Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones (4 page)

“Lighten up, girlfriend.” Angie went to the living area and perched on the arm of the sofa. “But something’s bugging you. I can feel it.”

I can feel it
. A common enough expression, except Angie actually believed she could sense things. She had at least five of her
feelings
a week, and if the law of averages proved one of them true, that merely reinforced her confidence in her ability.

“Stress, that’s all. It’s been one crazy week, keeping secrets from Rose and Sam.” Megan picked up her lemonade and joined Angie.

Angie raised her glass. “But we did it, and the party was a huge success.”

And if Angie thought that was the only secret Megan had been keeping, that was good enough for Megan. She tapped her glass against Angie’s. “To success.” A toast she could make with all honesty, even if the success she was thinking about wasn’t the same as Angie’s.

“And speaking of success,” Megan said. “Any plans for your own future?” Megan tried to appear nonchalant. After all, there was a possibility—infinitesimally small though it might be—that Angie actually
could
read her.

And if she could, what would she think?
That you’re one total nut case?
No, she reassured herself. The meetings she’d had with the local businesses proved there was a viable market for her concept. It only sounded off the wall when she thought too hard about it.

But if you don’t cover every possibility, you might miss something critical.

“My future? Right now, nothing other than hiring more staff. I’ve got a new kid starting this week.” Angie’s response snapped Megan out of her cloud and into reality.

Remembering what it had been like staying here last week, watching Angie put in so many hours, without ever having a full day off, Megan wondered again if she was pursuing the right dream.

You’re used to long hours. Working events puts you on call day and night.

She hid behind another sip of lemonade, composing herself before speaking. “Sounds like a good idea. Take some of the pressure off.”

“Business is still growing,” Angie said, “and Ozzie agrees that we can handle more kitchen staff. Give us both a break. But they’ll have to be trained so the customers will get what they’re used to. The backbone of our business is local. Ozzie tweaked his fried chicken recipe once—it was delicious, but it wasn’t the
same
—and the regulars rebelled.”

“But change is good.”

“Try telling that to the people who come in on meatloaf night.”

Megan shrugged off the blanket of dread that seemed to smother her. She couldn’t second guess herself now. If she failed, she failed. “Do you ever wish you could take a break from cinnamon rolls? I know you’re famous for them, but doesn’t doing the same thing over and over get… boring? Not to mention getting up so early every morning?”

Angie set her glass down. “Sometimes. But I do bake other stuff. And the customers seem more receptive to variety in baked goods than to our entrees.”

Megan longed to broach her idea to Angie, but it was still too soon. She finished her lemonade and stood before guilt loosened her tongue. “Gordon should be here soon, and you know what they say about three’s a crowd.”

Angie didn’t protest. Megan gathered her laptop and accessories and put them in the case. She paused at the door to give Angie a hug. “I’ll be in touch. Have fun.”

Angie pulled out of the embrace and grasped Megan’s arms, staring at her for a long, almost painful, moment. “You
can
talk to me about anything, you know. I’m always going to be on your side.”

“Thanks. I know.”

Angie’s words played over and over in Megan’s head as she drove back to Rose and Sam’s. Would having Angie on her side be enough?

Chapter 5

Gordon went to his office and settled in behind his desk, trying to appear official while he figured out what he was going to do about Irv. Irv’s three nights on Dispatch gave meaning to the man’s life. But other lives depended on the actions of the dispatcher. Damn, he’d rather be up in the hills dealing with a drunk, naked Fred than thinking about having to let Irv go.

Irv stepped into Gordon’s office holding a mug of coffee. Gordon hoped he wouldn’t regret letting Irv off with a polite reminder about airwave protocol. He’d had a few issues with Irv during the Betty Bedford case, but nothing since. “Sit.”

Irv cocked his head, as if he had no clue why he’d been called in, but he sat, placing the mug of coffee he carried on the edge of Gordon’s desk. “You need something, Chief? Because Titch is relieving me, and I don’t like leaving my post unattended. Not that Titch can’t handle it, of course.”

Knowing Dispatch was in good hands, Gordon continued. “Saturday’s not your usual night, Irv. Why the change?”

“Last minute. Night gal—what’s her name?—asked me to fill in. Had to rush her mom to the hospital.”

Gordon made a note to make sure shift subs went through proper channels in the future. Although, in her defense, Tessa probably thought getting a body in the chair at short notice, especially when she was distraught, was more efficient. He’d have Connie, the Head Dispatcher, follow up.

“All right, Irv.” He launched into his prepared recitation, repeating what Irv had broadcast. “You know, there are people out there who are dying for reasons to discredit this police department. Not to mention reporters monitoring scanners. We owe it to our citizens to keep their lives private wherever possible.”

Irv looked suitably humbled. “I musta forgot where I was for a minute. Mrs. Blanchard was all excited, barely makin’ sense. Guess I got carried away. Won’t happen again, Chief. Everything by the book from now on.”

Hoping he hadn’t made a mistake, Gordon dismissed Irv—sending him to the break room with the plate of Rose’s desserts—and grabbed his own dinner. Cold, but he was too hungry to bother taking it down to the break room for a nuke job. He unwrapped the foil and dug in.

He was licking his fingers when a knock sounded from the back door, the private entrance to his office. Once again, he cursed the fact that the security cameras in the parking lot were monitored at the front desk. Town council bean counters at work, not wanting to spring for extra equipment so he could tell who was at the door himself. He counted to ten, knowing if this was a possible problem, he’d have been notified. The silence meant the most likely visitor was Angie. No wonder the whole town knew about them.

Smiling despite himself, he opened the door.

“Now do I get my hello kiss?” Angie asked. She flashed an impish grin. Her blue eyes twinkled.

He yanked her inside and shut the door, with a quick glance to make sure Irv had closed the interior door behind him. And gave her what she wanted. Slow and lingering. “Damn, I’ve missed you,” he said when he came up for air. “It’s been too long.”

“Same goes. But things were hectic. Work, and the party, and catching up with Megan.”

He supposed he shouldn’t feel jealous that Angie had preferred catching up with her good friend. “But you’re all caught up now? Things have returned to the status quo?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

Angie stroked his jaw. She gave him another grin, even more impish than the first one.

Glad the mood had lightened, Gordon pasted a false scowl on his face. “Spill. I’m a cop. I have ways to make you talk.”

“Please. Please. Not the interrogation room. I’ll tell you everything. If you kiss me again.”

“Bribing a police officer?” He pulled her close. “Damnation, Angie. You’re killing me. Tell me Megan’s got plans for tonight.”

She squirmed out of his embrace. “As a matter of fact, Megan’s staying at the Kretzers’ for her last two nights in town. To make up for being in hiding all week, she said. But I think she really wants to spend some” —she fingered air quotes— “quality time with Justin. His parents are flying out late tonight, because they have to be back at work Monday. That frees up a bedroom for her.”

Gordon recalled some of the looks he’d seen pass between Justin and Megan on their last visit—and a few more this afternoon. “So, she’ll be moving out of your apartment?”

“She’s already taken her stuff to Rose and Sam’s.” Angie frowned. “But I’m worried about her. She was at my place earlier. Something’s bothering her, but she wouldn’t talk about it.”

“You think it’s serious?” Gordon prayed he wasn’t going to get caught in one of Angie’s
I have to do something to help
episodes. Not now. Especially not based on one of her
feelings.

“She said it was stress. But—”

Gordon pressed his finger to Angie’s lips. “And I’m sure it was. Keeping secrets from Rose and Sam would stress anybody out.”

Angie sighed. “You’re right.” She leaned against him. “She’s a big girl. I have someone else to think about right now.”

His heart skittered. He inhaled Angie’s scent with its hint of cinnamon. How badly did he need to research missing persons and unsolved crimes from thirty years ago? Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow? Or Monday?

Angie tilted her head back. “You disappeared for a minute.” She must have sensed the shift in his focus.

“Sorry. Thinking.”

“I take it this is related to your abrupt departure from the party?”

He nodded.

Her face clouded. “And you can’t talk about it.”

Gordon knew Angie was still dealing with the fact that he couldn’t share most of what his job entailed. Their “how was your day?” conversations tended to be one-sided. He kissed her forehead and guided her to the door. “Not quite yet. But this one’s different. Let me deal with a few things, and then I’ll be over. Unless you want to come to my place?”

She ran her fingers down his shirt. “Wish I could, but Sunday mornings are busy. I’ll have to be baking before dawn cracks.”

“Some day, you’ll have to entrust your cinnamon roll recipe to someone else. Let them get to work at oh-dark-hundred to bake them.” He squeezed her to his chest for a lingering moment. “See you later.”

“Sooner is better.” Angie waggled her pendant in a goodbye wave and let herself out.

Gordon secured the door behind her. Due diligence, Solomon had said. Something more exciting, was Gordon’s thought. Solomon was a good cop. Gordon got the impression Ed would rather be a detective, but Mapleton didn’t have detectives. However, the big-city life hadn’t appealed to his wife, and now that they were raising kids, she’d been adamant about staying put.

If Gordon found something that turned this bone into a case, then he might be able to justify turning Solomon loose. Until then, Gordon was the only one who could poke around on his own time without creating a budgetary nightmare. He paced the room, sorting his thoughts.

Their only witness to the bone’s point of origin was four-legged and couldn’t talk. But it might be a starting point. He crossed to his desk and settled in.

First, he checked Sandy’s report and confirmed the names and addresses of the boys’ parents. The Shores and the Webbers. Artie belonged to the Shores. The Webbers lived much closer to where the bone might have originated. Midnight could have found the bone, and Artie snatched it from him. Gordon picked up the phone.

After setting up appointments to meet with both families tomorrow, Gordon tackled the computer and its databases. Given that he didn’t know much more than the victim’s minimum age and approximately how long the bones had been buried, narrowing the search parameters enough to get results was next to impossible. He did what he could, but having to leave most of the fields blank meant he got back too many results. Or none at all.

He started with Mapleton, came up empty, then expanded his search outward. He noted a couple of possibilities, but none seemed promising.

When his eyes couldn’t take any more, he rubbed them and checked the time. Nine? Already? Damn. Given her work schedule, Angie normally called it a night by nine. But he’d said he’d be by. He punched in her number. She picked up on the first ring. “Hey there.”

“Too late?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

He bolted for the door.

* * * * *

The alarm’s klaxon roused Gordon from a dead sleep. Angie slapped the clock into silence. He squinted at the glowing red numbers. Four-ten. He groaned. “So early?”

“I thought you’d wash
my
back this time. If you’re up for it.” When her fingers, warm and smooth, found him, she gave a quiet snort. “Don’t know why I bother to ask.” She threw back the covers and rolled out of bed.

Wide awake now, Gordon grabbed another condom and followed her to the bathroom. Shower sex last night. Followed by slow, languorous, make-the-world-disappear-and-collapse-into-a-dead-sleep sex. Topped off with waking up—triggered by an alarm notwithstanding—next to Angie, who wasn’t rushing downstairs to bake, but wanted more sex first. Life was good.

A short while later, he amended that thought. Life was
very
good. He dried off and opened the bottom drawer of Angie’s dresser, where he kept a change of clothes. Empty?

Angie opened the storage trunk at the foot of her bed. “Sorry, Chief. Had to make room for Megan’s things.”

Before or after Megan had seen his, he wondered. He doubted Angie kept secrets from Megan. But
he
was still coming to grips with the fact that his relationship with Angie wasn’t as low-profile as he’d thought.

“I’m coming downstairs with you,” he said. “I promise to stay out of your way.”

She eyed him quizzically. Understandable, because normally, he left when she got up, if not earlier. “If you do, I’ll put you to work.”

“I don’t think your customers would appreciate my baking skill set. Or lack thereof.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of washing dishes.”

“Will there be coffee?”

She snickered. “Coffee? That’s what you wanted? And here I’ve been giving you sex.”

Downstairs in the Daily Bread’s kitchen, Gordon perched on the edge of a stool and sipped a steaming mug of fresh-brewed coffee while Angie spread butter—copious amounts of butter—on the sheet of dough she’d rolled onto a marble slab. Her first batch was already in the oven, and the aromas of yeast and cinnamon filled the air. His mouth watered. “That smells
so
good. How can you do that before breakfast? Aren’t you starving?” After all, she’d had a workout last night, and another one this morning, too.