12: Facing a Fury Worse Than Bullets

A mother’s love for her child is like
nothing else in the world.
It knows no law, no pity.
It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly
all that stands in its path.

Agatha Christie

Em slid her key into the lock and twisted it slowly while holding the handle firm. It was late, after one in the morning, and she hoped not to wake anyone. If she did, they’d discuss the shooting all night, and both she and Becky needed their beauty sleep. Otherwise Em would be a royal bitch-on-wheels in the morning.

She eased the door open and noticed the kitchen light was on. As she slipped through the doorway, she observed Francine sitting on the couch, primed and ready for bear.

“What the hell were you thinking?“ she demanded in a strident voice which shot up Em’s spine. “You involve my daughter in a shooting, and then shove her away rather than protecting her?”

Em closed the door behind her as she faced her distraught sister-in-law. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“Hell, getting shot is part of your job. You’re trained for it. I never signed up for someone shooting my daughter, or you offering her as a target instead of you.”

“That’s not qui—”

“Mom, be fair.” Becky sat up, rubbing her eyes. She’d been asleep until her mother’s tirade disturbed the whole apartment. “She saved my life! If she hadn’t acted, I might be dead.”

Francine’s anger wasn’t assuaged. “And what about your gun? Are you carrying it now? It isn’t safe keeping a sixteen-year-old girl in a house with firearms.”

Em held her hand up, forestalling more shouting as she sank into her couch. “First, they took my gun to conduct forensic tests. Secondly, I have a gun safe just for that purpose.”

Francine shot her the dreaded mother’s all-knowing eye, raising one brow. “You’re saying you don’t have another in the apartment, or that you’re not ‘packing’ now?”

Em blushed. Seeing her response, Becky slapped her forehead and moaned.

“I ... uh, they gave me another,” Em admitted, lifting the flap of her jacket revealing her shoulder holster.”

“Pray tell, is that gun locked in your gun cabinet?”

Em’s blush crept down to her chest, causing a burning sensation to radiate all the way to the pit of her stomach. “Uh... , I just walked in the door. I haven’t had a chance to put it away.”

“And you’re telling me your gun is secured every second of every day?”

Em sat up straighter, returning Francine’s glare. “This is what I do. I’m required to carry a gun. I’m trained, familiar and cautious with firearms.” She took a breath, considering another way to explain herself. “If I was a contractor I’d have wrenches and hammers. If I were a doctor, I’d have a prescription pad. Just because I work with tools doesn’t mean they’re a threat.”

Francine’s eyes narrowed. “And when you bring an impressionable young girl into your house, do you leave your wrenches out in the open, or do you lock them in your precious gun cabinet?”

“Uh ... I keep it within easy reach because I never know when I’ll be called out on a case. But I’ve never allowed Becky in my bedroom and the gun safe is locked anytime I’m not in the house.”

“So you trust a curious sixteen-year-old not to sneak into your room to see what she can discover while you’re away? Have you ever lived with young girls, or have you lived like a man so long you’ve forgotten what being a girl is like?”

“Mom!” Becky cautioned, but her plea fell on deaf ears.

“If I’d realized you were so cavalier about guns and death, I’d never have brought Becky into this environment.”

The bedroom door opened and Lucy peered out, her hair uncombed and a frizzy mess. “Are you OK?”

Francine, not wanting her fury sidetracked, held her palm open fending off Lucy’s inquiry. Em straightened, squaring her shoulders and cocking her head to the side. “Really? Didn’t I suggest staying with someone better able to entertain a child? Didn’t I mention I was out at all hours and couldn’t spend time with you? What was it you said? Oh, yeah, something about how you ‘only trusted me to keep you safe against the dangers of the world?’”

Caught in a trap of her own making, Francine glanced down. “I didn’t know about the gun.”

“What, you thought I was a traffic cop, only keeping a whistle and some traffic cones in my bedroom? You force your way into the life of a homicide detective and don’t expect them to handle difficult situations?”

“Mom, she made sure I was safe. She insisted I leave only so I wouldn’t be questioned by the police.”

“That’s not what you said before,” Francine said, her works coming out strained, one by one.

“I couldn’t tell her to avoid the police in front of witnesses,” Em said.

Having determined Becky wasn’t merely covering for her aunt, her remark rekindled the flames of Francine’s righteous indignation.

“Heaven forbid your boss should learn you endangered the life of your own niece.”

Em leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as her hands drew to her hips. “You think it’s better Becky’s name gets listed on the official police reports of the incident. Reports which—in case you forgot—are public documents. Don’t forget the news crews who showed up. Wouldn’t they love the story of a female detective defending her innocent niece? How easy would that make your life? Her father wouldn’t have any trouble tracking her down if we shout her location on the cover of every newspaper in the country. What would you do to protect her then? Find the house of some little old lady terrified of guns? What would she do if Jeremy broke down her door, demanding you return or the police drag you back home?”

Francine’s anger evaporated like an early dawn’s fog under the onslaught of morning sunlight.

Lucy entered the room, holding her thin robe closed. “Em, don’t say anything you can’t take back.”

“Mom, you brought this on. Auntie Em did everything right. She didn’t plan on someone shooting her.”

The reminder her daughter’s life was threatened was the wrong thing to say. It tossed fresh kindling on the smoldering embers of her anger. Francine’s head snapped back up.

“And why is some crazy coot gunning for you? What the hell did you do to him that he’s trying to kill you? Sleep with his bag lady girlfriend on a park bench?”

“Ladies, please.” Lucy knelt beside Em, wrapping her arms around her.

A quiet knock on the door surprised them, but neither Em nor Francine dropped their competing glares. Their eyes were locked in a fierce embrace. Becky scrambled up, running to answer the door, dragging her bed sheets behind her.

“That’s a low blow,” Em whispered in a voice as cold as a harsh artic wind. “He was put up to it, taken advantage of by whoever is behind the crime I’m investigating. It was an assassination attempt, pure and simple.”

“Oh, and that makes it safe to expose Becky to? Maybe we can teach her an object lesson about the trustworthiness of bums on Manhattan streets?”

“Sorry, but I could hear you all the way from my apartment.” Amanda slipped in the door, trying not to attract attention. She kept her voice pitched low, attempting to minimize the noise and calm the combatants, though it didn’t lessen the volume of the argument. “I figured you might need help holding these two down, keeping them from ripping each other’s throats out.”

“Or she could learn about taking advantage of relatives, ingratitude, or possibly finding somewhere else to live at two o’clock in the morning?”