Moonlight & Maxipads Chapter 3

Here is the first chapter of my book.  Please keep in mind that this is not appropriate for those under 18 years of age due to explicit language and sex that is in the book (though may not be in this chapter itself).  If you are reading this, you are doing so with this understanding.

Copyright

Copyright © 2016 by Danielle Dignin

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

 

Chapter 3

                The drive into town was uneventful, though my curiosity was piqued as to what the detective wanted from me.  While I was in a hurry to get to the sheriff’s department, I was not feeling especially urgent so I decided to take the scenic route past Indiana Beach so that I could enjoy the beauty of the water and fresh air.  It also helped that the pretty scene calmed my jangled nerves before speaking to Detective Booth.  Between my morning calls, the weird delivery, and now this call, I was a nervous wreck.  I pulled a cigarette out of my pack and lit it with slightly shaky hands (don’t criticize, we all have our addictions or relaxation techniques, however you wanted to look at it).  While I have never been on the wrong side of the law, it isn’t usually a good thing when they want to speak with you, though I took it as a good sign that they didn’t come to my home or business for whatever they wanted. 

                I took the last puff on my cigarette as I made the last leg of the drive up 6^th Street, passing Sublette’s Ribs on my right as I put my cigarette out in my ashtray.  I drove past the medical center and drove a few more minutes before making the right into the parking lot of the White County Sheriff’s Department and parked my van in a vacant spot.  I took one last deep breath and headed into the building.

                “Hi, I am here to see Detective Stan Booth,” I told the officer at the front desk. 

                “I will let him know you are here.  Please have a seat.”  I turned to look at the area the officer indicated and walked over to the chairs that were available.

                “Thank you.”

                I didn’t know how long I was going to have to wait so I took a few moments to look around.  The walls were a plain shade of off white, clinical in appearance, in my opinion, and not much in the way of color or ornamentation.  There was a glass wall allowing officers to see who was inside the lobby.  I could understand that seeing as how this was a police department and not a salon.  I wasn’t sitting there long before I heard a door squeak open to my right.  I looked over and felt my insides melt at the yummy male specimen before me.  

I started at the feet and had to hide a grin when I saw the bright blue and black converse sneakers.  The legs were encased in well-washed rich indigo jeans that looked like they had been made for the man.  The jeans curved around a nice tight backside giving the jeans an appearance of being a second skin.  Tucked into the jeans was a soft grey, well-worn t-shirt with the name of a local restaurant.  The snugness of the t-shirt fit tight across a muscular chest, accentuating every rippling muscle beneath the t-shirt.  The sleeves of the t-shirt were rolled once, enhancing the biceps, and bringing attention to the muscle definition in the arms.  The skin of the arms was smooth except for the bottom of a black tattoo that was peeking out from underneath the right sleeve of the t-shirt.  There I went up higher and noticed a slight smirk on the face of the Greek God Adonis himself.  High cheek bones cut into his face leaving him a rugged cowboy look with piercing steel gray eyes, crinkling at the sides indicated his amusement at my inspection (and probably the drool coming from the side of my mouth), dark brown hair peeking out from under the baseball cap he wore backwards on his head.  It was all I could do not to lick my lips at his yumminess.  You were warned about the word thing.  His smirk gave way to a full grin (oh god, he even had dimples on both sides) as our eyes met and I tried to gain control of myself.

I closed my eyes, trying to get my libido under control.  Maybe my mom was right about needing a man, I thought to myself.  God, I was so not telling her though. 

He stuck his hand out to me, “Ms. Summerfield?”

I cleared my throat, “um, yes, that’s me.  Dr Stan Booth…um I mean Detective Stan Booth, I assume.”

“Dr?  Are you in need of one?”, he asked with a grin.

“Ha-ha, not that I know of,” I chuckled lightly, while thinking to myself…HELL YES…I think my heart stopped.  “What did you need to see me about, Detective?”

“Um, yes,” he said clearing his throat, remembering where we were.  “Let’s take this into the conference room.”

“Well, this can’t be good.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Why else would you be calling me, first thing in the morning, and now wanting to “speak” with me in the conference room.  Let me assure you, I haven’t done anything wrong and lead quite a boring life.  Just ask my mother.”  Finger quotes accentuated my words with a sigh at the end.

“I can assure you, that this isn’t about anything you have done.  We are trying to get some background is all.”

“Hmm…background on whom?  And what do they have to do with me?”

“Are you familiar with a Steven Dimwhit?”

“If you contacted me, then I am sure you know I am familiar with him.  He is my ex-husband and before you ask, yes that is his real name….and fits him well.  What did he do now?”

A slight cough covered up the chuckled Detective Hottie was trying to suppress.  “When was the last time you saw or spoke with Mr. Dimwhit?”

“Well, Detective Ho..uh Booth (ooohhh…that almost slipped out), let me think.  We divorced in 2003, so I would say roughly about 12 years since I have seen him.  I have not spoken to him on the phone, but we do speak occasionally through Facebook.  I think the last time that was at least 4 or 5 months ago when he asked for copies of a book I had.  He never contacted me to let me know when he wanted to meet me to make copies though.  So, what did he do?  Finally get caught for drag racing?  His new wife get sick of his attitude and knife him in his sleep?”  With the quickness that Detective Hottie looked up at me, I gotten some of that right.  “Oh shit, please tell me what is going on?”  I had lost all joking tones with my last sentence, instead said it with complete seriousness and concern.

“You may want to sit down for this, Ms. Summerfield.”

I nodded as I sank down into one of the multiple cushioned chairs surrounding the long table.  They were not as comfortable as they looked and for a moment, I allowed myself to focus on that instead of on the conversation me and Detective Hottie were about to have.  The carpet was nondescript beige at best, just plain ugly at worst.  The table and chairs looked like one you would see in a boardroom of a mid size company.  Serviceable, even if they weren’t very comfortable designed to fit multiple people at a time despite not wanting them to stay long.  A buffet style cabinet against one wall had a double coffee pot, coffee cups, and condiments to go along with it.  I stared longingly at the fragrant brew emanating from the coffee pot, but didn’t say anything as Detective Hottie shuffled the papers in front of him as he sat down.  He glanced up and must have seen the look on my face as he glanced over to the pot himself.

“Would you like a cup?  It is fresh, I just made it myself before you got here.” 

“I would love a cup.  Thanks.”  I stood up to head over to the pot, just as Detective Hottie got up himself. 

“I got it, thanks,” I said as I dumped sugar and cream into the cup.  Stirring carefully, I took the first sip.  Sighing deeply, I looked over at Detective Hottie.  “And they say police coffee is the worst.  This is good coffee.”

Detective Hottie grinned at me, nodding at the compliment.  “Ready?”

“As I will ever be, I guess.  I don’t think there is every any way of being ready for something like this.  I don’t even know what this is so how can I be ready for it.  Sorry, I tend to babble when I’m anxious, usually to myself, though normally there isn’t anyone around to hear me, and pets don’t count since they don’t talk back or tell anyone what was said.  Damn.  Sorry, babbling again.  Let’s get to this.”

Detective Hottie didn’t even hide his grin at my dialogue, mainly with myself there, instead just let me run out of steam on my own and waited until I took a calming breath before continuing himself.

“We reached out to you for background on Mr. Dimwhit (this said with a slight grin) so that we could better understand his character, behaviors that were normal for him or not normal, and things like that.  What can you tell us about him?”

“Well, again I haven’t seen him in 12 years,” thankfully, I muttered to myself under my breath but Detective Hottie grinned making it apparent that he heard me, “so I wouldn’t know what behaviors were normal or not normal for him in the last decade.  I am friends with both him and his wife on Facebook and see their posts, but I have never seen anything negative.  I know he has two girls, not sure of their ages, but I think they are around 10 and 8, maybe a bit older or younger.  I think he still works for the same company he did when we were together, but if that is right then the company has changed its name or owners since then.  Maybe if you tell me what you are looking for, I can give you more information.  Better yet, could you tell me what is going on so I can process and deal with it instead of sitting over here wondering what the hell is going on?”  I realized I had gotten a little loud on my last sentence and quickly calmed myself down.  “I’m sorry, this is a bit nerve racking especially given that we are divorced and I still have no idea what is going on.”

“You are right, Ms. Summerfield, but unfortunately I can only discuss certain aspects of what is going on with you.  I can tell you that we are looking into Mr. Dimwhit’s past to see if he had any enemies, his work habits, things like that so we can better understand how he thought.”

“Thought?  Past tense? Oh God.  Please just tell me what happened and I will answer your questions as best as possible.”

“Well, Mr. Dimwhit is deceased.  He was found this morning, in the front seat of his pickup truck, in the driveway of his house.  His wife noticed the truck in the drive when she was getting their daughters ready for school.   She went out to check and found him behind the wheel.  He had been stabbed multiple times, but there was something else about him and the vehicle that was….ummm…unusual.”

“Oh, God.  I am so sorry.  She must be a mess and the girls must be too.  Wow, god, I mean we were divorced yes, but I knew him for what about 20 years now.  Wait, unusual?  What do you mean, unusual?” focusing on the last part of his sentence in order to maintain my composure.  Yes, we were divorced but still, like I said, I was married to the man and did care for him.

He cleared his throat for a moment, “well, there was um,” he cleared his throat again, struggling for words to describe what was found, or so I thought.

“What?  What is it?”  I pushed back away from the table, standing up and facing the detective in front of me. 

“Pads,” Detective Hottie said low.

“Pads of paper?  What are you talking about?”  I shook my head in confusion trying to understand what was so difficult to say about pads of paper and make sense of why there would be paper all over my ex-husband’s truck.

“Not pads of paper,” he said clearing his throat again. “Pads.  Sanitary napkins.  Maxi pads.  They were tacked around the inside of the truck like posters and even stuck to his body and face.”

“Wait, what now?  Someone wallpapered my ex-husband, and the inside of his truck, in feminine hygiene products?  Like the pads used during your menstrual cycle?”

I watched as Detective Hottie nodded at my question and as it hit me, the image popped into my mind of how my ex-husband panicked at the sight of an unused, clean, still wrapped sanitary napkin.  I am not proud of myself.  I completely lost it.  I laughed so hard I snorted, laughed some more, wiped tears away from my eyes, and laughed again.  I tried to compose myself and sit back down, however I missed the chair, landed hard on my ass and smacking my head on the cabinet behind me.  I sat on the floor, right where I landed, and continued to laugh until I couldn’t breathe.  I was taking in big gasps of air in an effort to catch my breath, tears running down my face, snorting between breaths as the image would hit me all over again.  Honesty, I am just surprised I didn’t wet my pants during the fiasco.  All the while knowing, Detective Hottie was staring at me in confusion, concern, and shock.  People outside the room apparently heard the racket as we were both in the same exact position when someone slammed the door open and rushed in. 

“Detective, what the hell is going on here?”  Standing in the door way was a distinguished man, in his mid 40’s with a light gray suit, steel gray tie with blue pinstripes, and shiny black shoes.  The man stood with his hands on his hips trying to understand what he was seeing, with a look of confusion on his face before running his hands through his thick, but graying, hair. 

Detective Hottie snapped to attention with a “Sir.”  “I was explaining the situation to Ms. Summerfield, Captain.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” I said, gasping in air between trying desperately to catch my breath and gain control of myself.  “I am so sorry.  I realize how inappropriate my reaction was, but you would have to understand my ex-husband to realize just how funny this situation is, well not his death of course, but the rest,” I explained between big gulps of air, trying to get myself back under control and less hysterical, standing up quickly to face the new man in the room.

“Captain Stibbons, this is Ms. Summerfield, our victim’s ex-wife.  Skye Summerfield, this is my commanding officer, Captain Michael Stibbons.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Summerfield.” Captain Stibbons stated as he shook my hand. 

“No offense, but I would have been happy to never have met you, but don’t take that personally because I never wish to meet police officers period.  It is not usually a good thing whether it is because of a death, accident, or worse.  And I promise I have no active warrants, parking tickets or speeding tickets.  Damn it, I’m babbling again.  I am so sorry.”  I closed my eyes, completely embarrassed by my own behavior.

“Well, I guess that is good to know, but you must realize we have already checked into all of that, given the circumstances,” Captain Stibbons said with a smile.

I smiled back, “I kind of figured that, but good to know that is all cleared up and on board.”

“Well, I will let you get back to the interview now that I know there isn’t a major fight breaking out here in this room.  Ms. Summerfield, good day.  Detective.”  Captain Stibbons’ eyes twinkling at me a bit in amusement as he left, silently wishing Detective Hottie good luck with the crazy woman in the conference room I was sure. 

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I am so sorry, Detective Hot….uh Detective Booth (I have got to stop thinking of him as Detective Hottie before I call him that to his face…I thought to myself), I hope I did not get you in trouble and I had better explain my laughter at the…umm situation.  I am really not a cold hearted bitch, but you have to know my ex to understand why that is hilarious, again not the dying part, but the pad part.”

“OK,” Detective Booth said with a chuckle, “then why don’t we try sitting down again.  Do you need some ice for that bump?”

“I think it will be ok, but I appreciate the offer.  Now what exactly do you need to know?”

“Well, first off, can you tell us about your relationship with Mr. Dimwhit and why the…um…situation was comical to you?”  Detective Booth said with a slight chuckle.

“Ok, I met Mr. Dimwhit (sorry, but that is still funny to me, so I said that with a bit of a giggle), when I was living in Illinois.  We were neighbors; well our parents were neighbors I should say.  We were together for about 2 years before we got married.  I was 17 and he was 21 and we were married for just shy of 4 years before we divorced.”

“You got married young then.  What happened to cause your divorce?”

“We got married because I found out I was pregnant, but I miscarried a few months after the wedding.  We were in love so we tried to make it work and have a family but after 3 more miscarriages, two that were later in my pregnancies, we just drifted apart.  Once we were divorced there was the normal comments about how I tricked him into getting married and I think some even said I faked the first pregnancy, despite him having been with me during the miscarriage itself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.  It must have been a difficult time for both of you.”

“It was, unfortunately, I was too wrapped up in my own pain to recognize his pain and didn’t realize it until long after our divorce.”

“That is quite big of you.  What was he like to live with?  Did he have any enemies?”

“Ha-ha, that is years of therapy and counseling coming out in that sentence.  He was pretty set in his ways.  He was very opinionated and didn’t like people arguing with him.  He could be controlling at times, but I don’t know that I would say he had any enemies.  Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t my favorite person in the world, it took a long time for me to develop my own set of opinions on things after the divorce and gain my own set of balls, but I never wished ill on him.  Ok, maybe I did for a while, most woman who are dumped after miscarrying their third child will be bitter to an extent, hence the therapy, but I never saw the point in stewing in hatred.  I didn’t have time for that.”

“Any friends that he may have gotten into an argument about anything?”

“He didn’t have many friends when we were together.  He worked 6 days a week during the summer and winter usually, that last winter before our divorce he was on unemployment because work was slow, but he didn’t have any fights with anyone that I am aware of.  I wouldn’t know who any of his recent friends are.”

“What about the maxi pad portion of the situation was funny?”

“I should apologize for my reaction to that, but being with the man for what seemed like an eternity back then and how he was about feminine issues, it was pretty damn funny.  I remember one day when a new pad fell out of my purse onto the table and you would of thought it was a hand grenade by the way he picked it up by the corner and flung it across the room flipping out about it being on the table.  At the time, it wasn’t funny since he screamed at me for about an hour afterwards, but now it is kind of funny.  Whomever did this must have known how he felt about “female issues” as he called them then.  I am assuming of course that he still feels the same way about it.  He would never touch me if I was on my period and if he had his way I would sleep in a different bed, hell even house, during that time of the month.”

“That seems a little extreme.”

“You had to know him I guess.  He wasn’t all bad, but the bad memories seem to be the ones that usually remain after a broken marriage.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could be controlling, as I have already said.  He had his thoughts on things and didn’t like his thoughts questioned.  He wasn’t physically abusive, he could be violent at times, but he tended more toward being verbally abusive.  That didn’t make him friends easily since he tended to alienate himself from a lot of people, like my family, when we were together.”

“Violent, what do you mean?”

“Well, I can think of two incidents really.  The first was when he threw a salt shaker across the room, away from where we were sitting, because I salted my food and he didn’t think it needed salt.  The second time was when we were arguing, I have forgotten about what now, when he threw a gallon of milk in my direction, and it hit the ceiling fan and busted open all over the place.”

“So you were the one that filed for divorce then?”

“No, he filed for divorce after I lost the third baby.  He came home from work about three months after the miscarriage and said he wanted a divorce and had spoken with an attorney about it.  I always thought that when a couple had problems, they worked them out, but apparently, he didn’t see that the same way.  To be fair, it was a rough couple of years and I was suffering from severe depression after all the miscarriages.”  The surprise on his face at my candor on my faults and the issues in our marriage made me comment, “Therapy, remember.”  Accepting his nod of understanding at my comments. 

“Ok, well I think that gives me enough for now.  Can I give you a call if I have any more questions for you?”

Any time, big boy, I thought to myself, but said, “Sure, as long as it’s not at 4 a.m.  I thought I would make that clear since it seems to be happening a lot lately.  I am so not a morning person.”

Detective Booth chuckled as he shook my hand, “I will remember that.”

I really have to get my libido in check, I thought to myself as I headed out the door.  

Check out Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 in previous posts or purchase the full book at:
 http://www.lulu.com/shop/danielle-dignin/moonlight-maxipads/ebook/product-22607936.html