Chapter Thirty-three

By the time Parrott logged the plastic bar code fragments and DNA-testing items into evidence, it was late afternoon. He hadn’t intended to put in a whole day’s work on this warm, sunny Sunday, but that’s how things happened when he had a hot case.

Driving home with the windows down, he imagined walking into the house and savoring the aromas of whatever culinary creations Tonya had prepared. Peanuts, and coffee notwithstanding, his stomach was moaning for food. If Tonya hadn’t cooked, he would take her out, maybe to the steak and ribs joint they both loved. Either way, he was looking forward to spending quality time with her.

Five minutes from home, his cell phone rang, flashing Claire Whitman’s name as the caller.

“Detective Parrott, I hope I’m not disturbing your Sunday. There’s something I think you need to know.”

Parrott’s rumbling stomach took a back seat to his racing heart. Another break in the case? “No worries. You can call me anytime. What have you got for me?”

“It’s about Charlie Wukitsch’s son, Wyatt.” In a calm and unemotional voice, she summarized what Charlie had told her about Wyatt’s entering detox and his confession that he had been the one to restrain and blindfold his father before the meth explosion. “Frankly, I’m surprised. I’ve known Wyatt his whole life, and, although he’s had a drug problem for quite some time, he’s always been close to Charlie and respectful to me.”

Parrott’s mind was ten paces ahead. “Do you know where Wyatt is? Do you have contact information for him?”

“Charlie’s asked for a few days off to check Wyatt into detox in Wilmington.”

‘I’ll touch base with Charlie.” Parrott pulled into his driveway and cut his motor off.

“I hope this confession doesn’t jeopardize Wyatt’s recovery. Charlie is so hopeful. I almost didn’t call you for that reason. But then I thought of that poor young man who was killed in the meth explosion, and I knew I had to tell you.”

“You did the right thing. I’ll need to interview Charlie and Wyatt.” Parrott raised the car windows. “And thanks.”

Parrott strode into his cottage, Wyatt Wukitsch, plastic bar codes, and DNA on his mind. He was greeted by the pungent aroma of barbecue sauce, followed by a full-body hug from his sweet-smelling wife. Tonya wore a pair of blue jean shorts and a white off-the-shoulder knit top that ended an inch above her waist. His hands massaged the warm, bony knobs of her spine, as he buried his face in her neck and shoulder.

Horace chirped from his cage. “Wowee. Wowee.” Parrott lifted Tonya and swung her around, laughing at the bird’s commentary.

“Welcome home, detective,” Tonya said. Your bird and I have missed the heck out of you.” She broke from the hug, leading Parrott by the hand to the oven, where a rack of ribs simmered in a thick, homemade sauce. Two strip steaks covered in marinade, rested in a dish on the counter, and two fresh ears of corn on the cob sat next to a pot of steaming water on the stove. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Parrott burst into a loud chuckle. “Funny. I imagined steak or ribs for dinner, even thought we could go to Isabelle’s if you didn’t feel like cooking. And here you have both. You read my mind.”

“I figured you probably didn’t eat all day. Also, I wanted to celebrate.”

Parrott took her back into his arms and gave her a long kiss. “What are we celebrating?”

“Let me put the meat on the grill, and you go get cleaned up. I’ll reveal all at dinner.”

Parrott was so delighted to be home, he didn’t know what to do first, shower, eat dinner, or do something more intimate, but he consoled himself with the fact that he could do all three in due time, and that made him a happy man.

After his shower, Parrott finished up the grilling, and the two sat down across from each other. Before he dove into his serving of ribs, Parrott poured two glasses of wine and lifted his glass. “A toast to the chef and whatever she wants to celebrate.”

“I don’t believe in distracting a hungry man from his food. Go ahead and start eating.” She put her napkin in her lap and sipped her wine for a few minutes.

After three ribs, four bites of steak, and a whole row of buttery sweet corn kernels, Parrott came up for air. “Delicious. Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Absolutely. I didn’t want to miss a second of watching your greedy self.” Tonya picked up a rib and slid the moist, tangy meat between her teeth and chewed. “Now, I suppose you want to know what three things we’re celebrating.”

“Three things? Tell me now.”

“Number one. We’re no longer represented by Ms. Hightower. I told her we’ve changed our mind about Malvern, and we’re going to step back and regroup with another realtor more in line with our revised goals. I’m glad we never signed a contract with her.”

Parrott muttered between bites. “How’d she take it?”

“She wasn’t happy. Asked me if that was my decision or yours. I told her we shared the same concerns. Once she realized I really meant it, she got huffy and ended the call without even saying goodbye.”

“She hung up on you?”

“Yeah, but no big deal.” She took a bite of steak. “That led to celebration number two. I searched the Sunday home ads and found a couple of houses in Exton. The same realtor listed several of them. I called him up and he told me he could show them right away. So, we have a new realtor, Thom Thayer, and I’ve already seen three listings that I really like.”

“That’s great. You’ll have to show me the listings after dinner.” Parrott washed down his last bite of ribs with wine. “What’s the third thing?”

“Third one might surprise you. I’ve been thinking about how busy you are with this case, and how much you love your work, even on a Sunday. Even though I don’t need to work for the money, what with my pension and the gift from Elle, I’d like to be doing something valuable, something interesting. I don’t want anything full-time. I need to keep time in my schedule for physical therapy and PTSD counseling—and my art—and house hunting.” She grinned as if she’d told a funny joke. “So, I applied for and found a new job.”

“You’re kidding me—all in one day? What’s the job?”

“Don’t laugh. I’m going to work on Tuesdays and Thursdays at Elle’s Don Guanella campus at Manderley. Elle has hired me to assist her with art therapy with the higher-functioning students. I’ve already reviewed the lesson plan for this Tuesday.”

Parrott took both of Tonya’s hands in his and squeezed. “I think that’s wonderful—for you, for Elle, and for the people whose lives you will impact. Truly worth celebrating.” He stood and began clearing the table. “Let me put everything away and clean up the dishes. Then can we call it a night? I’m bushed.”

“Tell you what. I’ll help clean up. That way we can get to bed sooner.”

Within ten minutes the dishes were done, Horace was fed, and Mr. and Mrs. Parrott were on their way to bed. As Parrott stroked his wife’s side from her neck to her thigh, he remembered the houses. “Don’t you want to show me those house listings?”

Her voice had already thickened into that dreamy quality that reminded him of honey. “Maybe tomorrow. Some things are way more important than a new house.”

Parrott couldn’t have agreed more.