He clasped an arm around my shoulders. “If someone isn’t under arrest, she can come and go as she pleases. We’re both headed for Montana.”
I blinked. Both headed for Montana? Since when? Officer DeLora gave a frustrated huff. Because the other point Mac had said was true. I’d had enough experience with law enforcement in recent years to know that even though people are often told they can’t leave an area, that wasn’t enforceable if they weren’t under arrest.
Officer DeLora didn’t admit Mac was correct, but neither did she argue with him. Unfortunately, at least from her viewpoint, she didn’t have enough reason to arrest me to keep me here. Unless maybe she could make a case out of my impersonating Ivy Malone?
She apparently decided to appeal to our nobler natures now. “I’m sure you’re both as eager as we are to find out who killed this woman.” To me, “Your presence could be very helpful.”
What hit me in that statement was the bottom-line fact about this dead body. I’d been doing mental gymnastics trying to detour this ever since I’d first seen those toes in the tub, but there was no getting around it now. Officer DeLora had made it fact. This wasn’t just a dead body. This was a murdered dead body. In my bathtub.
Sometimes it seems as if there’s an inexorable link between murder and me. Like macaroni and cheese. Salt and pepper. Jekyll and Hyde. Ivy and murder.
Mac and Officer DeLora were still discussing the situation. She was emphasizing how helpful my sticking around would be. Mac was saying my life might be in danger if I did.
I held up a hand. “I’d be more inclined to stay if I could be in my own motorhome, but it’s inside the crime scene tape. So is Mac’s. If I could occupy mine and Mac could leave in his—? They have already been searched.”
“You intend to leave the area?” Officer DeLora asked Mac.
Mac gave me a glance that put Officer DeLora’s stern look in the amateur category, a glance that said We both need to leave. Now. I started to deny that. Just Mac would be leaving. Although I had to admit zipping out of town right behind him might be the smartest and safest thing to do. I could follow him up to Montana or head for the Oregon coast. Leave the Braxtons behind again.
Mac gave a noncommittal shrug, and Officer DeLora said, “I’ll see what I can do about getting the motorhomes released. Until then both of you stay outside the tape.” Officer DeLora gave Mac The Look. “And that is enforceable.”
#
Processing of the crime scene went on. Officers came and went. A few lookie-loos remained, but most of the small crowd drifted away. Somewhere along the way Tasha and Eric also got away. An officer came out and rearranged the yellow tape so that the motorhomes were outside it.
“You’ll be leaving now?” I asked Mac.
“You’ll come with me?”
I dodged a decision by saying, “I’d like to visit the cemetery while I’m here.” I hadn’t been to Harley’s grave since I left Madison Street.
“I can hang around for a day or two. I’ll pull the motorhome out on the street so you can get in and out of the driveway.”
I started to say something about the city not allowing RVs on the street but realized that might not be true now. It used to be, to park an RV here, it had to be in a garage or out of sight behind a house. But the city also used to get nasty about overgrown weeds, and a car up on blocks in a yard would earn an immediate citation, so apparently they weren’t paying much attention to enforcement on Madison Street these days. Maybe a shortage of personnel because of budget problems? Or maybe Madison Street had just been written off by city authorities.
The crime scene people still weren’t done by the time Mac and I shared a salad for dinner in my motorhome. It was too hot to cook anything. Afterward we took a stroll over to the shopping center where I’d always gone for groceries when I lived here. I picked up a local
I blinked. Both headed for Montana? Since when? Officer DeLora gave a frustrated huff. Because the other point Mac had said was true. I’d had enough experience with law enforcement in recent years to know that even though people are often told they can’t leave an area, that wasn’t enforceable if they weren’t under arrest.
Officer DeLora didn’t admit Mac was correct, but neither did she argue with him. Unfortunately, at least from her viewpoint, she didn’t have enough reason to arrest me to keep me here. Unless maybe she could make a case out of my impersonating Ivy Malone?
She apparently decided to appeal to our nobler natures now. “I’m sure you’re both as eager as we are to find out who killed this woman.” To me, “Your presence could be very helpful.”
What hit me in that statement was the bottom-line fact about this dead body. I’d been doing mental gymnastics trying to detour this ever since I’d first seen those toes in the tub, but there was no getting around it now. Officer DeLora had made it fact. This wasn’t just a dead body. This was a murdered dead body. In my bathtub.
Sometimes it seems as if there’s an inexorable link between murder and me. Like macaroni and cheese. Salt and pepper. Jekyll and Hyde. Ivy and murder.
Mac and Officer DeLora were still discussing the situation. She was emphasizing how helpful my sticking around would be. Mac was saying my life might be in danger if I did.
I held up a hand. “I’d be more inclined to stay if I could be in my own motorhome, but it’s inside the crime scene tape. So is Mac’s. If I could occupy mine and Mac could leave in his—? They have already been searched.”
“You intend to leave the area?” Officer DeLora asked Mac.
Mac gave me a glance that put Officer DeLora’s stern look in the amateur category, a glance that said We both need to leave. Now. I started to deny that. Just Mac would be leaving. Although I had to admit zipping out of town right behind him might be the smartest and safest thing to do. I could follow him up to Montana or head for the Oregon coast. Leave the Braxtons behind again.
Mac gave a noncommittal shrug, and Officer DeLora said, “I’ll see what I can do about getting the motorhomes released. Until then both of you stay outside the tape.” Officer DeLora gave Mac The Look. “And that is enforceable.”
#
Processing of the crime scene went on. Officers came and went. A few lookie-loos remained, but most of the small crowd drifted away. Somewhere along the way Tasha and Eric also got away. An officer came out and rearranged the yellow tape so that the motorhomes were outside it.
“You’ll be leaving now?” I asked Mac.
“You’ll come with me?”
I dodged a decision by saying, “I’d like to visit the cemetery while I’m here.” I hadn’t been to Harley’s grave since I left Madison Street.
“I can hang around for a day or two. I’ll pull the motorhome out on the street so you can get in and out of the driveway.”
I started to say something about the city not allowing RVs on the street but realized that might not be true now. It used to be, to park an RV here, it had to be in a garage or out of sight behind a house. But the city also used to get nasty about overgrown weeds, and a car up on blocks in a yard would earn an immediate citation, so apparently they weren’t paying much attention to enforcement on Madison Street these days. Maybe a shortage of personnel because of budget problems? Or maybe Madison Street had just been written off by city authorities.
The crime scene people still weren’t done by the time Mac and I shared a salad for dinner in my motorhome. It was too hot to cook anything. Afterward we took a stroll over to the shopping center where I’d always gone for groceries when I lived here. I picked up a local
Similar Books
