Little Broken Things

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “Why? Are you missing me already?”

  “Maybe I am, just a little.”

  “I’d return to Cambria tonight if I could. Another day or two, and I’m sure we’ll get things all wrapped up.”

  “I look forward to seeing you.”

  I look forward to seeing you …?

  Could I have said anything lamer than what I’d just said?

  I doubted it.

  I attempted what I hoped would be a swift recovery. “I was thinking, when I finish this case, why don’t we take off for a week?”

  “Sure. Where did you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought yet.”

  “Leave it with me. I’ll check into it and come up with a few options.”

  We chatted for another ten minutes and then made a plan to speak again before I left for work in the morning. I had to admit, it was nice to hear his voice. I missed him more than I thought I would, given the fact he hadn’t been gone long. The idea of moving in together was becoming more enticing with each passing day. It appeared it was something I wanted a lot more than I cared to admit.

  Chapter 23

  I was in a field surrounded by trees, standing in front of a two-story log cabin with a bright-red door. Picture windows lined the front. Inside, a fire was blazing in the fireplace. Outside, in the distance, I swore I could hear the faint cries of a baby, but no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find one.

  I scanned the area and saw the sun’s rays reflecting off a tree far more majestic than those surrounding it. Curious, I ran toward the tree, but the closer I got, the farther away it seemed to be. A twig snapped behind me, and I turned. A young woman raced past me, her long, blond hair blowing in the wind. She was barefoot and dressed in sweatpants and a pink T-shirt. She ran into the grove of trees and disappeared. I stood a moment, pondering who she was, where I was, and why she was running around outside with no shoes on.

  Then someone screamed.

  I ran toward the direction of the scream, the same direction the blond woman had gone. I searched for what seemed like an hour, but no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find her. It was like she’d entered the thicket of trees and became swallowed up by them somehow.

  A second scream howled through the trees, but it hadn’t come from the grove I was in this time. It came from inside the cabin. Through the window I saw the silhouette of the woman who’d sped past me moments before. She looked straight at me as if waiting for me to notice her and then disappeared.

  “Wait!” I shouted. “Don’t go. I want to talk to you.”

  I sprinted toward the door, tripping on a rock on the way. I collapsed to the ground, my hands scraping along the coarse dirt. I turned my palms up. My hands were bleeding, and bits of dirt had become wedged beneath the chafed parts of my skin.

  I pushed myself to a standing position. My ankle felt like it was twisted. Even so, I was determined to get inside the house. I hobbled my way to the door, went inside, and was met with silence.

  “Hello?” I called out. “My name is Georgiana Germaine. I’m a detective. Are you okay? Do you need help?”

  I made my way to the kitchen, grabbed a tea towel off the counter, and wiped the dirt from my body. I went to the sink and washed my hands and then began my search through the house. I found no one in the first two rooms, and as I made my way to the end of the hall, I heard someone weeping from behind a closed door.

  I walked to the door and knocked on it.

  “Hey,” I said. “Are you all right? Can I come in?”

  When no one answered, I turned the knob and entered the room. Sitting in the middle of the bed was the blond woman. Her hands were pressed against her stomach like she was in pain, and she was sobbing. I walked to the bed and reached out to her, but before I could place my hand on her shoulder, she disappeared, evaporating into thin air like she’d never existed in the first place.

  The wind kicked up outside, and within it, the repeated sound of a woman’s voice saying, “Help me.”

  Chapter 24

  I awoke, sat straight up in bed, and clicked on the light next to me. I lifted my palms in front of my face. They were perfect and unharmed, just like I knew they’d be no matter how real the dream had seemed. I thought about the young woman. Even though I never got a clear view of her face, I was sure she was Olivia.

  What had she been trying to tell me?

  I thought about the cabin. It was unfamiliar. I was sure I’d never seen it before. I had a feeling it existed, something I’d follow-up on.

  It took some time, but I managed to fall back to sleep, waking several hours later to the sound of my phone buzzing. I stared at the screen, trying to make out the name on my caller ID, and then exhaled a frustrated sigh and reached for my glasses. It was my mother. I sent the call to voicemail. It was six in the morning, far too early for a conversation with her yet.

  Forty-five minutes later, while I sat at the table, sipping on the cup of mocha I’d just made and eating eggs on toast, someone began pounding on my camper door.

  I didn’t even bother to ask.

  I knew who it was already.

  Luka hopped onto the floor, ready to pounce on the unknown intruder.

  “Yoo-hoo, Georgiana. Your car’s parked out front. I know you’re in there.”

  I swung the door open and attempted to produce a genuine smile. “Hey, Mom. I was just about to—”

  She shuffled past me and plopped down at the table. “Just about to call me, eh? You sure? I haven’t heard from you in days. Not since you’ve taken this new case.”

  “I’ve been meaning to call. It’s been a long week.”

  “So I hear. Your Aunt Laura has told me all about it.”

  I doubted the statement was an accurate one. Aunt Laura was tight-lipped when it came to sharing private information involving those she cared about.

  My mother looked at my plate and said, “I’ll take two eggs over easy and a piece of toast, please. And don’t toast it too much. You know how I like it—light with a nice big dollop of butter. You have any bacon? If you do, I’ll have two strips. Wait a minute … make it three. I’ve been to Pilates twice this week. It’s high time I treat myself.”

  I was about to say I needed to get to work but didn’t. Something was on her mind. I made “breakfast her way” and sat beside her.

  “What’s going on, Mom?” I asked.

  “Why must something be going on for me to visit? Can’t I visit my daughter—no agenda, just a visit? Well, can’t I?”

  It seemed like she was about to burst, but I figured it was best for me to play along until she was ready to tell me what she’d come to say.

  “You can stop by for a visit,” I said. “I do need to leave for work soon though.”

  She ignored the comment, cut into one of the eggs, and said something about it being too runny for her liking, even though it wasn’t. If there was one thing I knew how to cook fifty ways and achieve perfection every single time, it was eggs.

  My mother set her fork down, sipped on the orange juice I’d given her, and said, “Don’t forget about family dinner. Tonight. Six o’clock sharp. You will be there, you and Giovanni both, won’t you?”

  “I’ll be there. Giovanni is New York.”

  “Whatever for? It’s not like him to miss one of my dinners.”

  Everything doesn’t revolve around you, Mom.

  Except in her mind, it did, and there was no telling her otherwise.

  “I’m sure he’ll make it next time,” I said.

  “I so was looking forward to seeing him.”

  She resumed picking at her egg and turned, staring out the window at a man a few RV stalls down who was taking out the trash. She eyed him until he walked back inside of his RV, and when she looked back at me, tears were streaming down her face.

  “Mom?” I asked. “What is it?”

  “It’s Harvey. He went for a physical last week, and … well, something is wrong, Georgiana.�
�

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

  “The doctor thinks he’s under too much stress. His blood pressure … it’s, well, far too high, and it seems to be getting worse with each visit, not better. He’s also been a lot more forgetful over the last few months. I can’t make heads or tails of it. It’s like his mind isn’t working the way it should be.”

  “He hasn’t mentioned any of this to me,” I said.

  “He wouldn’t ever admit it. You know how he is.”

  “Is it the case we’re working on, do you think? Or something else?”

  “He’s started forgetting things. Not big things. Little things here and there. He’s aware of it, and he’s not handling it well.”

  A few weeks before, he’d come into my office asking if I knew where his glasses were, even though I could see them in his breast pocket. I hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but now, looking back, it was the third thing he’d misplaced in one week.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

  “I’ve asked him to take some time off. He won’t do it. Says it’s not a good time, what with the young lady who was just murdered and all. I can’t understand it. Who murders someone in a bookstore of all places? It’s like an episode of Murder She Wrote right here in our sweet, innocent town.”

  “Would you like me to talk to Harvey?”

  “Heaven’s, no. He made me swear not to alarm any of you kids.”

  Yet, I wondered how many of my other siblings she’d already told.

  She leaned closer to me and lowered her voice, even though we were alone. “I was hoping you might suggest something to him.”

  “Like what?”

  “Why not say Giovanni is going on a fishing trip, and he wants Harvey to go with him? He won’t say no. Not to an invitation from Giovanni. I’m sure of it. I’m sure someone can be found to stand in for him at the police station while he’s gone, right?”

  Even if a stand-in could be found, there was one massive problem with her suggestion—Giovanni didn’t fish. Hell, I’d never even seen the man with a stitch of dirt on him.

  “I’ll, ahh … talk to Giovanni and see what can be done,” I said.

  “Thank you and thank him for me. It’s for the best, you know. While Harvey’s away, it will give me time to figure out how to get him to do what needs to be done.”

  “What needs to be done, Mom?”

  She pushed her half-eaten plate of food to the side and said, “I have it all figured out. It’s time for Harvey to retire.”

  Chapter 25

  On my drive over to the police station, I thought about what it would be like to work for the department without Harvey. In truth, I didn’t even want to consider it. I’d never been any good at working for anyone, but Harvey was different. He was my stepdad and my friend—one of the closest I’d ever had. The selfish, impulsive side of me had already started thinking about ways to sabotage my mother’s retirement plans. I told myself she was being irrational, as she often was when it came to things like this. But the fear I’d seen in her eyes was real—too real to ignore.

  I made it a few steps inside the police station before Harvey waved me back to his office. Today, he was dressed in jeans and a plaid, button-up shirt, and he’d kicked his black cowboy boots over the side of the desk. His moustache, which he always kept neat and tidy, looked like it hadn’t seen a razor in a couple of days, something I found odd.

  I stared at Harvey’s untrimmed moustache a few seconds too long, and he said, “Damndest thing, I couldn’t find my razor this morning. Always leave it in the basket in my drawer, but it wasn’t there. And your mother wasn’t around, and she didn’t answer the phone when I tried calling her, so I couldn’t figure out whether she’d moved it somewhere without telling me or what happened to it. Anyhoo, I’m sure it will turn up somewhere, but I’ll pop over to Walgreens today and replace it just in case.”

  I decided my best response was to empathize with his situation. “I had the same problem with my glasses this morning. I know how you feel.”

  He shot me a wink. “You’re running a bit later than usual. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Everything okay with you?”

  He cocked his head to the side and squinted at me. “Everything’s peachy.”

  “Yeah, well … good. I’m glad.”

  He grabbed a file folder on the side of the desk and slid it over to me. “Hunter said you wanted to take a gander at the Nixon file.”

  “Did she tell you why?”

  “She did.”

  “What do you remember about the case?” I asked.

  “Not much to it, to be honest. We made the rounds, questioned everyone involved, and did a thorough investigation, even though it was obvious what had transpired. In the end, it was open-and-shut. I didn’t think foul play was involved then, and I don’t think it is now.”

  “I need to question Shawn Murphy about his aggressive behavior toward Olivia. I may as well ask him about the Nixon girl while I’m at it.”

  “Understood. Not sure he’ll have much to say. He didn’t when we questioned him a few years back. Quiet fellow, as I recall. I got the impression he had plenty to say, but he just didn’t feel like saying it.”

  Perhaps Shawn was the “silent but deadly” type.

  I’d soon find out.

  “I’ll look through the file and then head over to Shawn Murphy’s place,” I said. “I need to find time to talk to Brandy Jacobsen again too.”

  He nodded. “I’ll leave you to it. Keep me informed.”

  I stood and headed to the door.

  “You know how some people have an excellent poker face and others … well, others have a facial expression for everything?” he asked.

  I got the impression others referred to me. I’d never been able to hide the way I felt about anything, not in my expressions or with my words.

  I glanced back at him. “Harvey, I didn’t want to say—”

  He raised a hand, stopping me. “It’s all good, Gigi. Your mother means well, but I want to make one thing clear. I know what she wants, and it’s not going to happen. Recruiting you to do her bidding won’t make a bit of difference either. I won’t be giving up this job. Not now or at any time in the near future.”

  Chapter 26

  Although I’d been eager to get my hands on Kennedy Nixon’s file, it turned out to be a huge disappointment in terms of leads or new information. The neighbor who’d sworn she saw a dark-blue truck leaving the Nixon place had passed away a year earlier, dashing any notions I’d had of questioning her. And aside from the lingerie on the bathroom counter and the empty bottle of wine, there was nothing else worth following up on.

  I felt like I was running in circles, getting somewhere and nowhere at the same time. I wouldn’t let it faze me though—I couldn’t—not when Olivia’s family was counting on me. I shook it off and headed to my next stop.

  Shawn Murphy lived in the center of town in a dated white-stucco townhouse with burgundy shutters. I parked the car and glanced around, noticing the paint on the shutters was peeling, and what was left of the sparse, patchy grass was littered with beer bottle caps and dog crap. A pickup truck was parked in the driveway. It was dark in color and had a new coat of wax. The open garage was filled with gym equipment and a bright-red Ducati Panigale.

  I inched my way across the doggy landmines and knocked on the front door, the music blasting from inside the house hindering my chances of being heard. I balled my hand into a fist and tried again, harder this time.

  The music stopped, and a dog sounded off, clawing at the opposite side of the door like I was a steak, and he hadn’t eaten for two days. Based on the piles of poo I’d just dodged in the yard and the low, raspy bark coming from inside the house, it wasn’t a small dog. I moved to the side and braced myself.

  The front door cracked opened. A young man stuck his head out, smiled at me, and said, “Howdy, what can I do for you?”

  “S
hawn Murphy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m Detective Georgiana Germaine. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Olivia Spencer.”

  “Okay, hang on.”

  The door closed and he said, “Pyro, sit! Pyro come. Pyro, get over here, now.”

  He’d named his dog after fire … great.

  Shawn swung the door all the way open, and the first thing I noticed was the dingy gray towel wrapped around his waist. Aside from the towel, he appeared to be nude.

  I peeked inside the house. “Where’s Pyro?”

  “She’s tied up out back. Been wondering when you’d stop by. Come on in, babe.”

  Babe?

  I don’t think so.

  “Detective is fine,” I said, stepping inside.

  He grinned and said, “Detective Babe it is, then.”

  A picture began to form in my mind of what the next several minutes might be like. I hoped I was wrong. He showed me into the living room, which was furnished man-cave style, with a futon couch and one of the largest flatscreen television sets I’d ever seen. He suggested I take a seat on the futon and then he dragged a metal chair from the table into the dining room, joining me.

  “You, ehh, want to put some clothes on before we get started?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I can if you want me to.”

  “A shirt would be nice, at least.”

  He shook his head like he thought I was being ridiculous, stood, and left the room. A minute later he returned wearing a tank top with a bright, multicolored surfboard on the front.

  “The truck outside … is it yours?” I asked.

  “Sure is, why?”

  “How long have you had it?”

  “About five years, I guess. Bought it back in high school.”

  “Looks like it has a custom paint job.”

  He grinned. “Air Force Blue.”

  “What?”

  “The color … it’s called Air Force Blue.”

  “Was it Air Force Blue when you bought it?”