The machine’s time display read 11:01 a.m., which meant Linda was two hours late for her regular Thursday shift. I assumed after leaving here that she would have gone straight to work. Even if she had decided to take a personal day, it was unlike her not to inform her supervisor.
Before I could reflect further on Linda’s current whereabouts, the fifty–sixth message began to play.
“Hey, Steve and Linda. It’s Maria. Long time no hear. The reason I’m calling is I need Steve’s opinion about a strange call I received from an old friend of ours. Give me a shout when you have a minute. Take care.”
I stared at the machine as my high school sweetheart, Maria Antonio, left her home and work phone numbers, which I failed to write down. I replayed the message to verify what I had heard was for real. On the second pass I detected something in Maria’s voice that bothered me: there was an undercurrent of concern which she had tried to cover up with her usual bubbly, friendly tone. Something was definitely wrong. I tried unsuccessfully to figure out what could have caused her to become anxious. Until recently the only person capable of such a thing was me, but we hadn’t talked in a couple of months. It was obvious my latest indiscretions had yet to reach the lovely backwoods community of Delta. I wondered if Maria would still want my advice when the news broke. I doubted it.
I erased the messages, which reset the machine’s counter to zero. I toyed with the idea of calling the library but decided I would only further embarrass the two of us if she didn’t pick up. I did the next best thing and called Linda’s cell phone, which automatically went to voice mail.
“Hi, it’s me. I know you don’t want to talk to me right now—and justifiably so—but could you please call Dolores at the library, she sounded a bit worried that you hadn’t come into work.” I paused and then said, “I hope you’re doing okay . . . and I’m sorry for being such an ass.”
I hung up, not knowing what more I could say at this juncture. As I stood from the kitchen table to grab a drink from the fridge, I sensed my legs shaking slightly and felt a tad light-headed. I steadied myself against a nearby wall and concluded my nervous system must be on the verge of collapse; too many conflicting emotions were about to trip the final safety fuse in my strained brain.
Until this moment, I’d had a very laid-back, no-ulcer attitude about the events that had followed Samantha and the Plymouth plumber’s dinner date. Now the reality of the past eighteen hours flooded my entire being.
Your mistress is dead. Your fiancée is gone and your first love needs your help.
Taken separately, these situations would have been stressful enough. Having to deal with them all at once was overwhelming.
I was so disoriented, I barely registered that someone was knocking loudly on the front door. When a second person simultaneously began to knock at the back door, the brain fog I’d been experiencing began to lift. When a man on the front porch yelled, “Darrien City Police. Open this door or we’ll break it down!” the fog completely dissipated.
I made my way through the front room shouting, “I’m coming! Just hold on!”
I opened the foyer door and found myself facing three officers. All had their guns drawn, the barrels aimed directly at my heart.
“Cassidy, show us your hands and slowly step onto the porch,” an officer instructed.
I recognized him as the one who had taken my statement at the motel. “I don’t know what this is about, Sergeant Anderton,” I said while walking very slowly out the front door. “I have no problem answering any follow-up questions you might have but this show of fire power is a bit much, don’t you think?”
“We’ll see,” Anderton replied coolly. “Up against the wall.”
“Are you out of your freaking—”
“Shut up and assume the position!”
I glanced at the steely faces of the two younger cops and then saw a fourth officer—probably the back door knocker—come around the side of the house.
“No problem, guys,” I said as I placed my hands against the porch wall. I spread my legs as Anderton holstered his weapon and stepped toward me.
After an unproductive pat-down, he spun me around by my shoulder. “I want you to sit on that chair right there and don’t make a move.”
Like any law-abiding citizen, I followed the nice officer’s orders and sat in one of two lawn chairs Linda had bought in the spring.
“Want to clue me in on what this is about?” I asked.
Before answering Anderton turned and barked, “Dwyer, Salem—go inside and do a search.”
“Hey, you can’t just enter my house,” I objected. “Where’s your search warrant?”
“We don’t need one when there’s a reasonable belief a crime is in process,” Anderton said with a devilish smirk.
The brain fog began to roll in again.
“What are you talking about?”
“We received a call from Linda Brooks’ employer, who felt your fiancée may be in danger after she didn’t show up for work this morning.”
“I would never hurt Linda. This is ridiculous.”
Anderton cut me off. “Plus, we were in touch with her brother in Bismarck, Chief of Police Burkhart.”
Okay, here we go, I thought. “Acting Chief Burkhart,” I corrected him. “With all due respect, Keith is a moron and would love to pin anything on me. He still thinks I killed his mentor, Chief Gordon, while I was locked up in a prison cell earlier in the year. Did he mention Gordon died from a gunshot wound and that I was unarmed at the time?” Anderton gave me a blank stare. “Of course he didn’t. What a tool.”
“Enough chit-chat, Cassidy. Is Ms. Brooks in the house or not?”
“No,” I answered. “After finding out I’d cheated on her, she left me.”
“And when was this?”
“I don’t know—sometime during the night. When I got home she was gone.”
“When was the last time you saw her alive?”
“What do you mean, saw her alive? Unless you know something I don’t, she’s still very much alive—somewhere.”
“Answer the question.”
“Fine. If you must know, we talked on the phone yesterday afternoon for about ten minutes. Are you happy now?”
“Not until I see Ms. Brooks alive.”
Officers Dwyer and Salem returned to the porch.
“Nothing,” Dwyer stated.
“No sign of the girl anywhere,” Salem chimed in. “We did find this on the coffee table, alongside a set of keys.” As Salem showed Anderton the song inspired kiss-off letter, I was stunned to see he was wearing a latex glove to hold it.
“What
