California Schemin' - Kate George [75]
I started to read, and the copy editor/reporter in me compelled me to correct grammar along with the details of my account. I scratched out “black dress” and wrote in “blue dress and matching shoes.” I noted that the limo was bulletproof and soundproof and that a passenger could be locked in. I described the pictures of the two men Wallace was trying to frame. When she returned I was describing the cabin and the road that led to it.
The officer looked at the corrections and sighed.
“Are those really necessary?” she asked.
“Only if accuracy is important. But I’ll make the changes if you want. I’m good with a keyboard.”
“Sorry, I’m not giving up my keyboard to anybody.” She sat and made the changes. I watched carefully, making sure she got the details right, and I re-read the whole thing before signing it.
“You know,” I said, looking up at her, “you don’t really need to put a comma …”
The look she was giving me would freeze a polar bear. Maybe a lesson in grammar wasn’t really appropriate right now.
She led me back into Fogel’s office and left me there while Fogel read my report. I sat quietly watching him scan the document. It was about five minutes before he looked up.
“You know what I find really interesting about firsthand witness accounts? The different way in which people see and describe the world. Beau says, and I quote, ‘Bree got us out of there.’ You, however, go into a detailed description of how you told Wendy and Paris to drive Beau to the hospital, what kind of gun Ms. Truefellow was holding, how many people were on snow machines, and how many were on the ATV. It fascinates me.”
“I’m a reporter. I can’t help myself.” I shrugged.
“I gathered. Mary told me that you about made her crazy with your corrections to your statement. Beau glanced over his and signed on the dotted line. Like I said, people fascinate me.” Fogel smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked a little greyer around the temples than when I’d left California the last time.
“You need a vacation,” I said. “Get away from the job.”
“What I need a vacation from is you getting yourself tangled up in this murder. I swear all this has taken ten years off my life. I’ll feel like I’m on vacation once we get you home again.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’ll feel like I’m on vacation, too. I miss my dogs.”
Beau hobbled in on a new set of crutches and sat in the chair beside me.
“Where’d you get the crutches?” I asked.
“They keep these things around, apparently.” He smiled a lopsided smile.
“You’re not feeling any pain are you?”
“Nope. None at all. I’m hoping I’ve got enough painkiller to keep me happy until we get home again. I can’t imagine five hours on a plane without access to them. Brutal.”
The phone rang, and Fogel answered while Beau melted into his chair and I stared out the window. It had started to rain, cold early December rain. If this was Vermont it would have been snow. Now that I was in relative safety, I was free to really miss home. I knew my animals would be well cared for. I boarded my neighbor’s horses, and we traded services freely, caring for each other’s animals on a regular basis. I wasn’t worried about them, but I missed their company. I’d just gotten reacquainted after a really long absence when I’d been snatched. Thinking about home got me thinking about my bedroom, sparsely furnished but full of light with an old wooden frame that held the mattress so high off the floor that I needed a stepstool to get into bed. The beautifully carved head board, the soft mattress. I hoped Annabelle hadn’t used it as a litter box again.
“Shit!” Fogel’s exclamation jolted me awake and back into the present. He hung up the phone and looked across at me. “Wallace disappeared along with Hambecker and the