Debby Giusti - Plain Danger

Not what she wanted to bring the memory of her deceased mother into the upheaval tonight.

“I’m sorry,” Carrie said with a sigh. “My rudeness was uncalled for, to say the least.”

“I know this must be hard for you, ma’am, but if you can endure a few more questions.”

Which she did until her head felt as if it were ready to explode. She glanced at the leather-bound Bible on the side table, the stack of devotionals and religious texts on a nearby shelf and a plaque that read As for Me and My House, We Will Serve the Lord. All of which made her wonder if she had stumbled into the wrong house. How could she be so closely related to a man she didn’t even know?

Exhausted and exasperated, she finally held up both hands as if in submission. “If you don’t mind, I need a glass of water.”

“Certainly. Why don’t we take a break?” Officer Reynolds acted as if pausing had been his idea. “Officer Phillips will probably want to talk to you later.”

She sighed. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll pass that on, but I’m fairly confident he’ll have additional questions.”

“Of course, he will.” She stood, her gaze flicking to the man in the foyer wearing the navy jacket. He and Officer Inman were whispering as if they were talking about her.

Turning back to Reynolds, she asked, “May I bring you something? Water? Coffee?”

“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m fine.” He closed his notebook and pointed to the door. “I’ll step outside for a bit while you relax.”

As if she could with so many police officers swarming over her father’s property. Hurrying into the kitchen, she ran water in a tall glass and drank greedily, hoping to slake her thirst as well as the headache. She arched her shoulders to ease the tension climbing up her neck and glanced out the window at the neighboring brick ranch.

George Gates, her father’s lawyer, had mentioned the army man who lived next door. She’d seen him come home earlier, when she fixed a cup of tea and nibbled on the chicken salad croissant the lawyer had been kind enough to have waiting in the fridge for her.

Tall and well built with short dark hair and a thick neck, the neighbor had US Army written all over him. Hard to mistake a guy who looked that all-American. She hadn’t expected to see him walking across the front lawn earlier in his CID windbreaker. Now he was waiting for her in the foyer.

Did he even have jurisdiction this far from post? As much as she didn’t want to answer any more questions, she didn’t have a choice. Placing the glass on the counter with a sigh, she then returned to the living room.

Reynolds and Inman had left the house, leaving the younger cop guarding the door and the army guy standing in the entryway. She extended her hand and walked to meet him. “Carolyn York. My friends call me Carrie.”

“Tyler Zimmerman. I’m a special agent with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman. The CID is involved because the victim was military.”

His handshake was firm and confident.

“Fort Rickman is where my father was last stationed,” she stated in case he wasn’t aware of her father’s military past.

“Yes, ma’am. I understand you just arrived in Freemont.”

She nodded. “A little before five and in time to talk to my father’s lawyer briefly. Mr. Gates asked me to return to his office in the morning to discuss my father’s estate, but—” She spread her hands and looked out the window. “I’m not sure if everything will settle down by then.”

“I understand your concern, Ms. York.”

She tried to smile. “Carrie, please. Since we’re neighbors.”

He quirked an eyebrow.

Had she revealed too much? “The lawyer mentioned that someone from the CID was my father’s neighbor,” she quickly explained. “I put two and two together. You do live next door?”

“That’s correct.” He motioned toward the living room. “Shall we sit down? I know you’ve answered a lot of questions already, but I’d like to hear your take on what happened.”

She settled onto the couch while he pulled a straight-back chair close. Mr. Zimmerman seemed to be a man of few words with no interest in social niceties that could take the edge off the tension hovering in the air. She wouldn’t make another mistake by trying to be neighborly.

As much as she struggled to remain stoic, a picture of what she’d seen played through her mind again.

The gaping wound, the bloody ground—

She dropped her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, but I...I can’t get the image—”

“The man in the field?” the special agent filled in.

Pulling in a ragged breath, she glanced up and nodded. “The memory keeps flashing through my mind.”

“Which is understandable.” He hesitated a long moment, before asking, “What alerted you to go outside, ma’am?”

“It was Bailey.” The dog lay by the chair where she had sat earlier. Hearing his name, he trotted to her side.

“I had let him out a little before midnight,” she explained. “When he hadn’t returned, I must have fallen back to sleep.”

She rubbed the dog’s neck, finding comfort in his nearness. “At some point, Bailey started barking. I went outside to get him, thinking he’d found an animal.”

Mentally she retraced her steps, seeing again the mound that had turned into a man. “I never expected to find a dead body.”

“Did you see anyone else or hear anything?”

“Footsteps behind me when I ran back to the house. I locked the door and called 911.”

“After you made the call, did you hear or see anyone outside?”

“No, and I was too afraid to pull back the curtain. The only sounds were the sirens.”

“Could you describe what you saw when you discovered the victim?”

“Blood, a military uniform, boots. At first, I thought he might have tripped and fallen. When I saw his face, I...I knew he...he was dead.” Her hand touched her throat in the exact place the soldier’s had been cut. “The wound was—”

She dropped her hand into her lap and worried her fingers. “I can’t describe it.”

“But you saw no one the entire time you were outside the house.”

“That’s correct.”

“How did you learn of your father’s death, Ms. York?”

“George Gates called five days ago with the news. That’s when I learned Sergeant Major Harris was my father.”

The agent glanced up from his notes. “Sorry?”

“I thought my father had died soon after I was born.”

“Why did you think that?”

“My parents weren’t married. My mother evidently fabricated a version of what had happened.”

“She told you he had died?”

“That’s correct. In a covert black ops mission.”

The special agent narrowed his gaze. “And you believed her?”

Carrie bristled. “Don’t children usually believe their mothers?”

A swath of color reddened his cheek as if he were embarrassed by his lack of sensitivity. “So you grew up not knowing Sergeant Major Harris was your father?”

“My mother told me my father’s last name was Harrison, probably to keep me from learning the truth. I searched through military channels when I was in college, but the army disavowed having a record of a Jeffrey Harrison from Radcliff, Kentucky.” She glanced up at the tall ceiling and crown molding, thinking of the lie her mother had perpetuated for too many years. Lowering her gaze, she focused on the photo of a muscular man in uniform. The name tag on his chest read Harris. “Now I find out my father lived in Georgia.”

“What did your mother say after Mr. Gates notified you of the sergeant major’s death?”

“My mother died three years ago of a heart attack.”