One Chance: A Thrilling Christian Fiction Mystery Romance, page 2
She was nearly finished with the report when a thought occurred to her. She picked up the phone and called the clinic.
"Hi Doc," she said when Doctor Jacob answered.
"Hello Deputy Beautiful," he replied. That response always made her smile, just like she knew he smiled when she called him Doc.
"I have another quick question for Pete. Are you in the room with him?" she asked.
"Hold on a second and I will be." He put her on hold. Several seconds later, he picked up the phone on the extension in the exam room. "You know I can't let him talk to you for long, right?"
"This won't take long, Jacob, I promise."
There was a pause before he spoke again. "In his condition, I'm not sure if he can hold the phone, so ask your question and I'll relay it to him."
"Okay. Ask him if he actually saw who was driving the vehicle that hit him." She held her breath, hoping.
She heard him repeating the question. "Pete says he didn't see the driver, but only one person could have been behind the wheel."
"Thanks Doc," she said. "I just wanted to make it clear on my report whether or not he saw the driver." Victim didn't see the driver, she wrote, and then underlined it.
"You're welcome, Deputy Beautiful," he said. "Call me when you get home. I'm going to stay here with Pete."
"Will do, Doc," she promised.
"Love you," he told her.
"Love you back."
Penelope hung up the phone and sighed. It was a small relief to know that Pete hadn't actually seen Doug behind the wheel of that truck, but in the end it didn't really matter. She knew who the driver was as well as anyone else in town would know.
Her not wanting it to be so wasn't going to change reality. She gave in to her frustration and flung her notepad across the room. Then she rolled her eyes at how childish she felt and went over to retrieve it.
She needed to put all this aside for a moment. Pete wouldn't be out of the clinic until tomorrow and she figured that was enough time.
So Penelope returned her attention to the case of the stolen Buicks. No witnesses for the first one, but a good witness for the second. Both cars had been unlocked. That wasn't unusual in a town where nearly everyone knew, and mostly trusted, each other. But it meant no physical evidence like broken glass with blood left at the scene.
The description of the suspect, however, was what kept going through her mind. She tried to imagine a tall, thin, possibly Hispanic young man wearing a stuffed bra over his t-shirt. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't help chuckling at the thought. Who would want to draw that kind of attention to themselves as they went out to steal Buick after Buick?
She went into the break room to get a cup of coffee. As she was adding milk and sugar to her cup, Deputy Jim Saunders came in to start the night shift as Penelope was still laughing about the bra-wearing auto thief, and he asked what was so funny. Penelope told him about the description Mrs. Fitch had given of the suspect in his case.
Saunders, though he joined in the laughter, offered a possible explanation. "This guy sounds like he might be in college," he said.
A light came on in Penelope's mind. "Thank you, Jim," she said. "That just may be what I'm looking for."
"No problem," Jim said in his thick southern accent. Jim was a transplant from Georgia, across the state's panhandle, where apparently it was customary to wear handle-bar mustaches. "So what's up with Pete and this attempted murder thing? He gonna be all right?"
"Well, right now it's just vehicular assault." Penelope knew how defensive that sounded. She gave Jim the details as she knew them right now, and also let Jim know she'd be staying around for a while yet. There were some leads she wanted to run down.
"You sure you don't want me to take that one?" Jim asked her, meaning of course Pete's case, prime suspect Doug Foster.
Penelope shook her head. "I've got it. For now. If I need you to take over I'll let you know."
Jim nodded and left it at that.
Penelope left the break room and went back to her desk. Turning to her computer, she logged onto the state's Department of Motor Vehicles website and searched for all red Buicks owned by residents of Franklin. There were six. Disregarding the two that were stolen left her with four possible future thefts.
That was good, but now she needed to figure out which one was likely to be next. There must be something about the first two, other than the color, that made them targets for the thief.
Looking back at both reports she tried to find similarities between them. The first thing that caught her eye was the addresses of the victims. Neither was more than three blocks from Main Street. That could be what had made them easy marks. Additionally, each house was also near an intersection with a side street. Of the possible remaining targets, she saw only one more that fit the same criteria. Anthony Abernathy, up near Maple Avenue.
Makes sense, she thought. From Main Street all the thief would have to do is go west and in less than ten minutes he could be heading north on US 301. Not only would that lead the thief out of town, but it also led toward the University of Florida in Gainesville. The idea of a college student was making more and more sense.
Penelope decided to ask Saunders and maybe Petersen to sit in an unmarked car on the corner of High Street and Maple Avenue to keep an eye on Mister Abernathy's victory red 2010 Buick LaCrosse. There was no way for her to know when the culprit might come for this car, so she would have them start the stakeout as soon as possible. She didn't want to gamble on having another red car to look for.
A few moments later, Sheriff John Jackson was coming up to her desk and Deputy Chance could tell by the look on his face that he was not a happy man. She tried to act as though she hadn't noticed the Sheriff's expression. She knew what it would be about. Trying to distract him, she revealed her breakthrough in the car theft case.
"Sheriff," she said, "I think I know what's going on with the stolen cars, but I need to have a couple of our guys on surveillance."
Sheriff Jackson simply stood there scowling at her. At six-foot-two inches tall and well over two-hundred pounds, that was a lot of scowl. Penelope tried to play like she had only just now noticed the Sheriff's apparent aggravation.
"What's up, sir?" she asked. "You look like something's bothering you."
"Deputy Chance," the Sheriff began, and Penelope knew she was in trouble. "I had dispatch pass you a pretty big deal today. I figured you'd be on it like a fat kid on a cupcake, seeing as how you're always bellyaching about how small your caseload is. Yet here you sit on a simple stolen car case. What I want to know is what's happening with the Pete Lamb case."
Penelope slumped in her chair, and there were sudden tears in her eyes. What had she been thinking, keeping that case? She should have given it to Jim when he asked for it.
Pride goes before the fall. It also manages to sneak up and bite your tail on occasion.
"I'm not sure if I'm the right one for this case, sir," she said quietly to the Sheriff.
Sheriff Jackson grabbed a nearby chair and scraped it across the floor to bring it up next to Penelope's desk. He settled himself into it and the metal frame creaked in protest. Under the furrowed brow of his bald head, his face softened visibly.
"Penelope," he began, "I gave you a job here, once upon a time, because you were the best of all the applicants I had available. You're smart, you're dedicated, and you honestly care about the people of Franklin. Shoot, you grew up here. Now, I gave you this case for the same reasons. It wouldn't sit right if I gave something this big to anyone else."
"That's not what I meant, sir." Penelope had no doubt that she could handle something this big. Her faith prepared her for moments like this.
"I know," the Sheriff replied. "I've lived in Franklin all my life, too, and I'm well aware that you grew up with both of them. That's the other reason you have the case."
"I don't follow," Penelope said, honestly confused.
"Penelope, you have a heart of gold," the Sheriff told her. "That's what people love about you and why they respect you. I know you can do this because you have the determination to get to the bottom of it for both of their sakes. You won't play favorites. You'll be fair, and you'll be honest."
Penelope perked up a little at that. It was good to know where she stood with her boss. Took some of the pressure off.
"I guess the biggest thing is that I'm not looking forward to the arrest," she said.
"I know, Penelope, and I appreciate how hard this is going to be for you," the Sheriff told her. "I also know that you are the only one I've got who can handle this the right way. Oh, the rest of my guys are good. But you're better. It's that whole honest girl scout thing you've got going on."
"I put my faith in God, sir," Penelope said, not bragging, just stating a fact. "It makes me who I am."
"See, now that right there is what I mean. This case is going to require a lot of faith and trust," the Sheriff said as he rose from his chair. "When it comes to that, you are the one I trust." He turned and headed back to his office.
"Sheriff, do you want me to arrest him tonight?" Penelope asked before John had taken two steps.
Sheriff Jackson turned around and looked at her as if she'd spoken in Ancient Greek.
"The reason I ask," Penelope added quickly, "is because his vehicle will need to be brought in and processed for evidence and you know where he lives. He won't be able to go anywhere."
"Now, Penelope—" the Sheriff began.
"I'm off for the next two days and I could have him stay with me to make sure." She paused to see what effect her words were having. "Please, Sheriff. Let me at least do this until we have a signed complaint."
"Pete hasn't signed it yet?"
Penelope jumped on that. "No sir. Pete's not in any shape to be signing anything right now."
John thought for a moment and sighed, relenting. "Okay, but only for the weekend. If anything changes, if something else comes up, I'll expect you to be the one to bring him in without delay."
"Yes sir, I will. Thank you, sir," Penelope said. "I'll pick him up at the end of my shift tonight. Will that be soon enough?"
"Thought your shift was already over?" the Sheriff pointed out.
"Well, yes, it is, but—"
"Then that'll be just fine," the Sheriff said with a note of finality to his voice. He turned and went back to his office, leaving Penelope with her orders.
CHAPTER 5
Doug staggered out of The Last Chance Tavern after having one too many. Well, a few too many, probably. Why did he always order that one more beer? Every single time he promised himself that he wouldn't do it again. But then, every time, he did it again.
As he stumbled across the small dirt parking lot to his pickup, he noticed Deputy Penelope Chance leaning against the hood of her police cruiser.
"Heya Penny," Doug said, his words having taken on that distinctive alcohol slur, "didja catch any crooks today?"
Penelope looked at Doug with more than a small amount of pity and thought about the events that led her lifelong best friend on the path of destruction.
Here was the elephant in the room everyone had been turning a blind eye to. Doug and her weren't just friends. Once upon a time, they had been the best of friends.
"Not yet," she answered Doug's question, the irony of it weighing heavy on her. "Been waiting for you to come out so I can take you home. I don't want to bring you in for DUI."
"Ain't gonna hap'n," Doug drawled. "I'm plannin' t' sleep in my truck 'til mornin' b'fore I go home."
Penelope said, "I can't let you do that, Doug. I'll just take you home. You can stay the night. We'll talk in the morning."
"Thanks, buddy," Doug said with a cheerful smile, patting Penelope's shoulder. "I 'preciate that Penny. My gardien anjshul, tha's wutsha are."
Penelope smiled at Doug as she had him climb into the back of the cruiser. The other officers wouldn't take the truck until she was far enough away that Doug wouldn't see them do it. Penelope had already seen the front end and snapped a few pictures. It was pretty obvious what had caused the damage.
As Doug settled into the back seat, already half asleep, Penelope gripped the steering wheel hard and headed the cruiser out onto the road. It was going to be a short night, and a difficult conversation in the morning, when she told a more sober Doug that he was the prime suspect in an attempted murder. Nearly as hard as telling him who the victim was.
CHAPTER 6
At nine o'clock Saturday morning, Doug's eyes opened. He felt a little better than he had when he came home, but he was still feeling rough around the edges. His eyes were still blurry from drink and sleep. The memory of last night was all fuzzy around the edges. He didn't even remember making it home. Not the first time for that.
After a quick trip to relieve himself in the bathroom, where he splashed cold water on his face and ran his wet hands over his brown crew-cut hair, he trudged into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. Something to settle his stomach. He was always famished after a night of drinking.
He blinked rapidly when he saw Penelope seated at the small table eating eggs, bacon and toast. There was another plate of the same set out with a large mug of black coffee next to it. He looked past Penelope, looked around the room, and only then did it hit him. This wasn't his house.
"What's going on, Penny?" Doug asked, seating himself at the table.
"Just breakfast," she replied.
Doug grinned and said, "No, I mean why did you bring me to your house last night?"
"I have the weekend off," Penelope said. "Haven't spent time with my best buddy in a while, so it seemed like a good idea." It was a lie with just enough truth in it that she hoped Doug would buy it, at least long enough to have breakfast.
"Not to mention you didn't want me driving while I was drunk," Doug said as he stuffed most of an egg in his mouth and washed it down with the coffee.
"Yeah. That too," Penelope said as she brought her plates to the sink. She poured herself another cup of coffee. "I do need to talk to you about something when you finish. I'll be in the living room."
Penelope left the kitchen and sat down in one of the two overstuffed recliners in the room.
Lord, she prayed, please let him understand and not be upset with me.
That last part seemed a little selfish once it was out there. You know what I mean, she added.
Several minutes later Doug came in the room and sat across from Penelope on the sofa. "Okay, buddy. So what do we need to talk about?" he asked.
Penelope blew out a long breath. "No easy way to say this, Doug, so let me just tell the facts as I know them, okay? We had us an attempted murder in Franklin last night."
The surprise on Doug's face was honest and genuine. And Penelope took note of that. "What?" he asked. "Who was it? Are they okay? Who did it? Do you know yet? Man alive, Penelope, what are you doing here? Go get the guy!"
"Pete Lamb is the victim and he's going to be okay," Penelope said, ignoring the rest of Doug's questions for now. "Got banged up real bad, but Jacob says he'll be all right. Eventually."
"Somebody tried to kill Pete?"
Penelope nodded.
"Why would anyone do that? He never hurt anybody."
"That's what we'd like to know," Penelope replied, spreading her hands in a helpless kind of gesture.
Doug was speechless for a few moments. "Wow. But he's going to be all right?"
Penelope nodded again.
Doug's thoughts turned back to the question of why Penelope had brought him here last night. "So what does this have to do with me?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know.
Lord, help me choose the right words, Penelope asked, sighing and rubbing her eyes. She hadn't slept much last night. "Pete swears it was your truck that hit him."
There, Penelope thought, that gets a large cat out of a tiny bag.
"My truck?" Doug said, stunned, his voice rising in pitch. "Uh-uh. No way. Pete said that?"
"Do you really need me to answer that? We wouldn't be sitting here otherwise."
Doug sagged back onto the couch. "No, I guess not. But why would he say it was me?"
"Your truck is pretty identifiable. Those red flames on that blue paintjob and all."
The friends sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes that stretched out like hours. Doug stood, walked into the kitchen and poured what was left of his coffee down the sink. He'd visited here many times over the years and Penelope always insisted that he should feel at home. The fact was, he did feel at home here.
Back in the living room he sat down on the couch again, holding his head in his hands.
"So, Pete says I ran him down," Doug said, mostly to himself. "Well, I think I would remember something like that no matter how drunk I was."
"Pete swears it was your truck, Doug, but he never saw who was driving," Penelope told him. "Of course, it's common knowledge that no one drives that truck but you, so adding two and two together—"
"Now, wait a second, Penny!" Doug was beginning to get upset. He was worried for Pete, sure, but enough was enough.
Penelope held up a hand. "Hold on, hold on. I didn't say I believe it was you. I said that was the logical conclusion. But you and me and Pete have been friends for a long time and I really can't stomach the idea that this was you."
"That's because it wasn't me!" Doug exclaimed. "Wait. So that's why you—"
Penelope finished the sentence for him. "Brought you home last night. Right. We've brought your truck in to process it for evidence. I saw the damage on it myself." She didn't mention that she'd also seen blood on the cracked headlight.
"So I'm kind of like, under house arrest? Here in your house?"
Penelope shrugged her shoulders. "If you want to look at it that way. I'm just asking you to stay here for a day or two, until we get this figured out."
Doug couldn't believe it. He shook his head again and again. "There has to be a mistake. I don't remember hitting anybody. Or anything!"
"You're sure, Doug? Maybe a deer or something? Maybe before you got to The Last Chance Tavern?" Penelope was grasping at straws.
