Send Down the Rain(45)

Allie smiled. “Well . . . I’m about to kill somebody . . .” And she hung up.

Small-town deputies are often starved for excitement, so I figured that would get their attention. They’d come running. I parked at the front door, and we got out.

I was surprised at Allie’s demeanor. She was calm, cool, and totally collected. I thought about ringing the doorbell, but Allie walked right past me, gently pressed the door handle, and let herself in the front door. I followed, not wanting to miss what was about to happen. She wound her way through the foyer toward the sound of dinner being eaten in the kitchen. She turned right at the jumbotron screen and into the light of the kitchen, where Jake sat with his family eating dinner.

All four of them looked with curiosity at Allie, who stood in the center of their kitchen. The woman spoke first. “Can I help you?”

The only person who looked like he’d seen a ghost was Jake, who was as white as a sheet. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and attempted to scoot his chair backward, but I stepped in behind him and put my hand on his shoulder. “Sit tight, Houdini.”

Allie pulled up a chair at the table. Both the kids to her right. The woman across from her. Jake on her left. She folded her hands on the table. Even her breathing was calm. Her right hand was spinning the wedding band on her left. An empty vase sat in the middle of the table. She slid it slightly off to the side giving her a clear view of the woman. She looked at the woman several seconds. “Do you know who I am?”

“No.”

I had a feeling she did, but that would come soon enough. Allie looked to both the kids. “You two have any idea?”

They shook their heads. I actually believed them.

Allie never looked at Jake. She was watching the eyes of the other three. She said, “Jake, why don’t you tell them?”

He was about to say something like “I don’t—” but I patted his shoulder and encouraged him otherwise. He turned to the woman. “Kids, this is Allie.”

When he stopped talking, I prompted him. “And she’s . . . ?”

The pain I was creating in his neck convinced him to keep talking. “She’s my . . . my other wife.”

The children looked confused.

It was obvious that the woman was in on whatever Jake had cooked up, as she was not the least bit shaken by Jake’s words. He was about to turn toward me to exert his authority, but I cranked down on his left ear, pinning it between the end of his steak knife and my thumb. He tried to sip his wine, but his hand was shaking so he set his glass down. “She’s, um . . . she and I are married.”

The boy looked at his mom. “Mom, what’s he talking about?”

The woman wiped her mouth on her napkin. Cool as a cucumber. “Just nonsense. I don’t know who these people are.”

Allie reached across and slapped the woman as hard as she could across the face, knocking her out of her chair. The boy stood, but at my invitation quickly sat back down. The girl started crying. From the driveway I heard several car doors slam. Before the police walked in, Allie turned to Jake. While she had captured his attention with the stiletto finger jabbing him in his face, she grabbed the woman’s steak knife and drove it down through Jake’s right hand, pinning it to the table. That seemed to get everyone’s attention. When the woman climbed back up to the table, Allie lifted the vase and broke it against the woman’s jaw.


AN HOUR LATER, JAKE sat silently cuffed in an ambulance while medics tended to his hand. The look on his face suggested there were a million other places he’d rather be. His first wife, Sylvia—of twenty-four years—also sat cuffed and sitting not-soquietly in a patrol car in the driveway. She was doing a pretty good job of exercising her first amendment right. Unfortunately, Allie also sat cuffed in yet a third vehicle. The sheriff listened to my story with a raised eyebrow. When I finished, he shook his head. “I appreciate your trouble, I really do, but you can’t just go around breaking into people’s houses and stabbing them in the hand.”

I gave him the number at First General and told him Dawson Baker would confirm and document everything I said. As would local law enforcement. He still wasn’t buying it. The sheriff added, “Not to mention that we have her on record as stating she intended to kill someone.”

I dialed a number, and Bobby answered. I asked, “You got a minute?”

“For you? Yes.”

I explained our predicament. Bobby said, “Put him on.”

I tapped the sheriff on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Sheriff.” I offered the phone. “This is Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Senator Bobby Brooks. He’d like to speak with you.”

The sheriff stuck the phone to his ear and spoke with no small disbelief. “Yeah, this is Sheriff T. Wayne Higginbotham. To whom do I have the pleasure of—”

The sheriff was quiet several seconds while the color drained out of his face. When he responded, he said, “Well, sir, I’d be negligent if I didn’t at least hold her. I mean, at a minimum, we’ve got assault with a deadly weapon, and we do have her on record as having threatened to kill someone . . .” Slowly, disbelief gave way to something else. His eyes began to grow large and round and his tone of voice changed. Pretty soon he was nodding in agreement. “Uh-huh . . . uh, yes, sir . . . Well . . . yes, sir. Her threatening him in that manner did definitely get our attention.” Another laugh. “Yes, sir, I imagine we set a few land speed records getting here.” He paused. “No, sir, I hadn’t thought of it that way.” More seconds passed. More nodding. Followed by a chuckle. “Well . . . when you put it that way, no, sir, I don’t in fact see how anyone could be arrested for assaulting someone who’s already dead.” At this point, he belly-laughed. “I understand . . . No problem, sir. No, I appreciate that, but I don’t think it’s necessary. If I need you, I’ll contact your office. It’s my honor and privilege . . . Yes, sir . . . I will, sir. You have a good night, sir. And you keep up the good—”