was thinking. It had finally happened. Through stubbornness or blatant disregard, Lena’s actions had finally led to someone’s death.
Valentine misinterpreted her silence for confusion. “I’m not telling this right, am I? I’m sorry, I just assumed Don—”
Jeffrey told him, “Don said he’d let you explain.”
“Right.” Valentine nodded again, but in a way that gave the impression that he didn’t quite believe what Jeffrey was telling him. “Let’s just go in here,” he said, indicating a closed door.
Jeffrey turned around, sure the man was joking. They were standing in front of a linen closet.
“Give us some privacy,” the sheriff offered, though as far as Jeffrey could tell, no one was around.
Sara crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at the closet with obvious trepidation.
Jeffrey asked, “Are you sure this is necessary?”
“This way we won’t have to worry about waking anybody up.” Valentine reached past him and opened the door. “After you.”
Jeffrey was annoyed at the cloak-and-dagger, but he was willing to play along with the sheriff for now. The most important thing right now was figuring out what kind of mess Lena had gotten herself into. He felt around for the switch and turned on the light. Rows of sheets were stacked on the right, towels on the left. The remaining space was about eight feet deep and three feet wide. There were cells at the county jail that were larger than this.
Sara obviously wanted to stay outside, but he indicated she should go in ahead of him. Jeffrey followed and Valentine brought up the rear, closing the door. The closet got even smaller.
“So,” the sheriff began, flashing a smile. He was talking in a normal voice now, and he leaned against one of the shelves, acting as if they were just a group of pals chatting before a football game. “About eleven o’clock last night I was sitting around watching the TV and I see these flames shooting up over by the high school. First thing I do is call the fire department, thinking the building’s on fire again—we’ve had some kids try it before but the sprinklers stopped them in their tracks, which is a good thing because the fire department’s all volunteer and it like to took forever to get them all there. Anyway, I got dressed and walked over to the school to see what was going on. It was faster to walk. Like I told you, I live right across the street.”
The story was so embellished Jeffrey wondered how many times it had been repeated. He tried to get to the important part. “So you saw the car burning on the field?”
“Right,” Valentine confirmed. “Last night was dark as pitch, but the flames were high, and I could see somebody sitting on the bleachers. I walked over, thinking it’d be some stupid kid gone out for a joyride, and I see Miss Adams—your detective. She was sitting on the bottom bleacher, soot and stuff all over her. Had her foot propped up on a gas can.”
“Was she burned?”
“Nah, but she was beat something awful,” the man answered. “Bruised down the side of her face like she’d been punched, blood coming out of her mouth, wheezing something horrible. Me, I’ve never seen anything like that before, but maybe I’ve been watching too many Lifetime movies with the wife, because the first thing that pops into my mind is ‘This woman just torched her husband.’ You know, like he’d hauled off and hit her one too many times and she just snapped”—he snapped his fingers—“and so I sat beside her, tried to get her to talk.”
Jeffrey asked, “What did she say?”
“Nothing,” the man admitted. “I tried every trick I could think of to draw her out, but she wouldn’t speak.”
Jeffrey could imagine what Lena’s reaction would have been to Valentine’s various “tricks.” The man was lucky she hadn’t laughed in his face.
Valentine continued, “Wasn’t until this morning when we did a search of the school parking lot and found her Celica
Valentine misinterpreted her silence for confusion. “I’m not telling this right, am I? I’m sorry, I just assumed Don—”
Jeffrey told him, “Don said he’d let you explain.”
“Right.” Valentine nodded again, but in a way that gave the impression that he didn’t quite believe what Jeffrey was telling him. “Let’s just go in here,” he said, indicating a closed door.
Jeffrey turned around, sure the man was joking. They were standing in front of a linen closet.
“Give us some privacy,” the sheriff offered, though as far as Jeffrey could tell, no one was around.
Sara crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at the closet with obvious trepidation.
Jeffrey asked, “Are you sure this is necessary?”
“This way we won’t have to worry about waking anybody up.” Valentine reached past him and opened the door. “After you.”
Jeffrey was annoyed at the cloak-and-dagger, but he was willing to play along with the sheriff for now. The most important thing right now was figuring out what kind of mess Lena had gotten herself into. He felt around for the switch and turned on the light. Rows of sheets were stacked on the right, towels on the left. The remaining space was about eight feet deep and three feet wide. There were cells at the county jail that were larger than this.
Sara obviously wanted to stay outside, but he indicated she should go in ahead of him. Jeffrey followed and Valentine brought up the rear, closing the door. The closet got even smaller.
“So,” the sheriff began, flashing a smile. He was talking in a normal voice now, and he leaned against one of the shelves, acting as if they were just a group of pals chatting before a football game. “About eleven o’clock last night I was sitting around watching the TV and I see these flames shooting up over by the high school. First thing I do is call the fire department, thinking the building’s on fire again—we’ve had some kids try it before but the sprinklers stopped them in their tracks, which is a good thing because the fire department’s all volunteer and it like to took forever to get them all there. Anyway, I got dressed and walked over to the school to see what was going on. It was faster to walk. Like I told you, I live right across the street.”
The story was so embellished Jeffrey wondered how many times it had been repeated. He tried to get to the important part. “So you saw the car burning on the field?”
“Right,” Valentine confirmed. “Last night was dark as pitch, but the flames were high, and I could see somebody sitting on the bleachers. I walked over, thinking it’d be some stupid kid gone out for a joyride, and I see Miss Adams—your detective. She was sitting on the bottom bleacher, soot and stuff all over her. Had her foot propped up on a gas can.”
“Was she burned?”
“Nah, but she was beat something awful,” the man answered. “Bruised down the side of her face like she’d been punched, blood coming out of her mouth, wheezing something horrible. Me, I’ve never seen anything like that before, but maybe I’ve been watching too many Lifetime movies with the wife, because the first thing that pops into my mind is ‘This woman just torched her husband.’ You know, like he’d hauled off and hit her one too many times and she just snapped”—he snapped his fingers—“and so I sat beside her, tried to get her to talk.”
Jeffrey asked, “What did she say?”
“Nothing,” the man admitted. “I tried every trick I could think of to draw her out, but she wouldn’t speak.”
Jeffrey could imagine what Lena’s reaction would have been to Valentine’s various “tricks.” The man was lucky she hadn’t laughed in his face.
Valentine continued, “Wasn’t until this morning when we did a search of the school parking lot and found her Celica
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