Countdown

by Susan Rogers Cooper

  Seeing Jean look at Dru, Constance said, ‘Don’t worry about her. She’s staying in the car.’

  ‘Why don’t I just stay home? That’s what I want to do!’ Dru said.

  ‘Because I’m not going to reward you for being a bitch!’ Constance spat at her stepdaughter. ‘If you don’t have the decency to dress respectfully for my sister’s funeral then you can sit in the car and twiddle your thumbs, but you are going with us!’

  ‘God, you suck!’ Dru said, then rushed past everyone and out the front door.

  When Jean got to the front of the house she half expected Dru to be long gone, but the girl was leaning against one of the balustrades, arms crossed over her chest, her lower lip sticking out like the spoiled brat she was. The car came around the corner of the house, Vivian seated in the back.

  She took one look at Dru and said, ‘I will not have this!’

  Constance crawled into the car, taking the seat next to her mother. ‘She’s staying in the car.’

  Vivian gave Dru a strongly disapproving look. ‘You hate us, don’t you, girl? That’s why you’re doing this. But what did your aunt Paula ever do to you to make you disrespect her so?’

  Dru snorted. ‘I’m only here in the first place because that old bat,’ she said, indicating Constance, ‘threatened to cut off my allowance and not pay for my tuition if I didn’t come. She didn’t say anything about dressing appropriately,’ she said, attempting to mimic her stepmother’s voice but failing miserably.

  ‘I can see my mistake,’ Constance said in a deadly cold voice. ‘Next time I’ll have a list of rules for you to follow.’

  ‘Oh?’ Dru said. ‘Do you have another sister who’s going to get shot in a hostage situation while drunk on her ass?’

  ‘No, dear,’ Vivian said, her voice as icy cold as her daughter’s. ‘I believe she might have been referring to me.’

  ‘Mother!’ Constance said.

  Dru snorted and looked away, while Jean and Jewel kept their eyes peeled out the windows as Kansas City flew by.

  They stopped at a red light near a trendy-looking shopping center and Jean spied a dress shop with junior clothing on a window display. ‘Please ask the driver to turn into that driveway,’ she asked Constance.

  ‘Why on earth—’

  ‘Just do it, please,’ Jean said, not smiling.

  Constance snorted but clicked on the intercom and asked the driver to turn in.

  As the light turned green, he took the turn and Jean said, ‘Have him stop right here. Jewel and I will get out.’

  They left the car and headed into the dress shop, returning in little more than fifteen minutes. As Jean crawled back into the car, she threw the bag at Dru.

  ‘Dress, shoes and appropriate underwear. Change your clothes now!’

  FOURTEEN

  OK, La Margarita in Tulsa is the best Mexican food restaurant I’ve ever been to. It’s greasy and dark, and instead of tortilla chips they serve saltine crackers with the salsa, but the enchiladas are so good the grease runs down your arm and you’re like I don’t care ’cause this is so damn good.

  I gotta say my boy did the place proud – he rolled up his sleeves, ate three tacos, beans and rice, and was ready for sopapillas at the end. We filled them with honey, which dripped and drooled all over the both of us. We ended up in the bathroom practically taking baths to get ourselves clean enough to be seen in public.

  Then we went to the Lego thingy. It was terrific. I thought Johnny Mac was gonna pee his pants he was so excited. He rushed me through the entire place then went back to the start and we had to go slowly, checking out every display, figuring out how each was built, marveling at the giant things and the teeny-tiniest of things. As we were leaving I laid down about fifty bucks for crap he didn’t need. But I figured putting those Lego toys together would keep him off all of his electronic crap.

  By the time we got home, he’d built a Lego Starship and lost half the pieces for the Lego dragon he just had to have. So we cleaned out the car, finding most of them and headed inside. I needed a Tums, but the meal had been worth it.

  I was on my third Tums when the house phone rang. It was Jasmine. ‘Milt?’

  ‘Yeah, Jasmine?’

  ‘We got a possible attempted suicide at the hospital,’ she said.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Hell of a place to do it, but that EMT? The one from Tulsa? Drew something—’

  ‘Gleeson,’ I said, perking up in spite of the circumstances.

  ‘Yeah, well, the nurses caught him downing a whole punch of OxyContin he was stealing from their drug supply cabinet. So I guess we need to do something? He was stealing, and that’s a crime. And isn’t suicide still a crime?’

  ‘I think so. Where is he now?’

  ‘He’s having his stomach pumped. Should be good to go in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Call me when you’re on your way to the shop with him,’ I told her. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Over and out,’ she said. Jasmine liked to do that kinda shit. I think it came from watching too much TV as a child.

  Harmon still hadn’t returned by the time Jasmine called to say she and the prisoner (I liked the sound of that!) were on their way, so I packed up Johnny Mac and what was left of his Lego booty and we headed to the sheriff’s department.

  I realized I needn’t have bothered bringing the Lego booty along as Petal, Jasmine’s daughter who’s just a year behind Johnny Mac, was already sitting in the bullpen doing something creative at one of the desks. Johnny Mac ran over to her as Jasmine said, ‘Well, I was gonna apologize for bringing my daughter to work, but now I guess I don’t have to.’ She smiled. That’s the thing about Jasmine. The first six or eight years I’d known her – all the time she was married to that no-good Lester Bodine – I never saw her smile. It first appeared shortly after the divorce – not a big smile, just a quirking of the lips. When she and Emmett got together, it turned into a grin, and when her daughter was born – well, now that smile was just something to behold.

  ‘Emmett tired of babysitting?’ I said, displaying my own grin.

  Hers disappeared. I think I’d said something inappropriate. ‘It’s not “babysitting” when it’s your own child, Sheriff,’ she said.

  ‘I was just kidding,’ I tried, but she was back to business.

  ‘Another call came in just after I got the one about Gleeson. A wreck out in the far north of the county – dead bodies all over the place. We decided it would be best if he took that by himself and I took Petal with me to the hospital call.’

  ‘Well, that makes sense,’ I said, still trying to make up for my inappropriate statement. Come on, I’m old and I’m male. We’re not good at political correctness, or whatever the hell that was. ‘So where’s Gleeson?’ I asked.

  ‘Lying down in the cells.’

  I went down the hall to the cell block and went in. I almost lost my shit when I saw that Drew Gleeson was in the same cell as the man I was pretty damn sure he’d murdered. Poetic justice, I thought, but then the chances were fifty-fifty that he’d end up in that cell. It was just pure dumb luck that both cells were empty. Eunice Blanton and her son, Earl, who had been our guests for several days, had been moved to the regional facilities near Tulsa to await hearings. It wouldn’t have been pretty if we’d had to put Drew Gleeson in with either one of the Blantons – more’n likely Earl, them both being men and all. But still, although I do believe Eunice might have inflicted more damage on her son’s suspected killer than her older son, I still think Earl coulda done some too.

  ‘So, hey, Drew,’ I said as I walked in.

  He was lying on the bunk, his left arm over his eyes, his right at his side. He had his shoes off. He removed his arm from his eyes, raised his head and looked at me. Then he lowered his head, put the arm back over his eyes and said, ‘Hey, Sheriff.’

  ‘How you feeling?’ I asked, leaning against the bars.

  ‘Like dog shit. Ever had your stomach p
umped?’

  ‘Nope. Never had the pleasure.’

  ‘It’s no pleasure,’ he said.

  ‘I’m thinking you and me need to have a sit-down, Drew. Work some things out.’

  ‘What things?’ he asked, still not looking at me or anything else but the inside of his arm.

  ‘I’m gonna have Jasmine come in here and take you to the facilities so you can wash your face, maybe rinse out your mouth. Hey, how about a Coke? Would you like a Coke? Or a Dr Pepper? Could even get you a Sprite if you’re so inclined.’

  ‘Coke sounds good. As long as it’s really cold,’ he said, taking his arm down and beginning to sit up.

  ‘Coke it is!’ I said and grinned. I reached through the bars and patted him on the back. ‘We’re gonna work this all out. Don’t you worry.’

  I went back outside and waved my deputy away from the kids.

  Once we were in our little lobby area, I gave Jasmine her instructions and went back to my office to review the notes I’d written down on why I thought Drew Gleeson was a killer. It didn’t take more than two minutes for me to remember all my theories, suppositions and bullshit. When I came back out I saw that the kids were loaded down with soft drinks, chips and chocolate, and that Jasmine was in the break room with the door partially closed. There was a TV mounted in the corner next to the two-way mirror that looked into the interrogation room where Drew was sitting at the table with a Coca-Cola in front of him – the same view that was on the TV screen. His hands were clasped on the table in front of him, uncuffed, like I’d instructed Jasmine.

  ‘So, hey, Drew,’ I said again as I came in, shutting the door behind me. I took a seat opposite him. ‘Sorry, but I gotta ask – what made you do such a crazy thing?’

  He shrugged and looked away.

  ‘You got some big problems, huh? Financial?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You into drugs, gambling, any of those things?’

  Again, he shook his head.

  ‘Then it must be your love life. Always room for that to go bad, don’t ya think?’

  No response. Not a shake of the head or shrug of the shoulders. But then, after almost a full minute, Drew Gleeson broke into great big, less-than-manly sobs, complete with tears and snot everywhere.

  I stood up and walked around to him, leaned down and put my arm across his shoulders. ‘I’m real sorry, Drew,’ I said. I squeezed his shoulders then went back to my seat. ‘It must have been real awful finding out about Joynell the way you did, huh?’

  His head popped up and he looked me in the eye. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said.

  It was time for me to shake my head. ‘Aw, come on, Drew. Why pretend? I know you were bonking Darrell’s wife. Everybody knows that – including, I’m sure, Darrell himself. Did he say something to you when you were in the cell alone with him? Something that provoked you? Darrell was a real asshole and God knows he didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. And you, just finding out he killed Joynell, the love of your life, you just couldn’t take his nastiness, isn’t that right, Drew? What did he say? Did he talk about Joynell being a great lay? Or maybe he said she was a lousy lay? That’s the kind of crap that would come out of Darrell’s mouth. And who could blame you, Drew? The guy was asking for it.’

  I stopped talking. Let the silence build. Finally, as the tears again began to slide down Drew’s face, he hiccuped and said, ‘She was the love of my life. And she loved me, too. We were going to run away together.’ He tried to catch a sob but it came out anyway. ‘And that son-of-a-bitch killed her!’ He sighed, paused for a second and looked up at me. ‘I didn’t kill him but I wish I had. I’d like to shake the hand of whoever did.’

  ‘It’s real easy to say you didn’t kill him, but you were alone with him when you went back in for your medical bag. Easy enough to slip him something lethal.’

  It only took a minute, maybe a minute and a half, for Drew Gleeson to say, ‘I want a lawyer.’

  The service was being held in the largest room of the funeral home, which still wasn’t big enough. The usual suspects – the people from the viewing – were there, plus about a hundred others. It was standing room only.

  Dru had grudgingly changed clothes in the back of the limo. Jean had guessed right that the girl wasn’t wearing a bra, and had bought one for her. This had led to Dru exposing herself to all as she pulled off her Dead Kennedys T-shirt. She didn’t seem to care. But she was in the family box now with the rest of them, dressed in a sedate navy-blue skirt and matching blouse and navy-blue flats. Unfortunately, the family box included Uncle Max and his wife, Serene.

  The service was given by a clergyman who obviously had never even heard of Paula until that day, much less known her. Each time he spoke her name it was preceded by a quick glance at his notes as he was obviously unable to remember it. There were eulogies – too many to keep count. Uncle Max was the first and talked about Paula as a young girl. This piqued Jean’s interest, especially when he made statements about ‘what a beautiful child she was,’ along with her being ‘so obliging and helpful.’

  After the last statement, Jewel leaned closer to Jean and whispered in her ear, ‘Did he just confess?’

  Jean squeezed her hand and tuned back in.

  ‘I remember once when I took Paula and Constance camping with my own kids, how she loved the outdoors and kept asking me what the name of this tree or that tree was. She was so smart, so inquisitive, so ready to take on the world.’ Then Uncle Max choked up and his wife Serene went up to the podium and brought him back to the family box.

  There were many more eulogies, but Jean only fixated on the ones given by those closest to Paula – like the long-time neighbor Neil Davenport.

  ‘My wife and I were not blessed with children of our own, so we opened our home to the two Carmichael girls. They loved to come over and eat the cookies that Emily baked for them, and sometimes helped her make more. They’d follow me out to my workshop where I played around with woodworking. Paula always wanted to use the circular saw, but I’d never let her. She was too small for that.’ He gulped in some air to steady himself, and went on: ‘When they were teenagers, the girls would come swimming in our pool, sometimes spending the entire day at our house. They were like our own children. But I have to disagree with what Max said. Paula wasn’t smart – she was brilliant. She had a mind like a steel trap. I don’t think anyone was surprised when she became a cardiac surgeon. It had been a joy, these last three years, having her back home.’ He stopped and looked over at the family box. ‘Vivian, I can hardly express how sorry I am that this has happened to your family. I will love and miss sweet Paula for all of my life.’

  Then he went back to his seat, and Jean had an overwhelming urge to take a bath.

  Jasmine took Drew Gleeson back to his cell after his phone call to his lawyer. He knew the number right off the bat, which made me wonder why. Did Drew have the need of a lawyer often enough to have memorized the phone number? When he hung up, Drew turned to me. ‘He’s driving in now from Tulsa. He has advised me not to cooperate with you in any way, which is just fine with me.’ He turned to Jasmine. ‘Will you take me to my cell, please, Deputy?’

  Both kids were watching all this as Drew had had to use the phone on Holly’s desk. After he’d been taken back to the cells by Jasmine, Johnny Mac asked, ‘What’d he do, Dad?’

  He does that now. Calls me ‘dad’ instead of ‘daddy.’ I don’t know what to do about it. I’d prefer he kept calling me ‘daddy.’ Hell, my own has been dead now for close to thirty years and I still refer to him as ‘daddy.’ What’s so wrong with that? Doesn’t make me any less manly. Just means I respected my father and still do.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, kiddos,’ I said. ‘How about I take the two of you over to the Longbranch Inn for some ice cream?’

  ‘Ah, Dad,’ Johnny Mac said as I looked up and saw the dubious expressions on both their faces. ‘Maybe the Dairy Queen? We don’t really wanna go to t
he Longbranch Inn any time soon.’

  ‘Oh, right. I forgot,’ I said. I hoped for the sake of Loretta and the other employees of the Longbranch Inn that everybody involved with the hostage situation there would get past it all and go back for at least lunch, if not a roll in the hay in the upstairs rooms.

  When Jasmine returned I told her I was taking the kids for ice cream at the Dairy Queen and asked her if she wanted us to bring her something.

  ‘A Blizzard. An Oreo cookie Blizzard.’ She grabbed her purse but I stopped her.

  ‘It’s on me,’ I said. ‘Least I can do to make up for that dumb remark earlier.’

  She gave me the good smile. ‘Yeah, the least you could do.’

  I grinned back. ‘What’s the best?’ I asked.

  She thought for a moment then said, ‘A raise.’

  ‘Ha!’ I said and ushered the kids out the back door to my Jeep.

  The sun was shining as the family took seats under the awning at the cemetery. Constance’s comment about the cemetery no longer being in ‘a good part of town,’ seemed to mean that the area, which housed students and low-income families of varying ethnicities, was not good – i.e., bad. Driving slowly through the area in the funeral procession, Jean noted an active, lively community.