Before Another Dies (27 page)

“So what is it?” She and her wheelchair were positioned at the head of the long table. I sat to her left.

“What is what?”

“I had only 60 percent of Maddy tonight. Where was the other 40 percent—the fun part?”

“I'm here. I heard everything that was said.”

Nat nodded her head, her blond hair swaying with each motion. “Your mind was here, but not your heart. Maddy ain't Maddy without both.” The last sentence she uttered with her best I-done-lived-all-my-life-in-these-here-hills accent.

“Too little and too much, I guess. Too little sleep, too many murders, too much to think about. I'm starting to run out of gas.”

“Uh-huh.” She looked smug.

“Uh-huh what?”

“Spill it, girl, Dr. Nat is listening.”

“There's nothing to spill,” I protested.

“Oh, please. Dump before you explode and I have to go home and wash all the Maddy off my clothes.”

I sighed. It felt good but brought only a little relief. I was spent, the mere remains of an empty toothpaste tube—hollow and misshapen. She reached out and took my hand. She said nothing else. Moments became full-fledged seconds that expanded into a minute. I told her about what I had learned about the murders and the suspicion I had that they were related to Robby Hood. I described my meeting with the council, my earlier confrontation with Tess, Floyd's big adventure, Titus's pending surgery, and whatever else came to mind.

“You have a right to your privacy, Maddy, and I'm the last one to interfere, but I think something else is bothering you.”

“Murder and running for congress isn't enough?”

“It's more than enough and it would crush ninety-nine out of a hundred people you meet, but none of the folks are Madison Glenn.”

“I'm not that special.”

“You are, and that's the crime of all of this. You're special, and you don't know it. Your mind is as sharp as any I've ever seen, and remember, I've interviewed the best and the brightest. Your heart is pure gold, your ethics beyond reproach, your motivation is selfless and sacrificial. Maddy, you should have a halo.”

“Nonsense.”

“Object all you want. The only difference between your opinion on this and mine is that I'm right and you're wrong.”

“If only you could muster a little confidence, Nat.”

“So which one was it? Dr. Thomas or Detective West?”

“You're fishing.”

“That's because I see fins and scales. Which was it? And don't forget, I was a journalist.” She gave my hand a squeeze, then shifted in her chair like she was preparing to watch a movie.

“Detective West said he thought we should start dating and—”

“He made a move! I didn't think he would.”

“You want to hear this or not?”

“Sorry. I'm ready. Dish me the details.”

I watched her for a moment. She was making light of the topic, but I knew she was doing so for my benefit. “He offered to take me for pie after this meeting. I balked. We talked, and it went downhill from there. I just don't think that a mayor should be dating someone on the police force.”

“I see.”

“Jerry was over last night. He brought Chinese food and brownies. We sat on my deck and watched the tide come in. We had a good time. He made hot chocolate to go with the brownies.”

“He brought Chinese food to your home
and
brownies. I assume you proposed marriage.”

“I'm trying to be serious here, Nat.”

“That's the problem. You're too serious.”

“It's the way I'm wired.” I reached for a breadstick and broke it in half, setting both pieces on the napkin in front of me. I had no desire to eat it. Breaking it was enough.

“So you spend some time with Jerry and feel good and then spend a little time with West and feel uncomfortable.”

“It goes beyond that. As I said, I'm uncomfortable seeing a man who's on city payroll. Besides, he said some unkind things.”

“West said unkind things? Judson West? Are we talking about the same person? What did he say that was unkind?”

I recounted the drive in the car and conversation. It was distasteful. When I was done Nat was shaking her head and giving me that you're-the-most-loveable-moron look. “What was unkind?”

“I told you. He as much as said that I'm preoccupied with my work and my dead husband. I don't need to hear that from anyone.”

Nat stared at me but said nothing. Her eyes were somehow sad and steely at the same time. I don't know what she was thinking, but it was making me uncomfortable. Finally she asked, “How's our friendship?”

That surprised me. I had known Nat for less than a year, but we had become the best of friends. I trusted her in everything. If I hadn't, she wouldn't be running my campaign. “To my knowledge it's fine.”

“That's how I see it. I also see you as God's gift to me. I haven't embraced your newfound faith, but I believe that whatever God there is, he put you in my life. That's a lot for me to say, seeing as I lost the use of two legs, one arm, and a stellar career.”

Hearing the phrase “whatever God there is” unsettled me. A year ago, it wouldn't have.

Nat leaned forward. “At the risk of losing the only real friend I have, let me say, West is right. We all have issues. You're unique in many ways. Your beauty, your brains, your drive, your wit, your commitment, your selfless acts—but in other ways you're like the rest of us mere mortals.”

“I never claimed to be special—”

“It's time to shut up and listen, Maddy. You can walk out if you want, I won't chase you. My battery is almost dead so I wouldn't make it very far if I did. You lost a husband, I lost most of a body, Jerry lost a wife to someone she thought was better. The list goes on. Celeste almost lost a mother last year and even though she lived, both Celeste and her mom lost the sense of security we all need. I suppose some losses are more painful than others, but you'd be hard pressed to convince some people your pain is greater.”

“I've never tried to do that.” I was getting angry.

“Of course not. I'm not saying you have, and I doubt that was West's intention. You do, however, keep some people at a distance, even those who love you.”

“I do not.”

Nat said nothing. The air between us soured, and my heart began to beat like I was on my treadmill. I was already worn to my last thread. I didn't need pop psychology. The comebacks came to me, sharp phrases that would put an end to the conversation. I used none of them. I didn't want to hurt her feelings—Who was I kidding? It wasn't her feelings I feared hurting, it was mine. Maybe if I wasn't so tired. Maybe if I wasn't so wearied by work and concern over the crimes I had seen. Maybe . . . maybe . . . maybe.

“Maddy,” Nat said, her voice just a decibel or two above a whisper, “you have a great career and a better-than-average chance of walking the halls of congress. You have friends and family who love you. And you have two men interested in you. One brings you brownies and the other offers pie. Frankly, if Quasimodo showed up at my doorstep with an invitation for pie, I'd go.” She gave me a look warm with love. “Have some pie, woman. Have some pie.”

I
watched as Nat drove off in her van, thankful to God that someone could speak to me in a way that I could hear. I hated every moment of that conversation, and it still tightened my stomach, but I loved and admired the woman who forced it down my throat. My final words to her that evening were, “I don't know if God—and by the way there's only one God—put me in your life or not, but I am certain he put you into mine.”

I
took a chance and pulled into the police station. It was almost nine and I assumed that West had gone home. I was wrong. He was at his desk, his head down, an open file before him.

“Excuse me, Officer. I believe I was promised coffee and a slice of chocolate-cream pie.”

He looked up, smiled, and the light in his eyes danced. “You sure?”

“I am as long as we don't spend the time apologizing to each other.”

He stood and reached for his coat. “That's more than fine with me. I found a little place south of the pier. It isn't much to look at, but it has great coffee and better-than-average pie.”

“Butch's?”

“Yeah, that's the place. How'd you . . . Oh, that's right, you're mayor of this place.”

“He made a nice contribution to my last campaign. We'll have to tip heavy.”

“What do you mean, ‘we'?”

chapter 33

A
sk me about the murders and your security,” West said. He sipped decaf coffee from a white mug that looked like it had been on duty for many years.

“Why?” I had just finished the last bite of chocolate-cream pie and there was nothing else for my fork to do. I set it down. I took my own cup of decaf. It was close to ten, and Butch's was still buzzing. A good dessert menu will do that. It was also one reason I avoid the place. I didn't need more temptation to eat. Lately it seemed that my life revolved around my office and the next restaurant.

“Because if asked, I want to say we discussed the case and your security.”

“Okay, but I have a different question. You were making a case that Hood's wife Katie could be the killer, but earlier you said the bruising on the victims' jaw indicated a man had done the deed.”

“That occurred to me also. She had rather large hands but not what I would have expected. Still, a set of bruises are not the same as a handprint. Different people bruise at different rates and in different ways. It's a puzzle, but not enough for me to write her off yet.”

“Even if she has the ability, what would her motive be? Boost ratings? That seems extreme.”

“Motive is for the prosecutors to determine. My job is to link evidence to a suspect and make an arrest.”

“And what evidence do you have? Anything new from today's autopsy?”

“I'm still waiting on the SI team but we don't have much. You're not going to believe this, but the marina has a video-security system. It wasn't working and hasn't been for weeks.”

“You're kidding?”

“Not at all. People watch television detective shows and think that everything falls into place. My experience has been that it's the other way around. It's Murphy's Law: if it can go wrong it does. Take security at city hall. A man is killed in the front lot and the guards who are supposed to patrol the buildings and grounds don't find the body, you do.”

“I'm still waiting on an answer about that.” I made a mental note that three days was more than enough time for the security company to come up with an excuse.

“No need to bother. I called today. I'm impatient about these things.”

A moment of regret upset my content stomach. I was supposed to follow up on that and had promised to do so on Monday. It was now late Wednesday night. “And?”

“And, the guard who was working that night started vacation the next day. Jim Lynch, head of Atlas Security, was furious. Apparently the guard wanted to get on the road a little early and left his post sometime after one that morning. He had worked it out with the guard who was due to relieve him to help cover his early departure. There are two guards out of work now.”

“Is the world filled with that many incompetents?”

“Based on my experience, yes. Now let's talk about your security. This connection you dug up between Hood's topics and the murders has me a little on edge. For your safety, I think you should stay somewhere else tonight.”

“The only connection to me is in the third hour of the program.” I called the description up from memory. “‘Mayor Judy Mor-rison discusses strange aircraft seen over her city.' I'll grant you that the word ‘mayor' appears and it refers to a woman mayor, but it also refers to aircraft. More to the point, all the murders have been based on the topic found in the second hour, not the third. I doubt I'm a target.”

“I'm not willing to bet your life on the difference between hour two and hour three. Stay someplace else—a friend's, your parents', a hotel.”

I gave it some thought but then said, “No. I'll be safe at home. I have a good security system. I should be fine.”

“You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met.”

“I hear that a lot.” I sipped my coffee. “It's not that I'm stubborn; it's that I don't think evil should push us around. If we don't rule it, it will rule us.”

“That's very noble and foolish, but I figured you'd say something like that. You have before, so I've made arrangements. I spoke to Chief Webb about your detective work—”

“I bet that went over well.”

“He mumbled something about an interfering woman intent on getting herself killed. Nonetheless, he's ordered increased patrols of your neighborhood and those of every council member. I also asked Jim Lynch to arrange for a guard at your house. He was embarrassed enough to volunteer himself, but I convinced him that that wasn't necessary.”

“Don't you think you should have spoken to me first?”

“I considered it, but I knew you'd object, so I did it anyway. You can have the chief fire me in the morning.”

I wanted to be angry. West was meddling in my life again, but as a charter member of the International Meddling Society I had little room to talk. “Lynch understood that I will be paying for that guard out of my own pocket and not the city coffers. I am to get no special treatment.”

“You are a hard woman to please, Maddy Glenn. Did you give your parents this kind of trouble when you were growing up?”

“I was the perfect child. At least that's how I remember it.”

“I bet they tell a different story.”

“I'm the apple of my father's eye and the joy in my mother's heart.”

“And a royal pain in my—”