Keep Her Safe(6)

“She didn’t give any details. But the way she was talking, she made it sound like she had a hand in it.”

“Good Lord, Jackie,” he mutters. His eyes rove over the crowd and the officers coming in and out. A few of them I recognize, but most I don’t. “Did you tell APD any of that?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe I can convince them to wait until tomorrow for your statement.”

“They said they needed it tonight. At least a preliminary one.”

Silas makes a sound of agreement. “Can’t blame them. She was the chief.” He drums his fingers against his knee. “They need to hurry it up, though.”

“I’m sure they’ll take it as soon as they can.” Mom’s body is still cooling inside.

“Did she say anything else to you?”

“I don’t . . .” I try hard to focus on our conversation but it’s tough, in this fog. “Something about how it started off as being the right thing. And a wily fox, using something against her. Do you think she was being blackmailed?”

“She never told me. I’d think she would, don’t you?”

I shrug. Because who knows what my mother would do, given what she just did.

Silas pauses. “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do.” He leans in close to me, and I sense a plan coming into focus. That’s Silas—you give him your problem, and he’ll be formulating a solution within minutes. “They don’t need to know what all was said,” he mumbles, almost too low for even me to hear. “That’s between you two. Your mom was a great cop and chief, and we don’t need to give anyone ammunition to say otherwise. This is already going to be a hard pill to swallow for the city.”

“But what am I supposed to tell the police? I can’t lie, Silas.”

“Did she ask you about your day?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell them about that. You came home, talked for bit, and went upstairs. She was having a few drinks, but you didn’t think anything of it. That’s all true, right?”

“Right.” Had the thought that she’d shoot herself crossed my mind, I would never have left her side.

“Then that’s all you tell them. Whatever your mother was saying about Abe . . . she was drunk. She rambles when she’s drunk. I’m sure it’s not what it sounded like. It wouldn’t be right to bring it up, not when she can’t defend herself.”

This isn’t just my uncle telling me this. I’m getting the district attorney’s seal of approval to keep my mother’s crazy words to myself. Right or not, it’s what I need to hear. I nod, and a flicker of relief sparks deep within this overwhelming void gripping me.

Silas and I fall into silence then, watching the parade of people stroll in and out with barely a glance in our direction.

“. . . I don’t know. When would be good?” Boyd steps out of the house, his radio in hand. I’ve known him since preschool and, while we’ve never been best friends, twenty-one years has earned us the right to call each other up at any time. Like the time he called me to ask if my mom would write him a letter of recommendation, when he was applying to the APD.

He was one of the first responders tonight.

The porch floor creaks under the weight of another man, following closely behind him. He’s in plain clothes, but he must be a cop; otherwise they wouldn’t have let him inside. “How ’bout next Wednesday, after our game?”

“Shit, does the season start next week? I’ll have to see if I can make—”

“Officer, are you investigating your chief’s death or planning out your social calendar? Tell Towle that District Attorney Silas Reid wants to get his nephew out of here immediately,” Silas interrupts in a loud, annoyed voice.

Boyd turns to look at me with a grim expression. No cop with half a brain would want to get on the DA’s bad side, and Boyd’s no idiot. “Yes, sir. We’re waiting for . . .” My attention drifts from whatever excuse he’s giving Silas to the other guy, whose dark gaze has settled on me. His expression is blank and yet menacing. It could just be his deep-set eyes and steep forehead, the steepest I’ve ever seen. The combination makes him look like a mean son of a bitch.

“Noah?”

Silas’s voice snaps me out of my daze. Boyd is standing in front of me, his notepad and pen out, sympathy on his face. “He’ll take your preliminary statement and then we can deal with the rest tomorrow.” Silas gives me a reassuring smile. “Are you ready?”

Am I ready to tell half-truths? “Yes, sir.”

Of course Mom wouldn’t have had anything to do with Abe’s death.

And no one needs to know she said otherwise.





CHAPTER 3


Grace

Tucson, Arizona

I toss a baby carrot to the sandy ground. “Don’t say I never shared.”

Cyclops dives and devours it in one fell swoop, unbothered by the gritty coating. I’m not surprised. He’ll eat anything he can fit into his yappy mouth. I’ve caught him trotting by with a rat tail dangling from his jaws more than once.

“Now go on.” It’s pointless; the mangy dog can smell the chicken taquitos I tucked away in my purse. He won’t be leaving my heels anytime soon. Persistence is how he’s survived this long. He doesn’t have an owner to feed him; he follows the trailer park’s inhabitants, hoping someone will pity him enough to throw him scraps. Usually that someone is me.