Nightingale's Nightmare (Cassadaga Book 4 (3 page)

“And what happened after the fire broke out?”

“Everyone ran for the front door. It was total chaos, pushing and shoving, no one caring to help anyone else. The four of us held hands hoping to stay connected until we got outside, but the crush of people was so intense, we couldn’t stay connected.”

“What happened next?”

“We each fought our way out. Sheila came out first, then me, and then Chloe.” Nightingale took a breath over
the memory of the horrific event. “Poppy was trapped under a table and was rescued by two firemen just before the roof caved in.”

“So you came out after Sheila?”

“Yes.”

“How long were you inside the building after the fire broke out?”

“I don’t know, it was all so crazy. Maybe ten minutes? Maybe less?”

Detective Martinez intensely look
ed across the table into Nightingale’s eyes, sizing her up for truthfulness. He had a murder victim on his hands, and not just any man, but Nightingale’s former husband.

“Did you notice your ex-husband inside The Tavern while you were there before the fire broke out?”

“No, I didn’t see him.”

“Are you sure? Could
you have seen anyone who resembled him and you just passed it off as coincidence?”

“I don’t believe in coincidence, Detective Martinez. And, no, I am sure I didn’t see anyone who even vaguely resembled Brad.”

“When was the last time you saw your ex-husband?”

“I’m not sure, maybe six months ago?”

“Was that an amicable meeting?”

“Yes, we used to speak comfortably when we ran into each other.”

“Did you hold any animosity toward your ex-husband?”

“I thought he was a jerk, if that’s what you mean. Was I seeking revenge? No. Did I want to hurt him? No.
”

“Could he have wanted to harm you and you were in fear of him?”

“No. He had a girlfriend and had moved on. I think they became engaged recently.” Nightingale studied the detective before she spoke again. “Detective Martinez, am I under suspicion for his murder?”

“Everyone is under suspicion until the perpetrator is caught.”

“I see. Well, all I can say is, it wasn’t me. I’m not inclined to commit murder, even on my ex-husband.”

Martinez looked at Nightingale with an authoritative expression. “You can go home, Nightingale. That will be all for now.”

“But don’t leave town, right?” she asked, injecting a bit of humor as she smiled at him.

“Something like that,” he said.

The individual stories from the other three women had been similar in content to Nightingale’s as to the events of that night when Martinez had interviewed them. However, none of them knew Bradford Perry. Only Nightingale knew him, plus she had been married to the man, so that made her a prime suspect. At least until Martinez found evidence to direct him elsewhere.

Nightingale left the interrogation room feeling like a criminal. Now she knew how crooks felt when in this room. It wasn’t pleasant. And she wasn’t even guilty of anything. Wait till she spoke with Bill, he’d have a bloody fit over this. He was so different from her former husband.

Brad had been clueless about who and what Nightingale was during their marriage. It wasn’t like she’d hid what she did for a living before they married. It was right out there for everyone to see. Nightingale had even received a good bit of publicity, more so after they were married, causing people frequently to stop her in stores and at restaurants, asking a question about their future. Brad hated when that happened because he expected all the attention to be on him.

Brad also had the mistaken idea that Nightingale would be a conventional housewife, cooking, cleaning and so forth. Nightingale, conventional? She was a professional medium, for crying out loud! Cleaning was not her favorite past time and her cooking was marginal. Well, she could whip up a decent breakfast and maybe bake a chicken, but gourmet chef was not a title she would ever wear.

Even as a child, when little girls dream about being married, Nightingale never saw herself as a housewife, stay at home mom and the like. She wanted to work, be somebody, have a career that satisfied her inner desire to help people.

Brad’s expectations of what a married couple should be did not blend with hers. Nightingale thought a couple should have their own identities, respect each other’s choices and support the other person’s right to be who they were. Well, that
hadn’t happened in their marriage.

Finally, Brad became so fed up with Nightingale’s increasing notoriety, an embarrassment to him, that he  gave her an ultimatum: be a wife or leave. She chose to leave.

At the time she had been renting a small apartment for her office, which was owned by the association.  When it became obvious she needed to find larger quarters, Nightingale made an offer to buy a cottage in the community, using the separation money Brad offered her. She packed her bags, left DeLand and moved onto bluer skies in Cassadaga.

Now Brad was back to haunt her. This time in death.   

Five

Nightingale arrived home, perplexed. As she exited her vehicle, she contemplated who would have wanted her ex-husband dead? Who had he pissed off enough to inspire murder? Could it be anyone she knew?

With these thoughts jumbling around in her head, Nightingale waved at Helen as she drove by in her old puddle jumper of a car.  Helen waved back, almost running up onto the sidewalk.
Oops, keep your eyes on the road, Helen
, Nightingale thought.

Actually, she was surprised Helen still had a license. The woman had been in several accidents in the last year, hence, the smashed fenders, dented sides and scraped doors. Nightingale suspected Helen didn’t see well enough to judge distance between herself and other vehicles. Or she wasn’t paying attention. But the old girl kept driving.

Wonder what I’ll be like at her age?

Nightingale was cooking dinner for Bill
that night. He had requested spaghetti, so she had gone on the Internet to find a good recipe. Bill was challenging her cooking skills, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. Pouring herself a glass of wine, Nightingale sat down at the kitchen table for a break.

The election was tomorrow morning, so she wondered who would prevail? She hoped
Alex would not win. Her temperament wasn’t suited to be on the board. Joe and Sheila were the best candidates by far and deserved to win.

The phone rang, jarring Nightingale back to reality.

“Hello?”

“It’s me; I’m on my way, finally.”

“That’s okay. I won’t put the pasta in the water till you get here.”

“Okay, be there in ten.”

Nightingale smiled. If Brad were to be late, he’d never call to tell her. Bill was another sort of animal from him, the considerate type. She got out another wine glass for Bill and sat back down at the table, sipping her wine until he arrived.

“Hey there!” he called out as he came in the front door. "I brought some
cannolis.”

“Great,” Nightingale said
with a grimace, glancing down at her tummy. He was not helping her maintain her weight at all.

“You’ll never guess what delayed me?”

“I have no idea.”

“Your neighbor, Helen.”

“Helen? What did she do?”

“
You know how we see groups of bicyclists dressed in their gear riding on Cassadaga Road?”

“Yes, sure. They do it all the time.”

“Well, Helen sideswiped four bicyclists with her car. They all went to the hospital for observation.”

“Holy shit!” Nightingale stared wide eyed at Bill from her chair. “How badly are they hurt?”

“Not too.  Scrapes, mostly.” Bill removed his holster, placing it on the couch.

“Oh, my
god! It could have been so much worse.” Nightingale rose to get the bottle of wine from the refrigerator.

“That’s for sure,” he remarked,
reaching for the glass of wine Nightingale poured for him. “The good news is, we took her license at the scene.”

“Yes, that’s good news. Helen has no business driving,” Nightingale said. “I don’t think she sees well.”

“That’s an understatement. A row of four bicyclists is a hard thing to miss seeing.”

Nightingale grinned. “Are you going to eat in your uniform or change?”
She stood up to cook the pasta.

“I’ll stay in uniform for now.”

“Then I’ll put on the pasta in a bit.” Nightingale stood in front of Bill, wearing a concerned look on her face. “I was called in today for interrogation about Brad’s murder.”

“Really? They actually suspect you had something to do with that?” Bill’s expression also look
ed concerned.

“Apparently so, or they’re just covering every possibility. You would know better than me.”

“You’re his ex-wife,” he noted.

“What does that mean? All ex-wives
want to murder their former husbands?”

“Some do.”

Nightingale frowned at Bill. “I didn’t.”

“But they think you might have.”

“So?”

“So, you’re on the list of potential suspects.”

“Can’t you do something?”

“Nope. This is way out of my hands.”

Nightingale sat back down in the chair.

“Detective Martinez
actually called you in?” Bill asked.

“Yes, this morning.”

“Then you are definitely a suspect.” Bill sat back in his chair, looking disturbed. “This is not good.”

“Well, I know that, but it will work out okay. I’m innocent.”

Bill studied her face, trying to figure a delicate way to tell her what was on his mind.

“What’s wrong?” Nightingale asked.

“I have to go,” he said. “I can’t stay for dinner.”

“What?”

“Nightingale, I don’t know how to say this, but I can’t see you as long as you’re a suspect.”

“What?!”

“You are a suspect in a murder investigation, Nightingale. A deputy can’t be cavorting with a murder suspect.”

“Cavorting? Our relationship is
cavorting
?” Nightingale stared at Bill in total disbelief.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Nightingale, it doesn’t look correct to be associating with a murder suspect, even if I believe you’re innocent.”

Nightingale stared at Bill silently.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking like he meant the words he’d spoken.

“Get your sorry ass out of here,” Nightingale said quietly.

“Nightingale…”

“Out, before I call a cop.”

Bill hesitated one full second, then turned away from Nightingale. He picked up his holster on the way out, fastening the buckle as
he walked through the door.

Nightingale poured herself another glass of wine.

~~

Sheila, Nightingale and Poppy sat together in the hall at the annual meeting
the next morning. Chloe was still out of town, but had cast her absentee ballot for Sheila and Joe before she left.

Nightingale crossed her legs and bobbed her foot in frustration. Sheila and Poppy could see that something was bothering Nightingale, but she wasn’t sharing the news.

“You okay? Worried about election?” Poppy figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“No.”

“Something bothering you.” Poppy gave her a look that said, spill the beans.

Sheila looked at Nightingale
’s face, the question obviously on her lips, too.

“Okay, all right. Bill and I broke up last night.”

“Oh, it can’t be serious. I’m sure it was a misunderstanding, is all,” Sheila said.

“No, he was quite clear about it.”

“Bill drop you?” Poppy asked.

“
Like a  hot potato.”

“What hot potato?”

“Never mind. It’s because I’m a suspect in an active murder investigation.” Nightingale crossed her arms over her chest and sighed.

“Well, I can see where that could be a problem,” Sheila acknowledged. “But why did he have to break up with you?”

“I don’t think he wanted to break up, but I sent him packing,” Nightingale said. “It feels like a betrayal, like he doesn’t support me.”

“He support you, he love you.” Poppy nodded her head
to get her point across.

“Not enough. I’m a suspect, so I’m off limits.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?”

George Franklin, t
he president, considered to be a young whippersnapper by elder members, was calling the meeting to order, so the conversation ceased between the friends, much to Nightingale’s relief.

“Please stand for the invocation and remain standing for the pledge of allegiance
,” George said.