by Harry Kraus
John brushed away a tear with the back of his hand. “With a few mountains behind us — ”
“A few?” She opened her eyes to see his smile again. “Shall I name them for you?”
He put his index finger against her lips and shook his head. “Let’s not go there, honey. This day is too perfect.”
Claire nodded but couldn’t keep her heart from swelling with gratefulness that she stood on this side of so much pain.
John reached into the pocket of his tuxedo and retrieved an envelope bearing an airline insignia. “For the next two weeks, it’s nothing but white sand, blue water, fresh seafood, and my favorite girl,” he said, running his index finger over the top of the envelope.
“Will you tell me now?”
He slowly lifted a ticket bearing Claire’s new name and held it up for her to see, shrugging with feigned nonchalance. “I’m taking Dr. Cerelli to Hawaii.”
“John, we can’t spend — ”
He held up his hands. “Hey, I used my frequent flyer miles.” He pushed forward until his face was inches from hers. “If anyone ever deserved this break, it is you. The clinic never lets you rest.”
She kissed him softly and felt a knot tightening in her throat. “This is so nice. This day has been perfect.”
They settled into a quiet embrace, barely aware of the car’s movement over the curves leading up and over North Mountain toward Brighton.
John had reserved the bridal suite at the Brighton Omni. He took her hand as they stood at the door to their room. “We need to get some rest, Dr. Cerelli. We’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
She leaned in and kissed him passionately, not caring that they were still in the hall. “We can sleep on the plane,” she whispered. “I have other plans.”
John fumbled with the key card, his anticipation nearing summit level. Since their new engagement, John and Claire had been faithful to stay within safe boundaries, knowing too well the hurt and guilt that come with compromise. This time, they had purposed to do things the right way. Now, Claire thought, the time has come. We can enjoy each other the way God intended.
Inside their room, John slipped off his tuxedo jacket and tossed it aside as he stepped forward to help Claire lift the veil from her head. His lips brushed hers lightly, and then pulled away. “I’ve been dreaming about this moment for so long.”
“I love you, John Cerelli.”
Their lips met again.
She leaned back against the door as John’s kisses lingered, hungry against her neck.
A sharp knock startled Claire from her pleasure. “What?” she whispered. “Who could that be?”
“Just the bellman with the luggage.” John reached for the door handle. “Your mother is the only one who knows where we are tonight, and she’s been sworn to secrecy.”
Claire sighed.
John opened the door. Two uniformed men stood inches from the hotel doorway. “Can I help you?”
The men looked past John. The taller of the duo spoke first. “I’m Detective Stevens with County Police. I’m looking for Claire McCall.”
Her gut tightened. “I – I’m Claire Mc — No, I’m Claire Cerelli,” she said, closing her hands onto the front of her wedding gown.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.”
Claire’s eyes widened. Was this some sort of joke? Maybe John’s friends had rigged an elaborate trick. But something in their faces told a different story.
John stepped forward. “What’s this all about? It’s our wedding night!”
The detective took Claire’s hand. In a moment, she was spinning until she faced the wall. A second later, with her arm bent behind her, she felt cold metal snap around her wrists. “Ms. Cerelli, you’re under arrest for the murder of Wally McCall.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
A few moments later, Claire was led through the lobby of the Brighton Omni Hotel, handcuffed, and still wearing her wedding gown. The lobby now seemed crowded. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed before, passing through the same foyer a few minutes ago with other things on her mind. Now it seemed that all of Brighton had shown up to gawk at the bride being led away by police. Along a side hallway, the Brighton High School prom was in full swing, and the upperclassmen rushed into the hall, giggling, pointing, and in general wanting to get a view of the action. Claire wished for her veil that she’d left behind in the room. A photographer turned his attention from positioning a couple beneath a flowered archway and ran to the door. As Claire passed, he happily snapped away, blinding her with a flash.
John trailed along a step behind her, questioning the officers. “Tell us what this is about! Someone killed Wally?” He grabbed the arm of Detective Stevens. “Please!”
The detective quickly seized John’s wrist. “Do not touch me!”
John held up his hands. “Just tell us what this is about!”
The officer was stone-faced. “Why don’t you ask her?”
Claire looked into her husband’s eyes. The fear she saw there was not encouraging.
John pleaded, “Claire?”
She began to cry. “John, I have no idea what this is about.”
“Let’s go,” the detective said.
The policeman stepped quickly into the parking lot toward a waiting cruiser. There, one officer shoved her into the backseat.
Claire strained against her handcuffs. “Hey,” she cried, “I can’t buckle up with these things on!”
The officer grunted and buckled her in before joining his partner in the front seat.
John tapped on the window, offering a laugh. “Okay, this is a joke, right? Where’s the camera?”
Detective Stevens shook his head. “I wish it were.” He slammed the door with John standing at the curb.
As they pulled away, she could hear John yelling, “Where are you taking her? At least tell me where you are going!” She turned to see him run for a few yards and then stop and scream, “Ahhhh!”
Claire’s mind was spinning. Feeling the tears begin to flow, she tried to wipe her face on her shoulder, but couldn’t reach because her hands were cuffed behind her back. “I don’t understand,” she sobbed. “My father’s dead?”
The police officers seemed to ignore her. A plexiglass interwoven with some sort of metal reinforcement separated them.
She raised her voice. “Excuse me! Could you please tell me what’s going on? Is my father dead?”
The officer driving shook his head and mumbled, “Give me a break.”
His partner in the passenger seat turned to face her. “Miss McCall, you’ve heard your rights. I suggest you remain silent.”
Claire dropped her head in frustration and sobbed to herself, “I’m not Miss McCall, I’m Doctor Cerelli.”
John’s mind ran from thinking this was an elaborate hoax to the notion someone had made a terrible mistake. His first impulse was to chase after the police cruiser. As he searched in his pocket for his keys, the reality sunk in. He had no keys. A limousine had dropped him off. He closed his fist in frustration and walked back to his hotel room, formulating a plan. Who should he call? An attorney? Della? Maybe he should take a cab to the county jail?
When he reached his room, he slapped the door. In his haste he’d left the room without his keycard.
He leaned his head against the door. God, what is going on?
Ami looked at herself in the full-length mirror and smoothed the long white gown. The day had been nearly perfect, except for when John stumbled on his vows. He always did get a little nervous in front of large crowds.
She walked to the dresser and ran her finger over the top of his picture. She was so lucky to have a man like John. But working with him so closely had been hard on him. At times, it seemed he could hardly control himself. Finally, she’d had to quit her job just so he could get some work done.
But now, all of that was behind them. Their days of physical temptation were past. She looked down at Bridgett, her poodle. “How do you like my dress, Bridgie?�
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She’d left the reception before John. She expected him at any moment.
She heard the rattle of her closet door. Silly John, he was playing a game. Quickly, she lowered her veil and looked at her image filtered by the white lace. The wedding had been fabulous. Now they were alone, the moment she’d waited for, finally here.
The floor squeaked behind her.
His hand pinched her shoulder. “Hello, beautiful bride. Ready for the honeymoon?”
The grinning face was not John’s. Ami’s fantasy shattered. In a moment, she was falling toward the bed, seeing only the speckled light coming through her veil.
Della arrived at Pleasant View thirty minutes after the bride and groom left the reception. There, she was dismayed to find Wally’s room still taped off. Randy Jensen met her in the hall.
“Where’s my husband, er, my husband’s body?”
“State Medical Examiners Office in Roanoke.”
She shook her head. “So you really think — ”
He put his hand on her arm. “Mrs. McCall, we need to talk. We’re not going to have this all figured out in one day.”
She studied his face for a moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Mrs. McCall, did your husband ever express a desire to die?”
She nodded slowly. “He’s been depressed.” She looked up. “He’s been so miserable.”
“Any reason to believe that your daughter would have helped him?”
She shook her head. “I — ” She stopped. “No. It makes no sense. Sure, he wanted to die, but Claire wouldn’t help him do it. And especially not today.”
Randy Jensen pursed his lip and exhaled slowly. “We had to pick your daughter up tonight. We found — ”
“You what?” Della threw up her hands. “No, no, no.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. McCall. I’m sorry.”
Della put her hand to her mouth. “Where is she?”
“Brighton. In the county jail.”
Claire looked across the wire mesh window at Eric Robinson, a county magistrate. At her elbow stood Deputy Stevens.
Mr. Robinson pushed his glasses up on his nose and squinted at Claire through the glass. He looked to be about fifty-five and overdue for a tune-up. His eyes were puffy, as if he’d been in bed when they called. Claire estimated him to be sixty pounds overweight, and he had an ugly seborrheic keratosis on his forehead. He looked at the deputy. “Any criminal history?”
“No prior arrests. Our department was involved in another euthanasia investigation involving this same doctor.”
Claire’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me, but the investigation done by your department found the accusation to be completely unfounded.”
Mr. Robinson wrote something on a paper. “Any plans for travel?”
“Are you kidding?” Claire shook her head. “I’m standing here in my wedding dress. I was on my honeymoon. No one has yet told me what is going on here. I didn’t even know my father was dead, and now you arrest me on charges of murdering someone I didn’t know was dead!”
“Ms. McCall,” the magistrate began, “it may behoove you to keep silent.”
“Would you mind explaining just what is going on?”
“Ms. McCall — ”
“I’m not Ms. McCall!”
The magistrate sighed. “Dr. McCall — ”
“I’m not Dr. McCall!”
Mr. Robinson’s forehead glistened, making the brown skin lesion even more prominent. He slapped the paper in front of him. “Detective Stevens, did you or did you not arrest Claire McCall?”
“This woman is Claire McCall,” he said, tightening his grip on her elbow.
Claire pulled against him. “I just got married. My name’s Claire Cerelli.”
“Fine. Ms. Cerelli, you’ve been arrested on a charge of first-degree murder.” He shook his head. “And from your own admission, you are on your honeymoon. That makes you a flight risk. You will be held here without bail. The Juvenile and Domestic Relations sits Monday morning. Your bond hearing will be Monday morning.”
Claire shook her head. “I have to stay here? You’ve got to be kidding. I’m on my honeymoon! I can’t stay here.”
Joel Stevens smirked. “Let’s go.”
“Wait. You can’t be serious!”
The deadpan look on his face was all the answer she needed.
“I’m on my honeymoon. Take me back to my husband!”
The officer shoved her forward.
“Where are you taking me? Don’t I get a phone call?”
The detective led her from the magistrate’s office into a small room next door. “Sit,” he said, adjusting a camera on a small stand. “Look here. Smile,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nice dress, by the way.”
He pointed at a counter. “Time for fingerprints. Give me your right thumb.”
She complied as much as she could with her hands in the cuffs. Next, he took her into a barren hallway and swiped a keycard to unlock a wide metal door. With the door behind her, she faced a second door with a female guard. The woman looked at Claire and chuckled. “Whaddaya got, Joel?”
“Any vacancy in holding?”
The guard smiled. “For you, sure.” She looked at Claire. “Don’t tell me, you were at a costume party, right?” She laughed at her own joke and pulled a pair of latex examining gloves out of a box.
Claire didn’t respond.
“Stand still.” The woman patted Claire’s dress, lightly at first, then slipped her hands along her legs with a probing just shy of intimate.
“Ouch!”
“Turn around.”
Claire winced and submitted to a repeat performance as she faced the gray concrete wall.
The female deputy unlocked a second door, this one metal with a small wire mesh window.
Another deputy arrived. “Holding cell two,” Bonnie said.
“I’ll need my cuffs,” Joel said.
He unsnapped them and Claire rubbed her wrists, but had only a few seconds until a second pair, this one belonging to the jail, was locked in place.
Joel tipped his hat. “This is where we part, Dr. Cerelli. These folks will take good care of you.” He touched the female guard’s hand. “Thanks, Bonnie.”
The male deputy had a military cut, blond and flat on the top. He looked like he spent the best part of his short life in a gym. He took Claire by the elbow and escorted her forward, up a set of metal stairs.
“Don’t I get to talk to an attorney?”
“Ma’am, it’s nearly midnight. You are going to be housed in the holding area. Enjoy the view. The window overlooks booking, the central part of our fine facility. Tomorrow, they’ll give you a real orientation, issue you a uniform, and move you into the general population.”
The officer removed Claire’s handcuffs only when she was standing in the middle of a small holding cell. He excused himself, leaving her to explore her surroundings alone.
It wasn’t hard to take inventory. There was exactly one metal bed with a worn mattress and a metal one-piece commode. No pillow. No blanket. The one window without blinds was so high up on the outside wall that it gave only a view of the night sky. Claire paced the room. Two steps from bed to one wall, six steps from commode to wall the other way. On the opposite wall was a window overlooking the central hub of the jail. A few seconds after he’d left, Claire watched as Detective Stevens walked through. He made a fist and touched it against the deputy’s fist he’d called Bonnie. He paused as they laughed. It was like watching TV with the sound muted. The duo seemed to be flirting. Claire tried to read their lips. The detective pointed his head to the left and then lifted his eyes to meet Claire’s. The couple laughed again. Claire stared until he broke their gaze.
She looked at the mattress stains and perched gingerly on the edge of the bed, trying not to wrinkle her dress. Two hours ago, she had entered a luxurious hotel room with her new husband. Earlier that day, her heart had soared with the words of the hymn. I know that my Redeemer l
ives; What comfort this sweet sentence gives. Now she was confined to a holding cell in the county jail.
Fear, confusion, and anger wrestled for preeminence in her soul. She closed her eyes, shutting out the little room, not caring that the pain in her heart found its expression in tears. She willed herself not to understand, for she had learned that agony of soul was often a mystery that required trust first and enlightenment, if it ever came, later on. At that moment of misery, she found herself stilled by the confidence of a warrior who had tasted victory in prior battles.
She looked at her fingers, each stained with black ink. She reached for her ring finger and felt the smooth surface of her wedding band. She slowly turned it around on her finger while quietly, with a breaking voice, she began to sing.
“He lives to silence all my fears, he lives to wipe away my tears. He lives to calm my troubled heart, he lives all blessings to impart.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Finally back in his hotel room, John let the phone ring at Della’s place ten times before hanging up and calling his father.
Tony answered on the second ring. “Cerellis.”
“Dad, it’s me. Something horrible has happened. Claire has been taken by the county police. It is so bizarre. They accused her of killing Wally. I — ”
“Slow down, son. The police have Claire?” John listened as his father exhaled into the phone.
“We didn’t even know he was dead.”
“John, we were going to tell you in the morning.”
“You knew?”
“Della took us aside right after the reception. Wally was found dead at the nursing home this morning. We all agreed not to tell Claire, because we didn’t want to spoil her special day. And for that reason, we couldn’t tell you either.”
“Dad!”
“Hear me out. Della was planning to tell Claire in the morning, before your flight. We knew you’d have to cancel in order to attend a funeral.” He paused. “Son, we just didn’t want Claire to have to think of anything other than enjoying her wedding.” He halted. “But this is bizarre. Why did they think that Claire had anything to do with Wally’s death?”