Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets

by Terry Odell

  Davey extended his hand. “Dave Gilman. My partner, Tom Reynolds.”

  Justin shook each of their hands in turn. “Justin Nadell.”

  They nodded, then shifted their attention to Oma and Opa. “Nothing to worry about,” Tom said.

  “Gott sei Dank,” Oma said. “Thank God. When can we take her home?”

  “You can go see her now,” Dave said. “The paperwork will probably take longer than the treatment. The doctor has to release her, but it shouldn’t be long.”

  “Did she say what happened?” Justin asked, lowering his voice.

  “You’ll have to talk to the doc,” Tom said, glancing in Oma’s direction. He lowered his voice to match Justin’s tone. “Once they’re out of the rig and into ER, we’re done.”

  Did that mean they knew something they couldn’t tell him?

  ###

  Megan’s head throbbed. The bright light in the exam room stabbed behind her eyes like javelins.

  “Meggie, doll.”

  She squinted, bringing her arm up to shield her eyes and grimaced at the sharp twinge in her wrist. Rose and Sam hovered over her, fear and concern etched in their faces.

  “I’m fine.” Her voice quavered, which made Rose and Sam seem even more worried.

  “Is this true?” Rose said, looking at Doctor Evans.

  “I see no reason to keep her here,” he said. “She needs rest. She’ll get more at home in her own bed than in the hospital.” He gave Rose a stern glare over the top of his glasses. “But light meals for twenty-four hours.”

  Rose nodded solemnly. “I have chicken soup.”

  The doctor smiled. “Perfect. The workup was negative. She’s got some contusions, a mild sprain to her wrist. She’s probably going to feel sore for a day or two.”

  “She’s right here,” Megan said. “And she definitely feels sore.” Like her entire body was one big bruise.

  “Oh, sweetie. What happened to you?” Rose brushed her hair from Megan’s forehead.

  Megan furrowed her brow, trying to remember what she’d already said. All she got for her effort was more throbbing. “It’s fuzzy.” She focused on Doctor Evans. “I remember going to the pond with Justin.” She noticed him in the doorway. He gave her a smile and a finger-wave. “And then I was here. Nothing in between. Oh, except I think I remember being in the ambulance. Do I have amnesia?”

  The doctor shook his head. “A little short-term memory loss of the events surrounding the trauma are normal. I predict your memory will return in no time.”

  A plump, gray-haired woman came in with a clipboard. “I’ll need your signature, Miss Wyatt. I’ve called for a wheelchair, and you’re good to go.”

  “I’ll bring the car around,” Justin said.

  Megan reached for the pen. “Um…can’t say it’ll be legible.” She held up her wrist, encased in a thick elastic bandage.

  “I’ll sign,” Sam said. The woman handed him the clipboard, he scrawled his signature, and Rose insisted on pushing the wheelchair. The orderly didn’t argue.

  It felt like Justin hit every pothole and bump in the road on the drive home, but at last they arrived. She allowed Rose to cluck and fuss, not bothering to protest. Had it been only this morning when she’d left San Diego?

  Megan accepted Rose’s help changing from her dirty clothes into a clean nightshirt, and crawled into bed. Rose closed the curtains, kissed Megan on the forehead, and tiptoed toward the door. “I’m going to leave the door open a bit so we can hear you if you need anything. You rest, and I’ll fix you a bite to eat.”

  “Thanks.” Megan leaned against the pillows Rose had propped up behind her and sighed. God, what should she do? The pain pill the doctor had given her had turned her brain to cotton candy. She closed her eyes.

  She opened them a short time later at a tap on the door. Light from the hall silhouetted a figure in the doorway.

  “Hey, girlfriend. Heard you had a little mishap.” Angie strode into the room carrying a tray. Balancing it, she flipped the switch for the overhead light with her elbow.

  Megan squirmed up to a sitting position, grimacing. “Apparently.”

  Angie set the tray on Megan’s lap, then closed the bedroom and bathroom doors. She dragged the desk chair over beside the bed and perched on the edge. “I dropped off some cinnamon buns and Rose told me you’d had to go to the ER.” Her eyes shimmered with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “So, spill.”

  Megan considered the tray. A mug of broth, a small bowl of Jell-O and some applesauce. Rose must have taken Doctor Evans’ words to heart. Not a cookie or pastry in sight. She cupped the mug with both hands, inhaling the rich, steamy broth. “I take it you’re not referring to the soup.”

  Angie rolled her eyes. “I told you I had a feeling something bad was going to happen.”

  “As I recall, you said it was going to happen to Rose and Sam. If this was related to your feeling, then I’m glad it was me and not them.”

  “So, what did happen?”

  Megan’s head throbbed. “It’s all blurry. The doctor said it might take awhile for the memory to return.”

  “Wow. You’ve got amnesia?”

  “Calm down. It’s normal, he said. And short term.”

  “You don’t think you fell, though. Someone did this.”

  Without warning, the man’s voice, his cigarette breath punctuating his threats, were there, although she couldn’t see his face. Her hands trembled, and Angie took the mug from her grasp. “Careful.”

  Megan composed her features. She wasn’t ready to deal with Angie’s prying. “I told you, I don’t remember.”

  Angie cast a not-so-furtive glance toward the bathroom door. “So do you remember this? Where was Justin while everything was going on?”

  “You think…you think it was Justin? No way.” Justin didn’t smoke.

  Angie hunched a shoulder. “Probably not. Although think about it. He’s out running. He could have grabbed you and left you lying somewhere, then come back and played the worry card to ward off suspicion.” Angie seemed disappointed. “Or what if there’s a serial killer on the loose? And you overpowered him and escaped.”

  “You’re reading too many thrillers, or watching too much television, Angie. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  The room seemed to blink out. Angie leaned forward, in full mother hen mode. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is real and I’m making stupid jokes. Was it terrible?”

  Megan shook her head. “Not really. It’s over. Drop it.”

  “Okay. Can you eat with your wrist bandaged? I could feed you.”

  “Not necessary.” She worked on the soup, easily holding the mug in her left hand. “God, I’ve missed Rose’s chicken soup. I’ve tried to make it, but it’s never the same.”

  Angie waited until Megan finished the soup, then leaned forward. “What do you think of Justin? He changed, didn’t he?”

  “And I notice you didn’t bother to prepare me.”

  Angie grinned. “Didn’t want to spoil the surprise. He’s hot.” She glanced at the bathroom door. “And sleeps next door.”

  “A minute ago you wanted me to believe he could have hurt me. Now you’re playing matchmaker?”

  “Oh, I was teasing.”

  “About the mugging or the matchmaking?”

  “Shut up and finish eating or Rose will shove it down your throat.”

  Now that threat wasn’t so far-fetched. Megan lifted the dish of applesauce close to her mouth and scooped it in. When she’d done the same with the Jell-O, Angie gathered the tray and went to the door. “I have to get going. Call if you need me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Or if you remember the details.”

  “I’ll be fine. And thanks for stopping by.”

  “What are friends for?”

  After Angie left, Megan decided she couldn’t put off a trip to the bathroom any longer. When she opened the door, she heard Justin in the next room, talking to someone. He sounded irritated. Maybe a few notches above irritate
d. She crept across the room and put her ear to the door.

  Chapter Six

  “What do we have, Ed?” Gordon approached the bench on the path where Justin said he’d left Megan.

  Ed Solomon snapped a few more pictures, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Not a whole lot. No decent footprints. No trace I can find beyond a couple of fresh-looking cigarette butts, which I bagged. One with lipstick. Might have belonged to the kids. According to Justin, he finished his run and interrupted a couple of kids engaging in some minor hanky-panky. He said he didn’t see any cars parked nearby, so they probably live within walking distance.”

  “I don’t suppose he got their names.”

  “No, but he did describe them—although you know how unreliable eyewitness descriptions can be. From a distance, he thought she was Megan. Same general coloring. The guy was about five-ten, skinny. When I finish here, I’ll go knocking and see if I can round them up. Maybe I can stimulate their memories.”

  Gordon gazed around the gravel and pine needle strewn clearing. “How many people use this access point, you think?”

  “In summer, a lot,” Ed said. “Now, not so many. But it’s warming up, and runners like to start here, because it’s level. A dozen today wouldn’t be unreasonable.”

  “So, we’re looking at a window of what? About forty-five minutes between the time Justin Nadell left her and the lovebirds showed up. Any number of people could have passed through.”

  Solomon nodded in agreement. “Hasn’t rained in weeks. No decent shoe prints.”

  “If this is where Megan was grabbed, you think it was opportunistic, or someone wanted her specifically?”

  “Hell, if we knew that, we’d be in the office solving the damn thing.”

  Gordon walked outward from the bench in an expanding spiral, shining his flashlight on the ground. “I don’t see any signs of a struggle. You think maybe the whole incident was an accident? She went jogging, slipped, fell, bumped her head? She just got into town—could have been lightheaded from the altitude. And the Megan I remember wouldn’t admit to being stupid.”

  “You think she’s feigning memory loss?”

  Gordon shrugged. “At the moment, that hypothesis is about as good as being mugged. We’ve got no proof of either.”

  “Better for the citizenry if it’s not a mugger. They’ll drive us bonkers, calling every time the trees creak in the wind or a cat runs across their yard.”

  “Call me if you find our lovebirds. Maybe they’ll have remembered something. Do your ‘I’m a cop, you have to talk to me’ thing. I’m going to grab some dinner.”

  “It’s good to be the Chief,” Ed muttered.

  ###

  Gordon stood inside the door of Daily Bread, wondering why it felt different. It took a second to realize he hadn’t heard Angie’s usual cheerful greeting. He checked the counter, where Ozzie, whose broad girth and extra chins attested to enjoying his own cooking, picked up a coffee pot and mug, and paused, clearly waiting to see where Gordon would sit.

  Scanning the room for Dave Gilman and Tom Reynolds, Gordon gestured to the booth at the rear where the paramedics waited. Reynolds made room on his side of the vinyl-covered bench, and Gordon sat. Simultaneously, Ozzie plunked a mug in front of him and filled it with hot, black coffee, a shade or two darker than his skin. He wiped his hands on his apron. “Meatloaf tonight, Chief.” Ozzie retreated to the kitchen.

  Not even a question. Lord, was he in a rut. Was that why he was picking at the accident case? To break the monotony of paperwork and budgets? Or to prove he still had the cop chops? That Dix hadn’t recommended him for the job of chief because he thought he wasn’t good enough for street work?

  He shoved those doubts aside. “Busy day.”

  “Definitely not the usual routine,” Tom said. “What did you want to ask us?”

  “The accident earlier today. Trooper on scene said he thinks they were searching for shell casings. You find any gunshot wounds on your victim?”

  The medics exchanged surprised glances. “No. No way,” they said, in unison.

  Gordon nodded. “Didn’t think you’d have missed it.”

  “Well,” Dave said, stirring his coffee. “Even if we did, the M.E. wouldn’t have found it until after we got him to the morgue. I’m thinking the troopers would have been long gone by the time that happened.”

  “I’ll ask, but I’m sure you’re right.” Gordon lifted his mug and inhaled deeply before taking a sip.

  “You know,” Tom said. “We could rig an IV to get the caffeine directly into your bloodstream.”

  “You saying I drink too much coffee?” Gordon asked.

  “Afraid I’ll have to vote with Tom on that one.” Angie’s voice carried across the room. “Ready for a refill?” She was already ambling across the diner, coffee pot in hand.

  “Maybe top it off,” he said. Dave and Tom slid their mugs closer. Angie filled each in turn, no wasted motion, no wasted coffee. Very little about her was wasted, he thought. Short blonde hair, no makeup other than some light gloss on her lips. No polish on her trimmed nails. She wore jeans and a Daily Bread t-shirt. Her scent was her own—she didn’t wear perfume because she didn’t want it to clash with the food she served.

  And why was he noticing her scent? Or wondering if her hair looked the same when she woke up in the morning. He realized he’d held her gaze longer than necessary. Breaking the connection, he nudged the filled mugs to the medics.

  “Sorry I wasn’t here when you got in, guys,” she said, apparently oblivious to his ogling. “Ozzie take your orders?”

  The three men nodded. “They should be coming up, then. I’ll check.” She half turned, then swiveled and leaned over the table. “Can you tell me what happened to Megan? I was over there, and she says she can’t remember.”

  “Not unusual,” Tom said. “Her injuries weren’t bad, but she might be suppressing the event itself. Temporary memory loss happens quite often.”

  “You saw her?” Gordon asked. “So she’s home?”

  “Yes. Rose has her tucked into bed, snug as a bug.” She turned her pale blue eyes to Gordon. “You’re going to find out what happened, aren’t you?”

  “That I am. Ed Solomon’s checking out the scene. And as soon as I finish here, I’ll go talk to Megan. Her memory might be clearer after she’s had a little rest.”

  “I’ll go light a fire under Ozzie and get you on your way.” She pivoted and took off across the diner at a brisk pace, her retreating hips providing a pleasant view.

  “When you going to ask her out?” Dave said.

  “Huh? What? Me? Angie?” Gordon shook his head. “Not my type.”

  Dave grinned at Tom. “My money says they’ll be an item by the Fourth of July picnic.”

  “Three months? I’m thinking Memorial Day, tops,” Tom said.

  “Shut up, the two of you. This is a small town, and I don’t need you spreading rumors. I’ve got a position to uphold here. Besides, Angie’s dating what’s-his-name. The mechanic from Conifer.”

  “Over and done three months ago,” Tom said. “I thought the cops knew what was going on with all the good citizens of Mapleton. You know, serve and protect.” The two men laughed.

  Gordon swung his legs around and levered himself up from the bench. “Enough.” He strode to the register and dropped some bills on the counter. “Angie, I’ll take my dinner to go.”

  Like living in a goddamn fish bowl.

  ###

  Justin flopped onto the edge of the bed, clenching his cell phone at his ear.

  “I told you, I don’t know,” he said. “And things are complicated. You have to give me time.”

  “There’s not a lot of time left.” His tormentor’s voice was calm. Refined. But the threat beneath the even tones came through loud and clear.

  “Maybe I don’t care,” Justin said. “It’s not as if it’s going to affect my life.”

  “Don’t pull that,” the man said. “And even if you do
n’t give a shit about your own life, what about your grandparents? The only reason I haven’t dealt with it myself is as a favor to you. A favor with an expiration date.”

  Justin felt like someone was twisting his gut with a pipe wrench. “Are you absolutely positive it’s here? I’ve already torn the place half apart.”

  “My sources say yes.”

  “But if it’s not? Or if it’s never found? Everyone could get on with their lives.”

  “That’s not acceptable. It’s there somewhere. Find it.”

  “I have until Sunday night,” Justin said. “I’m counting on you to honor our agreement until then.”

  Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

  Water ran in the bathroom. Had Megan overheard? He held his breath, waiting until the water stopped, expecting her to knock on his door. He remembered the way she used to knock twice before swooping in anyway, and he grabbed his discarded running shirt from the floor and wiped the cold sweat from his face. He took a deep breath, held it for five counts, exhaled slowly, and hoped he could divert any questions she might ask.

  Maybe the years had planed away some of her rougher edges. The way she’d barge in and speak her piece, demanding answers, never thinking she was prying into areas outside the bounds of privacy. He recalled she never seemed to draw lines between family, close friends, or casual acquaintances. What was in her head spilled out of her mouth.

  He waited a full minute, listening. The far door closed. He dragged his fingers through his hair. Off the hook. For the time being.

  Footfalls ascending the stairs, too quick and heavy for either of his grandparents, destroyed any sense of his calm. He tensed as they slowed, approaching his room. But the knock didn’t come. Instead, it was at Megan’s door.

  “Come in,” she said.

  The door opened, then closed.

  “How are you feeling?” The cop’s voice. “Up to a few questions?”

  Justin wasn’t above a little eavesdropping himself. He sidled to the bathroom door and eased it open. He didn’t hear Megan answer, but a chair dragged across the floor, creaking a little as the cop sat in it.