Page 17 of Silent Ridge

Oh, crap!

“Yeah. You’re right. We’re from Jefferson County, but we’re on an investigation. She just got promoted and hasn’t gotten her badge yet,” I lie. It must have been a good lie, because she hands the badges back and invites us inside.

Now that I can see her, she reminds me so much of Monique that I feel a shiver. I’m going to tell her that her mother has been murdered.

We step into her living room. There is a game box on the coffee table and a sixty-inch-screen television on one wall. The couch is well worn but expensive, leather. Maybe a gift from Mom. Almost identical pictures to those found at the scene fill the walls. There are several photos of Leanne by herself, Leanne with Gabrielle, Leanne with Monique, and the photo of Leanne on the sailboat with her father. I never knew what happened with the father. Monique never spoke of him.

There are also several pictures of a boy. The same one taken in the park: the boy on the monkey bars. It had been facedown, the glass broken, on top of the dresser in Monique’s house. There are several photos of the boy at various ages and then a graduation picture. I notice there is only one picture of Gabrielle.

She doesn’t invite us to sit down. I take the lead and sit on the couch. I pat the cushion, motioning for Gabrielle to join me. Ronnie stays by the door and remains quiet. Gabrielle looks from me to Ronnie and back to me. She sits, takes a deep breath and lets it out. “This isn’t about that god-awful smell, is it?”

I shake my head.

“This is about my mother, isn’t it? Something’s happened to her.”

I nod. “I’m so sorry.” Somehow I tell her that her mother is dead. And then she asks the question that I’d give anything not to recount.

“Did she suffer?”

I tell her no, and leave out the details. Dead is dead. Her knowing everything that I do isn’t necessary, I don’t care what they taught me at the police academy. Grief in small doses is always best. I would know. I lost my stepfather and had to go on the run with my little brother in the space of five minutes. Life doesn’t have to suck for everyone. I’ll give her more of the details if she asks.

She doesn’t.

Fifteen

“I saw the guns and didn’t know what to think,” Gabrielle says.

“We smelled something bad,” Ronnie explains.

“Smells like a dead body?” Gabrielle asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“My neighbor’s septic tank is overflowing. I’ve complained to him but he’s not going to fix it. I’ve complained to the city and they haven’t sent anyone out. And I think he’s a little mental. He has about twenty cats and I think some of them are dead.”

I’ve heard of a “cat lady” but never a “cat man.” I don’t care if he’s crazy; I’m glad I haven’t stumbled onto another skinned corpse. The smell isn’t so strong inside her house. In any case, if it were me, I’d hold the neighbor at gunpoint until he fixed it. But that’s just me.

Ronnie makes chamomile tea in the kitchen while I sit with Gabrielle, who says she’s a teetotaler. Ronnie brings back cups and saucers for all of us, but I’d rather drink toilet water than this stuff. I can understand not drinking liquor, but chamomile?

Gabrielle stares down into the liquid in her teacup without speaking.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” I say.

She examines my face. I can see a light come on and she sits completely still for what seems minutes. Then she resumes sipping the tea and her whole demeanor changes.

“Can we speak alone, Detective Carpenter?”

“I’ll make some more tea,” Ronnie says. “Would you like some tea, Megan? She has regular tea too.”

I haven’t even touched my nasty brew. I hand the cup and saucer to Ronnie and nod. I can’t take my eyes from Gabrielle’s face. “Yes. That will be nice. No sugar. Give us a few minutes.”

“Of course.” Ronnie heads off to the kitchen.

Gabrielle motions for me to follow her outside. She pulls the door to behind us and faces me.

“I know who you are,” she says.

I feel goose bumps on my arms. I believe her. Monique must have told her something, but what? I say nothing.

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