at headquarters.”
“He reminded me of an embarrassed parent whose young child throws a tantrum in the grocery store checkout line. There are only two options at your disposal: The first is to make an even bigger scene, damn the consequences. Unfortunately, shrieking at your former bundle of joy, ‘Shut the hell up or else,’ risks a home visit from Child Protective Services.”
“I take it Rodney chose the second option, which is what?”
“Which is full denial a situation is taking place a few feet away from you. To yell at the kid only lowers you to their immature level. The other shoppers, regardless if they’re parents or not, would look at you with the same scorn as they do your little brat.”
“But if you ignore the screaming kid,” Dawn began, realizing what I was trying to say, “they’ll respect and maybe sympathize with your predicament.”
“Seriously, are you taking psych classes on the side that I don’t know about?” I asked in wonder.
“Maybe.” Dawn playfully smiled. “I’m right though, right?”
“You are. What I saw tonight was a man genuinely mortified by this woman’s physical attack and verbal accusations that he’s a fraud. Plus, I don’t think this is the first time this kind of incident has occurred. I’d bet dollars to donuts Rodney and his partner have an arrangement with a local auto shop to do quickie clean up jobs when needed.”
“The officer is leaving without going to the house,” one of the single females said in astonishment.
“That’s because Rodney doesn’t want any charges laid,” I whispered in Dawn’s ear. “In this case, bad publicity is simply bad publicity.”
Rodney re-entered the bus, gave the driver a sign to start driving and addressed us for the last time.
“Most nights, I take a few more minutes at that last stop to go over the case. In a nutshell, Eric McDowell claimed he didn’t kill his wife, although all the evidence pointed to him and only him. It was a circumstantial case, but one which a jury of his peers took only two hours of deliberations to find him guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.” Rodney turned to look out the front window as the tour kiosk came into view. “This concludes our tour. I hope you enjoyed it and will tell your friends and family about us.” He bent forward to open a cardboard box that had been sitting on the seat behind the driver. “At this point, I usually try to sell you this book that goes into more detail about the crimes we visited tonight.” He held up a small paperback titled Tour of True Terror – The Book. “But after what we put you through, I want to give each of you a free copy as a way to again say how sorry we are.”
Rodney handed out our complimentary souvenir and we soon found ourselves at the kiosk saying our goodbyes.
“We had a really good time, Rodney,” Dawn said. “Steve tells me stories of his past cop life, but doesn’t take me on a tour of the best crime scenes.”
“Maybe he will now,” Rodney responded with a smile. “Just promise me you won’t take her to any spots where crazies still live.”
“That would only leave a visit to the mall to recount shoplifting incidents,” I said as I shook Rodney’s hand. “I’ve had my share of Debra Stanfields in my day. I know what you’re going through. Maybe one day she’ll come to her senses and see the truth about her killer son-in-law.”
“We can only hope.”
“Thanks again,” I said, taking Dawn’s hand in mine as we walked to the van. “Now you have something to read.”
Dawn looked at the cover. “It was written by Rodney and his business partner, so I’m thinking it should be pretty good.” I opened the passenger door and as she entered Dawn asked, “You know what?”
“I do not,” I admitted.
“I think this is even better than some old magnet or t-shirt anyway.”
“I agree,” I said, closing the door and making my way around the front of the van. “Plus,” I said to myself, “it was free and free is always better than an overpriced trinket.” Starting the van’s engine, I asked, “Feel like getting a bite to eat?”
“I was thinking of skinny dipping at that secluded beach we saw on the tour earlier,” Dawn said, never taking her eyes off the book’s back cover.
“The beach where the arthritic Italian woman killed her husband the chef with a frying pan, as her busboy lover watched from the woods?”
“Yes, that one,” Dawn said in a sly tone. “Surf, sand, a full moon, a forbidden love triangle and a fry pan to the skull.” Dawn turned and fixed her eyes on my face. “Now that’s amore.”
“I’m not sure where you’re going to hide a fry pan while skinny dipping, but I’m 100% for seeing you try.”
I pulled out of the parking lot and glanced over to see Rodney and the bus driver examining the destroyed logo. As they grew smaller in my mirrors, I was relieved I’d have no further contact with this troubling situation and thought, Good luck with that boys. You’re going to need a lot of it.
Chapter Four
With no schedule to speak of, Dawn and I took a leisurely approach to our Sunday morning. The previous evening’s quick dip in the warm lake and subsequent beach bonfire had a very calming effect on our bodies and minds. It was just what we needed after the roadside chaos aboard the terror bus.
“I’m going to hit the gym. Meet you poolside in an hour?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dawn said while packing a small beach bag with suntan lotion, her music player and the souvenir paperback from the tour. “I’m planning to read the Eric McDowell chapter first to see what all the fuss is about. I skimmed it a bit already and it took a year to get to trial. So for this Debra woman, it’s been five years proclaiming Eric’s innocence. That’s a long time.”
“For me, the intriguing part is it’s his mother-in-law doing all the screaming and spray painting.”
“I’ve never been married, so don’t know all the ins and outs of in-law relationships,” Dawn smiled. “Did your former mother-in-law like you?”
I had to think back a very long time for my answer. “We were always on good terms, although if on trial for killing her daughter, she wouldn’t be protesting with a sign reading FREE STEVE! Nor would I expect her to.”
“Oh yeah, your personal arrest code for family and friends. How does that work again?” Dawn asked with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice.
“Laugh all you like at my code. I just hope you’ll never have to abide by it.”
“But you’re not making any promises, right?”
“No promises, correct. My previous track record indicates a criminal reoccurrence may very well happen in the future.”
“And that’s when the code kicks in.”
“Exactly.” I sat on the bed and tied my shoes. “So, unless you actually witness the crime I’ve been charged with, no matter how heinous
