Freezer Burn: A Maggie Mercer Mystery

by Jill Behe

  And it made my hip hurt.

  Poor Josh’s face went right to sunburn. “Sorry. I mean, it looked like it hurt real bad, when she landed.”

  “She didn’t scream, though.”

  “Thank you, Luke.”

  “But she grunted real loud.”

  That Blake, always a jokester.

  The other two snickered.

  Can you imagine that?

  I wrinkled my nose and crossed my eyes.

  Another throat clearing. “And then?”

  “Well, sir. Then she asked us to help her up.”

  “And we did, or tried to.”

  “But it hurt her too much.”

  “So we came to get you.”

  Wyatt’s foot hit the floor. “The end?”

  Three nods, very fast.

  Josh confirmed it. “Guess so.”

  “And this is why y’all looked so guilty. Because there was more to it than just a fall on the ice.”

  They exchanged glances and nodded again, this time not so fast.

  “All right.” Wyatt unfolded his frame and stood. “Thanks for your honesty, gentlemen. Now it’s time for me to take you home.”

  Luke got to his feet and slid an arm into his coat sleeve. “Can we use the siren?”

  Wyatt eyed him.

  The boy scrunched up his face. “The lights?”

  Wyatt continued his stare.

  The minister’s son sighed. “K. Never mind.”

  I had to bite my lips shut to keep a straight face. I agreed with Wyatt. Pulling up in front of their respective homes with sirens blaring and lights flashing would have given all three sets of parents a heart attack.

  As for me, the consequences, of bouncing hard and unexpectedly off the icy pavement, were beginning to overwhelm. My whole body ached, with at least two areas of prominence in the pain department. There was a low throbbing behind my eyes, too, threatening to blossom into a vicious migraine.

  Maybe I’d hit my head, too. The event was fuzzy in my brain, and getting more blurred.

  I needed a long soak in a hot tub, and some aspirin, or more than likely, Ibuprofen. Possibly even a combination of the two, if I could get away with it.

  “Bye, Miz Mercer. I hope you feel better.”

  “Thank you, Josh.” I blinked away a sudden rush of tears. “I’ll be back to normal in a day or two. Nothing serious.” I hoped.

  “I’m glad. Night.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night, Miz Mercer.”

  “You, too, Luke.”

  “Night, Miss Maggie.”

  “See ya later, Blake.”

  Wyatt had been watching, of course, and now pointed a finger at me. “You stay put. I’ll be back as soon as I get these three dropped off.”

  I was too exhausted to retaliate. Not that I would have. “I’ll be here.”

  He came closer and squatted in front of me. “I’m locking the door. And don’t answer the phone if it rings. We’re off duty. Let the answering service do their job for a change.”

  “Go away, but come back quick.” I waved him away, in slow motion, with my uninjured arm. “I hurt, Wyatt. I’m not in any shape to argue.”

  There was concern behind all the anger on his face. I wanted them to switch places, but knew, even as mad as he was, he’d be rational. Unlike me, most of the time.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  I nodded and blew him a kiss.

  He turned to the boys. “Okay, you guys. Vamoose.”

  Why couldn’t we all go together?

  I had a bad feeling.

  Two minutes later it was so quiet I heard the furnace kick on before I felt the warmth from the vent.

  I must have dozed off because suddenly someone was kissing me. My eyes opened, but it was pitch black, like something had blocked out the light.

  Trepidation fed my accelerating heart rate.

  The mouth kissing mine wasn’t familiar, either, and that was terrifying.

  No, I did not return the kiss. How could you ask me a thing like that?

  It definitely was not Wyatt. I know his mouth, the feel of it, the way it moves over mine.

  This was very different. Creepy different.

  And why was it so dark? There should be room lights, or streetlights filtering through the window.

  And it was so quiet.

  The pressure lifted.

  Finally.

  There was still no sound, but I sensed withdrawal.

  “You were lucky today, my little dumpling. Yesterday, too. You’ve been very lucky, up ’til now. Next time, maybe not so much.”

  What?

  The voice was so whisper-soft I wasn’t sure I’d really heard that malicious warning, that blatant confession. With my heart pounding and the blood rushing in my ears, it could have been a figment of my over-active, over-stimulated because-of-the-near-miss-earlier, imagination.

  The front door opened and closed.

  Alone, again?

  I felt a whimper clog my throat and a tear squeezed from my squinched eyes.

  “Maggie?”

  God, help me!

  CHAPTER 45

  DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN!

  I HELD MY BREATH.

  “Maggie? Come on, babe. Wake up.”

  WYATT!

  Wake up? I’m awake.

  I’ve been awake.

  Haven’t I?

  “Yoo-hoo, Magdalena. Time to go home, honey.” He shook me gently.

  Pain bloomed.

  I grimaced, loudly.

  Time re-aligned.

  My eyes opened.

  Yes!

  Blessed light.

  Relief. It had all been— I’d been asleep.

  Hadn’t I?

  Please, yes?

  Wyatt stood over me, worried, intense. “You’re scaring me, kid.”

  “Yeah. There’s a lot of that going around.” My voice came out kinda whispery, and wobbly.

  Creeped out, that’s what I was. Big time.

  “Need some help with your coat?”

  It hurt to move. “Mmm. Yeah.”

  “Sit tight, I’ll get it.”

  Glad he’d suggested it, I obeyed. “You did lock the door when you left, right?”

  “I told you I was going to. Why?”

  “Just checking.”

  So. What?

  It had been a dream, right? A bizarre, makes-no-sense-whatsoever nightmare?

  I was second-guessing myself. Not a good thing with my head so messed up.

  Had someone really snuck into a locked police station and … kissed me?

  (Shudder!)

  Then confessed to the shooting and almost running me over? Because I’m sure that’s what he meant.

  And then made an eerie malevolent threat?

  What would have been the point?

  Maybe I’m going mad.

  Am I?

  Please tell me I’m not.

  “Hey, what’s this?”

  I tried to clear the cobwebs and focus, but it was harder than I anticipated. “What’s what?”

  He held up a battered suede handbag.

  I blinked. “Where did that come from?”

  “I don’t know. It was here on your desk, but it wasn’t there when I left with the boys.”

  Lord have mercy.

  “I’ve never seen it before.”

  He opened it, pulled out a wallet. “Ohio driver’s license. Well, whadda ya know?” He looked at me. “Sybil Tolliver.”

  I stared, wild thoughts running rampant through my already befuddled brain.

  Oh, dear God! It was real. It had really happened.

  “Maggie? What’s it doing here?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. You said you locked the door.”

  “I did.”

  “Then, how—?”

  “You tell me. You were here.”

  “Wyatt, I don’t know. I feel like I just woke up from a bad dream.”

  He tossed the bil
lfold into the bag and dropped it back on the desk. “What haven’t you told me?”

  I was hurting and still muzzy-headed enough that wondering how he would react wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. When I began to relate my experience of the last few minutes, he was a cop, not a boyfriend.

  “That’s why you asked if I’d locked the door?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t … can’t, comprehend how it could be real because the office was locked. But the purse—” My throat clogged up, tears threatened. “That makes it real.” He knelt in front of me, clasping my hands. I held on, knuckle-white tight—elbow pain be damned. “I’m so scared, Wyatt.”

  “This guy’s been making some bold moves. Three days in a row. You sure you don’t know who it could be?”

  “My brain hurts from trying to figure it out. No one’s coming to mind.”

  “Have you talked to your boys, or your parents, about it?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  He let out a sigh, looking aggrieved. “Come on, love.” He stood, gently tugging me to follow.

  I hissed as pain streaked through my elbow and hip, reiterating the fact that they were injured. Like I was going to forget. My knee was protesting some, too, now. Probably because of my hip.

  “I tried to be gentle.”

  My right hand caressed his face. “I know, lover. Let’s go. I can’t wait to get home and soak.”

  “We’re making a stop at the ER, and then for take out.”

  “Wyatt—”

  “No arguments. Please? For my peace of mind? You could have a broken elbow, at the very least.”

  CHAPTER 46

  TUESDAY MORNING

  WYATT HAD BEEN VERY ATTENTIVE, so far, being particularly careful handing me in and out of the Cherokee.

  I was more than grateful.

  We’d been stuck at the emergency room for four hours last night, and came away with relatively good news. The whole area around the elbow was too swollen to read the X-Ray properly, but the general consensus was: not broken. In a few days, after the swelling went down, Wyatt was supposed to take me back for reevaluation.

  X-Rays of my hip and knee confirmed only bad bruising, and would be painful, and a deep purple for a good week, at least.

  The nurse fixed me up with a sling for my arm and handed me a scrip for 800MG Motrin—twice a day as needed—and suggested a couple days of ice packs for the swelling.

  Gage and I would be a matching set.

  Then on the way home, after stopping at Wendy’s for chili (his), burgers, fries, and a chocolate Frosty (mine), Wyatt made noises about me staying home from work, just to be on the safe side. That’s when I asked him whether I’d be safer at home, all alone without a car—oh, yeah, I’m not supposed to drive for at least a week—or at the office surrounded by concerned colleagues.

  It took a minute for the significance to finally sink in that I wasn’t safe alone anywhere, but most especially at home.

  So here I was at my desk, left arm in the sling with an ice pack wedged inside against my elbow, trying to type reports one-handed, when the radio sounded out the alert for fire and police. A weather related accident on Route 19.

  There’d been several of those over the last month. Spring can’t come too soon.

  I glanced at the clock. 9:55A.M. Huh. Wyatt wouldn’t be here to interview the Cleveland boys.

  Guess that meant the appointment would have to be rescheduled, or I would have to do the interview.

  Well, crud.

  Only once before had I used my peacekeepers’ badge. It had come in handy this past summer. While Wyatt was out at the swimming hole dealing with our injured former mayor, said former mayor’s wife had called the office and confessed to killing her husband.

  She hadn’t quite killed him. He was still alive, in point of fact, if you can call it living.

  That aside. I’d had to interrogate our mentally unstable first lady. It was scary, as I’d never done it before, hoping to do it justice and not screw it up. But it had gone well, and in the end, her declarations led to her arrest.

  Ten o’clock sharp, the front door opened, and three men stepped inside. There was no family resemblance between them, but there was no doubt who they were. They conveyed no attitude, menacing or otherwise, just curiosity.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for coming in. Chief Madison was just called out to an accident scene, so if you have no objection, I’ll be filling you in.”

  “I don’t have a problem with it. Let’s get it over with. Jarrod?”

  “Fine with me. Do we need to introduce ourselves? I believe we met at the antique shop just the other day.”

  “Yes we did. Jarrod Sorensen, right?”

  “You’re correct. My brothers: On the right, William Brandt. Abel Blackwell on my left.”

  Ah, so Abel, wearing a brand new camel-colored sheepskin coat, was the one from the post office and the Inn incident. Interesting. I was pretty sure he was also the youngest.

  “Good to meet y’all. Would you like to sit here, or back in the conference room?”

  They exchanged glances and shrugged.

  Jarrod decided it. “The conference room would be better, I think. More private and less chance for interruptions.”

  “I agree. Follow me, please.”

  I set the tape recorder on the table. “I will be recording this so the chief can listen to it later.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  I smiled. His permission wasn’t required.

  William was eyeing the blue nylon sling holding my arm. “Before you do that, may I ask what happened? Or is that too personal?”

  “I … had a fight with an icy intersection.”

  Abel grimaced. “Yikes. Looks like the intersection won.”

  “This round.”

  They chuckled, and each took a seat at the table.

  Sitting gingerly, I pushed RECORD on the machine, poised my pen over a blank page in the steno, and began. “This session is open with Jarrod Sorensen, William Brandt, Abel Blackwell, and Police Dispatcher Magdalena Mercer, at the Mossy Creek Police Department on January 20th, 2009.”

  “So why did you call us down here? You were a little vague on the phone.”

  I studied them, deciding my plan of attack. They weren’t giving off any worried or spooked vibes, and a thought pushed its way out. “I’m going to be blunt.”

  “We prefer it.”

  “Good.” I looked each one in the eye; they were focused on me. “We know about the plot to take Blake Russell back to Cleveland.”

  Jarrod pursed his lips and settled back in his chair, fingers steepled.

  Abel shoved to his feet. “Excuse me?”

  Jarrod grabbed his brother’s shirt and pulled. “Sit down, Abe.”

  “But—”

  “Sit.”

  The young man did, with reluctance.

  “What’s this all about, Ms. Mercer. Why are we really here?”

  “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Feel free, but we don’t have to answer.”

  “You’re right, Abel. You don’t, but it would be in your best interest if you did. We have uncovered the plot, yes, but the why’s and what for’s still need clarifying.”

  It was a risk to put it all out there. The whole thing could blow up in my face, but there was just something about them that made me think it was worth laying all my cards face up.

  Jarrod remained calm. “Ask your questions.”

  I nodded. “Were you aware that Walter Russell is a chef?”

  The men glanced at each other.

  “Of course we know.” William confirmed. “He was going to cooking school while Syb was pregnant.”

  “He also has full legal custody of Blake.”

  Jarrod straightened. “What?”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded, pushing some stapled documents towards them. “Wally gave us copies of the court orders. He’s had full custody sinc
e before your sister began serving her sentence. He does not have to pay Sybil any child support. In actuality, the judge asked Wally if he wanted Sybil to pay him, but Wally waived it. He and your sister were never married, so she has no right to alimony, either.”

  William grabbed the papers from Jarrod and began scanning them. “That conniving little bitch.”

  “You probably also know that Wally’s mother owns Annetta’s Diner, where Wally is the cook. Miz Russell voiced her concerns to us after Wally told her about several e-mails he’d gotten from….” I looked at my notes, although I knew which one it was. “From you, William. They threatened bodily harm if Blake was not returned to your sister. You called him some very nasty names, too. Or was Sybil using your account?”

  He slid the stapled packet towards Abel. “No. It was me. She talks a good talk. Had me convinced she was being railroaded. I never really felt a 100-percent sure about it, though.”

  “It doesn’t look like your brothers were aware of the information I just related.”

  They both wore stunned expressions.

  Just as I’d suspected. “Didn’t you think it was strange that your sister didn’t just report Wally to the cops? That she didn’t report Blake missing? That she didn’t ask authorities to send out an Amber Alert?”

  The older two shrugged, their brother slid further down in his seat. “Never really thought about it.”

  “Did you consider the fact that Wally’s not hiding out here? That he’s a very visible well-known cook in his mom’s restaurant? And that Blake’s enrolled under his legal name, at the elementary school here?”

  Jarrod was slow to answer. “Now that you mention it, no, we hadn’t.”

  “And do you realize that taking Blake without Wally’s consent would be kidnapping—which, duh, is a crime—and that going over a state line in the commission of that crime is a federal offense?”

  William reached around Abel and smacked Jarrod’s arm. “That little fiend did it to us again, big brother.”

  Jarrod was shaking his head. “I can’t believe she’d use us like that, lie to us, jeopardize our lives by pulling us into this ridiculous scheme of hers.”

  They were grownups, at least over 21. I couldn’t feel all that sorry for them. But I sympathized.

  Abel slammed his hand on the table. “You never do. You’re wrapped so tight around her little finger, you can’t see her evil deviousness. She’s mental, Jarrod. I keep trying to tell you guys that, but you never listen.” He groused. “I tried to get you to see it. From the very beginning of this, that it didn’t sound right. You know, just because I’m the youngest, doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”