daniel said at the same time.

  “It’s your job,” Ben added in concert with Morwenna.

  Cheryl gave them a long look over her glasses, spun her chair around and hollered, “Sam, you over there?”

  After a moment of ringing silence, Sam’s voice, exaggeratedly patient, sounded. “Yes, Cheryl. I’m here.”

  She turned back, smiled tightly and said, “He’s in.”

  The hiss of the coffeemaker signaled Quint’s brew was ready. He grabbed a wooden stirrer, a packet of sugar and the cup and headed for Sam’s office.

  * * *

  JJ was comfortable with old things. Her parents’ house had been built in the 1840s. The crib she’d slept in as an infant had held more Logans than any family tree could support. Her mom’s good dishes had fed great-great-blah-grand relatives, and her first car was a Volkswagen passed down from aunt to cousin to Kylie to Elle to JJ, then back to more cousins. At least half the buildings in Evanston and dozens of the stately live oak trees were well into their second or third century.

  She liked old, so she felt right at home in her room on the third floor of the Prairie Sun Hotel, with its iron bedstead, antique wardrobe and desk and pressed-tin ceiling. It reminded her of home—newer by a hundred years or so, but still homey.

  The drive from the police station parking lot to the hotel lot had been too short for the car to even bother with warming up. Shivering, she’d dashed inside the hotel, wrestled the door shut and heaved a great sigh of appreciation for the heated air and the sweet scents carried on it. Vanilla, coffee, hazelnut, chocolate. Yum.

  Now she’d traded her boots for fuzzy slippers. Her new coat had taken the place of the quilt on the bed’s footboard, and the heating unit near the window was humming steadily as it chased out chill air with warm. She sat cross-legged on the bed, laptop open on one side, cell phone on the other, and sipped appreciatively from the hot tea she’d made downstairs.

  She had a call in to Mr. Winchester, another to the Wilhelmina Evans Memorial Library, and had sent texts to both of her sisters. JJ knew an awful lot about the criminally inclined population of Evanston, but Kylie and Elle knew more about the law abiders. Less than an hour after walking into the room, she had responses from three of the four. Neither Kylie nor Elle knew anyone named Mel or any variation thereof in town in the right age group, and a librarian had confirmed that the Evans family tree, dating back to the 1600s, didn’t have so much as a leaflet by that name. Since she managed the extensive Evans archives, there was little doubt she was right.

  With her favorite music playing on her cell, JJ turned back to Lois Gideon’s notes. Miss Georgie had explained that she owned the house and twelve acres surrounding it. That included an empty lot to the south and wooded areas on the other three sides, enough to build a dozen cookie-cutter houses if she chose. She’d owned the property for sixty years now and, so far, hadn’t chosen to.

  Funny that Mr. Madison hadn’t wanted noisy neighbors around his big house. Now the neighbors had to deal with the noisy big house, instead.

  There were five other houses on the stretch of street. The nearest, according to Lois, was rented to a couple in their midtwenties with four kids under the age of five. A shudder of sympathy mixed with revulsion rippled through JJ. Like Quint, she liked kids fine, but the thought of actually having any made her queasy. Having four little ones all at once would have put the fear of God into her if her parents hadn’t already done so.

  Next door to Toddlerville lived three sisters in their seventies. Two were widows, the third a spinster. Yes, Lois had actually written spinster. On the opposite side of the street were three houses. One had stood empty since its owner died last year, one was home to two twentysomethings who worked in town and took classes at the OSU campus in downtown Tulsa and the third housed the assistant fire marshal. Hot, hot, single and hot. Want to meet him?

  All of the neighbors except the fire marshal had made complaints to the police about Maura and her friends. Loud parties made sleep impossible at Toddlerville. The sisters thought everyone who lived at or visited the Madison house was a menace behind the wheel, and the students had been disturbed on several occasions by intoxicated guests who’d wandered off and knocked on the girls’ door instead.

  None of them had spoken to Maura or caught more than a glimpse of her as she drove past their houses.

  The phone rang, and JJ answered without glancing at the caller ID. She’d given the number only to people she wanted to talk to, and with robots or salespeople, she was perfectly capable of hanging up.

  “Have you seen Maura?” Travis Winchester didn’t bother with formalities, a sign of how worried he was about his goddaughter. Being a lawyer and a Southern gentleman, he was usually the epitome of proper.

  “Not yet. I plan to go to her house tomorrow morning.” She’d just this minute reached the decision. She wasn’t going to call and give the girl the chance to avoid her. She intended to show up on her doorstep, politely coerce her way inside and conduct a genial interview with the woman she used to babysit. Winchester had thought Maura might be more open with someone she was acquainted with but didn’t know well and wouldn’t expect judgment from.

  Loosely translated, Maura Evans wouldn’t give a damn about JJ or her opinions, so she shouldn’t be overly hostile. She wouldn’t be embarrassed by her actions the way she might be with her godparents.

  He was probably right. Her nieces would much prefer to confess their misdeeds to JJ than to their mothers, and JJ herself had been much more willing to disappoint a neighbor or a teacher than her parents. Anger and irritation were bearable. Disappointing folks wasn’t.

  “Have you learned anything?” the lawyer asked.

  She gave him a rundown of her conversations at the police station and with Georgie Madison. She told him about Maura’s run-ins with the local cops and asked about Mel Smith/Jones. He drew a blank on Mel.

  “Maura’s life was pretty insular,” he explained. “Here in town, he
r parents were friends with her friends’ parents, friends of mine. In college, her sorority sisters were the daughters of her mother’s sorority sisters. The frat boys she dated were sons of her father’s frat brothers. Valerie and Stephen Evans knew every old-money, old-South family in the region. They went to the same parties, supported the same causes, served on the same boards and shared the same interests. Sure, she met people at college that were from the outside, but she stuck with what or who was familiar. It’s a small world.” He hesitated. “Was a small world.”

  Until her parents’ deaths, when she’d run away from loss and discovered the real world. Before the deaths, she’d left the US once, for a high school spring break trip to Belize. After, she’d traveled her way around the globe two or three times.

  “What does this Mel person matter? You said she’s no longer a part of Maura’s life.”

  “Apparently not. She left three months ago. Maura changed three months ago, so the ending of their relationship might have been the trigger for the change. Maybe she’s grieving again.”

  To his credit, Winchester didn’t argue that the loss of a friend wouldn’t be such a great trauma. Stephen Evans had been his best friend, and he was still dealing with that loss every day.

  And maybe it had been worse for Maura this time around. Her parents hadn’t voluntarily left her. They had been murdered But it seemed Mel had just walked out the door. Thanks, it’s been nice, I’m outta here.

  Leaving was always easier than being the one left, or so they said. The only person who’d ever left JJ was Ryan, and that had really been more of an eye-opener than anything else. Sure, she’d missed him on occasion, but she hadn’t wept or mourned or sworn off men, relationships and sex for the rest of her life.

  Gazing up at the tin ceiling, she wondered if that was sad: to be thirty-seven and never have suffered a broken heart. To never have known that kind of passion and commitment.

  Then she thought of her sisters and friends with all their ugly breakups, and she did mean ugly. Lots of crying and wailing, splotchy faces, swollen eyes, snotty red noses. The air around them had crackled with sadness, pity, anger, insecurity, despair and hopelessness. When Elle and Kylie had gotten dumped by their college boyfriends at the same time, their dad had claimed that every time he walked in the front door, the hormone-fueled mood swings made the hairs all over his body stand on end. It had been like waiting for lightning to strike.

  Nah, JJ was lucky to have missed out on all that. She wasn’t a pretty crier, self-pity gave her indigestion and Rudolph’s red nose wasn’t a good look for her.

  Winchester had been quiet a long time. Finally he cleared his throat. “Detective—JJ, my wife and I never had children. Four miscarriages were four more than she could bear. We doted on Maura. Her parents were our best friends. We were—are her godparents. We worried when she left town. We wanted her to stay here, to take care of her, to help her heal, but the psychologist said it would be good for her to get away, to have no expectations placed on her, to go where she wanted, do what she wanted and experience life. The worst things in our lives were losing our babies, burying Stephen and Valerie, and letting Maura go. It almost killed us.”

  The distance between them and the telephone did nothing to diminish the intensity of his voice. JJ understood that sort of love better than romantic love. She loved her parents like that, her sisters and nieces. She couldn’t imagine if one day, one of them simply said, I don’t want you in my life anymore. That would break her heart.

  And not knowing if the person was all right or why she’d cut you off, why you no longer mattered to her, why she’d stopped loving you...tough.

  “I’ll see her tomorrow, Mr. Winchester. I can’t promise I’ll have answers to your questions. I’ll have to play it however she wants. But at least I can see her, talk to her and tell you that she’s physically all right.”

  Not that it was Maura’s physical condition that worried the lawyer. He hadn’t detailed his fears, but JJ could figure it out from what she was told. Maura had been emotionally fragile and psychologically exhausted when she left Evanston. She’d chosen off-the-beaten-path destinations on her trips. Had she found she liked a challenge, or had she been courting danger? Had she been growing stronger or getting lost in her grief? Her small, insular world had grown into a great big one; the protection her family had given was gone. She’d met people of all types, all religions, all races, none of them vetted through their association with her parents or their friends. Though she’d never been a slacker in the spending area, she’d suddenly developed a new and greedy affection for buying, wanting not just more money but all of it. Right now.

  How big a shock had it been to Mr. Winchester when she’d threatened to sue him?

  A heavy sigh came from the other end of the connection. “I know you’ll do your best, JJ. I’m just worried...”

  That maybe her best wasn’t enough. Maybe it was too late to bring back the Maura he and his wife loved as their own daughter.

  But before JJ went back to South Carolina, one way or another, he would know.

  * * *

  This time, the forecast hadn’t lied. Quint sat in his truck, engine running, wearing his duty jacket zipped up high, thick leather gloves and a knitted watch cap. A travel mug of coffee steamed the air around it in the console holder, scenting the air faintly with chocolate and spices.

  He didn’t particularly like chocolate-spiced coffee. It had been Linny’s favorite, though, and the aromas reminded him of her. When all her fragrances had been washed out of the laundry and faded from the unworn clothing in the closets, when her perfume no longer lingered on bed pillows or sofa cushions, he’d found a few pods of the coffee in the cabinet and brewed one just for the smell. Now he started every day with a cup.

  How pathetic was that?

  The defrosters were blasting the cold windows, melting the snow accumulated there into thin rivulets. He’d scraped the side and rear windows, his breath puffing in white clouds, but had left the defroster to clear the windshield. In another minute, he could turn on the wipers, and a minute after that, the heat should start warming his hands and feet.

  For those moments, he continued to stare out the window. Daffodils the color of lemons poked through the snow, leftovers from the retired couple he and Linny had bought the house from. Every fall, she’d said she was going to dig them up and divide them so they would make even more flowers, but she’d never managed to actually do it. Maybe this fall he would. It wasn’t as if there was anything else to do with his free time.

  Or maybe he wouldn’t. He didn’t give a damn about daffodils.

  Other than the daffodils, there was nothing remarkable about the house. It was two stories, with a big front porch and a smaller one out back. The wood siding was white, the shutters and doors dark green, the porch floor gray and its ceiling light blue. About as traditional as house-paint colors could get. The garage was detached with room for two vehicles, but it stored only tools and a dual-fuel grill. They’d laid a patio in front of it one summer, all their families helping, and had cooked out every weekend it was warm enough and plenty when it wasn’t. This morning he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about grilling or having friends over or even just sitting out there on a quiet evening.

  Grimly, he shook his head to clear it. It’s not good to live so much in your head, someone had told him. Probably Mrs. Little Bear, Ben’s mother. She gave everyone advice and usually accompanied it with good food, and she had been advising and feeding Quint since before Ben was born.

  But in your head was the only place things could be the way you wanted. Sometimes it was the only safe place to be.

  His cell phone vibrated on the console where it sat. A quick glance showed the caller was Sam. Quint had radioed in that he was in service after he’d cleaned the windows, so if he didn’t answer the phone, Sam would just call him on the radio. He picked
up.

  “Can you come by my office before you head out on patrol?” his boss asked.

  “Sure. How are the streets?”

  “The usual. Sand trucks are out. People are convinced they’re much better drivers than they really are. We’ve had five accidents in the past hour. My neighbor said, ‘Oh great, school’s out. We can go shopping in Tulsa.’”

  Quint grunted. “My nieces have always thought snow days were for shopping and movies. They can’t stand that their parents take their car keys. I’ll be there...well, when I get there.” His job included helping unskilled and unfortunate drivers out of ditches, pushing them when they got stuck and taking reports when they crashed. What would normally be a five-minute drive could take an hour or more.

  After ending the call, he backed out of the driveway and headed toward the center of town. Sun, wind and traffic would clean the streets significantly even if the temperature didn’t budge above freezing. Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone whose job wasn’t essential to public safety stayed in today?

  Would JJ stay in? Probably. It was much easier to imagine her in shorts and a T-shirt than struggling through subfreezing snow and ice. Pull her hair back in a ponytail, trade those boots for flip-flops, give her dark shades and a glass of iced tea, and he suspected she would radiate contentment.

  Not that he should be imagining her at all. There wasn’t room in his head for any complications beyond the one he had to live with: himself.