Debby Giusti - The Captain's Mission

“Someone will phone you first.”

“Yes, of course.”

Lieutenant Bellows stood. “Mrs. Taylor, is there anyone who can stay with you tonight? Perhaps a friend?”

She stepped toward the door as if ready for them to leave. “I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure you feel like being alone, ma’am?” Phil asked.

She nodded. “I’m not alone, Captain. My mother-in-law is with me. We’ll be fine. Her mind is sometimes more clear in the morning. I’ll tell her about Rick’s death after her breakfast tomorrow.”

As much as Kelly hated to leave the widow, she knew Lola wanted and perhaps needed her privacy now. Phil would call her in the morning and make arrangements for them to visit again. Once a survivor assistance officer was selected, that person would be her connection to the military and a support throughout the next few months as Mrs. Taylor tried to get her life in order.

Kelly held out her hand. “Mrs. Taylor, I’d like to talk to you tomorrow. I’ll come out with Captain Thibodeaux.”

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced from the CID agent to Phil. “What do you need to discuss?”

“I’m investigating your husband’s death. I’d like to hear more about what his interests were outside of the military. Perhaps something pertaining to his off-duty time could have had bearing on what happened this evening.”

The widow shook her head. “I don’t see how that could be.”

Before Kelly could answer, Phil tapped her shoulder and nodded toward the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Mrs. Taylor.

The cool night air swirled around the small military entourage as they stepped onto the porch. The door closed behind them. Phil supported Kelly as she hobbled down the stairs.

A stiff breeze picked at her jacket. She pulled the edges closed. Patting the slick waterproof fabric, she expected to feel moisture from Lola’s tears. Instead, the fabric was dry.

Turning to look over her shoulder at the farmhouse, Kelly spotted a curtain pulled back ever so slightly in the living room window.

A second gust of wind assaulted her. Kelly shivered.

Phil protectively placed his hand on her shoulder. “Cold?”

She shook her head and stepped toward the car door he held open. “Confused is more like it.”

“Probably that mishap you had earlier,” he said.

She would let him think what he wanted, but being caught in a snare wasn’t the reason for the way she felt. The real problem was trying to sort through a number of mismatched signals from the widow. The woman had sobbed in Kelly’s arm without producing tears to wet her jacket. But something else didn’t add up in the CID agent’s mind.

If Mildred Taylor was as sickly as she appeared, surely she would be under medical care, yet all of the bottles on the nightstand were over-the-counter painkillers and sleeping pills. Strange that none of her medication had been prescribed by a doctor.

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