Chapter 5
Five
“You know I can’t tell you anything about the case,” Deputy Chris Jennings said for the third—maybe fourth—time in less than thirty minutes. “Either case.”
“Everyone who tried to kidnap Fifi is still in jail, right? At least tell us that.” Charlie eyed his desk, hoping to catch a glimpse of something useful, but except for his laptop, a blank block of sticky notes, and a framed picture of Daisy, the desktop was empty.
“Yes,” Chris said, his smile softening slightly from the professional mask he’d worn the whole time since they’d trooped inside the sheriff’s department. “All four are being held without bail, due to their militia connections.”
“Buuuut, Clint was cleared of all charges in Cobra’s murder, right? So he’s just being held for the explosion and kidnapping and all that malarkey?”
That tiny bit of softening dried up, replaced by exasperation. “Charlie, stop. I’m not telling you anything.”
“Not even whether Kieran Byrne is your top suspect in Cobra’s murder, now that Clint’s been cleared?
” She eyed his face closely, monitoring his micro-expressions, hoping to at least get confirmation of what Kieran had told them the previous night.
Unfortunately, all she could read in his expression was that he found her extremely aggravating.
“Charlotte Pax—” he started, only to have her interrupt.
“Calamity.”
He paused, eyeing her. “What?”
“My middle name,” she said helpfully. “Calamity. From the sound of it, you were about to launch into a well-meaning lecture, which is more effective if you can triple-name the recipient.”
His annoyance was fighting with amusement now, she could tell, which was a good sign. Often at this point, people’s exasperation would turn to rage, and Charlie would rather face laughter. Occasionally, angry interviewees would spill information, but throwing punches was more typical.
“Charlotte Calamity Pax,” he corrected himself, although he didn’t sound nearly as lecture-y as a few moments earlier. “You need—”
“Oh good.” A woman’s voice interrupted Chris, and everyone in his office looked over at the doorway where the words had come from.
Of course it was Sheriff Summers. Charlie held in a sigh.
This was not panning out to be the most productive morning.
“You came in to give your statement. Come with me.” The sheriff turned and walked away from the open doorway, not even waiting to see if they were going to follow.
Charlie decided to take advantage of that.
“I’ll go,” she mouthed to her sister. “You two…” She made her fingers into pretend legs and ran them over her palm.
There was no reason all three of them should be trapped with the sheriff for possibly hours when they could be out looking for Jane or looking into Cobra’s murder.
Fifi gave a quiet snort but nodded, which was good, because Bennett was staring at Charlie as if she’d just spoken in Japanese. She forgave him for not understanding her charades yet. After all, Fifi still had to interpret his grunt language for her.
“Ms. Pax,” the sheriff called, and Charlie sighed heavily, pushing herself to her feet and giving Chris—who definitely looked amused now—a thank-you wave. Outside the office, Charlie turned left to follow the sheriff, while Fifi tugged Bennett to the right toward the exit.
At the end of the hall, the sheriff opened a door to what Charlie assumed was an interview room. It had a table and four straight-back chairs, a camera mounted close to the ceiling, and that was about it.
Summers gestured toward one of the chairs before settling on the opposite side of the table. With a silent sigh, Charlie settled into the seat and gave a small wave to the lens on the video camera.
“Let’s start with why you’re in Simpson,” the sheriff said.
This is going to take a while. Mentally bracing for a several-hour interrogation, Charlie wished Kieran was there to jam an oxygen mask over her mouth.
At least Fifi and Bennett got away, so the entire day wouldn’t be wasted.
She was disappointed she wouldn’t get to meet with Kieran though.
Rein it in, Ms. Lustypants, she told herself.
It wasn’t like she was missing a date with her fireman.
It was a murder investigation. Somehow, though, missing out on both seeing Kieran again as well as not getting to look into Cobra’s death was even worse than missing a plain old date would be.
At a knock on the door, the sheriff rose and opened it a crack.
“Gabrielle Jones wants to talk to you,” an unfamiliar deputy—i.e., not Chris—said in a low voice. It was a good thing that Charlie had bat-like ears.
Jones…as in related to Cobra Jones?
“Where is she?”
“Lobby.”
Summers turned to look at Charlie, who immediately put on her best innocent expression. “Wait here.”
Charlie smiled, as if in agreement, intentionally not nodding. Why would she agree to wait in the tiny, boring room, when she could potentially find out information about the case?
With a final, suspicious glare, the sheriff left the room. The door had barely shut behind her before Charlie was on her feet. Slipping out of the little room, she headed for the lobby, staying far enough back from the sheriff that a squeak of her boot soles wouldn’t give her away.
The sheriff shoved through the security door into the lobby, and Charlie flew down the hallway, catching the door right before it relocked.
Crouching so she couldn’t be seen through the small rectangular window set in the top half of the door, she held it open a crack with her shoulder, hoping that the sheriff and Cobra’s—widow?
daughter? mother?—whoever Gabrielle was to him would hold their conversation close to her hiding spot.
“Gabrielle,” the sheriff greeted the woman in a carrying voice, and Charlie grinned. The acoustics are perfect.
“Sheriff.” The husky, feminine voice wasn’t as clear as Summers’s, but Charlie could hear it if she strained her ears. “Thank you for talking with me.”
“Of course.” The sheriff sounded slightly stiff, making Charlie wonder if Summers was more comfortable doing interrogations than soothing victims and their relatives. “I don’t have much new to tell you, unfortunately.”
Gabrielle gave a soft sob. “I heard that Clint was cleared. Is that true? Is the killer still running around free? What if he comes after me next?” Her voice quickly gained in volume, echoing through the high-ceilinged lobby. “I need protection!”
“How did you…? Never mind.” The sheriff sounded irritated, probably at how everyone and their dog knew all the details of her case. “We’re just starting the investigation, Gabby. We’ll be talking to a lot of people, but we’ll find out who did this. Are you still out at the compound?”
“Yes.” Her voice quavered, but a note of defensiveness crept in. “It’s my home.”
“I understand that, but it won’t do any good for us to post a deputy outside,” the sheriff explained with strained patience. “What about your brother? Can you stay with him?”
“Ugh. No.” The transition from weepy to disgusted was so fast that Charlie dared push the door open enough that she could peek around it, wanting to see what Gabrielle looked like. “His wife is an enormous bitch.”
Relieved to see that Summers had her back to her hiding spot, Charlie got an almost straight-on look at Gabrielle.
Even with her forehead wrinkled and her full lips puckered in an expression of distaste, Gabrielle was beautiful.
Tall and willowy, she had big eyes and strawberry-blond hair that tumbled over her shoulders in shiny fat curls.
Curiosity satisfied, Charlie retreated, allowing the door to close until it was barely cracked open.
“I just don’t think the compound is the safest place for you right now,” the sheriff continued. “You’re surrounded by people of interest in your husband’s murder. Until we clear them and find who’s responsible for his death, your brother’s place or even a motel room would be a safer choice.”
“I need to be around family right now,” Gabrielle said, the weepy shake back in her voice. “Real family. That’s what the Freedom Survivors are to me.”
“Things are going to get tense,” the sheriff warned. “We’re just starting interviews, and I know the militia members don’t take well to questions from law enforcement.”
The door swung away, almost sending Charlie sprawling. She jumped up and back several steps as Chris—the door opener—eyed her with amusement.
“Should you be here?” he asked.
“Ah…just checking how long the sheriff was going to be.” Even though it was probably too late, she widened her eyes in her best innocent look. “I have a meeting at ten, so I’m in a bit of a time crunch.”
“A meeting.” He eyed her suspiciously. “Would that be with the murder club, by chance?”
“No.” She didn’t mention that some of the murder club ladies might be attending. “It’s with a potential source.”
“Mm-hmm.” He packed a lot of skepticism in that wordless sound. “Who’s your source?”
She snorted. “You want me to rat out my source before I even get any information? What kind of…source-haver do you think I am?”
His heavy sigh was a familiar sound. Charlie made quite a few people sigh like that, as if it came from their very weary soul.
After a quick glance over his shoulder, he gestured for her to move down the hallway.
“Sheriff’s almost done. You might want to get back to the interview room and put on your innocent face again. ”
Charlie grinned. “It’s like you know me, Deputy Daisy’s Husband.” Turning on her heel, she hurried back to the tiny room and took a seat. In just a handful of seconds, the sheriff joined her, eyeing her with suspicion.
I get that look a lot, Charlie thought, following Chris’s advice and imitating her twin’s angelic expression.