Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets (19 page)

Gordon jerked awake to the incessant klaxon of what sounded like a red alert for an enemy attack on a starship. As abruptly, the noise ceased, and a gentle kiss landed on his forehead.

“I have to get to work. Go back to sleep.”

Angie’s voice. Her touch. Her bed. Awareness returned. Gordon caught a shadowy glimpse of Angie’s bare backside as she padded into the bathroom.

The shower ran. Yawning, he debated joining her, then checked the time. Four-thirty. In the fricking
morning
? How long did it take to get dressed and walk down a flight of stairs? His mind cleared some more. She’d warned him about the alarm before they finally called it a night and went to sleep. She had to bake.

He flung back the covers and set about picking up the scattered foil packets. Heat rose to his neck as he recalled his fumbling attempts with the first one. Hell, their entire first encounter was a series of awkward moments. He’d been with Cynthia for three years; she’d been on the pill. As for sex, they’d fallen into their own predictable rhythm.

Angie had said she understood. With a new partner, there was always that initial clumsiness, and he’d admitted he hadn’t had much practice since the divorce. He smiled, remembering the fun they’d had practicing. Fun had been missing from his sex life far too long. Even with Cynthia.

The shower turned off. The curtain scraped against the metal rod. Seconds later, the door opened, and a towel-encased Angie stepped into the bedroom. She shook her wet hair, then gave him an appraising glance.

She grinned. “Looks like my cinnamon roll dough isn’t the only thing rising this morning.”

“I’d better go,” he said. “I’ve got to get home, change, and check the night reports before Detective Colfax show up.”

“So soon? There’s time between kneading and rising. The dough,” she added with a grin. “I can come back. With coffee. Unless you want to help.”

He slipped into the closet behind her and tugged at the towel where she’d tucked it together above her breasts. Squeezing them gently, he said, “This is the only kneading I want to do. How long?”

“Long enough. That is, if you’re as good as you were last night.” She let the towel fall to the floor, turned and gave him a parting kiss that would carry him well past breakfast. “See you later.”

“Count on it.” He took his turn in the bathroom. From downstairs, the aroma of coffee wafted up, along with cinnamon and yeast. He pulled on his briefs, then sat on the couch to watch the early morning news. Nothing about the Mapleton murder, thank goodness. He drifted off to thoughts of Angie.

The next thing he knew, a coffee-flavored kiss woke him. “Mmm.” He blinked his eyes open, not sure if he was still dreaming. He stared into her blue eyes. She held a condom in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. “Which first?”

Afterward, he reached for the coffee. Cold, but the caffeine worked. While Angie redressed, he straightened the couch cushions. Finding a well-read paperback romance novel, he sat and thumbed through it, wondering if Angie’d been inspired by its prose.

She came out, smiling. “Whatcha got?”

He handed her the book. “Found it in the couch.”

She checked the cover, then frowned. “Not mine. I’ll bet it’s one of Donna’s. I’ll give it to her.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Gotta run.”

He checked the time. Five-thirty. The café didn’t open until six. “Is Ozzie in?”

She sniffed. “Bacon’s going. Yep.”

So much for tiptoeing out through the café. “I’ll go out the back way. But lock up. And unless you want that cat coming back, close the window.”

“Roger, Chief.”

He drove home on autopilot, changed into street clothes and got to the station in time to grab a cup of coffee and review the night reports.

“Chief?” Laurie snagged him when he passed her desk, handing him a manila envelope. “This is for you.”

He glanced inside the envelope. The credit card receipts from Daily Bread. Which, he recalled, he’d left on the counter where Ozzie had put them before he’d gone upstairs with Angie. “Thanks. I’ve got work to do.”

“Gotcha, Chief.”

He closed his office door, which hardly increased the odds that he wouldn’t be disturbed. With the caffeine working its way into his system, Gordon lifted the pile of reports from his “In” box and read as he sipped.

As expected, there’d been more call outs to check on strange noises, but with the increased manpower, they’d had excellent response times, and minds quickly put to rest. He was almost through the stack when Laurie informed him Colfax was here.

“Send him in,” he said.

Seconds later the door burst open. “Morning. Quiet night.”

Gordon kept his eyes down, skimming the final three reports while he banished the thoughts of his not-so-quiet night from his brain. He tapped the stack of papers into alignment and set them in the tray for filing. “Seems that way.”

“Good for the citizens, not so good for us,” Colfax said.

Gordon lifted his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“We had great street coverage. Anybody tried anything, we’d have caught him, and we’d be done.” He jerked his head toward the doorway. “I’m starved. How about we get breakfast? Think the blonde’s on duty?”

“Suppose,” Gordon muttered.

Colfax seemed oblivious to Gordon’s reaction. “Great. I’ve been craving one of those cinnamon buns.”

“I’ll send Laurie for them,” Gordon said. “We can have a working breakfast here. What you say at Daily Bread is common knowledge in about seven minutes. With Angie, maybe three.”

Colfax tipped his wrist and checked his watch. “Forensics is supposed to have their preliminary reports in by nine. Plenty of time for breakfast without shop talk. Nothing that involves any open cases, anyway.”

As if two cops could avoid shop talk. Half the time, other cops were the only people they
could
talk to. They understood the job.

“Actually,” Gordon said, “I’ve got a stack of credit card charges from the diner that I want to check.”

“You think our guy was at the diner? And was stupid enough to pay with a credit card?”

“We catch ‘em because they’re dumb. An outside chance we might pick up a lead. Ozzie said he remembers a couple of customers who might fit the bill.”

“Think the waitress might remember?”

Gordon could tell Colfax wasn’t going to give up on seeing Angie. “She might.” He picked up the envelope. “Let’s go.”

Daily Bread was jammed. Nobody minded being out in daylight hours. Or the urge to gossip overpowered any fears. Angie, carrying an armload of meals, turned when the door opened, and smiled. “Empty booth in back,” she called.

They wove through the tables and settled in. Colfax frowned when Gordon took the seat facing the door, but didn’t object.

Gordon didn’t know whether he was glad or disappointed when Donna, instead of Angie, approached with coffee. Gordon flipped the mug on his table right side up, and Donna filled it. Colfax did the same.

“Busy this morning,” Gordon said.

“That it is. I came in early to help out.”

“How’s the newest grandbaby? What is this one? Number six?” Gordon asked.

Donna pulled a pencil from behind her ear. “Eight.” She stifled a yawn. “And worse than his daddy when it comes to being a night owl.”

After they’d placed their orders, Gordon tipped the contents of the envelope onto the table. Ozzie had clipped each day’s receipts together. Gordon found the ones for the day in question and divided the slips into two stacks. He pushed one across the table, then pulled out his notebook and read the notes he’d transcribed yesterday.

“We’re looking for a receipt for two eggs, over easy, with hash browns and wheat toast, and one for a corned beef sandwich, extra mustard, pickle, cole slaw, and potato salad instead of chips.”

“Be nice if they had the actual order forms the waitress turns in to the kitchen.”

“Customers keep those,” Gordon said. “Otherwise, our job would be too easy.”

“Can’t have that,” Colfax muttered. He pulled a pair of readers from his pocket. “Damn, these receipts might as well be in code.”

The abbreviations were definitely cryptic. “When things quiet down, we’ll get someone to decipher it.”

“We’re cops,” Colfax said. “We don’t have to wait, you know.” He craned his neck, scanning the space, apparently searching for Angie.

“First, let’s see if we can figure it out on our own.” Gordon gave a wry grin. “You’re a detective, after all. How many abbreviations for eggs or toast can there be?” He leafed through several slips. “See. This one says ‘2ESSU’. That’s probably two eggs, sunny side up.”

Colfax growled, but went to work. “I suppose I should be glad it’s not a Waffle House. They still use diner lingo.”

By the time Donna returned with their food, Colfax had winnowed out seven possibles. “Let me,” Gordon said. He set four of the receipts aside. “These are all local folks. Highly unlikely they’d be our guy.” He copied the information from the other three into his notebook and tapped his own stack. “I’ve got two.”

“Don’t suppose either of them matches mine.”

Gordon laughed. “Only in the movies.”

“Then we have five names to search. Maybe the waitress remembers some of them.” Before Gordon could reply, Colfax had snatched the slips, swung out of the booth and waylaid Angie. His back was to Gordon, and his height blocked any view of her. Gordon waited, wondering if Colfax was being pure cop, or if he was turning on the charm. And why was it knotting his shorts? What concern was it of his if Colfax was flirting with Angie. If last night hadn’t meant anything to Angie, they’d move on. They were consenting adults.

Angie followed Colfax to the booth. “Hi, Chief.” The smile she gave him didn’t seem any different from the one she flashed to every customer at the diner. “Detective Colfax says you have some questions.” She glanced around, seeming more like she was checking for suspicious-looking eavesdroppers than making sure the customers were satisfied. “It’s about the murder, isn’t it? And the break-in at the Kretzers’,” she whispered.

“Miss Mead has assured me of her discretion,” Colfax said.

“We want to know if you can describe any of these customers. Give us your general impression.”

Angie examined the credit card slips, setting each down on the table. “This guy was young,” she said about the first. “Kept telling me about all the great birds he spotted.” She tapped the next. “Didn’t wait on this guy—not my code.” She moved on. “Now this guy—he was a real piece of work. Sent his eggs back because the yolks weren’t the way he wanted them. Cut the crusts off his toast. I think he bathed in cheap aftershave.”

“Clothes? Height? General appearance?” Colfax said.

“Average height, I’d guess. Shabby cords, knit cap, so I couldn’t see his hair. Kept looking at his cell phone.”

Gordon picked up the piece of paper. “Will Johnson. The name rings a bell. I’ll check it out.”

Receipt number four belonged to a flirt, and the last to a twinkly-eyed man Angie put in his eighties, on his way to Boulder to see his new great-granddaughter.

“Does that help?” she asked.

“Yep,” Gordon said. “And if anyone asks, we were talking about the Fourth of July picnic menu.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I know how to keep a secret,” she said.

Colfax’s phone rang before that went any further. The detective listened, nodded, and snapped it shut. “Thank you, Miss Mead. We’ll be on our way.” After Angie resumed her duties, Colfax gave him a long, hard stare. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“About what?”

“You and Angie. Man, it’s written all over your face.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me this is new? Last night?” He clapped Gordon on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. I don’t poach.” Colfax strode toward the door.

Great. Angie’d kept her mouth shut, and he’d obviously telegraphed to a virtual stranger that he’d spent the night with her. Thankfully, Gillman and Reynolds weren’t in to collect on their bet. Gordon dropped some bills on the table, stuffed the slips into the envelope and hurried after Colfax.

Justin awoke, disoriented. Light filtered in from under the door and the edges of the window. Unfamiliar shapes appeared as shadowed silhouettes. Sounds of breathing, not his own, permeated the quiet. Slowly, the world reassembled.
Hotel room.
Memories slipped into place.

When Megan had insisted they stay together, he’d played along as she tried to decide how best to share her bed when he refused to sleep on the floor—or in the bathtub. She’d been arranging the spare blankets and pillows into a makeshift bundling board when he took pity on her and admitted his room had two beds.

He’d gotten thwacked with a pillow for that one, but the look on her face had been worth it. He eased out from under the covers. He stood, yawned, and stretched, twisting the kinks out of his back.

“Morning,” Megan mumbled. Her eyes blinked. “Time is it?”

“Six-fifteen. You mind if I shower first? You can grab some more sleep.”

“‘Kay.” She punched her pillow into submission.

He crossed the room, passing her bed to get to the bathroom.

“You’ve filled out nicely,” she said. Her half-lidded eyes were pointedly directed below his waist, to the cotton boxers he’d slept in.

“It’s morning,” he muttered, stomping to the bathroom and closing the door.

When he’d finished, he found Megan sitting cross-legged on her bed, watching television. She glanced away from the set. “Nothing on the news. You don’t think they’ve caught the guy yet, do you?”

“Don’t know. Would your cop friend call if they had?”

“I’d think so.”

“We should get moving. Your turn.” He cocked his head toward the bathroom. “Unless you want to use the one in your own room.”

“I can handle it,” she said, flouncing across the room.

Shortly before nine, they pulled into Mapleton. Justin parked in front of the municipal building. After spending the better part of the drive arguing about how much to tell the police, they’d agreed it made the most sense to let the authorities know they were going to be in the house, and leave the rest unsaid.

“Remember,” Justin said. “Tell him, don’t ask him. Don’t give him an excuse to think about it, or say we can’t be there.”

She scrunched her face in exasperation. “You’ve said that three times. I know how to handle people. It’s part of my job.”

She was halfway up the steps before he got out of the car. “Wait up,” he called. He trotted to her side. “We’re in this together, remember.”

“I know. I’m just antsy to find out if he’s caught the guy.”

Justin pulled on the brass handle of the massive wooden door. Probably original to the building. Megan sidled past him, striding across the lobby toward one of the doors at the rear. Inside the Police Department office, she wasted no time, nodding to the clerk at the front desk as she swished by.

“She’s here to see Chief Hepler,” Justin said, shrugging. He walked in the direction Megan had gone, finding her standing by a desk, talking with a middle-aged woman.

“He’s in a meeting,” the woman said, “but I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thanks. We’ll wait.” He glanced around and took a seat in one of the chairs against the wall. Reluctantly, Megan joined him.

“Relax,” he said. “He’s a busy man, and we don’t have an appointment.”

“I didn’t think you needed appointments to talk to cops. What if it was an emergency?”

“Then they’d send a regular cop out. Your friend is the Chief of Police.”

“I know, I know. It’s…”

“You’re anxious. Nervous. It’s understandable.” Inside, he felt exactly the way she did. It was Thursday already. He suppressed the urge to check his watch, knowing it was only a few minutes later than the last time he’d done so. His mental clock was ticking away the minutes until Sunday.

Gordon appeared, an underlying weariness in his features. He gave Megan a welcoming smile, nodded at him. “What’s going on? Laurie said you needed to talk to me. Have you found something?”

Megan popped to her feet. “No, we’ve been in Denver. Rose and Sam are still there. Did you find him?” Her hands wagged, punctuating her words. So like his grandmother. Justin couldn’t help but smile.

Gordon smiled, too. “Why don’t you two come into my office? We can talk there.”

A man stood when they entered. His piercing blue eyes lingered on Megan before he spoke. “Detective Tyler Colfax, Sheriff’s Office. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

Why
? Justin’s neck hairs prickled. Because he was a cop, and Megan was involved in an investigation, he told himself. Realizing he’d instinctively stepped closer to Megan, he held back when she moved forward to take his outstretched hand.

“I’m Megan Wyatt. Why did you want to talk to me? Have you found the killer?”

Colfax sat, gesturing for Megan to take the chair next to his. Gordon went to his desk. Justin positioned himself behind Megan, resting his hands on the back of her chair. Gordon opened a file folder, searched through it, and extracted a piece of paper, which he laid in front of Megan.

“Does this man look familiar?”

Justin leaned in, his pulse quickening in anticipation. Megan picked up the paper and moved it back and forth, as if trying to see it from different angles. It appeared to be a reproduction of a driver’s license photo, enlarged and grainy. His fingers brushed against Megan’s shoulder, and he felt her trembling. Was this the man? He rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

“I…um…” She squinted at the picture. “I never got a good look at his face. And this isn’t a very good picture.”

“It’s also five years old,” Gordon said.

“What’s his name?” Megan asked.

“Willard Johnson,” the detective said.

“Maybe if I saw him in person,” Megan said. “Do you have him in custody? Have you figured out if he’s connected to Karl Franklin?”

“Afraid not,” Gordon said. “We’re going to talk to him and find out.”

Justin straightened. “Then we should let you go. We wanted to let you know we’ll be at my grandparents’ house until mid-afternoon, while they’re in Denver. There are some things I need to do before we head back.”

The two cops did some sort of silent communication thing. The detective scratched his chin and turned to Justin. “There’s nothing more we can get from the scene. But call if there’s the slightest sign of trouble.”

“You’ve got the direct number to Dispatch?” Gordon said. “We’re likely to be out and about.”

“Yes, we’re set,” Justin said.

“You’ll be in Denver again tonight?” Gordon said.

Justin nodded. “Easier on my grandparents.”

“Agreed,” Gordon said. “Tell them we’re doing everything we can.”

“They know that,” Megan said.

Justin said, “Thanks.” He nodded at the detective, then put his hand on Megan’s back and guided her to the door. He waited until they were in the lobby before speaking. “That detective wanted to put the moves on you, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I did. I’m a big girl.” She grinned and punched his biceps. “And you realize that if you noticed him, he noticed you being the territorial dog. But thanks. You were cute.”

Rapid footfalls approached from behind. “Miss Wyatt. Please wait. I have one more question.”

Justin turned. Detective Colfax bore down on them like a charging bull.

“I thought his name was Colfax, not Columbo,” Justin muttered. He maneuvered Megan so she was half behind him. “What can we do for you, Detective?”