In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(89)

“Let me take over, Butch,” Jamie said. She kicked Butch out of his chair and sat down. “So, Em, you’re feeling like it’s not fair that your parents favor your sister.”

“Exactly,” Em said.

“That must be really frustrating. Note, class, that I’m labeling her feelings, not just echoing them, like Butchie was—no offense, Butch. But when I put a label on them, Em can see that I get it, and that I understand her. We’re creating empathy here. Okay, Em, back to you. That must be frustrating.”

“It is.” Em felt a pang of guilt. “But I was no picnic, and my sister really is pretty great.” Speaking of Flawless Angela...Em should give her a call.

“Sounds like you guys are close.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. She’s nice.”

“What do you think she’d say about this situation?”

“She’d tell me not to do it.” Jamie didn’t respond, so Em kept talking. “She’d be upset. Devastated, really. She loves them a lot.”

“See how I paused there, people?” Jamie said. “This isn’t a rapid-fire police interrogation where you’re trying to keep someone off balance to get them to tell the truth. Sometimes the pauses let your bad guy do some thinking, and their situation starts to sink in.” She stood up. “And that, my friends, is all the time we have. Good job today.”

On the way home, Levi radioed in and asked her to check on Alice McPhales, a sweet old lady struggling with dementia. She still lived on her own, but it was a matter of time before her son had to make some changes. She called the police at least three times a week, convinced she saw people creeping around her property, which was a farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Today she’d reported that someone had broken into her house. She called with this complaint a few times a month, so Em wasn’t really worried.

Everett pulled up in his cruiser just as she did. “Slow day?” Em asked.

“I’ll check the perimeter for intruders,” Everett said, reaching for his gun.

“Keep that in the holster, dumbass,” Emmaline said.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “I don’t like going in there. It’s too crowded.”

“Everett...never mind. Knock yourself out and check the perimeter, but if you pull that gun out for anything less than an alien attack, I’m telling Levi.”

Everett muttered and kicked some grass.

“Mrs. McPhales?” Emmaline called as she knocked.

The old lady opened the door a crack. “Where’s Levi?” she asked.

“He’s at the station. He asked me to come instead. I’m Emmaline Neal. Luanne Macomb’s granddaughter. Remember? I’m a police officer, too.”

“Oh, yes. Luanne. She’s lovely! Such a good knitter! Tell her I said hello, won’t you?”

“I’ll do that, Mrs. McPhales.” No point in reminding the old lady her friend was gone. “Can I come in and check things out?”

Mrs. McPhales’s house was typical for an old person—too cluttered, too many little rugs that would make tripping easy. It was dark, too, since she had all the curtains drawn. “What seems to be missing, Mrs. McPhales?” she asked as she turned on a light.

“The gravy boat my grandmother gave me! I can’t believe they took it!” The old lady began to cry. “It was so beautiful, and now it’s gone. They must’ve come in when I was sleeping. I’ll never feel safe here again, and my husband built this house. They’ve ruined it! They’ve soiled it!”

Em put her arm around her. “Why don’t I make you a cup of tea?” she asked.

“I prefer coffee. But the...the...black box in the kitchen is broken.”

“The coffeemaker?”

“Yes.”

Em went into the kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. The coffeemaker was unplugged. She plugged it back in and made coffee, and, while that was brewing, she filled the sink with hot water.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mrs. McPhales said.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I like doing dishes. You can tell me where they go.”

“Perimeter is clear,” came Everett’s voice over the radio.

“Imagine that,” Em muttered. “Roger,” she said back. “Why don’t you head back, Ev?”

“Roger that, heading back to the station.”

The cupboards were a mess—cereal boxes in with the glassware, an open jar of peanut butter in a colander. Em straightened up as best she could, then poured Alice some coffee. “So what does this gravy boat look like?” She took out her notebook so Mrs. McPhales wouldn’t feel like Em was merely tolerating her.

Mrs. McPhales took a sip of her coffee. “What gravy boat?”

“The one your grandmother gave you.”

“Oh, yes. It was white with pink flowers. It was very old. She brought it from England, and when I was little, she’d put it out at Christmas. I just loved seeing it on her table. It was so fancy and beautiful.” She started to cry noiselessly, and Em’s heart gave a tug. Her father’s parents had died when she was little, Nana of a massive stroke or heart attack that took her while she was sleeping.

Em lived in Michigan at the time, and she remembered crumpling when her mom told her the news, and how wonderful Kevin had been, holding her close, the comforting smell of his shirt, the ever-present tang of his sweat, back when he carried so much extra weight.