Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2)

by Heather Balog

  “Mrs. Maxwell, we have a few questions for you regarding your ordeal this evening,” Detective Neville remarks while glancing at his watch. “Well, actually I can see I’m incorrect. It’s actually last evening that’s in question.” He stares at us, beaming as if he has made the world’s wittiest joke.

  “Just one second,” Jason intervenes with a wave of his hand. “What did you mean by, that’s not exactly true?”

  Detective Neville appears perplexed as he scratches his head. “What’s not exactly true?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” Jason replies with an air of annoyance.

  “Why would I know what isn’t true?”

  “Because that’s what you said!” Jason retorts, his anger building.

  “When did I say it wasn’t true?” Detective Neville is pursing his lips, his eyes turned upwards as if he is trying to recall the exact moment he uttered those words.

  As amusing as this rendition of Who’s on First is, I have to interject and stop the madness. “Detective Neville, when you came in, River,” I sweep my hand toward my youngest guest, “was stating that we probably would never find out what happened in the car last night. That’s when you said, that’s not exactly true.”

  Detective Neville’s face lights up as he recalls this piece of the conversation. “Yes, yes, I did!” He clasps his hands together like a child who got exactly what he wanted for Christmas. He continues to gaze around at us with a big dopey grin on his face.

  “Are you gonna tell us what you mean by that?” Jason snaps, annoyance mounting to an explosive level. Jason does not appear to have any patience for this jolly man.

  “Oh yes, yes,” Detective Neville replies, bobbing his head up and down and causing his chins to wiggle. “Apparently the car that you were riding in this evening had a video recording device in it. It’s a black box of sorts and it recorded everything that occurred during the drive from the point that Claudia Fox and her husband left the house to the point where Claudia was shot.”

  There is a collective gasp that circles around the room, almost like we are doing the wave in some major league baseball stadium. I’m pretty sure I started it.

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask in a very high pitched voice. I hope it didn’t capture any of my bad angles, is unfortunately my first thought. And then it dawns on me…this video camera could have captured my sister shooting Claudia and it may not look like self-defense! This might be very, very bad for her.

  “Why would they have something like that in a car they planned to commit a crime in?” River asks with confusion.

  It does seem rather stupid. We all gaze at Detective Neville awaiting his explanation.

  He simply shrugs. “Who can figure out these rich folks? They do crazy thing just because they can afford it. Maybe it was a security measure for their car or something.” He adds another shrug.

  That hardly makes sense because the car we were kidnapped in was probably the least expensive one in the garage. Their Lexuses and Benzes and BMWs were worth a ton more. But who knows, maybe they had security cameras installed in them, too.

  “So this video camera angle…it’s a good thing, right?” I ask with trepidation. If it’s a possibility that it’ll end up biting Beth in the butt, I want to know now. Not that the detective would be able to tell us exactly what the camera showed but…

  “Oh, completely!” Detective Neville remarks with marked enthusiasm. “Claudia was threatening her on camera, even as your sister held the gun.” Okay, scratch that, maybe he could share. “She didn’t look like she wanted to shoot, but Ms. Fox also had a knife,” the detective continues.

  “What?” I didn’t see a knife. Where was this knife?

  As if he could read my mind, the detective answers, “She had a Swiss army knife in the back of her yoga pants. Apparently there was a little tiny pocket back there for keys.” He shrugs as if to say who knew?

  “Mrs. Maxwell?” A scrawny looking attendant is now standing at the curtain with a chart in his hand. He looks nervous and uncomfortable by the large crowd gathered at my bedside, especially since their eyes are now all trained on him.

  “Yes?” I ask. I’m really tired of people with questions. I’d really like to just take a nap.

  “I’m here to take you to surgery?” the scrawny dude says, but it comes out more like a question than anything else, as if he is unsure whether his statement is true or not.

  “Just one moment,” Detective Neville says as he pulls a notebook. “I need to get your account of the events that led up to you and your sister being kidnapped.”

  Oh, crap.

  I am suddenly feeling like the room is shrinking and all the men in it are staring at me. Roger is anxiously awaiting my answer. Poor guy has no clue why we were even kidnapped to begin with. It was like an unfortunate row of dominoes, one toppling after another due to one screw up or another. And now I’m going have to admit one disaster after another…out loud…to a police officer. This is the part where I have to confess that I forgot to pick up my niece, my sister was cheating on Derek, that she was having an affair, that we were trespassing on Kevin and Claudia’s property, that we were stupid enough to fall into Kevin’s trap, that…

  “Your sister told me that Claudia had picked up Jillian from a playdate and when the two of you went to pick her up, Claudia told you she was in the garage and then that’s when they overpowered you and put you in the trunk.”

  I glance up and see Detective Neville staring at me expectantly.

  Um, that sounds much better than what actually happened.

  “That sounds about right,” I lie. “I’m a little hazy on the details…hitting my head and all,” I add, pointing to my busted face for effect.

  Oh please! Don’t judge me! That’s basically what happened in a nutshell except for the part where I look bad for forgetting my niece and Beth looks bad for screwing up to begin with. If Beth wants to go with that version, who am I to correct her? Besides, nothing we did was illegal (minus the trespassing) and it’s all about reprimanding the kidnapper who attempted to murder you, right?

  “Sounds great,” Detective Neville chirps as he slaps his notebook closed. Really? That’s the whole inquisition? Why does it take hours in movies and on TV? I am starting to wonder if this Neville guy isn’t completely bonkers.

  “I really need to take her to surgery,” the scrawny guy suddenly interjects with a newfound confidence.

  “I guess we will let you get to it then,” the detective states as he offers me a handshake and then retreats to the part in the curtain. “We will follow up if we have any questions next week.” He hands Roger a business card. Roger stares at it blankly before shoving it in his pocket. “Try to stay out of trouble, ok Amy?”

  I offer him a halfhearted wave as he steps out of sight. I see Jason raise his eyebrows out of the corner of my eye. I guess word has gotten around about my inability to stay away from trouble.

  “I guess we will be going, too,” Jason says as he stands up stiffly, tapping his much younger cousin on the shoulder.

  “Uh, sure,” River remarks as he too stands up.

  Jason places his hand on my shoulder, sending an embarrassing tingle through my body. “I’ll be seeing you, Amy,” he tells me in a sultry voice. Ok, maybe it wasn’t really sultry…I highly doubt he would speak in such a voice in front of my husband, but I perceived its sexiness at any rate. I blush as I attempt to look away, hoping that Roger doesn’t see my embarrassment.

  “Ok, Mrs. Maxwell,” the attendant says. “Mr. Maxwell, I will show you to the waiting room once we get to the OR floor.”

  Roger nods his head as the attendant pops the break off the gurney and begins to wheel it into the hallway toward the elevator. I catch one last glimpse of Jason as he is leaving the ER area. He must feel my stare because he turns, locks eyes with me, and offers me a halfhearted wave.

  ~Eighteen~

  Professor Cummings claps his hands as he stands at the podium begging for attenti
on from the group of students spread before him. “Class, I’d like you to welcome back a former member of our class, Amy Maxwell!” He offers a broad smile as he sweeps his hand toward the side of the room.

  I enter through a red velvet curtain. I am wearing a chic slinky black number I saw in the window of Black and White. My arms are magnificently toned; my back and ab muscles are tight and taut. My hair is professionally styled, shiny, loose curls bouncing happily on my bare shoulders and a fashionable side swept bang lightly brushing my right eyebrow (which has also been professionally plucked and arched). My light foundation, blush, and eye shadow is hiding any wrinkles and fine lines I might have. But these kids will never know. My make-up is flawless. To them, I look like a game show hostess as I breeze into the room and take my spot next to Professor Cummings at the podium.

  “Perhaps you remember Mrs. Maxwell,” Professor Cummings is saying as he beams excitedly at me. “She used to be in this class. But that was before she so valiantly and heroically saved her sister’s life by jumping in front of a car that was speeding away with her kidnapped sister inside!”

  The class collectively gasps. I see one young lady flutter her hand in front of her face.

  “Her brilliance has not been overlooked by the local authorities. She has been accepted directly to the police department so there is absolutely no need for her to continue her studies here.”

  I blush demurely as the class applauds.

  “Take a look at Mrs. Maxwell, ladies and gentleman and let her be a shining example to you all! This is what you should aspire to be!”

  I continue to blush as Professor Cummings invites the students to the podium to shake my hand and have me sign a copy of my newly released autobiography, “The Life and Times of Amy Maxwell” which is a bestseller, by the way.

  As the students shake my hand, many pull me in for an embrace…

  The jostling that I am feeling is not from a throng of students congratulating me on my brilliance. It is from my youngest child.

  “Mama, up!” He is urgently pointing at the TV that is blaring one of his super dee duper happy vomit inducing sing-along shows.

  “Huh?” I rub my sleepy eyes and glance around after staring at him for a moment. I must have fallen asleep on the couch as I am now in the abyss at the back of the couch. (It’s amazing how fast these people in this house can completely misshape a couch…this one is less than a year old).

  “Lexie! Colton!” Evan tells me with vigor as he continues to point to the TV where the loud “goodbye” music is playing over the hue drenched credits. In one hand he is clutching his jacket and with the other he is pulling at my arm to remove me from the couch.

  “Alright, alright!” I tell him as I rise to my feet and smooth down my wrinkled shirt. Then it dawns on me what he’s trying to tell me. I have to pick up Colt and Lexie! The end of Evan’s show signals to him that we normally get in the car and pick the kids up at school!

  I glance at my watch and see that this is indeed the case. “Good boy,” I say as I pat my genius child on the head. “Let’s put your jacket on.”

  I bet you’re wondering why Evan and I are home during the day and why we are on our way to pick up the kids.

  Yes, really, Amy, shouldn’t you be in school? Why aren’t the kids taking the bus? Why isn’t Evan at day care or Beth’s house? And why are you taking a nap in the middle of the day????

  All very valid questions, my friends. You see after I arrived home from the hospital after my surgery on my foot, I had very limited mobility. I contacted the college to see if I could take my classes from home. After explaining the situation, all of my professors were more than gracious about letting me attend class via FaceTime or some other method. All of them except for Professor Cummings, of course.

  Professor Cummings rejected my request on the basis that I did not give enough “detail” regarding the situation. Fuming, I wrote him a seventy seven page document outlining my ordeal. I even included dialog and psychological theories about my sister’s psyche and state of mind. I expected him to acquiesce and allow me to continue with the course from home just like my other teachers. Instead, three days later, I received the document in the mail in a manila envelope with red pen marks struck across all my spelling and grammatical errors. In the margins were notes on what I did wrong in each situation we encountered that night. With my jaw hanging open, I flipped to the last page. At the bottom, Professor Cummings had scrawled a note.

  It read: “While I can appreciate the gravity of this situation, I don’t feel it merits your continuation in this class from home. In fact, based on this account, I don’t think you should take this class even when you are able to physically attend class. You are NOT (the not was underlined five times) cut out for police work. However, you are a fantastic story teller and I think you should consider a career in journalism or some other creative endeavor. My sister is an editor at a small press in the city. Here is her email address. Please tell her I recommended you and also that I will see her at Christmas. And to please not bring her beagle this time.”

  Yup. That was the message from my dear professor. I wasn’t sure whether to be irate or ecstatic. So I chose a little bit of both and ripped up the professor’s note and tossed it in the air like confetti. Until of course Roger pointed out that I had torn up the sister’s email address. I then had to tape the entire thing together.

  So long story short (yes, I know, it’s too late for that), I got in contact with the Professor’s sister who was, believe it or not, the most darling individual I have ever met. They must have been raised on opposite ends of the earth or something. She read my story and told me how much she enjoyed my voice and my storytelling ability, but how the manuscript was way too short for publication. I was incredibly disappointed after being completely buoyed by the possibility of an actual writing career but I managed to thank her for her time graciously. I expected that to be the end of it; I was done with law enforcement and my very short writing career at the same time. I never expected to hear from her again.

  Then a week later, out of the blue, the Professor’s sister (whose name is Pricilla, by the way) called me on the phone (gak!) and suggested that I add to the story with other accounts of “Life With the Maxwells” and see what I could come up with. I didn’t think that I would really have much to write, but when I started writing down the crazy things that have happened to my family, including the ordeal that Allie and I went through last year, I realized, I have a lot to say. Much to my family’s dismay, I might add.

  “Life With the Maxwells” has become a blog. Yes, I never thought I’d be blogging…heck, a few months ago I didn’t even know what a blog was, but with Pricilla’s guidance, it’s become a very successful one. We are hoping to compile all the stories and create a novel by the end of next year. Meanwhile, I’ve begun to work on a mystery series for kids, an idea that I had been tossing around in my head ever since Allie and I stumbled upon poor Mrs. Collin’s body. My books are about a thirteen year old girl Amelia and her eleven year old sister Lily who solve neighborhood crimes. And no, they’re not really anything like my own girls. These two are sweet and nice to their mother. (Hehehe)

  I bet you’re wondering about Beth. Well, after review of the video footage in the car, it was pretty clear that Beth was acting completely in self-defense. Claudia would have killed or maimed her for sure (considering she threatened to at least a half a dozen times). My sister didn’t even have a trial and no criminal charges were brought against her. Claudia is now permanently disabled from the gunshot wound to her lower back and wanted to sue Beth. Fortunately, her lawyer advised against it explaining that she was opening herself up for a civil suit filed against her by Beth. And Beth’s lawyer also advised her to file a civil suit and sue Claudia for pain and suffering and all that jazz, but Beth really wanted to put it all behind her and move on.

  As far as Beth and Derek are concerned, they’re trying to work things out. They’re seeing a therapist twice a week.
(Man, would I love to be a fly on the wall of that office). I’m sure neither party in that situation is willing to completely shoulder the blame…not that they should. They are both responsible for the marriage falling apart; Derek for straying to begin with and Beth for putting up with it.

  Beth claims that she is over Kevin; I guess it makes it easier that he’s not alive. One day, not too long after I was allowed to drive again for the first time, I was on my way to Beth’s house and I saw her car going in the opposite direction. So I followed her. Yeah, yeah, I know. I gotta stop being a busybody and getting myself into trouble. But anyway, this time, I followed her to the cemetery. She parked her BMW and got out of her car dressed like some cliché mobster’s wife in a movie with the wool coat that she wrapped around her body, hair swept dramatically off of her face with a headband, and the ginormous sunglasses covering more than half of her face. Even though we had just had a snowstorm, she was traipsing through the cemetery in four inch kitten heels. I watched as she crossed to a fairly fresh grave, knelt down and dropped a single yellow rose on top, and then proceeded to sob silently for a good ten minutes before she wiped the corners of her eyes with her gloved fingers and headed back to her car.

  Even though I didn’t need to look to see whose grave it was, after she left, I did anyway. Kevin. I felt a lump rise in my throat just then as I stared at his name so elegantly etched into stone. I didn’t know the guy and the way he went about his last few months (and moments) on earth were pretty shady as far as I was concerned. But heck, there had to be a better way, right? He left behind kids and a wife (even though she was a total tool), not to mention parents and other family. And my sister. Even though he and Claudia claimed that his relationship with Beth was all a ploy, I am certain there was something there deep down; at any rate, it was enough to make my sister feel better about herself for a short amount of time.