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Summer Cover-Up

By Sally Jo Pitts

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May 10, 2002
The sound of breaking glass shattered the night silence, but no one heard it.
The homeowners were away.
Reaching inside the house, a jagged shard of glass protruding from the window frame broke off in the trespasser’s arm.
The mishap required removing a glove, grasping and tossing the sharp piece of glass, then putting the glove back on.
With the press of a gloved finger, the rear door lock gave way with a click.
Broken glass crunched beneath the burglar’s feet.
Stealing cash and small items of value would lead to the ultimate goal.
















CHAPTER ONE
June 4, 2020
Private Investigator Jane Carson hesitated outside the Grey Investigations office located beside Robert Grey’s home in Mobile, Alabama. Leftover rain plinking in the sunbaked metal gutter created a steam worthy of a barista. The buzz of a lawnmower and the scent of freshly mowed grass coming from across the street were the mundane normal in a world threatened by COVID-19.
But this morning’s text from Rosemary—Send guest info ASAP—bothered Jane more than planning a wedding during a pandemic.
The stiff wedding invitation in her pocket poked her leg, prodding her to invite Robert to go with her.
Pulling the pesky card from her pocket, Jane removed the facemask that had become everyday wearing apparel in most places and fanned her face. Only after assessing Robert’s mood would she broach the wedding subject. Jane had learned to recognize the ups and downs each day’s caseload presented.
She shoved the invitation back into her pocket, pulled an alcohol wipe from her purse, and cleaned the doorknob before entering the office.
Robert’s eyes remained glued to his computer screen as his fingers clicked over the keyboard.
Jane pulled a baggie of homemade blueberry muffins from her purse and dropped it on his desk. “A treat to go with your morning coffee.”
He stopped typing and picked up the bag. “To what do I owe baked goods?”
“Do I need to have a reason?” She did have a reason—to soften his attitude if need be—but she couldn’t admit it. Not yet anyhow.
Robert shrugged. “I suppose not. The coffeepot’s warming timer beeped and shut off a few minutes ago. If you want coffee, it should still be warm.” He pulled a muffin from the bag. “Mmm tasty. I detect blueberries, right?”
“You do. Good detective work.”
“Maybe I’m picking up your culinary ingredient identification skill.”
“You’re making fun.”
“No, I’m not. You impressed the chef in the Costa Flores royal palace with your gift. Your palate is amazing. You still surprise me with new talents.” He took another bite of muffin and returned to his typing.
Jane tugged the handbag from her shoulder, and it dropped with a thunk on her desk. This little office felt like home, or at least what she imagined a home should be like.
After her mother’s cancer diagnosis, she had given up her apartment in Valleytown, took a year’s leave from teaching, and moved to Mobile to be her caretaker and then handle her mother’s affairs after she passed away. Since her mother’s house and furniture had sold, Jane was left with a cot and a bare minimum of household items until the new owners moved in at the end of August.
The office was her only semblance of home now. She listened to the click of Robert’s computer keys, the hum of the mini refrigerator, and smelled the aroma of strong coffee. She could hang a home sweet home sign on her desk.
But in two months, she was scheduled to report to her teaching job in Valleytown. Though she had an obligation, she still had the nudging to pray for direction. God has plans for his people. If only he would send a text, spelling out her next steps. She’d love the assurance that she was on the right track.
For now, she had a place to belong, relax and share ideas and concerns ... at least most concerns. The letter in her pocket generated a heat.
She retrieved the I Spy mug Robert gave her after their recent royal adventure in the Caribbean and went to the coffeepot.
“What is the order of business today?”
“Catching up on case files. I need yesterday’s report on the Braxton surveillance.” He hole-punched pages and placed them in a folder. “It’s hot and muggy outside. Aren’t you glad you aren’t cooped up in your car watching him through fogged up windows today?”
“Uh-huh.”
Robert looked up; a pencil stuck behind his ear. “Is that all you have to say? I thought I’d at least receive an enthusiastic ‘that’s great’ from my coworker who loves to look at the bright side.”
“Sorry.” She reeled in her wandering thoughts. “Mr. Braxton is a good actor. He limped out on the Dog River dock using his cane and suddenly didn’t need it after he caught a big fish.”
Jane sipped coffee and wrinkled her nose. “This stuff tastes like burnt shoe leather.”
“You know how burnt shoe leather tastes?”
She gave him a lopsided grin. “I do now.” Jane added sugar and made the brew taste like sweetened mud. Returning to her desk, she turned on her computer and pulled the notepad from her purse containing the notes from the Braxton Workman’s Comp case.
The office phone rang, and Robert answered.
If she assisted Robert in finishing the case file, she could take advantage of his good spirit and he might be more open to attending the wedding with her. Jane slipped the invitation from her pocket and reread the attached letter from Rosemary.
With the Stay-at-Home order amended to Safer-at-Home guidelines, the wedding at the lodge is a go!! And I owe it all to you, my maid of honor, and your suggestions.
The lodge agreed to CDC sanitation regulations. We’ll limit in-person attendance to the wedding party and guests who consent to testing and quarantine prior to arrival, and we will offer a virtual option.
Cecelia, Arnold, and Evan are coming. Darin agreed to be Phillip’s best man and Arnold as a notary agreed to perform the ceremony.
Since our group is small, everyone can bring a guest who follows the safety guidelines. We’ll be one big family. Valley Voices (and Shooting Stars) will shine again!
Jane smiled at the memory of the Shooting Stars—the exclusive club started in 6th grade with three members: Rosemary, Cecelia and Jane.
The rest of the letter went over the safety details, but Jane’s eyes rested on the words bring a guest. Rosemary said Evan Armstrong, her sometime boyfriend in high school and assistant principal at Hidden Valley Elementary, was bringing a teacher as his guest. Cecelia and Arnold were married. Darin, who dumped her, had his socialite wife to accompany him, leaving Jane solo.
Not that solo was so bad, but it would be uncomfortable. She’d been to affairs over the years and seen the pitying looks. It’s usual for the members of the wedding party to attend with a date. If you went alone, the assumption is you couldn’t get a date. Jane shifted in her chair and tried another sip of the foul coffee. She certainly didn’t need to be attached to anyone to be of value. But still, she didn’t want to appear to be a pitiful, boyfriendless, unattached specimen, making table placements uneven.
She glanced at Robert, intent in conversation on the phone. She liked the way his chin set when concentrating. He was kind, thoughtful, a good listener, believed in giving a client his best effort, and had risked taking her on as a novice investigator. But would all those good attributes stretch to being a sort of date at a wedding weekend?
No denying there had been sparks between them and they had kissed, but they agreed to pretend it never happened and to keep their relationship professional.
So … what would it hurt for him to play the role of her date ... a temp boyfriend just for the wedding weekend. This was for Rosemary. Her fellow Shooting Star. Jane sketched a star on her desk pad with her finger. She would not let her down.
Something bumped Jane’s arm. Robert. He placed a bottle of vitamin water in front of her.
“Try this. Maybe it will bring you back to earth. I’ve been talking to you.”
“Sorry.” She took the chilled bottle. She should use it to cool her flushed face. “I thought you were still on the phone.”
He set a paper on the desk. “You left this museum curator job description in the copy tray. Is curator Braxton’s job?”
“No. He’s a field service tech for a cleaning company. I was searching for the job requirements when I saw the museum listing with the Department of Archives and History. I couldn’t resist copying the description.”
“Fine, but I need your surveillance report. I’m working on the summary page now.”
“I’m on it.” Jane grabbed her notepad. “I was looking for a pen.”
“If a pen is what you need, here you go.” He pulled one from his pocket and handed it to her.
Heat filled her cheeks. She was self-absorbed and neglecting her duties. For the next twenty minutes, she willed herself to focus on her surveillance notes. She transcribed the number of times Mr. Braxton knelt, squatted, and stooped and included a narration of the video of him walking on the long pier carrying a heavy load with his cane tucked under his arm and compared these capabilities with the duties and requirements of the job he held when injured.
“Here ya’ go.” She poked the send button. “Check my report to see if I’ve covered everything.”
“Back at you with the summary I wrote for you to proof.”
“I feel bad for the guy,” Jane said. “Workers’ Compensation doesn’t want to pay undeserved wages, but the guy may have pushed himself physically yesterday and suffered for it when he got home.”
“Workers’ Comp needs to know if his on-the-job injury is sufficiently disabling to prevent returning to work. We observe and give facts. We don’t provide tests, like a doctor or therapist might, to confirm need. Our job is to report what we see them do in their natural environment.”
She understood, but still wondered. Is what we see, or think we see, really the whole story? After reviewing and making a few grammatical corrections, Jane said, “The summary is ready.” She sent the shared document back to him.
Robert nodded. “I like what you did in your report, adding the physical requirements of Braxton’s job to compare to the specific abilities you observed. You and research. I can see you sinking your teeth into the museum job.”
“It’s just a dream.” She patted the museum curator job description he’d laid on her desk. “I suspect the museum job will go to someone in-house.”
“Never know.”
His trace of a smile and bit of encouragement fueled her real dream—to continue to work with him. However, she was stuck with teaching. She’d been given a year’s leave to tend to her mother’s affairs and was to return to the classroom in August. Her kindergarten students were sweet but following new state mask and social distancing rules and possible virtual learning would make for a new world at school. At least opening day was ten weeks away. Rosemary’s wedding was in less than three weeks. She needed to bring a guest, and Robert was in business mode.
“I’ll work on the invoice,” Robert said, “if you’ll pull the copies from the printer and hand me a report cover.”
Jane gathered the papers from the printer and went to the supply cabinet. Maybe her brother would go with her to the wedding. No. He was still recovering from his kidney transplant. Besides, going with her brother would paint “loser” across her forehead. Her only option was Robert. How could she approach him so he wouldn’t say no and close his mind?
He was in a good mood with the Braxton report completed. She reflected on the morning’s devotion which spoke of looking for God’s guidance in decisions big and small. She had prayed. Everything pointed to asking Robert, but what to say was the next hurdle. Lord, here goes.
She grabbed a red file folder for courage, took a deep breath, and turned to face Robert seated at his desk. “Will you be my friend?” she blurted.
He looked up from punching buttons on his calculator.
“Be your friend? I thought I was your friend.” He ran his fingers down a row of figures on the time and expense log.
“I mean as a boy ... you know … as my employer, who is a boy and a friend but not a boyfriend. But maybe seems to be a boyfriend.” She closed her eyes and winced. “At a wedding.”
Robert sat frozen with one hand on the calculator and the other on his time sheet. His brows knit together, then he picked up the plastic bag of blueberry muffins and dangled it. “Aha,” he said, and smirked.
Jane lifted her chin. “I had blueberries begging me to do something with them. I would have made those wedding or not.”
“Okay. I’m a friend and I appreciate the muffins but not enough to get me to a wedding.” He returned to his numbers.
“But you see, here’s the deal. Rosemary and Phillip, the bride and groom, went to high school with me. They dated all through high school before he went into the military. He’s stationed back in the States after three tours in Afghanistan. They set a date months ago—before the pandemic. I promised to be her maid of honor.”
“Why not go virtual like others are doing?”
“The parents and other guests will be there virtually on Zoom. But she wants her high school chorus friends who will make up the wedding party to be there in person.”
“You go.”
“But single wedding participants are to bring a guest. I worked with Rosemary on pandemic safety precautions. The event will be at Eaglemont Lodge in north Alabama near Lookout Mountain. We will become a family group; the way football teams are planning to do for the fall season. I’ve invited Mr. Sing, our chorus teacher, and his wife as a surprise if they are willing to follow the virus prevention safeguards. The wedding will be a treasured time for my closest friends and—”
“You don’t want to show up without a date.”
Jane bit at her lower lip and nodded.
“I thought Lookout Mountain was in Tennessee.”
“It is. But the mountain has sides in Georgia and Alabama. Wouldn’t you love to see it?”
She pulled the invitation from her pocket with the letter attached and pointed to the map of the lodge’s location and placed it on his desk. Robert reached for the letter. Was he softening?
He read, and then a grin slowly spread across his face. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t Evan and Darin old flames of yours?”
“More like sparks than flames. I dated Evan in high school and Darin in college.”
“I see. And would this need for a friend who is a boy be to play the role of setting these old sparks on their heels? I show them what they missed out on so they will kick themselves for ever letting you go?”
She felt her face warm.
“No need to answer.” He flicked his hand in the air. “They should kick themselves.”
“Does that mean you’ll go?”
“Tell you what. I’ll give you the time off. Ask Mr. Braxton here,” Robert pointed to the reports on his desk, “to do it. He has proven to be a good actor.”
###
Robert shifted his gaze from the letter in his hand to Jane’s flushed face. Her head lowered and shoulders drooped. A pang of regret shot through him. He’d been mean to taunt her, especially since he didn’t want her going anywhere with someone else.
She was asking him to play the role of an employer who had no interest in her along romantic lines. In truth, he had to play that role daily. He had to squash the urge to tug a stray lock of hair from her cheek or to tap her nose when she wrinkled it at him in playful frustration. He’d learned how to social distance from Jane weeks ahead of the governor’s Safer-at-Home mandates.
And there was no need to pretend there was nothing between them because, unfortunately, there was nothing going on between them. If it would help her standing with her friends, he should be there for her. Hadn’t she stepped in and done everything asked of her in the agency and more? She had been willing to play pretend roles when situations called for it. Suffering through a weekend with her old high school friends was the least he could do.
Yet if he was reading her right. She wanted people to suspect there was more to the relationship than they were saying. Could he manage the ruse? If pretending put them in close proximity, it would truly be taxing his will power. Evidently, the deception would be no problem for her. The more he thought about it, the more intriguing the challenge.
He set the letter down. “How do you do a wedding in a pandemic with no hugging and handshaking?”
“Everyone has agreed to take precautionary measures by testing fourteen days out, quarantining at home and then testing again the day of departure. If everyone is free of the virus and then confine ourselves to the mountain lodge, we should be safe to associate. We’ll take food, clothes and supplies, so there will be no need to come and go. And it will be nice to reminisce with real people and not images on a screen.”
Robert shook his head. “It seems logical to wait instead of going to all this trouble.”
“They’ve waited long enough, eighteen years. Phillip has been in the military on remote duty assignments and Rosemary was needed to run the family’s restaurant business in Valleytown because of her father’s long-term illness. As soon as we learned Phillip would finish his twenty years of service at Maxwell Air Force Base, Rosemary, Cecelia and I began talking about wedding plans. Then the pandemic struck. Since we’ve devised a way to deal with the virus, I would hate to let her down. So, what do you say?”
He pointed to the agency calendar on his desk. “I have to check our workload. The child custody case is on the first and third weekends.”
“The third weekend may be a nonissue if the judge approves halting weekend shuffling because of coronavirus concerns.”
“We have to check on the traveling salesman now that the Stay-At-Home orders have been lifted.”
“I’ll talk to his wife, but last I knew she said he might continue to work from home for a while. And the Braxton case is complete with the report I just sent you.”
He pulled a mailing label from his desk drawer, opened the file, and copied the client’s address. Hand me a larger mailer, will you? Looking up, he was confronted with Jane’s lifted brows and shining, hopeful eyes.
“So, if we’re free that weekend you’ll go?”
“I’ll ... think about it.” And he would.
“Sure. Think about it … you should.”
He was hedging, and she knew it. He’d learned the clues of how to read and react to her, just as she had him. He knew when to be quiet and listen to a tirade. Or to draw out her thoughts when she went silent. Like now.
The agency had become a twosome, and they worked well together. She helped him think through and come to solutions by picking up on investigative clues. What would he do without her? He would have to re-acclimate as a one-man agency. But what if she were to stay? Was it possible? Would his feelings for her continue to sneak up and tap him on the shoulder and hint at romance?
She laid the mailing envelope on his desk.
Robert attached the label and rubber stamped it with the office return address.
Jane held out her hand. “I’ll take it to the post office and pick up fresh coffee. The batch you made this morning was stale or something.”
“I just dumped what was left in the bottom of the bag. Not my greatest attempt at coffee making. When you return, pull up your notes on the child custody case. I want to be certain we’ve addressed each issue on the attorney’s list of concerns. He tapped his calendar; the mother is to pick up the five-year-old at five o’clock. Since the governor opened restaurants, bars, and breweries with social distancing, we need to see if she goes out.”
Jane’s keys rattled as she fished them out of her purse, grabbed the envelope, and headed to the door. “I’ve got my blend-in-the-bar-crowd cap and shirt ready. We’ll see if she steps out tonight. It’s a shame parents can’t stand back and unselfishly ask themselves, ‘How can we work together to keep our child safe?’”
“Too sensible. Something human nature doesn’t allow for.”
“Proof of the fall of man?”
“Could be.”
“I’ll be back shortly,” she said, closing the door behind her.
The time was nearing when she would close the door for good and not return. Nothing would be the same. He wanted her to stay, but she had other plans. He knew that from the start.
She was leaving to return to her teaching job in a couple of months. But he was used to working with her now. She was like fresh air sweeping into an abandoned house, water to a wilted plant, aspirin to a headache, a lifeboat to a sinking ship.
He liked to think she needed him, too. At least he’d rescued her from not only dangerous situations, but personal problems. He liked being needed, especially by her. It felt real and right. The agency would not be the same, but it would be selfish to ask her to stay. He wished he could offer the health and pension benefits of the teaching job.
Her work here was temporary. He had to accept it and move on. To what, he didn’t know. All he really knew was law enforcement. PI work skirted around the fringes but was not real police work with authority and resources. He had to rely on his former colleague for assistance.
Robert heaved a sigh. He’d spent twenty-five years as a lawman before he retired. At forty-four, it was too late to turn back. He pushed away from his desk, picked up his cup and rinsed it in the sink. Why in the world drink this mess if it tasted so bad? Habit? Comfort? Something to do with his hands? Why put sludge into your body? Why do drug addicts continue to do things that they wish they didn’t? Why in the world consider going to a wedding in the middle of a pandemic?
He lifted his wife, Lori’s framed watercolor of a sunset on Mobile Bay from the shelf over the sink. It was nearing three years since Lori died of cancer. Her death was one of a series of losses in his life. He lost his job, his good name as a lawman, and his wife within months of each other. Technically, he didn’t lose his job. He retired. But his superiors with the State Bureau of Investigation were relieved. When accusations and circumstances were explained and he was vindicated of fraud, he was asked to return. But the damage to his reputation had been done, and he’d already opened the agency.
Now he faced the pending loss of Jane. Even the family cancer support group where he had met Jane was folding due to COVID-19. The attempt at meeting virtually didn’t foster the same closeness and sympathetic support.
Private investigations in a pandemic world weren’t the same. People stayed home and didn’t sneak around, meeting in bars or back corners of restaurants. Cheatin’ spouses’ style had been cramped. Workers had no places of employment to go to and employers quit hiring, so there were no backgrounds to run. Curtailing exchange of children in shared custody was likely. This could be the ideal time for a getaway at a mountain lodge even if it included a wedding. Could he handle it? He returned Lori’s painting to the shelf and picked up the coffee carafe with the thick scorched remains. Pouring it out, he ran water in the sink and watched the black contents swirl and thin to a light brown until the water in the sink ran clear.
Maybe in the mountain air, clear of the virus as possible, he could think about where to go next with his life. Robert was an investigator and knew how to list and examine facts. Why not use the technique now?
He grabbed a blank sheet of paper from the printer and returned to his desk. He made two columns. Why and why not go with Jane to the lodge.
He’d start with, why not.
1. Pandemic
2. Don’t like weddings
3. Have to dress up
4. Be with bunch of people don’t know
5. Five hours away
6. Be expected to dance
7. Inviting temptation
His grandpa once gave him good advice. If you don’t want to get caught in the undertow, stay out of the water. Getting close to Jane was risky, especially on moonlit nights. He’d already succumbed to kissing Jane once, and they both agreed to forget it and keep things between them professional. Would play-acting be smart? He might be begging for another loss—loss of a relationship that could never happen.
He shifted to the why column.
1. Case work should be caught up
2. Jane asked him
3. Wouldn’t have to worry about how she was doing and if she was staying safe
4. Use time to regroup and decide where to go next with the agency
5. Be fun showing Evan and Darin what schmucks they were for letting her go
He was running out of space. Opening his desk drawer for more paper, he came face to face with his morning devotion book and set it on his desk.
Today’s subject had touched on seeking God’s guidance. He reread a Scripture from Proverbs 19. In the commentary, the writer concluded when making decisions—big or small—we should seek wisdom from Scripture, godly counsel and the leading of the Holy Spirit.
Placing his hands over the list, he prayed. Lord, these are my thoughts, and we are expected to use our common sense. But in this matter, show me what I should do. I’d appreciate direction about Jane’s request.
He bowed and listened, hoping the answer would come before Jane returned. He waited. His mind wandered to Jane and her enthusiasm for work, her determination to do a good job for him, and her dedication to learn the investigation rules he gave her. It made him smile to think of the rule list she kept in her handbag along with her camera, binoculars, sunglasses, caps, T-shirt, and other accessories for ready disguises. His mind stayed on Jane when he heard her car pull into the drive.
No clear answer, Lord?
Was the length of his lists the answer? The why nots were longer. Or was he supposed to wait?
The door opened, and Jane held up a new bag of coffee. “Mission accomplished.” She deposited the coffee beside the coffeepot. “Should I make a fresh pot?”
“If you want. I gave up and poured the black tar out.”
“Good idea.”
She busied herself at the coffeemaker, and Robert lifted Jane’s invitation letter. “This Mr. Sing you mentioned inviting, is he Asian?”
Jane giggled. “Mr. Sing was the nickname for our chorus teacher, Mr. Singletary. He selected six of us to perform as an ensemble and we put on performances all over the area.”
“Tillman’s Crossing with one caution light produced a traveling ensemble?”
“Tillman’s Crossing is just a small farm community where I lived with my grandma. I went to school in Valleytown.”
“Valleytown High School?”
Jane clamped the lid onto the glass carafe and pressed the brew button. “Sure did. Class of 2002.”
“Your chorus teacher’s wife was found murdered in their home?”
Jane turned and used a clip to secure the coffee bag. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Your Mr. Sing remains the prime suspect.”

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