Deadly Places: A Mapleton Mystery Novella (5 page)

After meeting Paul Lipsky for lunch, Ed felt much more optimistic about a fair, non-alarmist article in the
Weekly
. Ed had explained his concerns based on the direction Charlotte Strickland had taken the interview.

“Charlotte means well,” Lipsky had said, “but she can push into tabloid territory. I keep an eye on her stories, and she understands I’m the boss.” He wiped his mouth and set his napkin aside. “If you’re concerned, I can run the copy by you before it goes to press.”

Judging from the man’s tone, he was offering something he didn’t want to deliver.

“I read the
Weekly
,” Ed had responded. “And I trust you.”

Which, based on Lipsky’s slow nod and half-smile, had been the correct response.

He’d brewed a fresh pot of coffee, hoping the caffeine would offset the post-heavy-lunch drowsiness and settled in behind his desk when Laurie buzzed him. “Officer McDermott’s here to see you.”

Ed checked the time. Too early for an end-of-shift report. “Send her in.”

His officer entered, hesitantly, almost apologetically.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. “Coffee? It’s fresh.”

“No thanks, Sir. I’m fine.”

“Oh, and good call on the bear. Definitely our downspout thief.”

That seemed to put her at ease. “Thanks. I hope Animal Control finds it before there’s another incident.”

Ed cringed at the thought of a bear attack. “I’m with you on that one.”

She extended a file folder. “I have some sign-ups for the Halloween Parade, but I had something I wanted to run by you first. On a different topic.”

He took the folder, set it in his inbox. Sat straighter. “I’m listening.”

Vicky studied her hands, her discomfiture grew palpable. “I’m not sure—”

His mind spun, jumping from one possibility to the next, like stepping stones in a stream. “Whatever it is stays in this room, Officer. Just say it.”

A deep inhale, and then her words came out in a rush. “I was patrolling my route, past the high school. There was a group of six or eight kids in the wooded area behind the football field. During class hours. They scattered when I drove by. I figured they were ditching class. Not unusual, and I recognized a few of them as chronic hooky players. But one stayed behind. I got out of my vehicle and approached. He saw me, bolted. When I reached the spot where the group had been, I found a six-pack, plus a dozen more empties.”

“You document this?”

She nodded. “It’ll be in my report, although I didn’t mention any of the kids by name. I couldn’t swear to their identities. I picked up the trash and appropriated the six-pack, although I’m not sure what I should do with it, since it’s not technically evidence. I took pictures.” She handed over her cell phone.

Ed scrolled through the images of beer cans and cigarette butts. The normal kind, not weed. “I can’t say this is the first—or the last—time this’ll happen. What made you bring it to my attention today?”

She ducked her head, then met his eyes. “Sir, I’m almost positive the kid who stayed behind—it was Mitch, Sir. I thought you should know.”

He forced a neutral expression. “You did right to tell me. Thank you. I’ll handle it from here. Oh, and bring me the six pack.” He motioned for her to use his private exit.

“It’s cheap beer, Sir.”

He interpreted her comment as a way of reminding him he shouldn’t be taking anything, evidence or not, especially alcohol, for his personal use. “It’s not for me, McDermott. But I do have plans for it.”

She returned a moment later and set a bag containing the beer on his desk, and left. Ed peered inside. Definitely cheap stuff.

At his desk, staring at his inbox, he tried to focus on the job. His job being the best cop he could be, but his heart was tied to family. Could Vicky have been mistaken? Was it Mitch she’d seen? Ed dug deep, searching for signs. True, he’d been putting in extra hours since he’d been thrust into his Chief position, but he’d thought his family was supportive—maybe even a little proud.

He’d missed Mary Ellen’s signals until last night. Had she noticed anything different about Mitch’s behavior? And if so, why hadn’t she mentioned it?

With any luck, what Vicky had seen was a one-off, and if Ed had anything to say about it, it would never happen again.

At four, he gave up. He didn’t even go to Laurie’s desk as he normally did, merely buzzed her and said he was leaving.

He arrived home to a friendly greeting from Buster, a note from Jeremy saying he was at Ramon’s working on their Halloween costumes and had been invited for dinner, and no sign of Mary Ellen.

Mitch’s backpack lay on the kitchen table. Ed put the bag alongside the pack, plucked a bottle of water from the fridge, and went upstairs where he found Mitch flopped on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“No homework?” Ed asked.

Mitch grunted. “Early dismissal today. Teacher planning.”

“Ah. So you had some free time to hang with friends, then.”

A shrug.

“You know where Mom is?” Ed asked.

“Nope. She was gone when I got home.”

“Well, in that case, come with me.”

Mitch scowled. “What for?”

Did Ed detect any guilt behind Mitch’s narrowed eyes? “Because I’m your father and I said so. Besides, this should be fun.”

“As if,” Mitch muttered.

Ed watched the boy for signs of intoxication, but it had been several hours and Mitch seemed steady on his feet, normal speech patterns. No cigarette odors.

Ed kept his demeanor nonchalant and as cheerful as he could manage as they went downstairs. He paused in the kitchen and picked up the bag “I remember doing this with Gramps. I was a little older than you, but hey, everything moves faster now, right?”

“I guess.”

“And you’ll be in high school next year, have to start at the bottom. You’ll be a freshman, no status.” Ed led Mitch to the picnic table at the edge of the yard and plucked two beers from the bag. “Have a seat.” He popped the tops on the cans and handed one to Mitch, studying the boy’s expression. Definitely guilt, not curiosity. “Go ahead. Drink.” Ed sipped from his can.

Mitch took a tentative sip. Grimaced.

“Chug it. Like this.” Ed demonstrated. “Then you’ll really impress all those upperclassmen.”

Ed had to hand it to the kid. He was working on his third before his stomach rebelled. When his dad had used the same method on him, Ed had barely made it through his second. Without saying anything, he handed a choking, sniffling Mitch the water bottle.

His son drank half the water, then threw it up, too. He lay on the grass, eyes closed. “How did you know?”

“Officer McDermott spotted you. And because she cares, she told me. You want to tell me why you did it?”

“Some kids from the high school dared me. They said I’d be in with the cool kids.” His face flamed. “Meet girls, you know.”

Ed swallowed his fury. Hadn’t he and Mary Ellen tried to instill a better sense of self-worth in their kids? “And you believed them?”

“Dunno. But why did you give me beer?”

“Because getting stinking drunk isn’t cool, isn’t pretty. It doesn’t make people like you. All it does is make you feel the way you do now. Do you like this feeling?”

Mitch shook his head, then grabbed it. “Everything’s spinning.”

“Part of the package.”

“Did Gramps really do this to you?”

“He did. And I still remember every minute of it.”

“But you drink. So does Mom.”

“Yes, but I know what’s reasonable. I’m not trying to scare you away from drinking. I want you to understand that you’re not ready, and what happens when you step outside the boundaries. And, of course, you know it’s illegal at your age.”

“But you’re the Chief of Police. You wouldn’t arrest me.” His gaze flitted to meet Ed’s. “Would you?”

“You don’t get a pass because of my job. Just the opposite. You have to be careful I don’t use you as an example to prove I don’t play favorites.”

Mitch wiped his eyes, took a quick swig of the water, then spit it out. “You gonna tell Mom?”

“Nope.”

“You’re not? Thanks, Dad.”

“
You
are.”

Mitch groaned. “She’ll kill me. Ground me until I’m out of college.”

“You might want to think about that when someone tells you to be cool and have a drink. For now, think about what you’re going to say to them, practice it, and you’ll be able to walk away with your head high.”

“Like what?” Mitch asked. “What should I say?”

“
No thanks
always worked for me. Or
not now
, or
some other time
. But don’t turn it around so they think you’re putting
them
down for drinking. Don’t call them stupid. Just
no thanks
and go about your business.”

Ed helped Mitch to his feet. “Go upstairs, clean up, and figure out how you’re going to tell Mom. If it makes things easier, she’ll probably ground me, too, for doing this. But it’s a Solomon tradition, and you’ve been initiated.”

Mitch stumbled toward the house. Ed thought about Mary Ellen and knew tonight would be nothing like last night.

Ed braced himself as Mary Ellen’s footfalls carried down the hall. She came into the study, closing the door—none too gently—behind her. She stood, hands on hips, beside the desk.

“I can’t
believe
you did that. What
ever
possessed you? He’s fourteen, for God’s sake. And I thought you understood we’re supposed to
discuss
these things. They’re
our
kids. We make decisions
together
. And that doesn’t even begin to address the legality of the issue, or that you could have given him alcohol poisoning.”

Ed sat patiently until Mary Ellen finished her tirade. He’d been prepared for a lot worse. “First, it’s not against the law for a parent to serve alcohol to his child on his own property. Second, I wouldn’t have let him drink enough to hurt himself, and he got most of it out of his system before it hit the bloodstream. Next, I knew you’d want to discuss it with him rationally, make him consider pros and cons, which wouldn’t have worked. This was something he had to learn firsthand. It worked for me, and for my dad before me, although I think then it was smoking more than drinking, and a couple cheap cigars added to the mix made their point. It’s kind of a guy rite of passage thing. And lastly, I’m leaving the rest of his punishment to you.”

Calmer now, Mary Ellen sat in the easy chair. “Did we screw up with him? Should we do something different with Jeremy?”

“Those two are as different as apples and broccoli,” Ed said. “And no, I don’t think we did anything wrong. My fixation with work lately might have triggered it, but these things don’t happen overnight. He’s getting good grades, and his teachers would let us know if he was acting out. Kids are always going to test their limits. It’s part of growing up. Maybe this happening now was a good thing, because there’s still a lot of kid in Mitch. He learned his lesson, but he hasn’t hit that rebellious phase, where everything he does is based on trying to prove us wrong.”

“I’m not looking forward to that,” Mary Ellen said.

“I hear you. Meanwhile, the mayor threw this huge report at me, so I’m going to work on it for a while. But I can do it from home.”

Mary Ellen rose and edged toward the desk. “I picked up a new client today, and I want to get started. Jeremy’s at Ramon’s, and Mitch isn’t interested in dinner. Would you be willing to settle for a frittata? I was going to make lasagna, but time got away from me.”

“Sure. A frittata’s a fancy scrambled egg thing, right?”

Mary Ellen punched him in the arm. “Lasagna tomorrow, okay? And as for Mitch’s punishment, I think his misery is a good part of it. Plus, no screen time for a week, and I told him he’d get the rest after I talked to you. At least
one
of us thinks we’re still a team.”

“Ouch,” Ed said. “What else did you have in mind?”

“I agree it’s not an alcohol issue. He needs help in dealing with peer pressure. But I’m at a loss for how to connect that to his punishment. On the one hand, with his sports, he’s learning how important it is to be a team player, but at the same time, we want him to think for himself and stand up for what he knows is right. Any ideas?”

“I know there are school or church programs where it’s more teen on teen than some adult preaching at them. I can scope some out, and
we
could find one that should give Mitch ways to cope with the pressure.”

“Sounds reasonable. But it shouldn’t be handed to him as a
punishment,
or he’ll go in ready to disagree with everything.”

“Right.” Ed extended a hand, and was pleased when Mary Ellen rejected it in favor of a kiss. On the cheek, platonic, but they seemed to have averted a storm.

After making sure both boys were settled in, Ed brought his laptop to the dining room, leaving Mary Ellen to work on the desktop. Although he tried to deal with the report for the mayor, his attention was divided. A contrite Mitch had accepted some broth and toast for dinner, and was pushing fluids. Jeremy had come back from Ramon’s bouncing off the walls about his Halloween costume—which was still top secret, although Ed figured there was a clue in the yellow stains under his son’s fingernails.

Even though deep down Ed knew it was too soon to hear anything from
Paula’s Places
, he couldn’t let ten minutes pass without checking his deadbeat dad email account, never mind that it would have alerted him when a message hit his inbox.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, he’d get to the station early, and whip his ducks into parade formation.

As Ed went through his morning routine, he attempted to convince himself that no news was good news. No messages from
Paula’s Places
reminding him his time was running out for his deadbeat dad email. Nothing from Sam Fischer or Detective Rosen in his work account. Not even anything from Colfax. The night reports included a storage shed with its door ripped off. Damage indicated the culprit was a bear. The address wasn’t far from Adele Menard’s house, and Ed hoped it was the same one that had absconded with her downspout. One bear roaming the streets of Mapleton was one bear too many. There was a note for Dispatch to follow up with the state wildlife officers. A quick check with Connie in Dispatch confirmed the information had been relayed.

“You see the pictures?” Connie asked.

“What pictures?”

“Adele Menard posted pictures of her chewed up downspout on her Facebook page.”

“Adele Menard has a Facebook page?” He clamped his open mouth shut.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Connie said.

“Not
everyone
,” Ed said, and continued to his office. Adele Menard. Flight instructor. Facebook page. Damn, he had her all wrong. What next? Maybe he ought to start listening for more zebras.

Ed had returned from crossing guard duty when Laurie tapped on his door jamb, a wide grin lighting up her face. “Vehicle computers will be here Monday.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get some training sessions on the calendar starting next Tuesday.” He did some mental calculations as to timing, since he didn’t have the overtime budget to have officers training after shifts. The county deputies used the same software, so he might be able to juggle things around so the deputies already assigned here could show his officers the ropes. It wasn’t like any of his staff didn’t know how to use a computer.

He spent the better part of the next hour with the duty rosters, then called Connie. “Ask Deputy Horacek to check in with me next time he’s in the station. I have a couple questions, nothing urgent, so no need to pull him off patrol.”

With Connie’s words about Adele Menard still buzzing through his head, Ed went to the Facebook website and plugged in the woman’s name. But in order to see her profile, he had to sign up for his own account. Facebook wasn’t somewhere he wanted to go. He had enough trouble keeping his life private. Once again, he called on Laurie.

“Sure, I have an account,” she said. “You don’t?” She looked at him as if he had sprouted little green antennae.

“No, I don’t, and I don’t want one. But will you go to Adele Menard’s page and see what she’s posting about the bear who visited her yard, please.”

Laurie clicked a few keys. “I’ll have to add her as a friend to see her profile. I don’t know how fast she’ll respond.”

“So, if Connie saw her pictures, that means the two of them are already friends, right?”

“Right. I think Connie’s friends with half the population of Mapleton.”

But Connie’s computer in Dispatch didn’t give her access to surfing the net. “It’s not important. I was curious.”

“No big deal.” Laurie clicked a button. “I’ll let you know if she approves me.”

He studied the monitor. “Wait. Is this your account?”

“Yes.”

“So you use a fake name? And a picture of your cat?”

“Given my day job, it seemed prudent.”

As he went to his desk and pulled up the mayor’s form, he toyed with a new idea.