the bone off the plate.
Maggie turned to him with a look that told him she was serious. “Don’t
you dare give him that bone. I don’t want grease all over the carpeting.”
Don stopped what he was about to do and then tossed the bone in the
wastebasket under the sink.
“I love you, you know that,” Don said turning to her.
“Maybe if you talked.”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“When your father was on the streets he always shared his cases with
me. You’d be surprised how much insight I can add.”
Don looked at Maggie and laughed. He remembered those years when his
father was alive. Don would sit upstairs near the register and listen to them
talk downstairs in their bedroom. He missed those times. And, most of all, he
missed his father. Even though he wasn’t home much during Don’s growing-up
years, when he was home he was the best father a boy could have. Family was
important to him, but his time with the family was limited because of his job
and all the crime in a big city.
* * *
Maggie sat on the couch with Bear’s head snuggled onto her lap. She
stroked his bristly hair as the dog seemingly moaned in pleasure. Don just
shrugged and laughed to himself, thinking he should have gotten Maggie a dog a
long time ago. He took out his notes on the case so far and then looked over at
Maggie.
Rather than her reading them, he interpreted them from what happened
last night when they viewed the Mustang to going to Raven’s house to all the
interviews today. Specifically, the interview with the VanBurens. When all was
said and done, Don finally turned to Maggie.
“So, what are your thoughts so far? he asked.
“And what you’re saying is, you don’t think her parents are showing
enough remorse over her death?” Maggie looked up at Don as she stopped petting
Bear and then looked puzzled for a moment.
“You put it that way, I feel like a real heel for thinking it.”
“From what you said about the mother’s phone messages, you’d expect
she would be hysterical over her death, unless...” Maggie stopped talking and
just thought for a moment.
“You’re not thinking what I’m thinking.” A bit of excitement entered
Don’s voice.
Maggie just smiled. “I’m a mother. We have this sense when things
aren’t right.”
Don remembered his youth. He always had a hard time hiding the truth
from his mother. Whenever he got into trouble, she seemed to have a sixth sense
about it and knew in advance. Don attributed it to everyone in the neighborhood
having their sights on him. They kept him on the straight and narrow because no
sooner than he would get home after one of his little escapades, his mother was
hauling him out on the carpet and reading him the riot act.
“I thought the neighbors had a lot to do with that.”
“Never you mind how I was always on top of things. The fact remained,
I could always tell when things weren’t right, when you were in trouble.”
“You ever going to fess up on who always squealed on me?” Don asked.
Maggie motioned for him to be silent a moment and then she shoved Bear
off her lap and stood up and started pacing the floor. She finally stopped and
turned to Don.
“This is a mother talking—who knows nothing, mind you,” she said as
she pointed at Don as a warning not to make a comeback remark.
“If something were to happen to you, I wouldn’t be presentable for
weeks, let alone talk to the police without breaking down the day after your
death. Look how I was when your dad died.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. You had me worried for weeks.”
“What does Fred think about all of this?”
“He thinks I’m crazy.”
“Can you talk to her parents, get them to trust you?”
“No. They trust their daughter. Whoever shot Senator Maxfield means
business.”
Don glanced at his mother. It was late, and he was looking forward to
retiring early for the night, but for some reason he knew sleep would elude him
until he was able to put this to rest. He turned
Maggie turned to him with a look that told him she was serious. “Don’t
you dare give him that bone. I don’t want grease all over the carpeting.”
Don stopped what he was about to do and then tossed the bone in the
wastebasket under the sink.
“I love you, you know that,” Don said turning to her.
“Maybe if you talked.”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“When your father was on the streets he always shared his cases with
me. You’d be surprised how much insight I can add.”
Don looked at Maggie and laughed. He remembered those years when his
father was alive. Don would sit upstairs near the register and listen to them
talk downstairs in their bedroom. He missed those times. And, most of all, he
missed his father. Even though he wasn’t home much during Don’s growing-up
years, when he was home he was the best father a boy could have. Family was
important to him, but his time with the family was limited because of his job
and all the crime in a big city.
* * *
Maggie sat on the couch with Bear’s head snuggled onto her lap. She
stroked his bristly hair as the dog seemingly moaned in pleasure. Don just
shrugged and laughed to himself, thinking he should have gotten Maggie a dog a
long time ago. He took out his notes on the case so far and then looked over at
Maggie.
Rather than her reading them, he interpreted them from what happened
last night when they viewed the Mustang to going to Raven’s house to all the
interviews today. Specifically, the interview with the VanBurens. When all was
said and done, Don finally turned to Maggie.
“So, what are your thoughts so far? he asked.
“And what you’re saying is, you don’t think her parents are showing
enough remorse over her death?” Maggie looked up at Don as she stopped petting
Bear and then looked puzzled for a moment.
“You put it that way, I feel like a real heel for thinking it.”
“From what you said about the mother’s phone messages, you’d expect
she would be hysterical over her death, unless...” Maggie stopped talking and
just thought for a moment.
“You’re not thinking what I’m thinking.” A bit of excitement entered
Don’s voice.
Maggie just smiled. “I’m a mother. We have this sense when things
aren’t right.”
Don remembered his youth. He always had a hard time hiding the truth
from his mother. Whenever he got into trouble, she seemed to have a sixth sense
about it and knew in advance. Don attributed it to everyone in the neighborhood
having their sights on him. They kept him on the straight and narrow because no
sooner than he would get home after one of his little escapades, his mother was
hauling him out on the carpet and reading him the riot act.
“I thought the neighbors had a lot to do with that.”
“Never you mind how I was always on top of things. The fact remained,
I could always tell when things weren’t right, when you were in trouble.”
“You ever going to fess up on who always squealed on me?” Don asked.
Maggie motioned for him to be silent a moment and then she shoved Bear
off her lap and stood up and started pacing the floor. She finally stopped and
turned to Don.
“This is a mother talking—who knows nothing, mind you,” she said as
she pointed at Don as a warning not to make a comeback remark.
“If something were to happen to you, I wouldn’t be presentable for
weeks, let alone talk to the police without breaking down the day after your
death. Look how I was when your dad died.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. You had me worried for weeks.”
“What does Fred think about all of this?”
“He thinks I’m crazy.”
“Can you talk to her parents, get them to trust you?”
“No. They trust their daughter. Whoever shot Senator Maxfield means
business.”
Don glanced at his mother. It was late, and he was looking forward to
retiring early for the night, but for some reason he knew sleep would elude him
until he was able to put this to rest. He turned
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