“Yes, I’ll send out a deputy as soon as I have one available.”
“Who is it?”I mouth at Heather.
She covers the mouthpiece and shares, “Mrs.Dixon.”
The name rings a bell.
“Something about her car.Hugo apparently left messages for her,” Heather explains when she ends the call a moment later.
It suddenly comes back to me.Her car, the white Chrysler 3000.The vehicle driven by my son’s attackers.
“I’ll go.What’s her address?”
That car is one of the loose ends that still need to be wrapped up.As are the identities of the cowardly goons who beat up my son in the shadows of an alley.My heart rate, which had started calming down with the arrest of Doyle Benjamin, is starting to race again.There’s nothing to suggest this woman’s car is actually the same one seen on the security video from the night of Remi’s attack, but it’s the one lead we haven’t been able to follow through on.
I take the piece of paper Heather scribbled the woman’s address on and head straight back out into the cold.
To my surprise, the address is only a few streets down from our house, in the same neighborhood.It’s a small bungalow, with a detached, single-car garage.There is still a layer of snow in the driveway, and the only visible tire tracks show someone pulled in and out again, likely someone dropping the woman off.
She must’ve been on the lookout, because the moment I get out of the cruiser I park along the curb, the front door opens.I’ve seen the small-statured, white-haired woman in the doorway around town before, but I didn’t know her name.
But apparently she knows mine.
“Detective Tessa Androtti.Finally, I get to meet you in person.”
She has a sweet smile she greets me with, along with the small, arthritic hand she offers.I take it cautiously.
“You must be Mrs.Dixon.”
“Yes, I am.Town librarian emerita.”
She states her honorary title with a pride that makes me smile.The elderly woman may be small and rather frail-looking, but she is showing a core of strength.She’s no pushover, that’s for sure.
“I understand you were looking for Deputy Chief Alexander earlier?”I prompt her.
“Yes, yes I was.Please, won’t you come in?”
As much as I’d like to launch into the subject of her vehicle right here on the doorstep, it is cold, and I get the distinct impression Mrs.Dixon isn’t one to be hurried along.It’s probably easier and likely faster to let her set the pace.
So I nod politely, and say, “Thank you,” when she waves me through into a cluttered but cozy living room.
I take the pink floral wingback chair she offers, and notice the porcelain tea set on the coffee table, along with a small dish with lemon slices, and a plate of cookies.Clearly she was expecting to entertain whoever would’ve shown up today.
It feels a little like I’ve traveled back into another era.
“Tea?”
I could really do with another coffee, but who knows how long that would take, and tea is better than nothing.
“Please.”
It takes every ounce of my patience to sit through the almost ritual serving of tea, and I even take a cookie off the tray when offered.
“So…you called the station?”I prompt her when she finally takes a seat on the couch.
“Yes, in response to Hugo’s messages.He left a few, and I feel bad because I was on a European cruise with my sister.She’s my only living relative, you know?Neither of us ever had children.But she lives in New Mexico, which is not next door, so we go on a trip twice a year, sometimes a cruise, sometimes a bus or train tour, and then we spend another week or so at one or the other’s house.This time I stayed with her in New Mexico.Beautiful state, have you ever been?So different from our mountains here.”
“I’ve visited, yes,” I interrupt the flow of words.Then I try to redirect.“So, you’re saying you were traveling and that’s why you didn’t respond to the messages.”
