Chapter 18
Savvy
It’s not until Brenda walks into my office and dumps a brown paper bag bearing the Strange Brew logo on my desk, I realize I am starving.
I was going to pick up something to eat on my way into the office, but I never got the chance.
First, Detective Tessa Androtti called to let me know she wanted to meet to discuss Franklin Wyatt’s case.
No sooner had I hung up with her when Warren called me from the station to let me know Sanchuk was hooting and hollering from his holding cell that he wanted to see me.
Everyone wanted a piece of me this morning, and I’ve barely had a chance to breathe.
Needing a break from what has been a frustrating two hours trying to get somewhere with Sanchuk, I just stepped out of the interview room and sat down in my office to follow up on calls and emails for a few minutes before Androtti gets here.
When I smell the sweet scent of sugar and cinnamon, my stomach rumbles loudly and I reach into the bag and pull out one of the biggest cinnamon rolls I’ve ever seen.
“I asked for a tomato and egg salad sandwich, but Bess packed this instead,” Brenda huffs.
God bless her, she tries so hard to make sure I look after myself, and that includes eating properly, but Bess knows me best. She knows I would’ve probably left a sandwich sitting on my desk to eventually be forgotten about, but I wouldn’t be able to resist one of her delectable cinnamon rolls and would wolf that down in a heartbeat.
“You need to eat properly, take care of yourself or you’re going to wear out before you’re old,” she chastises me. “You probably barely slept again.”
“I did okay,” I mumble around a mouthful of the delicious pastry.
She huffs again and leaves my office, and I can’t help the grin pulling at my lips.
I may have woken up early but that was after sleeping like a baby in Nate’s arms, and then proceeded to engage, in what I would call, a healthy morning exercise routine.
I was feeling pretty damn skippy until my dad showed up on Nate’s doorstep.
It’s probably a good thing I haven’t had the time to worry and stew about his early morning visit. I haven’t even begun to process how mad I am at my father, and how hurt I am by what feels like a betrayal. I don’t get how Nate could be so calm and collected when he’s the one who was hurt the most.
I put down my cinnamon roll, lick my fingers clean, and grab my phone to shoot Nate a text.
Hey, just checking in. How are you feeling?
When there’s no immediate response—he could be napping, or in the shower or something—I take another bite of my pastry, lean back, and close my eyes briefly, focusing on a moment of enjoyment in an otherwise less than stellar workday.
“Sorry to interrupt…”
My eyes fly open to find a salt-and-pepper-haired woman in a pin-striped suit standing in my doorway with a briefcase in her hand.
The suit and case suggest professionalism but her hair, haphazardly piled on top of her head in a messy knot, seems a little contradictory, as are the chunky, horn-rimmed glasses barely hanging on to the tip of her nose.
Despite the gray in her hair, she looks to be maybe in her early forties at the most.
CID agent, Tessa Androtti, is nothing like I’d envisioned.
“Not interrupting at all,” I assure her, jumping to my feet as I wipe my sticky fingers on my pants in a less than classy move. “I was just enjoying a belated breakfast, or is it lunchtime already? Detective Androtti?”
I round my desk to greet her.
She flashes a friendly smile as she steps into my office, her hand outstretched.
“In the flesh. Sheriff Colter, it’s good to put a face to the voice.”
“So it is. And let’s drop the titles. I’m Savvy. Please have a seat. Would you like some coffee? Although, it should come with a hazard warning,” I whisper conspiratorially.
She chuckles as she sits in one of the visitor chairs, setting the briefcase she was holding beside her.
“Your assistant is fixing me one right now. And thanks for the warning, but caffeine currently sustains me and I’m desperate enough for my next fix to chug down engine oil if I must.”
Good, she has a sense of humor, and is not some stiff in a suit. Which the funky hair and glasses already kind of gave away.
“And please don’t let me stop you from enjoying the rest of that scrumptious-looking thing on your desk.” She points at the cinnamon bun.
“Can I at least offer you half?”
She shakes her head. “God no. Just looking at it is gonna put back the seventy-five pounds I’ve managed to shed since last year.
” Then she quickly adds, “But please, don’t let that stop you.
I have two sons who unapologetically stuff their faces like starved animals in front of me, so I’ve been desensitized. ”
Just then Brenda walks in and hands the agent her coffee.
“I’ll hold your calls,” she informs me before she steps outside and closes the door behind her.
I watch as Tessa takes a gulp of hot coffee, makes a disgusted face, and still takes another one before she resolutely places the cup on my desk and pulls a thick file from the briefcase at her feet.
“I was able to track down Stanley Greer and his wife Olivia back at home in Clinton, Missouri. They were the guests in cabin five,” she clarifies when she catches my confused expression.
Right. We’d been in the process of trying to locate any and all guests whose stay would’ve overlapped with Franklin Wyatt’s time there. A few of them were hard to chase down.
“Five is the one right across from the victim’s cabin, correct?”
“It is,” she confirms. “The Greers were kind enough to speak with me on the phone. Between them they had pretty detailed recollection of their time at the cabin and were able to send me their signed statements.”
She pulls two sheets of paper from the file folder and places them on my desk, facing me.
“I’d like you to read them and tell me what you think.”
I grab them and start reading. Pretty standard observations, the comings and goings of our victim they remembered seeing during their time at the cabins, a brief conversation they had with him when they bumped into him on an evening walk, anything unusual they might have seen, including a visitor they observed going into cabin four on two separate occasions.
What stands out immediately is that both occurrences were at night, they saw them go in, but not come out, and both times the individual seemed to appear out of the surrounding woods.
It was dark so—other than the fact this was a man, and his general height and build—his face was not visible so they couldn’t give us many more details on his possible identity.
What they were able to describe, however, is what he was wearing.
My breath catches in my throat as I read their description of light reflecting off shiny buttons, the appearance of a duty belt on the hips, complete with a weapon’s holster, and the ball cap the visitor appeared to be wearing.
The final detail is a pair of handcuffs Mrs. Greer spotted hanging from his hand.
“A uniform,” I mumble under my breath, but Tessa hears it.
“That would be my guess.”
“Could be a security guard,” I suggest feebly.
“The ball cap doesn’t really fit,” she counters, pointing out what I’d already figured out.
“Role-play? A costume?”
She shrugs. “Could be, but we can’t ignore the possibility this was someone in law enforcement.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Just what I need, with everything else going on, now I have to look at the dwindling members of my sheriff’s deputies with suspicion?
Unless…
Nate
Weird morning.
Well, not all of it was weird. The earlier part of it couldn’t exactly be described as weird, that was actually pretty mind-blowing, but after that it got weird. A bit surreal.
First there was Sheriff Colter’s visit—Savvy’s father, that is—which kind of shifted everything I thought I knew off its axis. After he left, I took my coffee out on the deck and spent a good hour just sitting there, staring out at the mountains, trying to process it all.
Then the neighbor, the Good Samaritan who came to my aid, pushed his own lawnmower all the way across the street and started mowing my lawn with nothing more than a wave of his hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And finally, Hugo Alexander showed up at my door, with a coffee and a breakfast sandwich from Strange Brew, courtesy of Bess, he said. He also had a box of groceries Brenda at the station asked him to drop off.
This is so unlike anything I remember from before. People caring enough to volunteer to help out, law enforcement showing up at my door for anything other than to hound me, and more than anything else, Brant Colter apologizing to me after finding his daughter basically rolling out of my bed.
It’s like I woke up in an alternate reality from the one I knew, and I’m having a bit of a hard time finding my equilibrium.
The world sure has changed in this town.
Or maybe I’m the one who has changed. I’m definitely not the same since coming back here.
A lot of the anger and resentment I’ve worn as a cloak almost my entire life seems to be sliding off me.
All those negative experiences I have carried with me kept me an outsider my entire life, but now I wonder if I wasn’t the one cultivating that divide.
This morning it felt like Silence may be welcoming me inside.
I tuck a pillow under my head, and briefly close my eyes, lying on the couch. As much as I feel generally okay, I also feel perpetually tired. I tried watching a bit of TV earlier, but that brought about a bit of a headache, so a nap seemed a better option, but doesn’t seem to come easily.
Although, when there is a knock on my door an hour and twenty-five minutes later, I realize I must’ve dozed off after all. I gingerly get to my feet and head to the door, wondering who it could be.
“Hi,” I say to the woman on my doorstep. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Nathan?”
I’m a little cautious in my response. “Who wants to know?”
She smiles disarmingly. A very attractive older woman who reminds me a little of the actress Andie MacDowell. A bit of a hippy, judging by the beads, flip-flops, and flowy fabrics. She doesn’t look like someone who’d try to sell me insurance or some service I don’t want.
“I’m sorry. Of course, you don’t know me from Adam. My name is Phil—short for Phyllis, in case you wondered—and I’m Brant Colter’s wife, and I guess Savvy’s stepmother.”
I almost laugh, the idea of this colorful woman with stuffy Sheriff Colter strikes me as funny, but I manage to hold it back and instead nod politely.
“Nice to meet you.” Curiosity drives me to add, “Would you like to come inside?”
She beams a smile at me and steps into the hallway.
“I don’t intend to take much of your time.”
I gesture for her to precede me into the living room, where she confidently perches herself on the couch’s armrest. This woman probably feels comfortable anywhere.
“What…um…can I do for you?” I prompt her, choosing to remain standing.
“First of all, I want to apologize for my husband. I’ll have you know he’s effectively in the doghouse until further notice.
Overprotective buffoon,” she mumbles under her breath, before flashing me another smile.
“And for the fact he so rudely interrupted what clearly was a cozy morning with Savvy.”
The woman obviously has no filter either, and I have to say, I like her more and more.
“It was,” I feel compelled to confirm.
She gives her fist a little pump. “Yess! I knew it, and I’m absolutely thrilled. I was afraid Savvy would start to prune up before her time.”
That has me laughing out loud. What little I know of this woman; I have a feeling Phil probably has told Savvy herself as much on occasion. She doesn’t seem the type to hold back much.
I’m not sure how pleased Savvy will be when she finds out her stepmother was cheering on our early morning tryst.
“But…the actual reason I’m here is to invite you.
Friday night we’re throwing a little end of summer cookout, to kick off the Harvest Fest on the weekend, and would love for you and your daughter to come.
I’m afraid I’m not very organized and it’s turning into a bit of a haphazard potluck event, but it should be good fun.
Just bring chairs and if you’re into fishing, a rod, or we can probably rustle one up.
Oh, and tell your daughter to wear jeans in case she likes riding.
We have horses,” she rattles on. “There will probably be other kids her age.”
Who would’ve thought I’d ever be invited back to the Colter household. I shake my head. Maybe it’s a little too soon, and I hadn’t really planned to be part of any community events, but it would be good for Tatum, and I’d have a hard time refusing this woman. She’s a card.
“I make a pretty mean Bombay noodle salad and I’m sure I can get Tatum to help me bake some brownies for dessert.”
She claps her hands and jumps to her feet.
“Fantastic! I am thrilled. You know where to find us?”
“Still up at the farm?”
She nods. “You’ve got it.” Then starts moving toward the front door where she stops to add, “Nothing much changes here.”
Well, I don’t know about that.
Halfway to an SUV parked on the street she turns around.
“Five o’clock,” she yells.
I give her thumbs-up and get a wave in return.
Somehow, I’m not surprised when a few seconds later the vehicle is burning rubber down my street. I’m laughing as I head back inside.
How’s that for a welcome to the family?