Scotched (2 page)
Authors: Kaitlyn Dunnett
A loud knock had her all but jumping out of her skin. Her feet hit the floor with a thump and she sat up straight.
A very tall, very stout woman in a gray pantsuit stood in the doorway. She had a big head to match her big bodyâa long oval squared off at the jawline. The shape was accentuated by the way she wore her hair. Her iron gray locks were cut very short. The effect put Sherri in mind of an old-fashioned swimming cap of the sort her grandmother wore in family photos taken in the 1950s.
“Can I help you with something?” Sherri's voice came out a bit higher pitched than she'd intended. They didn't get a lot of walk-in customers at the police department. The abrupt arrival of this one had caught her off guard. Most people phoned in with their questions and complaints, and, as a rule, there weren't very many of those. Most of the time, Moosetookalook was a quiet, law-abiding place.
“Are you Officer Willett?” the woman demanded.
“It's Officer Campbell now,” Sherri corrected her. “I recently married.”
“Congratulations.” The stranger stepped into the office, at once making it seem considerably smaller. Without waiting for an invitation, she settled her bulk into the bright red plastic chair on the other side of Sherri's desk. It groaned ominously under her weight. “Since you're not busy, I'd like to ask you a few questions.”
“I'm here to serve the public.”
Sherri put more warmth into the words than she was feeling. She told herself that it was ridiculous to feel intimidated. At five foot two, almost everyone towered over her. She should be used to it by now. But this woman was nearly three times Sherri's size and made her feel like a house cat facing down an elephant. She upgraded herself to lioness and reminded herself that she was the one with claws.
“You say you have questions?” Sherri asked.
The woman had burrowed into a briefcase-sized black leather purse and come up with a plain white business card. She handed it over and waited while Sherri read the lettering. It didn't tell her much. In the center were the words
THE NEDLINGER REPORT
and a Web site address. In the lower left-hand corner was a nameâJ. Nedlingerâwith a P.O. box, e-mail address, phone and fax numbers.
THE NEDLINGER REPORT
and a Web site address. In the lower left-hand corner was a nameâJ. Nedlingerâwith a P.O. box, e-mail address, phone and fax numbers.
“So, Ms. Nedlinger... what kind of questions are we talking about?”
J. Nedlinger's carefully shaped eyebrows shot up. “You've never heard of me?”
“Sorry, but no.”
“Oh, well. They say fame is fleeting.”
Sherri didn't like the way the other woman was looking at her. That intense stare seemed to her to contain a strong undercurrent of mockery. It was as if this Nedlinger woman knew something Sherri didn't and relished hugging that secret knowledge to herself. Sherri tried to tell herself she was being fanciful, as she had with that lioness and elephant image, but the impression remained.
“I'm a journalist,” J. Nedlinger said. “I collect information, in this case statistics. I'd like to know about the crimes your little town has suffered over the course of the last two years. Is that going to be a problem?”
Sherri tried to put her finger on why the woman made her uneasy. Ms. Nedlinger was quite stout, but there was nothing soft about her. She was physically fit. There were muscles beneath the sleeves of the plain gray suit, and she wore sturdy walking shoes. She was not someone Sherri would fancy meeting in an alley on a dark night. But, curiously, it was the image of a bulldozer that replaced that of an elephant. No predatory beastâjust one of those pushy people determined to get her own way.
Sherri had no reason to deny the woman's request. When it came right down to it, she didn't suppose she had any choice but to comply. What Ms. Nedlinger had asked for was public information, data that Sherri had, literally, at her fingertips. She tapped a few commands into the keyboard in front of her and heard the printer whirr into action.
One of the routine jobs Chief of Police Jeff Thibodeau had assigned to Sherri when he'd first hired her had been compiling the monthly statistics and feeding them into a computer program specifically designed to keep track of such things and report them to the state of Maine. The task didn't take much of her time. Moosetookalook had been known to go for weeks at a time without a single complaint that ended up creating paperwork. Arrests were not an everyday occurrence.
Two sheets of paper spilled out of the printer. Sherri glanced at them, then handed them over. “Here you go. This runs from May two years ago up to this week.”
The stout woman seized the pages with an eagerness that had Sherri tensing up all over again. She knew there was one statistic that was out of proportion with the rest for a village as tiny as Moosetookalook. Sure enough, Ms. Nedlinger zeroed right in on it.
“Three murders in two years? Isn't that a bit excessive?”
Hidden by the desk, Sherri's hands clenched into fists. When she felt her fingernails bite into her palms, she forced herself to relax. She made an effort to keep her voice level. “These things happen even in small towns, Ms. Nedlinger. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Were you personally involved in any of the murder investigations, Officer Campbell?”
Sherri glanced at the card in front of her on the blotter. J. Nedlinger's P.O. box was in Boston, Massachusetts. Sherri wondered why an out-of-stater would care what crimes were committed in rural Maine.
“Criminal investigations, Ms. Nedlinger, for the more serious crimes, especially homicide, are handled by the state police. And for almost anything more complicated than a traffic violation, Moosetookalook usually asks for assistance from the county sheriff's department.”
“That was a somewhat evasive answer.” Ms. Nedlinger's pale blue eyes gleamed with amusement.
Abruptly, Sherri stood. “I'm afraid that's the only answer I have to give you, ma'am. May I suggest that you contact the Maine State Police? They have an officer specifically assigned to public relations.”
“I'll do that.” She tucked the printout into her purse and gave Sherri a tight-lipped smile as she also rose from her chair. “Nice talking to you, Officer Campbell.”
After she'd gone, Sherri snatched up the business card she'd left behind. What an unpleasant woman! She was tempted to tear the pasteboard rectangle into tiny pieces and toss it in the trash. Instead, she turned back to her keyboard and typed in the URL for
The Nedlinger Report.
The Nedlinger Report.
A blog came up on the monitor.
Sherri skimmed a piece criticizing how a police investigation into cyber-harassment was being conducted, then read an item lambasting the parents of a recent victim for not supervising their daughter's presence on the Internet.
“Well you just hate everybody, don't you,” Sherri muttered to herself as she scrolled down the page.
She stopped when she came to something a little different. Instead of an op-ed piece on some aspect of real-life crime, this blog entry was a review of a recently published mystery novel. J. Nedlinger had nothing positive to say about the book. In fact, she was downright nasty in her comments and, worse, gave away the ending.
Sherri was about to click away from
The Nedlinger Report
when the movement of a line of type at the bottom of the screen caught her eye. Next to the words “today's readership,” going up even as she watched, was a number. Sherri stared at it, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was barely noon and, if this was legitimate, the most recent blog entry on
The Nedlinger Report
had already attracted over forty thousand hits.
The Nedlinger Report
when the movement of a line of type at the bottom of the screen caught her eye. Next to the words “today's readership,” going up even as she watched, was a number. Sherri stared at it, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was barely noon and, if this was legitimate, the most recent blog entry on
The Nedlinger Report
had already attracted over forty thousand hits.
The possibility that the rude woman who'd invaded her office had that many fans made Sherri even more wary of her interest in crime in Moosetookalook. Whatever she was investigating now, it could not be good for the village.
Sherri wondered if she should alert the town selectmen to a potential public relations problem. Better to wait, she decided. She'd just as soon avoid unnecessary contact with the three elected officials who had charge of the police department's budget. One was her newly acquired mother-in-law, another the local mortician, and the third a slippery character who sold real estate. None of them numbered among her favorite people. It didn't take much effort to talk herself out of taking action. What could any one of the town officials do about J. Nedlinger's interest in local crime anyhow? Besides, if the blogger were left to her own devices, she might well decide their sleepy little burg wasn't worth the time to trash.
Sherri set the phone to forward any calls to her cell, locked the office, and headed for Main Street, pausing only long enough to exchange friendly waves with the town clerk. In addition to the police department and the town office, the municipal building also housed the public library, which took up the entire second floor, and the fire department.
Just as Sherri stepped out onto the sidewalk, on her way to meet her new husband, Pete, at Patsy's Coffee House for lunch, she spotted Liss MacCrimmon driving past in Dan Ruskin's truck. Liss braked and rolled the window down. She was blocking the narrow street, but it hardly mattered. There was no other traffic.
“I'm heading out to the hotel,” Liss said when they'd exchanged greetings. “I've got a load of Angie's books in the back.”
“Right. Conference.” It was on Sherri's radar, as was the Saturday-afternoon book signing. Both were only distant blips, since she did not expect any problems with traffic or crowd control. “Have fun.”
“I plan to.” With a cheerful wave, Liss drove on.
Sherri resumed her trek to the coffee shop. She didn't have far to walk. The small restaurant was right next door to the municipal building. Less than a minute after she'd seen Liss on her way, Sherri pushed open the door and walked in. Pete was waiting in a corner booth, the same one he always chose if it wasn't already occupied. She slid across the bench seat toward him and lifted her face for a quick kiss.
“Hello, handsome,” she murmured after he complied.
Black-haired and brown-eyed, at five-ten Pete Campbell had the tall and dark down pat. As for handsome, he wasn't a classic Adonis type, but he suited Sherri just fine. He was built like a linebacker, square and solid, and he looked a treat in his brown deputy sheriff's uniform. He was working the two-to-ten shift this week, patrolling Carrabassett County's rural roads to keep the community safe.
“Hiya, gorgeous,” Pete replied with a grin. “How's your day going?” At her grimace, his smile faded. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not till after lunch. I don't want to ruin my appetite.”
Pete had already ordered ham and cheese subs for them, along with chips and the diet root beer Sherri had lately become addicted to. When the last chip was gone, she felt calm enough to repeat her conversation with J. Nedlinger and share the discoveries she'd made on the Internet.
“Sounds to me like she might be doing a story on small-town police forces,” Pete said, “and since she seems to go in for the negative, I'll bet she's planning to argue that they're useless in this day and age.”
“Oh, that's a cheerful thought!”
Sherri turned her gaze from the dregs of her soda to the view through the plate glass window of the coffee shop. From that vantage point, she could see two sides of the town square. Directly opposite Patsy's place was Stu's Ski Shop and, next door to it, Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. Then came Liss's house. Sherri's gaze rounded the corner, lingering only briefly at the post office. The Clip and Curl took up the back half of that building. Upstairs there was an apartment. Their apartment. The place where Sherri now lived with her brand-new husband and her precious son, Adam, a boisterous seven-year-old. And, best of all, they lived there without her mother.
Cheered by that thought, Sherri was almost smiling when she continued her visual survey. Next to the post office stood what had once been The Toy Box and, before that, Alden's Appliances. Now it was a jewelry store that featured items made with Maine tourmaline. Beside it, on the corner, sat Preston's Mortuary.
Sherri couldn't see the side of the square she and Pete were on, but she knew what it looked like well enough. The bookstore came first, then the municipal building at the centerâthe only building of red brick in a sea of white clapboards. Patsy's Coffee House occupied the corner lot. The remaining side of the square likewise had three structures. First was the house of John Farley, an accountant. Then came Dan Ruskin's place, which wasn't a business yet but would be once he converted his first floor into a showroom for the custom woodworking he did in his spare time. And finally, around the corner from the ski shop, was a building that had once been a consignment shop. It had recently been sold to a young couple Liss knew from her days as a professional dancer. They were going to open a dance studio there.
All in all, Sherri thought, Moosetookalook was a nice quiet little village with a charming, picture-perfect town square. Except for the fact that two of those twelve buildings, within the last two years, had been the scenes of violent crimes. When you added what had happened at the hotel the previous January and the murder of the manager of Liss MacCrimmon's old dance troupe down to Fallstown....
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