Author: CJ Birch
Category: Other
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/cj-birch/page,10,517950-an_intimate_deception.html
“What about money? Were either of you having money problems?”
“The recession hit our savings harder than we liked. And about a year ago I switched jobs, so I’m not making as much as I used to.” She smiled as if to say it wasn’t her fault but the economy’s. “But I think, because Jessie was in real estate, it was worse on him. He didn’t want me to know, but he’d cashed in some bonds recently.”
Elle made a note. For the first time in the interview, Cindy appeared upset. Elle got the impression that she was more worried about money than her husband being dead. “Do you know why Jessie wouldn’t want to stay with his parents if he was visiting Turlough?”
Cindy shook her head as she eyed her hands, watching as they twisted into a puzzle.
Chapter Nine
The large overhead fan did little to drown out the voice of Ken Brady, who was reciting his campaign promises with the eloquence of an evangelist. Across from Brady’s expansive desk sat Robin, a notepad on her lap. She glanced at the wall clock behind Brady’s head: five after twelve. Robin’s stomach gurgled.
There were no windows in the room. The air was stifling. An electric fan sat on the credenza behind Brady, blowing so hard it was flipping his golden hair into a frenzy.
Robin raised her pen to interrupt and waved it back and forth like a surrender flag. “Actually, Ken, I’m going to stop you there. I’m more interested in getting a little background information on Sheriff Ashley.”
Brady stopped mid-sentence, lips pursed. People didn’t usually interrupt him. With his face scrunched up, he said, “Well, what do you want to know?” He had been aware of the connection between the reporter’s attention span and the length of his tirades on the voting practices of the city council.
“What was she like growing up? What kind of impact did she have in the community? Are there any interesting anecdotes that you can share? That sort of thing.” As an afterthought, she asked, “Has she always been this stubborn?”
Brady started nodding his head slowly, sitting forward. “Yes, she’s always been this stubborn. As for the other questions, I didn’t grow up in Turlough, so I’m not the best person to talk to about when she was younger.” He smoothed out his tie, trying to visualize a younger Elle with difficulty.
“What about her now? Can you shed some light on that?” Robin flipped to a spare page of her notebook. She’d been in Brady’s office for over an hour and had yet to glean anything useful from the man.
“What’s she like now? You mean besides stubborn?” He pulled his gray patterned tie through his fingers, feeling the soft fabric caress his skin while he thought of an answer. Brady’s dealings with Elle had been an odd mixture of public professionalism and private exasperation. In public, they presented what they thought was a solid front with shared opinions and policies, but privately they couldn’t be further apart.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” Brady shrugged. “Professionally, she’s competent. A bit of a hothead, but she gets things done.”
“She’s kind of young to be sheriff.” From the moment Robin had spotted Neil she wondered why Elle was sitting in her own office and this man was answering the phones. She didn’t care if it was sexist or ageist. This was a small town, and from her experience, they took longer to catch up with the rest of the world.
“Before Sheriff Bailey died, he let it be known he wanted Elle to succeed him, even though Neil had seniority. She’s young, sure, but Neil’s got a bit of a Barney Fife thing going on. Then there’s the whole Chuck Dell fiasco.”
“Chuck Dell?”
Brady paused for effect, back in his element. “First off, Chuck Dell was an asshole. When he was alive, he ran this town. He owned the brickworks before it got shut down, which put an end to any economic value this city had. He ran the diner and a bunch of other small businesses. Almost everyone owed him something.” Brady reached back and poured himself a glass of water. Robin waved off Brady’s offer to pour her one too. She didn’t want this to take any longer than it had to. Brady took a restoring sip, cleared his throat, and began again.
“When his wife died without giving him a son, he started shopping it around that he was looking for someone to marry his Tully. But they had to be willing to take her name. It was all very hush-hush.” Which of course meant everyone in Turlough had heard about it from several different people. “And, of course, this was long before women started keeping their own names and all that hyphenation bullshit.” He waved his hand around like the thought of a woman keeping her name was infecting the air around them. Brady leaned his chair back, relaxing into the story.
“Then Neil steps forward, but not without conditions. He wanted a cash settlement. A large one. Well, as you can imagine, Dell didn’t like it. He may have been the tightest millionaire in the Midwest. I swear to God, you had a better chance of getting a horse to climb a tree than getting five bucks out of Chuck Dell. I remember this one time, I don’t know how much of the city you’ve seen, but behind the main strip there’s a whole other street with a bunch of two-story houses.”
Robin looked up at the clock behind Brady. She debated whether any of this was worth her time.
“Back in the day, Dell owned all that, he’d rent them out to brickwork families—”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” She waved her pen in front of him like a matador getting a bull’s attention. “Does this story have any relevance to what we were talking about?”
Ken blinked. “Relevance?”
Robin smiled. It was a dangerous smile. She only used it when she was sick of someone’s bullshit and was about to put them in their place. She wondered if anyone in this town ever stood up to the man. Or told him to shut up. “Relevance, as in, is this story you’re about to tell have anything to do with the sheriff?” Or more likely, is it going to have some spin that paints you in the best possible light?
“Well, not specifically. It was more an offshoot of the story about Neil and how much money he suckered out of Dell.”
“So how much money did Neil get?”
“Who knows. But in the end, Dell paid. I guess he figured it was a sound investment because Neil Tomey became Neil Dell.” He laughed next, slapping his knee. “And to make the whole thing hilarious, Tully found out she can’t have kids. So, in the end, that bastard wasted all that money and never ended up with an heir after all.” Brady smacked his lips as if this piece of gossip had been a delicious meal. Robin didn’t find it all that funny. She was about to get up and leave. This had been a huge waste of her time. And then a thought occurred to her. Maybe it wouldn’t be a waste of time after all.
“Neil had set himself up as a man with a price. That kind of thing runs sour with people. They don’t want a sheriff that can be bought. Not to mention a man willing to take a woman’s name, now that’s a whole other thing.”
“So what can you tell me about Jessie Forrester?”
Brady leaned forward. “Who’s that?”
“The man they found murdered in that abandoned house outside of town.”
Brady frowned. The gesture created very few lines. “Was that his name? Why would you want to know about him?”
Robin imagined Brady was the sort who would rather lie than admit there was a problem. He was that guy on the Titanic who told everyone to go back to their rooms. “I heard he used to date Sheriff Ashley. I just thought it would add a poignant element to the story.” Robin wasn’t above a little lying.
Brady began shaking his finger at Robin before she’d even finished. “No, this isn’t going to be that type of story. You’re writing a tourism piece.”
Robin flipped her notebook shut and placed it in her bag. She stood and smiled gamely. Now it would be worth it. “I came down here to get a story and I found a great one. I don’t really care that it’s not the one you want me to write.”
A few seconds passed before Brady could speak. He braced his hands against the armrests of his chair. “Well, we’ll just see what your editor has to say abo
ut this.”
“Go ahead. I’ve already spoken to him. He loves the new angle.” She wasn’t worried he’d ever get in touch with her editor.
“Angle?” Brady’s face went pale. “You can’t write about the murder. People will get the wrong idea.”
Robin strode to the door and placed her hand on the handle. “Thanks for your time.”
“Turlough is not a dangerous place.”
Robin opened the door while still facing Brady. “It’s been a pleasure.” And left. The look of horror on his face as she did was worth the hour of her life he’d wasted.
* * *
A smoky haze hugged the main strip of Turlough in a late afternoon embrace, choking the life out of the peach blossoms hanging limp along the boulevard. The thickness of it deadened any sound within arm’s length.
The midday sun beat down on Dan as he ran the rubber tip of his Chucks through the dirt. His gaze drifted down the main strip. He cleared his throat and horked into the dirt.
“Gross,” Tanya said. She was sitting next to him on the curb, trying to replicate the same aloofness as Dan and EJ.
“It’s just a little snot. You probably swallow a jug of it every day.” Dan leaned toward her, letting a glob of mucus dangle from his lips. The sheen of the sun gave it a glazed appearance. Before it could fall, he sucked it back up into his mouth.
Tanya pushed Dan away. “That’s disgusting.”
“Yum.” Dan grinned to show the picket fence of teeth in his mouth.
EJ leaned back, turning his face skyward. He let the afternoon bathe him in its warm glow. Even with his eyes closed, the sun painted his lids red. Like this, he could imagine he was somewhere else, anywhere but here in Turlough. Every spare thought he focused on one thing: getting the hell out of this shit-ass town. The second he drove past the boundaries of Flynn County, freedom would course through him. It would well up inside him like a geyser preparing to erupt. In his mind, he could see the towering skyscrapers of Chicago, feel their looming shade. He would get a job as an apprentice in a mechanic’s shop. And once he was out, there would be no putting him back. He wouldn’t return for anything, not like Elle.
A piercing squeal shattered the peace, followed by an exuberant “Dan!”
EJ opened his eyes to see Lisa, Dan’s little sister, making her way up the sidewalk toward them. She did a half skip and sped up as soon as she saw the threesome sitting on the curb.
Dan’s grin moved to a softer position as he spotted her skipping toward them. He waved and got up to meet her halfway.
Lisa was only a year younger than Dan. When she approached, Dan slouched to give her a big, affectionate hug. She was wearing a simple dark blue checkered dress that stopped above her knees. She twirled for Dan to admire.
“That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing. What are you doing all the way downtown?”
Lisa grinned. She had the same wide-mouthed smile as Dan, only hers created two dimples in her cheeks above the corner of her lips. “Mom said I could have an ice cream. She said I was big enough to come all by myself.” At seventeen she had the appearance and demeanor of a ten-year-old. It was unlikely she would mature beyond her early teens. Lisa pulled out a bright pink velvet wallet from a purse hanging on her shoulder by a thin blue strap. She opened it to show three crisp dollar bills. Dan took the wallet from her and placed it back in her purse.
“Your ice cream is on EJ and me today. Wait here with Tanya and we’ll go get everyone something slurpy.” He didn’t have to ask which was her favorite. Her loyalty to mint chocolate chip hadn’t wavered since the age of five.
“Tanya? What flavor do you want?” EJ asked, but she shook her head no.
Tanya waved at Lisa and patted a spot on the curb next to her. Lisa flipped her braid behind her shoulder. Her hair was the same butterscotch color as Dan’s. Fine strands poked out of her braid in spots. Her dark brown eyes followed Dan as he strolled away.
It was cool inside the pink-walled shop. The fans lining the ceiling rotated at full. They sucked and blew at the napkins anchored with a large scoop to the sprinkles counter. Along the far corner, a glass-lined counter displayed a plethora of choices. They varied from simple chocolate all the way to delectable caramel-veined moose tracks.
Dan strolled up to the counter and ordered a single scoop of mint chocolate chip and a sugar cone with strawberry for himself. EJ peered through the glass at the rows of ice cream tubs. He hated this part. He always worried he’d make the wrong choice. What if he ordered chocolate but then Dan’s enjoyment made him want strawberry? Or Lisa’s mint chocolate chip? He sighed as he looked over the flavors. He could try something completely new, but if he hated it, that would be an entire waste.
Dan stood off to the side, waiting, secretly enjoying his friend’s discomfort. Dan’s philosophy was simple. If he always chose strawberry, then he never knew what he was missing in other flavors. EJ started biting his thumbnail, sweating over which one to choose. The shop only allowed two taste tests to stop teenagers from gorging on samples.
Finally, he pointed at butterscotch ripple. “I’ll get one scoop in a regular cone,” he said, then immediately his face contorted and he shouted, “Wait. No. Rocky road in a sugar cone.”
The attendant paused, well familiar with EJ Ashley and his second thoughts. “You sure? You don’t want to try them both?”
EJ shook his head. “I feel good about rocky road.”
When they exited the shop, a group of boys stood surrounding Lisa and Tanya, jeering and laughing. Dan recognized Randy Pritchard’s expansive back. The number fifty-one, stretched across the orange Bears jersey, bookmarked by his jutting shoulder blades. Three of his teammates flanked the girls. The shortest, with a Marine haircut, yanked Lisa’s purse from her shoulder. This started a new ripple of laughter that echoed down the street toward Dan and EJ.
In less time than it took to think it through, Dan crossed the gap between them and tapped Randy on the shoulder. He had to reach up to account for Randy’s height. When Randy turned around, Dan shoved his strawberry ice cream cone into the middle of the lazy smile on Randy’s face.
* * *
Elle leafed through the autopsy report spread open on her desk, making notes every now and then on a pad. It was quickly filling with black strokes and small diagrams.
She rubbed her eyes, working in circular motions to dislodge the image of Jessie’s blank eyes staring at the ceiling. She leaned back in her chair and pulled her hair elastic out, sliding her hands through her hair, trying to smooth a headache that gripped her roots. The stains on the ceiling stared back, benign and ordinary. They didn’t belong in this world. Just like Jessie didn’t belong in a world of guns and violence. He belonged to her past where even her worst memories had become nostalgic over the years.
The first time she’d ever sat in this office, seated across from a silent Sheriff Bailey, was with Jessie. He’d caught them smoking pot at the Maverty house.
“Are you going to call my dad?” asked Elle, sitting on the edge of her chair. She’d been dating Jessie for three weeks but hadn’t told her parents yet, afraid they’d think she was too young and ban her from seeing him.
Bailey tucked his lips in, forcing his cheeks to puff out. It was a look she’d grow to know well. His brooding face she used to call it. He sat like that for several minutes, eyeing the two of them. Elle fidgeted with the buttons in the armrest while Jessie sat stone-faced, staring at the ceiling.
“Hey, Mac,” Bailey called to the outer offices. “Take the Forrester kid down to the basement, will you?”
“What?” Elle jumped up from her chair and turned to see as Mac sauntered into the office. The basement. That’s where the cells were. “What are you going to do to him? Are you arresting us?” Her voice was near panic. The effects of the joint they’d smoked earlier had dissipated but left a lingering paranoia.
Bailey waved her down. “Relax, will you? I’m not arresting anyone just now.” He pointed a finger at her. A wa
rning. Elle sat back down, cowed. Her eyes never left Jessie, whose arm was forced into Mac’s iron grip and hauled out of Bailey’s office. She didn’t turn around again until the door to the basement shut with a loud clunk. They stared across his desk at each other for several minutes. Bailey sucked his lips in and frowned, pinching his face together. Elle’s heart pumped so hard she thought it would burst through her sternum.
Finally, Elle asked, “What’s going to happen to us?”
Bailey pushed himself forward on his chair and leaned his elbows on his desk. “Your dad’s going to be here any second.”
“What?” Elle turned back to the door, all the heat in her body drained out. He’d kill her if he knew she’d been pulled into the station. She’d been doing drugs. With a boy. An older boy. In a deserted house her parents had specifically told her to stay out of.
“Calm down, will you?” Bailey couldn’t stand hysterics. “I called him to come take you home. He doesn’t have to know about the Forrester kid, but he knows about the other stuff.” He pointed a beefy finger at her. A sure sign a but was coming. “But this is your only get-out-of-jail-free card. Your dad’s a good guy. I don’t want to see him worry about what his daughter’s up to. And you. You’re a smart girl. Don’t let that boy take you places you don’t want to go.” He leaned back, the chair squeaking under his bulk. The way he kept her gaze she knew he wasn’t talking geography.
Elle almost vomited when her dad stomped through the door, livid.
“Dad, I—”
“Get in the car.”
“But I—”
“Now!”
The drive home that night was the worst of Elle’s life. Her dad had always been a boisterous guy, but when he got mad the volume went up by the power of ten. By the time they pulled in the driveway she was sure everyone in Turlough had heard at least a part of his tirade.
Her parents had grounded her for two weeks.
That night was a catalyst. It set in motion a trend that would continue for the next four years. She’d snuck out every night during those two weeks, proving to herself or her parents—she wasn’t sure which—that they couldn’t contain her. Would things have been different if they hadn’t gotten caught? If they’d left with everyone else that night? Instead of lingering? Would she have traveled down the destructive path that led here?