“Not anymore,” he answered. “I know the last time we spoke I was a field guy, but I’ve sort of been promoted to a desk job.”
Promoted?
I knew better than that. What promotion would leave Harvey in a rust bucket of a Toyota and earn him a dressing down? Sherriff Dash, that cocky usurper, had obviously demoted Harvey in the two years I'd “missed.” No wonder he hadn’t been at his requisite speed trap.
If there was any way I could have disliked Second Springs’ new sheriff any more than I did now, I wouldn’t know how.
“Sounds fancy,” I lied, knowing that taking the conversation in that direction wouldn’t help anything.
Harvey jumped in the driver’s seat and flipped the ignition on.
“Where are we going?” I asked, as he backed out of his space and edged toward the main street.
“Just around the block a few times until I can figure out whether or not I can trust you with the rest.” He started to pull out onto the main road.
A huge brown truck topped the hill. It had to be going sixty-five in what was clearly a thirty mph zone and blew the horn as it passed, swerving to miss Harvey’s car, which was half out into traffic.
“Whoah! Aren’t you going to stop him?” I asked, remembering how much Harvey loved his little speed trap, and the rush he’d get whenever he caught someone going even five miles over the speed limit, let alone thirty-five.
“No,” he answered, pursing his lips. “I’m not technically allowed to give out traffic tickets. Besides, it’s that new speed demon of a delivery truck driver. I swear he’s gotten ten tickets since he added this route, and it hasn’t slowed him down a bit.”
He took a left, and I brushed past the hurt on his face.
Stop it, Rita. You didn’t grow up with him -- at least, not as far as he knows. There’s no reason you’d feel bad for him.
“So,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “How long have you had this car?”
“Since I got ben- Since my promotion last September,” he answered.
Okay, that meant that whoever Amelia was hadn’t spoken to Harvey in at least a year. It also meant he needed to do a better job of keeping this car clean.
“Right,” I answered, pushing around errant soda bottles with my feet. “So, the last time we talked.” My eyes darted over to him, looking for some kind of clue in his expression.
Harvey bit his lip and shuffled uncomfortably.
Oh, Harvey, I love you, but a poker player, you are not.
“It didn’t go the way I wanted,” I answered.
“For me, either,” he answered, and I relaxed a little because I was right. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you, but I had just suffered a loss, too. Rita, the girl on the steps, she was a really good friend of mine.” He shook his head. “I know it’s not the same as losing your mother, but it hurt.”
My mother? Whoever Amelia was lost her mother.
“I am sorry for your loss, though. Mrs. Hoover was a good woman. I had no idea her life had been as traumatic as it was, and she deserved a better ending than the one she got.” He took a right toward the hardware store. “She definitely deserved some justice. I’m sorry we couldn’t give that to her.”
A rush of information slammed into me. So Mrs. Hoover’s murder was definitely not solved, and this Amelia person had been her daughter.
But that wasn’t right. Mrs. Hoover didn’t have any children. I didn’t know her exceptionally well, but we had talked about it on several occasions. The woman even had Thanksgiving at our house once so she wouldn’t have to be alone.
Why would a woman with a daughter not want to spend the holidays with her and, more importantly, why would she lie about her existence in the first place?
Maybe it had something to do with the traumatic life Harvey talked about. The only way I would know was by asking more questions. But Harvey had a few questions of his own first.
“Is that your real name, Rita? It would explain why we never found an Amelia Hoover anywhere under the sun,” he said.
“We?” I asked, wondering how big this thing had actually gotten. “Who else is involved?”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business, not when I can’t get so much as your Christian name from you.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “And another thing. I get why you called me so much after the murder. I get why you got ahold of my cell number and cried and cried until I told you everything I knew about the crime scene. But why would you disappear after that? It’s been two years now, two years and I haven’t heard as much as a peep from you since the night I told you about the wrench.” He looked over at me, his eyebrows knotted up the way they always used to get whenever Mary Anne Sheckley blew spitballs at the teacher and blamed it on Harvey. “If you loved her as much as you said you did, if she saved your life and all that, why didn't you attend the service? I mean, I know you said you had your differences, but what kind of daughter doesn’t come to her mother’s funeral? The city paid to bury her, Amelia. Or Rita, or whatever your name is. We all got together, we talked about how much we loved your mom and Rita both, and then we took up a collection because we thought your mother had nobody in the world. Everyone thought that, and it was because of you.”
He took a deep breath, his face red and puffy.
“Now, I’m sorry. I might have been out of line there, but it had to be said. Family is everything. I just began to understand what that means.”
What kind of horrible person was this Amelia anyway?
The big brown truck roared back by us blazing down the road.
I caught sight of the driver; a man with sandy hair wearing dark sunglasses and bopping along to whatever hard rock anthem now assaulted our eardrums.
“Moron,” I muttered. Turning back to Harvey, I continued. “Look, I don’t have any excuses for those actions. I really don’t.” Well, that much was true. “I can’t imagine what I must have been thinking. All I can say is that losing your mother hurts a lot. It’s like someone taking everything you know … everything you’ve ever known ... and telling you that none of it matters anymore. Suddenly, the entire world is speaking Chinese, and you have to try to find your way back to normal.” My eyes started to fill with tears. Not for Mrs. Hoover, though she deserved to have someone cry for her. I was thinking about my own mother, thinking about what that felt like. “Only, Chinese is what’s normal now. So, everyone around you is speaking Chinese and there’s no way for you to keep up.”
Harvey blinked back tears himself, and I wondered who he was thinking about.
“So what do you do?” he asked.
“You fake it,” I answered. “Until you learn Chinese. Or at least enough of it to get by.” I shook my head as I realized who he must have been thinking about. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve heard a lot about your Rita since I’ve come to town. She sounded like a nice person.”
“She wasn’t my Rita, but nice is one way to put it,” Harvey answered. “Another way would be amazing. She was one of my best friends.”
I did my best to stifle a blush. Harvey had always been a dear friend of mine, and I’d always known he felt the same about me. Still, hearing it out loud was nice.
“She was murdered too, right? Was it connected to Mrs. Hoo- to my mother’s, I mean?”
“That depends on who you ask,” Harvey answered, seemingly forgiving my little snafu. “The official word on things is that it was an accident, that Rita saw the crime scene at Mrs. Hoover’s house, tried to run for help, and then got really flustered and fell.”
“But you don’t believe that?” I asked.
“You didn’t know Rita. She was tough. She was a sheriff’s daughter. She had seen a lot, even in a small town like Seconds Springs. More than that, she was capable.” A sad smile spread across Harvey’s face. “I used to call her for help. When I had a case that was too hard or complicated for me, I used to give her a ring. She always knew the answers.” He sh
ook his head. “It’s funny, I bet if she was here, she could solve all of this for us.”
“I bet she could,” I answered, turning from him and looking ahead intently. “I bet she could.”
9
“Sweet potato? Are you sure?” I asked, looking down at the pie in Peggy’s hands. We stood at the front door of Patrick’s house, ringing the doorbell lightly. The funeral had been lovely.
I didn’t know the man. His tenure in Second Springs had been bookmarked by my departure and return in an almost eerily accurate manner. But after hearing the lovely words spoken about him at the service, I felt like I did.
He had been Aiden’s friend. They golfed together. Which was strange, because I had never seen Aiden so much as slow down as we passed the golf course, let alone grab a set of clubs and go to town. How things had changed since I had been gone.
“You don’t think so?” Peggy asked, scrunching her nose and turning to me.
My mouth quirked to the side curiously. “I suppose it’s fine. I’d have just picked something with a little more oomph for a wake.”
“I just figured it was homey. You know, comfortable.” She stared at me for a long moment.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just, the thing you do with your mouth reminds me of someone.”
“Oh,” I said, quickly straightening it and cursing my instincts. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize.” She smiled. “Reminders aren’t always bad.”
“I absolutely agree.” Aiden had left the church early with Angela to help set things up, and now it seemed he was on front door duty. He stood at the threshold, smiling at us.
“Sweet potato?” he asked, clearly delighted.
“Don’t worry. We have a second one back in the shop.” Peggy chirped.
“That’s my girl.” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
Instinctively, I turned my head away, not wanting to see their connection splayed out right in front of me. They might have thought I was dead and gone, but that was only half true.
We walked into the house, a quaint little cottage that couldn’t have had more than two bedrooms. It was definitely a starter-house, only Angela’s “start” had come to a grinding and unexpected halt.
“I’ll put this in the fridge and catch up with you guys,” Peggy said, lifting the pie and heading off into the tiny kitchen.
“You have a lot more in common with my Rita then you realize,” Aiden said, keeping pace with me through the crowd of mourners and well-wishers all jammed into this compact living room.
My Rita.
The words struck something in me, and I felt a pang of hurt so real and intense, I suddenly needed to take a seat.
“Is that right?” I asked, nonchalantly placing a hand against the wall to steady myself.
“Yeah,” Aiden smiled. “She was always very uncomfortable with public displays of affection, too.”
“What?” I bit my lip. “No, I wasn’t. I mean, I’m not.” I closed my eyes to gather myself. “I mean she might have been, but I’m not. I just ... I wanted to give you guys some privacy. That’s all.”
That was ridiculous. I had never been uncomfortable with that sort of thing. Just because I didn’t feel the need for us to slobber all over each other in the center of Main Street like some lovestruck teenagers didn’t mean I didn’t care about him.
That was insane.
Wasn’t it?
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said, perhaps a bit too curtly.
“I’m not,” he answered as quickly as the words left my mouth. “I loved that girl for over half of my life. The fact that she didn’t want to hold my hand in church didn’t change that.”
And there it was, that pang of hurt again.
I slumped against the wall. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe I had taken something away from Aiden by not being the type of girl who was as open and available with the way she felt as he wanted. Whatever the case, it was too late to change that now.
“Do you ever miss her?” I asked, and realized that I was actually afraid to hear the answer.
“I always miss her, especially on days like today,” he said, leaning beside me. “We always miss her. Peggy and I talk about her all the time. She’s always with us.”
“If she was in front of you right now, what would you say to her?” I asked, looking up at him, half hurt, half expectant.
He smiled and looked past me. “That’s private,” he whispered.
I had never wanted to tell him the truth more than in that moment. I just wanted to lay it all out there and let the chips fall where they may. Sure, I might end up in a straitjacket, like Charlie said. But at least I’d have gotten there honestly.
Maybe I would have told him, maybe the words would come tumbling out of my mouth, if not for stupid Sheriff Dash.
The sheriff strode up to us, a cup of coffee in his hand and a cocky look on his face.
“Good to see you, Aiden.” He nodded.
“You too, Darrin,” he answered, before looking back at me. “I’d better go make sure Angela is getting along okay. Will you send Peggy my way if she comes back? And, Rita,” he looked at me, “maybe don’t mention what we talked about. She’s not as strong as she likes to think she is, and I’m already a little worried this is going to drudge everything back up.”
“Sure thing,” I blinked.
I watched Aiden as he walked away. He wanted to take care of her. He loved her, really loved her.
“Do I not get a hello?” Darrin asked, settling beside me.
“How about you take a hike and I’ll give you a goodbye?” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“Don’t be like that,” he said, taking a swig of coffee. “Besides, I’m the one who should be upset.”
“How do you figure that?” I balked. “Seeing as how you threatened to have me arrested.”
“Because you hacked into my systems. Or, more aptly, you attempted to.” A sly smile appeared on his face.
“Please,” I huffed. “That system has all the security of a bird’s nest. If I wanted to get in there, you couldn’t stop me.”
“Is that so?” He chuckled, taking another sip. “Then, for the sake of my own curiosity, please tell me what’s stopping you.”
“The fact that you have absolutely nothing,” I answered.
“Did Officer Harvey tell you that as well?”
“He didn’t need to,” I answered. “If you had any idea who was to blame for this murder, you wouldn’t be looking at me so hard.”
“You misunderstand me, Ms. Redoux. I never thought of you as a suspect.” He leaned forward, peering at me with searing blue eyes. “You’re not a killer. I can see that as clearly as the roses on your dress.”
I sighed. Seriously, the only thing in that ridiculous suitcase Charlie gave me was floral print. Still, it was nice to know I wasn’t a suspect, nice to know that someone could look at me and see I’m not capable of something like that … especially given the words the voice told me that night before I was pushed down the steps.
You shouldn’t have done that to her.
“What you are, is dishonest. Coming here to town on the night of the murder, setting up shop at the victim’s workplace, spending yesterday morning talking to the new widow.”
How did he know that?
“You know something about what’s going on here. I’m not sure what it is yet, or even if it’s worth investigating. But I promise you that I’m going to find out, or I’m not the best--”
“Best detective in Washington D.C.?” I shook my head. “I’ve heard it before but, since we’re asking each other questions, I have one for you. What kind of turn does someone’s life have to take for them to go from a self-proclaimed top tier detective in a metropolitan city to the sheriff of one of sleepiest small towns in rural Georgia?”
“A pretty drastic one,” he conceded. “But that’s not what I was going to say.
I was going to say I’ll find out what you’re hiding, or I’m not the best sheriff this sleepy Georgia town has ever seen.”
“You, Darrin.” I leaned forward, extenuating the lameness of his name. “Couldn’t tie the former sheriff’s shoes.”
He grinned, looking away from me. “Your strange loyalties aside, if you’re such a big fan of my predecessor, I suggest you tell him yourself.” He pointed to the left.
Looking over, the air stopped dead in my lungs.
Dad stood in the hallway, talking to Mr. Deluca, the barber, and giving the older man a pat on the back. He looked strange at first, older, thinner, more worn. He had lost some hair and even more weight, and the wrinkles that danced around his eyes were even more pronounced.
His eyes flickered in my direction, and I turned away. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Because, even if he did see me, it wasn’t like he was going to recognize me. That’s when I realized what was really going on. I wasn’t avoiding my dad because I couldn’t deal with seeing him. I was “seeing” him right now, and I was doing just fine. I couldn’t deal with him not seeing me—looking into my eyes and not seeing his daughter.
Peggy, Harvey, even Aiden; I could handle all of them not recognizing me. But Dad, I just couldn’t do it.
So I didn’t.
“Excuse me,” I said, brushing by Sheriff Dash and heading off in the other direction.
“Rita,” I heard Sheriff Dash say from over my shoulder. “Rita, is everything alright?”
I didn’t answer. I just kept walking.
I moved through the crowd. Easier than it should have been, considering that I could just pretend I didn’t know any of the people here.
I pushed out the back door, closing it behind me and sighing as I took a deep breath of fresh air.
Is this what it had come down to, running away from my father so I didn’t get my feelings hurt?
This wasn’t who I was. Harvey had said it himself. I was fierce. I was competent. Now look at me, hiding outside a funeral with absolutely no idea what to do next. How was I supposed to solve this murder like this? How was I supposed to finish unfinished business?
Twice Baked Murder Page 6