“What is it?” came the staticky reply.
“We have a 10-79 near the residence.” B.J. rattled off an address and said, “Over,” again.
“A bomb threat? And not at the high school where they always are?” said the officer.
B.J. blinked rapidly. “Th- that’s wrong. Wait.” B.J. picked up a sheet of paper and scanned it. “I mean a 10- 91b. Sorry. Over.”
“Would you quit with the codes and tell me what this is, B.J.?” Dufner said.
I stifled a laugh, but I didn’t hear B.J.’s response because the professor’s family walked in at that moment.
Sarah VanKleet began talking to B.J. even though he was still on the radio, saying, “We have an appointment with the chief of police.”
B.J. held up his hand as the officer asked for a repeat on the address.
I stood. “Maybe I can tell the chief you’re here.”
The gray-haired man, who looked like he could have been related to the Kennedy clan, looked me up and down. “You’re a plainclothes officer?”
“Uh, no. But I can help.” I hurried down the hall before they could say anything else and rapped on the chief’s office door.
I heard him say, “Enter,” and cracked the door. I saw Candace sitting in the chair on the other side of Baca’s desk.
“They’re here,” I whispered. Why I was whispering, I didn’t know.
“Good. Candace, Sarah VanKleet is mine. You’ll interview the boyfriend. The kids will have to wait since Morris decided he needed a day off. Says he sick.” Baca rolled his eyes. “Thanks for letting us know they’ve arrived, Jillian. Seems like we need volunteers in this place.”
Candace followed me out to the waiting area.
B.J. started to apologize for being occupied, but Candace waved him off. “Mrs. VanKleet, you’ll be speaking with Chief Baca.” Candace looked at the man. “Professor Lieber, is it?”
The distinguished-looking man nodded.
“You’ll be talking to me. I may not look the part, but I’m Deputy Candace Carson.” She pointed to the badge she’d pinned on her jeans waistband. “As for your sons, Mrs. VanKleet, we’ll be interviewing them when we’re done with you two.”
I took notice of the young men, who both looked to be in their early twenties, having paid little attention to them over at Belle’s. One had wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes; the other had shaggy dirty blond hair and green-gray eyes. The only trait they seemed to share was their height. Both were over six feet and lanky. The professor had been a small man, but Sarah VanKleet was at least five foot ten, so they must have gotten their height from her.
Sarah VanKleet scowled. “Why can’t we all talk to the chief of police together?”
“That’s not how we do things,” Candace said. “B.J., please take Mrs. VanKleet to the chief’s office. Professor? Follow me.” She turned and started down the hall, leaving Sarah sputtering in protest.
B.J. stood and smiled at Sarah VanKleet, but her mood didn’t improve. She ignored him and looked at her sons. “I’m sorry about this, but it seems you’ll have to wait here.” She glanced around. “In this place.”
The blond one spoke. “What about the death certificates? Don’t we need those to get Dad’s affairs in order? He’s probably left us a mess.”
She raised her eyebrows and offered him a “You better shut up” look.
The other son said, “Later, Evan.”
Mrs. VanKleet smiled and said, “Thank you, Brandt.” Then she followed B.J. down the hall.
I smiled at Brandt. “Hi. I’m Jillian Hart. I sort of volunteer around here.” Baca said it, not me, I thought. I looked at the other young man. “Hi, Evan.”
“Hey, what’s happening?” He offered a straight arm and a fist, and we bumped knuckles.
“You guys want a Coke or something?” I said.
“Yeah, sure,” Evan said.
B.J. came back around his desk, and I said, “You got money for the machine?”
“Oh. Sure.” He opened a drawer and gathered several coins. But it wasn’t enough.
“For all three of us,” I said. I’d dropped by here enough to know that unless you were being arrested, you got free Coke.
“Sorry. Right. Um, thanks, Jillian,” he said.
“This way, guys,” I said to the VanKleets.
I led them out of the office and down the hall to the vending machines. We passed Margie, the baby and the husband, who must just have been released from the basement jail. He didn’t have a black eye or a swollen face. And he looked smug. I hated that.
Once Evan and I had our drinks-Brandt refused-we went back inside the office. There was more space to sit out in the corridor, but the smell of vomit was particularly strong today.
B.J. found two folding chairs for the sons, and I reclaimed the wood chair. I decided to play dumb. “You must be visiting Mercy on upsetting business,” I said.
“I saw you looking at us in that coffee place,” Brandt said. “And I’ll venture you know exactly why we’re here.”
“I didn’t say otherwise. I’m only trying to be friendly,” I said.
“We’re not feeling very friendly,” Brandt said.
“Speak for yourself, brother,” Evan said. He swigged his Coke. “I like friendly, and you seem nice enough. So here’s the deal if you haven’t heard. Our father got himself killed.”
“Shut up, Evan. Remember what I told you,” Brandt said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, the law student speaks. Mea culpa.” Evan looked at me. “Please make me shut up, Ms. Hart. Or read me my rights. Brandt can help you with those words, since I’m sure he’s memorized them.”
“Evan.” Brandt spoke that one small name with so much contempt, I felt sorry for his brother.
“You don’t have to talk,” I said. “I know this is a rough time.”
Evan laughed. “Rough time? This is easy compared to everything that’s happened before. Except the mother unit latched on to another professor. Must be some kind of fatal attraction.”
Brandt looked ready to drag his brother out of here before he said anything else, but all this family drama came to a halt when Kara walked in the door.
Oh boy, can she stop traffic, I thought.
“Hi, Jillian,” Kara said. “Thought I’d walk down here and see what’s going on. Interesting old building.”
B.J. stood, his cheeks as rosy as two ripe peaches. “Can I help you?”
She flashed her charming smile and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Jillian’s my stepmother.”
B.J.’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Are we like a circus act that you all couldn’t get enough of in the coffeehouse?” Brandt said.
But Kara turned that smile on him, and the tense atmosphere in the room seemed to float away. “Strangers in Mercy are probably treated that way all the time,” she said. “I’m so sorry you feel like some sort of spectacle.”
“It’s not that,” Brandt said, his attitude melting by the second. “This has been a difficult time for our family.”
“You want to get coffee and talk about it when you’re done here?” Kara said.
There are some things a forty- two-year-old woman cannot accomplish that a twenty- nine-year-old one can. Especially one who looked like Kara.
Brandt stood and offered Kara his seat.
She took it and then looked up at Brandt, her smile still shining.
He reached into his creased chinos pocket and produced what looked like a phone similar to Kara’s. “Give me your number, and I’ll text you when we’re done here.”
While this was going on, Evan leaned toward me and said, “The pretty boy gets all the action.”
I smiled. “You said he’s a law student. Are you in college, too?”
“Not right now. I’ll be heading back in the fall. If Mommy can get the boyfriend to help her with the finances, that is. There’s been a cash- flow problem ever since my now-deceased father got fired.”
“Evan,” Brandt said. “Keep quiet. Please?” Not as much disdain in his voice this time, but I was guessing that was so Brandt didn’t seem like such an ass in Kara’s presence.