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Sensing my entry, Chief Flint turned from surveying the scene out the front windows.
"What happens now?" I asked, boldly walking to his side. Might as well face the Pied Piper.
His living room portrayed a lovely view of the carnage of run-down plants in the field. Most of the gawkers had driven off, back to their lives. Mr. Wilson was finishing hitching up the tow truck, with Josiah watching on.
His eyes softened slightly, "That is exactly what I was going to ask you. Or maybe 'who now?"
"What do you mean?"
He indicated I sit down in the living room, where somehow the sugarless, caffeine free soda can, in my absence, had morphed into my favorite fountain drink.
"A gift from Mr. Wilson," Chief explained, "when he came personally to look at the van."
Gulping half in one breath, I swallowed all the generic pain pills the EMT boys left for me, and then, choosing firm support over comfort, I eased gingerly into his turn-of-the-century ornate wooden rocking chair.
Taking a seat across from me on the couch, Chief Flint waited patiently as I settled into a less painful position, before he raised one finger, "This morning, I sent Officer Engebrecht to follow up on that lead you gave us. You were right. Samantha Stone had copied the recipe. Harvey showed it to her eight or nine months back and bribed her into making the treats for him every month."
Second finger raised, to continue, "Meanwhile, Nancy Pickler walked in with her story, ID'ing the ring from the picture as the ring she once owned, but claimed Harvey never asked her for anything."
Third finger came up, "And finally, Officer Engebrecht sees that Tammy Connor is back in town. When he goes to get her statement about Monday night, she confesses to the candy bars. And, at your suggestion, I am told."
Wrapping up his speech, he stated, "That is three people for three of Harvey's items. So, who else did you talk to that hasn't confessed, yet? That might be the person who sliced your brake line in half."
"So, it was deliberate," I replied, sucking more sugar to fight the stress.
"Mr. Wilson just confirmed it," he confirmed. "Someone, most likely at your last stop, sliced the brake fluid line almost clean through. What store and where did you park for that?"
"I stopped for your dry-cleaning. Kristi's on Dinglewood Street," I answered distractedly, trying to take it all in. "Uh, I parked in the back under the trees to keep the van cooler."
"Secluded, you mean. In the center of town, the purple van attracts attention, which, in a way, makes it safer. But parking it out of sight presented an opportunity," he sighed, "Now do you see how dangerous it is to be snooping around a killer? You have more curiosity than a cat, but they at least have nine lives."
His attempt at humor did not amuse me, "Me-ow" I replied.
Chief slammed his palm on the table. "You were damn lucky you weren't killed today, Rainbow, or killed someone else."
"I know that!" I screamed at him, choking on the last word as the ribs screamed back, a rack of pain shook my whole body. Stifling a yelp as pain wrapped around my side, I breathed slowly in and out, until the black cloud cleared out of my vision. I replied softly, "You really think I wanted to get a killer mad at me for the fun of it?"
Calmly, he offered, "You said it yourself, you encourage curiosity."
"For learning and scientific discovery, not for chasing criminals," I said.
Knock, knock.
"Evidently, whomever killed Harvey thinks otherwise." Chief let that hang in the air while he sauntered to the door to confer with his officer.
To distract myself from the throbbing pain, I eased out of the rocking chair to walk around the room. While Chief Flint's office was a modern conglomerate of stainless steel, his house was surprisingly warm. The rocking chair wasn't the only antique in the room. A beautiful Queen Anne-style highboy curio cabinet sat in the corner. The stain shone fresh, evenly laid through the fluid curves, but the tongue and groove connections reveal its true age of over three hundred years old. It was a beautiful restoration, as was his buffet. I would never declare myself to be an expert on antiques but I had studied antiques in art school. The smooth maple buffet with carved scalloped edged designs was a true classic Chippendale style block front chest. I appreciated the time and love that poured into the restoration of the two-hundred-year-old beauty.
The half-unpacked boxes haphazardly placed on top and around it hid the true beauty from first glance. The mess of boxes was totally understandable considering he had only been there a week, and a very busy week at that. I walked over to a box to see what was inside. It had some dishes from the kitchen, and a few knick-knacks still wrapped in newspaper. Well, he hadn't had time to unpack much, not with chasing down a murderer.
Wait just one minute! That was our local newspaper wrapped around his dishes. That meant he was either packing up again, or putting these things in storage. I unwrapped the top item. It was a framed picture of a young girl swinging on a tire hung from a maple tree. A water tower and windmill in the distance were the clues I needed.
Realizing I didn't hear the Chief speaking at the door anymore, I turned to find him right behind me, holding out his hand for the frame.
"Your wife, Laura, on the Pennington farm, I believe." I placed the frame carefully in his hand. He looked surprised, as I explained, "She lived here for four, maybe five summers with her grandparents, if I recall. I didn't know her much because those summers I spent on my father's farm up north. That is why her picture in your office seemed familiar but I couldn't place her then."
"Yes," He said, staring at the photo. "Her favorite memories came from this farm and the community around it."
"That would be the village of Edgewood, which had little more than a feed-store, hardware store, post office and three bars. But they attended St. Matthew's Lutheran Church, which is why I heard of her. If I recall, her grandparents died in a car accident that next winter and her mother sold the farm to family members. Laura never returned." History lesson ended, I caught his eye, "But now you came to honor her memory? Or be close to her again?"
I thought, at first, he wasn't going to reply. When he did answer, his voice was a mile away. "Laura was vibrant, in her own quiet way. Most days, I knew I made a difference on the force, but sometimes, well, then I had Laura. I would come home, worn out from seeing the worst in people, she was like a breath of fresh air."
Gingerly he returned the photo to the buffet, "Laura had a gift for storytelling, honed in her many years as a kindergarten teacher. When she spoke of those summers, she made them come alive with warmth and love, the ideal place to raise the family we were never blessed with. When she died, a part of me died, too."
Looking at me, "So, to appease your curiosity, when I saw the job opening, I just applied."
"Then why are you leaving?"
"How did you...?" He questioned.
"Yesterday's newspaper wrapped around a precious photograph," I pointed to the date. "I thought you might be wrapping it for storage, but not this photo."
He sighed, "Blindsiding unsuspecting people with observations to get confessions? You should be a police officer."
I ignored his commentary, "I happily prefer a career as mother, and don't change the subject. You are thinking about leaving, are you not?"
"Thinking about it, yes," he admitted.
"Why, if I may ask?"
"If you may ask?" He mocked my curiosity. "Well, let me tell you what I have discovered about Laura's 'caring little town who always gives a helping hand and a smile'. To the people here, I am the outsider and the enemy, not the murderer - who is probably also their cousin twice removed or something. No one is willing to talk about the actual crime to me. Yet, they would love to hook me up with their granddaughter, or stuff me with three-day old chocolate cake. The only person who seems to give a damn about catching the killer of Harvey Henson is you."
He scoffed, threw his hands in the air, and stalked off to the kitchen. "Why am I even talking to you about this? You wonder why the killer would be after you? Just look around. Everyone you talk to spills their guts."
I followed him and found him cleaning up his TV dinner dishes. "I just listen. And sometime that is all they need."
He continued running water, mixing soapy water for the dishes, his back to me. After the silence dragged on, I tried a different tract. "How long has she been gone?"
The Chief paused amid washing his blue with yellow daisies coffee mug, "Thirteen months and twenty-three days."
"Long enough for mourning without making rash decisions," I agreed. "Which means you chose to come here for a reason."
"You think you have me all figured out." He said, placing the mug in the sink to dry.
"Just the opposite, really. I have no idea why a strong, determined and decorated officer would give up after a week."
"I am not giving up. I just don't belong here," He said, slamming his fist on the counter, followed by a whispered swear word. Regaining his composure, he sighed as he sat down at the kitchen table. "The city council should have hired Corbin to be the chief, with your ear to the ground the two of you would be unstoppable."
"There is where you are wrong. I do hear things at times. Who wouldn't around here with all the jabber-boxes? But I do my best to stay out of the gossip mills. Just this week I heard many negative things about Harvey's past that I didn't want or need to know," I shuddered. "I prefer to look for the positive in all things. Life is too short and hard to focus on anything else."
I sat down across from him, "Other things I have just observed and put them together. Very much like a detective, but I don't want your job. Being a wife and mother is the only full-time job for me. And Corbin doesn't have the experience of age. I saw all those achievements on the wall. You didn't get them riding on someone's shirt tails. You have so much to teach him."
Electronic musical notes playing Weird Al Yankovic’s "Just Eat it", the boy's ringtone for their father's number interrupted my admonition.
Chief retrieved my phone from his pocket. "Mr. Bailey. He called earlier. I said you were resting."
I accepted the phone before turning away for privacy, "Martin, honey, I am fine."
"Rainbow, you are not fine!" Martin hissed, his hushed tones barely disguising his panic. I could hear the rush of customers ordering in the background. "Where are you right now? I am coming to get you!"
"Martin, sweetie, calm down. I am a bit bruised, but I am fine."
"Rainbow, you could have broken your neck with that whiplash. I am taking you to the hospital!"
I cut him off. "Martin Fitzgerald Bailey, I think I would know if I had broken something. Don't you dare start listening to the town rumors. I was strong enough to give birth to five children at home, I am strong enough to survive a bumpy ride."
"You are telling me you didn't crash into the Chief's rental house with Wilson's van and cut your head?"
"No, honey, I didn't. I only plowed through a corn field. I am fine." I said. Well, sort of fine. I knew I couldn't hide the bruises from him forever, but he didn't need to worry about it. "Now, you are going to stay at work. I will be heading home soon to bake cookies for the rest of the day. I will call when I get home, and you can check on me there, Okay? I love you."
"Love you, too," said Martin, almost giving in, but not quite yet. "Is the Chief still there?"
"Yes," I admitted, wondering where this was going.
"Let me talk to him," he said.
"Why, Martin?" I was tired, exasperated, and getting hungry. Breakfast had been earlier than normal and I still had a long day ahead of me.
"Please, for me?" He replied, with no explanation.
I sighed. Martin, my beloved, knew he married a strong, independent woman. Well, maybe, that was probably an understatement. Martin had only known me for two years, and half that time I was still in college.
We fell in love over common ground- small town life, creative spirit, and independence- but we quickly learned our styles were total opposites. Martin was meticulous in his creative endeavor, by recording his recipes for future replication, much like a scientist. My artistry was more emotional, free flowing, just like the way I lived my life. While he planned methodically, I tended to jump in with both feet which meant more for him to handle.
Since our vows, he has had to worked with my focused best, and my stubborn crazy worst, which usually hit at the same time. Falling over a dead body was probably the worst in the last sixteen years. Martin put up with my crazy life, the least I could do is honor a simple request. Perhaps the Chief would relieve his mind.
"Only for you," Handing over the phone I explained to Chief Flint. "My knight in shining armor wants a word with you."
I left the kitchen while Martin conferred with the Chief. The strain in Martin's voice left no doubt the topic of conversation. Poor Martin was on the sidelines of this situation, while I was in the thick of it. He was worried about the safety of his wife and the mother of his children. In the end, it didn't matter what Martin said to the Chief of Police. Chief Flint admitted, just moments ago, I was no longer on the suspect list, so he couldn't lock me up for safety. And I refused to be intimidated into hiding.
The situation had to change soon. The attacks were escalating and next time could injure my family. Why? Was it something I saw? Or something I did? This morning I spoke with the Chief, ran errands and talk to a few friends. Had someone been watching me? That would be extremely difficult, since I knew everyone in town. Surely, I would have noticed someone following me through town. Especially through the streets to the dry-cleaner's house. On the other hand, I hadn't been watching either, just going about my business in my normally quiet hometown.
Closing my eyes, I focused on my steps around the dry cleaner's house from parking under the tree in the back to front door. I remember waving to Mrs. Olson as she fed the birds between batches of dough. Her oven had a knack for burning the two cookies on the end. The birds loved her for it. Otherwise, the street had been as quiet as it should be in the middle of a work and school day in early May.
This wasn't working. I couldn't name the killer. I could not even imagine any of the people I spoke with earlier as someone who would harm me, or Harvey. Yet, someone knew the town so well, it couldn't be someone just passing by. Our only hope would be to keep Chief Flint here working for the city. We needed Chief's impartiality along with his experience. If the Chief quit and the job was handed to Corbin, old feuds could surface fast.
With no useful details coming to mind, I gave up. There was something more important at the moment. After all that soda, I needed to find the bathroom. Heading down the hallway, past the Chief's bedroom, my feet continued past the bathroom to explore to the second bedroom. The door was half open revealing a pile of tarps, wood stain, and rags all piled against a beautiful, but weathered, eighteenth century secretary, a desk-bookcase combination with dovetailed corners and drawers. Peering in for a better view, I could see the original varnish had been stripped, awaiting a new protection layer of stain.
"Snooping again?" Chief Flint remarked, arms crossed, leaning his bulk against the door frame.
"I was looking for the bathroom until this beauty caught my eye. The scroll work is divine." I ran my hand over the intricate designs carved lovingly in the oak standing tall before me. "Restoring a family heirloom?"
"No," Chief hesitated, sighing softly before continuing. "Laura's hobby. She was the expert. She would find the dirtiest junk from the dump or estate sales, strip and stain them, and make a hefty profit. I simply helped with repairs."
With just barely a touch, the fall-front opened to reveal three small drawers. Each fit snug in their slots, sliding out and in with ease. "It feels smooth. Almost brand new. As if I am back in the year it was made."
"The three original drawers were missing," he admitted. "By using an old oak picture frame for the sides, and bottom from a broken oak drawer, both about the right age, I built replacements. I also replaced the lopper supports that were chipped and off track."
"Tight tongue and groove corners. That takes talent." I admitted.
Chief shrugged, "It was nice working with my hands. Laura replicated an old English recipe for gluing the arches in."
"How much longer until it is finished?" I asked.
"Probably never," Chief said, closing the desk and nodding toward the door. "Like I said, Laura's hobby."
I frowned, "Yet you moved it all the way out here."
"It was the last one we worked on together," he admitted.
I nodded, "Good reason."
"I have Rainbow Bailey's approval. My life is now complete," he snarked. "Now, bathroom is back this way."
Childish it was, but I couldn't help it: I stuck out my tongue and crossed my eyes as I walked past him into the bathroom.