With His Dying Breath (8 page)

             
Anne Jones was stir-crazy. Austin insisted she stay home to rest after her fainting spell. Any other day she would’ve paid no attention to him, but today was unusual. She wanted to watch the action across the street. This morning a long moving van pulled up with a steady stream of bulked up men loading it with boxes, garbage bags, and metal file cabinets. She tried to read the black labeling but no luck. Even binoculars didn’t help. She placed Alan’s small TV next to the window to watch the live action and what the rest of the world was watching.

“Guess
I’ve become what you what you call a news junkie!” she said laughing to herself.

             
              The shock of Blake’s murder had captivated her life. As she sat alternating between watching the TV and looking out her large picture window, she thought of the first time she met Blake. Before she and Austin bought the house, they rode down from Rockdale County just to check out the city. One of Austin’s clients was a lawyer who had seen the foreclosure come through the real estate side of the office. They thought it worth the drive.

             
As they drove down the streets of the neighborhood and finally pulled up in front, the family of three could not exit the SUV fast enough. Alan was eight, so he headed off to the back yard, where he found a ready-made playground, complete with a tree house in a low-branched elm tree. Austin went into the three-car garage to find a workshop with a ramp area to drive the riding lawn mower on. 

             
Anne went straight into the house from room to room and back again. Oh, it desperately needed fresh paint, new carpet, kitchen appliances, and updated lighting, but it was what her mind had pictured as her dream home. She hurried out to find Austin.

             
He stood at the end of the driveway talking to Blake who had walked over to meet his potential new neighbors. On first impression, he was distinguished, handsome, and very outgoing. Anne was smitten with his personality. Alan joined them, shook hands with Blake as a well-mannered child should do, and Blake offered the invitation to swim in the pool this summer.

             
With Blake’s encouragement and advice on the offer, they purchased the house and moved in within the month. The four adults became fast friends having cookouts and joining in on other social events.

             
The side door alarm interrupted her thoughts signaling someone had entered the house. “Mom. Mom.” Alan hobbled into the room.

“Alan, honey, what’s
the matter?” He was limping and crying with pain.

             
“Mom, I’ve turned my ankle. Can you get some ice on it? It hurts so bad!” Anne dropped the binoculars to see to her child. She got him to the couch, propped us his foot and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer.

She made him
a peanut butter sandwich and poured a big glass of milk. “How’re you doing, babe? Has the pain eased up?”

             
“Yes ma’am, thank you for the sandwich. Mom, did you know that Mr. Brockton was a bad man?”

             
“Alan, why would you say something like that? What are you talking about?” She inspected the swelling.

             
“I was playing with some kids down the road and their cousin said he killed a woman.”

             
“Killed a woman!”

“Yes
ma’am said he killed her in a car wreck.”

             
“Well, let’s not worry about that! Eat your sandwich, want another glass of milk?” Anne dialed Evelyn as she poured the milk.

             
Business was booming at the Exquisite You beauty salon. Evelyn turned away numerous customers and others waited just in case someone cancelled. More likely though these women just wanted to be in the presence of gossip about Blake and Sammi. They had been interesting fodder for the gossip hounds for the last couple of years, but this was ridiculous. Although Evelyn wanted the business, she did not like the reason and did not feel comfortable with her shop, owned by Blake or, now, Sammi, being the primary feeding grounds for these vultures.

             
Sammi was innocent of Blake’s murder. Of that, she was certain which meant the killer was still out there. The ongoing gossip was lots of people had a reason to kill him. However, for somebody in River Town to do it, she just could not believe it. River Town is a small, church-going community. She turned on the TV to get the five o’clock news. As a recent photo of Blake and Sammi filled the screen, the beauty shop became silent without even the hum of a hair dryer.

Sammi
’s low bail lead the newscast. She was free at least if only in a physical way.

She
, of course, looked elegant in the same clothes as when arrested. “With barely a wrinkle, how does she do it?” one client asked.

“Hi Anne—
how are you today. Good. It’s crazy, absolutely crazy. We were already booked with the gala tonight. It’s standing room only except I don’t know if it’s for hairdos or gossip. Don’t know what time we’ll get out of here. Yes, in the wreck the one with Jess,” cupping her mouth to the receiver. “Didn’t I tell you about that? I was sure we had talked about it but I can’t get it into it now. Let’s talk later, okay, dear, I’ll call you.”

             
JJ waved to someone across the parking lot as she entered the double glass doors. Evelyn stretched her neck out but could not see anybody.

             
“Hi everybody, hi Mrs. Young! You’ve got a full house today,” she said as she looked around. Ladies were actually standing due to the lack of chairs

             
“Pretty crazy, isn’t it. It’s been like this all day. I would never have imagined it.”

             
“Mrs. Young,” JJ was whispering. “Have you ever seen this woman?” JJ held up a page of still shots from the security camera in the newspaper’s lobby.

             
“Well, she looks like she could’ve been in here before, you know vaguely familiar. But, I don’t know, JJ, look at her hair. I believe that’s a wig. See how the edges wrap around the ears, and look, in this one, there appears to be a dividing line where the natural hair and the wig meet.”

             
“Of course, it’s a wig! What about the clothes, what do you think?”

             
“They don’t fit very well, do they? See how the arm hangs off the shoulder, and the skirt is humped up here in the back. Let me see the one of her face again.”

             
“Here it is, but I have enlargements, too.”

             
“Look at her eyebrows. I believe they’re painted on and that thick eyeliner. Ooh, it’s definitely too thick. She might have on false eyelashes. Look at her lips. She looks like one of those women on the church channels! Who is she?”

             
“We don’t know.” She was speaking even quieter now. “She stole some stuff off my dad’s desk. It’s another mystery!”

             
“JJ, look at her wrist, right there near her thumb, what’s that?”

             
“Let me see. I’ll get the magnifying glass.” JJ and Evelyn take a closer look at the spot on the mystery woman’s hand. “Looks like some kind of mark. A tattoo maybe. Get Anne’s magnifier, the one she does eyebrows with!” They put the photo under both magnifying glasses and could barely make it out, but it was definitely a tattoo. “A rose, or a rat, or something, anyway, it’s got some kind of tail or stem hanging down!” according to Evelyn.

             
The woman’s a rat stealing my dad’s file. I’ll take care of these towels, and then I’ll call my dad and tell him what you think.

             
JJ’s cell rang with a ring tone of “Do You Know” identifying it as a restricted call. She answered anyway. A voice simply said, “Be very careful! Be very careful.”

             
JJ looked around the room, and more than half the women were on cell phones. Had one of them called her? Was it a threat or someone offering friendly advice? She grabbed up the towels and walked to the washer. She had to call her dad now.

             
“Dad, where are you?” as her call went to voice mail She removed smocks from the washer and started the towels washing and smocks drying. She checked her watch and dialed her dad again.

             
“Daddy,” talking to his voice mail, “Call me, got a bit of info. Luv ya!” She smiled as she heard her dad’s ring tone. “Daddy, you okay?”

             
“Honey, this has been a crazy day Got anything?” She cups her hand around the phone and speaks very softly.

             
“Daddy, it’s a wig! That woman’s wearing a wig and her clothes don’t fit right. And Daddy, she has a tattoo on her left wrist right at the thumb. A rose. At first I couldn’t tell, but now I know it has to be a rose.”

             
“Good work, baby. Don’t know what it all means, but good work! You and your new friend have a good time tonight. Don’t be out late, too much going on in this town.”

             
“Okay, Daddy, you too! We’ll be safe. Love you!”

             
‘You too, hon. I’ll see you later tonight. Bye now!”

She told her dad bye and
checked her watch again. In only fifty-five minutes, Chip would be walking in the beauty shop. JJ’s worry over her dad turned into joy thinking about seeing her good-looking deputy sheriff.

             
“I must have dozed off, Wilson. Please come in!” Wilson stepped into the cozy apartment. A golden glow filled the room as the sun began to set. Samantha closed the door and slid the night latch into place.

             
“When you did not answer your cellular phone, I worried. I am so sorry I awakened you.” Wilson noticed the dark circles under Sammi’s eyes and disheveled clothing.

             
“I can sleep later. Do you have some news?” Samantha took two bottles of diet cola from the refrigerator and handed one to her new attorney.

             
“Thank you. We need to go over yesterday’s event, Samantha, and begin getting our defense plan together. Are you up to that this late in the day?” Samantha nodded. She noticed the dingy popcorn ceiling and could tell smokers had inhabited the room before her. She motioned Wilson to the sofa, but he opted for the kitchen table. He pulled a writing tablet from his leather brief case.

             
“Of course. What do you need to know?” Samantha took a glass from the kitchen cabinet. She opened her cola but decided against pouring the soda into the unwashed glass.

             
“Just tell me what you remember.”

             
Samantha took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and recalled the events of her day. Her voice was soft as she discriminately chose her words. “I arrived home just before one o’clock and pulled into the garage. Blake’s Prius was in the circular driveway out front and I wondered why he was home in the middle of the day. I closed the garage door and walked through the mud room calling him, but I didn’t hear an answer.”

             
Samantha stood up and walked to the window. “The French doors to the deck were ajar so I looked out into the back yard, calling him. I thought he might be in the pool house since it’s about time to open up the pool. But he wasn’t out there either. I went back into the house and heard a gunshot coming from the foyer. I crouched behind the kitchen island. Then I heard another gunshot and noises in Blake’s study. I reached the cordless telephone, but there was no dial tone, and my cell phone was in the car.”

             
The apartment was no longer bright and cheery, as the sun dropped into the earth for the night. Wilson switched on a desk light, then the lamps on the oak end tables. Sammi sat cross-legged in a lounge chair with her back against the sunset. Her blue eyes stared at the door expecting Blake to magically appear at any moment. She stood and walked back to the table. She continued with her detailed accounting.

             
“Then everything got very quiet for a few seconds. I heard the front door open then more gunshots, and I crawled out to the garage. I pushed the garage door opener but it didn’t work. I couldn’t open the car door to get my cell phone, and the keys were in the kitchen. The side door was stuck or something. Anyway, I couldn’t get it open. I heard another gunshot. I crawled into a storage room and locked the door from the inside. I hid behind some boxes and didn’t hear anything else. I didn’t even hear the police arrive.”

             
“What did you do then?”

             
“Nothing. That’s where the police found me,” she said like a frightened child. Wilson noticed her composure was different as nervousness emerged.

             
“I was so frightened,” she said. “I was afraid to move, afraid not to move. I was stooped behind boxes in a dark storage room while my husband was being murdered.” For the second time Samantha was crying.

             
Wilson went into the bathroom and returned with a box of tissues. He comforted her as best he professionally could and patiently waited until she raised her head. As he handed her a tissue, he asked what the police did when they found her.

             
She blotted her eyes and took a drink of her cola.

“
They asked me who I was and why I was hiding. I said somebody was in the house. I told them I heard the gunshots so I hid. They wanted to know why I wouldn’t help my husband. I didn’t know what they were talking about at first. I thought Blake had shot an intruder, and he would come let me know everything was okay. I wouldn’t have been any help to him for that. They asked questions I had no answer for, and then took me to jail. I still don’t know why!”

             
Sammi thought if her new Capri pants had a pocket, she would have had her cell phone with her. Why can’t I think of things like that?

             
“Samantha, Blake called 9-1-1 after he had been shot and named you just before he died. Listen,” he said pushing the play button on his laptop’s media player.

             
“Blake thinks I shot him?” she was devastated. “Why would he say I killed him?”

             
“I don’t know, Sammi. I don’t know.” Wilson reviewed his notes, and asked Sammi, “You said you got home about one o’clock. What did you do earlier in the day?”

             
“I woke up early that morning because I was to meet Jess at seven for a massage. I was a few minutes late but Jess was already there. He didn’t seem to be his normal self. He had something on his mind and didn’t really seem to be paying attention to what he was doing.”             

             
“Did he hurt you in any way?”

             
“Oh no, Wilson, I don’t mean that. I know that everyone treats me as Mrs. Blake Brockton, you know. Mrs. Moneybags. Appease me, you know, tolerate me because of him. But Jess was different yesterday. Or maybe the way I was feeling. Anyway, that was the first thing.”

             
“Was Blake home when you left this morning?”

             
“No, I walked in the study to tell him I was leaving but he wasn’t there. His car wasn’t in the garage either.”

             
“Does he normally park in the garage?”

             
              “Well, mostly, especially at night. If he comes home during the day, he’ll just park out front.”

             
“So, you don’t know why he was home, just that he expected to be home for a little while.”

             
“Yes, I believe that’s an accurate statement.”

             
Sammi had started to pace wondering why Blake came home in the middle of the day. She walked from the window to the entry door to the kitchen cabinet before he asked the next question. Wilson watched her closely. “Where did you go after that?”

             
“I drove over to Zebulon to get a manicure for my standard, weekly appointment. I guess I got there about nine. She was already there as normal. I always take her a latte so we drank our lattes and talked for a few minutes.”

             
“And then?” Samantha had lifted herself to sit on the kitchen counter. She stared at Wilson’s writing pad.

             
“Well, it takes about forty-five minutes for the manicure and pedicure. They’re done at the same time. I’d say an hour total allowing the polish to dry.”

             
“Where did you go when you left there?”

             
“I drove out Bass to the new Riverside mall. Mostly just curious, but I saw a new shop and went in. A clerk I knew from another dress store had opened it. I bought the outfit I had on just that day.”

             
”So far there is nothing out of the ordinary, is there?”

             
Staring at his writing pad, she said, “No, I visited my elderly aunt for about an hour. She’s in the nursing home about a mile from there. I read to her every day. Let’s see, I left there and drove down the Interstate to Warner Robins to see a new art gallery. There was a sign on the door, closed due to sickness. So I just drove back home.”

             
“Due to sickness?”

             
“That’s what the sign said. Anyway, I just left and drove straight home. I was actually excited to see Blake was home.” She was now sitting at the table tapping her long nails on the hard surface. She noticed it was an antique gate leg dining table.

             
“Did you ever hear Blake talking to anyone?”

             
“No. He never answered me, and I called out to him several times. I didn’t venture past the kitchen.”

             
“Did you hear anyone else?”

             
“No, I can’t recall any voices.”

             
“Is there anything else you remember, maybe the previous day or in the last week or so?”

             
Samantha’s reticence evolved into boldness as a lioness whose life was threatened. She became angry that she was in this situation again. She was angry that someone had framed her for her husband’s murder. She raised her voice and almost sounded argumentative as her mind tried to picture who would do this.

             
“Wilson, I’ve been remembering things from my past all night. I relived our first meeting and realized what a different man Blake was back then. Something happened in the last few months, though. He became a stranger to me. We barely talked anymore and I don’t know why! But it will come to me. I will find out what happened to my husband. You can bank your life on it!”

             
She finally realized she could not live a passive life one second longer. Her countenance changed. A hunger filled her eyes—a hunger for prey—a species of one or a ringleader of a group.

             
Wilson did not often see a dramatic change in his clients this early in the investigation. Most of them sat back and let him ask the questions, find the answer, research the alibis, ask more questions, and leave their lives in his hands. He could not risk it this time. This case was already on National television. His face and his name were now known across the globe. He had to solve this murder not just produce evidence to doubt that Sammi was the killer. He needed Blake Brockton’s killer found and he needed her to help him. He needed her to recall every detail of everything and everybody they knew. He was glad Sammi was onboard.

             
“Well, now. Okay, Sammi, we’re off to a good start. I have another appointment, just to get a notarized signature to release me as attorney-in-fact on another case. So, let your mind relax for now. Your thoughts are jumbled up inside, and we need to get them out and then piece them back together. I’m leaving a legal pad for you. As anything comes to mind, write it down, Samantha, even if it is just a fleeting thought. We cannot take anything, I mean the tiniest piece of information, for granted and cast it aside. Understand?”

             
“Yes, I’ll write everything down.” She reached out her hand and offered her tremendous thanks. Wilson flashed a big smile with perfectly straight and brilliant white teeth. She expressed gratitude toward his wife helping her to the apartment, which produced an even bigger smile. She felt secure for the first time in a long time.

             
“Now, do you need anything?”

             
“Need anything?” Sammi looked at him like he had just asked her to jump out the window.

* * *

              At six forty-five, JJ finished unpacking the last box of shampoo for the display counter. She broke down the box, left it in the recycle bin, hurried into the bathroom to redo her makeup, and fluff up her long hair. She changed into a midnight blue shorts outfit with her new bone colored Merrell sandals. It was extremely warm for March, even for Central Georgia.

Chip
waited at the magazine counter chatting with Mrs. Young.

“Wow,” he said as she walked toward him.

JJ’s eyes brightened as she saw this gorgeous guy waiting for her. Chip was taller than she remembered. He was dressed in khaki slacks and an olive green golf shirt. His skin had the beginning of a deep tan. A glowing JJ floated to the counter, took a deep breath and Chip’s hand as they left the beauty shop. She looked back at Mrs. Young raised her eyebrows and smiled.

             
“You look magnificent,” Chip said as he opened her door to his vintage pick-up truck.

“
Thank you and so do you….and you smell so good,” she said.

             
“It’s Irish Spring—just plain ole soap!” She thought plain ole soap never smelled this good before! JJ buckled up as Chip started up the vehicle to the vocals of Garth Brooks. “Anything special you’d like to do tonight?” Chip asked as he turned down the volume.

             
“Not really. I don’t care much about going to a movie, do you?” JJ adjusted her seat since her legs were longer than the last person to occupy the seat.

             
“Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t mind just finding a quiet place so we can talk, get to know one another.” Chip saw JJ smile thinking that was exactly what she had in mind. He eased the truck out into traffic and slowed for a traffic light.