Just Killing Time (24 page)

B
en and I decided to drive over to the station. I called Moira from the car and let her know what was going on. I put my phone on speaker so Ben could help me break the news. But before I had said much of anything Moira had her own question.

“What has he done?”

“Chief Paisley was doing his job. He's wrong, and we both know that, but . . .”

“Not him. Though I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. Ryan. What has Ryan done?” Moira demanded.

“Why do you think Ryan had anything to do with it?” I asked. We hadn't had a chance to talk about Ryan, and I wanted to hear her thoughts.

“Listen, my parents have had money troubles my whole life, but we get by. Ryan doesn't have the same coping skills.
He asked me for a loan a few weeks ago, but I couldn't help him. I'm barely keeping myself afloat these days. I looked into getting a short-term loan, but when I told Ryan about it, he told me he was all set and I shouldn't worry. So, being an idiot, I didn't. I'm worried now though.”

“The chief brought your dad in about the clocks. They've shown up on an auction site, and your father is listed as the person selling them. But he also brought him in on suspicion of murder,” I said.

“Of G.T.?” Moira asked. “How could Jeff think that my dad was capable of that?”

“Moira, he's just bringing him in. I know your father's innocent. We all do. But the chief is following the clues he's got to support the story he's decided on. We just need to get him another story that fits better. We need to figure out what really happened.”

“How are we going to do that?” Moira asked.

“I'm working on that,” I said. I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.

“Moira, could you call your mother?” Ben asked. “And you're going to need a lawyer. Do you have one?”

“A lawyer? No, we don't. Well, just Kristen Gauger. She helped us with the contracts for the Sleeping Latte. Should I call her?”

“She was G.T.'s lawyer as well,” I said. “Call her. If she can't help, she'll know someone who can. And at this point, let's hope she can keep Pat out of jail. Or that she can get bail posted if worse comes to worst.”

“Jail? Oh, Dad . . .”

“Moira, I'm so sorry.” I hated hearing the tremble in her
voice as she tried to stay strong. This family helped save me when I was a little girl. It was my turn to save them.

We got to the station in good time, but I had one more call to make. Caroline sighed as I told her the story.

“I'm sure Kristen can keep him out of jail. In the meantime, I'll try and raise some cash, just in case.”

“Thanks, Caroline,” I said. I shut down the call and looked out the window. “Caroline's going to raise bail, just in case. She's a very strong woman.”

“You sound surprised.”

“She isn't what I expected. She cares about Orchard.”

“As much as you do. Yes, she does. And she cared about Thom. She's good people.” Ben pulled into the station parking lot. “Moira's not here yet. She's probably calling the lawyer and going to get her mother. I'd imagine they'd want to talk things through a little first.”

“Ben, you seem pretty comfortable covering for Pat.”

Ben took his phone from me and flipped it over in his hand. “Pat Reed's a good guy. He wouldn't hurt Thom for the world. He'd do anything to protect his family, but I know he didn't do anything wrong. And even if Ryan's gotten off the straight and narrow, I can't see him murdering Thom.”

“Maybe it was an accident.”

“Ruth, Thom was attacked while he was getting into his car, and hit over the head. I don't know—maybe Ryan is capable of that. But I doubt it.”

We got out of the car when Moira and Nancy pulled into the parking lot in Nancy's car. Nancy sped ahead into the station, but Moira hung back. I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. When we walked in, Nancy was yelling at Chief
Paisley. Ben walked over and put his arm around her, lovingly, but firmly, pulling her toward him.

“Nance, the man's just doing his job,” he said. “Did you call Kristen?”

“She's on her way,” Nancy said, breathing heavily.

“So we wait.”

We all sat down. The molded plastic chairs had seen better days. I suspected the orange linoleum was the 1970s original, rather than a retro throwback. I held Moira's hand. And Ben kept his arm around Nancy. She leaned on his chest, and he kept telling her it was going to be fine. When he caught me staring, he gave me a smile, which I returned.

Kristen arrived a short time later. She went back into the station. About twenty minutes later she and Pat walked out to the waiting room. The chief followed them.

“Let's all go home,” was all Pat said.

“Dad, what's going on?”

“What's going on is that they don't have enough to arrest your father, so they have to let him go. They could hold him, but we've agreed to come back tomorrow morning to answer any and all questions. We've offered to bring Nancy with us tomorrow. So tonight Pat is going home. He's not to have any contact with his son, nor are the rest of you. If anyone hears from Ryan, we are to report back to Chief Paisley immediately. Is that clear?” Kristen said.

“Why should we turn our back on our son?” Nancy asked, her voice trembling. “I'll never believe that he had anything to do with Thom's death.”

“Of course he didn't, Nancy. But this isn't the best place to have this conversation,” Pat said, taking Ben's place at
his wife's side. “Let's go home. We'll both see you in the morning, Chief. And thank you. We won't let you down.”

As we all walked out of the station, Moira suggested we go back to the Sleeping Latte to talk. Pat turned her down.

“No, Moira, I need to go home and get some rest. The chief asked me not to talk to anyone, and I'm not going to. You'll need some help at the shop tomorrow, sweetheart. Your mother's coming with me.”

“Patrick Reed, we are not turning on our son.”

“Nancy, in the car. Please. We aren't turning on our son. We are going to help him.”

The four of us watched as they drove away.

“Moira, why don't I come by the Latte tomorrow and help you open?” Ben said.

“You have your own shop to run,” Moira said, her eyes still fixed on the taillights of her mother's car as it vanished into the darkness.

“Aunt Flo just got back in town. I bet if I call her, she'll be thrilled to come in and run the shop for a day or two.”

“I can't ask you to do that,” Moira said.

“You didn't ask. I offered. See you in the morning?”

“Yes, thanks. I am going to hitch a ride home with Kristen, and talk. Thanks again. Your faith in my father means the world.”

Ben and I walked over to his car and climbed in. He started the car and pulled out of the lot. I stared out the window.

“Do you want to tell me what you're thinking?” Ben asked.

“Just thinking that I don't know what to think.”

“Ruth, I don't know you that well, but I have complete faith that if anyone is going to figure this all out, it's you.”

“That's very nice,” I said, taking a deep breath. “And probably wrong.”

“I'm never wrong.” He smiled as he shifted Betty into drive. “Let me get you home. We have an early day tomorrow.”

“We?”

“You don't think I'm slinging hash first thing in the morning by myself, do you? First of all, I'm a lousy cook.”

“Hey, I have my own shop to run. Besides, what makes you think I'm a good one?” I couldn't help but laugh.

“We'll get you back to your shop by ten o'clock, I promise. I'm heading home to read a cookbook. I just hope a day of bad food doesn't sink Moira's business.”

I
'd barely fallen asleep when I felt Bezel standing on my chest and batting my head. Her claws weren't out, but her intent was clear. Wake up, human.

“What?” I opened my eyes and saw her staring at me. Bezel and I had adopted each other, but up until now she was very good about letting me sleep, mostly. I hated to think this was a new phase of our relationship. Because sleep and I were elusive enough friends without my cat scaring it off. My cat.

She batted me again.

“Bezel, I just got to sleep. It's past midnight. I have to wake up early to help Ben at the Sleeping Latte. So stop.” I rolled back over, flipping Bezel on her side. She retaliated by jumping back on my side and kneading up and down from my hip to my shoulder like a rotund tightrope walker. It was not a pleasant sensation.

One of the challenges with an open floor plan was there was nowhere to separate me from the cat. When she added a chorus of meows, I finally gave up.

“What is wrong with you, beast? Are you hungry?” I asked. I didn't think that was possible. I'd been a little overgenerous with my food portions. I assumed that losing my grandfather had been a trauma for Bezel as well, and just in case she fed her feelings, I wanted her to have that option.

I started to get out of bed, but I heard a noise. I heard boxes being moved, and a crash. I couldn't tell where it was coming from. Maybe the shop? I listened carefully, but didn't hear anything else.

I swallowed hard, trying not to panic. I looked at my nightstand, but my phone wasn't there. I'd forgotten to plug it in. My bag was on the chair next to the bed. I rummaged around the front pocket for my cell phone, and found it. I called 911 and breathlessly whispered my address and that I was fairly sure that someone had broken in downstairs.

“We'll send someone over as soon as possible. It may be twenty minutes or so. Are you safe?” said the formal voice on the other end of the line.

“Twenty minutes? Aren't you at the station?” I whisper-shouted.

“Ma'am. You've reached the barracks in Lee. We field the after-hours calls for Orchard. We'll get someone there as soon as possible. Just lock yourself in and don't confront the intruder. Do you want me to stay on the line?”

“No.” I hung up the phone. I heard another muffled noise. This one sounded closer. I called Chief Paisley on his cell.

“Paisley,” he said. He sounded really groggy, and I was
oddly thrilled that I woke him up. After the party at the station, he sort of deserved it. Sort of.

“Chief, it's Ruth Clagan. Someone's in the shop. I called the barracks, but wanted to call you too.”

“They should have called me right away.” He was suddenly very awake. “I'll be there in a few. Make sure the door's locked. And don't go downstairs—do you hear me?”

“I do.” And I did. I was no hero. Let the police do their job, at least this part of their job. I got up out of bed, using my cell phone as a flashlight. Bezel meowed at me.

“I'm just going to check on the door to downstairs. I want to make sure I locked it,” I whispered to my disgruntled guard cat. And to move the kitchen table in front of it, but Bezel didn't need to know I was such a chicken. I didn't want her to lose respect for me this early in our relationship.

I tiptoed toward the kitchen area, tugging my oversized T-shirt down over my sleeping shorts. Leave it to me to risk confronting a robber without any pants on. The door to the shop was open. Wide open. Hadn't I closed it when I came in last night? Of course I had. I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep in a scream. I'd never go to sleep here without triple-checking the locks on all the doors. So who'd opened the door? What was that over there? I swung the flashlight beam to something beside the door. It was a black sack of some kind. My breath came in short pants. Where was the chief?

I took two steps back, my feet cold on the hard wooden floor. An arm looped around my waist. As I screamed I was flung into the wall of boxes. I lost my footing, and my cell phone, and fell backward. My back smacked the floor and knocked the wind out of me. The intruder, a blurred shadow
in dark pants and a hoodie, flew at me. I rolled away, and the shadow stumbled. I gasped in gulps of air. Jumping up, the shadow ran back to the side of the room, grabbing a box. I tried to stand up, and grabbed one of the kitchen chairs to steady myself. When I'd finally pulled myself upright, I couldn't see anyone else.

A siren sounded, coming steadily closer. I looked over toward the door, moving in front of it as best I could without getting directly in the path of the robber. I couldn't just let him, or her, leave. If I could just stall for another minute or two.

I put my hands on a chair back and picked it up. I heard Bezel yowl from my left. I turned to look just as the shadow ran at me with a brass carriage clock raised overhead. I darted to the left, but the shadow kept coming, hurtling toward the door . . . and me. I tossed the chair in its path. The figure stumbled and turned to throw the brass box toward me. I saw the gold blur coming right at me and felt it hit my shoulder as I turned around. I fell again, catching a final glimpse of the shadow hurtling down the stairs as it snatched up the sack by the door, carrying a box under its arm. Then it all went black.