Читать книгу Small-Town Secrets - Linda Wisdom Randall - Страница 10

Cole should have been working on next week’s column. He knew what he was going to write. Had already drafted it in his head. It would be easy enough to type the words into his laptop computer. He’d done it many times before.

Trouble was, he didn’t want to write his reflections on the new school year compared to his memories of school. Not when something in town had been brewing for quite a few years now. All he had to do was find some hard facts to back up what he’d only been able to suppose so far.

He was hoping Bree Fitzpatrick would be able to help him in that matter. A reminder of another story that needed to be written.

He stared at the bulky file folders and the contents he’d been accumulating for the past year. They were stacked haphazardly around the easy chair in his living room.

With all the research he’d done so far, why hadn’t he been able to find some hard proof that he could take to the authorities? Considering the stories he’d investigated and written in the past, this one should be a piece of cake. It had started late one night when he’d been feeling stuck on what to write about. He’d pulled out some of his uncle’s files, looking for ideas for his column. A sticky note attached to a file folder had caught his attention. Too many are dying.

Cole knew his uncle wouldn’t have written such a cryptic note unless there was something behind it. Sometimes, he feared that note had something to do with his death. So he’d done some digging of his own. And discovered, indeed, too many people were dying.

Even with the large senior citizen population in the county, the numbers were still too high for his peace of mind. He did what digging he could, but he still couldn’t find enough solid evidence to indicate foul play.

Cole’s gut told him a lot of these deaths weren’t accidents or from natural causes. Now he just had to find the connection.

He’d mentioned his suspicions to Roy once. The sheriff had listened and, when he was finished, explained that he could understand his concerns, but that Cole had to look at it from the sheriff’s point of view. What he was talking about sounded a hell of a lot like some sort of conspiracy theory. If Cole came up with some evidence Roy could follow up on, then he’d be happy to do whatever was necessary to investigate.

Cole figured Roy had mouthed all the right words and hoped he would move on to something else.

Cole did. After all, he had a newspaper to put out.

But it didn’t stop him from gathering information every chance he got. “Casual” talks with victims’ friends gave him insight into their lives that he couldn’t have gotten any other way. He’d drunk gallons of coffee and eaten pounds of homemade coffee cake while discovering bits and pieces about various residents that he kept filed away. Pieces of information that didn’t always make sense.

Sure, it was possible for someone suffering from inoperable cancer to succumb to a heart attack. No reason why someone diagnosed with impending blindness as a complication due to diabetes wouldn’t die from slipping in the shower. Some of the deaths Cole could have believed were suicide, but there was just something about them that didn’t add up in his mind.

Maybe he was looking for a story that wasn’t there. Seeing things that didn’t exist.

Except for Uncle Charlie’s notes.

Uncle Charlie who hadn’t had one fanciful bone in his body.

Cole leaned back in the easy chair that faced his big-screen television set. He had CNN on now, but the sound was muted. An open pizza box had two pieces of mushroom pizza remaining. A can of beer sat on the table by his elbow. For now, he was content to think about Bree.

Ordinarily, he kept his distance from a woman with children. Trying so hard to get her to go out with him wasn’t his usual modus operandi.

He didn’t consider himself good relationship material. A failed marriage had taught him all he needed to know—he wasn’t good in the long run. After his ex-wife told him his work came before anything else and she was tired of not meaning anything to him, he’d decided she was right.

Except things weren’t the same after she left. He felt as if he’d failed. Going after any and all stories, no matter how dangerous, was his way of coping.

Amazing how a bomb almost turning him into confetti had got him to make a few changes in his lifestyle. He took life a little easier now. But one rule was still hard and fast with him: any woman he dated knew from the get-go he wasn’t the commitment type.

Marriage and family weren’t meant for him. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying an evening, and maybe even all night, with a woman.

It wasn’t the thrill of the hunt Cole thought about when it came to Bree. He’d outgrown that behavior years ago. No, what he felt was a tug toward the lady. All he wanted was the chance to follow through on his interest.

But first he had to convince her he wasn’t such a bad guy.

“Did you look through the files I sent you?”

Cole’s husky drawl filtering through the telephone line was surprisingly devastating to a woman who believed she was immune to the man.

Bree thought of the manila envelope delivered to her home. There was no note inside, but there didn’t need to be. She knew the identity of the person who’d sent her copies of accident reports and a few doctors’ statements. Clipped to the first page of each report was a lined sheet of paper filled with neatly printed comments.

No way he could have fallen in the shower. He preferred baths.

Medical report more fiction than fact.

Any reason why only Holloway signed off on most of these accidents?

Heatstroke theory doesn’t wash.

“Tell me something, Becker. Why me?” she asked now.

“You look like a lady who likes a challenge.”

Bree picked up her pen and began doodling on the pad in front of her. Anyone looking at her would think she was taking notes.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re as irritating as poison ivy?” she asked.

His chuckle was like a warm breeze in her ear. “That’s a new one. Trust me, I’ve been called worse. Come on, Bree, help me out here.”

“Again, why me?”

“Because you’re new to the area. You don’t have any preconceived ideas about any of these people or their deaths. Because you worked homicide and were good at it. And because you don’t believe anyone should die unnecessarily.” The humor had leached out of his voice as he spoke quietly, but with a note of determination.

“You have no proof,” Bree stated.

“There’s proof out there. And I plan to be around when it shows up.” He was silent for a moment. “I feel that proof is there on your end.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Think about it. Whenever there’s a cover-up it usually goes back to the cops.”

She straightened up so quickly, Jinx raised his head to watch her.

“Don’t go there, Becker,” she warned.

He couldn’t miss the ice in her voice. “All right, big mistake. Let me apologize by taking you out to dinner.”

Bree laughed in spite of herself. The man never quits. “I would think you’d have dates running out of your ears. If I were you, I’d think twice about trying for a woman who has three children, two of them in high school.”

“Ordinarily, I’d be running the other way,” he said candidly. “I guess there’s just something special about you.”

“No, there isn’t.” She matched his candor with some of her own. “You’re not used to being turned down. Good-looking guy like you.”

“You’re weakening, Detective. You just admitted you think I’m good-looking.”

“Tell him I’ll call him back,” Roy could be heard saying to someone.

Bree looked up just as he stopped at her desk.

“Please, ma’am, don’t apologize for calling,” she said in her calm official voice, as if she’d been occupied with a business call. “If you think your handyman has been seen on America’s Most Wanted, you should call us right away. We’ll certainly check on it. Thank you for calling.”

“Coward!” She heard Cole’s accusation as she laid the receiver in the cradle.

Roy dropped a file folder on her desk.

“It’s one of those cases that should be simple, but isn’t,” he told her. “A uniform was out there early this morning to take the initial report, but the complainant is still up in arms. She wants action. This is a situation that’s been escalating for some time now. I’m hoping that sending you out there will diffuse it. I’ll warn you, Mattie Williams isn’t too easy to deal with and, personally, these calls are more crank than legit. But I’m not going to have anyone say we didn’t follow up on a call just because we don’t take it seriously. The day could come when it would be serious.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right over there.” She picked up the file and opened it. She realized the man was still standing by her desk. She looked up. “Is there anything else, Sheriff?”

“The Pattersons said you gave a good talk,” he said.

“I’m glad they were pleased,” she replied, warmed to know her first public appearance was well received.

“It was a good beginning for you. You might want to attend the city council meetings, too,” he suggested. “I like my people getting involved in the community.”

“I’ll do that.”

He nodded and moved away. The moment his office door closed after him, Bree noticed everyone else’s eyes shift back to their desks.

She picked the case folder up again and began reading. Once finished, she kept it in her hand and stood up. The moment she rose to her feet, Jinx got to his. The dog immediately moved to her left side.

“I think I’d rather have a human for a partner than a dog,” Frank Roberts said. “At least then I’d know my backup was carrying a weapon.”

“Oh really?” Bree’s expression was bland as she kept her gaze centered on him. There was no inflection in her voice, nor did she glance at the German shepherd. “Jinx. Detain.”

The dog moved so swiftly, the man didn’t have a chance of blinking, much less moving, before the German shepherd cut off any hope of retreat. He gently, but firmly, held the man’s trouser leg in his mouth.

“Hey!” Frank snarled, but he was no match for the dog keeping him in check. “Tell him to let go.” Frank started to jerk backward, but Jinx’s low growl changed his mind.

Bree knew he’d be furious, but she wanted to make a point. “Jinx. Keep close.”

Frank froze when Jinx’s jaws now landed a bit too close to the crotch of his slacks.

“If you’d had a weapon in your hand, he would have immediately disarmed you,” Bree explained. “And you know the nice thing about having a K-9? He doesn’t spill coffee on the seat, he doesn’t complain about his wife and he doesn’t nag me about my driving. If the situation came up, he would also take a bullet for his partner. Something you can’t always count on with a human partner.”

Frank’s eyes blazed with temper, but he quickly masked it when he realized the dog picked up on his reaction.

“Who do I apologize to? You or the dog?” he asked, keeping his voice low and even.

“Jinx is the one you disparaged.”

He took a deep breath. “Jinx, I’m sorry if I saw you more as a dog than as an officer,” he muttered.

“Jinx, stand down,” Bree said softly.

Jinx released his grip on the man’s pant leg, took two steps back and settled back on his haunches.

“Say hello, Jinx,” Bree instructed.

The dog lifted his paw. Frank looked as if the last thing he wanted to do was shake the dog’s paw, but too many people were watching. He circled his fingers around the paw and shook it.

Bree stepped forward. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, Frank,” she said in a low voice, meant for his ears only. “But I want to make the people in here understand that Jinx isn’t just a dog who happens to have a shield attached to his collar. He’s been trained as a deputy’s partner, which frees up someone to work elsewhere. He was one of the first to work in a trial program to work with detectives also.”

Frank’s jaw worked as he thought about her words. “Just as long as he doesn’t have fleas,” he said grudgingly, drawing on anything to preserve his dignity before he returned to his desk.

“You should worry more about me than him on that count.” She offered him a smile.

He didn’t return her smile. She didn’t take it personally. She sensed he was of the mind-set that didn’t believe women belonged in law enforcement. Nothing new to her.

He looked around at their audience, officers that pretended not to be interested. “I see one dog collar or chew bone on this desk and there’ll be hell to pay.” He gave a growl worthy of Jinx.

“Our cue to leave. Jinx. Heel.”

Bree walked out to her SUV and opened the rear door for Jinx to climb up inside. “Domestic dispute,” she murmured with a sigh, switching on the engine. “My favorite kind of case.”

She didn’t have any trouble finding the location of the dispute. The first thing she noticed was Cole Becker standing on the sidewalk. He was busy studying what looked like a major war zone. She hazarded a guess that the day before, the green lawn had been lush and flowers bordering the front porch had added a colorful accent to the neatly painted house. Today it looked as if a deranged gardener had been let loose on the lawn. Flowers were torn up and thrown every which way. Chunks of sod were tossed up onto the porch and ground into the steps. And some kind of strange design was burned into the lawn.

Bree winced as she studied the destruction in front of her.

Then she sneaked a peek at Cole, who stood nearby. It was a sin a man could look so good in a pair of jeans.

Keeping her eyes off his illegal rear end, she parked in front of the house and got out. She let Jinx out of the truck and walked up the driveway with him at her side.

The morning breeze sent a hint of lemony aftershave her way. The man smelled as good as he looked.

“What did you do so wrong that you caught the Williams-Baxter feud?” he asked, snapping off a couple of photos.

“Don’t tell me, you not only write the stories, you take the photos, too,” Bree commented.

“I’m a Renaissance man. I do everything,” he admitted.

A woman stepped outside. “Who’re you?” she asked in a raspy voice that had an accent more commonly heard in Brooklyn, New York, than Southern California. She wore baggy shorts and a faded blue T-shirt that hung on her bony frame. Chipped red polish adorned her toes and fingernails. A cigarette dipped dangerously from her lower lip. She had the look of a woman who’d lived a hard life and didn’t mind if it showed. She cast a suspicious eye in Jinx’s direction. “He won’t pee on my lawn, will he?”

As if that would hurt it more! Bree thought to herself.

“Mrs. Williams, I’m Detective Fitzpatrick.” She moved forward, holding out her hand. The woman took it in a brief shake. “I understand you’ve had some vandalism.”

“Hell, yes, I’ve had problems. You can’t miss them, can you?” Her eyes flashed fire. In between puffs on her cigarette, she mouthed a few colorful phrases detailing what she thought of the vandals. “Teresa and her spawn are the ones who made this mess on my Harry’s lawn. He works damn hard to keep it looking beautiful and they’ve ruined it. I want them arrested.”

“Why do you think Teresa is to blame?” Bree’s nose twitched at the acrid smoke. She’d quit smoking when she learned she was pregnant with Cody, and every once in a while that craving for nicotine hit her. Thanks to Mrs. Williams, it was rearing its ugly head.

“Teresa is my sneaky sister. How do I know she’s behind this? I know because this is something she’d do. Or she’d have her son do it.” She squinted in the plume of smoke rising upward.

“Come on, Mattie, tell her the truth why you think it was the Baxters,” Cole suggested.

She glared at Cole. “Everyone knows why, Cole. This detective is here to arrest them. Not hear stories.”

“Mrs. Williams, I can’t arrest someone just on your say-so. I need proof,” Bree explained.

The other woman snorted. “It’s not as if I know they’re out here so I run out with a camera. Besides, that’s your job. Proving they did it,” she insisted. “You just go on and do your job and put the two of them behind bars! This yard was just fine last night. That means they did it between the time I went to bed after Letterman and sometime before I came out for my newspaper this morning after the morning news.” She waved her cigarette for emphasis, sending ash flying everywhere.

“Stand on the sidewalk where you can get a better look at the lawn,” Cole advised in a low voice.

Bree did just that. As she stood on the sidewalk and looked at the grass, she realized it was more than some kind of design burned in the lawn, it was words.

“Interesting choice, wouldn’t you say?” Cole asked, moving over to stand next to her. “No crop circles for this person.”

“Whoever did it can’t spell worth a damn,” she muttered. “Considering this could be considered a favorite obscenity, you’d think they’d know how to spell it.”

“All you need to do is ask someone to spell this word and see if they use two ks instead of a ck,” he commented. “Too bad that last school bond was voted down. Seems like our schools really need to do something about the students’ spelling skills.”

“When my Harry gets home and sees what those Baxters did to his lawn, he’s going to bust a gut,” Mrs. Williams said. “You have to arrest them!”

Bree took a deep breath, then wished she hadn’t when she inhaled a hint of smoke. She was going to have to dig through the glove compartment and hope she could find a stick of gum. A mint. Anything that would help the craving. She blinked when something appeared in her range of vision.

Cole held out a square of bubble gum.

“It’s the only way I can be around Mattie for more than thirty seconds,” he said quietly. “And a hell of a lot safer. If I tried to take that cigarette from her, she’d have me flat on my back before I knew what happened.”

Bree pulled off the paper wrapper, popped the pink disk in her mouth and started chewing.

“Mrs. Williams, I’m going to have a talk with Mrs. Baxter,” she told the other woman. “But I’d like to ask you a few more questions first.” She pulled her notebook and a pen out of her bag.

It didn’t take her long to realize that all Mrs. Williams cared about was Bree arresting the entire Baxter family and putting them away for the next hundred years. Cole made no pretense of pretending not to hear. What irked Bree most was the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he knew something she didn’t.

He was walking toward a battered pickup truck when she finished talking to Mrs. Williams.

“Becker,” Bree called out, just as he opened the door. She picked up her pace and headed toward him. “Okay, what’s the big joke about this feud? And if you tell me the Baxters are aliens from another galaxy…” She left the threat unspoken, but no less powerful.

“Whoa, Detective, I’m not packing heat.” He held up his hands in surrender. “You’re not even close with the alien guess. But you have to meet the Baxters to understand where Mattie is coming from. Or not,” he muttered. He climbed inside the truck and closed the door after him. The window lowered. “Let me know how your meeting with the Baxters goes.”

“You know something,” she accused.

“Nothing that can help the case. See ya, Detective, honey.” The window rolled upward and the engine rumbled to life.

Bree remained on the sidewalk, watching Cole drive away.

“You’re seein’ the Baxters today, arn’cha?” Mattie Williams called out to her.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bree headed for her vehicle. She had an idea this case wasn’t going to get any easier.

Bree knew it for a fact the moment she rolled to a stop in front of the Baxter house, situated a few miles outside of town.

She guessed the two-story dwelling had been built in the 1940s, but the paint job was pure 1960s—hot-pink with orange and purple daisies decorating the shutters bracketing each window, and an equally bright green door. As she walked up the obviously handmade stone walkway, she surreptitiously gave a few sniffs. The only smoke she detected was the tangy aroma of mesquite, not the sweet odor of something illegal.

When she reached the door, she found a multicolored rope hanging there. She gave a yank and listened to melodic chimes echo from inside the house.

“May I help you?”

She turned toward the side of the house. The woman she faced wasn’t who she expected after listening to Mattie Williams ranting and raving about the people destroying her life. This woman dressed as if she still lived in the sixties in a pale yellow peasant-style blouse with a drawstring neckline and a brightly colored skirt that swirled around her bare ankles. Her brown hair was liberally streaked with gray and hung straight to her waist.

“Mrs. Baxter?”

Her smile was serene. “I prefer Teresa.”

Bree moved forward. “I’m Detective Bree Fitzpatrick.” She pulled out her shield and identification.

“Mattie sent you,” she said softly. “Please, come on back.” She stepped around to the rear of the house. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.” Bree looked at the greenhouses set away from the house. “What do you grow?”

Teresa smiled as if she found her question amusing. “I supply orchids to local florists. Would you care to see them?”

She saw it as a chance to learn about the woman. “Yes, I would.”

The first thing Bree noticed as she stepped inside the glass enclosure was the heavy moisture in the air. At first she felt as if she was breathing water.

“Do you feel as if you’ve suddenly traveled to the tropics?” Teresa asked. “Orchids prefer this type of atmosphere.”

For the next hour, Bree was shown varieties of orchids. She expressed her astonishment at the colors arrayed before her.

“What is Mattie saying I’ve done this time?” Teresa asked, after she led Bree out of the greenhouse.

“She insists you carved designs in her lawn.” Bree told her the words adorning the yard.

Teresa chuckled. She gestured for Bree to follow her inside the house. The kitchen was as brightly colored as the exterior, but very much set in the present. The two women sat at the butcher block table set with red-and-black cloth place mats.

“Mattie has blamed us for everything from her water heater going out to her cat having a hairball to her husband’s erectile dysfunction,” she said serenely as she set a teakettle designed to look like a duck on the stove.

Bree swallowed the laugh that threatened to crawl up her throat. “Any reason why she would think that?” She pulled out her notebook.

“Her reason for me to be in jail is very easy. She believes I stole this property from her.”

Bree paused. “Any reason why she would think that?”

“Possibly because I married the man she thought she was in love with.” She poured tea into a cup and carried it over to the table. She sat across from Bree. She nodded as if Bree had said something. “It’s not a new story. Two sisters attracted to the same man. The man chooses one over the other. The spurned sister plots revenge.”

“How long has this been going on?” Bree asked.

She closed her eyes in thought. “It’s been a good thirty years.”

“Even though she has Harry,” Bree said.

“Harry is the man in question. We divorced fifteen years ago and he married Mattie. I received the house as a settlement.”

“But you’ve since remarried,” Bree said, hoping she could keep this straight.

Teresa nodded. “And divorced again. Harry and I had a son who is now nineteen. Adam helps me with the orchids.”

Now Bree felt lost. “If Mattie has the man she’s wanted for so long, why would she accuse you? And her husband’s son?”

She smiled. “That’s Mattie’s way. She thinks I still want Harry. But I don’t.”

Bree shook her head, amazed at the woman’s story. And believing it because it was too bizarre not to believe.

Teresa sipped her tea. “I don’t want her husband, Detective Fitzpatrick. But Mattie refuses to believe me. So she does whatever she can to try to get me into trouble. This is an ongoing thing,” she explained. “And I’m afraid since you’re new to the area, you had no idea what you were in for.” She got up from the table and headed for the stove. “I think you’ll take that tea now.”

“Let me get this straight. You married the man your sister was in love with?”

Teresa nodded.

“You had a son. Later, you divorced the man and your sister married him. You married someone else.”

“Correct.”

“But your sister thinks you want him back, so she’s making all these accusations.” Bree hoped she was filling in the blanks properly. “For what reason?”

“If I’m in prison, I can’t chase after Harry,” Teresa said evenly. “I have to say the vandalism of her front yard is a new twist. Before, it’s been trash strewn around on the lawn or flowers dug up. What you’ve described is much too imaginative for Mattie. I hope she hasn’t made an enemy.” She shook her head in sympathy. “She can sometimes come across as a bit abrasive.”

Bree didn’t doubt it.

An hour later, she left Teresa’s house feeling as if she had been Alice traveling through the Looking Glass. She didn’t doubt Teresa’s story. Bree was familiar with liars. In her line of work, it was a given. She also noticed that when someone lied they had a habit of coming up with a complicated story, as if it made them sound more credible. She usually had a pretty easy time finding the truth. However, she didn’t doubt Teresa’s convoluted tale.