Chapter 33 #2
forward on the recliner, arms leaning on his long legs, gaze down, as if he was trying to see through the floor, into what
was happening in the basement.
Phelps thought of Will’s reaction. That gasping sob before he sat heavily on the bottom step and said, I can’t look at her. A man in shock? Or a man confronting the thing he’d done?
He glanced at Allie, who was sitting on the floor, methodically picking glass out of the carpet and putting it into one of
the champagne glasses. He sensed, with chagrin, there would be no second date.
The sound of a police car siren was a relief.
“Cops are here, everyone be quiet,” said Phelps, even though no one had made a peep since the firefighters arrived. He opened
the door. Two cops were coming up the walkway.
“Mr. Phelps?”
“That’s me. Welcome to the party.”
They didn’t laugh. “May we come in?”
“Please.” He stepped aside. “The firefighters are down with the . . . with Jenn.”
It was a tall man and a short woman. The man stepped forward to address the group.
“I’m Officer Avery and this is my partner, Officer Jones. I need to inform you all that we are both wearing body cams—”
“I don’t consent to being recorded,” said Ted. “I just don’t, man. No disrespect intended.”
“We’re informing you,” said Officer Jones in a dry tone. “Not asking your permission.”
It looked like Ted was going to say something else—damn his Speech and Debate instincts—but thankfully, there was a huge clatter
as the firefighters tromped back up from the basement. The cops disappeared into the kitchen to talk to them in the semi-privacy
behind the straggly party streamers.
Officer Avery returned shortly after. He stood between the dining and living room to address the group.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are working under the assumption this is a crime scene. The basement is now off-limits, and forensics
is on the way.”
Bunny, of course, gasped.
Avery continued. “My colleague and I are going to take down your names and addresses as well as your statements. I’d like
to ask that nobody leave until we have that information.”
“Anything we can do to help,” said Phelps. He had the sinking feeling he wasn’t going to bed tonight.
“Are we allowed to leave the state?” said Bunny. “Because I don’t even live in Indiana!”
“I think we’ll take individual statements in the kitchen,” said Officer Avery, ignoring Bunny’s question. “And let’s start with—” His eyes scanned the room slowly. He gestured to Hellie. “Ma’am?”
Immediately, she seemed to lose the little color she had. “M-me?” she said.
Officer Avery cocked his head. “Is there a problem?”
Officer Jones chose this moment to walk back in along with the firefighters, who tromped out single file, closing the door
behind them, leaving just the two officers.
Hellie stared at them both, then stood slowly, as if she was a marionette drawn to her feet by some external force.
Phelps had never seen Hellie scared. Not a day in her life. Not when Doug was up to his criminal shit, not when they got evicted,
not when Doug almost died of an overdose that one time. She was made of stronger stuff than the average person. Seeing the
fear in her eyes was making Phelps feel physically ill. His heart pounded in his chest. Maybe God hated him, maybe he didn’t,
but he prayed anyway. Not Hellie.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” said Officer Jones.
“Actually, I . . .” Hellie’s voice was small. She was small, standing there in her sparkling green dress with her thin legs and her narrow shoulders and the delicate bone structure
of her face, looking like a child. “There’s something I have to say. I want everyone to hear it.”
If the room was charged before, it went supercharged. Phelps could practically feel the hairs on his arms standing up.
Hellie licked her lips. “I—”
“Stop,” Doug burst out, leaping to his feet.
“Sir?” said Officer Avery. His hand went to his holster. “I’d like to ask you to—”
“I—I did it. I fucking shot her, man. I shot that bitch. She got me fired from the best job I ever had.”
There was an audible collective gasp. Phelps’s heart rate ratcheted up to a thousand. He was going to need a fucking pacemaker
after the number this was doing on his heart.
No way.
. . . and yet . . .
“And what job was that, Mr.—” said Avery, casually pulling out a notepad.
“Gutter sales. I sold those gutters all over town and it was easy for me, man, it was easy, like giving candy to children.” Doug ran a hand through his hair and laughed.
Avery didn’t even blink. “There was no gunshot wound on the body.”
“Metaphorically!” said Doug. “I shot her, like—in a figure of speech! Anyway, I told her what I really thought about her and
then I—I—” He spun his hands, looking around the group like he was asking for help.
What the fuck? Phelps mouthed at him.
“You did what, Mr.—” said Officer Jones.
Doug’s eyes went blank. He seemed lost in his own world.
“Pfluger,” Phelps filled in quietly. “His name is Doug Pfluger.” It was like watching a nightmare. A train wreck. An avalanche.
He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to.
“Mr. Pfluger—” Officer Jones began, eyeing her colleague, and Phelps had to wonder what the hell they were thinking. How they’d
tell this story to their friends later. And then we get to this New Year’s party and it is nuts, man, there are party hats and busted champagne glasses, and this guy starts confessing that he shot someone
who definitely wasn’t shot—
“Dougie—” interjected Hellie in a broken voice, taking a single step toward him.
“Blood!” said Doug, snapping awake. He pointed at Allie and laughed. “That’s right. Because I pushed her down the stairs!
That’s it, man, that’s how I actually killed her!” His face was red. Expressive. Ecstatic. “Allie said to me, when she was
telling us to call 9–1–1, ‘maybe she fell down the stairs’ . . . because that’s exactly what happened! I pushed that bitch!” He sat back down on the low bookshelf and slapped the surface enthusiastically. The scented candle rattled.
Officer Jones did not look convinced. “This is all very interesting, Mr. Pfluger, but can I ask—if she was pushed down the
stairs, how did her body get behind the couch?”
“Oh, that . . . I dragged her over there, man. You think I was gonna just leave her there? No! I was going to hide her body under the couch . . .
then I realized, you know, she wasn’t gonna fit under the couch. Know what I mean?” Doug shrugged, then slapped the bookshelf like this should be satisfactory.
“Mr. Pfluger, are you sure that is what happened?” said Officer Avery. “You do realize everything you’re saying can be used
against you in a court of law?”
“I sure fucking hope it can! This is a confession, man! I’m confessing!” Doug burst out laughing. He had tiny tears in the
corners of his eyes. “Man, I am so high right now . . .”
Ted hissed out his breath.
“High on drugs, Mr. Pfluger?” said Officer Jones.
“Weed . . . cocaine . . . totally my own stash though, dude, not Phelps’s. And not his.” He pointed to Ted. “Definitely just
the stuff I always have on me.” He winked at Ted. Ted sunk his face into his hands.
It was like Baz Fucking Luhrmann had started directing the night. It was ridiculous. This confession was ridiculous—could
not possibly be true . . . There was no question that Doug was unstable. But that had been Doug for most of his adult life, and even though
the dude was crazy, Phelps had never known him to be physically violent—
The cops were eyeing each other. Officer Jones stepped forward. She looked tired.
“Then based on your confession, Mr. Pfluger, I have no choice but to arrest you.”
Officer Jones intoned his rights as Avery pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you . . .”
Doug looked remarkably cheerful as Officer Jones said in a grim tone, “This way, Mr. Pfluger,” and opened the front door.
“Well, see you later, motherfuckers,” said Doug at the threshold. He pointed his chin at Hellie with a wide smile on his face.
“We had a love story for the ages, huh, Hellie? Am I right? Like Romeo and fucking Juliet, you and me, baby!”
“We will still take statements from everyone,” Officer Avery said with a backward glance. “Don’t move.”
As soon as they exited the house with Doug, Phelps took command of the room.
He knew they only had a matter of minutes, possibly seconds, before the cops returned. And if anyone here told the true story
of what had gone down tonight, the cops would quickly find that a lot more people than Doug had a motive for killing Jenn.
Phelps, for example. Revenge for the restaurant was a pretty compelling reason.
Doug had made his bed. Let him lie in it.
“Listen,” Phelps said, his voice tight. “Tonight was awesome, reminiscing and hanging out, and I am shocked things took a violent turn. I don’t know what Doug was talking about with his job. As far as I knew, Doug said he just got
promoted. And I can’t imagine Jenn having beef with anyone. We all loved her. Right?”
There was a long silence and a lot of blank expressions. Then Ted chuckled.
“Yeah, man, me and Jenn . . .” He twisted his index and middle finger together and held them up. He popped his t’s. “Tight.”
“She was always . . . very sweet,” said Hellie in a faint voice. Olivia murmured her agreement.
“She was my wife.” Will’s voice was numb and flat. “My wife who I loved very much.”
“Allie?” said Phelps. Would she play along? She’d have no reason to lie since she had nothing to protect, but he was counting on her goodwill—
“She seemed nice to me.” Allie shrugged. Her nonchalance was scarily convincing. “I can’t imagine her having problems with
anyone.”
“That’s right,” said Phelps, his voice warming now that he knew they were on his side. “It’s a huge loss to our friend group.
And it’s too bad Doug let drugs get the better of him.”
“People do crazy things when they’re high,” said Bennett. His voice was a little too sincere, and Phelps couldn’t tell if
Bennett was tracking, or honestly thought Doug had done it.
Right now, it didn’t matter.
Bunny popped up.
“Okay, I get it, now I really need the bathroom.”
“I’m making tea,” announced Allie. “Olivia, did you want some?”
Ted had pulled up Solitaire on his phone. Hellie looked like she was going to be sick. Will was standing slowly with a dazed
expression on his face, looking like a man who had walked through hell. And back, thought Phelps. And back.
“Hey, man . . .” said Phelps to Will. Will turned empty eyes on his friend and Phelps walked up to him, arms open. Their bodies
met with a solid thump.
Will was taller. His head sank against Phelps’s shoulder. Phelps held on even tighter as Will’s body shook with silent tears.
Should he say “sorry”?
Phelps had no fucking clue. So he did what he did with his boys when they were upset. He pounded Will’s back and said nothing
at all.