Small-Town Secrets
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“I’m just making conversation,” he drawled, falling back into the good-ole-boy routine that had lulled more than one subject he’d interviewed in the past. And gotten him some good quotes in the process. “I like to write up an accurate article. There’s nothing worse than a sheriff’s detective ticked off because I spelled her name wrong.”
Her verbal rejoinder to his glib reply was succinct and to the point.
Cole’s grin was slow to appear, but earth-shattering to the senses. “Damn, woman, I like your style. Something tells me you’re going to give this town the kind of shake-up it needs.” He leaned back, resting one arm across the back of the bench seat. He cocked his head to the side, watching her with piercing eyes that seemed to probe past any defenses she might erect.
Her return smile would have scared off a great white shark. “Lordy, Becker. Compliments like that will only go to my head,” she purred.
Cole looked stunned, but quickly recovered. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but waited until after Annie paused by the table to see if they needed anything.
“During your time in homicide, did you ever have a funny feeling about a case? Something that just didn’t feel right?” Cole asked when they were alone again. “A feeling that what was in front of you wasn’t what it should be? That while everyone else said it was fine, you knew deep down it wasn’t?”
Good. The lady looked intrigued.
“That’s not unusual for any good cop,” she said with a hint of caution in her voice. “When you’ve been on the job long enough, you learn to follow your instincts.”
“Even if it means stirring up trouble?” he pressed. “What if there’s an excellent chance that there’s someone from your own department involved in something illegal?”
She returned his gaze with an equally bold one of her own. “Then you do what you have to do. Just because somebody wears a shield doesn’t mean they’re exempt. Your job is to arrest the bad guys,” she said candidly.
“No matter who it is?”
“No matter who it is,” she repeated.
Cole shrugged. “The mind-set of a police officer is interesting. You not only have hard and fast rules to follow, but you need to follow your instincts, too.”
He noticed she absently placed her hand against the back of her neck, as if something bothered her.
“So what are you not telling me, Becker? What conspiracy do you believe has cropped up in Warm Springs?” Her emerald eyes glittered. “I’m sorry, I haven’t read your newspaper long enough to know what your views are—if you think aliens are landing in the desert or a wild coyote boy is living out there.”
Cole didn’t miss the mocking implication.
“Why don’t you eat your lunch first. Then we’ll talk.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean I don’t get dessert,” she murmured, as she picked up her sandwich.
Cole finished his hamburger in record time. With every bite he kept an eye on his companion, as she, too, ate with relish.
Bree Fitzpatrick wasn’t what he’d expected. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t met more than his share of female detectives, some of them downright gorgeous. But there was something about her that fascinated him.
When he’d learned the city council had hired a new detective, he’d been curious about what kind of officer they’d chosen. He hadn’t expected Detective Fitzpatrick to be a widowed mother of three, two of them teenagers. He thought he’d meet a hard-nosed cop who’d worked toward her twenty years on the force and looked every one of those years. A woman no one in his right mind would want to cross. He would hazard a guess that no one in his right mind would cross this woman, and for all Cole knew she was a hard-nosed cop. But there was more to her than that. He’d say Bree Fitzpatrick was made up of more than grit.
He also hoped she had good instincts.
“Dessert?” Annie asked cheerfully.
Bree looked past him so she could read the brightly marked board on a wall.
“Pink lemonade pie?”
Annie nodded. “You’ll love it.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Coconut pie for me, my love,” Cole said.
Annie rolled her eyes. “As if you’d ever have anything different.” She moved away.
“It sounds as if you’ve dug yourself into a rut,” Bree commented. “Maybe you should shake things up a bit yourself by ordering something different next time.”
“Maybe I will.”
Bree looked at the chalkboard set next to the dessert board. She read the brightly colored words and laughed. Customers using cell phones in here will be treated with the same courtesy as anyone lighting up a cigarette.
Next to the board were two hooks. A squirt gun hung from the first and a waterfilled, clear plastic bucket hung from the second. A cell phone rested in the watery depths.
“The cell phone belongs to a businessman who’d stopped for lunch and didn’t believe the sign,” Cole said, noticing her interest. “He threatened to sue until he discovered he wouldn’t have a chance of winning, since the sign is up where everyone can see it.”
“I’ll remember to keep mine turned off,” she murmured, as the waitress dropped off their desserts.
Bree quickly discovered that pink lemonade pie was something very close to heaven even if there wasn’t one hint of chocolate in it. She finished the rich pie in no time and knew she’d be back for more.
Cole waited until she ate her last bite before he spoke. “Tell me something, Bree. Have you ever thought an accident or suicide could have been a homicide? Did you go even further and try to prove it?”
She looked intrigued by his question. “Any reason for asking?”
“Curiosity.”
Bree silently regarded him. He kept his expression blank.
“There have been times when something hasn’t seemed what it is,” she said finally.
“What if you were the only one who saw it? How do you handle that kind of situation? Do you go along with what’s already been determined, or try to make things right?”
Her expression tightened. “What’s important about any case is that it’s closed properly. I do whatever it takes. So why don’t you tell me exactly why you’re asking me this?”
Now it was Cole’s turn to regard her. “Some people get lost in the cracks.”
“Only if the investigator hasn’t done his or her job,” she retorted. “You’ve got sixty seconds to tell me exactly why you’re asking me these questions before I get up and walk out.”
Cole waited fifty-nine of those seconds before he leaned down and reached into his battered briefcase, which lay at his booted feet. He pulled out several sheets of paper and pushed them across the table.
“I’m trusting you with something I wouldn’t like to have get out, Detective,” he said quietly.
Bree picked them up and began reading. She noted the neatly aligned columns that listed names, dates and cause of death.
“Not very informative for an obituary,” she commented.
“These aren’t obits. These are not accidents or deaths by natural causes, either,” he said quietly, tapping the papers with his forefinger. “These are all murders.”
Chapter 2
Bree scanned the contents, then looked back up at Cole.
“What makes you think foul play?” she asked. She leaned slightly forward. “What you have listed here are traffic accidents, accidents in the home and death by natural causes. Considering the average age of people in this county, it’s expected.”
“Then can you give a good reason why the death toll has risen twenty-four percent in the past two years?” he challenged her.
He noticed she again placed her hand against the back of her neck, as if something bothered her. Maybe the same something that bothered him when he realized the death toll was just a little too high?
Bree shrugged her shoulders. “It still goes with the population growth. More senior citizens are moving here because of the temperate climate, affordable housing and low crime. When the median age is high, you have to expect more deaths.”
Cole shook his head. “The percentage still shouldn’t have risen that much.”
“Are you thinking you’ll discover some heinous plot directed toward the elderly?” she asked. “That you’ll write your way to a Pulitzer Prize?”
“There’s more involved here than some damn prize,” he said without heat, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his voice. “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to cause these deaths. And usually everything boils down to money.”
She glanced down at the papers again. “Do you know if any of these people had extraordinary amounts of insurance?”
Cole shook his head. “We’re not talking millions.”
Bree gazed off into the distance. “I’ll look into it.” She held her hand up to indicate he should remain silent. “There’s probably not anything to this, but I will do some checking,” she announced, sliding out of the booth. “Thanks for lunch, Becker. Hope you got enough for your article.” She sounded as if she couldn’t care less.
“I’m not going to apologize, Fitzpatrick. I wanted a professional opinion,” he told her. Then he added, “You free sometime for dinner?”
Bree laughed softly and shook her head. “In your dreams, Becker.” She walked away.
“Shot you down but good, big fella,” Annie said, as she collected the plates.
Cole shook his head as he watched Bree walk past the front window. “Naw, she’s just playing hard to get.”
Bree couldn’t stop thinking about Cole Becker’s real reason for seeing her.
It wasn’t the first time someone had sought her detecting skills for an alleged crime, and it wouldn’t be the last.
He’s a good-looking man, a little voice whispered in her ear.
“I had a good-looking man,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t need another one.”
Fitz wouldn’t want you to be alone.
“Like I’m ever alone. Jinx sleeps in my room and he snores worse than Fitz ever did.” She waited for the faint ache that happened each time she invoked her husband’s name to settle deep within her body. “Oh, Fitz.” His name came out on a soft sigh. “Damn you for leaving me.”
The ache was still there. Not as strong as it had been in the past. But instead of Fitz’s face swimming in front of her, Cole Becker’s rugged features appeared.
She hastened back to the office and walked around to the rear, where Jinx’s kennel was set up. The German shepherd was ecstatic to be let out.
“Heel,” Bree ordered. The dog obediently fell into step by her left side as she entered the building. She stopped at the call board that indicated which deputies and detectives were on duty, and marked herself in.
“Fitzpatrick! You want to come in here, please?” Roy appeared in his office doorway. Assured he’d gotten her attention, he turned around and disappeared back into the room.
“Boss man yells, we jump,” Irene murmured as she walked past Bree.
“I haven’t been here long enough to have done anything wrong,” Bree mumbled, thinking of a past superior who believed the louder the voice, the faster the response from his people. It generally proved to be true. She parked Jinx at her desk and walked back to Roy’s office.
By the time she stepped inside, he was already seated behind his desk.
“I have to report to the courthouse in an hour regarding a case,” he announced, looking up at her. “Seems it got moved up at the last minute. Probably something to do with that idiot of a defense attorney,” he grumbled. “The thing is, I’d promised to give a safety lecture at the senior center this afternoon.”
That area in the back of Bree’s neck was now tingling like crazy. The chance to meet some of the town’s senior citizens was too good a chance to pass up. “Okay,” she said, easily guessing the direction he was taking.
“Glad to hear you’re volunteering for the job.” He grinned.
“I did?” She pretended surprise. Why did a boss always try to make it sound as if you were volunteering for the last possible job you’d want, when in actuality you were being volunteered? With no way to get out of it.
“Sure, you did.” He tossed a sheet of paper across the desk. “Speaking to the group will give you a chance to get to know some of the county residents. And for them to get to know you in a more relaxed atmosphere than you showing up at their door because you’re investigating a crime. The talk is the usual—street smarts and not letting yourself look like a victim. You’ve probably given your share in the past.”
She picked up the paper and read. The block letters announced a safety lecture to be given by Sheriff Roy Holloway at two o’clock in the sunroom at the Warm Springs Senior Center. All were encouraged to attend this informative talk on how not to be a victim in today’s tumultuous times.
“Aren’t these usually handled by the deputies?” she asked.
He eyed her sharply. “You don’t think you can give a simple talk on street smarts, Fitzpatrick?”
“I have given talks like this,” she admitted.
“Good, because I have an idea the good people at the center will enjoy the talk more coming from you than from me.”
Bree silently cursed her big mouth.
“Actually, I like the idea of everyone doing their part,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as if she was trying to flatter her boss. “I’d hoped a smaller town meant a chance to get out more and meet with the people.”
He nodded in agreement. “Be there at quarter of two and ask for Joshua Patterson. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Hearing the dismissal in his voice, Bree left the office and walked over to her desk.
“Community relations are very important,” she instructed herself, as she stared at the too clean surface. No pink message slips were waiting for her. She told herself it was a good thing, since the only people who would have tried to get hold of her were from the kids’ schools. “The public gets to know the officers who protect them. Nobody can say I’m not being thrown into the fray.”
“Sheriff Holloway said to give these out at your talk.” Irene set a small cardboard box down in front of Bree. “We just got them in. They’re magnets they can stick on the refrigerator. They have the phone numbers for the sheriff’s department and fire department, plus blank spaces where they can write in their doctor’s and pharmacy’s numbers,” she explained.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Bree said approvingly, looking at the white squares with red lettering. “Is this senior citizens center pretty active?”
“They have something going on all the time,” the receptionist replied. “Dances, bingo, day trips to San Diego for plays and concerts. You name it.”
“Definitely a better social life than mine,” Bree told Jinx, who lay under her desk.
The moment Bree and Jinx entered the Warm Springs Senior Center, they were approached by the administrator.
“We’re grateful you were willing to step in at the last second and take the sheriff’s place, Detective Fitzpatrick,” Josh Patterson said after he’d introduced himself. He clasped Bree’s hand in a warm grip.
While the man’s weathered features indicated he had to be in his mid-to late seventies, his demeanor was that of a man a good twenty years younger. His silver hair and mustache gave him a dashing look that reminded her of Douglas Fairbanks Jr. Bree wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been told more than once about the strong resemblance.
“Thank you. Hopefully, this will be a good chance for me to meet some of the county residents, and in turn, they can begin to get to know me,” she replied with a warm smile, finding it easy to fall under the spell of his courtly charm.
He looked down. “And I see you brought your partner with you. Excellent.” He beamed. “That box looks heavy. Let me help you with it,” he offered.
“Oh my, the man is doing it again. I swear he can’t be trusted to keep his hands off any female.”
Josh turned his head at the sound of the woman’s voice. His mouth broadened in a smile and his eyes softened with an expression Bree remembered well and ached for again.
“Detective, this is my wife, Renee.” He made the introductions. “Renee, this is Detective Fitzpatrick. She’s taking over for Roy today.”
“And I must say it’s a definite improvement.” Renee smiled at Bree and held out her hand. “Roy is a dear man, but there are times when he can be a real tight-ass,” she confided.
Bree smiled back. Just as Josh was movie star handsome, Renee equaled him in looks. Her hair was as silver as her husband’s and brushed back in thick short waves. Fashionable glasses were perched on her small nose. Her dusty-blue silk pants and a print polo-style top coordinated with her husband’s navy slacks and navy-and-white-striped shirt.
“You have to excuse Josh. He likes to believe he’s still a stud,” Renee confided, tucking Bree’s arm in hers as they walked across the center’s spacious lobby to a side room. “The dear man can’t understand that he’s in his declining years.”
Bree chuckled. “I can’t imagine the man is even close to his declining years.”
The older woman leaned closer to say in a low voice, “He’s not. I just don’t want him to know that. Makes him too self-confident.”
People milled around the end of the room where a long table held a coffee urn and cups. Several turned and looked curiously at her and the dog walking next to her.
“It’s nice to know they’ve finally gotten smart and hired another woman over there,” Renee told Bree as she guided her toward the front of the room, where a podium and several chairs were set up. “Oh, I know the department has a female deputy, but they need more women in there. Roy Holloway can’t help being your typical male chauvinist. He was brought up to believe women belong in the home and so on. His wife is Suzie Homemaker with a capital H. As for his children…well, there’s no reason I should give you all the gory details at once.” Her brown eyes twinkled with amusement.
Bree was amazed at her frank speech. “So far, he’s been fine with me,” she confessed.
Renee chuckled. “That’s because he knows a good thing when he sees it.” She squeezed Bree’s hand. “Please don’t let my words scare you off. Something tells me you can handle the man.”
“I’ll do my best,” she promised, keeping in the lighthearted spirit.
“I think you will.” The woman looked around and gestured for people to be seated. “Would you like a glass of water or some coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Bree set the box of magnets on the floor by the podium.
“Will everyone be seated now?” Renee called out. She waited until the group did her bidding. “As you all know, Sheriff Holloway was going to speak to us today on personal safety. Unfortunately, he isn’t able to be with us, but he has sent his newest detective, Bree Fitzpatrick. Detective Fitzpatrick worked for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and is now with the Warm Springs Sheriff’s Department. Please give her a warm welcome.”
Bree looked around the room, noting the audience’s age bracket ran from late fifties to late eighties. She’d lost count of the number of talks she’d given to various groups over the years, so this was nothing new to her.
So why did she feel this talk could be the most important one she’d delivered to date?
“Thank you, Renee,” she said warmly. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Detective Bree Fitzpatrick. Before coming to Warm Springs, I was a homicide detective with the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department for twelve years, the last three in homicide. I am also a K-9 officer, which means my partner is a dog. Which I’m sure more than one officer has said about their human partners,” she said, to expected laughter. “Jinx here comes from a long line of K-9s. Right now, his three brothers are working for the Los Angeles Police Department and Sheriff’s Department. He is considered a bona fide member of the sheriff’s department. He even has his own specially fitted Kevlar vest. If anyone dares to shoot or, God forbid, kill him, the investigation and conviction would be treated the same as firing on any human police officer.”
“But he’s a dog,” a woman said, almost apologetically.
“A dog with very special training,” Bree replied. She went on to explain what his training entailed. “And now to the reason for my being here.” She looked from one face to another. “I wish I could say that there are places and communities where you don’t have to worry about crime. But, sad to say, those days are over. It’s lovely that the crime rate is low in this county, but everyone still needs to be cautious. To use your common sense and street smarts so you won’t become a victim. At night, park in a well-lit area, as close to your building as possible. When you leave a building and head for your car, make sure you already have your keys in your hand. Be aware of everything going on around you. Keep your head up, walk with a confident stride. Before you get in your car, take a few seconds to glance at the back seat to make sure no one is hiding there. The minute you’re inside your car, lock the doors.”
“What if you feel someone is following you?” a woman asked.
“Marian, we’ll have a question and answer period after the talk,” Renee chided.
“She did bring up a good point,” Bree said. “If you feel you are being followed, never go home. Drive directly to the police station or someplace that’s well lit and busy. If you have a cell phone, call the authorities and explain your situation. Once you reach the police station, and if you’re afraid to get out of your car, honk your horn repeatedly. Believe me, someone will come out to investigate.”
Bree felt herself relax as she gave a talk she knew she could give in her sleep.
Then the rear door opened and someone slipped inside, making his way toward one of the chairs in the back row.
Bree felt herself start to falter as she locked gazes with Cole Becker. He smiled and tipped his head in a silent greeting as he sat back in the chair. He pulled a notebook out of his briefcase and settled his ankle on the opposite knee. She purposely ignored him and continued speaking.
It wasn’t easy pretending he wasn’t there. Not when he was staring unflinchingly at her.
What is he doing here? He’s not old enough to be a member of this center, unless he’s better preserved than I thought. And if that’s the case, I want to know his secret.
One way or another, she was determined to finish her talk without stumbling over any words.
What was it about Cole Becker that affected her this way?
If it wouldn’t ruin her future with the sheriff’s department, she’d just shoot the man and get it over with.
She mentally heaved a sigh of relief when she finished her speech and waited for questions. She nodded at one woman sitting in the second row.
“But what about when someone tries to rob you?” the tiny, gray-haired lady asked in a trembling voice. “I know you’re not supposed to fight them, but I can’t just allow them to take my money, either.”
“Better to lose the money than lose your life. However, what we’ve seen is that many thieves preying on the elderly are actually cowards. They tend to choose people they don’t think will fight back,” Bree explained. “If you feel you have a chance, then show them you aren’t that easy. Especially if they’re not carrying a weapon. Things you can do are stomp down on their foot really hard, plant your knee between their legs, and if possible, poke at their eyes. And yell as loud as you can. Some people feel yelling ‘Fire!’ gets more action than yelling for the police. Do whatever you think will get you assistance.”
“That’s why we need to carry guns of our own,” one man grumbled. A low rumble moved through the audience. “That way the bastards will know who’s really in charge.”
“Not at all a good idea,” Bree said firmly. “I’ve had to work on too many crime scenes where the victim’s own gun was used on him or her.”
“Then what should people do, Detective Fitzpatrick?” Cole called out from the back of the room. “What do they need to do to protect themselves?”
“Carry a personal alarm. The kind where you pull a cord and it emits a screeching sound. That will attract attention. Take a course to learn how to properly use pepper spray,” she recommended. “Take a self-defense course that will not only teach you how to defend yourself, but will give you a little confidence to boot.”