Author's Note: The first eight chapters of this story were written and published before I watched Season 2. Between writing chapters 8 and 9, I made the mistake of watching Season 2, after which I considered abandoning this story as it no longer follows the established canon. I've realised, however, that the differences are not all that important. My Miss Watson is not related to the Fords, and she has nothing to do with the drugs industry. Similarly, my Emma is going to be mostly absent, whilst she has treatment. This story should therefore be considered non-canon (AU, if you like) and will not touch upon the events of Season 2 (thought I'll try to work some of the canon into the story). Please take any other differences you find with a pinch of salt.
My Town
9. No News is Good News
Romero pulled down the knot of his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt. Suits. He hated them. But after leaving the Summers crime scene, he'd just had enough time to get home, get changed, and get to the Watson wake. He'd missed the funeral by a couple of hours, and part of him was glad for it. He hated funeral services, couldn't stand to hear people crying over their lost loved ones. At the wake, he'd offered his condolences to Carmella Hawthorn, assured her he was doing everything within his power to find her sister's killer, and left before she could force any food onto him.
Now he had an even less pleasant rendezvous to attend.
He left his car and climbed the dozen steps to the county hall. The summons had come in the early hours of the morning, and though he disliked coming here, to this hub of politicians and posers, he knew he couldn't refuse this request.
The secretary showed him in to the office. Mayor Robert Woodriff did not stand and offer his hand, and Romero did not expect him to. They both waited until the secretary, informed that neither of them wanted a coffee, left the room. As was his way, Romero remained silent. He knew why he was here, and there was no point feigning ignorance.
"Do we have a problem?" Woodriff asked. He'd been the mayor for four years; not Romero's preferred candidate for the role, but there were worse people who could have been voted into office. Woodriff didn't have much of an imagination, but that meant he wasn't easily excitable. Normally, he wasn't easily concerned.
"I don't know."
"Two women are dead, Alex. This suggests to me that we may have a problem."
"We're looking into it."
Woodriff chewed the inside of his lip for a minute, and drummed his fingers on the desk. "Maggie Summers… it can't be a coincidence, can it?"
"I don't believe in coincidences," he told the mayor.
The man behind the desk gave a tsk of frustration. "Do you think her death is connected in some way to what her brother… got upto?"
"It's possible."
"That whole Keith Summers business… very nasty. Despicable. It fills me with shame that it was going on here, in our little town. Right under our noses."
Romero held the man's gaze, not liking the unspoken implication. Woodriff was normally very good at politics. It was one of the reasons he'd gotten the job. To hear him now, shooting in the dark, bumbling around and trying to hit something… it was surprising. Maybe it was time he stood down from his role. He probably needed a vacation.
"Oh, I don't blame you Alex, not at all," Woodriff said quickly, as if hearing Romero's thoughts. "How could you possibly have known? Shelby was close to you. He knew exactly how to manipulate you… how to work around you. He abused his position in the most heinous way possible."
Woodriff clasped his hands together, leaning forward over the desk.
"Alex, you know as well as I do that people need to feel safe. Despite the… nature… of our community here, we all remain civilised, and as a result, people know they're safe walking their own streets, sleeping in their own homes. If Maggie Summers' murder is linked to those terrible things her brother was responsible for, then that means it isn't over. That there's still somebody out there with his hand in the trafficking game. And when people find out, they won't feel safe. Mothers won't let their kids out of their sight. Husbands won't let their wives go walking alone. People will lose their faith in us to protect them. That can't happen. I want you to make this your priority."
"And the Watson case?"
"Still important, of course. But everybody knows Miss Watson had a… reputation. I've heard whispers – terrible, baseless accusations – that she may even have brought this on herself. The sympathy of the general public will only go so far. Over time, people will forget Miss Watson. But for as long as there's somebody out there who's been trafficking girls into the sex trade, they won't forget Maggie Summers. They won't forget her brother, or Zack Shelby. I'd like them to forget, Alex. Please, do whatever you can."
"Of course." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Bitter because he said them. Bitter because, deep down, he agreed with Woodriff's assessment of the situation. Miss Watson's death was a tragedy. Maggie Summers' death could be a potential disaster. Rumours multiplied like flies in White Pine Bay.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice." Woodriff stood now, and offered his hand. "If you don't mind me saying, Alex, you're looking a little tired. Try not to give yourself a hard time about all of this. People want to see their Sheriff looking well. They want to see him on top form. It assures them they're safe."
And assures you another term in the office, he thought, shaking the mayor's hand.
The secretary showed him out. At some point between the murder scene, and the wake, and the meeting, the tension in his head had returned. It was time to go home and try the chamomile tea again. Perhaps with a splash of brandy. Maybe that would help him sleep.
o - o - o - o - o
"Hello, Norma."
In the process of locking up the motel office, Norma startled and almost dropped her keys. Turning, she put on her best smile for Grace, but she knew it looked forced. It had been a long day. Norman had insisted on visiting the cemetery after the wake, and for one brief, terrifying moment, Norma had half-expected her son to suggest subjecting Miss Watson's slowly decomposing body to taxidermy.
When she'd realised how morbidly ridiculous her own thoughts were, she'd very nearly laughed. The only thing which held back the chuckle of relief was the tears in Norman's eyes as he saw the fresh mound of dirt in front of the small headstone. Her poor, sensitive son, so caring, had sobbed almost all the way through the funeral, and had barely been dry-eyed at the wake.
The last thing Norma wanted now was to deal with any of the guests, but Grace was looking at her with a smile that was friendly, until you realised it never quite reached those cold grey eyes. Eyes which saw too much, Norma thought. Eyes which watched, and judged. Eyes which reminded her very much of Dylan's… but also put her in mind of Romero. In short, they were the eyes of somebody Norma did not want to talk to right now.
"Oh, good evening, Grace," she said. "I was just locking up for the night. Did you need anything from the office?"
"No, I just thought I'd come over and say hello, since I've been in town for most of the day."
She edged away from the door, taking a couple of steps backwards so as not to appear rude by turning her back on her guest. "Ahh. Doing your research?"
"Yes." The smile rose up a tiny fraction, but the eyes didn't become any warmer.
"Well, I hope it's going well for you. I'd love to hear about it some time, but right now I have two hungry boys to feed."
"Of course. Though, perhaps you could answer one thing for me."
"Sure. What is it?"
The not-smile disappeared from the woman's face, and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if to ward off the chill of the evening air. "In town, I heard about the dead woman. I wondered if you knew her at all."
"Yes, as a matter of fact Miss Watson was one of Norman's teachers. We went to her funeral earlier today."
Grace shook her head, wisps of copper hair floating around her. "Not Miss Watson. The other woman. Maggie Summers."
Norma felt her knees weaken, but her spine compensated by becoming a little straighter. Maggie Summers? Dead? No… it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. Norma had seen the woman only a little over a week ago, alive and… well, not exactly 'well,' judging by the bruises on her face, but she'd definitely been alive. How could she have gone from Alive to Dead in so short a time? And how could some damn stranger, a foreigner no less, have heard about it before Norma Bates?
"Are you well, Norma?" said Grace. She looked and sounded concerned, and for once the emotion seemed genuine. "You've gone pale. Do you need to sit down?"
"No… no, I'm okay." She stepped forward, all thought of cheering up her brooding son forgotten. "What do you mean? Maggie Summers has… died?"
"Died is a very politically correct way of putting it. Murdered, from what I hear. I'm surprised you don't already know."
"Why should I know?"
"Rumour is, Dylan is the one who found the body. Out on some road in the forest."
Norma felt her mouth open and close a couple of times as she searched for an answer. She hadn't seen Dylan since the early hours of the morning, when Remo had come and picked him up for some job. But surely Dylan would have called her, if he'd found a dead body. Wouldn't he? Especially if it was the body of Maggie Summers.
"I can see you're quite upset," said Grace. "Were you close to the deceased?"
"What?" She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "I… no. I mean, I only met her once."
"Really? You bought this hotel from her family, didn't you?"
Norma felt her brow lower as she narrowed her eyes at the English woman. "How did you know that?"
Grace shrugged. "It's in the town's public records. As a historian, records are something of great interest to me."
"Oh. Well. In that case, you should know that the sale of the motel was handled via a realtor. I never met the Summers before I bought it."
"Is it true what they say? About Maggie Summers' brother?"
Norma felt her heart constrict inside her chest. Even thinking of Keith left her feeling panicky. That bastard of a pig had deserved to be stabbed to death. It was just a shame somebody hadn't done it sooner. To think, that Norma had come so close to being jailed for the murder of a man who deserved to be hung, drawn and quartered. Thankfully, Sheriff Romero had come to his senses and seen the truth of the situation after Zack Shelby's shocking betrayal.
"Is what true? And who's saying it?" she scowled, letting anger replace the momentary anxiety. Anger was preferable. Anger, she could do something with.
"The people in town," said Grace. "I've heard that he was running some sort of slave-trafficking business here in town. Right here in this motel, in fact."
"It's true," she admitted. "But I had nothing to do with that. I had no idea the motel was being used for such a horrible, horrible crime."
"I know you didn't," Grace said, patting her on the shoulder. It was probably supposed to be reassuring. Norma found it quite patronising. "Nobody in their right mind would buy a motel if they knew it had been used for something like that. And you, Norma Bates, do appear to be a lady in her right mind."
"Right." She took a step back, suddenly eager to be away. Faced with the revelation that Maggie Summers had been murdered, she'd forgotten how odd Grace could be. "Well. I have to go. Thank you for stopping by to chat. I'll see you later."
"Yes you will."
She turned and left, wishing her legs were longer, and her skirt less restrictive, so she could take the stairs two at a time. When she glanced back over her shoulder, Grace was still standing there, looking up at the house. Norma was just glad she was too far away to see the expression on the woman's face; she doubted she would have liked it.
The front door slammed closed behind her.
"DYLAN!" she yelled up the stairs. Thirty seconds later, her eldest son appeared, running a hand through his short blond hair.
"I was trying to sleep, Norma. I gotta get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow."
"You found Maggie Summers' dead body and didn't think to tell me?!" she accused.
A look of guilt passed across his face before he smothered it. "Right now, there's nothing to tell."
"Maggie Summers is dead!"
"And Romero's looking in to it!" he shot back. "Why are you so upset? It's not like you were the best of friends. Have you forgotten what her brother did for a living?"
"I will never forget a single thing Keith Summers did." She heard the venom in her own voice, but did nothing to curtail it. She could tell, by the expression on his face, that he knew he'd gone too far, said the wrong thing at the wrong time. "But Maggie Summers knew what Keith was doing. And she knew Jake Abernathy. Now Abernathy's dead, all of this should be over. Nobody should have needed to kill Maggie Summers. But they did. What if I'm the next one they come after, like Abernathy came after me?"
"Norma, don't worry," he said. "You still have that gun I gave you, right? Just keep it near at all times. And I'll be here as much as I can, when I'm not working. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."
"I'll hold you to that!"
He nodded. "Besides, maybe we already know who killed Maggie Summers."
"What do you mean?"
"I was there, when Romero arrived. I thought he might be surprised about the body. Upset. Anything. But he wasn't. He just… he just looked at it for a few minutes, and then started asking question. Maybe he already knew she was there, because he's the one who killed her."
"What? Why would he even do that?" She felt goosebumps prickle her skin as she asked the question. Was Romero even capable of killing Maggie Summers? Definitely. The little voice of confirmation reminded her how easily he'd killed Abernathy. How quickly he'd come up with a cover story for Shelby's death. How coldly he'd threatened to destroy her when she'd loosely implied she might have information with which to blackmail him. Yes, if there was one person in White Pine Bay who was capable of killing Maggie Summers, it was Sheriff Romero.
She just hoped it wasn't true.
o - o - o - o - o
Monday dawned crisp and clear, the cloudless sky allowing the cold morning frost to cling to every surface it had formed on. There had already been two accidents on the main road, and Romero hadn't even reached the station yet. A tailback held him up at the scene of the first accident. Luckily, nobody had been hurt. By the time he reached the second accident, he realised it was going to be one of those days.
His theory was confirmed as he pulled up outside the station, and very nearly let out a groan. There, waiting for him beside her rust-heap of a Merc, was Norma Bates, and judging by the look on her face she'd been chewing rocks whilst waiting for him for the past hour. As soon as she recognised his car she shouldered her bag and strode over. Perhaps it was time for him to start using a different car.
He wanted nothing more than go into the station and have his first cup of coffee. Very nearly he could hear the machine, bubbling and brewing, calling out to him with its caffeine voice. Normally he would have had three cups by now, but the lady in the hippie shop who'd sold him the chamomile tea had told him more than two cups per day would keep him awake. Now he was down to three cups, because nobody in their right mind could function on two.
"Sheriff, do you have a moment?" Norma asked before he could get a word in edgewise.
"For you, Norma? Of course."
His comment seemed to throw her. She almost stopped in mid-stride. But she quickly regained her composure.
"Sheriff, I heard that Maggie Summers has been killed. Is that right?"
"That's correct."
"Do you have any idea who did it?"
"Investigations are ongoing," he told her.
"What the hell does that mean?!" She bulldozed over him before he could respond. "In case you've forgotten, Maggie Summers warned me about Jake Abernathy. And now she's dead! What if Abernathy has an accomplice? Someone who… who… came here to finish his unfinished business for him? What if I'm unfinished business?!"
He looked around in case their conversation could be overheard, but the street was thankfully quiet. Nobody wanted to loiter outside with the air so chilly.
"It's just as likely that Jake Abernathy killed Maggie before he disappeared," he said. The last thing he needed was a hysterical Norma Bates pestering him every five minutes. He still had two murders to solve. "The body looked pretty decomposed. It could have been out there for days. I'm waiting for the coroner's report to come in. Until then, I don't think you need to worry."
"Easier said than done," she replied. Then she sighed. "As if I don't already have enough to worry about. With Norman moping after Miss Watson's funeral, and Dylan away on a job somewhere, and that English woman asking all sorts of weird questions—"
"Weird questions?" Grace had said she'd be asking questions of the locals, but Norma had only just moved here. Hers wasn't one of the families that had lived here since White Pine Bay's founding.
"Yeah. Like when she told me about Maggie Summers. She was asking about… y'know… that whole Keith Summers-Zack Shelby sex slave trafficking thing. Asking if I knew Maggie Summers well, and what had been going on at the motel… Why? Do you think that's important? Do you think she's in on it?"
He shook his head as Norma's imagination went wild. "No, I'm sure she's not. I was just curious about what she'd been asking you."
"Oh. Okay." She bit her bottom lip, catching it between her teeth for a moment. "Will you let me know what the coroner says, about Maggie Summers? About whether Abernathy might have killed her?"
"No I will not. For the moment, it's an ongoing investigation, and I can't talk about it." She opened her mouth to speak, but he took her by the arm and guided her back to her car. "If I have any reason to believe that you or your family are in danger, I will of course do all that I can to protect you. But for now, I need you to let me do my job. Please, Norma, go home. Go run your business. I'm sure this will all blow over soon."
She didn't look like she believed him, but she had little choice. Romero watched until he was sure she was gone, then turned towards the station. It was time for that long-overdue coffee.