The Sound of Broken Ribs(28)
Anthony Marchesini had been the one who found Lei Duncan on the side of the road. He’d told the EMTs that he’d seen Duncan’s shoe in the middle of the road, and having seen the woman running in those same shoes just that morning—according to the report from the officer on scene, Marchesini’s statement had been, “I ain’t likely to forget some bright-ass yellow shit kickers like them. Those shoes are bright enough to kill cancer.”—he decided to stop and take a “look-see.”
But what gnawed at Jenna was the fact that Tony’s sister had a scar over her right eye, and that scar was in the shape of a quarter moon. Not to mention, Belinda Walsh drove a yellow Toyota Corolla. Ugly car, but easily remembered.
On top of all that, Jenna knew Belinda personally. Well, she knew her husband Daniel, anyway. Daniel Walsh had helped Jenna with purchasing home-and-life insurance just the previous year. Jenna had upgraded her living arrangement after being elected Sheriff, moving from a modest one bedroom starter house to a nice, big three bedroom. Now she had the library and crafting rooms she’d always wanted.
She pulled into the Walsh’s driveway slightly after three that afternoon. Her stomach rumbled as she swung out of her cruiser. She had eaten an early lunch after her meeting in Columbus and was now famished. She promised herself that she’d grab a hamburger at Wiley’s Sandwich Shop on her way home.
Jenna wasn’t an expert in the field of architecture, but she was pretty sure this kind of one-story home with half a porch and bay windows was called a “bungalow.” There was a small garden to the left, the side without a porch, under the bay window. The curtains were tied open and Jenna could see a quaint little nook set up with decorative pillows. The peaks of the throws had a patina of dust, as did the sill of the window. Jenna thought a space like that collecting dust was a waste of a great reading spot. Reminding herself that, sadly, not everyone read for escape and fun, or read at all these days, she took the four steps two at a time and knocked on the front door.
No movement from inside. No answer.
Jenna looked for a doorbell and found a small white button next to the doorknob. She thumbed it. A muffled BING-BONG sounded through the door.
Jenna waited another minute before jogging down the porch steps and to the bay window.
A simple kitchen lay beyond the glass: a fridge with Post-its all over the freezer door; small dining room table with a shoe box resting in the middle and papers scattered about; and, most distressing, what looked to be a shattered cell phone littered the linoleum.
“What happened here?” Jenna asked of no one.
“Help you?” Jenna snapped her head in the direction of the voice and found a guy glaring at her from over the hedgerow that separated the Walsh’s property from their neighbor. The man’s hair was snow white and suffered from a serious case of bed-head. He wore a black T-shirt with the words UNION MEN KEEP IT TOGETHER written on the front. Given his advanced age and the fact that he was home in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, Jenna assumed he was retired.
“Hey. Yeah. Do you know the Walshes?”
“I’m their neighbor.” The guy didn’t seem concerned that this statement didn’t really answer her question.
“Have you seen—”
“We don’t take kindly to people peeping in our houses when we’re not at home.”
“I can’t imagine anyone would.” Jenna slapped on her public-relations smile and pulled her badge from the inner pocket of her coat. “Sheriff Jenna Wales. You are?” She handed the man her ID over the hedge and he took it without breaking eye contact with her. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, drifted down to her badge.
He mumbled some numbers Jenna would be able to recite until the day she died and said, “I’ll remember that badge number. This brain of mine is like a steel trap, Sheriff. If that’s really who you are?”
She almost laughed but quickly realized this guy wasn’t joking. “That’s fine. I’m guessing you didn’t vote for me.”
“How’s that?”
“Because you don’t recognize me.”
“I don’t vote. It’s un-American.”
That was a first. Jenna broadened her grin. “Have you seen the Walshes today?”
“They done something criminal?”
“I’m not at leisure to say.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What’s ‘you’re not at leisure to say’ mean?”
The thought occurred to Jenna that this man might be senile. “It means that I can’t say.”
“Then why don’t you just say that you can’t say instead of using fancy words and phrases?” He handed the badge back to her. “I haven’t seen either of them today. The boy leaves before I get up in the morning, and I didn’t see the girl leave. Did see one of your people out here earlier though. Young guy. Face like a brick wall.”
Jenna cocked her head. “Robert was out here?”
“Sorry. Don’t know any ‘Robert’.”
“No, I’m sorry. One of my deputies, the only guy I can think of who fits your… description of the deputy you saw. His name is Robert Huntington. Any idea why he was here?”
“Nope. I don’t mind other people’s business. And if they haven’t done anything wrong, neither should you. Have a lovely day, officer.”