Everything We Didn't Say(35)
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She left Willa at the dance studio for an early morning class and took a shortcut through the outskirts of town on her way to the highway. Just before the neat, orderly lines of Jericho’s only trailer park at the edge of town, she spotted a police cruiser pulling into a driveway. After guiltily checking her odometer (only two miles an hour over the speed limit), she realized that Everett Stokes was climbing out the driver’s side of the car. She recognized the distinct way he walked—shoulders thrown back, head tilted forward as he if couldn’t wait to get wherever he was going. Besides, how many thirty-something police officers could Jericho employ? He was dressed in a navy uniform, billy club clipped to his belt and radio at his shoulder.
Before she could stop to consider what she was doing, Juniper pumped the brakes and pulled into the driveway beside his cruiser.
Officer Stokes turned, shading his eyes from the frosty glow of snow around him, and gave her a wary look. As he caught sight of Juniper, his features shifted just a bit, but she couldn’t read his expression.
“Good morning,” he called when Juniper stepped out of her car. To his credit, he didn’t ask her what in the world she thought she was doing.
“Just driving past,” Juniper explained anyway, already regretting her impulsivity. Too late to back out now. She crossed around her vehicle so they met in front of the garage doors. “This your place?”
He nodded. Now that Juniper had stopped and gotten out of her car, she was less convinced this bold move was the right one. When she had called yesterday, he had kind of blown her off. “My secretary would be happy to take your statement,” he’d told her. But that wasn’t what Juniper wanted at all. She wanted this: a face-to-face with the man who told her they were taking another look at the Murphy murders. She decided to play nice Midwestern girl, remembering her roots: it was perfectly kosher, expected even, to stop and chat if you saw a friend. It was a huge stretch to call Officer Stokes a friend, but she braved a smile anyway.
“Night shift?” she tried awkwardly, and he nodded again. Because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, Juniper ended up blurting out: “I spent some time reading Jericho Unscripted last night.”
Something behind his eyes sparked. He gave a cynical laugh. “You discovered India’s blog?”
“Not just her blog. We met at the library.”
Officer Stokes sized her up for a moment, then said: “You’re cold. And I need a cup of coffee. Come on.”
Juniper hadn’t expected to be invited into his house, but he was right—she was freezing. Her fingers were numb and her eyes were watering. She longed to put her hands around a mug of something hot, or at the very least get out of the icy wind for a moment. Mandy was expecting her at the hospital by lunchtime, but a quick stopover wouldn’t throw anything off. Besides, now that she was here, Juniper couldn’t shake the feeling that befriending Everett Stokes was the smartest thing she could possibly do. She had snuck a peek at his ring finger and noted it was bare. Not that she was even remotely interested in him romantically, but it certainly simplified things that she wouldn’t have to deal with a jealous wife.
He led her to the side door, through the garage like they were old friends instead of relative strangers. “I haven’t shoveled the sidewalk in a while,” he said by way of explanation. What he didn’t need to say was that he either didn’t receive many visitors, or those who came by weren’t the front door type.
Officer Stokes’s house was tidy inside, so carefully kept that Juniper was instantly convinced he hired a cleaning service. She had never met a man so fastidious. The tile in the entryway-and-laundry-room combo looked like it had been scrubbed with a toothbrush. Even the grout was white and clean. And the whole place smelled of fresh citrus, lemony with just a note of cut grass.
“You don’t have to do that.” He seemed embarrassed that she was unlacing her shoes, but Juniper wouldn’t dream of soiling his floor.
“It’s fine, Officer Stokes,” she said. “I’m a good Dutch girl. I don’t wear shoes in houses.”
“At least call me Everett,” he said, flipping the coffee maker on and turning to lean against the counter. “How’s your brother doing?”
“Okay. Stable. I’m actually on my way to Des Moines. I was just driving past…”
They were silent for a moment, studying each other across the tiny kitchen table. Then the radio at Everett’s shoulder crackled, fragmenting the silence. He reached for it and turned it down, appearing almost surprised to find that he was still in full uniform.
“Give me a sec, will you?” Everett asked, patting his holstered gun.
“Of course.” Juniper waved him away. “Where are your mugs?”
“In the cupboard above the sink. There’s creamer in the fridge if you’d like some. I’ll be right back.”
Everett disappeared down a hallway. Juniper lifted two mugs from the cupboard he had indicated and positioned the creamer between them. In the quiet kitchen she could hear the tick of the clock above the stove and the low hum of the radiator. She wished she had her phone—it was in the cupholder in her car—but just as she was about to distract herself with the newspaper on the table, she became aware of the sound of running water. No, not running. Burbling like a brook; a happy, bubbly sound. Curious, Juniper peeked around the archway at the far side of the kitchen and into a small, bright living room.