Stiff Penalty (A Mattie Winston Mystery) (25 page)

“T
he laptop was in a Dumpster behind the high school,” I tell Maggie. “A student who was smoking in the back parking lot saw it when he went to dump his butts and recognized the German flag decal. He called it in to the police, and Junior Feller went out to recover it. He knew that Richmond and the rest of us were at the high school already, so he called Richmond to have us come out back and film the recovery.”

“Did it turn up anything?” Maggie asks.

I shake my head. “The hard drive had been wiped clean, and there were no prints on it. Just to be thorough, Richmond did get copies of e-mails that Derrick sent from his Internet provider, but they didn’t offer up any new clues. The fact that the laptop was tossed behind the school pointed the finger even more firmly at Jacob as the culprit, so Richmond declared the case closed.”

“And how did things in your own case progress?”

“Well, after five days of living at the motel, my cottage was finally released back to me, and I was able to move back in. It’s a good thing I didn’t need an entire week at the motel because once the story broke in the paper and Joseph learned the real reason why I was staying there, he wanted me gone. He said he didn’t want to develop a reputation for housing killers. He was so glad when I finally moved out of there that he even offered to refund my unused days. Izzy came home on Sunday, Henderson went back to whatever rock he crawled out from under, and life resumed something of a normal pattern, if you can consider having someone guarding you twenty-four hours a day as normal. I also got my car back, and I’m now more secure than the president when I’m driving it, which is hardly ever since I have a police escort of some sort everywhere I go.”

“Your work life has returned to normal then?” Maggie asks.

“Better than normal, as it turns out. Henderson was appalled at how little staffing we have, and he said we needed more help. When he got back to Madison, he spoke to some folks there, and we eventually got some additional positions approved. Arnie is happy, because he’s going to get help in his lab. In fact, he’s more than happy because he and Laura Kingston, Henderson’s assistant, hit if off in a big way, and she’s going to be his new assistant. The two of them have been dating for three months now.”

“That’s nice,” Maggie says.

“Yes, it is. And there’s been romance in the air for Richmond, too. It turned out I was right when I told him Rose Carpenter had a thing for him. She’s been a divorcée for four years, and I guess she was tired of it because she went after Richmond the way my dog Hoover goes after squirrels. They’ve been hot and heavy for a couple of months now, too. It seems everyone is happy in romance except for me.”

“Has Hurley found out about the connection between your father and this Dilles guy?”

“Nope, and I hope to keep it that way. I swore Grimes and Richmond to secrecy, even though they still think it’s possible the phone calls I’m getting are coming from my father and that he wants me dead for some reason.”

“You’re still getting the calls?”

“I am. I get one about every other week or so, and it’s the same thing each time: no one answers, but I can hear background noise or breathing that tells me the line is open and someone is there. After a few seconds they hang up. The cops have been tracing the calls, determining the general area they’re being made from, and for the last few weeks it’s always been somewhere in or around this part of Wisconsin. The calls have bounced off towers in the Chicago area, the Madison area, the Milwaukee area, in Waunakee, in Eagle River, in Sheboygan—like whoever is making them is circling ever closer. Hurley thinks it’s some crazed stalker, like one of those nutty women who wants a baby. He thinks they’re just waiting for me to get far enough along in my pregnancy that they can kill me but have the baby survive if they take it.”

Maggie frowns at this. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I say, shifting in my seat in a futile effort to get comfortable. “Even if Richmond and Grimes are right with their theory that it’s my father calling me, I can’t come up with any reason why he would want me dead. Regardless of who it is, the evidence suggests Roscoe Schneider wasn’t working alone and someone out there wants me dead.”

“That must be scary.”

“It is,” I admit. “Even though I grumbled about the changes Hurley had them make to my car, I do feel safer having the reinforcements. The security system on my house is nice, too, although I’m driving Izzy and the cops crazy because I’ve accidentally set the alarms off several times.”

“Speaking of Izzy, how are things between you and him?”

“It’s been good. He and Dom are both so excited about the baby, you’d think it was their grandchild. They bought a playpen, a high chair, and a crib for their house, and they’ve gone through and childproofed the place. Izzy and I have our old working relationship back, and other than the security issues, things have been pretty much the way they were before. And since the videographer thing has eliminated the conflict of interest issues, Hurley and I have been able to continue working together.”

“So what’s the current status of your relationship with Hurley?”

“It’s been a bit strained. He’s clearly worried about the phone calls and the stalker thing, and I can tell he’s upset about my refusal to marry him. To be honest, I think he might have worn me down had it not been for this thing with my father and some issues we’ve had with Emily. But how can I possibly marry him now, knowing what I know? He’d hate me if he knew about my father’s past. And I’m afraid he’d hate our child, too.”

“You can’t know that. Don’t you think Hurley’s a smart enough guy to separate the two things?”

“I’m not sure enough to want to risk it. If I was the only one involved, I’d go for it and take what comes. But I don’t want to jeopardize the relationship Hurley will have with our child. Besides, he’s under enough strain these days dealing with Emily. He’s had to learn how to be a father through Crash Parenting 101, and for a man who wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be a father, he’s had a lot to deal with. Right now what Hurley needs is space and friendly support with no added pressures.”

“So where do you go from here?”

“I don’t know. If Hurley and I were meant to be together as a couple, the universe wouldn’t be obstructing us in so many ways. I think we are meant to be parents, just not husband and wife.”

“Are you comfortable with that?”

“What other choice do I have?”

“If Hurley ever starts a romantic relationship with someone else, are you afraid he’ll pull away from you and your child?”

I think about that, long and hard. Finally I say, “I guess I am a little. I know he feels pulled in a lot of different directions right now. He’s trying to find a happy balance, and it isn’t easy. And while I feel confident he’ll be a significant part of our child’s life no matter what, in some ways he’s already pulling away.”

“Such as?”

“Well, his decision to pull out of the birthing classes. for one. But in order for you to understand how difficult that was for him, I should first tell you about the ultrasound appointment, because I think that best reflects his frame of mind before everything started getting messy.”

And then I tell Maggie about one of the happiest days of my life so far.

O
n the Wednesday after Hurley’s return, the two of us walked into the office of my OB doctor. We had the waiting room to ourselves, and after leaving my name with the receptionist behind the glass window, I sat down next to Hurley and leaned over to see what he was reading in the magazine he was holding. It was an article on preventing stretch marks, and with it was a picture of a huge belly with ugly tracks on both sides of it, and a dark stripe that ran from the navel down to the pubis. The look of horror on Hurley’s face didn’t do much for my ego.

“We’re not that far into this,” I said, taking the magazine from him. “Don’t get psyched out about things that haven’t happened yet.”

“What has happened to you so far?”

“Well, for a while I was vomiting at odd times of the day with little to no warning, but that seems to have passed. Now I pee all the time instead. My boobs have gotten huge—”

“So I noticed,” he said, arching one brow.

“And they ache.”

“Oh.” Hurley looked disappointed, and his eyebrow resumed its original position.

“I’m also dealing with a long list of foods I’m not supposed to eat, which pretty much rules out anything that tastes good.”

“So this pregnancy stuff isn’t a fun thing?”

I considered his question for a few seconds, and as if the child inside me had heard him, he or she kicked. I smiled. “It definitely has had its high moments,” I said, rubbing my tummy. “I just felt the baby move.”

“Really?” Hurley stared at my belly with a mix of fascination and awe. “Can I feel it?”

“I don’t know. It’s been pretty random so far, and it’s subtle. At first I thought it was a gas bubble.”

The nurse came out then and called my name, so Hurley and I followed her into the examination area of the office. Unfortunately, we detoured at the scale.

“Step on up,” the nurse said, not realizing I’d rather strip naked and parade down Main Street than let Hurley know my weight. Fortunately, Hurley seemed to sense my hesitation, and he wandered over to a plastic model of a uterus with a baby in it. The nurse was kind enough to record my weight on a slip of paper without announcing it, and with that trial passed, we moved on to the exam room.

After taking my blood pressure, temperature, and pulse, and announcing that these figures all looked good, she handed me a paper-thin gown that had been used and laundered so many times the print on the material was faded into near oblivion. “Please strip off everything and put this gown on,” she said. “If you need to pee, it’s best if you hold it for now. It will make it easier to see things when we do the ultrasound.”

I stripped, feeling a little self-conscious about Hurley seeing me naked in the harsh, clinical lighting of the exam room, and tried to make the gown wrap around me, which it refused to do. With my butt cheeks hanging out, I sidled up onto the exam table and laid the sheet the nurse had left out over my lap. I glanced over at Hurley, who was staring at the tray the nurse had set up with the vaginal speculum, lubricant, and gloves.

“Have you ever seen a pelvic exam done before, Hurley?” I asked, tucking the sheet in around my thighs.

He shook his head.

I then gave him a brief description of what was about to happen. “I think it will be better if you sit up here by my head. Some things just aren’t meant to be seen.”

“I’ve seen it before,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That’s different. Trust me.”

He nodded and scooted his chair up to the head of the table. His mouth was hanging partway open, and his eyes were huge; he looked like a fish out of water.

Dr. Rita Carson came into the room, looking all efficient and professional in her crisp white lab coat, tailored gray slacks, and sensible shoes. Her brown hair was pulled back into a neat little bun that made her face look a little taut, but when she smiled, she looked warm, friendly, and approachable.

“Hello, Mattie,” she said. She shifted her gaze to Hurley. “And I assume this is the father, Mr. Hurley?”

“It is.”

Hurley looked a little surprised that Dr. Carson knew his name, so she explained. “Mattie and I have discussed the situation between the two of you, so I’m familiar with your history. Congratulations on becoming a dad.”

“I’m already a dad,” Hurley said.

“Ah, right. I forgot. The teenage daughter you didn’t know you had.”

Hurley shifted uncomfortably in his seat and shot me a frown. “You are very well informed, it seems,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “For the past two months, Rita has been the only person I’ve had to talk to about this pregnancy, so she’s been my confidant.”

“I get it,” Hurley said. He didn’t sound angry, but he still looked annoyed.

“Shall we get on with the exam?” Dr. Carson said. “Any issues or questions since the last time you were here?”

I shook my head. “I did experience my first quickening,” I told her.

Hurley looked panicked. “What is that? Is the baby’s heart going too fast? Is Mattie’s?”

“No,” Dr. Carson said with a smile. “
Quickening
is a term for feeling the baby move.”

“Oh,” Hurley said, still wearing his fish-out-of-water expression. I found it amusing. Up until that day, Hurley had always seemed so self-assured and confident. It was sweet seeing this vulnerable, unsure side of him.

Dr. Carson had me slide down on the examining table and put my feet up in the stirrups. She positioned herself between my legs, lifted the sheet, and grabbed the speculum. Hurley reached up and took my hand. It was a sweet gesture that nearly brought me to tears.

“Mattie tells me you’re a homicide detective,” Dr. Carson said as she started her exam.

“That’s right,” Hurley said. He was leaning to the side ever so slightly, trying to see what was going on beyond the sheet.

“Your cervix is thick and closed,” Dr. Carson said next, an odd conversational segue.

“Is that good?” Hurley asked.

“Yes, it’s very good,” Dr. Carson said. She wheeled out from behind the sheet, placed the used speculum back on the tray, and said, “You can put your feet down.”

I lowered my legs from the stirrups and repositioned the sheet.

“Let’s take a listen to that kid’s heart, shall we?” Dr. Carson said next, grabbing a small handheld Doppler device—used to magnify the sounds of pulses and, as in this case, heartbeats—and a bottle of gel. She lowered the sheet to below my belly and raised the gown up. Then she squirted a big glob of the gel onto my stomach a few inches below my navel and pressed one end of the Doppler device into it. After she moved the device around a patch of skin about four inches square, the sound suddenly came through loud and clear.

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa
. . .

“Sounds like a healthy heart,” Dr. Carson said with a smile. “Everything seems to be progressing as expected.”

She pulled the Doppler device away and started to set it down, but Hurley said, “That was my kid’s heartbeat ?”

“Yes,” she said, her smile broadening.

Hurley looked awed and amazed. “Can we listen to it a little longer?”

“Sure.”

She returned the device to the same spot, and once again the sound echoed through the room:
thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa
. . .

“Is it supposed to be that fast?” Hurley asked, looking a little worried.

“Yes, it’s absolutely normal,” Dr. Carson assured him. She let him listen a little longer, and when I felt Hurley squeeze my hand, I looked over at him. His eyes were brimming with tears. He looked over at me, and with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on his face said, “We’re having a kid, Winston! That was our kid!”

His enthusiasm and excitement were contagious. “If you think the kid
sounds
great, wait until you see how it looks,” Dr. Carson said. “The ultrasound tech will be in with you in a few minutes. See you both next time?”

Hurley nodded hard and fast, like a bobblehead doll, and as Dr. Carson turned to leave the room he said, “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome.” She winked at me and then left the room.

“That was amazing,” Hurley said. He popped up out of his chair, kissed me on the forehead, and then sat back down again.

I started to say something to him, but the door to the exam room opened and a young girl wheeled in the ultrasound machine.

“It’s about to get even better,” I said.

Hurley fidgeted in his chair, occasionally squeezing my hand, as the ultrasound tech—who introduced herself as Amber—explained what she was doing. She got the machine in place, squeezed more gel on my belly, and then placed the ultrasound wand on top of the gel. She pressed down a little, moved the wand a couple of times, and then reached over and turned the machine toward us so we could see the screen.

“There’s your baby,” Amber said.

Hurley and I both stared in awe at the tiny, human-shaped figure on the screen. Amber pointed to a tiny blinking light. “That’s the heart beating,” she said. She left the wand there for a second or two, then moved it slightly. “Would you like to know the sex?” she asked.

“Yes!” Hurley said.

“No!” I said at the same time.

Hurley and I turned and looked at one another. “Hurley, we discussed this,” I said.

“And disagreed.” We stared at one another a little longer. “Fine,” he said. “You win. Besides, I told you I already know it’s a boy.”

Amber arched a brow at him. “And how do you know that?” she asked.

“I have the second sight,” he said.

“You’re Irish?” Amber asked.

“Irish enough,” Hurley said.

“Interesting.” Amber printed out a picture and handed it to me; then she printed out a second one and handed it to Hurley. “Your baby’s first picture,” she said.

Hurley held that picture in his hand like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. And the grin on his face when we left the office was bigger than any I’d ever seen.

He drove me back to the motel, escorted me inside, and minutes later we were in bed together. But there was no hanky-panky that day. Instead we lay there, side by side, Hurley’s hand gently caressing my stomach. We didn’t speak, we didn’t even kiss. Yet I’d never felt as close to him as I did that day.

An hour later when he got up to leave, I wanted to ask him to stay. But I didn’t. Instead I made myself a sandwich for dinner, watched some TV, and then cried myself to sleep.