Protector - Laurel Dewey [75]
“I think that’s why Mommy took me on that camping trip. She wanted to get away. He got really drunk a lot this year.”
“It’s not important, Emily,” Jane said succinctly.
“But it was important. Every time they fought, Mommy would always say something about how daddy was drinking too much and making bad . . .” Emily searched for the word. “Decisions . . .” She turned her head to the side and furrowed her brow. “Hey . . . you know what?” It was as if a lightbulb started to go from dim to bright. “Mommy and Daddy were fighting that night. I was in my room and I heard their voices get louder.” Emily looked at Jane. “Is that when I went in the closet?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
As quickly as Emily’s memory wrapped around that moment in time, it abruptly ended.
Jane managed to whip up a mediocre breakfast of scrambled eggs and half-burnt toast. Instead of her usual no frills coffee, she had to settle for the Sumatra Blend from Starbucks. Emily poked at her breakfast with her fork, arranging the eggs in little piles across her plate.
“Stop playing with your food,” Jane admonished. “If you don’t want to eat it, there’s always cold pizza.”
“For breakfast? No, thanks. I’ll eat this. It’s just not how Mommy makes it—”
“Well, that’s because I’m not Mommy!” Jane brusquely got up from the table and washed off her plate. Her teeth clenched. What she wouldn’t give for a taste of whiskey. Her sudden sobriety was playing havoc with her senses. Lights were brighter, sounds were more intrusive and time seemed to drag.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Emily said softly.
“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” Jane said abruptly.
“Then how come you’re mad?”
Jane turned to Emily. “Look, kid, it’s too damn early in the morning for this. You done with your food?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, go upstairs and get dressed.”
Emily slid off the kitchen chair and headed toward the stairs via the kitchen hallway route. Jane stood at the sink in a half-daze. Suddenly, the sound of her cell phone pierced the silence. She tossed her cigarette into the sink and followed the annoying chirp-chirp ring to her jacket pocket that lay over the living room couch.
“Yeah?” Jane answered the phone.
“Jane, it’s me,” said Sergeant Weyler. “Can you talk freely?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“No memories?”
“Not unless you count ‘Mommy and Daddy were fighting. ’ ”
“Fighting about what?”
“Who the fuck knows?”
“It could be important. Ask her more about it.”
“People fight. So what?” Jane wandered over toward the staircase where the desk stood. She wove looping patterns into the surface with her finger.
“We have to start making connections, Jane. Maybe they were fighting about drugs. I know you think that cocaine was a dead lead—”
“This has nothing to do with coke!” Jane said, guarding her voice so Emily couldn’t hear. “I asked the kid point blank. The only coke she’s ever seen is on Cops.”
“What cops?”
“The television show? Well, it’s not on PBS, so of course, you’ve never seen it.”
“What makes you think Emily would be aware of her parents doing coke?”
“Kids know things. They may not tell their friends about it but they know things. They see things. Any guy who traffics in the amount of coke that was left behind that night would be sloppy as shit. This kid doesn’t miss one damn thing. She watches you and I mean, she watches you fucking constantly! There’s no way her parents could hide a coke habit that stretched into late night deals that turned sour.” Jane ran her hand over the top of the desk that held the cubby holes. “Look, none of it makes any sense. It’s like I told you. The whole crime scene was misleading. Whoever did this was smart and cunning. They made sure that it looked like something it wasn’t.” Just then, her finger hit one of the hidden buttons on the desk and a side drawer popped open. “Shit!”
“What is it?”
“It’s this desk.” Jane opened the drawer and looked inside. It was empty, save for an eraser. “Boss, there’s nothing this kid can