Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets, Page 4

  He shook his head. “Not a good idea. Giving you access to an investigation, especially one where you’re involved, will make things look bad.”

  “But what if you didn’t realize the pictures were me? I mean, it has been a long time.”

  He shook his head again.

  Of course. She had no right to ask him to do anything that might impugn his integrity as a cop, especially a probationary chief of police. But she could do some checking on her own.

  ###

  The aroma of Oma’s brisket floated through the room. Justin’s stomach growled. He clenched his jaw and went on with his searching. He’d have to run miles before dinner. And, as the sound of Oma’s heavy-duty mixer joined the clattering of pots and pans, he figured maybe even more miles after. With Megan visiting, Oma would pull out all the stops.

  He slid the next of Opa’s books off the shelf, fanned the pages and shook them upside down. And, as with the others, got nothing but dust for his efforts.

  He swore under his breath.

  He’d almost finished the shelf when a car pulled into the drive. Damn. So soon? He checked the window. Definitely Megan’s car.

  She disappeared behind the open trunk, emerging with two of Oma’s canvas shopping totes. He swiped the dust from the front of the shelf and brought the caddy to the bathroom. Maybe tomorrow, while everyone was at the doctor’s, he’d finally have time to finish searching Megan’s bedroom.

  He squirted toilet cleaner into the bowl, let it soak while he scoured the sink and rearranged his meager array of toiletries into a cluster in the corner of the counter. Megan could have the rest of the space for whatever female paraphernalia she’d brought. He sprayed something foamy into the tub and wiped it down.

  He flushed the toilet, grabbed the toilet brush and swished it around the bowl as it emptied, then filled.

  “Cleaning the toilet for me, Justin? Still can’t aim?”

  He jumped, spinning around. “Megan. Hi.”

  She smiled. “I can’t remember you ever cleaning a toilet when we were kids.”

  “We’re not kids. I’ve picked up a few civilized skills. Besides, you know Oma. If I wasn’t doing it, she would be, or she’d have Opa doing it. Bad enough she cooks twenty-four seven. She doesn’t need extra housework.”

  Megan scrunched her face and fisted her hands at her hips. He smiled at the familiar gesture.

  “You think I’m going to wear her down? Give me a break, Justin. I’m here because I care about them.” She shot him a look, almost tangible in its vehemence.

  “Hey, hey.” He raised his hands in submission, getting rewarded with cold water dripping down his arm. He returned the brush to its holder next to the toilet. “We’re on the same side here.”

  “Sorry.”

  Her expression made him wonder. Even as she backed into her room, he had the creepy feeling she’d given him the once over, like an alpha dog checking a newcomer to the neighborhood.

  He retreated to his room, closing the bathroom door on his side. He grabbed a pair of running shorts from the dresser. Maybe the endorphins would clear his brain. If nothing else, he’d counteract some of Oma’s cooking.

  Downstairs, Opa’s snoring told him his grandfather was napping in his study. Justin checked the kitchen. “Smells great, Oma.”

  Dabbing her forehead with her apron, she turned from the stove and beamed at him. “Come. Let me know how it is.”

  He sighed. “Everything you make is delicious.”

  “But maybe it needs more salt. Come. Taste.”

  He strode across the uneven floor planks. Was there a crawl space underneath? “You know, Oma, it wouldn’t take that long to get a new floor in here. I’d hate for you to trip and fall. They have some great new stuff—looks like wood but it won’t warp. And you’d never have to polish it.”

  She waved her wooden spoon at him. “I’ve been walking on this floor for forty-two years and haven’t fallen yet. It’s a perfectly good floor. No need to waste the money.” She eyed him, then the pot on the stove, waiting.

  He picked up a spoon, dipped it into the simmering soup, and slurped the hot liquid into his mouth. “Delicious.”

  She nodded in agreement. “You won’t be late now. Dinner will be at six. Sharp.”

  “I’m going around the pond. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.” He kissed her cheek, then unexpected feelings surfaced from deep inside and he enveloped her in an embrace. “I love you, Oma.”

  She accepted his hug, then gazed at him, a quizzical glint in her eyes. She waved him away. “And I love you. Now go do your running, and let me cook.”

  On the porch, he stopped to warm up. He twisted his torso, did some quad and calf stretches, enjoyed the warmth of the afternoon sun. He’d hoisted one leg onto the rail and bent forward in an easy stretch when he sensed Megan’s presence behind him. Her scent, a mixture of flowers and spice, drifted through the air, mingling pleasantly with the kitchen aromas and clean smells of the newly repaired porch.

  Her voice followed her scent. “Cleaning toilets. Exercising. My, my. This isn’t the Justin I remember.”

  Thank God.

  He continued stretching, trying to ignore the neatly manicured, slender fingers stroking the porch rail inches from his calf.

  “Looks good,” she said.

  He angled his head toward her. Her long, sleek, bare leg appeared next to his. Her shiny brown hair cascaded in front of her face as she leaned forward. He stole a glance, only somewhat relieved to find she wore a jersey warmup jacket over—over what? He shoved away some of the fantasies he’d had when he was thirteen. Like the time she’d forgotten to close her door to the bathroom before she pulled her nightgown over her delightfully developing breasts.

  Had she been teasing him then? Because she damn well was teasing him now. Why?

  “The porch, I mean,” she said. “I hear you’re responsible for all the repairs.”

  He switched legs. “The house needed it. Rose and Sam don’t notice the way things are falling apart. I…nudged a little.”

  “Sam says you were in the thick of things, wielding tools, stroking paint. I’ll bet you’re a wizard with a cordless drill.”

  Her tone was low, slow, and sultry. He grabbed his ankle, kept his face hidden against his knee, and held the stretch. “Part of what I do.”

  She stood up, unzipped her jacket, and arched her back, revealing a form-fitting top. Those breasts had done an excellent job of developing.

  “Rose said you were going for a run,” she said. “Mind if I tag along? You can fill me in on exactly what it is you do. I thought you’d have done the follow-the-parent’s-footsteps thing. Become a doctor or a lawyer.”

  She didn’t know? Rose and Sam certainly hadn’t kept her accomplishments from him, bragging about the way she was moving up, how she was thinking about starting her own consulting business. Were they ashamed that he’d chosen a different path?

  “You run?” he asked. He took in her loose-fitting, knee-length knit shorts and everyday sneakers.

  Tossing her head, spreading another wave of flowers and spice, she put her other leg on the rail. “Treadmill mostly. I need to work out the kinks. The drive from the airport got me all stiff. You know how that goes.”

  He was not following that thought. “You sure?”

  “Are you implying I won’t be able to keep up?”

  “Frankly, yes. You’re not adjusted to the altitude yet. I figured on doing about three miles—easy jog down to the pond to warm up, run a lap, then walk home to cool down. Until you start cranking out those red cells, it’s not smart to push yourself.”

  She planted both feet on the porch floor and cocked her head at him. “You run?”

  “I’m not Jumbo Justin anymore, Megan, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  She had the decency to blush, and was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you thought I didn’t know what everyone called me.”

  “I never called you
that,” she said softly.

  “To my face anyway.” He trotted down the steps. “I have to go. I promised to be back in plenty of time for dinner. Maybe you should stay and help Oma in the kitchen.”

  “Kitchen?” She fisted her hands at her hips again. “Is that all you think I’m good for?”

  “No, of course not. But now, it’s probably the wiser choice.”

  He jogged away, ignoring her shout for him to wait.

  Chapter Four

  Years of training told Gordon he should simply confront Rose and Sam. Ask them why Karl Franklin from Florida was looking for them. They’d laugh, say, “Good old Karl. Always—” And that’s where it fell apart. Always what? If they’d been expecting a long-lost anyone from Florida, it wouldn’t be a secret. He should have asked Megan if the Kretzers had any ties to Florida. If so, maybe Franklin was connected. He jotted a note.

  More years of relying on his gut told him he should do this quietly first. Find out more about who Karl Franklin was. Laurie’s call announcing the arrival of a Trooper Patterson interrupted his ruminations.

  “Send him in.” He set the envelope on his desk and pulled out the evidence log sheet Solomon had started.

  “Chief Helper?” A young trooper, his blond hair cut high in military fashion stepped into the room. “Pete Patterson.”

  Gordon stood, rounded the desk. “It’s Hepler.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “No sweat. Everyone gets it inside out. In this line of work, I think I’d prefer Helper.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m supposed to pick up some of the accident victim’s personal effects.”

  “Here you go.” Gordon handed a pen to Patterson, who scrawled his name on the log. “Cause of the accident?”

  “Vehicle versus tree.”

  “Trees usually win those. Especially along that stretch of highway. Did you respond to the scene?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ugly?”

  “Saw a lot worse in Iraq, sir.”

  Where the kid had probably learned not to volunteer information. He’d make a good cop. Keeping one’s mouth shut usually got you more information than barrages of questions. The kid waited. To be dismissed, or because he had something to say after all?

  “Any clues to cause of death?” Gordon prodded.

  “Can’t say, sir. I was there, but they had me controlling access. Clipboard duty.”

  Gordon caught the hint of frustration. “I guess that got boring. Not many rubberneckers along that part of the road. Maybe next time you’ll get to chase away the media hounds.” He grinned. “Or even a police chief.”

  The hint of a smile crossed Patterson’s face. “I did get to deny access to a pushy reporter, sir. And I heard some talk about shell casings.”

  Gordon’s heart did a quick hop. “Someone shot the victim?”

  “I don’t know. They’ll probably know once they go over the car. And do the autopsy.” He shifted his weight, almost imperceptibly. “Sir, I need to get back.”

  “Of course.”

  Patterson pivoted and marched from the room. Mind swirling, Gordon shut the door. Gilman hadn’t mentioned a gunshot wound. He and Reynolds wouldn’t have missed that. Or would they? How much attention would they give to a dead body? He called Dispatch, left a message for them to get in touch. He’d just hung up when his internal line rang.

  “Yes, Laurie?”

  “The mayor called. Said to remind you there’s a budget meeting at four-thirty.”

  Damn.

  “Thanks, Laurie. I’ll be there.” He sank into his chair and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Being Chief of Police wasn’t being a cop.

  Karl Franklin was dead. If he had been after Rose and Sam, they were safe enough. He pulled up the spreadsheet on his computer. What did the mayor want to cut now? Spare tires on their patrol cars? Kevlar vests? Kibble for Buster, their part-time K-9?

  Why me, Dix? I was a good cop. Wasn’t I?

  ###

  Megan fastened her hair into a ponytail and trotted down the steps after Justin. She’d probably laid it on a little thick. More like a lot thick—like the frosting on one of Angie’s cinnamon buns—but she wanted to find out what he knew. Her chat with Gordon had shaken her. Even more when she considered he’d probably stepped over some ethical boundaries when he’d shown her those papers.

  She shivered at the memory of those pictures. And Rose and Sam’s address.

  Justin was moving farther away. She rushed to the street, turned and hurried to catch up. Her heart pounded. This was nothing like her brisk walks on the treadmill at the gym. He jogged on, seemingly without effort. The distance between them increased. She pushed her pace.

  “Justin. Wait. Up.” The words seemed to consume any remaining oxygen. Lights twinkled in front of her eyes. He must have heard her, because he turned and jogged in place. Thank goodness. She slowed a fraction, and after what seemed like ten miles later, gasping for breath, reached his side.

  His hand grabbed her elbow. “Shit, Megan, what are you doing? I told you not to do anything strenuous until you get used to the altitude. We’re at six thousand feet here.”

  “Didn’t. Seem. Bother. You.” She bent double, hands on her knees, sucking what oxygen-deficient air she could.

  “First, I live at four thousand feet, not sea level. You’ve been gone for years. You have to acclimate. I’ve been here over a week. And I’m used to exercise.”

  “Fine. But as long as I’m here, can we talk?”

  “Can you walk? We can go slow, but I’d rather keep moving.”

  Right now she wasn’t convinced she could crawl. She gave Justin a brave smile. “Lead on.”

  “So, what do you want to talk about?” He’d released her arm, but was watching her as if he thought she’d collapse. Which she might, if she actually had to carry on a conversation and walk at the same time.

  “What are you doing here?” she managed to wheeze out.

  “Visiting. Same as you. And fixing up the house.”

  “Tell me…about that. You said—”

  He’d slowed to a leisurely stroll, and she took deep breaths. The lightheadedness passed.

  “What do you really want to know, Megan?”

  “It’s not like you visited a lot. A few weeks in summer, and not every year. If you cared about Rose and Sam, why didn’t you show up more often?”

  “Geez. We were kids. It’s not like I could pick up and go where I wanted. I went where my parents sent me. Sometimes a vacation included a visit here. Sometimes it didn’t. What, you missed me?”

  She swallowed her guilt. No, she hadn’t. She tolerated Justin’s visits because Rose and Sam expected it. Most of the time, she preferred not having to include him in all the things the kids did. He was clumsy, didn’t like to swim, and forget swinging into the pond from the rope on the elm tree. Rose always made them take turns choosing what to do, and Justin usually said, “I don’t care.” Which meant Rose picked things she thought were more suited to his city-living style. Museums. Children’s theater, with lunch in a fussy tea room afterward. Or the movies. The most adventurous activity Rose ever chose was a picnic. Not that any of her choices were bad, but they isolated Megan from her friends.

  Face it. You were afraid they’d think you were like him. A doofus.

  She took a few more deep breaths. As kids, she’d been the active one. Now, she was lucky to hit the treadmill a few times a week. “What happened to your allergies? You hated going outside.”

  “Five years of shots.”

  “Contacts?” She pushed an imaginary pair of glasses up her nose.

  “LASIK.” His stride lengthened. “You want my life history? Mom and Dad were totally career oriented. They barely had time for each other, much less me. One thing I knew was that I didn’t want a job so demanding it would become my life.”

  Justin was still walking, but she had to hurry to keep up. As long as she didn’t try to talk, she thought she’d manage. She wa
ited, hoping Justin would continue without prompting. After an annoying few minutes where all she heard was her own labored breathing, and all she saw was Justin’s back as the distance between them lengthened, he turned his head.

  She tried to catch her breath. The light surrounding him sparkled. Must be sunlight reflecting from the pond. Tiny black dots swarmed in front of her face. She swatted at them.

  Justin appeared at her side. But he was far away at the same time.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  His voice seemed to echo. And then he had her elbow again, and he was dragging her off the road into the shade of the trees. “Sit.” He pushed her onto the curb, forcing her head to her knees despite her feeble attempts to push his hand away.

  “Shit, Megan, you almost passed out. I’ve already called the paramedics once today. Breathe,” he demanded. “Slow. Deep.”

  She tried. “You know CPR?”

  “If you can talk, you don’t need it. But yes.”

  Another surprise. She tried to stand, but Justin held her down.

  “You always were stubborn,” he said. “When you feel up to it, I’ll walk you home. I can still get a run in.”

  She shook her head. “No, Rose will smother me. I’ll wait.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  She raised her head, got her bearings. “We’re almost at the pond trail. There’s plenty of shade, and there used to be a bench or two.”

  He nodded. “Still there.”

  “Then that’s where I’ll be waiting. Go on. I’ll rest.”

  He shook his head, but she knew he’d cave. He always had.

  “Crap, Megan, don’t give me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The one you perfected when you were eight, I think. The one that says, “I’m right, and even if I’m not, I’m not giving in.”

  She smiled. “That bad?”

  He returned a grin. “There never was any point in arguing with you.”

  “It’s served me well in my job. Which reminds me, you haven’t told me what you do.”