J. Jance - Long Time Gone

I’ve always considered myself something of a loner, but with all these well-wishers crammed into my apartment, maybe it was time to change my attitude.

“How are you feeling?” Mel asked.

“I’ve felt better,” I acknowledged.

“Coffee?”

When I nodded, she gave me a smile that went all the way to the bone. For some unaccountable reason Mel Soames was actually glad to see me. Maybe I was feeling slightly better.

“You could just as well have the rest of your head shaved,” Beverly observed. “You look pretty silly going around half-and-half that way.”

Mel filled a mug of coffee and put it on the table in front of me. “Paul Kramer’s going to be fine,” she said, answering my next question before I had a chance to ask.

The doorbell rang. Lars hobbled over to the door. When he opened it, Ralph and Mary Ames walked in carrying an armload of flowers and a grocery bag full of bagels and cream cheese. Mel and Mary went off to the kitchen to arrange the flowers and food. Count on Ralph to remember that my cupboard would be bare when it came to entertaining a houseful of company. That’s the thing about Ralph. He knew there wouldn’t be enough food to go around, so he went right ahead and did something about it.

“I hear you’ve been throwing yourself through greenhouse walls,” Ralph said. “Don’t you know any better than that? By the way, Ron and Amy were just parking as we were coming up.” He moved one of the dining-room chairs out of the way so Ron would be able to roll directly up to the table.

“I’ll start another pot of coffee,” Mel said from the kitchen. “We’re running low again.”

By then, despite my best efforts, I was starting to feel a bit grumpy. It was like I was hosting a party and had forgotten to invite myself. This time when Mel returned from the kitchen she brought a glass of water and a single white pill. “Take it,” she said. “It’ll help.”

Ron and Amy showed up, and Ron looked every bit as bad as I felt, but he was too concerned about how I was feeling to pay much attention to his own difficulties. “How’s Heather?” I asked.

“She’s having a tough time of it,” Ron said. “She’s spending a lot of time with Dillon’s dad. As far as I know, his mother still hasn’t shown up.”

I looked at Amy. “And your folks?” I asked.

She shook her head and didn’t answer. I didn’t blame her. She had been betrayed by her sister and then lost her sister. Only time would tell if the difficulties and strife Molly Wright had brought into Amy and Ron’s home would ever be put right. Or be forgiven.

Ross Connors got up from a perch on the window seat. “Mr. and Mrs. Peters?” he asked. “Ross Connors. Please accept my sincere condolences on everything you’ve been through in the last week or so. I had people working the problem all last night. They managed to find some credit-card activity on Ms. Wright’s account at a Tacoma area convenience mart shortly before Rosemary Peters was murdered. We picked up the market’s security camera film early this morning. After reviewing it my people tell me that both Mr. Middleton and Ms. Wright show up on the video. They’re driving your vehicle, but they’re clearly the only ones there. No one else is with them.”

“So Heather’s in the clear, then?” Ron asked.

“Yes,” Ross said. “I believe she is. That, combined with Dillon’s last e-mail, make for pretty convincing evidence. I can’t imagine any prosecutor in the state wanting to take it on.”

Ron heaved a sigh of relief. Without a word, Amy reached over, took his hand, and held it.

“As for your Camry,” Ross continued, taking out one of his business cards, “I realize that it’s a somewhat specialized vehicle and that you can’t just go out and rent a replacement. The crime lab isn’t going to be done with it for a while. You should probably have your insurance agent contact me about arranging for a replacement.”

Ron took the card. “All right,” he said.

“I’ve spoken to your boss, by the way,” Ross said. “Tony Freeman and I have agreed that you’re free to return to work tomorrow morning, if you want to, that is. Of course, if you’d like to take more time off…”

“No,” Ron said. “I’m happy to go back to work. It’s been rough at our house lately. I think everyone there will be thrilled to have me back on some kind of normal schedule.”

“I’ll be going then,” Ross said, heading for the door. “See you when you’re up to it, Beau. And thanks for the coffee, Mel. Are you coming, Harry, or are you going to hang around here all day?”

Harry I. Ball and Lars Jenssen had been caught up in some deep conversation. Harry got up and lumbered after Ross, giving me a half-salute on the way by. “Try to stay out of trouble,” he said.

Ralph came over and deposited a plate of bagels and cream cheese in front of me. Whatever pill Mel had given me was already working. My head felt fuzzy around the edges. My mouth was as dry as toast. I couldn’t imagine being able to choke down a single bite of the bagel without it getting caught in my throat.

“No, thanks, Ralph,” I said. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, then,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if I help myself.” And he did.

Ralph dived into his bagel with all the relish of someone who’s never had to worry about his weight. “How long are you going to keep this up?” he asked finally.

“Keep what up?” I asked.

“Keep on working for a living.”

“What would I do instead?”

“I understand your 928 is done for. Why don’t you get yourself a new one? Fly across the pond and pick one up at the factory?”

“In Germany?” I asked.

“Stuttgart, I believe. I understand the factory tour is really terrific.”

“How would I get the time off?” I asked.

“There you are,” Ralph said. “And I rest my case. Quit. When are you going to finally get used to the idea that you don’t have to work for a living?”

“I’ve been a cop all my life,” I said. “I don’t know anything else.”

“Did I ever tell you about the Last Chance, that cold case organization one of my clients bankrolled?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I’m not sure.” The pill was working overtime. I was getting fuzzier and fuzzier.

“I’ll talk to you about it some other time,” Ralph said. “But you’re getting a little old to be putting people through glass walls-although, from what I understand, Bill Winkler is in a lot worse shape than you are. He whacked his head a good one on a solid concrete floor. Gave himself a pretty nasty concussion. And his girlfriend’s in the slammer, by the way. She probably wishes she were the one in the hospital.”

I tried to focus on what Raelene Landreth would look like in one of King County’s signature orange jail jumpsuits, but I couldn’t make the picture come together in my head.

“Sorry, Ralph,” I said. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I think I’d better go back to bed.”

And I did. I seem to remember that I needed help making it back down the hall and into the bed. Those pills were really something!

The next thing I knew it was 6:00 P.M. A whole day had disappeared on me, and I was starving. I went to my bedroom door and listened. Not a sound, so maybe the house was empty. This time I didn’t bother getting dressed. I pulled on a robe and padded out to the living room. Enough illumination comes into my unit from downtown that I didn’t bother turning on the lights. It wasn’t until I was halfway across the room that I realized I wasn’t alone. Mel Soames, wrapped in Beverly’s afghan, was curled up in my recliner, sound asleep and snoring softly.

I sat down on the window seat and watched her. Most of the women I know regard my beloved recliner with disdain. Mel looked completely at home.