But Tim didn’t answer. He seemed to be scrolling. Then he stopped.
Beyond the hum of the refrigerator, silence hung as Tim leaned toward the computer, reading. Frank looked at Darla, who continued to glance between Tim, Frank, and the front window.
Then Tim turned. “Oh no.”
Darla stood. “What’s the matter?”
Tim didn’t seem to know what to say. He stared at the floor, shook his head, his hand on his cheek.
“Tim! What’s the matter?”
“It’s . . . it’s the conversation . . . the other night, when I was mad.”
“About the vote?”
“Yes, yes. About the vote. The whole conversation is on there. Except there are, uh . . . The, um, curse words. Aren’t.”
Frank had noticed that too. Whoever was recording these conversations seemed to be taking out the cusswords.
It felt like the air in the room disappeared. Frank said, “Why don’t you both sit down.”
Tim made his way to the couch, his eyes distant. Darla looked totally stunned. They sat down, this time a small space between them. Both stared at Frank as if he had an answer.
Finally Tim spoke, his face tightly drawn. “They think we hung their cat just because I was mad at him?”
Frank decided to take it a different direction. “Sir, do you go to the hardware store? Al’s?”
“Yes. All the time. Why?”
“Were you there this week?”
“Yes.”
“What did you buy?”
Darla’s face looked like it hadn’t seen the light of day in a decade. She tried to keep her composure, but her hands were shaking. “Weed killer, wasn’t it?”
Tim nodded.
“Did you pay cash for it?”
“You really don’t think we did this, do you?”
“Did you pay cash, sir?”
“Yes, we pay cash for everything.”
“You pay cash for everything?”
“Yes.”
“No credit cards or debit cards? What about checks?”
“No. Cash. Except for bills.”
“Why?” Frank asked.
“It’s the envelope system,” Darla said.
“The what?”
“It’s a method for getting out of debt, living within your means,” Tim said. “You pay cash for everything, like clothes, groceries, things like that.”
Darla hopped up and grabbed her purse, pulling out a small, yellow book. “See? Here.” She handed it to him. Inside were small envelopes filled with cash. Each envelope was labeled differently:
Groceries
.
Dining
.
Date night
.
Pharmacy
.
Frank handed it back and scribbled a note about it.
“It’s Dave Ramsey’s idea,” she said.
“Who’s Dave Ramsey?” Frank asked.
Darla pointed behind Frank and he turned around. There, standing in the darkness of the far corner of the room was a life-size cardboard cutout of a man, balding, fiftyish, pointing his finger toward Frank.
“He’s a financial guy. Writes lots of books,” Tim said. “To help us stay on track, we took him and had him blown up.”
“Enlarged,” Darla said quickly. “What Tim means is that we had him enlarged. We don’t blow things up, of course. Or people. Or hang things.”
“Look, Officer, I don’t know what’s going on or how they heard our conversation, but we did not kill the Caldwells’ cat. I was angry when I was speaking to my wife. But that was a private conversation, and the next day I was over it. Ted has not mentioned a thing about it to me. I didn’t even realize he was upset. He canceled coffee early this week, but he said he was busy. I didn’t think twice about it.”
Frank stood and closed his notepad. “All right. We may need you to come in and answer some more questions later.”
Darla seemed to be in full-blown panic. “Do we need a lawyer?”
“No,” Tim snapped. “Of course not. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I can’t answer that question, ma’am. Do what you need to do. But for now, I’d advise staying away from the Caldwells until this thing is sorted out.”
Tim seemed sad more than anything. He walked to the window and looked out, his back slumped. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
7
“Frank, I’m so glad you could stay for dinner,” Kay said, putting the pot roast in the center of the table.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Frank said. As Jenna and Hunter slowly made their way to the table, Frank leaned forward, engaging Damien. “Maybe I should call her.”
Damien sawed into the meat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“This is not like Angela. She doesn’t not show up for work.”
Damien plopped some potatoes onto his plate as Kay returned with the salad. “There are a billion reasons she wouldn’t show up. Sick. Family emergency. Had to go neuter a pet. You’re overreacting.”
Frank sighed and sank back into his chair, crossing his arms and staring at the food. “I don’t expect you to understand. It’s just that she never gets sick. And she never misses work. When we were married, she never missed one day of work. Not one. For anything. She’s dependable and a vitamin C addict.”
Jenna and Hunter took their seats.
Frank put on a smile. “Hey, kiddos.”
“Hey,” Hunter said.
Jenna offered only a small smile. Damien cleared his throat, and she made another attempt with a slightly bigger smile.
“What’s going on these days?” Frank asked.
Hunter grinned. “Jenna’s grounded.”
“Shut up,” Jenna said. “So is he. From his cell phone. For racking up, what was it, three thousand minutes?”
“From the Internet,” Hunter added. “For beating a girl—”
“I’m going to shove this roast beef up your—”
“Okay,” Damien said, meat knife in hand, waving it between the two of them. “Let’s try to be civil while Uncle Frank is here.”
“Then tell the rodent to shut up,” Jenna said, jabbing her fork across the table at Hunter.
“Right in the nose—”
“Hunter! Enough,” Kay said. “It’s not up for discussion.”
Damien took a deep breath and served himself some peas.
Jenna suddenly stood, grabbed her plate, and headed upstairs.
Kay passed Frank the salt and pepper. “I’m sorry about that. She’s going through a stage. I think it’s just hormones.”
Frank nodded and looked at Hunter. “What about you? How’s school?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Built any more computer programs?”
“Nah. Too busy.”
“I finally got the Wii. Maybe you can come over and play it this weekend.”
Hunter’s face lit up. “Really?”
When Frank’s cell phone rang, he reached to his belt to grab it. “Sorry. It’s my work phone.” He frowned as he checked the caller ID. “Huh. It’s the captain. Excuse me.” Frank left the table.
Damien glanced at Kay. “I think we should tell Jenna to get back down here and stop being rude.”
Frank returned to the table. “I have to go. Kay, I’m sorry to leave in the middle of dinner. It’s a work thing.”
“You’re not even on,” Damien said.
“I can’t talk now. I’ve got to—” Frank stopped himself and turned to Damien. “You want to come with me?”
“What?”
“Come on. You’re the investigative reporter now. And this is going to be quite a story, I think.”
Damien looked at Kay, trying to look appropriately desperate and remorseful all at once.
Kay smiled. “Sure. Go on. Hunter and I can eat three pounds of roast beef all by ourselves, can’t we, Hunter?”
“Thanks!” Damien jumped up from the table. “Hold on. I gotta run upstairs and get my briefcase and a tablet and pen. And a recorder.” He raced upstairs and flew into his bedroom, gathering his soft leather briefcase, which contained everything but a recorder. Nearly out of breath, he hurried to Jenna’s room and knocked.
“What?”
“I need a favor.”
“Come in,” the sulky voice said.
Damien opened the door. The first thing he noticed was the room was littered with clothes, shoes, papers, and empty fast-food boxes. It stunned him into silence because Jenna was normally compulsively neat. When was the last time he’d been in her room? How long had it been like this?
“What, Dad? You’re standing there like a moron.” She eyed his briefcase. “Going to work? At night?”
“I’m running to a crime scene or something with Frank. He says it’s a big story. I need a recorder. Do you have one?”
Jenna shook her head.
“Surely you have one, with school and everything. It usually takes a little tape and you—”
“They’re digital, and no, I don’t have one.” She sighed loudly, rolled her eyes, and got off her bed, walking toward him. She pulled his cell out of his shirt pocket, pushed a few buttons, then handed it to him. “You can record on this thing.”
“I can?”
“Just go to the utilities menu and there’s a recorder under there. It’s so unfair. You hate cell phones, and you’ve got the top of the line.” Back on her bed, she wrapped her arms across her chest.
Damien set his briefcase down and tiptoed over the junk to join his daughter on the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Believe it or not, I’m concerned about you. You’re not acting like yourself.”
“Really.” Deadpan expressions came easy to Jenna these days. As a little girl, her face would light up with all kinds of expressions. Her eyebrows rose high on her head. She blinked when she got very excited. She grinned, even when she was doing something wrong.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Damien said, daring to reach out and pat her foot, which she quickly retrieved and stuck under her pillow. “You know you can talk to me. You’ve always talked to me about everything.”
She stared at her pillows. “It’s nothing. Just hormones, as you keep saying.”
“Do you want to see a doctor for that?” Damien asked.
Jenna looked at him, her eyes narrow and scornful. “Is that it? You think a pill is going to solve all this? solve me?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. At all. You’re taking it wrong.”
“Yes, well, that’s my calling card these days. I’m overly emotional and taking everything the wrong way, so you better leave now while you can escape with your life. When my hormones get disheveled, I’ve been known to eat people alive.”
Damien smiled.
Disheveled
. He loved when she used words in unique ways.
Disheveled hormones
. Now that was a word picture.
His smile faded as he met her eyes. Nothing but contempt seemed to live inside them. He wanted to hug her, hold her in his arms, but she could hardly stand to be touched. He was left with nothing else to do but get up and go. At the doorway he turned and said, “Thanks for the help on the recorder.”
She didn’t look up.
“Take your dishes downstairs when you’re finished and help your mother clean up.”
That, at least, evoked something. Disdain? Who cared. He needed her to be something more than absent.
Grabbing his briefcase, he hurried downstairs, stopping by the dining room. He found Kay sitting alone at the table, her hands folded and her chin resting on them. It was as if she’d prepared a huge feast for only herself and didn’t have the stomach to eat it.
“Where’s Hunter?”
Kay nodded to the window. “He wanted to walk Frank out.”
Damien stared out the window. The two of them leaned against Frank’s truck, talking. He turned back to Kay. “I won’t go if you don’t want me to.”
“Why? Of course I want you to go.”
“You look sad.”
“I’m okay. Go. Get those facts. Write a killer story.”
Damien laughed. “I don’t even know what I’m going to, but if Frank thinks it’ll make a good story, he’s probably right.”
He pecked her on the cheek and hurried out the front door and down the sidewalk. Hunter, upon seeing him, stood erect and stepped away from Frank, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a sudden interest in the dead winter grass.
Frank regarded Damien as he went around the truck. “I don’t think breaking news is your forte.” He glanced deliberately at his watch. “It usually means you have to be quick on your feet.”
Damien waved at Hunter as he got into Frank’s truck. “Sorry. I’m ready now.” He snapped his seat belt on. “What were you and Hunter talking about?”
“You always hovering over your kids like this? No wonder they’re going berserk.”
“Is Hunter going berserk? Is that what you’re sensing? Because I think I caught him with porn the other night.”
“He was just getting some Uncle Frank time, okay? Sometimes it’s easier to talk to people outside your family.”
Damien sighed. “Yeah, okay. I guess. But you have to tell me if he’s getting into something he shouldn’t.”
Frank pulled the truck onto the neighborhood street. “You shouldn’t worry so much about him. He’s a good kid. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“I know he is.” Damien pulled out his notepad. “So what is it that we’re going to?”
Frank gripped the steering wheel and focused on the road ahead as they turned onto Shelton Street. “You should prepare yourself. This might be disturbing.”
8
Frank parked his extended cab at the curb and got out of the truck, searching for Captain Grayson among a crowd of emergency personnel mingled with the curious neighbors. Damien came up beside him.
Frank spoke quietly. “I can’t say much here, okay? Just walk around, see what you can find out, ask a lot of questions. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
Frank walked along the street, the flashing lights of the cruisers leading the way to the house. An ambulance was parked on the other side of the roadblock, its back doors open and its bed empty.
The Shaws’ house bustled with activity. Several officers from the night shift milled around outside. Crime scene tape, tied from one tree to another, fluttered against the cold north wind. Frank followed the sidewalk and was about to enter the house when Detective Dean Murray exited.
“Hey, Frank,” he said. “Grayson’s looking for you.”
“What’s going on in there?”
“They’re working on the lady right now. Not sure if she’s going to make it.”
“What happened?” Frank asked, glancing behind him toward the reverend’s yard across the street. The couple stood by the tree where their cat had hung just hours before. “Are those two suspects?”