Dangerous game, p.13
Dangerous Game, page 13
Grey tightened his arms around her and his cheek brushed her hair. She let the comfort of his embrace work through her flimsy defenses, reaching deep within her heart to her soul.
A few minutes later, Elsie called from the living room. “Who’s come?”
“It’s me—” Trish turned her face so she could be heard “—Trish.”
“Oh, my, I’m getting all kinds of company today. Shirley, Audra, Tom and now you.”
“I hope we’re not wearing you out,” Trish replied, cheered as always by Elsie’s welcome. Then she looked up into Grey’s face and mouthed, “Did you tell her about the anonymous call?”
Grey shook his head.
“Don’t,” Trish whispered and Grey squeezed her to show agreement. She reveled in his touch and tightened her arms around his solid chest.
Elsie continued. “Audra was in a slight accident so Shirley went with her to the E.R. Tom went to the school for that thing for Chad. I don’t know what’s going on in this town anymore. It’s just one thing after the other.”
Trish couldn’t have agreed more. Though her father had directed his spiteful words at the sheriff, they’d stabbed her, making her recoil. Would she be able to stay in Winfield? A kind of panic unfurled—where would all this end for her father? A nervous breakdown? She looked up at Grey and mouthed, “Please kiss me.”
He hesitated and then bent his mouth slowly. At last, his lips met hers. Oh, the blessed comfort of his kiss. Trish drowned in its healing balm. She could bear whatever might come now, survive anything.
But her conscience mocked her. Are you forgetting what you are, who you are? This will never work between you and a felon.
Feeling as hazy and wispy as last night’s mist, Trish walked between Keir and another young deputy, Josh, up the path to her aunt’s house. Keir had told Trish that he and Josh would handle the questioning, but he’d wanted her along to hopefully ease her aunt’s discomfort.
It was just after six o’clock in the morning. Aunt Harriet, who’d never had children, lived in the snug red brick bungalow on a side street in Winfield, the house Uncle Jake had built for them by himself in the 1950s. In the past, Trish had always looked forward to walking through Aunt Harriet’s door.
That had changed with Uncle Jake’s death. It had soured her aunt toward everyone and everything in life. And now this. What would her aunt’s response be today?
Up three steps to the side door, a sleep-deprived Keir walked beside her and he was the one who knocked on the white door. Then Trish suppressed a yawn from her own restless night, spent tossing and turning, waking every hour or so to check her bedside clock. Her small trailer had felt like a prison cell.
Then she noticed that her father’s truck was parked back on the alley behind Aunt Harriet’s. Her already low spirits slid to her toes. Oh, no.
Before Trish could point this out, the door opened and her aunt faced them. “Hello.” Harriet’s voice shook.
Trish analyzed the tone. Did she sound guilty? Unfortunately yes.
“May we come in?” Keir asked. “We have something pressing we need to discuss with you.”
Dressed in a dark blue polyester dress but without her usual red lipstick, Harriet nodded and stepped back to let them in.
At the sheriff’s nod, Trish entered first, followed by Josh. Aunt Harriet looked guilty, but guilty of what?
Once through the tiny side porch, they were standing in her chrome-and-white 1950s kitchen. Unshaven and scowling, Noah sat at the table, drinking coffee. Harriet sat back down at a right angle to him. Trish and Josh leaned against the kitchen counter. Keir had asked her to come for her aunt’s sake. But Noah’s presence might make her presence a liability.
“I beat you here, Sheriff,” Noah sneered. “I’ve warned Harriet just what you’d be coming for.”
“And what is that?” Keir asked politely.
“To pin these nasty games on her instead of that Lawson. That’s why you were out on her property last night with her shed open, right?” Her father’s eyes were alight with malevolence. It chilled Trish like an icicle up her spine.
“I don’t pin things on people,” Keir said in a stiff tone that Trish recognized as dangerous. Her father had definitely put himself on the wrong side of the sheriff. But that seemed to be her father’s intention—to set as many people as possible against him. He appeared to revel in being at odds with everyone.
“Just as I did last night,” Keir said. “I must ask you to leave, Mr. Franklin.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Her father grinned with malice.
“Then I’ll have to take Mrs. Franklin in for questioning. I thought it would be preferable to take her statement here in the privacy of her own home. But if you refuse to leave, I have no alternative.”
Trish dreaded her father’s reply to this challenge.
Noah ignored the sheriff. “Harriet, you don’t have to answer any questions. I’d get a lawyer—”
“Mrs. Franklin, let’s go,” the sheriff said. “Get your coat, please. If you want a lawyer to be present while I question you, you may phone one from the station—”
“You can’t just take her without a warrant,” Noah blustered, rising from his chair.
Her father was digging his hole deeper and deeper. Trish took in a barbed breath.
“As a matter of fact, I can,” the sheriff said. “I can question anyone I need to while I’m doing an investigation. Mrs. Franklin, you are a material witness in a criminal case. Let’s go.”
“Don’t move, Harriet,” Noah snapped.
Trish wished there was some way she could stop him, but she was here as a deputy. Not a daughter.
Keir made eye contact with him. “Mr. Franklin, you have two choices. You may leave now. Or if you persist in obstructing my investigation, I’ll charge you with that and take you into custody. Citizens are not allowed to block criminal investigations.”
The two men stared at each other. “Deputy Franklin,” Keir ordered her, “help your aunt into her coat and take her out to the car.”
Trish stepped forward and took her aunt’s arm to help her out of the kitchen chair. Her father lunged forward and pulled Trish’s hand away from her aunt’s arm.
Before Trish could react, the sheriff stepped between them. “You are Deputy Franklin’s father, but that does not give you the right to strike an officer of the law. Now we are taking Mrs. Franklin in. Leave or I will arrest you.”
Her father’s long wrinkled face turned a mottled red-and-white. He tried to speak, his jaws working, but his words came out garbled.
“Dad, are you all right?” Trish asked, suddenly afraid he might be having a stroke.
Noah pushed past Harriet, bumping Trish hard. He stomped out the side door, slamming it behind him. Harriet swayed and Trish helped her sit down again.
The sheriff went to the side door and looked out, evidently making sure Noah had left. Trish heard her father’s truck’s distinctive rumble and rattle as it sped away. Keir came back in. “Mrs. Franklin, would you prefer that I take your statement here or at the—”
“Here,” she gasped. “Please, here.”
Trish quivered inside—worry over her father increased with each confrontation. She closed her eyes, drawing on her reserves.
“May I sit please?” Keir asked, as if the emotional scene he’d just witnessed hadn’t taken place.
“Yes,” Harriet said.
“Officer Franklin, why don’t you warm up your aunt’s coffee?”
Glad to do something, Trish moved to obey. She carried her aunt’s cup to the counter where the old electric percolator sat. She freshened her aunt’s coffee and then sat down in the chair her father had just vacated. Josh remained at the counter.
“Now,” the sheriff began, “I take it that Noah told you that our department was on your property last night, investigating the recent rash of hit-and-runs?”
Harriet nodded, her lips pressed together to prevent tears, Trish thought.
Trish longed to pat her aunt’s arm and reassure her that everything would be okay. But she was on duty and she didn’t know herself if everything would be okay.
“Where were you last evening, Mrs. Franklin?” the sheriff asked.
“Here.” Her aunt’s word came out in a hoarse croak.
“And were you alone?”
“No, Hank Valliere was here,” Harriet mumbled.
Hank here? Trish found that hard to believe.
“And Hank was here to do what?” Keir probed.
“He was asking permission to hunt on my land,” Harriet said, staring into her coffee and her cheeks reddening.
Trish and the sheriff communicated silently with glances.
“Do you own the 1990 gray Oldsmobile sedan parked in the shed behind your hunting cabin?”
“That old thing?”
“Yes, is it yours? It doesn’t have a current registration.”
Harriet nodded, still focusing on her coffee. “Hasn’t been driven in years.”
“I’m sorry to say it has been driven by someone very recently,” the sheriff replied. “Do you know who that could be?”
“I have no idea.” Her head was down, but Harriet’s voice was coming back to normal.
“Have you been out to the hunting shed in say the last month?”
“Why would I go out there?” Harriet’s voice became firmer. “It’s not huntin’ season and I might not even hunt this year. Getting too old.”
Trish again met Keir’s eyes. Harriet’s initial shock at their coming here was wearing off. And their chance of getting accurate and candid information was fading.
“Do you ever go out there, just to check things out?” Keir continued.
“No.” Then Harriet met Keir’s gaze defiantly. “It’s too painful. With Jake gone. We’d still be hunting if it weren’t for that Grey Lawson.” Harriet’s voice turned hard and mean. “Why aren’t you out questioning him?”
“Grey Lawson was questioned last night.”
“Then why are you bothering me?”
“Because it was your car that was driven last night and which forced Audra Blair off the road, injuring her.”
This obviously surprised Harriet. Her blue eyes wide, she glanced at both of them in turn. “I didn’t hear about Audra.” Harriet betrayed herself with these words. “Is she okay?”
“Badly bruised and has a sprained wrist and whiplash, but she’s home. I am going to have my deputy take your fingerprints now.”
“Fingerprints?” Harriet yelped.
“We need to identify yours from all the ones we lifted last night from the vehicle, shed and cabin.”
“You have no right—”
“We have every right,” Keir cut her off. He waited while Josh followed his order, using an ink pad he’d pulled from his pocket. Though Trish took no part in any of this, Aunt Harriet scowled at her throughout the procedure. So much for being a comfort to her aunt.
“That’s all for now, Mrs. Franklin. But I may return later with more questions.” Keir rose as did Trish. Josh already waited by the door.
“Why?” Harriet demanded, glaring at him. “This has nothing to do with me.”
“Your vehicle appears to be the one used in the commission of four recent hit-and-runs. I’m afraid that involves you in this investigation.”
“I’ll get me a lawyer,” Harriet threatened as Trish and Keir headed toward the side door.
“As you wish,” Keir replied. “Tell him that I’ve instructed you not to leave the county without permission as you are a material witness in a criminal investigation.”
“You can’t tell me where I can and can’t go,” Harriet blustered.
Keir turned back just before shutting the door. “Mrs. Franklin, I can and I have. I’ll be back.” He closed the door behind them.
As they walked to his Jeep, Trish appreciated Keir’s forbearance over the behavior of her contrary relatives.
One more time the memory of Grey’s arms around her and his lips on hers shuddered through her, leaving her wanting his comfort more than ever. God, I don’t have a clue what’s going on, but Grey has become special to me—right or wrong. Guard him from harm and suspicion. Lead us to the true culprit.
Grey sat in the nearly empty traditional-looking courtroom with its abundance of polished oak and maple the next afternoon. Waiting for the judge to appear, Grey was not a happy camper. Court ranked second only as the very last place he ever wanted to be again, the first being prison. Somehow all the shame, dread and regret he’d experienced on the day he’d stood before a judge here rushed back like a swarm of mosquitoes, biting and stinging. How could it be as intense as if his own sentencing had been only days, not seven years, ago?
Yet here he was, sitting on a hard bench, trying not to fidget. Rae-Jean had called him and asked him to come to her sentencing and he hadn’t been able to refuse her. Now he just wanted this to be over so he could leave for today’s handyman job. He shifted in his seat, wishing he could be visible only to Rae-Jean.
There wouldn’t be a full trial. Rae-Jean’s lawyer had brokered a plea bargain. Rae-Jean would testify against her supplier at his trial and receive a lighter sentence on the drug charge. She still faced child abuse charges which the state would also pursue.
While Grey knew there was nothing he could do, he knew what it was like to face a judge. And from Trish, he knew that Rae-Jean’s family would not come to show support for her. He didn’t want Rae-Jean to be all alone with only a lawyer on her side of the court.
From his own experience of listening helplessly to his aunt’s sobs while he was sentenced—he didn’t really know which was worse. Having your family with you at your sentencing or being alone, either way was torture.
The lush memory of Trish in his arms zipped through his mind, leaving him achingly alone. Why had she come to Elsie’s? Why had he kissed her as she’d asked? Had he been temporarily insane?
From where Rae-Jean sat at the front of the courtroom, she turned around to face Grey and mouthed, “Thanks for coming.”
He nodded. Then he heard heavy footsteps and Harold from N.A. took a place beside Grey. They exchanged subdued greetings.
“All rise.” The bailiff announced the judge’s arrival.
Grey heard another set of lighter footsteps and glanced over his shoulder. Trish in her uniform had walked in and taken a place across the aisle from him and Harold. Embarrassment sizzled through Grey.
Until Trish’s entrance, he’d been merely uncomfortable. Now he was nonplussed. With her in her deputy uniform and he in his work clothes, it underscored the enormous gap between them. She was a law officer, an official agent for the county. He was an ex-con, a handyman. And I kissed her two nights ago.
All the sensations of holding her surged through him. He wrenched his mind away from that rich tactile memory. The possible consequences of their recent kisses churned inside him with barbs that ripped at his pride.
The court proceedings began and were over within minutes. Rae-Jean Franklin, first-time drug offender, would go to a state drug offender facility farther south to get clean. She’d serve a short sentence in a women’s facility and then be on probation for a year. As an officer led her away back to the county jail, Rae-Jean looked dazed.
Trish crossed the aisle to Harold and Grey. “I thought someone from my family should attend,” she murmured. “Plus I had to be here on other business.” She nodded once and walked out.
Grey watched her leave, an intense sense of loss filtering through each nerve. In Elsie’s kitchen, she had sought comfort in his arms. Here in public, she’d treated him as a mere acquaintance. That was the way it had to be. The way it would be.
He sat on the side of his bed and shuddered whenever he thought of the sound of that siren behind him on Cross-cut Road. He’d raced back to the shed to ditch the sedan. To get rid of his connection to it. And then he’d lost his nerve.
He’d called 911 from the public phone outside the welcome center to report the accident. In his panic, all he’d thought of was pushing the blame away from himself. But now he couldn’t use the sedan again.
Fool. Idiot. Now you’ve done it.
Had the fact that he’d quickly wiped off the steering wheel and door handles with his shirttail been enough? Had he left any other prints in the sedan? But he’d never been arrested before so they wouldn’t have his prints on file, right? But still…Why didn’t I wear gloves?
He hunched over with his arms around himself. Stark fear sawed at him with a ragged blade. Now what do I do? I have to get rid of Grey Lawson. I ruined everything last night. Why didn’t I keep my head?
A tidal wave of dread rose within him. Grey Lawson had to be driven out of Winfield. I’ll never have a minute’s peace with him here. But how do I do it?
TEN
Two days had passed since Trish had witnessed Keir interviewing her aunt in her home. Now Trish sat in a sheriff’s department bare interrogation room under a fluorescent light and faced Lamar Valliere. Lamar had graduated high school with her younger brother, Mick, and he’d been laid off at the paper mill with Chaney. In blue jeans and a red knit shirt and his black hair pulled back into a short ponytail today, Lamar slouched in his chair, glaring at her. This was the second time she had interviewed him about the hit-and-run incidents. Would she get anything useful from him today?
“So, Lamar, you’re sticking with your story that you were at Harriet’s house with your father on the night of the latest hit-and-run?” she asked for the fifth time, trying to mask her frustration.
“Yeah.” Lamar’s tone had begun and remained belligerent.
As best she could, Trish ignored his tone and asked in her professional voice, “We have interviewed patrons of Bugsy’s Tavern on the night in question.” Interrogation often wore a suspect down until he let something slip in the anger of a moment. Would Lamar?
“So?”
Or would Lamar’s stubbornness wear her down? “We have sworn statements from several customers that you were at Bugsy’s that night from around 6:00 p.m. until closing.”
