Wave Good-Bye (10 page)

“GRACE ANN? I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.” HANK hitched his thumbs in his utility belt, all the better to show off his nightstick and his gun. Behind him stood his partner, Officer Ally Qualls, a short, dark-haired woman about my age, who seemed interested in Hank romantically. I wanted to tell her she was welcome to him, but I hadn’t figured out how. Today, Officer Qualls stayed in Hank’s shadow, giving me the impression she wasn’t totally on board with his visit.

Her hair needed cutting and styling. Badly. She also needed a good exfoliant, because her skin was muddy and rough.

“You ever heard of knocking?” I stood up and faced him. “You can’t just barge in here like you own the place.
Didn’t your mother teach you any manners, Hank? Wait don’t answer that.” His mother was one of the reasons I divorced him. She’d spoiled him beyond all reason. Betty Parker was a major pain in the backside. Truth to tell, Hank couldn’t have learned manners from Betty because she didn’t have any.

“I’m here on official business.” Hank narrowed his eyes in his best Clint Eastwood imitation.

“I don’t care if you are here on orders from the president of the United States,” said Mom, adding her voice to mine as she stood up. Even though she’s only five foot two, she could stare Hank down in a heartbeat. “You can still knock when you’re on my property. Are we clear, young man?”

“Yes, Mrs. Terhune.” The tips of Hank’s ears turned pink.

“What is it you need, Hank?” My mother crossed one arm over the other and glared at him.

“I’m conducting a murder investigation.”

“I thought only homicide detectives conducted homicide investigations. Or marshals from the GBI.” After living with a cop for three years, I had naturally absorbed a bit about law enforcement protocol.

“Right. I was the first responder. I’m following up.” In a low voice, he added, “This could make my career, Grace Ann. I plan to crack this baby wide open.”

“Good for you. You want a medal or a chest to pin it on?” I said. Because I still had tears in my eyes from Mom’s announcement, I was a bit grumpier than usual with him. Not that he didn’t deserve it. Hank seems to think I’m his private property.

“A medal or a chest to pin it on? Ha, ha, ha. That’s so old, even my grandmother knows that one. Nice try, Grace Ann. But I’m not here for fun and games. I’m taking you down to the St. Elizabeth Police Station.”

“What? Why there? Why not to the GBI office?” Mom and I had been there once before when we found a woman dead in a parking lot.

“They’ve got mold. It’s closed until they get it cleaned up. You can come with or without handcuffs.”

No way was I letting horny Hank put a pair of handcuffs on me. Not if I could help it.

“Mom, I’ll be right back.” I leaned in to give her a kiss. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I won’t. You haven’t done anything wrong, darling. Call me if you need a ride home.”

Officer Qualls adjusted her utility belt meaningfully, as if to issue a reminder that she was ready, willing, and able to take me down. With a sigh, I grabbed my purse and headed through the salon.

“What in the blue blazes?” said Althea as we paraded past.

“Be right back,” I said, with more optimism than I felt.

Hank’s police-issued Crown Victoria was right behind my Fiesta. My ex craned his neck toward my vehicle and said, “Hang on. I think you’ve got a tire going flat.”

After walking over, he ducked down, slapped a hand on the rubber, stood, and pronounced it, “Fine.”

“Get in,” said Hank, opening the door and gesturing toward the backseat of his car. He took great pleasure in planting a big hand on my head to guide me into the car. Totally unnecessary, since I wasn’t cuffed. True to his usual crude style, he also tried to cop a feel.

“Get your hands off me!” I yelled at him.

“Calm down.” He snickered and hopped into the driver’s seat.

Qualls rode shotgun. I spent the trip itching to suggest a good moisturizing shampoo to her. No one said a word the whole way there. Fortunately, Hank loves to ride with the
window down, and the breeze felt good on my skin. Of course, we didn’t have far to go because the station is across town, but any ride in a cop car is a long ride.

The St. Elizabeth Police Department occupies a concrete block building designed to serve as a shelter when a hurricane blows through. Squat, ugly, and unfriendly on the outside, it’s not much better inside. Institutional green paint covers the walls and a rubber baseboard runs along the flooring, a gray-flecked linoleum that needs to be replaced. The smell hits you right away, a combination of burned coffee and men’s cheap cologne.

“Hey, Grace Ann! Long time no see,” said Officer Shep Shepkowski, stepping out from behind the front desk to give me a big bear hug.

“How’s Mary Louise? And the kids?” I smiled up at him.

“Aw, she’s fine. I’ll tell her you were asking after her. Is this a social call?” Shep’s gap-tooth grin matched his wonky haircut. Mary Louise did it herself with dog clippers, I reckon.

I shrugged. “You’d have to ask Hank. All I can say is I didn’t come of my own free will.”

“Suspect in the Butterworth murder.” Hank rocked back on his heels, with his thumbs tucked inside his utility belt, and smirked. His shirt barely buttoned over his big belly, and his belt rode low around his hips rather than at his waist. Meanwhile, Officer Qualls stood there and glared at me.

“Right,” I said. “I look like a natural-born killer, don’t I, Shep?”

“What a kidder,” said Shep, as he slapped his thighs and howled with laughter.

“You won’t be laughing when I solve this and end up a hero!” Hank grunted as he took me by the elbow into an interview room. Officer Qualls brought up the rear.

“You aren’t actually going through with this, Hank, are you?” I rolled my eyes.

“Make all the jokes you want, Grace Ann. This is my job. Time you realize it. I am a law enforcement professional, and I’m on the way to a big promotion. Better grab a chair, because we’re about to begin an extensive interrogation.” Officer Qualls took a seat at the farthest corner of the room possible. My ex pulled out his Miranda card and started to read me my rights. I nearly fell off my chair.

He was serious. Totally serious.

You learn a lot about law enforcement when you’re married to a cop. Most of what I learned those three years with Hank was depressing. Stuff like how dangerous domestic disputes are, how it feels to wonder every day if your husband will come back alive, and how truly evil the world can be. I did take note of one vital piece of information, one lesson that I had promised myself I’d never forget: never, ever talk to a cop without a lawyer.

“I know my rights, Hank. Call Dooley Jenkins.”

“Aw, crap, Grace Ann. Don’t do this to me! I’m just going to ask you a few simple questions about where you were last night. See, we’ve got this credit card slip from Walk-Inn Foods that puts you there at the same time as Lisa Butterworth, and the skeezy kid behind the counter says the two of you got into a shouting match.”

“Call Dooley.”

“Did you know Lisa was dating Wynn Goodman, hmm?” Up until now, Officer Qualls had maintained a neutral expression on her face. With this tidbit from Hank, she struggled not to show her surprise—and dismay. Shoot, everyone knew he shouldn’t be such a blabbermouth. Everyone but Hank.

“Call Dooley.”

With a snarl of frustration, Hank shoved back his chair.
“Call him yourself, Grace Ann. You’ve still got your cell phone on you.”

That’s exactly what I did. While I waited for him, I climbed another level in Angry Birds after managing to knock down all the pigs with one volley from the slingshot. I also downed an entire can of Coke Zero and ate two bags of pretzels. I offered to share and Officer Qualls said, “No, thank you.” Later she did nibble a couple of pretzels. I pretended not to notice.

Dooley showed up fifteen minutes after my call.

Chapter Fifteen

“HEY, DOOLEY, THANKS FOR COMING.” I STOOD UP and gave him a hug. Dooley sat behind me in study hall for all four years of high school. Back then he was the pimple-faced kid. Today he’s an okay-looking guy with a big Adam’s apple, a great haircut (I do his hair, natch), and a partner named Phil who works in a men’s clothing store. Dooley always looks and smells great. Some people whisper behind his back about his sexual preferences, but Dooley has come into his own. He’s a confident man, a successful lawyer, a partner in a long-term relationship, and he’s happily out of the closet.

Hank stomped back into the room and slammed his chair against the table as he sat down. My empty Coke Zero can went flying off the table, and bounced twice onto the floor. I picked it up and gently put it in the trash can.

“Ya’ll should offer recycling,” I said. “Set a good example for the rest of us.”

“I agree,” said Dooley. “Being a government entity, you have a responsibility to the community.”

“In fact, I insist that you recycle this,” I said, retrieving the Coke can from the trash and handing it to Hank. “Go put it in the recycling bin outside. We’ll wait.”

Hank didn’t know what to do. Glancing from the can to Dooley to me to Qualls, he finally got up and left the room with my can. Upon returning, he read me my Miranda rights, turned on the tape recorder, and asked me my name. I turned to Dooley, who gave me the thumbs-up.

“Grace Ann Terhune.”

Next came my address and place of employment. Dooley approved all that.

“Where were you last night between the hours of eight and nine?”

Thumbs down.

“What was the nature of the altercation between you and Lisa Butterworth when you ran into each other at Walk-Inn Foods?”

Thumbs down.

“Is it true you were stalking Lisa Butterworth? We have witnesses who saw you driving your Fiesta through the municipal parking lot last night at seven thirty P.M.”

Thumbs down.

I exhaled. At least someone had spotted me in the municipal parking lot and not in the parking lot of Snippets.

After fifteen minutes of thumbs down on Dooley’s part and silence on mine, Hank stood up, and slammed the chair against the table one more time. “Thanks a lot, Grace Ann. Thanks a heap. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

“If you are done with my client, we’d like to leave,” said Dooley.

“Just don’t leave town, Grace Ann. Hear me?”

“You haven’t filed any charges. You have no reason to keep her or to impede her travel,” said Dooley, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “Let’s call it a day, Officer Parker.”

“She’s not leaving until I say so!” His face was red as Hank slammed the chair once more, but this time he got his finger between the chair and the table. “Ow!” he yelled. “Son of a gun!”

The door behind Hank flew open and in walked John Dillon.

Chapter Sixteen

SPECIAL AGENT IN CHARGE JOHN DILLON OF THE Georgia Bureau of Investigation and I met last May when he’d investigated the death of Constance DuBois. Once he was sure that neither Mom nor I stabbed the woman, the sparks flew between us. He’d asked for my phone number, but never called me. That might be for the best. John Dillon was the kind of man that I could fall hard for. I didn’t need that sort of complication in my life. Drama and I don’t play well together.

I’d taken to calling him Marsh—short for Marshal Dillon—and couldn’t bring myself to think of him as John. While Hank was taller than Marsh by a couple of inches, the GBI man held himself ramrod straight and exuded an air of command that said “soldier” or “cop” or certainly
“guy in charge” in a way that Hank would never have. Even though Hank was wearing the uniform issued to all thirty members of the St. Elizabeth County Police Department, and Marsh was dressed in street clothes, my ex did not look nearly as official or as menacing as Marsh did. John Dillon had a chiseled jaw and a longish nose marred by a lump that suggested it had been broken at least once or twice. His deep blue eyes contrasted with his tanned skin and neatly cut dark hair that was graying at the temples.

His brows rose a fraction as he surveyed me and asked, “Officer Parker, what’s going on here?”

“Interviewing a possible suspect, sir.” Hank wiggled like a schoolboy caught misbehaving.