I prayed daily about that case and the work I was doing. I trusted You to help me to get it right, and that didn’t happen. Was it wrong to expect that of You? How did I fail with You? What did I do wrong? I still don’t understand, and I need to understand.
The words ran out and left too much emotion behind them. Life hurt, and she couldn’t figure out how to pick up the pieces anymore. I feel so lost, Jesus.
She had dreamed about being a cop since she was a child, and that dream was gone now. There wasn’t a dream to replace it, just a huge void and a lot of uncertainty. Half her life was gone and what she had to show for it was failure.
She faced setting up a new home, making new friends, sorting out her past with Bruce, figuring out how to function as a private investigator—she didn’t know how to do it without making another serious mistake. She knew God was with her, but as the days stretched by and the weight of the past didn’t lift, it felt like she was walking this new journey alone. She was so tired of feeling alone.
She closed the Bible and set it aside, knowing she needed to keep reading, but finding the emotional hit that was waiting for her in the memories too much to bear tonight. The case had happened, and her life was different now. Life was going down this new path regardless of how she felt or if she was up to the change. She had to figure out how to adapt. She didn’t have a choice.
She scrunched down on the couch. Nathan had said he’d call with an update and she would stay up through the evening news to see if he did. If he didn’t—well, she knew better than most how days as a cop could spin out of control.
She envied Nathan that job he did and the reality he had this place where he belonged. This town and his family history were intertwined, and that was a special fact she wondered if he could truly appreciate. He’d never been without it.
She listened for the phone to ring, monitored the television for the start of the news, and tried to rest without thinking. She was tired of thinking.
* * *
Nathan slid open the back patio door of his home late Sunday night, trying to move quietly. His dogs slept in an intertwined pile of legs, tails, and noses on the rug in the kitchen. They untangled themselves in a flurry of movement and fur. He set his Bible on the dining-room table and hitched up his suit slacks to kneel and greet them.
Digit raced away and returned with the doggy teddy bear, the plush bear almost too much to carry. Nathan wrestled it from him and tossed the toy into the living room. Both dogs went racing after it and attacked with a skidding stop. The bear was dropped, picked up again, tossed, and growled at.
Nathan watched with a smile. They gave him some perspective back in life, for they counted on him to feed them, play, take them for walks, and rub their bellies when they wiggled on their backs wanting his attention.
Digit wore out first and came to collapse on his shoes, panting and licking his hand. “Yes, I love you too.” Not to be outdone, Black came to sit and lift a paw to be taken. “Give me half an hour, guys, and we’ll head out for a while.”
He rose and tugged at his tie. Church had been good tonight: William’s sermon continued his study in Ephesians, and Sandy had done a beautiful job with the music. He’d stayed for the Communion he had missed that morning and afterwards a conversation with Zachary had them lingering beside his car for twenty minutes while they stood in a cold wind, the seriousness of the discussion leaving them both willing to ignore the chills. He could feel his sore throat intensifying.
Management was serious about ending the strike and bringing in strikebreakers.
Nathan sighed as he climbed the steps to the master bedroom. Jesus, I’m now deeply out of my league. How am I supposed to act on this information without betraying Zachary’s trust in providing me advance warning?
Would some within the union decide their personal situation left them no choice but to cross the line and return to work, setting off a fight within the union? Would there be violence at the plant when the strikebreakers came in? Nathan wasn’t wise enough for this.
He changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and glanced at the time. He owed Rae a phone call, but it was close to being too late. He had Sillman’s report in his briefcase; it had been delivered by a courier along with a stack of reading he needed to have reviewed by tomorrow’s early conference call with the county DA. Rae would understand if he called her tomorrow.
Nathan went downstairs and whistled for his dogs. He opened the patio door and let them race into the backyard.
He had told Rae he would call. Nathan sighed and reversed course. He got a drink from the refrigerator, opened his briefcase and dug out the correct report, and picked up the cordless phone. He turned on the backyard light and stepped outside, tugging on his coat. Sitting at the patio table, occasionally seeing his dogs as they tracked an interesting scent along the fence, Nathan scanned the report. Digit howled in joy and began digging at the woodpile.
“You’re not going to catch it; you know that, don’t you?” Nathan called over, amused at the dog’s intensity. Black joined Digit and they both began to dig. He was going to have a hole in the ground to fill in before this was over. He turned the pages of the report to find the coroner’s update.
* * *
Rae watched the evening news with her eyes half opened. Peggy Worth’s death was not mentioned, the small town of Justice too far out of the city for the television station to find the death worth airtime. The Justice weekly newspaper on Monday would probably have it on the front page. The phone rang as the weather reporter showed a radar trace over the area with an approaching band of light green and more snow. She reached over to answer it.
“Hello, Rae. I’m sorry it’s so late.”
Nathan’s voice was a welcoming break in her evening. “The news isn’t over yet. You’re fine.” She reached for the remote and turned down the volume, pleased he had called. She was glad he couldn’t see the shape she was in, a few tear traces having dried on her face, and the lingering sadness apparent. She hoped it wouldn’t be conveyed in her voice. “You’ve got news.”
“Some. I’ve finished reading the deputy’s report on Peggy Worth and the summary of what the interviews provided. He hasn’t been able to find anyone who remembers seeing Peggy Worth after she left the exercise room.”
Rae clicked off the TV and pushed herself up on the couch, startled by the news. “I was the last one to see her alive?”
“So far, yes. She didn’t go to the movie theater as planned; the security tape at the theater confirms that.”
“Her date itinerary changed.”
“Or the date was cancelled and she turned in early. The book on her bedside was half read, and there’s a receipt showing she bought it that afternoon. The security code shows her door opens and closes a couple times around 8 p.m. and again around 1 a.m., which doesn’t help confirm or rule out either option.”
Rae agreed; the facts left more questions open than answered. “If the date destination changed or even if it was cancelled, her date should still know something of her plans.”
“The man has yet to come forward. If he’s in town, you have to figure he’s heard about her death by now. And if the date was cancelled for some reason, you still have to figure he’d be grief stricken at the news and would call in with questions. So far nothing.”
She heard pages turn.
“The autopsy showed a seizure and heart attack as the cause of death, but it’s not conclusive yet that it was natural causes. The coroner expects to have the rest of the toxicology results tomorrow.”
The guy Peggy planned to meet hadn’t come forward as news spread of her death—that said foul play. But Rae didn’t see how it fit with the other details of the scene. “A traumatic death usually leaves more evidence behind than this.”
“I know. She looked peaceful, Rae, like she closed her eyes and simply never woke up. I hope for her parents’ sake it was natural causes.”
“Have you spoken with them?”
“Yes. Peggy
was single. I spoke with her parents shortly after 2 p.m., when we had confirmed the identity.”
“That had to be hard.”
“It was.”
Rae shifted one of the throw pillows behind her head and rested back again. Nathan sounded tired tonight. “I appreciate the update.”
“No problem, Rae. Your notes helped today.”
“Where are you, Nathan? There’s a bit of an echo.”
“Sorry. I’m home, I’m on the cordless phone, and I just stepped outside with my dogs. I’m trying to convince them to come in for the night. They like to sleep in the oddest places in this big backyard and then wake me up at 1 a.m. with their mournful cries to come back inside.”
“You love them, though.”
“I must. One is now trying to eat my tennis-shoe laces and the other just brought a dead something as a gift.” She heard the phone shift as he dealt with the unwanted gift. “How did your day go, Rae? Have you gotten settled in at the agency?”
“Bruce and I started painting my office. It’s going to be nice when it’s done.”
“You’ll enjoy it. How is your grandmother? Were you able to see her as planned?”
She appreciated the fact he remembered her plans for the day. “She’s fine. I spent about three hours with her and enjoyed every moment. She’s a wonderful lady who makes me laugh and showers me with love.”
“I’m glad you’re close to her.”
“So am I.” She wanted to linger over this call but knew doing so risked her saying more than she should tonight. She’d known the man a couple days, liked him, but that didn’t stretch to talking about how her grandmother was handling life well while she was not. “I’ll let you go so you can get some sleep. I’m glad you called.”
“So am I. Good night, Rae.”
“Good night, Nathan.”
She thought for a moment about the news he had shared before she set down the phone. What had Peggy done during those last hours before she died? If the death was determined to be natural causes, Nathan would close his file, the body would be returned to her family, and a funeral would end this tragedy. Rae didn’t like an unexplained puzzle.
She got up and prepared for bed. She’d spend tomorrow helping her uncle and cousin with the cleanup job, and when she got back to Justice she’d give her office a second coat of paint. Bruce wanted to show her his place and fix her dinner. She’d let him. What she wasn’t going to do was let herself have more nights like this one, with too much time on her hands to think, and not a plan to fill those hours. She wasn’t sure where she wanted her relationship with Bruce to end up or even how best to figure that out, but she’d start with prowling his place and letting him char a hamburger for her. As a plan, it would do for the day.
She tugged up the covers and thought about Peggy. The idea she had simply died in her sleep was a bit frightening. “If I should die before I wake, please welcome me to heaven, Jesus,” she whispered. She clicked off the light.
9
Rae followed her cousin through the bakery to the back offices Monday morning.
“The fired employee shot his former boss in his office, but the first shot didn’t kill him. The second blast near the bakery ovens took care of that,” Frank said, his voice muffled by the full respirator he wore. “Then the employee turned the gun on himself.”
Rae could see the blood in the hallway marking the man’s flight, the trail now heavily covered by ants. She stepped into the office. Blood had splattered on the desk and walls and dried into a gory painting.
“Carpet, desk, chairs—it all needs to come out,” she assessed. She could likely recover the photos on the desk, some of the awards on the wall, the plants, most of the files. The small things would help the man’s wife find closure and the company recover a portion of the work that had been in progress.
“I’ll bring in the heavy plastic rolls and tape. We’ve got the lift truck coming midafternoon to take a load to the incinerator. Under the new rules of disposal, anything we throw away that’s got blood on it has to be burned, no matter what the object’s size. We’ll haul furniture and carpet out once the truck arrives.”
“I can handle in here, if you and Matt want to stay focused on the ovens area.” The bodies had rested out there on the tile floor for several hours before being discovered and the amount of decay in that heat environment was intense. Even the respirators could not block the stench in there.
“We’ll call when we get to the point we’re ready to drain that chemical vat. Use the radio if you need us; we’ll hear you.”
Rae nodded. “I’m set, Frank. Thanks.”
Her cousin nodded and made his way back into the bakery.
They were pressed for time to complete this job so the questions Rae had braced herself to answer about Washington, D.C., had been left for another time. Uncle Matt had hugged her in welcome, Frank had brought her a cup of coffee, boots, and protective clothes, and they’d piled into the van for the drive over here. Rae was back, and it was much as if she had never left. The simplicity of that had itself been a blessing.
She hauled in the plastic tubs from the van, lined them up on the clean section of the carpet, and began moving items that might be recoverable after they were cleaned in the tubs. She would take them back to the warehouse, where metal mesh shelves and a progression of bleach baths and fine brushes would let her remove the bloodstains and seeped-in odor and hopefully be able to return items to his family.
Items beyond recovery she put into the HazMat barrel to seal and haul away to be burned.
Frank wanted her to join him in this business when his dad retired. Not just anyone could take on this business and it would be difficult to run without a full-time partner. Rae was glad it was a decision for another year.
She gagged when she picked up the briefcase and roaches scurried away. She hated roaches. They loved scenes like this one.
Kevin Hammond, vice president of B.G. Bakery—she picked up the photo and studied the man who had days ago been going about his life on the expectation he would live another ten years. His blood had splattered on his wife’s picture. Life came with no guarantees about its length. She put the picture in the tub and turned back to the desk.
Before the day was done she would be aching in muscles she hadn’t used in a while and emotionally tired from looking at the effects of death, but she didn’t regret telling her uncle yes, she’d come back to work with him part-time. A janitor or hired cleaning crew didn’t need to be the ones dealing with this cleanup. As awful as this was, she had come ready for the job. She added another photo to the stack to clean and moved on to gathering business papers.
* * *
Nathan braced his elbow against the truck radiator and strained to get enough leverage on the wrench and the old bolt rusted into the engine frame to get it to turn. He’d oiled the bolt, tried heating and cooling the metal, and still he couldn’t get movement.
He wished his grandfather would not get so attached to vehicles. The way the truck was running, it was unsafe, and he’d told his grandfather so on Sunday when he’d heard it start. Somehow in that exchange he’d volunteered to try and make the repairs. It wasn’t how he’d envisioned spending his snatched Monday lunch break.
“Sheriff.” The doorbell rang inside his house and he heard knocking start on the front door. “Sheriff!”
Nathan lowered his hand to keep his dogs quiet. He reached over and turned down the volume on his small radio.
“Sheriff.” Mrs. Neel strode around his house. She was wearing her favorite floral dress but with clunky winter boots, coming fast on the stepping stones.
His dogs disappeared into the open garage behind them. “Traitors,” Nathan whispered after them. He reluctantly straightened and picked up a rag to wipe his hand.
“That private investigator is sitting in his car down the street from Heather Teal’s, watching her house. The entire neighborhood is in a buzz about it.”
“Are you sure he’s not just
asleep?”
“Am I sure he’s not . . .” Her voice moved up in shrillness. “This is serious, young man. He’s been there for the last two hours and ten minutes and he’s disrupting the entire neighborhood.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m on my lunch break, Mrs. Neel.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. She took a breath. “Well, I never. Your father would have never made such a lame excuse to avoid his duty.”
My father was better able to hide. “Yes, Ma’am, he was a great sheriff.” Nathan looked back at the vehicle engine. “What would you like me to do?”
“Tell him to move along.”
“It’s a public street.”
“Well he can’t just sit there; it’s vagrancy or something.”
Or something. Sometimes Nathan thought Bruce enjoyed the fact he could get people so riled up without even trying. “I’ll talk to him, Mrs. Neel.”
“Now?”
“Soon.”
He needed a new timing belt, and since his grandfather was now an hour late being here to supervise, it was probably best to go quietly prowl to find the man. The man missed his wife. Nathan wasn’t sure what as a grandson he was supposed to do.
“This truck should be junked; it’s falling apart.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll tell Henry.”
“I’ll be talking to Mrs. Teal and telling her you’re going to deal with this problem.”
“I’ll talk with Bruce.” He closed the truck hood and watched his neighbor walk away. Living in town did have a few drawbacks. He sighed and then snapped his fingers for his dogs. “You can come out now, you two.”
They scampered out.
* * *
Nathan stopped his squad car alongside Bruce’s Caprice and motioned to his friend to lower his window. “This is the strangest stakeout I have ever seen. Practically everyone in town knows your car.”
“I figure at least half a dozen friends of Heather have called her to mention I’m parked down the street from her driveway.”
“They have, and they’ve found me as well. What are you doing, Bruce?”