Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones (18 page)

Following Angie’s instructions, he pulled into the driveway of a small bungalow on an oak-lined street. White clapboard siding and a wraparound porch with a roofed entry over the blue-painted door welcomed them. Yellow flowering potentillas interspersed with neatly trimmed junipers bordered a brick walkway to the porch. All that was missing was the white picket fence.

Angie grabbed his hand and led him toward the house. Before they’d gotten halfway up the path, the front door opened.

A tall, raw-boned woman, her grey hair braided and pinned atop her head, stood in the doorway. About as far from Angie’s petite, pixie-like quality as anyone could be. Holding the screen door open with a hip, the woman wiped her hands on her blue-and-white checkered apron, then extended her arms in welcome. A broad grin brightened her sun-weathered face. “Angie.” Her smile diminished, and her gaze shifted to Gordon, moving from head to toe and back again. He tried not to squirm under the obvious scrutiny. Only then did he realize he and Angie’s hands were still entwined. So be it. Angie’s hand was warm, and the quick squeeze she gave him eased some of his discomfort. The woman’s smile returned. “And you must be Gordon. Please, come in. We’ve been dying to meet you.”

Gordon ushered Angie in front of him. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the aroma of spaghetti sauce assaulted him. “That smells fantastic, Mrs.—”

“I’m Willa. And my husband is Don.” She gestured toward the living room, where a barrel-chested man with a thick shock of white hair sat in a leather recliner, a blanket over his legs despite the warmth of the summer evening.

“It’s nice to meet one of Angie’s friends,” Don said, extending a hand. “Excuse me for not getting up.”

Gordon noticed the wheelchair parked beside the recliner. Angie hadn’t mentioned anything about it, and Gordon wondered if this was a temporary situation, or an ongoing condition. And why should it matter? He shook the man’s hand. “Gordon Hepler.”

The man’s handshake hinted at superior upper body strength, and Gordon adjusted his hypothesis to fit a man who’d been confined to a chair for some time.

“Park it, Gordon. Easier to see you at eye level. Would you like a beer? Wine? Something stronger?” The man’s voice boomed, almost as if he were making up for his other weakness.

“I have to be back at work, but I could handle a beer.”

“I’ll get it,” Angie said, and abandoned him.

So much for pleasantries. Making small talk wasn’t Gordon’s forte, so he sat on the couch across from Don, and cut to the chase. “Angie tells me you’ve lived in Mapleton a long time. I’m trying to track down someone who might have disappeared thirty or forty years ago.”

“Willa said something to that effect, yes. We’ve both been trying to remember. Small town gossip travels, but forty years is a long time. And spreading gossip does no one any good.”

Gordon bit his tongue to keep from mentioning Angie’s penchant for repeating things she heard. “Agreed, but in my line of work, I look at everything. Gossip and rumor are often rooted in facts, even though they might get distorted. It’s my job to see past the distortions and filter out the truth.”

Angie returned carrying a tray with two frosty mugs and two bottles of beer. She set the tray on the coffee table and handed a mug and bottle to him, then carried the other to her grandfather. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. When Don looked up, it was clear where Angie’s blue eyes had come from. And more than the color. They shared that impish twinkle as well.

“You two have a nice chat,” Angie said. “I have to help Gramma in the kitchen.”

Don poured his beer into the mug and held it aloft. “Cheers.”

Gordon followed suit. “Cheers.”

Don chugged a healthy portion of his beer. “So,” he said, wiping foam from his mouth. “How long have you and my granddaughter had something going?”

Talk about cutting to the chase. Gordon felt heat climb the back of his neck.

“I heard that, Granddad.” Angie’s voice carried from the kitchen.

Don winked at Gordon and turned his head toward the kitchen. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, Princess. Your gramma would love a great-grandkid. You could do a lot worse than the Chief of Police.”

Angie tromped back into the living room carrying a glass of wine. She sat next to Gordon, practically in his lap, and put her free arm around him. “And maybe I could do a lot better. You know, someone with a nine-to-five job who’d actually be around enough to help take care of that great-grandbaby Gramma wants so much.” She tilted her head at Gordon. “Don’t mind him. Or Gramma. I’m their last hope for another addition to the Mead bloodline.” She shifted her attention to Don, speaking loudly enough so Willa could hear her. “And this is why I don’t bring guys to meet you. Or do you just want the baby, in which case, I could skip the entire get-married-and-settle-down part and go straight for the kid. You could be full time baby-sitters.”

Don burst out laughing. “Touché, Princess. Meddling is over. Besides, I think it’ll be a lot more interesting to talk about Gordon’s police work.”

“Good.” Angie picked up her glass and retreated to the kitchen.

Gordon tried to imagine having that kind of a conversation with his grandparents. Nope. Would never have happened. To underscore that he was definitely moving into police work territory, Gordon pulled out his notebook. “About those names.”

“Save it for later. Dinner’s ready.” Willa came into the room, wineglass in hand. “Nothing fancy. Just spaghetti.”

Don hoisted himself into his chair and wheeled into the dining room and scooted to the head of the table. Willa pointed Gordon to a chair to his left, and she took the one to his right. Salads were set at each place, and a napkin-covered basket of what had to be garlic bread judging from the aroma, rested near Willa’s seat.

Angie entered carrying a huge bowl of spaghetti smothered in a red sauce. “Ta Da. Not to contradict my gramma, but this is hardly
just
spaghetti. Presenting the Mead family’s secret recipe spaghetti and sausage.” She placed the bowl in front of Gordon, then took the chair next to his. “Company first. Help yourself.”

After everyone had heaped their plates with Willa’s pasta and garlic bread, there were several moments of appreciative silence as they ate.

“I hope it’s not too spicy,” Willa said, her eye on Gordon. “Don’s family swears by extra-hot Italian sausage in their red sauce. Promising to uphold the tradition was almost a condition of our marriage.” She shot a suggestive glance at Angie. “The recipe gets handed down to all Mead
brides
.”

Angie glowered. “Stop it. As long as you and Mom have the recipe, I’ll enjoy it when I visit, thank you very much.” She gave Gordon’s shoulder a playful punch. “Or maybe I’ll pull some strings with the Chief here and have him run a full lab analysis of the sauce and get the recipe that way.”

“Delicious,” Gordon said quickly, hoping to avert any more discussions like the one they’d had before dinner. “I like the kick.” He mopped up the sauce with a slice of bread and took a second helping, to Willa’s obvious delight. “But if you’ll permit business talk at the dinner table, I would like to hear more about what you know.”

Don leaned over and elbowed Angie. “The third degree, heh? I bet you get a lot of this.”

Unlike Gordon, Angie didn’t blush. This time, she didn’t glower, either, but merely shrugged off the jibe. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Would you answer Gordon’s questions? Who disappeared forty years ago?”

Willa wiped her mouth and set the napkin beside her plate. “What about Daisy something or other. Powers? Peters? She left town in a hurry.”

“Knocked up,” Don said. “Plain and simple. Back then, you didn’t have a baby if you weren’t married.” He smirked at Angie. “Not like nowadays where there’s no stigma to being a single mom.”

Angie smirked back. “Hey, don’t look at me. I practice safe sex on all counts.”

Gordon figured he must be as red as Willa’s sauce by now. He fumbled for his pen. Daisy Last-Name-Started-With-A-P wasn’t much of a lead, but at least it was better than talking about babies and implied sex.

“She lived in that house on Shadowbrook, didn’t she? Across from the Randalls?” Don said. “But they’ve moved, too. Not many of us old farts left.”

“Donald Mead, watch your language. We’re at the dinner table.” Willa shoved her chair back. “I’ll get dessert.”

“It’s not like he’s never heard the word,” Don grumbled. He sat erect and composed his features into a stately expression. “Excuse me. What I meant to say, there aren’t many
ultra-mature
Mapleton residents left.”

Gordon shook his head, trying not to laugh, as he leafed through his notes, finding the pages where he’d written down the names Rose and Sam had given him. “What about any of these?” he asked, and started reading them off.

Over peach pie and vanilla ice cream, Gordon was able to eliminate five names from the Kretzers’ extensive list, but he added three more suggested by the Meads. “Do you remember Benny and Zannah Lowenthal? He was an architect. Retired to Florida.”

Don laughed. “Ah, Mister
Have I Got a Deal for You
. Sure, I remember him. Not her, though. Willa?”

Willa frowned, as if searching her memory. She scraped the last of her pie from her plate, chewed, and swallowed. “I think she might have been in book club. Or was it stitchery? I don’t recall, but if either of those groups is still around, someone might remember her.”

“Book club, stitchery,” Gordon mumbled as he wrote them down. “Do you have any names of people in either group?”

“Sorry,” Willa said. “My interests run to gardening. But I’m sure there are some people in my gardening groups who might belong to those groups as well. I can ask.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Gordon pulled out his business card case and gave cards to Don and Willa. “You can reach me by phone or email.”

Angie stood and began gathering plates. “You sit, Gramma. I’ll handle the dishes.”

“I’ll help.” Gordon collected the rest of the dishes and carried them to the kitchen. Angie stood at the sink, rinsing the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. He set his on the counter and leaned toward her. Close enough so she could hear his whisper, but not close enough to start another round of matchmaking. “You could have warned me.”

She turned and grinned. “Now what fun would that have been?”

Chapter 20

After dropping Angie off, Gordon stopped by his office and copied the list of names from his notebook to a legal tablet. Then he opened a new document in his word processor and jotted bullet points for what he’d say when he addressed the officers at shift change. Appearing at briefings wasn’t the norm, and he went over what he wanted to say so it wouldn’t sound preachy, pedantic, or like he was undermining the duty officers in charge. When he was a “normal” cop, things were usually black or white. A few shades of gray, but nothing like the constant balancing act being Chief required.

Could be worse, he told himself. Instead of his staff, he could be facing the media.

He read over his notes one more time, switching the order of a couple bullet points, and printed it. He thought about the sport coat he kept in his office closet, along with his uniform, but decided either would be too formal. This was a friendly reminder. He took the page from the printer, read it once more, then folded it and put it in his pocket. Knowing it was there should be good enough.

Nervous about addressing your own staff? You’re pathetic.

As he headed for the briefing room, he realized he wasn’t afraid of addressing his officers. It was addressing them in such a way as to avoid all mention of politics that made Willa’s peach pie sit like dead weight in his belly.

He entered the room a few minutes early. Officers milled about, drinking coffee, exchanging the usual bullshit he used to be a part of. He shouldn’t feel like an outsider in his own department. Although he still pitched in with routine work when it was called for, a line had been drawn. He couldn’t be one of the guys
and
be the Chief. Trying for a neutral-friendly expression, if such a thing existed, he strolled to the front of the room.

“Chief?” Todd Gaubatz, the duty officer, looked up from a stack of papers on the lectern.

“Evening. I’d like a couple of minutes if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. The floor is yours whenever you want it.”

Gordon leaned against the wall behind the lectern, wishing he had a cup of coffee. Anything to keep his hands occupied. Maybe make him feel like he fit in. “As soon as everyone’s assembled, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Five minutes,” Todd said.

No reason for him to stand here feeling like he was on display. “I’ll be back.” Gordon heard the hush follow him as he walked out of the room. He ambled to the break room and poured a cup of coffee. He fumbled his notes out of his pocket, read them one more time, then shoved them back in. Like it or not, this came with the job. He ignored the clenching in his gut, straightened his spine, and marched to the briefing room.

He timed his entrance to coincide with the duty officer calling everyone to attention. He lingered at the back of the room, listening to roll call and opening remarks. When he was introduced, there was a low murmur, along with a few craned necks as officers turned to watch him make his way to the front of the room. He took one final sip of his coffee, then set the cup on the lectern’s lower shelf.

“Good evening. First, I’d like to commend everyone for their dedication and service. Most of you were here when we dealt with the murder of Betty Bedford, and I couldn’t have been more proud to be your Chief. That pride still stands.

“A lot of you are aware that we have what could turn into a high-profile case for Mapleton. In a nutshell, we’ve discovered some bones buried in the woodlands near the home of Rose and Sam Kretzer. They’re definitely human, and have been in the ground for at least thirty years. Maybe longer.” A ripple of agreement and exchanged glances passed through the room. Some nods, but a lot of raised eyebrows, so Gordon filled in the blanks.