that way. The sweeping beam of Brady’s flashlight instantly eased my mind, as did the sound of his voice.
The Lanagan County sheriff’s deputies figured out how to drive their cars down the Rail Trail, so they arrived with more manpower and equipment, including blankets. A female deputy draped me in fleeces and offered me a folding canvas chair. I asked her to face it away from the crime scene, which was now floodlit like a movie set.
“We’ll have to get Blitzen later,” Brady said, squatting alongside me. “After County gets their crime scene shots.”
“Blitzen wasn’t part of the crime,” I said, my teeth still chattering.
“No, but it’s here, so it’s part of the record.”
“I’m here, too, but nobody’s taking my picture. I’m going home.”
Brady sighed. “Nobody’s going to take your picture, Whiskey, because you can talk. Somebody’s going to ask you questions any minute now. Probably that guy.”
He pointed toward a deputy standing in the spill of the crime scene team’s light, making notes in a pad. The man looked up, locked eyes with me, and ambled over.
“I told him you’re pregnant in case he can’t tell in the dark,” Brady said. “He shouldn’t detain you for long.”
“You’re Whitney Mattimoe?” the deputy asked.
“Whiskey,” I said.
“You’ll have to get that on your own time. I understand you saw Vreelander die.”
“She doesn’t want whiskey,” Brady interjected. “That’s her nickname.”
“Why would a pregnant woman want to be called Whiskey?” the deputy asked.
“I’m right here,” I reminded them.
The nice female deputy returned with a bottle of water. I hadn’t realized how parched I was until I started sipping. I answered the male deputy’s questions, some of which he asked twice, as if I were dense in addition to pregnant. Finally, he told Brady he could take me home.
“Did somebody from your department take care of the kid in my car?” I asked.
The deputy stared at me like I was an unfit mother.
“A kid and a dog. But not my kid and dog,” I said quickly. “Just a kid and a dog I take care of, sometimes. Except for today. Today I left them in my car.”
This wasn’t going well, so Brady translated. We had to find the female deputy again in order to get an answer. She was able to assure us that Chester and Prince Harry were now safely back at The Castle.
“Do they know about the headmaster?” I asked her.
She couldn’t vouch for what Prince Harry knew, but Chester was aware there had been an “incident” involving Mr. Vreelander. The deputy told me that Vreelander’s first name was Mark, he had no children, but did have a wife who was now a widow. She didn’t live here but the authorities had contacted her.
“Were they separated?”
I recalled the agitated French woman on the trail and wondered if she were Vreelander’s lover.
“I don’t know,” the deputy said. “Mrs. Vreelander directs a school, too. In Dallas, I think.”
With a little help from his trusty magnum flashlight and his K9 officer, Brady guided me to the patrol car and helped me into the back seat. Watching Roscoe leap into the front seat, I couldn’t help but think of my own big dog, disobedient though she was. Where on earth would she spend the night? I mentioned that to Brady as he started the engine.
“I wouldn’t worry about Abra,” he said.
“She’s alone in the cold and dark.”
“Is she, Whiskey?”
I understood his point. By now Abra had probably seduced another furry body to snuggle with.
“Tonight you need to take care of yourself,” Brady said. “I hear Jeb’s coming home.”
For the first time in months, I would have a warm body to snuggle with, too. Jeb would steel me against whatever tomorrow might bring—even if tomorrow included news of more crimes, and even if those crimes involved Abra. I closed my eyes, imagining the warmth of Jeb’s embrace. He was due at my house within an hour. I couldn’t wait to let