And There He Kept Her (Ben Packard #1)(65)

“I understand. Just one more question. Are you married, Mr. Burr?”

“No,” he spat out.

“Any children? Family nearby?”

“No.”

“I’m concerned about your pain and your mobility. You should have someone come by once in a while to check on you. Does Meals on Wheels still come?”

“No. I’ve been getting by on my own for a long time. I can manage.”

“All it takes is one fall.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Detective. If we’re done I’m going inside.”

“What about your groceries?”

Emmett started walking toward his house. “Fuck ’em,” he growled, waving a hand behind him as he shuffled closer to the stairs up to the house. “I’ll get ’em later. Just go away.”

He didn’t look back as he slowly climbed the steps. He pushed the sliding door open and slammed it behind him, yanking the curtains across it, almost frantic as he limped to the fridge for a beer, to the kitchen sink for his pills, then back to the recliner.

His hands shook as he tried to light a cigarette. Killing the Gherlick boy was supposed to have cut the connection between him and the kids. Instead it brought a sheriff’s detective right to his door. What kind of fucking shitforbrains steals people’s prescription drugs, then keeps the labeled bottles?

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs outside. He jammed the cigarette in his mouth and scrambled for the shotgun beside his chair and laid it across his thigh with the stock jammed into the cushion behind him.

How much could the girl hear from inside the cage? Two sets of footsteps up the stairs? Voices inside and outside the house? Any sound from her and he’d blast the cop right through the sliding glass door. Three women had already disappeared out here. No reason to believe he couldn’t make it four.

He heard the thunk of cans and the rustle of paper bags being set down. His finger hovered over the trigger.

“I’m leaving your groceries right here, Mr. Burr. Get ’em when you’re ready. Please take care of yourself.”

The cop’s steps retreated down the stairs. Emmett waited with the gun in his lap until he heard her drive away.

She hadn’t said anything about coming back, but he didn’t believe for a minute that she wouldn’t. The whole plan needed to move up.

The car and the body inside had to go tonight.





Chapter Twenty-One


Two Gatsby-green light bulbs in copper shades hung on either side of the sign over the Sweet Pea’s door. Packard stood just out of view of the two front windows, watching as Thielen approached from where she’d parked on the street, wearing a zippered blue Under Armor hoodie with neon highlights and tennis shoes. Her hair was still damp from the shower.

“You had time for a workout?” he asked.

“Yeah. Ran a 5K and did legs. I’m starving.”

“Try not to eat the glassware while we wait for the food to come.”

“I’ll do my best.”

At the door he stopped and said, “I’m not sure yet what to do with the news about Sam Gherlick.”

“Susan might have already heard about Sam,” Thielen said. “Word’s out. Peggy Simpson was walking on the treadmill next to mine. She asked me if it was true what she heard about the sheriff’s grandson. I said nothing, of course.”

“Even if Susan has heard, she doesn’t know the connection to Jenny and Jesse.”

“True,” Thielen said. “Let’s play it out. We’ll see how it goes.”

They went in together, stood awkwardly by the PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign. Packard wondered if it looked like the two of them were on a date. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt and a black jacket. Anyone who knew them knew Thielen was married. He didn’t know why he felt so awkward all of a sudden, like everyone was looking at them.

Susan pushed through a swinging door from the kitchen carrying two large white plates. She looked like a scarecrow made from old clothes and a wooden cross. She did a double take when she saw Packard, and for one second it felt like the restaurant went dead silent. That’s why everyone was staring at them, Packard realized. They knew about Susan’s daughter, and here were two detectives to see her. He should have thought of this before. Everyone in the place was going to leave with neck strain from pretending to not be trying to overhear their conversation.

“You’re here,” Susan said as she approached. “I’m down a server so it’s hectic right now. Have a seat at the bar and we’ll talk when I have time. Angie will take care of you.”

The restaurant was about three-quarters full, but the long bar was open except for a couple at the end closer to the kitchen, and Ruth Adams, the librarian, around the corner at the other end drinking something brown and reading from a pile of printed pages in front of her. They took seats near Ruth, who smiled and said, “Evening,” then returned to her pages.

They ordered beers and then food. The lack of privacy kept them from talking about work or anything to do with the case. They talked about Thielen’s training for an Ironman triathlon she had coming up in July in Canada. She’d been bullying Packard for a year to train for an Ironman, too, but he wouldn’t take the bait. He knew his limitations. The swim and the bike ride wouldn’t be a problem. He knew he didn’t have a marathon in him.