Deadly Places: A Mapleton Mystery Novella, Page 3

  Deciding a positive police presence did more for Mapleton’s citizens than filing reports, Ed parked on the street near the complainant’s house, Miss Adele Menard, a newcomer to town. No Halloween decorations in her yard, unless you counted the yellow and gold aspen leaves carpeting the sparse lawn. He let Dispatch know where he was, then strode along the driveway and across the pavers to the front porch.

  From the way a woman answered his knock almost before he had his knuckles on the door, Ed assumed she must have been watching his approach. “Good afternoon. I’m Acting Chief of Police Ed Solomon. I’m looking for Adele Menard.”

  Her light brown eyes widened. “I’m she. What is this about? Did you catch those rapscallion teenagers who stole my downspout?”

  Tall and solidly built, with an ample bosom, Adele Menard wore her steel gray hair pulled in a tight knot atop her head. Light brown eyes were enlarged by frameless glasses. Deep creases at either side of her mouth made it appear as if anything she said was set off in parentheses. Retired third-grade teacher came to mind. No, a physical education teacher. The stern gaze she fixed him with hinted at librarian, although Ed chided himself for jumping to conclusions based on stereotypical appearances. He tried not to stare at the mole on her chin, with four long protruding hairs, but he couldn’t help himself. His first thought was to grab a pair of tweezers. His next was to wonder why she hadn’t.

  He stopped speculating and responded to her question. “No, ma’am, we haven’t. I thought you might be able to give me some additional information to help us find whoever—or whatever—made away with your downspout. Officer Gaubatz took your initial report. You told him you’d been reading and you heard a rustling in your yard. Is that correct?”

  “It is.”

  “But you didn’t see anything.”

  “That’s also correct.”

  “Have you heard similar rustlings, or had reason to believe there were prowlers in your yard prior to last night? Have your neighbors mentioned any trouble?”

  Her eyes went round behind her glasses. “Are you telling me there are prowlers in this neighborhood? My Realtor assured me this was a very safe place to live. I live alone, I always have. I left New Haven after I retired. I wanted a change from big-city life, somewhere less crowded, more peaceful.”

  “Mapleton is an extremely safe city, Miss Menard. And part of the reason is that we like to stay one step ahead of trouble. Now that it’s daylight, would you mind if I looked around your yard?”

  She shrugged. “Be my guest. The downspout is—was—on the east corner of the house.” She closed the door. Ed shook his head and strolled around the house.

  If Vicky McDermott’s hunch that it might have been a bear proved correct, Ed counted on the animal not coming around in broad daylight. Carrying a shotgun might alarm the neighborhood. A pistol shot ought to scare the critter off—if a bear was hanging around.

  But the scattered leaves didn’t reveal anything resembling footprints, bear or human. Or coyote, dog, or mountain lion, for that matter. He wandered around the house, still finding no evidence worth collecting, although he shot a few pictures with his phone in case Adele Menard was watching him.

  The missing section of the downspout, assuming it reached the ground, would be about three feet long judging from the gap where it had separated from the piece extending from the gutter. Humans would have carried it off, but an animal would have dragged it. However, lightweight as an aluminum pipe would be, and given the aspen leaf substrate was easily disturbed by a breeze, the gaps in the leaves weren’t conclusive.

  He started at the sound of scuffling leaves behind him. One hand on his pistol grip, Ed turned to see Adele Menard coming his way. “Did those scoundrels leave footprints?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am, not that I can find here. But I’m going to check those shrubs.” He pointed to the thick stand of junipers along the split-rail fence bordering her property.

  “You think there might be some torn clothing, or some blood on a branch? Those are prickly. I’ve scratched myself trying to trim them. Why don’t you call your evidence people? Can’t they find DNA or something?”

  Ed bit back a sigh. Another television watcher. “No, ma’am, it doesn’t work that way. And even if it did, we don’t have the budget to call out the Crime Scene Response Team—which has to come from the county. They’re backlogged solving homicides and other major felonies. I’m afraid a missing downspout would be at the end of a long line of cases.”

  She exhaled a deep, long breath, but seemed to accept his explanation.

  “Wait here, please,” he said, then jogged to his vehicle for his flashlight.

  Miss Menard waited, arms folded across her chest.

  Ed played the light into the shrubbery. The downspout was dark green, about the same shade as the surrounding foliage.

  “Shouldn’t you be wearing gloves?” Miss Menard asked. “So you won’t leave your fingerprints all over it and destroy evidence. You do fingerprint people here, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and mine are on file, so they’ll be easy to eliminate.” Ed wished he’d put on a pair of heavy work gloves. Miss Menard was spot on with the way the juniper needles scratched.

  His light caught a glint of metal jammed between two clumps of juniper.

  He pulled out the length of pipe and showed it to Miss Menard. Score one for Vicky McDermott. “I think your scoundrel was a bear.” He pointed out the deep scratches and the punctures. “These are tooth marks, and they’re too far apart for a dog.”

  “A bear?” She stepped closer, extended an index finger and gingerly traced the gouges. “Tooth marks. Claw marks. My, I do hope he doesn’t come back.”

  Her tone belied her words, however. Another resident who thought bears were cute. “Make sure you don’t leave your trash cans on the street any longer than necessary, and make sure you’ve got a tight lid. We’ve notified Animal Control, and if you see him, please call them. My officers will be watching out as well.”

  She took the length of pipe from him and studied the ends. “I think I can still use this. My goodness, I’m going to have to take pictures. My friends won’t believe it. A bear. At my house.”

  Pleased that he’d solved her problem and deflected her initial animosity, Ed volunteered to reattach the pipe for her. As he shoved it into place, to satisfy his curiosity, he asked her what she’d done in Boston.

  “I was a flight instructor. Decided I’d had enough dealing with people who thought flying was going to be like Top Gun.” She smiled, which softened her features. “The small-town life might turn out to be more interesting than I thought.”

  After reinforcing his prior warning that these were not cute Disney bears and to give them a wide berth, Ed handed her a card with Animal Control’s number on it. “I’m glad we straightened this out, Miss Menard. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He strolled toward his vehicle.

  Flight instructor? Who’d have guessed? Well, he did get the teacher part right.

  Chapter 5

  Ed reported himself clear to Dispatch and told them to put out a lookout order for a bear. Just what he needed. A nuisance bear in Mapleton. He hoped this was a one-time occurrence, because the best-case scenario would be relocating the bear. If it came back, it would have to be put down, and the animal lovers would be all over the story.

  He finished his route, went to the station and checked in with Laurie, who reported all was peaceful. He opened his email and found a form from Paula’s Places in his deadbeat dads account.

  To be added to our list, we need your response within 72 hours, it said.

  His department account had the message Colfax had sent to the geeks, but no reply yet. He left Colfax out of it, calling County and asking for Sam Fischer, the geek Colfax had singled out to help.

  “IT. Fischer.”

  A woman’s voice? “Sam Fischer?” Ed asked.

  “Samantha,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  Ed introduced himself.
“Touching base regarding the email from Detective Colfax. Have you had a chance to look into it?”

  “Right. Ed Solomon. You’re the Deadbeat Dad cop. It’s on my list.”

  “I’ve got a huge favor.” Ed explained his deadline. “Any chance you can squeeze me in before my time runs out?”

  “Can’t say without reading the message. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Let me send you the new form.” Ed forwarded the message to her. “I’m worried about the section where it’s asking for notable citizens of the town. I have a hunch they don’t mean community VIPs.”

  “You think that’s where you supply the name of your intended victim.”

  Gratified Sam seemed up to speed on the case, Ed agreed. “The bigger issue is what to put in the how did you find the blog field. I’m still betting that’s the code that gets you into the next circle.”

  “Got it. I’ll try to have something for you by tomorrow afternoon.”

  He couldn’t ask for more—not with a clear conscience, anyway. Another email from Colfax, copying Ed on his query to a Detective Rosen in Shaker Heights. Since this was lower on Ed’s priority list, he simply sent off an email introducing himself to the detective and expanding on what Colfax had said.

  A number of these deaths appear to be accidents, but upon further investigation, have been homicides. All I could access was the Cardona obituary in the paper, so any additional information about cause and manner of death you’re able to share would be appreciated.

  After hitting Send, Ed let Laurie know he was leaving. “I’ll be back for change of shift to talk to the night crew. If anything hits the fan before you go home, call me.”

  “Will do, Acting Chief.”

  Ed shot Laurie a look, then called his wife to say he’d fetch the kids and dinner. He headed toward the middle school field where his boys were at their Pop Warner football practice. On the way, he called Finnegan’s and ordered a pizza to go, then waited in the school parking lot until practice broke up. Twelve-year-old Jeremy broke into a wide grin when he spotted him, and raced to the car. His fourteen-year-old brother, Mitch, followed at a more sedate pace. Ed unlocked the back door and his sons tossed their practice bags onto the floor and clambered in behind them.

  “The Chief car. Cool. Can you run code three?” Jeremy asked. “Lights and sirens?”

  “In your dreams, kiddo. And buckle up.”

  By the time they got to Finnegan’s, the pizza—with everything on it, plus double cheese—was waiting. When Mick Finnegan refused to take Ed’s money despite all the years of protesting that it wasn’t appropriate, Mick, as always, insisted the tab had been picked up by some of his patrons. Ed gave a general wave of thanks and, as always, left the price of the pizza in the tip jar.

  At home, Buster, his German shepherd and part-time Mapleton K-9 greeted him with a look that said Are we going to work? Ed scratched the dog behind his ears. “Not tonight, fella.”

  The boys raced upstairs to shower, both clamoring dibs on the first turn. Ed’s wife, Mary Ellen, was in the kitchen tossing a salad. “Oven’s preheated. Wine’s open.”

  “Later.” Ed shoved the pizza into the oven to keep it warm. “I’m going back to the station after dinner. I need to check in with third shift.”

  “Something wrong?” Mary Ellen frowned. “I thought by now you’d have a handle on how everything runs. They don’t need you checking on them.”

  “It’s more of a followup to last night’s reports. I need to talk to a few of the guys, and face-to-face is better. I promise I won’t be late.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I thought we were past that. You’ll try not to be late, but then something will come up and you won’t be able to let it go. You’ll end up in the middle of another mess. And the outcome might not be as good.” She fisted her hands at her hips. “Damn it, Ed, you might have been killed.”

  Ed had put what had happened when he’d gone with Colfax to investigate a possible connection to the Deadbeat Dad Killer behind him. Mary Ellen clearly hadn’t. He reached for her hand. “That was a fluke, and it didn’t happen in Mapleton. It’s over.”

  “I thought that as Chief, even a temporary one, you’d be able to keep normal hours. Stay at the station, out of harm’s way. But I think I’ve seen less of you than when you were a regular cop. I don’t understand why you don’t tell the mayor to get someone else to cover for Gordon.”

  “We’ve been through this. Mayor McKenna made it clear that if I didn’t accept the position, I would no longer be a cop in Mapleton. Period. And I like my work. At least the way it was.”

  “And what if Gordon doesn’t want to come back?” she asked, pushing the issue. “Have you considered that?”

  He had, but refused to believe Gordon would abandon Mapleton. Footfalls on the stairs signaled the approach of one of the boys. Ed got the milk from the fridge and cocked his head toward the doorway.

  Mary Ellen swapped her frown for a cheerful smile as Mitch entered the kitchen. “How was school?” she asked.

  A shrug. “Okay. Got an A-minus on my math test.” Mitch poured himself a glass of milk.

  “Way to go,” Ed said.

  Jeremy, hair still dripping from his shower, whooshed into the kitchen and plonked himself into his chair. “I’m starved.”

  Mary Ellen portioned out the salad while Ed retrieved the pizza. Dinner conversation, per family convention, skirted Ed’s job and focused on the kids, although Ed did mention the bear at Miss Menard’s house.

  “Cool,” Jeremy said. “You think it’ll come here?”

  “I hope not,” Mary Ellen said. “That’s why we bring the bird feeder in every night. Bears can do a lot of damage.”

  “Still be cool to see one up close,” Jeremy muttered.

  “Maybe we’ll go to the zoo this weekend.” Mary Ellen glared at Ed.

  “Zoos are boring.” Mitch put his plate in the dishwasher and opened the fridge. “What’s for dessert?”

  “Cobbler,” Mary Ellen said. “But not until everyone’s finished. You can feed Buster.”

  “Hang on a sec,” Ed said. “You boys planning on the Trick or Treat Parade this year?”

  Jeremy’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve got a cool idea for a costume.”

  “And how much is this cool idea going to cost me? And how much time will it take?” Mary Ellen asked, a twinkle in her eye. “I don’t seem to recall anyone asking whether or not it can be done.”

  “No problem, Mom. Kirk, Ramon, and me—I—we—are going to do it together. If my allowance doesn’t cover what we need, I’ll do extra chores. But it’s a surprise.”

  “I’m too old for that stuff,” Mitch said, shooting his brother an arrogant sneer.

  “Yeah, but don’t expect me to share my candy,” Jeremy shot back.

  Ed intervened before the discussion escalated. “You’re both old enough to make your own decisions. Mitch, while Jeremy’s collecting candy, how’d you like to help at the station stop on the parade route? I’ll have Buster, and you can give out candy.”

  Although he was a working dog, Buster wasn’t trained to attack, and fit in well with the family. His nose, not his teeth, were the tools he used when on duty, and he understood the difference between working and socializing, which made him an asset for public relations. Everyone loved a dog.

  “I suppose. Do I get to wear a badge?” Mitch asked.

  Ed chortled. “No, but I’ll see what I can do about a cap. Now, go feed Buster.”

  Mitch shuffled toward the garage for the dog food.

  Once dinner was finished—Ed having made a point of doing all the cleanup—the boys went upstairs to deal with their homework.

  Mary Ellen sat at the table sipping a glass of wine. “You going to tell me what that was about? Mitch helping at the station instead of trick-or-treating? Aren’t we supposed to make these decisions together?”

  “I didn’t see an issue. He’ll be supervised, and it’ll give him something positive to do, since he say
s he’s too old for collecting candy.”

  “That’s not the point.” Mary Ellen spun away, taking her wine to the den. The volume level on the television advertised her displeasure.

  Ed washed the salad bowl and set it in the draining rack. Without consciously thinking about it, he checked the level of wine in the bottle. Seemed like this wasn’t the bottle they’d opened the other night, which, as Ed recalled, was still half-full when he’d recorked it.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. If he’d missed any signs Mary Ellen was more upset about his work than she’d let on, he’d better start paying attention now. Joining her on the couch, he said, “How about I make reservations at the Black Bear Chalet for Saturday night. I promise, unless all hell breaks loose, I’ll take the whole weekend off.”

  She seemed to mellow a bit. Was it his offer or the wine? Damn, now he’d be second guessing everything she said or did. Not healthy.

  Mary Ellen tilted her head. “Maybe. Define ‘all hell’.”

  “Terrorists. Drug cartels. Russian Mafia. Something along those lines,” he said. He took her wine glass and set it on the coffee table. Leaned in and nuzzled her neck. Whispered in her ear. “I’ll wear a tie.”

  She burst out laughing. “Well, that clinches it. Make the reservation.”

  The laugh unraveled the knot in his belly. He left her with a kiss, one that promised more. “I’ll be back by nine.”

  The glimmer in her eye, a look Ed hadn’t seen in a while, made him resolve to keep his word.

  Chapter 6

  Ed caught Lloyd Titchener in the workroom. The steaming coffee mug on Titch’s desk indicated he’d been to the breakroom, but Ed couldn’t remember ever seeing the man there. Once Titch stepped into the station, he was a cop machine. Ed swore the man spit-shined his bare scalp. He held up a palm before Titch could spring to attention.