Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets

by Terry Odell

  “Will do.”

  This was one part of the mess Rose didn’t have to see. Gordon went to the mud room, found a broom, reevaluated the damages and changed his mind. In the garage, he found a snow shovel hanging on a wall. With it, he scooped everything into plastic trash bags he discovered under the sink. Then he used the broom. After that, he wet a paper towel, wiped up the ice cream residue, and threw everything away.

  When he finished, he told Solomon backup was en route, and took off on foot for Selma Goldberg’s. Anyone passing by would see the normal, peaceful streets of residential Mapleton. The days were growing longer, aspens were leafing up, and flowers brought colorful borders to many of the walkways from street to stoops. Gordon ground his back teeth. Whoever had brought ugliness to his town would pay.

  He made his way up the steps to Selma’s door. She opened it before he had a chance to knock. “Come in, Chief Hepler.”

  He stepped inside, took his cap off. “Since when are you so formal?”

  “You’re the police chief now. An important man. And you’re here on official business.”

  “You can still call me Gordon.” He drew the line at Gordie, which she’d called him when he was in her second grade class.

  “Rose and Sam are inside.”

  His heart did a quick hop. “Megan and Justin?”

  “They’re out in the yard. Said they needed some air.”

  He exhaled. “I’ll talk to Rose and Sam first.”

  Sam stood as Gordon walked over.

  “Sit,” Gordon said. Both Rose and Sam seemed years older than when he’d seen them last. Sam’s eyes had a steely coldness to them. Anger burned. “I know you’re both upset. But let’s be thankful you weren’t home, that nothing happened to you.”

  He asked his questions as gently as he could. Neither was aware of anyone wanting anything they owned. Other than Sam’s book collection, which was of more sentimental than monetary value, and the usual household collection of some silver pieces and basic jewelry, they didn’t have much worth stealing. Then again, that was a totally subjective opinion. People had killed for the price of a cheeseburger.

  “I’m going to need you to look around. But I don’t want you staying there tonight. Is there someplace you can go?”

  “They can stay here,” Selma said. “I have plenty of room.”

  Rose and Sam exchanged uneasy glances.

  “It’s for the best,” Gordon said. “And I’ll have a car patrolling both your houses all night.”

  “Is that necessary?” Sam said. “Are we in danger?”

  “I strongly doubt it. It’s a precaution. And maybe a deterrent.” He stood. “I’d like to talk to Justin and Megan for a minute, then I’ll go to the house with you.”

  Gordon strode across the lawn toward the gazebo where Justin and Megan were tangled in an embrace. Her face was buried in his chest. Justin nuzzled her hair, tinged gold with the late-afternoon sun, and his hand moved up and down her back. Gordon slowed, about to announce his presence, when muffled sobs told him he wasn’t interrupting a romantic interlude.

  He trotted the last few feet and took the steps in a single bound. “Is there a problem?”

  Justin pulled his face away from her hair long enough to say, “Scared,” then murmured more sounds of comfort.

  Gordon sat on Megan’s other side. “Megan. It’s Gordon. Did you remember what happened to you? Is that why you’re afraid?”

  When she didn’t respond, Gordon put his hands on her shoulders and eased her away from Justin. “Megan, it’s important. Talk to me. You’re safe here.”

  She shook her head wildly and her sobs intensified.

  “She won’t say anything,” Justin said. “She’s been crying for about five minutes.”

  “What triggered it?” Gordon took over Justin’s role of comforter as Megan buried her face in his chest now. He couldn’t remember seeing Megan cry. Ever. She’d shaken off injuries, both physical and emotional, with a defiant toss of her braids. He wasn’t sure she was even aware he’d taken her from Justin.

  Justin frowned. “We were talking about how we thought the break-ins at my grandparents’ house and the dress shop were related, and she went all white and clammy, then said someone wanted to kill her. Then she fell apart.”

  Gordon’s skin prickled. “She say who threatened her?”

  “No. But I’m guessing it pertains to what happened to her yesterday. Doesn’t take a deerstalker cap and magnifying glass to deduce that.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Gordon muttered.

  He pried Megan loose and took her chin in his hands. “Megan. You’re okay. Rose and Sam are okay. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, or them. But we have to talk.”

  She squinted. Blinked. As if she was trying to see into some dark passageway. Which maybe she was.

  Megan stared at Justin, then at him. Her vision cleared. “I don’t know why I went off the deep end like that.”

  “Someone threatened you. It’s understandable,” Gordon said.

  “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to Rose and Sam. I promise.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said. “But I know you mean you’ll do your best.”

  “Me and the entire Mapleton Police Department, and a multitude of County Deputy Sheriffs. Rose and Sam will stay here tonight. Will you?” He included Justin with his gaze.

  “I can probably stay with Angie,” Megan said.

  “I’m not afraid to sleep at my grandparents’ house,” Justin said.

  “Nobody’s going to stay at their place until it’s released as a crime scene.” Gordon stood. “Speaking of which. I want to take Rose and Sam to look things over.”

  “Was it bad?” Megan asked. “Justin shooed us all out of the house before I could see.”

  “I’m not going to lie. It’s not good,” Gordon said. Which was why he was going to handle this part of the investigation personally.

  “I’m coming, too,” Megan said. “They’ll need support.”

  Justin stood. “I’m with you.”

  “It’s not necessary,” Gordon said.

  “I’m going,” Justin said. The rigidness of his expression, the sharpness of his tone, gave Gordon the feeling his insistence on being included had to do with more than moral support for his grandparents.

  ###

  Justin hung back as they entered his grandparents’ house. Rose clung to Sam. As a unit, they trudged into the living room. Rose’s hands flew to her mouth. “Mein Gott, mein Gott, mein Gott.” There were two other cops there. One, Justin recognized as the officer who’d shown up after Megan’s accident. Solomon, he thought. The other wore a deputy sheriff’s uniform. Gordon had mentioned getting help with the homicide. That the deputy was here reinforced Justin’s conviction that the two cases had to be connected.

  But were they connected to him?

  The three cops conferred outside the front door before Solomon and the deputy departed, indicating they were off to follow whatever orders they’d been given. Justin’s attention was focused on his grandmother, who stood in the center of the room, a dazed expression on her face.

  “I know this is difficult,” Gordon said, shoving Justin’s focus to the immediate crisis. “I’m going to ask you to see if anything was taken.”

  “Let me help,” Justin said. “Oma, you can sit on the sofa while I organize everything.”

  Megan picked up his unspoken signal and guided his grandmother to the couch. “Would you like me to get you something? Tea, water?”

  “You think I should sit here drinking tea while you go through the mess some ganef, some mamzer made of my house?” Oma snapped.

  Whoa. Oma swearing? Justin noticed the puzzled expression on Gordon’s face. “Thief. Bastard,” he translated.

  The cop’s eyebrows lifted. Apparently Oma’s epithets surprised him too. Justin cut a glance to his grandfather, who stood soldier-straight, fists clenched
, lips pressed into a thin line.

  “Not a thief,” Opa said. He swept his arm around the room. “The television, the stereo—he didn’t take those.”

  “But how did he get in?” Oma asked. She turned to face the cop. “We locked up tight.”

  Megan’s hands shot to her mouth. “My window.”

  “Appears so,” the cop said.

  “I’m so sorry,” Megan said. “It sticks, and it’s so hard to open if you close it all the way. It was only open a couple of inches, honest. I…I didn’t think.”

  “I should have fixed it,” Justin said. “Replaced the whole thing. All the upstairs windows.”

  “It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” the cop said. “If he wanted to get in, a closed window wouldn’t have stopped him.”

  Justin closed his eyes, took a breath, then opened them and studied the room more carefully, trying to ignore the innumerable black smudges of fingerprint powder. The television on the floor instead of in the entertainment center. Same for the CD player. The discs were heaped on the floor, but still in their cases. “He moved everything.”

  “We’re assuming he was looking for something,” Gordon said. “The question is, did he find it?”

  “Is the whole house like this?” Megan asked.

  The grim expression on Gordon’s face twisted Justin’s gut. He suppressed the urge to add a few colorful expletives of his own to Oma’s outburst. His vocabulary had certainly expanded since he’d been working at the vocational school. Keeping his irritation in check, he asked, “Can I go upstairs? I’m familiar enough with my room.”

  “Go ahead,” Gordon said. “We might be done faster that way.”

  Justin fished in his pocket for his phone as he ran up the stairs. He ignored the clothes blanketing the floor of his bedroom and crossed to the window. He shoved it open and leaned against the sill, where he knew he had the best cell reception. He scrolled through his contact list until he found the number he needed. He mashed the call button. After four interminable rings, he heard the annoyingly calm voice of his nemesis. “You have it?”

  “No, I don’t have it, you son of a bitch, and it’s not Sunday.”

  “I know what day it is, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Tell me you didn’t send someone to ransack my grandparents’ house.”

  “I didn’t send someone to ransack your grandparents’ house. Why would I do that when I have you there, acting with what is undoubtedly the epitome of discretion?”

  Justin took a calming breath. A breath anyway. He was miles from calm. But the initial fury had ebbed, and he realized that there was no reason for this man to be involved with whatever happened at that dress shop. “Of course. But someone did break in here, and the house is a disaster area.”

  “That is not reassuring,” the man said. “Because now we won’t be able to ascertain whether the package is in the hands of someone else, or if it remains to be found.”

  “On the bright side,” Justin said, “I don’t need to use stealth to look around.”

  “You will keep me apprised, of course.”

  “Of course.” Justin slammed the phone closed.

  Justin gritted his teeth and put the mattress on the box spring, grateful the thief hadn’t cut it apart in his search. Maybe it was obvious enough that it was intact, that nothing could have been stuffed inside. He had, however pulled off all the covers.

  Justin sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to think. The two break-ins were related, no doubt, but why would a murder at a used clothing store have anything to do with his problem? Because he wasn’t thinking. Because he’d seen the shock and horror on his grandparents’ faces and had to yell at someone.

  He crossed through the bathroom, noting little disturbance there aside from the inevitable fingerprint powder, and went into Megan’s room. Her bed had been dismantled as well. Fingerprint powder was heaviest at the window. He moved closer, looking to see if there were any other clues, like a muddy footprint. As if.

  She hadn’t finished unpacking, and her suitcase was lying open on the box spring, surrounded by its contents. The books were in total disarray. Her dolls and stuffed animals, their cheerful innocence as they appeared oblivious to the wreckage, sent another wave of helpless frustration through his gut. He left them to their glass-eyed stares and headed for the master bedroom.

  The door stood open. Justin approached with trepidation, as if he expected to find the burglar in the room. He almost wished he would, so he could knock the crap out of whoever did this. His real dread, he realized, was having to see his grandmother’s face when she saw the mess.

  Well, she wouldn’t see it. He strode into the room and started hanging up the clothes. Most of them were on their hangers, as if the intruder had simply tossed them out of the way. Piles of sweaters were on their closet floor. As if they, too, were in the way. Only the fingerprint powder made the bedroom a crime scene instead of a fraternity boy’s room.

  Pondering that, he sensed someone’s approach and spun around. The cop. “Did they find something?” Justin asked. “Or not find something, I guess is more accurate.”

  “Not yet.” Gordon picked up a sweater, folded it and set it neatly on the shelf. “How about up here?”

  “Nothing I’ve noticed.”

  Gordon didn’t respond. He stood in the closet, his gaze sweeping the room beyond, then freezing on Justin, who stopped, holding an armload of his grandfather’s trousers.

  Cops. “So? You have any ideas you’d be willing to share?” Justin said.

  Gordon picked up another sweater. “Whatever he wanted, it wasn’t too small.”

  Justin surveyed the room again. His eye caught his grandmother’s maple jewelry chest with all its tiny drawers. He pulled one open. Twelve pairs of earrings sat neatly in their individual compartments. “I agree. He didn’t touch this, apparently. It would have been easy enough to pocket the contents.”

  Gordon nodded. “That’s our working hypothesis.”

  “But we can’t stay here tonight.”

  “Afraid not. I’ll try to rush it, but we have to verify we’ve done a complete inspection.”

  Dealing with the kinds of kids he taught, Justin had enough experience with cops to recognize pure cop mode when he saw it, sweater-folding notwithstanding. He was pretty good at reading facial expressions and body language. His students had learned lying didn’t work with him. But Gordon’s expression was—expressionless.

  “It’s more than the mess, isn’t it? You think he might come back,” Justin said.

  “If he didn’t get what he wanted, that’s a possibility.”

  “Or maybe murder was part of his intent? The mess-making was a diversion? Or he enjoys it?”

  “Letting anyone stay here is a risk I’m not willing to take.”

  “But whoever did this might track down my grandparents. Is having them at Selma’s house all that safe? Even with a cop outside? You can’t cover every door, every window.”

  For the first time, Justin caught a flash of concern in Gordon’s eyes. The cop immediately schooled his features to neutral. “If I could, I’d have them go to Denver. Hell, I’d send them to Paris. But the odds say that it’s a thing, not them, our guy wants. That Mrs. Bedford was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Justin felt the power of Gordon’s gaze once again. “You think it could be someone else? Not my grandparents.” He couldn’t suppress the chill snaking through him. “You think Megan or I might be a target?”

  “I doubt it’s Megan,” Gordon said. “Her arrival was completely unexpected.”

  “Me?” Justin swallowed. “You think I might be on this guy’s hit list? Why?”

  Gordon put away the last sweater and speared Justin with his gaze. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Gordon waited, watching. Given the circumstances, the man’s reactions and behaviors to this point had been consistent with a caring grandson. He’d looked t
otally shocked when Gordon suggested he might be in line to be murdered.

  Even though Gordon felt the odds were slim, it was an avenue worth pursuing, if only to learn more about Justin Nadell. Because expected behavior or not, Gordon’s cop radar said the man was hiding something.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justin said. “Why would someone want to kill me? I admit I’ve pissed off more than a few juvenile misfits, but I don’t think any of them would have the brains—or the resources—to do anything like this. They’re not murderers.”

  “These misfits, as you politely call them, are your students?”

  Justin’s eyes narrowed. “Of course. You think I hang with that crowd socially? Look, Mister Chief of Police. Believe it or not, we’re on the same side here. You try to catch the bad guys. I try to keep them from becoming bad guys. Or worse guys, since we don’t meet a lot of the cream of society where I work.”

  “If we’re so alike in our professions, you understand I have to eliminate every possibility.”

  Justin clawed his hands through his hair and sank onto the bed. “I guess. If this were the only crime, I could see you trying to connect me. But since the dress shop—” he paused, apparently searching for the right term.

  “Incident,” Gordon supplied.

  “Right. Incident. That’s sanitized enough. Since the incident came first, I don’t see it.”

  “I’ll accept that. So, we have two crimes, apparently related, although one includes a homicide. Ignoring the homicide for the moment. Do you have any idea what our suspect might be looking for?”

  “How would I know what some creep wanted? My guess would have been valuables, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. And I’ve been here less than two weeks. It’s not like I’d notice any obscure missing whatever.”

  Gordon had to agree. If anything had been taken, it hadn’t been in plain sight, or there wouldn’t have been a need for the search.

  Justin turned away and continued putting the room in order. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not leave this mess here for my grandmother to see. Unless you think it’s vital that she go through it the way it is, she shouldn’t have to deal with it. What’s downstairs is bad enough, but to know someone was pawing through her personal things? She should be spared that.”