Лори Касс - Wrong Side Of The Paw

Yes, I was vertically challenged, but that was nothing to be embarrassed about and there was no reason why a six-foot-tall male shouldn’t consider a woman a foot shorter as a strong, intelligent, and capable human being. I’d come to this realization years ago and since then had made a solid effort to stop trying to appear taller than I was. Why pretend to be something I was never going to be? Besides, high heels made me walk wobbly.

The deputy at the counter slid the glass open. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Minnie Hamilton and—”

“Oh, hey.” The stocky, brown-haired man nodded. “You’re that librarian who’s dating Wolverson. He said you were bringing in a book for Luke?”

I glanced at his name tag. RODGERS. The name didn’t ring any bells. I’d met a number of Ash’s fellow deputies, but there were dozens. “That’s right,” I said, putting the volume on the counter and sliding it over. The book was mine, one I’d picked up at the used bookstore in town, so I wasn’t going to worry about when I got it back. “Hope he enjoys it.” And since I was in the building, there was no reason not to see if I could get some good information. “Is Detective Inwood around? If he has a minute, I’d like to talk to him.”

“Let me check.” Deputy Rodgers picked up a phone receiver and stabbed at a few buttons. “Morning, Hal. You have a visitor, Minnie Hamilton. Do you want—” His eyebrows went up and his gaze swiveled back to me. “Sure, I can do that.” He hung up the phone and looked at me quizzically. “Hal said to send you to your room.”

My room? Funny. “The detective and I have a history.” I headed to a door that led back to a maze of offices.

The deputy buzzed the door unlocked and I pulled it open. A few steps down the hall, I turned to the right and went into the interview room I’d been in so many times before.

Just as I sat at the chipped laminate table, the gray-haired Detective Hal Inwood came in. He’d spent decades as a police officer downstate, retired, moved up north, and had started tapping his toes with boredom within three months. When he would retire for good was a common topic of discussion in the sheriff’s office, and though I hadn’t asked, someone was probably taking bets on the date.

“Good morning, Ms. Hamilton.” The detective pulled out the chair across from me and sat. “Let me guess. You’re here to discuss your donation to the Police Officers Association of Michigan.”

“I’m sure it’s a worthy cause, but I was hoping for some information about Dale Lacombe’s murder.”

“Why am I not surprised. And you should not be surprised when I tell you that I cannot talk about an active investigation.”

“But—”

“Ms. Hamilton, please. We know how to do our job. We have been working diligently to find Mr. Lacombe’s killer, and—”

“You’re looking in the wrong place,” I said. “Leese didn’t kill her dad. Why are you wasting your time trying to pin it on her?”

Inwood sighed. “We are not, as you say, trying to ‘pin it’ on Ms. Lacombe. We are following proper police procedure, which will ensure that all appropriate action is taken.”

“Appropriate?” I asked, my voice a little loud. “Who decides what’s appropriate? Because if you think it’s appropriate to search Leese’s house, you’re nuts.”

Inwood gave me a long look. “All avenues of investigation—”

“Will be explored,” I cut in to finish. “Yes, I know, but please tell me you’re looking at boulevards and highways, too.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what I meant, and I don’t think Inwood did, either, because he had a blank look when the door to the room burst open and Deputy Rodgers rushed in.

“Hal, you have to come out front. Right now.”

Inwood stood. “Ms. Hamilton, please stay here.” Before I so much as twitched, he left the room.

“Well.” I sat back, wondering what was going on. Ten seconds later, before I’d had any real chance to dream up possibilities, a door down the hallway crashed open.

“This way, please,” I heard Inwood say. “We’ll get you settled down and we’ll talk.” Inwood and Deputy Rodgers walked past, a young woman between them.

“It was me,” the woman said, stuttering the words out through heaving sobs. “I did it, it was me.”

“Yes, miss,” Inwood said. “In here, please.” Moments later, a door shut. Firmly.

I stood then, hearing footsteps, sat down fast. Deputy Rodgers poked his head inside the room. “Um, Hal’s going to be busy for a while, so you might as well go.”

“Who was that?” I asked, tipping my head toward the now-muffled sobs.

He glanced in the same direction. “Mia Lacombe. Dale’s daughter.”

This didn’t sound good. With a suddenly dry mouth, I asked, “What was she saying she did?” Horrible sentence construction, but I couldn’t take it back. The deputy didn’t reply, so I stood up and asked again. “What did she do?”

Rodgers shifted his gaze to look over the top of my head. “She confessed.”

No, I told myself. It can’t be true. “To what?”

“Killing her father.”

Chapter 7

“It can’t be true.” Leese’s voice sounded far away. “Mia would never have done that. Never.”

Out on the sidewalk, I shifted my grip on my cell phone and tried to think of a better way I could have told my friend that her stepsister had walked into the sheriff’s office and hysterically confessed to patricide. In person would have been better, but I hadn’t wanted Leese to hear the news from someone else.

“That’s what the deputy said,” I confirmed, then thought of a bizarre possibility. “What does she look like?”

“Not like me at all. Straight and short dark hair unless she’s back to dying it some weird color. She’s skinny and short. Taller than you, though.”

That wasn’t saying much, but her description matched the young woman I’d seen. So much for the possibility of mistaken identity. “When I saw her, she was crying and saying ‘It was me, I did it.’” There was no answer at Leese’s end, so I kept on going. “As far as I know, she’s still talking to Detective Inwood. He’s a decent guy, but he’s not concerned about winning the Nicest Police Officer Award.”

“Right,” Leese said. “Can you do me a favor and tell them I’m coming? Tell them I’ll be acting as Mia’s attorney and that I’m fifteen minutes out.”

“Of course,” I said, and tried not to remember that Leese lived twenty miles from Chilson. “Is there anyone you want me to call?”

“No,” she practically shouted. “Do not call Carmen. Do not call Brad. Let me figure out what’s going on. I’ll call them myself when I learn something. Carmen will go all weepy and Brad will stomp around looking for something to do. Neither one would be any help.”

“Got it,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I agreed with her. Still, it was her family and she should know what was best. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“Sure.” Over the phone I heard a car door slam and an engine roar to life. “Figure out who really killed my dad.”

“On it,” I told her. “Drive carefully, okay?”

“Every day,” she said, and the phone went silent.

After blowing out a long breath, I looked up at a thick bank of low clouds, and went inside to give Leese’s message. Once that was done, I came back out and tried to think what to do next. I could stay and offer moral support to Leese, but I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to stay in the room with them.

More than once in the last year or two, I’d had people tell me to let the police do their jobs. They were right; I should have confidence in our local law enforcement and in our justice system. And I did, truly I did. I just didn’t think they moved quickly enough. Detective Inwood and even Sheriff Richardson could only be in one place at a time and there were only so many hours in a day.