by Jaye Watson
"Wait--"
He turned back. "Yes?"
"Harry. Um, maybe I shouldn't ask, but do you know when he'll be back?" As she spoke, she felt the blood rush to her face. Good grief, Emaline. You sound like a lovesick adolescent.
His face went blank for a moment, then relaxed into practiced sympathy. "I don't. I'm sorry."
"And even if you did, you couldn't tell me."
His head made a small shake. "I'm sorry," he said again.
"Well then, I guess that's it. Thank you for coming by, Detective. Please keep me apprised of what you discover. And if I can be of any further assistance, don't hesitate to ask." Determined to end the evening on a professional note, she held out her hand.
He took it. "Thank you, Dr. Banister." As he slipped out the door, he said, almost too softly to be heard, "I'll let him know you asked."
When he'd gone, she stayed leaning against the closed door for a long time. Damn you, Harry Jordan. Call me. Let me know you're still alive. Tell me when you're coming home.
* * * *
Other than a cop who showed up on Monday to pick up her Ziploc bags of dog treats and a message on her answering machine to the effect that an investigation was underway, Emaline heard nothing. Not for two weeks.
Not that she worried. She'd been assigned management of a project involving both genetics and protein analysis. The good news was, it kept her mind off of Harry for ten hours a day. The bad news was that she spent all her time shuffling papers and writing interim reports, instead of doing science.
Martha's birthday fell on the second Friday in March, and her husband insisted they had to go out to dinner that night. Since all of them--Martha included--knew his feelings about their foursome, no one was surprised. It wasn't the first time he'd managed to keep her away from one of their regular get-togethers. Amy suggested they celebrate the following night. "We can go somewhere fancy. Dress up."
"Have a sleepover," Jerri said with a giggle. "Eat chocolate, get giddy on champagne, and talk about boys."
"Great idea. Come to my house," Emaline said, thinking how nice it would be to have a Saturday night when she didn't sit and brood about Harry. "I'll even cook."
"I'll bring a cake from Papa Hayden's."
"Oh, yum. Can I have candles?"
"What? You want to burn the cake down?" Amy nudged Martha with an elbow. "No woman over forty has the breath to blow out all those candles. You'll get six."
"Hey! I'm not sixty yet. Five!" Martha crossed her arms and frowned. "Walt will have a cow."
"Do you care?" Amy said. "It's your birthday. Seems to me you should be able to do whatever you want."
Emaline wanted to hug Martha when she sat up a little straighter and said, "Right. And it's not like I'm refusing to do what he wants on my real birthday. But you've gotta promise me champagne and chocolate."
They all crossed their hearts, just as they had when they were in Junior High together.
Emaline liked to cook. All three of her friends thought her perverse, but there it was. She read cookbooks for pleasure, took delight in planning menus, and was in seventh heaven when shopping for foods in more than miniscule amounts. Cooking for one was a challenge, because most recipes made four or more servings. Eating something twice was enough for her, and a lot of what she liked didn't freeze well.
She drove to work on Friday so she could shop afterward. The SuperFoods in Sellwood had a special on salad greens this week, and she knew from experience theirs were always fresh and good quality. Armed with the shopping list she'd agonized over for nearly a week, she mentally planned her route through the big store. She was going to fix polenta lasagna, a mushroom and artichoke salad, buttered Belgian endive and garlic bread made with a good, crusty sourdough. She also wanted to make sure she'd have plenty of popcorn, fresh veggies and dip, and other munchies on hand, along with an assortment of diet soda.
Just as she headed for the checkout, she realized she'd forgotten to pick up the bread. The bakery was at the back of the store, so she fought her way through the Friday night crowd to get there. On her way she passed the pet food aisle and paused, reminded that she still hadn't heard from Detective Armbruster. As she stood there, staring blankly, she noticed an elderly woman looking suspiciously toward her.
It's your imagination, she told herself as she gave the cart a push. You caught her eye. That's all. But instead of heading directly back to the checkstands when she had the bread, she detoured so she could look down that aisle from the other end.
She parked her cart by the endcap display of special priced snackfoods and stepped forward just enough so she could see up the aisle. The woman was still standing there, holding something. As Emaline watched, she reached into her pocket, but she didn't seem to have pulled anything out. Still, the way she wrapped both hands around the package she was holding was...different. After a moment, she put the package back on the shelf, stepped to the side, and took down another one.
Emaline recognized it by the distinctive orange and blue label that wrapped all the way around it. Dog treats. One of the same brands she'd found digoxin in. She eased back and picked up a package of extra crispy bacon snacks and pretended to read the label. While she watched from the side of her eyes, the woman again reached into her pocket, and then wrapped both hands around the package.
That was enough for her. She grabbed her cart and retreated to the next aisle over. Fortunately she'd programmed Detective Armbruster's number into her cell.
Naturally she got his voice mail. Keeping her voice low, she said, "This is Emaline Banister. I'm at the SuperFoods at Fifteenth and Bush. There's a woman here who doesn't look like she's just reading the labels on packages of dog treats. I'll see if I can get a picture."
She hadn't used her Blackberry to take a photo yet, but she knew the principle. Making sure she knew where to press, she put it to her ear and put the other hand on the cart. She walked by the end of the aisle to make sure the woman was still there. As she pushed the button, she wondered if there would be a flash and her heart all but stopped.
There wasn't. She continued to the next aisle and turned into it without breaking stride. Recklessly, she grabbed a package of paper towels, tossed it into the basket and hurried to the other end. For a moment she paused, trying to decide how to carry out the rest of her plan. Quickly she shifted the phone to her other ear and resumed walking. Rounding the corner, she was relieved to see the woman still standing where she'd been. She was just reaching up to the shelf and as Emaline watched, she pulled down another package.
Good grief, what a selection. She stopped in front of the shelves holding cat litter. "No, Mother, they don't have that brand." She read off the brands with their prices. "All right, I'll stop at Safeway." She moved closer to the woman and turned to face the shelves again, still holding the phone to her ear. "They do have the Science Diet Snooky likes. Yes, in cans." She pushed the button, mentally crossing her fingers that she'd guessed the angle right. Leaning forward. "Let me see. Yes, here's the roasted beef. How many?" She took another photo and decided she'd pushed her luck quite far enough. "Okay, Mother. I'll be there in half an hour." She dropped the phone into her purse.
Now what am I going to do with six cans of cat food?
The phone rang while she was in the checkout line. Armbruster. "Dr. Banister."
"Are you still in the store?"
"Yes."
"Is the woman?"
"I think so-- Wait." She lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "No. She's in line too. There are three people in front of her."
"Shit. Sorry. Keep your eye on her as long as you can, but for God's sake, don't confront her. I doubt we'll be able to get there in time, but if we don't, we can still check what's on the shelves."
The woman's line moved faster than Emaline's. She was going through the doors when Emaline finally finished paying. She slung the last bag into her cart and took off at a near run. Five feet short of the door, another shopper cut in front of her and their carts
collided. By the time they'd both apologized and untangled their carts, the woman had disappeared into the crowded parking lot.
She felt like echoing Detective Armbruster's scatological comment.
The patrol car arrived five minutes later. She waved as it came to a stop near the crosswalk where she'd been waiting under the scant shelter of a narrow roof overhang. A woman cop stepped from the passenger seat. "Dr. Banister?"
"Yes, I-- Oh, I know you. Officer Grap... No, Officer Groppen. Is that right?" Why she felt so relieved to know that she'd be dealing with someone who knew something about her was a mystery, but she did. "She's gone. I didn't see whether she got into a car or was on foot."
"Armbruster said there was a possibility that she'd contaminated pet food." The way Groppen spoke the last two words showed her incredulity.
"I don't know that she did. But the way she was handling the packages was, well, I'd have to call it suspicious. Do you know about the dog deaths."
"Only what Armbruster told me a few minutes ago. He said to clear the shelves and bring all the doggy treats to the station." She gave a quick smile that showed she was neither as old or as serious as Emaline had thought. "The manager is gonna love that."
"Do you need help?"
"No, thanks." She seemed to notice the full grocery cart for the first time. "Look, this could take a while. Why don't you put your groceries in your car first."
Before Emaline had taken two steps, Groppen was back in the car with a microphone in her hand.
The policeman who'd been driving went inside. After a few minutes, Officer Groppen emerged from the cruiser and said, "Can you describe the woman you saw?"
"Why, I... I'll try. She was elderly, gray-haired and wrinkled. No, more like weathered, as if she's spent a lot of her life outdoors. In a way she reminded me of the people you see pushing shopping carts full of their worldly goods, but she was better dressed." Closing her eyes, she tried to think of anything else. "Black coat, a little too big for her, as if she'd lost weight recently. Scuffed sneakers, jeans, and a blue sweater. No, a sweatshirt, with a picture of some sort but faded, like it had been washed many times. She had on a hat, one of those floppy-brimmed fabric rainhats that always drip down your collar."
"That'll help."
Thoroughly disgusted with her inability to visualize the woman's face, Emaline said, "No it won't. Elderly and gray-haired fits most women over sixty. She can change her clothes."
"Let's hope your photos show her face, then."
Officer Groppen and her partner cleared the shelves of boxed and bagged dog treats. To be on the safe side, they took the cat treats as well. Their hands covered with what looked like surgical gloves, they filled three black trash bags with them. The manager was, indeed, not a happy man.
Curious customers had gathered to watch, until the manager told them it was a product recall. One young man handed over a packet of dog treats from his cart, saying he was taking no changes with his puppy.
Armbruster showed up just as they were loading the bags into the patrol car. "What are you doing here?" he said to Emaline, who was standing just inside the entrance.
"I've been wondering the same thing. I seem to be a fifth wheel." She looked at the very young male cop with a wry smile. "Officer Nelson seems to consider me a suspect. Officer Groppen, on the other hand, was certain you'd want to speak to me."
"Go on home. I'll call you tomorrow." He turned away, then reversed himself. "Did you get a photo?"
"I hope so. When I get home, I'll download them to my computer. If they show anything at all, I'll email them to you."
"Anything at all," he repeated with emphasis. "Our people can do wonders with photo enhancement."
She was loading bags into her car when he trotted up. "That other matter you asked about? It's going well. And you didn't hear me say that."
Raising her chin and her eyebrows, she said, "Say what? Did you speak, Detective."
He grinned. "Nope. I'll call tomorrow."
The photos were blurry, but they showed the woman's frizzy hair, her roomy coat, and the awkward way she held a package of dog treats. What they didn't show well was her face. Emaline emailed them anyhow.
* * * *
The phone rang Saturday afternoon, just as she'd finished spreading the stiff polenta onto a sheet of foil. Thirty seconds earlier and she'd have ignored it.
She heard the crackle and hiss of a poor connection before she got the receiver to her ear. "Banister."
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a pay phone anymore?"
Her heart all but stopped. "Harry. Where are you?"
"It doesn't matter. What's important is that I couldn't wait any longer to talk to you. God, Em, I miss you."
On legs that threatened to give way, she took three steps to the rocking chair by the window. "I miss you too. Sorry I asked where you were. I know you can't tell me. Why are you using a pay phone." She couldn't recall seeing one lately.
"The assumption is that you can't trace this call. Well, you could, but it takes time, and I won't be here long. I hear you're up to mischief. Just be careful, okay? I won't ask you not to follow up on this dog food thing, but for God's sake, don't do anything rash."
"I won't." Words she shouldn't say tried to tumble from her mouth. "You be careful too. I... I care about you." Her brain caught up. "Wait a minute. You said 'trace this call'. Does that mean my line is tapped?" The very thought made her stomach clench.
"Not as of yesterday. The boys are checking it weekly. But yes, it's possible that someone knows who I am." His grimace was almost audible. "Knows about us. And if he does, then you're at risk. Don't let strangers into the house. Be careful going to and from the bus. In fact, I wish you'd drive to work until this is over."
My God, what is he doing? "I... Of course. I can drive to work, if it will relieve your mind. And I'll be careful, I promise."
"That'll take a load off. Look, My time's up. I'll call again when I can, but God only knows when that'll be."
For a long moment, all she heard was the sound of his breath, soft, but somehow reassuring. "Em? I care about you, too."
The next thing she heard was a click, and then the high-pitched hum of an open line. Her hand, when she replaced the receiver in its stand, was shaking.
* * * *
Thank goodness for girlfriends. The party that night took her mind off of Harry's situation. At least it did now and then, and she faked jollity the rest of the time. By the time they called it a night around two in the morning, she was tired enough and tipsy enough that she fell asleep.
The man who came to her door just after eleven on Sunday morning brought it all back.
"Come in, Detective. We've just finished breakfast, but there are still some blintzes left. Would you like one?" She gestured him inside.
"I just finished breakfast myself. But I wouldn't turn down another cup of coffee." He smiled at the other women who were sitting around the table in the breakfast nook. "Good morning, ladies. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"
"We were just getting ready to go home," Jerri said. Curiosity was written all over her face.
"Don't run off on my account. I won't be here long." He accepted the coffee Emaline gave him. "I was in the neighborhood on another case, and thought I'd come by to let you know that I'm putting in a request that we contract with your lab to do the analyses. Since you're already set up for it and all."
"I'm sure Dr. Burton will be delighted." She imagined him rubbing his hands together in glee. Even with the discount he gave law enforcement agencies, reimbursable work was always welcome.
"Good. We want to get going on it quickly, so you'll be hearing from us soon." He saluted them. "Ladies. Enjoy your day. It looks like a sunny one." With one last swallow, he emptied the cup and handed it back to her.
"Nearly forgot. I got your photos, but haven't had a chance to do anything but glance at them. There's a possibility that one may be good enough for an identification."
"Who is that gorgeous man?"
"What analyses?"
"Another case? Are you playing detective again?"
Laughing, she held up her hands. "I'll tell all. It's really nothing exciting."
She filled them in on what they didn't already know. "So," she concluded, "my part in this will be overseeing some analyses and compiling data. High adventure, indeed."
"You mean you may be able to help find who killed my little Perky?" Martha said with a quaver in her voice. She hugged Emaline. "You're wonderful."
"She's too curious for her own good," Amy said. She'd made no bones about her opinion of amateur sleuths.
With warnings to be careful and expressions of envy, her friends gathered their gear and prepared to leave. She almost asked them to stay. As soon as she was alone, she'd start worrying about Harry.
How do the wives and families of cops live with this kind of fear and dread? How does Harry? He's as much as said he's in grave danger.
She spent the rest of daylight in the yard, digging, raking and pruning. The work left her hot and sweaty, but it didn't stop the chaotic thoughts of what could happen to Harry. Neither did the chick flick she watched that night.
By bedtime, she'd worked herself into a fine state. Only the strongest of self discipline and years of yoga practice let her relax and fall into a restless sleep. Heading for work on Monday morning, she felt fuzzy-headed, achy-bodied and as tired as if she'd worked hard half the night.
The bags of dog treats landed in her office that afternoon, delivered by a young policeman who looked as if he should be carrying a backpack full of high school texts instead of a gun and a billyclub. Dr. Burton had already announced the pending contract with the Police Bureau, so she'd be free to start working on it the next day.
Only an effort of will kept her from digging into the bags right away.
Stan had been assigned to help her. First thing Tuesday morning, they started transferring the packages contents to sterile sample bags. Once empty, the original packaging was also similarly protected from contamination. By noon they were ready to begin. Stan took the treats away to start preparing samples for analysis, while Emaline set up at a table in an empty lab, where she could take samples of the residue inside the thirty seven packages and then examine them for punctures. More fun. I haven't done this kind of boring routine work since grad school.