Armed With Steele (7 page)

I nodded and dug my fingernails into my palms. Refused to let myself get weepy in front of my guest. “When I headed back to the car, something shiny caught my eye. It was lying in the grass, just off the beaten path.” I produced the trinket from my jeans pocket. “It was this.”

“May I?” he asked, and I handed it over to him. He studied it for a moment, then turned it over. His eyes widened. “
Maxwell Office Solutions
?”

“That’s where Grace works.”

He stared at the logo another moment, then shifted his gaze to me. “So…this was Miss Sullivan’s.”

“Nope.”

His eyes flickered back to the trinket. “You’re positive?”

“Yep.”

Officer Steele stared at the trinket for another moment, then handed it back to me. “Alright, Sherlock, you’ve brought me this far. I’m assuming you have a theory behind all of this?”

I grinned.

“Well, let’s hear it,” he said, crossing his arms.

“I think Grace was run off the road by a coworker who’s got something to hide. Something Grace must have figured out. They chased after her car, dug through her purse, and took that top sheet off her notepad.”

“All because you found a broken key chain on the side of the road.” Officer Steele let out a long exhale. “That’s quite a leap, Miss Hartley.”

“Jessica. Just…call me Jessica.”

“Alright, Jessica, but I still think that you’re—”

“Oh! I nearly forgot—there’s one more thing!”

His shoulders slumped slightly. “More?”

I gently pounded a fist to my forehead. “I can’t believe I almost forgot to mention the text message I got from Grace just before she left work that afternoon.”

His left eyebrow shot up as the right one slid down. “You didn’t mention anything about a text when I spoke to you on Friday.”

“It didn’t seem relevant at the time.” I reached into my other front jeans pocket and produced my cell phone. “I’d texted her earlier, asked how her day had gone. She wrote back,
Good, except for odd run-in with MF a few mins ago. Will fill you in at home
.”

“Run-in?” He scribbled down a note to himself. “And do you know who this ‘MF’ is?” he asked, head still down, blue eyes glowing from beneath his long, black lashes.

Focus, Jessica.
“How am I supposed to know? She never made it home!”

“Maybe I should have phrased that differently.” He raised his head. “Did she ever speak of another coworker with those initials?”

“Oh. I don’t know. She’s mentioned lots of coworkers.” Unfortunately, I’d been in a bad habit of tuning her out lately when she came home and started rambling about work. Guilt washed over me anew.

“Try to think back.”

“I…I think her boss’s initials are MF.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but she always got along great with him. I doubt she’d have any kind of run-in with Michael.” I sighed. “Too bad we don’t know what was written on that stolen sheet of paper.”

Officer Steele sat up a little taller and a grin crept across his face. “You got a blank piece of paper?” he asked, reaching for the day planner. “And a number two pencil?”

The light bulb in my head flickered on. “Of course! Hang on a minute.”

I gathered both items and hurried back to the living room. This time, I traded my cautious seating selection for an open seat beside him on the couch. Then I handed him the paper and pencil, my knees bouncing at double-time in anticipation.

He set the blank paper over her notepad, then angled the pencil at near horizontal and started rubbing it back and forth across the page. Grace’s words began to appear, their impressions outlined on the new sheet:

Monday - ask MF what MF was doing in my office.

We both stared down at the sheet, perplexed. “Any of this make sense to you?”

I shook my head. “No, not really. I’d assume the first MF is her boss—his name is Michael Frankston, by the way. But I have no clue on the other.”

Officer Steele sat beside me, scowling down at Grace’s note. Suddenly he closed his notepad and clicked his pen shut.

“Look, Miss H—
Jessica
,” he said, and reached for his pen and notepad. “I think you’ve brought to light several potential, maybe even valid, pieces of information related to this case.”

I braced myself. “But?”

“Well, everything you’ve given me is circumstantial. I mean, we can’t go walking in to Maxwell and start interrogating their staff just because Grace hates to have torn papers in her notepad.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “Are you mocking me?”

“No. To be honest, I’m pretty damned impressed with how much you’ve picked up. Unfortunately, we’ve got nothing substantial to work with.”

“Nothing substantial?” I felt my temper flare. “Grace was healthy. She was driving a safe, late model, high-end car, and she was always a very cautious driver. From what you’ve told me, none of her tires were flat, there was no dead animal found on the side of the road, and nothing hit her. And I’m sure your precious toxicology report came back clean.”

Officer Steele set his jaw. “All true, but none of it gets us any closer to the real cause.”

“And the key chain?”

He shook his head, a look of regret in his eyes. “We have no way of proving when or how it got there, or whose it is. I’m sorry.” He stood, tucked the notepad into his belt. “If you think of anything else…”

This was it, the official dismissal.

“Please,” I whispered, rising from my seat. “I…I’ve got no where left to turn.”

He looked at me in surprise. “Well, I—”

I pushed harder. “Please?” I breathed, hands clasped before me.

Officer Steele stared down at me in silence, his eyes transparent to the internal struggle going on in his head. I had no idea which side was winning, but needed to do something to help push him over the edge. So I did what I’d never done before: I played dirty.

With my most convincing, puppy dog eyes, I took a step forward. “You’re my only hope,” I whispered, then pictured Grace, alone and still in her hospital bed. The image brought with it a fresh wave of grief. I held onto the feeling long enough to feel my eyes fill with tears. I’d never been one to play the role of weak, defenseless female, but drastic times called for drastic measures. I blinked, and felt a tear zigzag down my cheek.

“Oh, man, don’t
cry
.” He started to reach for me, then stopped.

“Sorry.” I turned away. Reached up to brush the tear off my cheek with the back of my hand and sniffled a little. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry today.”

With a sigh, I reached for the empty cookie plates. “Would you like to take some cookies home with you?” I paused, sniffled again. “I’ll never be able to finish them all myself, and with Grace gone…”

“Miss Hartley, I—”

I held a hand up as I walked past him. “No, really, let me just box up a few of these for you. It’ll only take me a minute.”

“
Jessica
.”

My heart beat erratically at the sound of my name crossing his lips. “Yes?” I said innocently and turned to face him.

“I…”

He looked torn. I almost felt guilty for employing the crying woman tactic on him.

“I…I’d love a few for the road, thank you.”

Damn.

I plastered a half-smile on my face and sniffled once more. “Great, I’ll be right back.”

My illusion of acceptance began to slip. I walked into the kitchen and tried to stay calm, to keep it together. The granite veneer countertops began to swim as my eyes filled with true tears once more. But I blinked them back, determined not to fall apart until he had gone.

“Here you go,” I said a few minutes later, handing him a bag filled to the brim.

He gave me a weak smile and took my offering. “Thanks. They really are great cookies.”

“You’re welcome.” I led him to the door. “Will you…call me? If you make any progress on the case?”

“I’d be happy to. Do you have a number I can reach you at during the day?”

“Oh, let me get you one of my cards.” I ducked around the corner and into my bedroom, swiped a card from the holder on the edge of my desk, and hurried back to the foyer. “That’s my cell number. I work from home, so unless I’m meeting with a client I should be here.”

He took the card from my outstretched hand. “Hartley Designs?”

I nodded. “Website design and upkeep. My web address is on there, too, if you’re interested.”

He looked up from the card and smiled. “I’ll be sure to check it out.”

We both fell silent then. I sighed. No sense in delaying the inevitable. “Well, thanks again for stopping by.”

“Take care, Miss Hartley.”

I nodded as he passed through the doorway. Wished there was more I could give him, something more substantial than quirks and broken key chains. But I had nothing. Which was exactly what he’d given me.

Once he’d cleared our porch, I closed the front door and leaned against it for support. The steel’s coolness seeped through my thin shirt and trickled straight down to my heart. Without Officer Steele, how could I ever find the truth?

A shiver rippled through me and brought with it a new worry—without his help, how could I keep the person who’d hurt Grace from doing it again?

Chapter 5

“Would you like another helping of dumplings, sweetheart?”

I glanced over at my mother, whose silver serving spoon hovered mere inches above the creamy goodness of my favorite meal: Chicken Paprika. She’d truly outdone herself this evening, good china and all.

Almost made me want to get depressed more often.

I put a hand on my stomach and grimaced. “Good Lord, Mom. If you feed me much more, I won’t be able to fit out the front door tonight!”

“Maybe that was my plan all along.”

I looked from her smug grin to my father for a little moral support. He just winked at me, and motioned for Mom to add another helping to his plate instead. She shot him a you-know-better look but dished him another spoonful, anyway.

My parents were a rare breed, one of only a few couples in their corner of Angola who hadn’t succumbed to divorce. They’d always gotten along, but it wasn’t until I was older that I developed a true appreciation for their relationship—they made being in love look so darned easy.

“So, Jessica.” My mother set the serving spoon down and shifted her gaze to me. “How are you?”

Here we go...

I knew accepting the Friday dinner invite would likely lead to a motherly interrogation. But after sitting at home sulking all week, I was eager for some company. Even if it meant another painful round of twenty questions. That the game hadn’t started earlier in the meal came as a surprise to me. “I’m doing okay. Been working lots, trying to iron out a web design for a new client of mine.”

“Another new client? That’s great!” My father shoveled another forkful of dumplings into his mouth.

“Thanks. It’s a bakery, downtown off Wells.”

He swallowed, then leaned forward and whispered, “If they pay you in streusel, promise me you’ll share.”

My mother threw him a warning glance. “No, Jessica, I meant, how are you
doing
? You know, being alone in that house, while Grace is…”

“Oh.”

That house.
She spat the words out as if having to mention it actually caused her pain. I used my fork to bully an untouched floret of cauliflower around on my plate. “Well, it is pretty quiet at home. And with them moving her to Metzler Rehab tomorrow, I’ll have a longer drive to visit her.”

“Metzler?” Dad asked. “A coworker of mine was there a year or two back. Said the people there were great.”

“Cool.” I offered him a weak smile. Though I wanted to think good thoughts about the place, all that kept coming to mind were images of a creepy nursing home environment, complete with the stench of moth balls and glasses of floating dentures as far as the eye could see.