* Thank you for all the kind reviews! I will try to post more frequently, and put it in my schedule, but even this morning trying to get this up I was interrupted three times by my 8 year old asking questions about math. lol.
Chapter 3 — I hate chamomile.
Nancy watched the steam swirl up from the mug. Chamomile. She hated chamomile. It tasted like medicine. That horrid part time guy last year had liked it and brought in some boxes. She should have thrown it out months ago. The detective was sitting with her, asking the same questions the other cops had asked, making her say the same things over again. She knew it was necessary. Heck, she'd done the same thing as a PI. But she'd never realized how horrible it felt until now. What had he said his name was? Frank. Not a name one heard too often these days. Detective Frank…something. So strange that he was sitting there so casually, like he had all the time in the world. Usually he was a coil of controlled energy. He would march in, hand her his credit card, sign the slip with a scribble that said he'd given up trying to have legible handwriting long ago, take his plastic wrapped clothing with a gruff "thank you" and leave. He wasn't one to stay and chat.
"Who were you texting just a moment ago?"
That question caught her off guard, and she glanced up at him. His eyes were so dark and serious. Had she been texting? Nancy looked back down at the phone in her lap. Texting. That kid had been texting when he lost control of the car. Drunk texting. George had shown her some messages like that. Usually they were funny. Until they weren't. What had the detective asked? Oh, George. She was texting her. Nancy gripped the mug a little tighter. She had to hold herself together. This was not the time to break down.
"George," she finally said. "She works here part time. Goes to the community college. Her real name is George, it's not a nickname or anything. I think she was named after her grandfather. She's a neighbor, lives next door to me with her grandmother. They saw I hadn't gotten home yet and wondered what was going on." Oh good grief, now she was babbling. Only guilty people babbled. She took a sip of the tea and forced herself to swallow it. Chamomile was supposed to be calming. It was sweet. Way too sweet. Sweet tea was supposed to be good for shock, right? Or maybe that was only in those British shows she watched. Nancy took another sip of the tea. Maybe it wasn't too bad. Maybe she did need it for shock. Her thoughts swirled like the steam from the cup, unable to focus.
There was the sound of shouting outside where police were taping off the front of the store, and then the bell jangled as George barreled into the store, wrenching her arm away from the policeman who was trying to stop her. "What happened, Boss?" she asked, dropping into the chair beside her.
Nancy gritted her teeth. "I told you I was fine," she answered in a clipped, annoyed voice. She did not need this kid nannying her. She was an angry and probably depressed widow, but not a child that needed minding.
"Yeah, you told me," George said, rolling her eyes. "But there are police all over and they blocked the alley. What happened? Did somebody try to break in? I told you not to stay late."
"It wasn't a break in. It was a...a murder I guess. I heard a crash in the alley and went to check. There was a girl out there...in the dumpster."
The kid swore. "From now on you leave when I leave, okay?"
Nancy bristled at the words and the authoritative tone. "You are my employee, George, not my babysitter. I got on just fine before you started working here."
"Debatable."
The word was barely muttered under her breath, but Nancy glared at her. "Go home, George. This has nothing to do with you."
The detective cleared his throat, and Nancy blinked at him, forgetting for a moment why he was sitting there. Detective Frank. Was that a glimmer of amusement in his eyes? The reality came crashing back down on her and she felt suddenly cold. She took another swallow of the tea, too quick this time and burned her tongue.
The detective looked like he was going to ask another question when his partner came back in from the alley. "Frank, they're ready to bring the body through," he said. His eyes flicked from the detective to herself and back again.
"We would like you both to take a look at the body and see if you might be able to identify her," the partner said. He smiled sympathetically, as though he knew it was a horrid thing to ask. He seemed like he maybe spent a lot of time trying to be charming. Or maybe that wasn't fair. She was in a lousy mood tonight. Maybe he really was kind and sympathetic. But Nancy figured he played the good cop whenever the two of them were interrogating someone.
Could she do it? Look at another dead body? At least they probably closed her eyes. Nancy forced away the memory of Ned's body, lying there beside their mangled car and managed to give a quick nod. Best to just get it over with. She may have found the body in her dumpster, but it didn't have anything really to do with her. Just go along and try to get them out of here as soon as possible.
The gurney rattled through the back door, its body encased in a black zippered bag. Detective Frank signaled for them to stop and his partner pulled down the zipper and held the edges of the bag away from the victim's face.
Nancy exhaled slowly and made herself study the still, ashen face in the bag. The girl was young, a teenager or college student. Dark, wavy hair, olive skin tone under that pallor of death. No earrings that she could see, but Nancy wondered if she was wearing any other jewelry. Could that have been a motive for her death? The train of thought shocked her. She hadn't had a case or even felt any curiosity over something mysterious for years. She was convinced that part of her life was over and done with. She swallowed hard and took a step backward from the gurney. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize her," she said firmly.
But Detective Frank wasn't looking at her. He was looking at George with those severe dark eyes. Nancy glanced at George and made a sound of disapproval. The girl looked positively sick. Idiots. The cops probably saw stuff like this all the time, but they should have some sliver of awareness that other people might be distressed by having to look at a dead body. "I think that's enough," she said, leading George back to a chair.
"Did you happen to recognize the victim?" the partner asked, his voice low and probably intentionally trying to be soothing.
"No, I don't know her. Sorry," George said quickly.
Nancy sat down beside her. "George, I think you ought to go home. I'm sure the police can contact you tomorrow if they have any other questions. It's just a horrible coincidence that someone chose to dump this poor girl at our store." She looked at both detectives, defying them to argue with her.
The partner smiled. "Of course. We're just about finished up here."
George stood up and practically bolted out of the door. Nancy frowned after her. "Was it really necessary to ask her to look at the body?" she said, turning back to the detectives and not even trying to keep her voice from sounding irritated. "Surely whoever dumped the girl there chose the first easy place they could think of? I don't think it has anything to do with us."
"It could be random," Detective Frank agreed.
What on earth did he say his last name was? Nancy thought, annoyed with herself. I can't keep thinking about him as Detective Frank, it sounds like a character in a children's story.
"But we can't know that for certain yet," he added, his tone sounding a little like he was explaining something patiently to a child. "You are welcome to lock up now. Would you like an officer to accompany you back to your house?"
Nancy wasn't sure what was more irritating. Detective Partner's attempts to mollify or Detective Frank's condescension. Or more likely I'm just tired and hungry and overwhelmed by having to see something so awful, she thought ruefully. After all these were hardly the first cops she'd worked with. Their manner wasn't ill-intentioned or even out of the ordinary. She just needed to go home. "An officer won't be necessary, thank you," she said. "I'm sure George's grandmother will be watching for me to get home."
The two detectives nodded and stepped outside, so she could turn off the lights and then lock the doors. Detective Frank nodded to her again as she got into her car, and it was probably her imagination, but she thought she still saw him watching her as she glanced in the rearview mirror before turning out onto the street.
