Reclaim My Life (12 page)

“Sure.” Brady followed Wil past Zelda’s desk, then into the locker room, which doubled as the station’s break room. Three vending machines had been squeezed in between two sets of lockers and a row of vinyl-covered benches. “When will we have the results from the autopsy?”

“Monday, I expect. A body in the water decomposes fast. I imagine it’s a challenge for the medical examiner’s office.”

“Which was the idea, if the killer deliberately dumped the body.” Brady poured himself a cup of coffee from the decanter. “Zelda just made this, so it’s fresh.”

“I’m ready for something cold to drink.” Between his early morning in the office and his breakfast at Boyd’s Diner, Wil had had his fill of coffee for the day.

“How’s your daddy doing?”

“Holdin’ his own.” Wil’s father wouldn’t appreciate being discussed. He’d been fiercely private ever since Wil’s mother’s death—or maybe he’d always been guarded about his personal life. “He’s able to do a lot for himself now.”

“Still seeing the physical therapist?”

“Yes, but he calls her a physical terrorist.” Wil fed a dollar to the Coke machine. “He’s determined to live alone, so he’s motivated to work hard.”

“Sure. He has his pride.” Brady’s cell phone rang. He stared at the caller ID before answering the call. “It’s Dorie.”

Wil saluted him with his Coke and left him to talk to his wife in private. With the exception of Jamie Peterson, almost everyone on his team was married and settled. Fred Fischer claimed to have been happily married until his wife passed away. Wil felt a twinge of envy for the couples, although he’d hardly given settling down a thought until last year, after his dad’s stroke.

After he’d met Elizabeth.

“I was just coming to get you, Wil.” Zelda hovered at his door. “Deputy Blanco’s here.”

Geraldo Blanco sat in the same chair Brady had vacated minutes earlier, in front of Wil’s desk. His Latino looks and name contradicted his Southern drawl, but Blanco’s family had settled in Foster County long before Cuba had been Castro’s. “What’s up?”

Wil motioned with his canned Coke toward the locker room. “Grab your life jacket. We’re going fishing.”

To his credit, Geraldo obeyed without question. Waiting until Brady finished his call, he filled Geraldo in on his plans to drag the Suwannee River.

“Sure, boss. We’ll work the river while she’s low. We have to work fast, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“You didn’t hear? That depression’s been upgraded to a tropical storm, and it could hit here within a week. If it dumps a lot of rain and floods the valley, we’ll never find anything.”

Wil bit back an expletive. He’d tried to tame his gutter-mouth from his younger days as a detective. He was sheriff now and proud of his professionalism. “No, I hadn’t heard, but you’re right. Let’s do it.”

“Sheriff Drake,” Zelda called from the doorway. “Before you leave, Police Chief Gillespie needs a word with you.”

“Now what?” Wil muttered.

“Go ahead, Wil. I’ll hook up the boat trailer.”

“Thanks, Geraldo.” He swept through the locker room, past Zelda’s desk, and into his office, where Adam Gillespie stood glaring at him. “What can I do for you—”

“If you want to question me about dating Cathleen Hodges, question
me
, not her gossipy girlfriends.”

“Relax, Adam, and sit.” Wil spoke in a soft voice, hoping to defuse the man’s anger. Red-faced and blustery, Adam huffed, scowled, and finally sat. “What’s this about?”

“You know. Hell, everybody in Boyd’s Diner knows. You think I dated Cathleen Hodges, right?”

“Nope. Mistaken identity, and it’s cleared up now.”

“You should’ve cleared it up with
me.”

Wil tossed his life jacket onto the desk and sat down. “I apologize. I should’ve gone directly to you and asked. One of her friends said you dated Kris Knight, not—”

“I did go out with Cathleen Hodges, and I want to tell you about it so there’s no suspicion or gossip.” His shoulders dropped, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “God knows we’ve had enough gossip.”

“If you’re referring to the strain between our two families, I couldn’t agree more. I’d like to get past that if I knew how.”

“I don’t know how, either, Wil, so let’s stick to your homicide. I want you to take my statement.”

“All right. But off the record, you’re no suspect, Adam.”

“Maybe not, but we need to do this by the book.”

Wil appreciated Adam’s cooperation. No matter their personal history, Adam was an honorable man, not a murderer. Wil slid his recorder from his desk drawer, recited the date, time, and Adam’s name into it, then pointed the recorder toward Adam.

“I invited Cathleen Hodges to go to the Suwannee River Jam in April, down at the Music Park.”

Wil knew the place. Located in Suwannee County, the Music Park hosted concerts almost every weekend. For clarification for Adam’s statement, he spoke toward the recorder, “That three-day event with the big-name country singers?”

“Yes. I buy tickets every year. This year, I invited Cathleen. We went the first day in my boat, got badly sunburned, and she didn’t want to return for the rest of the shows. So I took Amy the other two days.”

Amy
. Wil didn’t miss the curl of Adam’s lip when he mentioned his twin sister. Nursing an old grudge, Adam still hated Wil for dating Amy in high school. Amy had dumped him—not the other way around. So why, after twenty years, did it matter—especially to Adam? Amy had her own family now.

“That’s the only date you had with the deceased?”

“That’s it. I don’t know whether she wasn’t enthused about country music or boating, or she just wasn’t enthused about me, but she discouraged me from asking her out again. End of story.”

“Were you and Cathleen on friendly terms after the one date?”

“Absolutely. No hard feelings. We just didn’t click. To be frank, I don’t think she was ready to date again. She’d gone through a rough breakup recently, although she wouldn’t talk about it.”

“Did she seem worried about anything? Mention anything about having trouble?”

“We didn’t get that well acquainted. She mentioned the recent breakup in passing, but now I think it was her way of keeping me at a distance.”

Boy, did that sound familiar. Elizabeth had kept Wil at a distance from the day they’d met. She seemed to have that much in common with the victim. “As far as you know, did she go out with anyone else?”

Adam shrugged. “She said she hadn’t. I never saw her out with anyone except her lady friends. I’m sure you’ve questioned them as well.”

Wil nodded, but for the benefit of the recording said, “Thanks for your statement, Chief Gillespie.” He stopped recording. “We’re tracking down her ex, a guy named Michael Moore. She told friends he’d been abusive. He’s definitely a person of interest.”

“No more questions?”

“Not for you. Thanks for coming in.”

“We both know it looks better for me to do so.” Adam stood, pointing to the life jacket. “Are you heading out?”

“We’re going to search the river while it’s low. Brady seems to think we might find the weapon.”

Adam spread his hands in a gesture of friendship. “Don’t get all jurisdictional on me, but I do have officers who can help you search.”

“Chief Gillespie, I’d be a fool to turn down your offer. Deputy Blanco is spearheading the operation.”

“I’ll have my guys work out a schedule with him. Maybe they can work in two-man teams.” With a nod, Adam left his office.

Zelda filled the door, undoubtedly having eavesdropped on the entire exchange. “I must be trippin’, Sheriff Drake. I thought I saw you two
cooperating
. You know … getting along?”

Wil chuckled. “Chief Gillespie and I always get along.”

Her eye roll said,
Yeah, right
. Near retirement age, the sixty-something-year-old Zelda Brooks had attended Foster County High School with Wil’s mother. She’d assumed the role of mother figure as soon as Wil had won the election. “Shall I tell Deputy Blanco about the change in plans?”

Yep, she’d eavesdropped. Grabbing his life jacket, he herded Zelda back to her office. “No, I’ll take care of it.”

Elizabeth restacked her canned goods in her cabinets after rotating stock, her cordless phone stuffed between her cheek and shoulder. “What’s up, Kris?”

“It’s too hot. Would you be willing to plait my hair for me again?”

After at least three lessons—Elizabeth had lost count—Kris still hadn’t mastered the art of weaving her long hair into a single braid. “If you’d be willing to return the favor.”

“But your hair’s too short to plait—”

“I want you to shape my eyebrows,” Elizabeth said. “Bring your tweezers.”

“Yippee! I’ve been dying to get hold of you and—”

“Whoa, just the brows, girl. This isn’t a makeover project.”

“All right,” Kris said, “just the brows. At least you can have two instead of one continuous black caterpillar.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You remind me of that scene in
Moonstruck
where Cher goes into a beauty salon and the stylist welcomes the chance to update her look.”

“I haven’t seen that movie in years, so I don’t remember enough to know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Neither. Come on over, and we’ll groom each other.”

Kris chuckled. “Sounds kinky. I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, Kris.”

“Maybe we can watch
Moonstruck
together afterwards,” Kris said. “You have it, don’t you?”

“Uh … I sort of have a date tonight.”

Kris squealed into the phone. “All
right!
I’m on my way.” Without a goodbye, she disconnected.

“Good grief,” Elizabeth said to no one. “She’s been hanging with teenagers too much at that high school.”
And I’m talking to myself
.

Moments later, Kris rang the doorbell. She was armed with witch hazel, tweezers, and hair elastics. “I brought some makeup, too, just in case.”

“No makeup. Do you want him to think I’m trying to impress him?”

“Him who? Is this the sheriff we’re talking about? If so, you’ve overplayed the disinterested party routine. It’s time to pull out all the stops—”

“No.” Elizabeth gripped her shoulders firmly and guided her to the hall bathroom. “We’re keeping his dad company, is all. Don’t make a big deal of it. Just pluck my hairs, and I’ll braid yours.”

Kris sighed. “Oh, all right. But it’s just as Sunny says—you have a lot of beauty you hide.”

“Thanks. I think.” She prodded Kris toward the toilet seat to sit on the lid. “Let’s brush out your hair first.”

“Couldn’t you at least lose the glasses? It’s as if you hide behind them.”

Exactly—but she couldn’t tell Kris. The lenses offered minor correction for myopia. She could do without them, but the thick black frames added to her disguise. “The glasses are part of my image. I’m a college professor. Now pay attention, and next time you can do this yourself.”

She and Kris wasted most of an hour giggling and joking before Kris got her turn at shaping Elizabeth’s eyebrows. Peering at her image in the mirror, she smiled at the results.

Kris smiled, too, and nodded. “See how feminine you look? Shaped brows really highlight your eyes.”

“I’d forgotten what a difference it makes in my looks.” Elizabeth spoke without thinking.

“You’d forgotten?” Kris stepped back and narrowed her eyes. “You used to take better care of your looks, didn’t you? Hell’s bells, you’re a classic case.”

Elizabeth huffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve got you figured out. You used to be gorgeous. Then Mr. Wrong broke your heart. Now you insulate yourself with extra weight, dull clothes, and no makeup to avoid attracting another man. You’re protecting yourself from getting hurt again.”

Close enough
. The part about protecting herself from getting hurt rang true, but not the way Kris meant. “Sounds as if you have me all figured out, Sigmund Freud.”

“Well, you haven’t scared off Wilson Drake, which means he’s not a shallow jerk. Promise me you’ll give him a chance.”

“I am giving him a chance. But I’m also taking it slow.”

“Slowly,” Kris corrected, then chuckled. “Sorry! It’s a habit.”

Elizabeth pushed her out of the bathroom into the hall. “It’s what I deserve for hanging with English teachers.”

“You’re an English teacher.”

“Exactly.” At least for the past year. “Let’s take a break. I have Diet Coke in the fridge, just for you.”

“I’d love one, thanks.” Kris followed her into the kitchen, where she sat at the tiny bistro-style table, the set Elizabeth bought at one of many garage sales she frequented. “I thought you bought this set for your patio.”

“It’s the perfect size for the kitchen.” Elizabeth opened the refrigerator. “You and Cathleen helped me load it into my truck—remember?”

“Yeah, I do. That was one of those weekends Sunny was out of town. The three of us ate lunch at that cute little tea room.”

Elizabeth handed her the canned soda. “You mean the one that went out of business?”

“Well, a tea room in Foster County is a hard sell, you must admit.” Kris paused to take a sip of her Diet Coke. “So has your sheriff figured out who killed Cathleen yet?”