Dana Marton - Broslin Creek 05 - Broslin Bride (9 page)

But she kept that fake, brittle smile on her face and looked at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. Which clued him in that he shouldn’t be at her house off duty.

He left her, his thoughts troubled.

For the first time during an investigation, he wasn’t looking forward to the lab results coming in.

Chapter Five

Luanne spent Sunday with the girls, racked with guilt. She decided several times to turn herself in, then changed her mind each time. She had no idea how criminals lived like this. Her conscience about killed her.

What have I done?

She felt horrible about Earl’s death, and she felt just as bad about covering up her involvement. She had no idea what she’d been thinking the day before. She’d felt as if someone had melted her brain, which was only just beginning to clear today. She’d reacted with panic and her childhood reflex of hiding from trouble.

Her daddy had firmly believed in tanning her hide for even the most minor infractions, like a messy bed or a bad grade, sometimes for illogical things like putting the newspaper on the wrong spot in the kitchen. He’d loved that old belt of his, used to fold it in half for discipline. As a child, she’d learned in a hurry that the best way to avoid a good licking was to hide her mistakes and failings.

She was aware of the ingrained tendency to hide from trouble, had corrected it as an adult, raised the twins with a completely different method of parenting. But sometimes, evidently, she still reverted. She had a sneaky suspicion that her actions the day before might not have helped any, might have made things worse in the long-term.

What now?

She knew the right thing was to drive over to the station and confess. But then she would look at Mia and Daisy, think about them being taken away by Social Services, and she simply couldn’t do it.

She longed for family, even if her parents had been less than perfect. If she’d had aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews, grandparents, then if something happened to her, the girls wouldn’t be all alone in the world.

She knew nobody on her father’s side. He was an only child. His parents had died early, and he’d pretty much raised himself. Her mother’s side, the Desirees, were somebody down in Virginia at one time. But they’d disinherited Luanne’s mother when she’d run off, pregnant at seventeen, with a northern boy, a hired farmhand.

In her nostalgic moods, Luanne’s mother used to talk about the big farm, all the cows and horses, the log cabin up in the hills built by the first Desirees, where she’d had her trysts with the handsome young farmhand who’d caught her eye.

When Luanne’s father was at his most raging drunk, her mother often threatened to leave him and move right on back into that old empty cabin. She never did. He’d left Luanne and her mother first.

None of the Desirees ever so much as called, except a Great-Aunt Hilda who sent a card once a year for Christmas. Luanne’s mother never answered, but after her death, Luanne had gotten into the habit of sending a simple card back, a few lines of well wishes, a fragile connection that was the only tether she had to family.

A tenuous tether at best. Even if she had her great-aunt’s phone number, she couldn’t call up and ask if anyone in the family wouldn’t mind raising two little girls—should worse come to worst. In any case, her family would be as much strangers to the twins as whomever Social Services might select.

No matter how little Luanne made, she squirreled away a few dollars each month for life insurance. She’d been meaning to ask Jen to be the girls’ guardian if something, like a car accident, happened. But if Luanne went to prison, there’d be no life insurance money. And Jen and Billy had spent everything they had on fertility treatments to give Bobby a little brother or sister.

Without contributing anything, Luanne couldn’t ask them to take on the huge financial responsibility of raising the twins. She had to figure out some kind of solution. She thought and thought, but all she accomplished was making herself sick with worry.

What little sleep she caught was filled with guilt-laden dreams of her mother taunting her.
“It’s your fault that your father left.” “It’s your fault that the twin’s father left. You should have been home to help with the girls.” “It’s your fault I got cancer. I got it from the stress you give me, I swear.” “It was your fault I had to marry your drunk of a father in the first place. I was pregnant with you. What else could I do?”
 

By the time Monday morning rolled around, Luanne was dizzy from lack of sleep, tired from being up all night again and trying to make herself remember what happened in the back alley behind the bar.

She even considered that she might have been roofied. That kind of thing happened in movies all the time, right? Then again, in real life… Not to anyone she’d ever known. And the thing was, Gregory had never touched her drink.

Since she still had no car and it was pouring rain outside, Jen picked up the girls. Jackie was on her way to pick up Luanne. They were both working today.

Luanne downed the last of the coffee, then detoured by the bathroom to dab on some more concealer. She had circles under her eyes stark enough for a heroin junkie.

She had one eye done before her doorbell rang. “Coming!” She dabbed the other eye quickly.

She hurried out and opened the door, stopped in her tracks at the sight of Chase. He pretty much filled up the doorway, all imposing and very intent this morning. She stood there, frozen for a second before she remembered to step back so he could come in out of the rain.

Act normal.
She swallowed. “Am I getting my car back?”
 

“Luanne.” He cleared his throat and held her gaze. He looked troubled, his blue eyes shadowed as they seemed to search her soul. That easygoing, relaxed air that always surrounded him was gone, replaced by something darker and heavier. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Panic spread through her. Suddenly, she couldn’t catch her breath. “I’m late for work. Jackie is coming.”

He shook his head. “The lab results are back on the Mustang.”

The world came to a sudden halt around her. “And?”

He watched her for another long moment, drew a deep, long breath. “Luanne Mayfair, you are under arrest for the murder of Earl Cosgrove. You have the right to remain silent…”

She gaped as he read her rights, then her peripheral vision narrowed, and she was suddenly lightheaded, and the next thing she knew her legs were folding.

He caught her, moved farther into the house with her, seated her on the couch, and went for a glass of water. “Where are the twins?”

Her mind couldn’t catch up with what had just happened.
Arrested for murder.
 

“Jen took them already,” she responded on autopilot.

“Good.” He brought her the glass.

She took the water but was too frozen with fear to drink. The lab results were in. Her car had definitely been involved in Earl’s death. Even while she’d feared that, part of her had hoped that somehow it had been something else. That she’d hit a deer on her way home from Finnegan’s.

Why couldn’t she remember?

She would swear that, even drunk, she couldn’t hurt anybody. She never even spanked the kids. Yet while she’d been sitting at the bar, she’d thought about Earl in that alley.
Oh God.
She set the glass on the side table and leaned forward to bury her head in her hands, but instead, her stomach heaved, and she threw up right there between her feet on the carpet.
 

She groaned with misery and embarrassment, then felt Chase’s hand on her shoulder. He gently tugged her hair back from her face.

“You’re going to be fine.” He reached down and took her hand. “Come on. Let’s clean you up.” He pulled her to her feet and walked her to the bathroom, a cramped little place with a pink toilet, sink, and a worn tub littered with yellow rubber duckies. “You okay in there alone?”

She nodded, shaking as she closed the door behind her. Her face looked ashen in the mirror. Thank God the twins were with Jen. Thank God, thank God for that.

She washed her face, the cold water making her feel marginally better. She brushed her teeth, glanced down, and realized that her pant leg was stained.
Oh gross.
She shoved her pants down and kicked them over to the laundry pile.
 

Then she stood there, unsure of what to do. All alone, all her defenses down. Tears gathered in her eyes.

“You all right in there?” came from the other side of the door.

“I need pants,” she said numbly after a moment.

“Hang on.” And two minutes later he was back, opening the door to a gap and handing in a pair of jeans.

His blue eyes met hers, held no judgment, just concern. “You should call Jen before we leave. Once you’re booked, you’ll only get the one phone call. I don’t know how long you’ll have to wait for the bail hearing.”

She blinked hard, trying to hold back the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes. “Thanks.”

He nodded and closed the door, and she dressed, then washed her face again. Stared at herself some more in the mirror. She didn’t want to go out there and face reality. She wanted to hide, wanted to run, but of course, neither was possible. The small bathroom was windowless.
All boxed in
. And wasn’t that just a metaphor for her life right now? Her chest tightened.
 

She drew a deep breath and gathered herself. She had to call Jen. She had to make arrangements for Mia and Daisy. The thought of her sisters got her moving.

She opened the door and stepped outside, found Chase kneeling by the couch in the living room with a roll of paper towels.

He stood as she walked over to the battered coffee table that had been scarred and scribbled on by the girls. He looked up and flashed her an encouraging smile. “All done. I found your cleaning supplies under the sink.”

He’d cleaned up after her.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him. She was truly sorry, for a great many things.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said easily, as if he cleaned up after vomitous women on a daily basis. “Want to sit and take a few more minutes?”

She nodded, sat, then grabbed her phone from the coffee table and dialed.

“Hey,” she said when Jen picked up. “I’m not sure when I can come for the girls.” Her voice broke. “I’ve been arrested.”

A stunned silence on the other end, then, “Don’t worry about the twins. They’ll be fine here. Are you okay? What can I do to help?”

She couldn’t think. She couldn’t talk. “Just the girls.”

She thanked Jen and hung up, looked at Chase as she stood. “I don’t want Mia and Daisy to go to foster care.”

“Relax. You’ll be booked and released on bail,” he said with quiet confidence, watching her closely to make sure that she was okay. “You’ll be back home today.”

Was that possible? “I don’t have bail money.”

“We’ll figure something out. And if Jen can’t watch the girls, my mom would jump at the chance, if that’s all right with you. You know her.”

She did. Susan Merritt was one of the women who kept Broslin ticking, involved in organizing nearly every event, involved with every charity. She loved kids. She sponsored the Great Broslin Easter Egg Hunt and coordinated the neighborhood Halloween bashes.

She had more energy than ten other people put together. She talked a mile a minute too, and in the past Luanne had wondered if Chase was so taciturn because he hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise growing up.

As far as personalities went, Susan was a lot like Mia, and Luanne had no doubt they’d get along. But Mia and Daisy didn’t know her that well. “Let’s see first if Jen can do it.” Depending on how long it was before Luanne returned.

Chase nodded. “Ready to go?”

“No,” she said sincerely. “But I don’t suppose that’s going to stop you from taking me.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.” He looked at her for a long time, maybe to make sure that she was really okay and wasn’t going to throw up in his cruiser.

“One more thing,” he said. “I need the clothes you wore Friday night. I have to send them to the lab.”

* * *

Luanne opted for a public defender after Chase strongly recommended a lawyer, and one came out from West Chester to sit in on the interrogation. Latoya Jefferson, a young woman in a crisp blue suit, sharp and quick, took copious notes as Chase questioned Luanne. The three of them about filled up the small interrogation room.

Chase was watching Luanne but speaking toward the recorder on the table between them. “What was your relationship to the victim?”

He knew that, she thought, but then realized he probably had to have it for the record. “Earl was my supervisor at the Mushroom Mile Motel.”

“How would you describe the victim? Was he well liked at work?”

“No.” She clutched her hands on her lap under the table. Chase hadn’t handcuffed her, for which she was incredibly grateful. The whole process was plenty scary already.

“Why?” he asked.

“He was hard on the employees.”

“Maria Gonzales, another maid, attested that Earl Cosgrove underpaid his employees by adjusting their hours unfairly. Was that your experience with him?”

“Yes.” She stared at Chase. Instead of going after her big-time, he was establishing that Earl wasn’t such a great guy. Definitely not what she’d expected from an interrogation.

“Allegations have been made by other employees that the victim also engaged in sexual harassment in the workplace. Do you have knowledge of this?”

“Yes.”

“Were you sexually harassed by Earl Cosgrove?”

She could have made it sound worse than what it’d been, might have been better for her case, but she shook her head. “He made some advances.”

“Did he touch you?” Chase’s face remained expressionless. He’d offered to be her friend before, but now he was here in an official capacity. The facts and nothing but the facts.

“Just on the arm,” she said.