Musing on Mayhem: A Humorous, Romantic Mystery (Tracy Scott...Musing On, Volume 1), page 5
We’d run out of polite conversation and no one seemed to know the next thing to say. The silence was just getting awkward when Pierce spoke up, bless his little cop heart.
“I have a difficult question to ask the two of you,” he began with some hesitation. The Peterson’s lethargically turned their attention to him. “Tyler had a brick of marijuana in his backpack when we found him. Were you aware of Tyler’s drug use?”
“Tyler didn’t use drugs,” Mrs. Peterson was firm in her opinion, “I’m a nurse. I know the signs.”
Pierce pulled a $100 bill in an evidence bag out of his jacket pocket. “This was in the pocket of his jeans when we found him, Mrs. Peterson. It’s a lot of money for a fifteen-year-old to carry around with him. Did he normally carry this much cash?”
“No,” both Peterson’s spoke at the same time. Mrs. Peterson leaned forward in her chair, “Tyler didn’t carry much money around. He only took money to school that he needed for lunch--stuff like that.”
“Did he work after school? Do odd jobs for anyone who would have paid him in cash?” Pierce tucked the evidence bag back into his jacket pocket.
“No, sir. He didn’t have a job. He was only fifteen. Too young to get a job.” Mr. Peterson achieved some animation in defense of his son.
“And you don’t know where he’d get a hundred dollars?”
“No--” Mrs. Peterson got an astonished look on her face, “Oh--you suspect Tyler was dealing, don’t you? Oh, no. Not a chance. There’s no way he was dealing!” Mrs. Peterson turned to me, pleading, “We know our son. We’re not naive. I’m a nurse, for heaven’s sake! Tyler didn’t do drugs and he didn’t deal drugs.” Her tears returned.
“Lieutenant Pierce is just trying to find out what happened to Tyler.” I wanted to hug her--to comfort her some way but I didn’t know how I’d be received.
“Tyler was hit by a car. It didn’t stop. That’s what happened to Tyler,” Mrs. Peterson sobbed, reaching for a tissue.
“Finding drugs in his backpack complicates things, Mrs. Peterson. It’s just possible someone hit Tyler on purpose.” Lt. Pierce surprised me with that piece of information--and the bit about the hundred.
“Someone killed Tyler intentionally?” Mr. Peterson jumped to his feet and began pacing.
Pierce nodded, his face solemn, “We can’t rule out the possibility.”
Mr. Peterson sank against the fireplace mantle. Mrs. Peterson went to him. What little strength they had left evaporated before our eyes. They collapsed into each other’s embrace, tears running down their faces.
Pierce rose and joined them at the fireplace. He put a hand on Mr. Peterson’s shoulder, “We will find out why this happened.” He handed Mr. Peterson his card,“If you think of anything that might help us, please call me.”
Pierce turned and offered me his hand to help me up from the sofa. Without saying anything else, we left the Peterson’s alone in their grief.
Without a single word between us, we drove to a restaurant downtown. This whole experience tore at my scabs, opening wounds that--well, they’d probably never completely healed. I was glad for a chance to unwind before returning home--where my good humor helped everything run better.
momRule #18:
Laugh and the family laughs with you. Cry and everyone in the family goes crazy. Better laugh.
We gave our server our drink orders before we said a word to each other.
“A difficult interrogation.” I couldn’t stand the silence anymore.
“Yes.”
Was this also going to be a difficult lunch, I wondered. Would be if he didn’t speak more than one word at a time.
“Why did you take me with you? I thought you cops like to keep your investigations secret.”
“Truth?”
Uh oh.
“Of course.”
“I appreciate the way you’ve handled this situation. I think your observations will be helpful, and I--well--I like your company.”
“Thank you--uh, I like your company, too--uh--I really don’t know what to say. Except I could say ‘uh’ again.”
He chuckled and I smiled at him.
Pierce brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead. “I’m a little tongue-tied, too, so that might make conversation difficult.”
“I guess we could both pretend our menus are fascinating.”
He laughed again and his demeanor seemed to relax a bit. Emotional situations...hard for cops, too.
“Why don’t you tell me the top five things I should know about Tracy?”
“Curse you, David Letterman. Curse you and your kind!”
“Ha, ha. Come on, how bad could it be?”
“I’ll tell you, if you’ll tell me.”
He waggled his eyebrows at me, “Kinda like ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?’”
I laughed in spite of myself, “Only remotely. Okay--the top five things about Tracy: um, number one, I have six children.”
“I already knew that,” he made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
“I know. But collectively, they’re the biggest thing in my life.”
“I can imagine, but come on now.” He leaned across the table fixing me with his best “intimidate the witness” stare. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“You didn’t say it had to be something you didn’t know.”
“Quit stalling, woman. ‘Fess up.”
“Yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir. Number two: I was married sixteen years to an architect who died in a plane crash two years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, but I knew that, too.”
“Well, sorry if I’m boring you...” I pulled my purse (a fabulous Michael Kors number I’d found on a really great sale) up onto the table and searched through it for something, anything, to hide behind. He grinned at me. “Come on, Tracy, tell me something I don’t know.”
When he smiled at me like that, I’d tell him anything. I pretended I’d found what I was looking for and put my purse away. “Hmm, my parents live in Mesa. Dad’s a geology professor at ASU.”
“How about your past, Tracy. Were you ever a cheerleader or anything nefarious like that?”
“I was a member of the drill team. Is that nefarious enough for you?”
“That’s pretty good. One more, ma’am.”
“As in ‘just the facts,’ or is that ‘ma’am’ a reference to my age?”
“You can tell me your age if you want.”
“I’m thirty-eight, with thirty-nine closing fast--and that’s five. Your turn.”
“Okay, I’m divorced.” He held up one finger.
“I knew that.”
He arched an eyebrow at me. My insides did a happy dance. He held up a second finger, “I’m a lawyer.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect.”
He game me a look and held up a third finger, “Sandra (his ex, I assume) and I have two daughters--Angel, twenty, and Cindee, eighteen.”
I was about to comment when he held up finger four, “I’ve lived in Mt. Rojo for just over a year. Before that I was with the Phoenix P.D.”
He held up all five fingers, “I was never a cheerleader, but I played basketball in high school and I was in the band.”
“You’re a band nerd,” I exclaimed just as our server returned and placed our drinks in front of us. She looked at me funny.
“Indeed I was. A little humiliation is good for everyone.” Pierce tore at his straw wrapper. We gave our food order to the server formerly known as ‘waitress,’ then just kinda looked at each other. I hoped he enjoyed it as much as I did.
Pierce took a sip of his beverage, “Are you still in love with your husband?”
The question so surprised me, I nearly sprayed Diet Coke all over him. I swallowed hard, “I’ll always love him. Occasionally, I’m furious with him.”
“Furious with him? What for?”
“Well, what right did he have to go off and leave me with six kids to raise?” I did have the good grace to say that with a little smile.
“So, how are you getting along with that, raising six children by yourself?”
“Oh, like they say, one day at a time. I can deal with more than I ever thought I could. I also realize I know nothing. It’s my teenagers’ job to make sure I remember that everyday.”
momRule #19:
Don’t worry about staying humble. Kids will keep you that way.
He laughed understandingly, “I was that kind of teenager.”
“How about you, Pierce. Are you still in love with Sandra?”
“Heavens, no! She was involved with one of my law associates before she ever left me. That’s a real love killer. I miss my girls. I tried to get custody, but the mother practically has to be a felon for a dad to get custody. I hoped the girls would go to a college near here, but they’re enrolled at schools in Washington.”
Our meals arrived. I was glad to have a moment to recover my thoughts while our meals were arranged in front of us. Infidelity was such an ugly thing.
“Here you go, band nerd,” our server placed Pierce’s medium rare steak in front of him, then flipped her hair and winked.
“That’s got to be miserable for you,” I continued when our server finally finished flirting with Pierce and left. He didn’t seem to notice her flirting, which earned him beau coup points, but I noticed. Perhaps I could steal her tip...
“I guess you just have to make the most of whatever time you get to spend with them, Pierce.” I returned my focus to sympathy instead of revenge, thinking of
momRule #20:
Children don’t last forever. Enjoy ‘em while you’ve got ‘em.
“I try,” he speared a piece of his steak. I took the moment to stab at my chicken and avocado salad. We ate for a few minutes without conversation--not needing any.
“How would you feel,” Pierce looked up from his steak, “if I asked Matt to hang out with Julie Peterson--see what he can find out about Tyler? It wouldn’t put him in danger or anything. He doesn’t have a steady girlfriend, does he?”
I blotted my lips with my napkin, “No, he doesn’t have a steady. I guess it would be okay with me, if it’s okay with Matt. You’ll have to ask him.”
“I will. I just wanted you to know before I did. I also wanted your approval. We’ve seen an increase in drug use in the high schools and especially with college kids--but we can’t find a source. I hope Matt can help us find information and sources.”
“Sure, if he won’t be in any danger.”
“I will make it clear what he’s to do and what he’s not to do.” He paused and waited ‘til I’d raised my eyes to his, “And you, the indomitable Mrs. Scott, would you help me with this case?” His smile almost robbed me of speech.
Once again, he was in danger of a Diet Coke shower. I ducked my head--I hoped demurely--to keep that from happening, and replied with sass, “How may I serve you, O Great Keeper of the Public Safety?”
He snorted. Gosh, he even did that with style. “I’m quite serious here. You have kids the same age as the victim--you know their parents. You may hear things that will be very helpful. One right question and we could find out a lot about where these drugs are coming from. A lot of people don’t think marijuana is a serious drug, but it is--and it usually leads to something worse.” He sounded defensive.
I placed my fork on the side of my salad bowl, “Believe me, I don’t take drug use lightly. I’m just surprised, again, that you want my help.”
“Actually, I just wanted an excuse to call you,” he winked at me.
“You don’t need an excuse to call me,” I flirted back. Oh, good grief--I flirted back. At least I think I flirted. It’s been a long time--I might not remember.
Chuckling again, he reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Seriously, you really might hear things that would be helpful. If you do, would you call me?” He released my hand--dammit.
“Sure. Glad to. Anything specific?”
He was thoughtful for a moment. “One thing I’d like to know, does anyone in the area have a garden or a farm? The marijuana is coming from somewhere and I’m thinking maybe it’s being grown locally. So far we haven’t found a clue to the source.”
“I can ask around about that.”
“And call me?” he smiled.
“Or you can call me?” I almost didn’t giggle when I said it.
True to his word, Pierce had me home before I had to drive Abby to her social engagement. He walked me to the door, looked longingly into my eyes, and planted a kiss passionately on my lips...in my dreams.
He did walk me to the door, smiled, said good-bye, and left.
My feelings are so confused.
CHAPTER 5
My endless “mother’s list” looped in my brain. Science fair projects were due--what could I use to make blood clots (real blood--not an option)? Where could people be growing marijuana? Did Jamie have clean underwear? When was Tyler’s funeral? Could I go without falling apart? (The funeral’s not about me--I know, I know.) Was there milk for breakfast? Why did Andy’s room smell like molding barf?
Might as well do something mindless while I was musing, so I headed to the Never Ending Laundry room. The lovely fragrance of eau d’dirty socks met me at the door. I breathed through my mouth and started sorting the wash. Note to self: Add Glade Stick-Ups to my shopping list. Lots of Stick-Ups.
The kitchen door banged open and I froze--jockstrap in hand. Before I could grab a weapon (maybe the smelly jockstrap would work?) Bekah Dalton (my next door neighbor and best friend) hollered, “Hey, Tracy, you home?”
Whew. No one I had to attack with a stinky athletic supporter. And no one I minded seeing me in my jammies. Jammies--drawstring pajama pants, one of Tommy’s old T-shirts--my size C girls out free--not a look I wanted to share with a stranger.
“Bekah,” I yelled back, “the queen is in her laundry room, counting out the laundry. Come on in.”
She arrived in the laundry room doorway in suburban mom uniform: T-shirt (proclaiming “because I said so--that’s why!”), Levi’s, and sneaks, her lustrous umber bob swinging like the two hundred dollar haircut it was. She’s just a little vain, but not so much as to be annoying or shallow. She watched me sort ever-growing mounds of laundry.
“Okay, Tracy, who is he?” she demanded. I pretended not to know who she was talking about. There were too many other things I wanted to tell her besides hunky cop stories.
“He, who?” I didn’t even look up from the laundry to seem even more disinterested.
“Ha. Don’t try to play me. You know who. The gorgeous hunk-a, hunk-a who escorted you to your door Saturday afternoon.”
I sighed. Might as well give in.
Setting the washer to “jockstrap disinfect” and motioning to Bekah, we ambled to the kitchen. I gathered two plates and the basket of remaining breakfast muffins (courtesy of Betty Crocker--how else would there be time?). “Do you want a Diet Coke to go with?”
“You know I’d rather have coffee.”
“I know. And you know I don’t have any.”
See, I hate coffee. I know I’m the only one on the planet, but I like my caffeine cold. Bekah knows this and loves me anyway.
Bekah eased herself onto one of the counter stools and filled her glass with fizzy goodness, “10 a.m., and I’m tired already.”
“You’re just an old lady, Bekah. For you, forty-five is the new sixty.”
“Gah. I’m too tired to banter with you. What went on over the weekend?”
“I witnessed that accident on the road in the park.”
“Where that kid got killed?” Bekah’s voice rose to shrill on her last word, blueberry muffin crumbs falling from her lips. “Oh, Tracy, that’s gotta be--”
“Grim. Yeah. Very. The Peterson’s are going through hell.”
“You would know,” Bekah picked the muffin crumbs from her plate. I passed her another one.
“I don know. I went to see them--with Pierce.”
“The hunk-a, hunk-a?”
“Yeah.”
Bekah listened with understanding as I shared my horrors and shock of seeing a body fly through the air, the Peterson’s agony--things I’d kept suppressed around the children.
In the quiet moment I grabbed my second muffin. When I looked back to Bekah she had a devilish gleam in her eyes. “Haven’t you left something out? You said his name was--Pierce? Is that his first name or his last?”
“His last. He won’t tell me his first.”
Bekah showed me her shocked face, “What’s he up to?”
“About six foot three, I’d say.”
“Sassy. Is he coming on to you?”
“He’s been a perfect gentleman.”
“Well, that’s no fun.”
“Bekah! He did take me to lunch after we went to the Peterson’s.”
“Sounds like he’s interested in you, Tracy.”
My two muffins did a little jig in my stomach, but I calmly answered, “I doubt it.”
“Why don’t you think he’d like you? You’re a good lookin’ woman.”
“With six, count ‘em, six children. That would scare off a saint.”
“Maybe he is a saint.”
“He was an attorney before he was a cop.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect,” Bekah swallowed the last of her Diet Coke. I got her another--‘cause nobody can drink just one. We sat in a puddle of sunshine, sipping beverages, watching robins and sparrows decimate the sunflowers in the vacant lot between our houses and thinking of life, love, loss, and--
“When I was with Pierce on Saturday, I saw Debbie out and about with Meiers.”
“Yeah? She said she was going to work out with some of her team Saturday morning. She was home by eleven. She never said anything about Meiers.”
I was relieved to know she went home shortly after we’d seen her. Grown men and high school girls--scary.
“When I saw her, she said they were going to get snacks for soccer practice. What really concerned me was that after they’d walked away from us, he put his arm around her. I’m sorry to tell you--but if it was Abby, I’d want to know.”
