Best Laid Plans

by Kristi Rose

  “What about Josh?” I asked quietly.

  “What about him?” DB said. “He’s dead.”

  Leo said, “He’ll go to the medical examiner in Vancouver. We’ll know more after they do an autopsy.”

  I nodded, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do.

  Leo stepped closer, his voice low. “Don’t do anything stupid, Sam.”

  We made eye contact. “Gosh, how do you mean? I watch a guy die and immediately requested the police. That’s turning out to be stupid.” I cut my eyes to DB.

  Officer Gee came to stand next to me.

  DB said to him, “Make sure she has a comfy chair. We might be here a while.” He gave me a pointed look, one that said he was going to be a butthead and he intended to make me wait as long as possible.

  My mother huffed. I calmed her by putting one hand on her arm. “Get Cora home. I’m okay. I’ll call you when I get home.”

  She shook her head in disagreement. “You need a lawyer.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” I met her gaze with a steady one of my own to reassure her. She nodded slightly, and I turned to DB.

  I said, “Take your time. My lawyer is in Seattle, and it’ll take him a while to get here. I won’t be talking without him present.”

  DB narrowed his eyes, then with a sharp nod of his head, gestured for Officer Gee to get me out of there.

  “If you aren’t home in a few hours, I’ll be going down there,” she said sharply, more for DB than me.

  I tried to give Leo back the blanket, but he told me to keep it. My mother pulled me into a hug. She whispered, “Try to document every little detail you can recall. With no one knowing. Deep breath, Samantha. It’s game on.”

  I nodded in understanding. “Game on” in our house meant we needed to suck up everything we were feeling and focus on the issue at hand. In this case, it was Josh being dead, and me being questioned. I could fall apart later. Game on meant there were also no do-overs.

  Outside, I handed Oliver Gee the blanket then pulled my phone from my back pocket. The number went to his direct line.

  “Tyson Lockett,” he said upon answering.

  I could picture him behind a desk in a thousand-dollar suit, tugging at the neckline because Tyson would rather hang ten. He probably had his shoes off under his desk. He was a barefoot instead of dress shoes kinda guy.

  “Hey,” I said to Tyson with false cheeriness.

  Next to me, Oliver Gee startled. He looked shocked, probably because I had the nerve to use my phone in his presence, Oliver gestured to the phone. I pushed him away.

  To Tyson I said, “How would you feel about coming down to Wind River for a visit?”

  Lockett hesitated. “Why?”

  “Oh, nothing major. Just a possible murder and the moderate probability I’ll need a crack-shot defense attorney such as yourself.”

  6

  Tuesday

  I explained to Lockett that I was standing in the presence of Officer Gee and on my way to the station. He gave me strict orders to say nothing. Not even “mm hm” or “uh-uh.” I figured those were easy enough instructions.

  After I hung up, Office Gee gave me a dirty look. Oliver was my height, dirty blond hair, and an average watt bulb, if you know what I mean. We’d been on the yearbook staff in high school together.

  “What? If I were under arrest, I’d be entitled to one call, and I’m not under arrest. I’m cooperating with the police to answer some questions. I believe I can say no, and you all would have to ‘bring me in.’” I did air quotes.

  He looked caught between a rock and a hard place, his expression pained. Either that or he had bad gas.

  I held up a hand to stop him from saying anything. “Don’t worry. I’ll be compliant from here on out.” I pointed to the station four buildings away. “We walking, or do you need to drive?”

  “Why would we drive?” he asked, puzzled.

  I shrugged as he fell into step with me. “I dunno. Maybe you drove here and don’t want to leave your car at the school.” I tucked my phone in my back pocket.

  He took off his hat and brushed back his hair, then grimaced. “I, uh, just ran out the door when the call came in. Didn’t even think about driving.” He said the last part as if self-reprimanding.

  “First dead body?” I asked, cavalier.

  He nodded.

  “Mine, too.” I shivered and ran my hands up and down my arms. I remembered Lockett’s words and shut my trap. Because what I wanted to do, needed to do, was talk about it. I fiercely needed to process what I’d seen. Everything was surreal. A part of me was waiting for someone to come clean and say it was a joke. This was my default when given situations out of the norm. When Lockett told me my not-husband Carson was dead and still legally married to someone else, I’d had this same sense of being out of body. Of the events happening around me and not to me. I’d also had a terrible feeling then, and I had one now.

  Not to say the death of someone was a cut-and-dried situation, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that things were going to go sideways real fast.

  And then there was Rachel. How would I drop the bomb that her kid’s principal was dead, and I’d witnessed that death? Or worse—that the Police might accuse me of killing him? Never mind that some mom accused Cora of sexual harassment. Holy crap, she would flip out.

  Oliver held open the station door for me and escorted me into the lobby. Many a tree lost their lives in the decorating of the lobby. Wood front desk, wood bench, wood chairs, and wood floors. He gestured toward the door behind the front desk clerk, Pamela Hopkins. She was reclined back in her office chair, reading a book. She was a tall, lithe woman who liked to run marathons and write erotic poetry. She had a pixie style haircut and wore flannel and plaid. She’d been three years ahead of me in school.

  “Is it true?” she asked, jerking upright in her chair. She glanced from Gee to me. “By the look on your face and lack of color in your complexion, I’m going with yeah, it’s true.” She shook her head.

  “I’m taking Miss True to the interrogation room.” He gestured for her to open the door separating the lobby from the offices.

  Pamela raised one perfectly tweezed brow.

  “I witnessed it.” I mentally slapped my head. Lockett had said to shut up. I was doing a terrible job of it.

  “Chief Louney will be along shortly,” Oliver said.

  “Can I get you anything while you wait, Sam?” Pamela asked. She pressed something under the desk, and the sound of a latch releasing and a steady buzz came from the door.

  Oliver pulled the door open.

  “I’d love a water,” I said, then touched my stomach. “And an antacid. I’m not sure if it’s the Unicorn Brew or Josh dying, but my stomach isn’t right.”

  “June has Unicorn Brew today?” Pamela asked.

  I nodded.

  She slapped at the table. “The one day I skip the coffee shop, and she has Unicorn Brew. As soon as I get you water and an antacid, I’ll get one. Oliver, you want one?”

  He nodded vigorously then gestured for me to precede him. Which I did. I was certain DB wouldn’t like me having a drink. I imagined he’d want me to be as uncomfortable as possible.

  Oliver showed me to a small room with a simple table and three chairs. All wood, of course. I dropped in one by the wall and kicked my feet up on another. “I’ll be here.”

  Oliver gave me the thumbs up and closed the door behind him when he left. A few minutes later, Pamela came in with a large water bottle and two antacids.

  When I’d been in the room uninterrupted for five minutes, I took out my phone and texted Precious.

  Holy Crap. Have you heard about Principal Josh?

  She said:?

  DEAD. And I was there when it happened.

  OMG. How awful. What happened? She sent a GIF of a person looking stunned.

  I don’t know. He just collapsed in front of me.

  I’m leaving work now, coming to you

  Don�
��t bother. I’m at the station. Dweebie wants to question me. Can you come over later?

  Text when you’re sprung

  I sent the thumbs up.

  Using my phone’s note app, I got down to doing what my mother told me to do. I put as much as I could remember in writing. Or in my case, drawings. Being dyslexic sucked, but the tradeoff of stellar memory was coming in handy today.

  My drawing was rudimentary. Josh’s basic furniture the landmarks in the square I’d labeled his office. Details were what I was after. A case of water was in the corner to the right and behind his desk. A packet of pink homeopathic antacids was open and spilling out on his desk.

  The fizzy water he’d been drinking.

  A laptop, closed. His phone, the screen dark. No pictures of family on the desk or shelves. I closed my eyes and saw the room in my mind’s eye. The yellow and light blue made the office cheerful, but there was nothing personal in the space. Not a plant, a picture, or even a doodle on a notepad. Because there was no notepad.

  I eased back in the chair and stared at the ceiling, thinking of what that meant about Josh. After finishing the water, I let myself out to go to the restroom, took a second water bottle from the break room by the bathroom, and was back in the interrogation room reading a magazine I’d also collected on my journey out when DB showed up.

  He reversed the chair so he could straddle it and rested his arms along the backside. He stared down at me before his gaze flicked to the water bottle and his lips tightened briefly.

  “You run a tight ship,” I said with a straight face. “It’s been awful sitting in here, alone, waiting for you.”

  “I wouldn’t have even given you water,” he said. He glanced at the window over my head. I assumed someone, likely Leo, was behind the glass. However, chances were also high no one was behind the mirrored glass and he was trying to catch a glimpse of his reflection.

  I pointed to the bottle. “That’s not mine. It was in here when I got here.” I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.

  He gave me a dead-eye stare. “Tell me what happened?”

  “I already gave my statement.” I figured Lockett would allow me to say that.

  “Yeah, but Stillman hasn’t typed it up yet so I don’t know it.”

  I pursed my lips. “I’m not sure my lawyer would think that’s a good idea. He told me to keep my mouth shut.”

  “He? Not your mom? I thought you were bluffing.” DB straightened in the chair.

  “My mother has enough on her plate.”

  He nodded as he mulled over what I’d said. It was anyone’s guess how he was interpreting it. Did I do something wrong? Why had I called a different lawyer? Was I hiding something from my mother? No telling where his prepubescent-stunted devious mind was going.

  “What was your beef with Josh Chapman?” DB asked.

  I smiled.

  “How did you know Josh Chapman?” he asked.

  I continued to smile.

  “Why did you kill Josh Chapman?” He leaned onto the back of his chair and narrowed his eyes.

  I knew he’d asked this to get me to protest. To get a reaction. This time, I showed teeth with my smile.

  “Dang it, Samantha,”—he pounded a fist on the table— “you better start talking. You look awfully suspicious here.”

  “I told you my lawyer said to not say anything. When he gets here, we can talk.”

  DB put his hands in the air. “And when will that be?”

  I glanced at my watch. “If he left right after I called him, then in an hour, I suppose.”

  DB sighed wearily and closed his eyes.

  “It’s not yet noon. We got time. I’m not going anywhere,” I said. DB wanted to make me uncomfortable. If I showed him how nervous I was, he’d get a buzz from it and keep me here forever. Power over people was his crack.

  “This isn’t a game, Sam.” His upper lip curled. “A man is dead.”

  “I know,” I said, my voice low. “More than anyone.” I’d been present when life left Principal Josh’s body. I’d looked into his eyes as he fell over, and there was nothing. Not fear, not relief. No light. Nothing. Because he was already gone. And experiencing the passing of someone was unlike anything I’d gone through before. Fear, uncertainty, and guilt were emotions waiting to erupt. Jerking DB around was the only way I could keep that underlying current in check.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

  Uncertain what to say next, I shrugged.

  He pounded his fist into his hand. “Dang it, say something.”

  “Is it true you went to the Taylor Swift concert in Tacoma?”

  “What?”

  My question caught him off guard. “I heard you did, and you went by yourself?” I held up a hand. “I’m not judging. I like Taylor.”

  He reared back. “I wasn’t alone.”

  The lack of further explanation made me think we’d entered a semantics game. Rachel and I used to do this as kids. The trick was perspective.

  “Okay, let me rephrase the question. Not counting all the other people in attendance, did you go alone? Meaning…did anyone ride with you or meet you there?” By the shocked expression of his face, I was on to something. I smirked.

  He leapt up, his sudden movement knocking his chair onto the floor with a loud bang. “We aren’t talking about me!”

  I kept my tone matter-of-fact with no intention to make this situation more difficult. “And I’m not talking until my lawyer gets here. If you want to have a chat, we can talk football, or the weather, or you can tell me how awesome the Taylor Swift concert was, but I’m not saying anything until my lawyer gets here.”

  A knock on the door stopped our conversation.

  “Come in,” DB boomed.

  Oliver handed him a piece of paper. DB read whatever was on it then balled it up. He pointed a finger at me, the paper a wad in his fist. “You can just cool your jets in here by yourself until your lawyer gets here.”

  “This means we aren’t going to talk Taylor music? Because I really like her. All that angsty break-up music.” I stretched my legs out, resting them on the overturned chair. “Bummer.”

  DB shook his head at me, glaring. Then stalked out. Oliver gave me a look of part wonder and part fear.

  I smiled.

  The door slammed behind them.

  I slouched in the chair, resisting the urge to text anyone in case DB was watching through the two-way mirror.

  The door opened partway, and Leo leaned in.

  I gave him a finger wave.

  He looked tired. His dark, closely cut hair was mussed as if he’d run his hand through it a thousand times. A five o’clock shadow darkened his jawline, and it wasn’t even noon yet. He narrowed his gray eyes, not in anger, but in pleasure. “Taylor Swift? Really?”

  “Curious if it was true, and now I know. Do I have you to thank for the note and the peace and quiet?”

  “Nope, your mother. The school board and your mother requested an immediate meeting. Word is getting out. Media has caught wind.”

  Slammed with the full magnitude of how this would rock our community, I said, “Did all the kids get picked up okay?”

  He nodded. “You doing okay?”

  “It was awful, Leo. The look in his eyes, or the lack of it…” I inadvertently shivered. “Awful.”

  He looked lost in his own memory when he said, “Yeah, that’s a hard thing to see.”

  “I won’t ever un-see it, will I?” The question was rhetorical as my mind’s eye replayed the last minutes of Josh’s life.

  “Hey,” Leo said softly. “Can I get you anything?”

  I shook my head. “I’m glad you were first to get there.”

  “Me, too,” he said and backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

  7

  Tuesday

  Lockett showed up an hour later. I told him the whole story, and he had me repeat the key parts to DB, who then made us wait in the room an additional ho
ur before letting us go. By the time we got to my place, it was dinnertime. I called home and touched base with my parents, then texted Precious. Though I wasn’t hungry, Lockett convinced me to eat. While I took a shower, he ordered delivery.

  When looking for a silver lining following the death of my fake husband Tyson Lockett would be it. I hadn’t liked him at first, after all, he’d been tasked with delivering the bad news about Carson. But I’d call him friend now.

  Precious arrived with my dad in tow. Worry drove his need to see in person that I was indeed okay.

  I was on the couch, my feet tucked under me, my hair wet from the shower. Dad surveyed me. He tapped a packet of papers, folded lengthwise, against his palm.

  “I’ll report to your mother that you appear to be holding up okay.” Dad’s furrowed brow showcased his worry.

  “I am okay.” My voice was calm, strong. My best attempt at reassurance.

  “No one is okay after witnessing someone die.” He rubbed my arm to comfort me.

  I smiled slightly. “Well, that part wasn’t what I was referring to.”

  He kissed my forehead. “It’s been a helluva news night,” he mumbled.

  I nodded to the papers. “What do you have there?”

  Dad’s reading glasses hung from the neckline of his plaid button-down shirt. He put them on while cracking open the sheets. He looked every bit the investigative reporter. His gray hair was a tad too long because he was too busy following a story. His blue eyes bright with excitement. Dad had something he wanted to share.

  “I researched Josh Chapman.” He cleared his throat and glanced at me over his glasses. “Toby did a little as well, visited the dark web I’m guessing. I said I’d pay him, but I don’t know his rate.”

  Toby was another silver lining from the husband fiasco. Hired to do Carson’s IT work, I’d inherited him when I took over Carson’s PI business. Tall, pale, insanely thin, stoned half of the day, Toby Wagenknecht was Shaggy to my Velma. Obviously, Precious was Daphne.