In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)

In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4) Page 41

“It is.” Em felt a pang of guilt. “But I was no picnic, and my sister really is pretty great.” Speaking of Flawless Angela...Em should give her a call.

“Sounds like you guys are close.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. She’s nice.”

“What do you think she’d say about this situation?”

“She’d tell me not to do it.” Jamie didn’t respond, so Em kept talking. “She’d be upset. Devastated, really. She loves them a lot.”

“See how I paused there, people?” Jamie said. “This isn’t a rapid-fire police interrogation where you’re trying to keep someone off balance to get them to tell the truth. Sometimes the pauses let your bad guy do some thinking, and their situation starts to sink in.” She stood up. “And that, my friends, is all the time we have. Good job today.”

On the way home, Levi radioed in and asked her to check on Alice McPhales, a sweet old lady struggling with dementia. She still lived on her own, but it was a matter of time before her son had to make some changes. She called the police at least three times a week, convinced she saw people creeping around her property, which was a farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Today she’d reported that someone had broken into her house. She called with this complaint a few times a month, so Em wasn’t really worried.

Everett pulled up in his cruiser just as she did. “Slow day?” Em asked.

“I’ll check the perimeter for intruders,” Everett said, reaching for his gun.

“Keep that in the holster, dumbass,” Emmaline said.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “I don’t like going in there. It’s too crowded.”

“Everett...never mind. Knock yourself out and check the perimeter, but if you pull that gun out for anything less than an alien attack, I’m telling Levi.”

Everett muttered and kicked some grass.

“Mrs. McPhales?” Emmaline called as she knocked.

The old lady opened the door a crack. “Where’s Levi?” she asked.

“He’s at the station. He asked me to come instead. I’m Emmaline Neal. Luanne Macomb’s granddaughter. Remember? I’m a police officer, too.”

“Oh, yes. Luanne. She’s lovely! Such a good knitter! Tell her I said hello, won’t you?”

“I’ll do that, Mrs. McPhales.” No point in reminding the old lady her friend was gone. “Can I come in and check things out?”

Mrs. McPhales’s house was typical for an old person—too cluttered, too many little rugs that would make tripping easy. It was dark, too, since she had all the curtains drawn. “What seems to be missing, Mrs. McPhales?” she asked as she turned on a light.

“The gravy boat my grandmother gave me! I can’t believe they took it!” The old lady began to cry. “It was so beautiful, and now it’s gone. They must’ve come in when I was sleeping. I’ll never feel safe here again, and my husband built this house. They’ve ruined it! They’ve soiled it!”

Em put her arm around her. “Why don’t I make you a cup of tea?” she asked.

“I prefer coffee. But the...the...black box in the kitchen is broken.”

“The coffeemaker?”

“Yes.”

Em went into the kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. The coffeemaker was unplugged. She plugged it back in and made coffee, and, while that was brewing, she filled the sink with hot water.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mrs. McPhales said.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I like doing dishes. You can tell me where they go.”

“Perimeter is clear,” came Everett’s voice over the radio.

“Imagine that,” Em muttered. “Roger,” she said back. “Why don’t you head back, Ev?”

“Roger that, heading back to the station.”

The cupboards were a mess—cereal boxes in with the glassware, an open jar of peanut butter in a colander. Em straightened up as best she could, then poured Alice some coffee. “So what does this gravy boat look like?” She took out her notebook so Mrs. McPhales wouldn’t feel like Em was merely tolerating her.

Mrs. McPhales took a sip of her coffee. “What gravy boat?”

“The one your grandmother gave you.”

“Oh, yes. It was white with pink flowers. It was very old. She brought it from England, and when I was little, she’d put it out at Christmas. I just loved seeing it on her table. It was so fancy and beautiful.” She started to cry noiselessly, and Em’s heart gave a tug. Her father’s parents had died when she was little, Nana of a massive stroke or heart attack that took her while she was sleeping.

Em lived in Michigan at the time, and she remembered crumpling when her mom told her the news, and how wonderful Kevin had been, holding her close, the comforting smell of his shirt, the ever-present tang of his sweat, back when he carried so much extra weight.

Nana had been lucky. Old age wasn’t so kind to most.

“Let me take a look around,” she said, standing up.

“You won’t find it! They took it. Those men, I wish they wouldn’t come here!”

“Why don’t I take a look around anyway? Make sure nothing else is missing.” Em rested her hand on Mrs. McPhales’s shoulder, and the old lady blinked up at her, her eyes still teary.

“Would you, dear? Oh, thank you!”

The gravy boat was in the bathroom, perched on the radiator. “Is this it?” Em asked, returning to the kitchen.

“You got it back! Oh, thank you, darling! Thank you! Oh, I just love you!” Em smiled, though she wasn’t sure if Alice was talking to the gravy boat or to her.

After Em made Mrs. McPhales a sandwich and checked all the windows and locks for the old lady’s peace of mind, she went out to her car and radioed Levi. “All clear here, Chief. But I think you should talk to her son about getting her into Rushing Creek, or maybe finding some live-in help. She’s awfully isolated up here.”

“Roger,” he said. “Come on back to the station. I need you to do something.”

“Roger that, big guy.”

“It’s Chief Cooper, thank you very much.”

Em smiled as she clicked off. Levi took himself a little too seriously, but it was oddly endearing. He was a good boss and a better cop. Not that he needed to hear it from her—the townspeople worshipped the guy.

Em called her parents from the car. Pretending to hold them hostage and then seeing Mrs. McPhales so blue...well, heck. Her parents weren’t getting any younger.

“Hi, Mom,” she said when her mother picked up.

“Emmaline! Are you sick?”

“No. Just calling to say hi.”

There was a pause. “Oh.”

“So how are you?” Em asked.

“Fine. And you?”

“Good.”

There was another pause. “Did you get those pictures I sent you from the wedding?” Mom asked.

Did she ever. “I sure did. Why would you send me pictures of Kevin and Naomi, Mom?”

“Why? Does it still bother you?”

“No, I just don’t want to see them kissing.”

“I thought some immersion therapy might help you get over him.”

“I don’t need help.” Except in talking to you, it seems. “I’m really fine.”

“Interesting that you choose that word to characterize yourself, darling.”

Mom was in psychotherapy mode. Conversation between the two of them had never been a strong point. Em tried again. “So guess what? I’m taking a crisis negotiations class, and it’s got a lot of psychology in it.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.” Emmaline waited for a question, using the pause technique. No question came. “I guess I can see why you like your work so much.” Rapport, anyone?

Silence. Okay, so rapport was harder than it looked. “How’s Dad?”

“I have no idea. Working.”

“And Angela?”

“Wonderful.”

Em sighed. Mom was like this sometimes, usually after a fight with Dad. “Okay, Mom, good talking to you.”

“When are you coming home, Emmaline?”

Em caught her own grimace in the rearview mirror. “Um, maybe a weekend this summer?”

“I mean, when are you coming home for good, Emmaline? Your stint as a police officer has gone on long enough, don’t you think?”

“It’s a career, Mom. And I really like it.”

“It seems to me that you’re hiding from your real life.”

“This is my real life.”

“If Kevin is truly behind you and you’ve had closure, you can come home. I saw how miserable you were at the wedding.”

“Well, Ma, first of all, you sold my home. And secondly, of course, the wedding was awkward. I—”

“Sweetheart, you’re so smart. What about your degree? Don’t you miss journalism? Surely you want to do something more meaningful than write out parking tickets.”

Only a mother could stab so directly. Em made sure to keep her voice level. “My job is meaningful, Mom.”

“You could be so much more.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, look at your sister! A doctorate in—”

“I know all about the PhD, Mom. I’m happy doing this.”

“That’s a shame.”

Alice McPhales didn’t think so. Her at-risk kids didn’t think so (hopefully).

“Gotta go, Mom. I’m at the station.”

She hung up and unclenched her jaw.

When Levi had first offered her the job, he’d made it clear that it would be 90 percent community service and 10 percent law enforcement. The occasional B and E, speeders and DUIs were about as dramatic as it got.

Well, hell, Jack’s rescue. That had been dramatic (and terrifying, seeing him with ice in his hair, pushing on Josh Deiner’s chest, the boys clustered around him in a knot of helpless terror).

But doing Mrs. McPhales’s dishes and finding her beloved gravy boat... There was a warm golden weight in her chest because of that.

“How was class?” Levi asked as she came in.

“Great,” she said. “I love it.”

“Good. I have another job for you.”

“I’m free, Chief,” Everett volunteered. “Is it dangerous?” Automatically, his hand went to his gun.

Levi gave Everett a long-suffering look. “No, Everett. I need Emmaline. And if I see you fondling that gun one more time this week, I’m taking it away.”

“Roger that, Chief. No gun fondling. Yes, sir.”

“Come into my office, Em.”

She obeyed, snagging a cookie from Carol’s desk. Mmm. Oatmeal raisin. “Take two,” Carol said.

“Will you marry me?” Em said.

“Get in line,” Carol retorted.

Levi sat behind his desk and folded his hands. “I need you to check on something. Seems like someone’s got a grudge against Jack. Mostly mischief, but it’s getting a little nasty. First, someone went into his house, turned on all the lights and left the doors and windows open.”

“The Deiners?”

“I don’t think it’s them, since they’re always at the hospital.”

“His ex-wife, maybe?” She could kind of see Hadley doing something like that as a way to show Jack he needed her back...but no, Hadley seemed more the sort to go for the “rescue me” theme.

“Possibly,” Levi said. “A week ago, he got a note on his windshield that said ‘You better watch yourself.’ Hot pink paper, laser-printed.”

“Did he save it?”

“No.”

Em made a disgusted noise. “Does no one watch NCIS?”