SIXTEEN

Blake sat on the couch, hunched over the coffee table, tapping his pen on the lined note pad. For a proper internal affairs investigation, he had to bring in a citizen who would be unbiased. That ruled out Janie, Betsy Ann, and George since they were all witnesses. Gates frowned on bringing in someone from I.A. in Austin as a consultant. Even in a smaller city such as Alamoville, some distrust of the police in general had filtered into public opinion due to recent national headlines about kick-backs, brutality, and evidence tampering, not to mention two headliner movies and three hit TV shows that had featured plots which flushed out dirty cops. His officers had noticed the change in civilian attitudes and commented on it. Bringing in a big city negotiator might make the local press think he’d stacked the deck.

He thunked his temple with his fingers as he spoke to his reflection in the glass table top. “Duh, Blake. How about Ethel? She’s smart, savvy on crime, well at least as portrayed in the books she reads, and is about as trustworthy as they come. Perfect. She’ll jump at the chance.”

Blake recalled how excited she’d been when she and Janie had been detained in the police department interrogation room after the morgue break-in. Like a kid at the circus for the first time. He picked up his cell phone to dial her number, but halted on the third digit. He hit delete and speed dialed Janie instead. She answered on the second ring.

“Blake. Hi. Let me set Mrs. Fluffy’s new ultra-light weight cat litter down. Lighter, my foot. It weighs a ton.” She huffed into the receiver as she picked up her phone again. “Now, wait until I tell you about my visit to the chief of police’s...”

He heard her kitchen chair scoot across the tile, then a slight swoosh as the fake leather cushion gave every indication it had been pressured by her rear end. “I thought you were going to have that rip in the upholstery repaired.”

“I will. Duct tape is a quick fix for now.”

“Right. Which is why it almost sounds like a whoopee cushion,” Blake groused.

“Boy, aren’t we a grump.”

“Sorry. Sitting on my you-know-what all day having my head examined got to me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it did.” She sighed through the connection. “I have the material to redo all four of the dinette chairs, but I need your industrial sized automatic stapler.”

His tone brightened. “Why don’t I bring it over now? We can tackle it together, and you can tell me all about your day. There’s something I want to discuss with you as well.”

“Oh, goody. Is it related to my assignment?”

Blake chuckled. He could almost picture her bouncing in her chair like a school kid on the last day of classes. “Yep. Do you need foam? I can drop by the home improvement store and grab some cushion pads.”

“Excellent idea. Probably the stuff in there now could use replacing. Jack and I bought this set when Mel was in middle school.”

“Right. See you in an hour.” He hung up and called up the stairs. “Mel. Your mom needs help reupholstering her dinette set. Back in a few hours.”

“What about your all-important investigation?” Her voice filtered down to him.

Blake cringed at the iciness of her tone. “I have to interview her again anyway. Kill two birds…”

Mel appeared at the top of the landing, folding a bath towel. “You know I’m jealous, don’t you? Your honey-do list from me is yellowing with age.”

He took the steps two at a time and pecked her firmly on the cheek. “Sorry. I’ll start on it as soon as we get back from vacation. I promise.”

Her mouth dropped. She pointed over his shoulder. “Oh, look. A purple pig just zipped by with polka dot wings.” She harrumphed and wandered back into the bedroom to finish folding clothes.

Blake smirked. While he was at the hardware store, he’d pick her up that wind chime she always eyed when they went into the garden department. The $39.95 one with hummingbirds. Unless of course, he could find one with purple pigs...

~*~

Janie stopped in mid-cut with her shears hovering over the fabric. “You’re asking Ethel?”

Blake rocked back on his heels. “The guidelines for internal investigations specify that in small towns, the force should bring in a citizen of impeccable standing as a consultant. You don’t qualify.”

She placed her other hand on her hip. “Because I’m your mother-in-law?”

“That and a prime witness.”

“Why did Gates give this to you?”

“Because I’m on administrative leave, so I wasn’t in anyway involved in the manhunt, nor anywhere near the station at the time of the, um, Wellington incident.”

She cocked her head to one side and narrowed one eyelid. “You don’t think Wellington committed suicide, do you?”

“Too soon to tell. I have gaping holes in the timeline. After I begin to fill those in, I might venture a theory.”

She resumed cutting out her piece, trying not to wince at the loud pops of the stapler as it hit through the fabric and foam onto the wooden base of the chair seat. Blake stapled, stretched, stapled, stretched. He flipped the cushion over. “There. Smooth as butter.”

“Oh, yes. That is such an improvement. I’ll have enough fabric left over to make a swag valance for the kitchen window. Those curtains are so tired and faded. They never really fit either, but I had them on my kitchen window at the house and the new owners didn’t need them.” She gazed around the room. “Do you think I need to paint the walls, too?”

He cocked an eyebrow and lowered his chin toward her. “You? Paint?”

“Why not?”

Blake grunted as he lifted himself from the floor and went to pour some iced tea.

“It’s peach.”

“Hmm. Oh, well. I’m thirsty.” He took a gulp, shuddered, and dragged the sugar bowl across the counter to add a few teaspoons to the brew. Clanking the spoon around the glass, he walked back to their makeshift work area in the middle of the kitchen.

“I wasn’t hinting you should do it for me, Blake.”

“Good. Because Mel is already jealous I’m over here instead of at home doing some of the things on her lists.”

“Shouldn’t you be?”

He shook his head. “All of hers are heavy duty stuff. Work on the compost pile, trim the trees limbs back from the gutters, clean the gutters, add more pavers to the patio. Replace several slats in the fence. Doc wants me on light duty. Upholstering seat covers doesn’t even work up a sweat.”

“Very well, then. You said you wanted to interview me some more?”

“Yes. We can do that while we finish these.” Blake set his cell phone on the table and punched up the recording application. “Tell me in as much detail as possible. What happened from the time you saw the white van until Mike met up with you.”

“You’re recording it?”

“Have to. Protocol.”

She set her work down. “We need to take a break, then or no one will hear a thing over that confounded stapler.”

He gave her a grin. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s finish the last two before we do, OK?”

She slapped her cheek. “Did you record that?”

“About finishing the last two covers?”

“No.” She batted her eyelashes at him in jest. “The part where you admit I’m right.”

He laughed so hard he almost toppled backward.