The morning newspaper hit Robinson’s desk as though some monster fly were being swatted. Papers and notes scattered and drifted to the floor. Robinson gave a resigned look at the floor, then the figure looming over his desk.
“What the hell is this?” Mayor Schuler barked. “I thought I told you that no one was to speak to the press. All communication comes through my office. What part of no one don’t you understand?”
Chief Murphy stepped from behind Schuler and grabbed the newspaper from the desk. “This is why you had me rush over here?” The headlines read Police Cover-up with an opening statement insinuating Schuler’s relationship with the golf course owner was the reason more attention wasn’t being paid to the murder of Donna Oberweiss. The reporter also managed to weave in the connection to Morning Glory and the two owners.
Schuler ripped the paper from Murphy’s hands. “Where are your detectives on the case? I want them in here.”
“They are out working leads.” Robinson hefted his bulk from the chair and picked up the litter from the floor. “If you read further along in the article you will discover that it is the victim’s family that was interviewed by the press. I have no authority to tell them not to exercise their First Amendment rights. They are leaving town soon and concerned that progress hasn’t been made on Donna’s case.” He assembled the pink phone messages in a time-stamp order and set them under a paperweight shaped like a gun. He gathered up the rest of the papers from the floor and put them in a neat stack.
There was a hint of amusement in Murphy’s eyes but he kept the smile from his lips. “You can always order the family to keep their mouths shut. That should read good in tomorrow’s headlines.”
“Are you sure it isn’t your investigative consultant who is putting words into the mouths of the relatives? Have you no control over that broad?” Schuler turned to the chief for a reply.
“I would be careful how you refer to women, Mister Mayor.” Murphy checked his nails, wondering if he were due for a manicure. “Sensitivity courses are mandatory in the department.”
“Fuck that. Now what is happening with your number one suspect, that guy you picked up who had the victim’s ATM card?”
“We cut him loose,” Robinson replied. Where have you been? he wanted to say.
“What the hell for?”
“No proof.”
“This the derelict who curled up next to the body because it was still warm?” Murphy asked.
“What?!” Schuler’s mouth gaped. His cushy job as owner of a trucking company had shielded him from some of the horrors in the everyday life of a cop. “And you let him sleep in our jail?”
“Yeah, like it’s the Ritz Carlton.” Robinson flicked his eyes to Murphy who was secretly enjoying the naivety of the newly elected mayor. “You have had a tour of our jail, haven’t you?”
“Forget it. But I’ll tell you one thing.” Schuler jabbed a finger at Robinson. “I better not see one more article about the body at Lake Bluff.”
“It won’t come from my office, just like today’s didn’t come from my office.”
“Perhaps your press secretary should pay a visit to the victim’s family,” Murphy suggested. “They are staying in her apartment while they finish cleaning it out. A little explanation that this is an ongoing investigation and mis-information in the press might deter the apprehension of the killer could help.”
Schuler narrowed his beady eyes at the chief. If he was trying to look threatening, he wasn’t pulling it off. He looked more like Baby Huey having a temper tantrum. “Are you telling me how to do my job?” He shoved the paper under his arm and stalked out.
When Schuler was a reasonable distance away, Murphy said, “Someone has to.”
“We didn’t talk to the press, Dennis. Neither did Sam or the family.” This time the smile did reach Murphy’s eyes. “I know.”
Why that crafty bastard. Robinson should have known Murphy would work behind the scenes, letting Schuler think the family was the leak when it was actually the chief getting in his daily stick it to the mayor.
<><>
“I feel like spaghetti.” Sam studied the shelves of pasta noodles. “Or maybe lasagna.”
“I have plenty of sauce in the freezer, Samantha.” Abby tucked the blanket behind Dillon to support his back as he sat in the grocery cart.
Sam pulled a box of lasagna noodles from the shelf. “Is one box enough?”
“Get two just in case.” Abby steered the cart around the corner and down the cereal aisle. She consulted her grocery list as they maneuvered around a young woman pushing a cart shaped like a car. A toddler was turning the steering wheel and pushing an imaginary horn. “We need oatmeal.”
Sam grabbed a container of instant oatmeal and placed it in the cart. Dillon tried to turn behind him to see what was in the cart but he was sidetracked by Abby shaking rubber toy keys in front of him. He squealed and grabbed the keys. The quilted cart protector circled him like an island so even if he dropped them, the keys would land in the blanket.
“Oooh, the baking aisle.” Sam eyed the brownie and cake mix.
“I need corn bread mix.” Abby pointed toward the Jiffy mix on the shelf. “Get five boxes. I think we’re running low at home.”
“You don’t think Jake believes you still make it from scratch, do you?”
“I think he has seen the empty boxes in the garbage. You know not much escapes your husband’s eyes.”
Three women prowled the aisle checking the price of olive oil and spices. One woman wiggled her fingers at Dillon as he shook the car keys.
Abby stopped to inspect her list. “We forgot green beans. I wanted to make a green bean casserole.”
“No brownies?”
“I’ll make them from scratch, Samantha.”
Sam grabbed a bag of chopped walnuts. “For the brownies.” During her first pregnancy, Jake had encouraged Sam to eat only healthy foods so Abby had refrained from buying any sweets for the house. That had lasted a few months until Sam’s cravings got the best of her. Jake had learned the hard way not to deny a pregnant woman anything.
They made their way back to the vegetable aisle where a stock boy was emptying a cart of canned products. He worked quickly, ripping boxes open and slamming the cans onto the shelves at an amazing speed. Sam placed three cans of French cut green beans in the basket. “Do we have cream of mushroom soup at home?”
“Yes.” Abby checked off the item on her list. “I think we have everything we need.”
A frigid breeze drifted down the aisle and swirled around them, wrapping them in an Arctic chill. Click…click. Where had Sam heard that sound before? Click…click. Out of the corner of her eye Sam saw a man wearing a suit pushing a grocery cart containing potato chips, frozen dinners, and a twelve-pack of beer. He slowed to study the canned vegetables. Click…click.
The chill increased as he neared. Sam saw Abby straighten and a look of apprehension filled her face. The man was dressed for the office. He was average height with dark hair cut military style. As he rushed past, Sam felt cold fingers crawling up her spine. The chill wasn’t the only thing that bothered her. “Mom.” She tried to keep the fear from her voice should Dillon pick up on it.
Abby swooped up Dillon and the cart protector in her arms. “We’ll wait for you in the van.” She held on tight to her grandson as she rushed toward the exit doors. Sam pulled on gloves as she maneuvered the grocery cart down the aisle. She found the man in the next aisle studying the cans of soup. Sam slowed, focusing on the stuffing mix but keeping one eye on the man. She was close enough to see he was checking the contents of a can of vegetable soup. He placed the can back on the shelf and grabbed a can of chicken rice soup. He returned that can to the shelf, grabbed two cans of chicken noodle soup and set them in the cart. Sam proceeded down the aisle keeping her attention on the cans he returned to the shelf. He paused at the end of the aisle. Click…click.
Now she remembered where she saw him before. He was watching Tamara when Sam was talking to her at the coffee shop. But he hadn’t looked the same. At the coffee shop he had been dressed in work clothes. And he hadn’t had that much hair. Was he wearing a hair piece? Today he was in a suit and wore horn-rimmed glasses. He didn’t appear to recognize Sam but that was fine. At the time he only had eyes for Tamara.
He left the aisle and headed toward check out. Sam hurried to the shelves of soup, grabbed the cans he had touched and placed them on the top basket to keep them separate from her groceries. She planned to go through the self-service lane so the cashier wouldn’t leave her fingerprints on the cans.
Both she and Abby had felt the evil floating in the air as he had walked by. It had crept along the floor before circling them and been so strong that neither Abby nor Sam had to touch him to feel it. But there had been more than the frigid air. Sam had heard a whisper, soft at first, then gaining in volume as he drew closer. It had been the same word she heard when she touched Donna’s purse and the same word that had flashed on Marti’s phone—destiny.