Too Much at Stake (8 page)

Mitch stood at the foot of the stairs and shouted up to Pat. "Girl, what are you doing up there? Didn't you say Deb was picking you up to go meet with Sal? Are you going to his office, or is he coming to Ashland to grill you?"

As Pat barreled past him, he tried to kiss the top of her unruly hair and make a grab for her. "Oh, no, you don't!" she said, dancing away from his reach and trying to put in an earring at the same time. "Why didn't he ask you to come, too? I need you there."

Mitch wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek. "Face it, Wonder Woman, you'll always need me. But when it comes to murder ... well, I like to read about it in the paper. Here's Deb now. Your carriage awaits. Call me if you need me to bail you out."

Deb watched from the car as Pat and Mitch said good-bye. She wrinkled her forehead, thinking about what Marc would say about their getting involved in another investigation.

We're not getting involved,
she thought, practicing her speech for later.
We're simply being good citizens. After all, we were at the scene.

She honked the horn, surprised at her impatience. After all, she didn't have to be back until three o'clock to see the boys' game. She had to admit that her impatience had more to do with getting to Washburn and learning more about the death than anything else. She smiled at Pat as her friend tripped lightly down the front stairs and opened the car door. "Really," Deb greeted her, "you look ten years younger!"

"Make that fifteen, and I'll buy lunch," Pat responded with a smile as she put on her seatbelt. "Let's hit the road, Jack!"

Deb realized as she pulled away that Pat was as eager as she was.

"Before you came this morning, you won't believe who came by," Pat said.

"Who?" Deb asked.

"Ruth."

"Ruth? Ruth Epstein? Why did she come to you? I've known her a lot longer! Did she tell you something about the body? Come on . spill."

"Don't get your hopes up. You know Ruth. She isn't going to tell anything inappropriate. She talked to me first because Linda and Forrest asked her to."

"But why?"

"Because they are sometimes members of the church, that's why. And Linda wondered if, when the time comes, if I would help with some kind of service." Pat adjusted her seat.

"Linda and Forrest?" Deb exclaimed.

"That's right. Turns out the body was Mac. Can you believe it?"

"Wow! I guess that makes sense. But she didn't tell you anything else?"

"Nope, well ... not much ... but since it couldn't have been an accident, it's going to be a while before the body is released," Pat answered with a self-satisfied smile, pleased that she was the one with inside information for once.

As they continued to drive toward Washburn, Deb and Pat went over the events of the previous day once again. Deb had driven to Washburn so many times before that her car seemed to know the way on its own.

"I still think that no one could have gotten a big canvas roll into the barn without help. There had to have been more than one person involved," Pat suggested. "Do you think the body was there all winter, or do you think someone put him there recently?"

"Search me," Deb replied. "That's for Sal to figure out. It was cold and dry in there, so it could have been either way."

"What I get the creeps about is that it was right in the middle of all the rest of all that stuff ... almost like the person who put the body there
wanted
it to be found."

Having dissected every bit of the scene, Pat reached for a bottle of water.

"Wow, look at how green it's getting. It's going to be a beautiful summer. I can't wait to see a sunset on the lake again."

"Maybe this weekend. Can you guys go out? Marc is eager to take Bruno out for his first sailboat ride."

Pat glanced in her side mirror. "Oh, oh," she said. "Slow down."

Deb took her foot off the accelerator and grimaced as she looked in the rearview mirror. "How long has he been there?"

"Don't know. We've been so busy gabbing. But the good news is, he doesn't have his siren on."

The words were hardly out of Pat's mouth when she saw the police car's light flashing and heard the whine of the siren.

"How is Marc going to feel about another ticket?" Pat asked.

Deb swore and pulled over. "Do you think we could have outrun him?"

The police officer strolled up to the car and tipped his hat as Deb rolled down the window. They recognized him as the officer who was well known for giving out tickets. "Hello, ladies," he said. "Do you know what speed you were going? I've been behind you through Washburn." Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Could you please give me your license and car registration?"

"Hello, officer," Deb said politely. "I'm an attorney from Ashland, so I know the drill." If she thought he might let her off with a warning, as one professional to another, one look at his stony face burst that bubble.

"Ahuh," he said, looking Deb straight in the eyes. "Just doing my job, ma'am."

Deb visibly bristled as she handed him her license.
Adding insult to injury,
thought Deb indignantly.
It's one thing to get a ticket but quite another to be called "ma'am." When did I become a "ma'am," anyway?
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "Could you make it quick? We're in a hurry."

The officer and Pat just stared at her, and then as he turned away, Pat started to giggle.

"Good one, Deb," she said as the cop went back to his car to look up her registration. "Not only do you irritate the one officer who always gives everyone a ticket—no exceptions—but then you broadcast that we are going to speed on our way!" She laughed.

While the women waited impatiently for the officer to finish writing the ticket, Deb's imagination flashed to a scene in the courtroom.

The ticket-writing officer was dressed in uniform and seated in the witness box in front of the jury, microphone pulled close. Deb, dressed in a tailored kelly-green suit and heels, was glaring at him with a stony face across the defense table.

"Officer, can you explain to the ladies and gentlemen of the jury how it is that you failed to record in your filed report the critical facts that you testified to here today?" she asked in her gruffest voice.

His face reddening, the officer shot Deb an irritated look. "Look here, ma'am, I know the drill, and what you are trying to do. I'm a police officer for the Washburn Police Department. Are you implying that I would somehow break the l aw?" he sputtered.

"Just doing my job, sir," Deb replied, brandishing a whip behind her b ack.

"Earth to Deb. Where are you?" Pat's voice broke into Deb's thoughts.

"Sorry, I was just fantasizing," Deb replied.

"If you wrote those fantasies down, it would make a good book," Pat answered lightly.

One hundred twenty-nine dollars in the red later, they were on the road again.

"Well, at least we helped them with their speeding quota," Pat teased her friend.

Deb groaned.
What will Marcus say? Better not tell him until after a good meal.

"Listen, as long as we're early, let's go through the drive-through at the North Coast Coffee Shop," Pat suggested. "Maybe if we come bearing gifts, they'll give us a little info."

Deb navigated the Prius through the drive-through of the coffee shop in Washburn. "Two regular coffees and two cappuccinos," she said into the intercom.

Ten minutes later, Deb pulled up to a ranch-style brick building.

"What are we doing here? Pat asked. "The Sheriff's Department building isn't in Bayfield; it's here, and so is the jail," Deb explained.

"Convenient, if he wants to throw us in the hoose-gow."

"Funny, Pat," Deb answered as she opened the door.

"Uh, Deb, do you think you should park in handicapped parking, especially after our recent run-in?" Pat asked, pointing to the sign in front of them.

"Oops," Deb said, closing her door and backing up again. "Let's park over here."

They didn't know whether it was because it was small town or they were getting a reputation, but as the women walked in, the receptionist took one look at them and yelled through the door, "Salvadore, they're here!" She looked at them curiously, pointed to some old wooden chairs, and then went back to her computer.

The two women waited, watching the minutes tick by on the large clock on the wall.

"This coffee is going to get cold if he doesn't get out here soon," Deb whispered loudly, as if it were the greatest sin in the world to let good coffee-shop coffee go cold.

The receptionist looked up from her typing and shouted once more, "Sal, they came bearing bribes!"

"Don't they even have an intercom system for you?" Pat asked sympathetically.

"Sure," she grinned, "but he never answers it. And besides, this way is more fun."

After a few more interminable minutes of waiting, Sal came out of his office, with LeSeur following behind him.

"Thanks," LeSeur said, taking one of the cups from Pat's outstretched hand.

"Are you here giving him grilling lessons?" Pat couldn't help asking LeSeur, trying to hide her nervousness with sarcasm.

"No, I brought him my extra set of thumb screws, just in case."

Pat stood up and held out the other cup to Sal. "It's done the way you like it."

"Not much for a bribe," he teased, reaching out for the cup. "And I can't fix the ticket, ladies. I just heard it on the scanner."

The receptionist giggled.

"Come on back," Sal said, gesturing with his cup down the hallway to a back room.

The two women were led to a windowless gray brick room. It was definitely not from a scene from their favorite crime drama, CSI. Those scenes always looked so modern and fashionable. There was an old desk, with a chair on wheels that looked like it was left over from a school principal's office, a couple of folding chairs, and then, incongruously, a flowered couch with matching chair against the wall. A pretty mountain scene hung on the wall.

"My wife just bought new living room furniture," Sal mumbled, seeing Pat's look. "She thought her old stuff might dress up my office a little."

That's right,
Pat thought,
He's recently married to a local girl, who obviously is nesting
.

"Oh, I think it dresses it up all right," Pat said politely. Deb kicked her.

"So," Sal said, sitting back in the old chair, "Sit. You understand that you are here to give us testimony of the crime scene you witnessed. In no way do we need, nor are we asking for, your help in solving this investigation. My buddy here warned me about you two, so let's cut to the chase. What's with you? Do you just have to be involved with every single murder on the South Shore? Remind me."

"We were there, at the Tent, volunteering, remember?" Deb started.

"Yup, and so were several dozen other folks. And none of them, as far as I can tell, are poking around in this death."

Pat and Deb gave each other a sheepish look.

"Of course not, Sal," Pat said, giving him her most convincing pastor smile. "Chill out. You must know that we aren't trying to butt in, but we were there. You called us, remember?"

It didn't seem to work.

"Just help us out, girls," LeSeur said winningly. "This is Sal's first big case, so don't screw it up for him, okay?"

"We wouldn't dream of it," Deb said indignantly. "We're just here on your request, so if you don't want us ..." She got up, as if to leave.

"No, no, sit down. Don't get your knickers in a bunch." Sal took out his pen and poised it over his pad. "We're just laying down the ground rules, as it were. Now, let's just start at the point at which you rolled out the canvas and the hand fell out."

Pat gulped. "Could we have a refill on coffee?" she stalled. She suddenly wished she didn't have to relive that horrible scene.

"Statements first, then more coffee." Sal felt he knew how to get information out of these two women.

"Have you found out who the body is yet?" Pat persisted, not wanting the men to know that she knew his identity. "It might be easier to think of it as a person if we knew who it was."