Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

  She shook the boy’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Matt.”

  “You gonna buy the place, Mrs. Norris? If you are, better hurry, basketball tryouts start in November―”

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Mel laughed. “Talk about being outnumbered.” Both boys towered over her, Luke fair and blond as his father, Matt a head shorter, dark and brunet.

  Luke’s youthful expression remained ever hopeful, but too soon she would disappoint him again. Buying time, she said, “Give me a moment will you, sweetheart?” She turned to the realtor. “I’d like to see the backyard again, if you don’t mind.”

  By the time they reached the rear of the property, pressure was squeezing the life out of her. A sweater she’d paid too much for snagged on a diseased Juniper bush, only adding to her frustration. She gritted her teeth and worked the fabric free. “I can’t afford this house, Mrs. Sims. I work for a florist. I earn enough to pay my expenses. I have my husband’s pension and a savings account, but I’ve set it aside for Luke’s college tuition.”

  “I understand,” the woman said. “And, of course, your son’s education comes first. But the listing does say motivated seller, and I have it on good authority she’ll negotiate.”

  “But will she come down fifty thousand dollars?” Mel asked dismally.

  “Maybe not the full amount. For the right buyer, though, she’s been known to make things happen. She’s made a nice living buying and selling properties like these, and the house has been vacant awhile, so she’s willing to deal.”

  “You sound like you know the owner personally.”

  “Let’s just say we’re acquainted.” Mrs. Sims stuck out her hand. “I’m ready to do business if you are, Melanie. The owner of 39 Serendipity Lane is me.”

  Lieutenant Joe Crandall suspected his trek around the cubicles of the Police Operations Center resembled the acid churning a path through his gut. This morning’s briefing had held one surprise after another. Joe hated surprises.

  He also hated premonitions, and as he stared at the third shift’s list of callouts, the bad feelings just kept on coming. He’d entered his office, dumped the reports on his desk and logged on to the Op Center’s computer. His second in command chose that moment to waylay his suspicions.

  “Mornin’, L.T. Got a second?”

  Joe waved the sergeant inside. “One second’s all I’ve got, Chris. What the hell happened last night?”

  Chris Sandoval looked between two chairs, then chose the one closest to the door. “I wish I had an answer. Can’t even blame it on a full moon, there wasn’t one. But Dispatch was on overload.”

  Some cops were superstitious. Joe wasn’t one of them. Like most growing cities, Colorado Springs had its share of drugs, gang activity, domestic violence and other sporadic crime. Typically, multiple events going down all at once were anomalies.

  He clicked on the police activity reports and scrolled to a weekend earlier in the month. A liquor store holdup, a burglary, a convenience store robbery, all reported within minutes of each other, all in various sectors of the city. Add to this barrage, a surge of seemingly unrelated 911 calls were phoned into the call center.

  Now the previous evening, a Thursday, an identical scenario had happened again, the events severely diluting police resources and slowing backup. Not one arrest, not one positive I.D. Joe set his jaw. By the time help arrived, it was too late. The only difference, it wasn’t the weekend.

  “This is orchestrated,” he said. “One incident I wasn’t sure. Twice, we’ve got a gang on our hands. Let’s increase second and third shift patrols, alert vice to contact their snitches. See if we can’t shake something up.”

  “Right.”

  “Anything else?”

  Chris leaned forward. “Ran into Bruce Bennett at the courthouse yesterday.”

  “He ask for your vote?”

  “He didn’t have to. He’s been a decent D.A. He’ll make a fine attorney general.” Chris grinned. “Speaking of which, he mentioned I may be looking at the division’s future commander.”

  “May being the operative word.” Along with not being superstitious, Joe wasn’t into wishful thinking. “We were talking about Bruce.”

  “He wanted me to tell you a prisoner by the name of Drake Maxwell is up for release. He said you’d want to know.”

  Intimately familiar with the California bad boy, soon to be a Cañon City ex-con, Joe nodded. “When?”

  “First of next month.”

  “Is the victim aware of the timeframe?”

  “D.A. said he and his family haven’t missed a hearing in fifteen years. But come November, Maxwell’s a free man. He’s done his time.”

  Joe grimaced. As a convict who’d served his sentence, Maxwell reported to no one. “Appreciate the heads up.”

  “No problem.” Chris started to rise, then hesitated. “Sir, I understand the vic’s involvement. But why you? I mean, you’ve put hundreds of these types behind bars. What’s so special about this bad guy?”

  A knot formed at the base of Joe’s Adam’s apple. “Drake Maxwell was my first violent arrest. When his gun jammed, he pistol-whipped the clerk and left him for dead, all for a measly hundred dollars and change.”

  “Ouch, L.T., that’s tough. But if the clerk survived, why’d Maxwell get fifteen years?”

  “One of his previous victims wasn’t so lucky.” Joe held the man’s gaze. “He had an accomplice, you know, a real babe.”

  “Babe, sir?”

  “Literally. Seventeen.”

  “She do time?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Joe replied. “Bruce Bennett was an assistant D.A. in those days. Judge sentenced her as an adult. Real smart-ass. Drug user, anti-establishment everything. Claimed she never knew what Maxwell was up to.”

  “Did she?”

  “The clerk remained conscious long enough to identify her. Accomplice claimed, of course, she tried to stop Maxwell.”

  “If I had a dollar for every time I heard that one,” Chris said, standing. “Let’s hope the sentence turned her around. I’ll let you get back to work.”

  Joe nodded and reached for the reports.

  Turned her around.

  It could happen. Maybe.

  The girl, a runaway, had run like the devil to avoid apprehension. He’d chased her into an alley. Tackling her, he’d discovered a juvenile reeking of marijuana, wearing too much makeup and using language that would make a cellblock proud.

  He’d thought of the girl often over the years. He had no choice; she’d left a five-inch scar on his inner forearm.

  He glanced at his watch, then opened his briefcase and stashed the reports inside. His day was jammed with budget meetings and the need to provide justification for additional patrols. If no problems arose, he might make it home for dinner. Raising a teenage son alone was proving harder than expected, and his ex-wife was just waiting for him to screw up.

  Joe flipped the lights and closed the door to his office. He could only hope a burgeoning crime spree and soon-to-be-ex-con didn’t give her the opportunity.

  Chapter Two

  On the first day of basketball tryouts, Joe changed his open door policy to closed. If someone dropped by, he cut the conversation short. His phone was an albatross; his pager an anvil. This week Coronado High School selected its varsity players.

  Joe left the office, warning that short of a homicide, he wouldn’t be available for the next several hours. Parents had been invited to observe the tryout process. For once, he planned to be there.

  Now sitting beneath a huge mural of a snarling cougar, he and other anxious onlookers watched the coaches and hopeful players run drills. A propped-open side door only half-eliminated the smell of rubber and sweat as the sound of screeching sneakers and dribbling balls filled the air.

  At five
-ten, Matt was still growing and Joe only had him by a few inches. His son wasn’t the tallest on the court, but he was one of the quickest. And since he’d been practicing with their new neighbor nonstop, the two knew each other’s moves.

  Joe searched the room for Luke’s mom, but had yet to see a woman he didn’t recognize. Luke Norris was all Matt talked about these days, and Joe wanted to thank her for taking his son under her wing. As soon as his schedule let up, he planned to return the favor.

  Clad in his ever-present warm-up suit, Head Coach Rick Hood called for a time out, talked briefly with spectators, then climbed the steps to sit beside Joe. Stretching his long legs in front of him, Rick crossed his arms, leaned back and said, “So, what do you think?”

  Joe had met Rick during a police investigation years ago when a disgruntled ex-player had shot out the coach’s windows. Sports fanatics, they’d shared their frank opinions and love of basketball ever since. “Mighty tough choices, Coach.”

  Rick furrowed his brow. “Yep. My job gets harder every year. I’m losing six seniors after this season, and there’s been speculation, so I’ll make it official. I’m bringing up two sophomores for Varsity. One happens to be your son.”

  It took everything Joe had not to stand and beat his chest. He was a cop to the bone, but a parent to the marrow. He’d hoped Rick would see Matt’s potential, but one never knew what went on inside a coach’s head.

  “If you have any objections to him being a nonstarter, tell me now. He’ll step up his game playing with these older kids, but he’ll ride the pine a lot this year. Next year, though, he’ll be a leader.”

  Tamping down his excitement, Joe said, “He’ll work hard for you, Rick.”

  “That’s why he’ll be part of this team.”

  A lump formed in Joe’s throat as he focused on the boy working his ass off on the court. Matt needed this accomplishment. After the divorce, his mom had transferred to Chicago, taking his little sister Trish with her. Karen had begged Matt to come, too. He’d staunchly refused. He wasn’t leaving his school or his friends.

  Secretly, Joe harbored the hope Matt had stayed because of him.

  “He’ll be back-up to Kinsey,” Rick explained, referring to a talented senior point guard. “But Matt needs to get his grades up. They’re border-line.”

  Guilt twisted Joe’s insides. “I’ll talk to him.” It had been too easy to blame the divorce. The plain truth was he hadn’t been paying attention. “I take it the other sophomore’s Luke Norris?”

  Rick grinned. “Hardly a guess. Kid’s a coach’s dream. At six-two he’s still growing, says ‘yes, sir and no, sir’. Good god, Joe, I’ve watched him and Matt in open gym. The way they read each other’s amazing.” The coach paused for a moment. “Have you met Mrs. Norris?”

  Here came the guilt again. Joe shook his head. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  Unsmiling, Rick leaned forward. He placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “You’re going to like her.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Could be. Young widow. Divorced cop. The boys are like glue. She’s a looker, Joe. It could get awkward around your place if you get involved with the mom.”

  A smile tugged at his lips as he resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Was Rick out of his mind? Finding a woman wasn’t Joe’s problem, finding time to spend with one was. “The woman’s lost her husband. I’m never home. I wish I had time to spend with my neighbors.”

  The coach stood, glancing around. “Good. Just thought I’d mention it. Your lack of free time might get us to the playoffs. By the way, now’s your chance to prove me wrong.”

  “And how can I do that?”

  “She just walked in. C’mon, I can kick myself later, but I’ll introduce you.”

  Joe came to his feet and turned in the direction the coach indicated. As a woman with auburn hair, wearing jeans and a green jacket, crossed the gym, his preconceived notion of what Mrs. Norris looked like died instantly. With Luke’s coloring, he’d envisioned a tall, full-figured blonde. This woman stood somewhere between five-six and five-eight with honey coloring and a slender build.

  This was Luke’s mother?

  Joe’s collar grew tight, and all at once he appreciated the coach’s concern. Still, he had no choice but to meet her. The way Matt had taken up residence at her place, Joe should be paying her rent.

  He descended the bleachers as a few of the players’ moms intercepted her, and Joe paused mid-stride. One woman, in particular, he wasn’t anxious to see. “Tell you what, I’ll meet her some other time.”

  Amusement lit the coach’s eyes. “I’d heard the rumors. This is a first. Joe Crandall scared?”

  “Terrified.”

  One of the returning varsity player’s moms, Lydia Ryerson was also a recent divorcee. From the amount of calls he’d seen on his Caller I.D. arising out of one dinner date, she’d apparently taken an interest in him.

  “Suit yourself,” Rick said, laughing. He sauntered down the bleachers and onto the gymnasium floor.

  Joe lingered long enough to listen to the coach’s informational spiel, then headed to the parking lot toward his unmarked unit. He replayed his excitement over Matt making the team as well as his curiosity over the attractive widow he’d seen on the court.

  Incredibly, his pager was clear, and only two calls were logged on his voice mail. The sun had set and sodium streetlights illuminated the parking lot. Joe pushed the vehicle’s interior light to check the numbers as people exited the gym.

  Mrs. Norris strode to a white late model Toyota Corolla located a few spaces down from his. He watched her get safely inside and proceeded to return his calls.

  An uneventful status report later, he noticed the Corolla was still in place. His interest further piqued when Mrs. Norris left the vehicle and appeared to survey her surroundings uneasily. Joe ended the call to the patrol sergeant and started the engine.

  Ready or not, it was time to meet the new neighbor.

  Drawing a deep breath, Mel massaged a pounding temple. She’d stayed late at the shop to make a last-minute arrangement for a long-time customer, then rushed to get to Coronado for tryouts. Of course, she hadn’t noticed the gas gauge. Why would she? Didn’t all cars run on fumes?

  Someone pulled alongside her, and instantly she regretted getting out of her car. Life had made her an untrusting soul and she stepped back.

  “Problem?” the stranger asked.

  “Not at all.” She held up her keys for emphasis. “I was just leaving.”

  “Mrs. Norris?”

  The shadows hid his face, and at the use of her name, her heart did a flip-flop.

  “Joe Crandall,” he said. “Matt’s my son.”

  Standing in the presence of Matt’s never-stay-at-home dad, relief flooded her. “Oh, Mr. Crandall, thank heavens. My name’s Melanie. Call me a flake, but I’m out of gas.”

  He reached across the seat and opened the passenger door. Light flooded the interior. “Happens to the best of us. There’s a gas station on the corner. Hop in.”

  Even though his voice seemed kind, she hesitated. After all, taking rides from sweet-talking strangers had been her downfall. But that had been a lifetime ago, and she knew this man. Or at least his son. The decision made, she rounded the car. Sliding in beside him, the scent of coffee and his musky fragrance filled the air. “I can’t thank you enough. I wanted to start... dinner.”

  That’s when she saw this was no ordinary vehicle. A laptop computer was bracketed to the console, and above it a radio. The world seemed to slow as she focused on every detail. The dash... the console... and finally the man behind the wheel.

  Her gaze took in his long legs, the veins in his powerful-looking hands, his rolled-up sleeves and at last settled on the sizeable scar on his inn
er forearm.

  Shock made her numb.

  It wasn’t possible. How had she missed the connection? She hadn’t thought of the man in years. The cop who’d arrested her, his name had been... Crandall.

  Somehow Mel found the strength to look into his eyes. And when she did, she came face to face with what could only be a mutually shocked expression.

  “You,” she whispered.

  “You,” he replied.

  She swallowed hard and reached for the handle. Discovering it locked, she said, “On second thought, I’ll walk.”

  The cop just sat there.

  Louder this time, and with more resolve, she said, “I’d like you to open the door, Officer Crandall.”

  “It’s Lieutenant.”

  “What?”

  “It hasn’t been officer in years, and you’re not walking anywhere. The closest gas station’s on Fillmore. It’s a mile away and it’s dark.”

  “I’ll walk fast.” She glared at him. “And next time I’ll stick to my promise never to accept rides from strangers.” Mel pointed to the door. “Now, Lieutenant.”

  Ignoring her demand, he continued to stare. “The change in you is incredible.”

  Forced to relive a time she’d vowed to forget, humiliation wound its way through her. She’d been high the night that had changed her life forever, and scared out of her mind. None of the cops on scene would believe she had nothing to do with the robbery. She’d acted out of desperation. She must’ve said horrible things, but in truth, drugs and fear had sent her into a hysterical fugue. “I was told I acted... that my language was... atrocious.”

  Lt. Crandall’s laugh was sardonic. “Ya think?”

  Mel bristled. “I wasn’t guilty. They called me an accessory when I had no idea what Maxwell was up to. When you tried to handcuff me, I panicked.”

  Holding out his left arm, he displayed the scar. “You resisted arrest. I had no choice.”

  A younger version of the man seated beside her had trapped Mel face down in an alley. A piece of broken glass had lain within reach. She flinched at the pain she’d inflicted and looked away. “I repeat. I was innocent. I spent time in prison for a crime I didn’t commit.”