It was easy to pick Sheryl out from the other smokers milling around the side door of the building. Her puffy swollen eyes were red and her cheeks, chin, and nose were too. It was hard to tell if it was from grief or if her skin was always this flushed. She wiped tears away as Parker and Tommy asked if she would talk to them about Jackie Chandler.
“Well, I guess so, as long as Mr. Hoover said it was okay,” she said and sniffled.
According to Sheryl, Jackie headed up the office’s fantasy football league each year, organized mobile blood drives, and had a wicked sense of humor. As she spoke, Parker looked off into the distance as if he forgot why they were there. He was so irritating. When Sheryl finished speaking, Tommy moved in for the kill.
“Sheryl, can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Jackie? Did she mention any enemies?”
“God no,” Sheryl said, gasping. “Everyone liked Jackie.”
“What about some guy who was angry that she denied the claim for his wife’s experimental cancer treatment. I think this was about six months ago. Did she mention this to you?”
“Oh, hell, that happens all the time,” Sheryl said. “Most of us just laugh it off. Jackie did let it get to her sometimes, though. She would have approved every claim that came her way if it were up to her.”
“Did she ever say anything about receiving threats or anything like that?"
“Nope. And she would have told me. We were pretty close. We walked every day at lunch.” Sheryl burst into tears. “See that’s the thing. I’d quit smoking and was walking with her, but it was raining and I wimped out and now it’s all my fault she’s dead. If I went with her, she’d still be alive. I just know it.”
Tommy reached over and put her hand on Sheryl’s hand.
“I know this is difficult, but it’s not your fault. I’ve covered a lot of stories like this and what you just said is not true at all. The fact is, if you were with her you might have been killed, too. So please don’t think that way for another second.”
Sheryl sniffed and nodded, seemingly relieved. “Maybe you’re right.”
Parker handed Sheryl his card. “Please call me if you can think of anything else you think we should know.”
Sheryl peered up at him from under her bangs. “That’s what the cops said.”
“Well, call them first, then call us,” he said.
Tommy quietly took out her own card and handed it to Sheryl, as well. Parker raised his eyebrow at that.
Back in the car, Parker looked over at Tommy. “That was a bunch of crap, you know. If she had been with her on that walk, I’m sure Jackie Chandler would be alive right now.”
“Screw you, Parker.”
Tommy stared out the window until they pulled up in front of Jackie’s house.
This was the visit she dreaded most. It’d only been one day since Jackie had been killed. Her husband, Don, would still be shell-shocked. Parker had tried calling him, but the person who answered had slammed down the phone without responding. Twice.
But the attempt had to be made.
Tommy tucked her camera into its big black back and swung the bag behind her back as they made their way up the sidewalk to the Chandler home.
The Chandler’s lived in a heavily treed part of South Minneapolis with modest, but charming craftsmen homes.
The front porch was enclosed and tidy with a row of colorful pots overflowing with pansies lined up the steps. A green glass sphere rested on a small white pedestal.
Tommy waited behind Parker as he knocked on the door. Nothing.
They waited a few more seconds and he knocked again.
Finally, a young woman emerged from the inner door and came up to the screen door leading to the enclosed porch. Her eyes rimmed red and hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She wore a Syracuse sweatshirt.
Parker introduced himself. “We’re doing a story about Mrs. Chandler and wanted to see if her husband could talk to us and tell us a little bit about her and why she will be missed.”
Smooth. But that was his middle name.
The young woman just looked at them in a daze.
“And you are?” Parker asked.
“I’m Lynn. She’s my stepmother.” A fresh wave of tears erupted. “I mean she ‘was.’”
Tommy stepped up. “Lynn, we are so sorry to bother you right now. If you want we can come back at a better time, but our story on Jackie is going to run tomorrow and we would like to let the world know about her. If you could, we’d love to talk to you. And maybe see if you had any favorite pictures we could share with people.”
Lynn bit her lip as if she was thinking about it. “Hold on.”
She disappeared back in the house, leaving the door open. Tommy and Parker could hear the murmuring of voices in the background. Suddenly, Don Chandler emerged. He looked weary but gave a tentative smile as he held open the door.
“Come on in.”
Tommy was relieved. The paper had run the picture of him on the front page above Parker’s story. It was a great shot, but so intimate that Tommy was worried he’d be embarrassed about it.
Chandler led them into a living room that clearly had a woman’s touch — big comfy couches with flowers and a collection of angel figurines had prominent place on a doily across a large coffee table.
“Can I get you some coffee?”
Tommy and Parker shook their heads.
“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Don Chandler said, his voice filled with despair. “We just found each other. I spent my whole life waiting to be with my soul mate and then as soon as I was, she was taken away from me. It’s not fair.”
“You’re right. It’s not fair,” Tommy said.
Don Chandler spent the next half hour talking about his wife — her love of animals and angels, her deep spirituality, and her belief that everyone had some good inside them.
“She never bought into people being all bad,” Don Chandler said. “We’d see people on the news who did terrible things to other people and Jackie would say they must have had a rough life to turn out that way. She was the most compassionate, understanding person I’ve ever met. She’s my angel.”
He broke down in sobs again. Tommy and Parker waited patiently.
After a few minutes, Chandler brought out a stack of photos in a shoebox and handed it to Tommy. She flipped through, admiring them, trying to decide which one would be best with Parker’s story.
Don Chandler stopped her when she got to one that showed him hugging Jackie. She wore a red dress with a plunging neckline and he wore a tuxedo. Behind them was a giant blue banner that read, “Class of 1987.”
“This was at her 30th class reunion in June. Did you know she was voted “Best Preserved? That’s how pretty she is.”
Was. It always broke Tommy’s heart when people referred to their dead loved one in the present tense.
“She’s gorgeous!” Tommy said, meaning it.
“Ha,” Don Chandler chuckled. “Yeah. Lots of guys were jealous of me that night. Especially her high school boyfriend. Got so drunk declaring his love for her, he had to be hauled away early by his friends. I think Jackie was a little embarrassed at all the attention she got at the reunion. She was sort of overweight in high school, and frankly, most of her life. Took a health scare for her to get serious about being in shape and all that. But I loved her any which way she was. She gained a few pounds, I’d just tell her, ‘It’s okay, honey, that just means there’s more of you to love.’ She didn’t think it was quite as funny as I did.”
Don Chandler looked down. Parker and Tommy exchanged a look.
“Do you have any idea why someone would have targeted her?” Parker asked.
Don Chandler just shook his head in despair.
“All I want to do is find the son-of-a-bitch and strangle him with my bare hands.”
Tommy looked at Parker and raised her eyebrows.
But then Don Chandler sighed. “But that’s not what Jackie would have wanted. She would want me to forgive him. But God help me, I don’t know if I can. Even for her.”