“But Mr. Cuddahee helped you the day before. Like Ms. Monk said, why not call him?” Baca said.
Perhaps I’d been so disturbed by Shawn’s behavior with Wilkerson the day before, I’d never even thought of phoning him instead of Tom. But mentioning that might hurt Shawn even more as far as suspect status. I had to say something, though. “I guess Tom came to mind because he’d put in my security system Saturday night. He’d helped me.”
“And Mr. Stewart could be of more assistance than a man like Mr. Cuddahee, who we all know tends to be confrontational?”
“That wasn’t my first thought when I called Tom.”
“Sounds like you did think about it, though,” Baca said. “Mind if I look at your cell phone? Confirm this call was made?”
“You think I’d lie?” I was surprised how much his words upset me.
“I have to confirm the call, that’s all,” he said.
Tom finally spoke. “Take mine. Like I told you, the call was short and sweet.” He shoved his phone across the desk.
Baca pressed buttons on the phone and apparently found what he wanted because he read off my cell number, then said, “That yours?”
I nodded.
He pressed another button, and I heard my muffled ringtone coming from my jeans pocket. It stopped when Baca closed Tom’s phone.
“Thanks,” Baca said, handing the cell back to Tom.
Despite Tom’s warning to say as little as possible, I felt the need to explain further. The police do seem to have a way of making you feel guilty even when you’re not. “I do remember the conversation better now. Tom said he knew where Flake Wilkerson lived when I asked if he needed directions. He agreed to meet me there, and that was about it.”
“He said he knew where he lived?” Though he was speaking to me, Baca was looking at Tom.
Uh-oh. What had I done now? I quickly added, “I also said something about Tom meeting me in five minutes. I’ll admit I was upset with Mr. Wilkerson for breaking into my house and I was sure he had stolen my cat. I’m certain that even if Tom hadn’t agreed to help me with that problem, I would have gone to the Pink House no matter what.”
“Really?” Baca settled back, hands intertwined behind his neck, and said, “You were that angry?”
“Angry?” I said. “No. That’s the wrong—”
“I don’t think you should say anything else,” Tom said.
“You got a law degree, too, Mr. Stewart?” Baca said.
“Would you quit with the cop crap? I’m Tom and you’re Mike. We’re friends, remember?”
“The
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” Tom said.
I stood, tired of all these complicated Mercy relationships coming into play. “You know what?” I said. “No matter what Flake Wilkerson did, I would never kill him. That’s not the kind of person I am. Now, I’m leaving.” I walked out of the office, my heart beating so fast I had trouble breathing. Could you actually walk away from the police without ending up in handcuffs?
Seemed I could, because no one called my name and told me to stop, and no one followed me. Candace might have, if she’d been in the waiting area—but a new person sat behind the desk, a young man who could have passed for twelve. Since he was wearing a Mercy Police uniform, he was probably closer to eighteen or nineteen.
I hurried down the hall and out of the building, making a beeline for my minivan. The sun was desperately attempting to break through the cloud cover. A warm change was imminent—the humidity told me as much. Yes, in many ways this was a different world than it had been a few days ago. But it would not be a world where I hid in my sewing room trying to pretend none of this had happened. I had to find out why Flake Wilkerson stole my cat and what, if anything, that had to do with his death.
On the drive home I considered how I could accomplish those two things. I wasn’t a police officer. I didn’t know anything about being a detective. Yet I was smack in the middle of a mystery where people were thinking the worst of me and keeping secrets. People like Mike Baca, who was only doing his job, but it still hurt my feelings. And people like Tom. Had he been protecting me when he offered his cell phone? Was he afraid there might be something incriminating on mine? I had no idea.
When I made the last turn for home, I saw a squad car in my driveway. Apparently I hadn’t made a clean escape after all. When I pulled in behind the car, Candace got out and walked toward me. Maybe they needed a female officer to put me in jail and that was why I hadn’t been stopped when I left.
“What happened in there with you and the chief?” Candace’s eyes were dancing with interest.
“You’re not here to arrest me?” I said.
“What?” came her confused reply. “Remember? I’m off this case. The only thing that makes the taste in my mouth a little less bitter is that Lydia’s been kicked off, too. She made sure I knew as much, and for some reason she thinks it’s all your fault.”
“But that’s crazy,” I said.
“And you expected . . . what, exactly?”
