(You’ve dropped into the 1st draft of a crime novel, being posted for your entertainment and feeding my passion, bit by daily bit.  Please click in the Archives section and then to the July 16th post, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1), where it all begins.  Those who have been following along and are ready for another dose, thanks so much, let me know what you think, and let’s get to it!)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxvi ) continues…
     She entered the master bedroom, set the mugs on top of her dresser and proceeded to part the front window draperies, letting in light and heat on her face and the surroundings. She turned and stopped, then glanced at her husband; a copy of what she saw at the other end of the house, only a magnified version. She grinned, and wondered if the warmth she felt was only from the sun. She went over and tapped lightly on the sole of an exposed foot.
     “Terry,” she said, “I brought your coffee. Shake a leg. You wanted to see Parker practice.”
     “OK,” he groaned and drew his arms and legs inward, ending up on his knees and elbows in the middle of the bed; a bear breaking out of hibernation. He rolled to one side and propped up in a sitting position against the headboard, rubbing his face with both hands. Lana sat next to him on the edge of the mattress, and offered the mug. He took it from her and downed half its contents in one gulp.
     “I saw the news last night about the Marquis,” she said, rubbing his chest, “it looked crazy.”
     He nodded, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “It’s always messy with crowds…we don’t even know who the victim is yet. How soon before Park has to be there?” he took another swig.
     “You’ve got about an hour,” she answered, “There was a woman involved?”
     Terrance’s back stiffened off the headboard.
      “Who said that?!” he choked on the liquid and spilled some from the cup.
     “The reporter,” she answered, grabbed some tissue sheets from the box on the nightstand, then dabbed off his chest with them.
     “Who was being interviewed?” he asked.
     “Nobody, he just gave the usual ‘sources say’ line. Your captain was on later.  It’s Berry, right? He said it was too early in the investigation to confirm or deny, but the reporter kept bringing it up.” She eased Terrance back into the pillows.
     “Dammit,” he set his cup down on the stand.
     “Relax, Terry. Are you seeing Mason today?” she massaged his shoulders.
     “We’re meeting with the desk clerk who might be able to identify who paid for the room. Paid, and is long gone. This case is already three- days cold…Shit.”
     Lana got up and took the damp tissues into the bathroom, then threw them into the wastebasket, while Terrance swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched his arms over his head. She leaned against the bathroom door jamb.
     “Forget about it this morning, please, and enjoy time with your son.”
     He yawned, “You woke Park up, right?”
     “Only once,” she said.
     “Parker!” Terrance bellowed.
     They both heard the distant thump of feet hitting the floor and pounding across hardwood, followed by dresser drawers sliding open and slamming shut.
     “He’s your little man,” she smiled.
     Terrance went towards the bathroom for a shower. Lana picked up the mugs and headed for the bedroom door, but Terrance suddenly  turned and locked his arms around her waist, squeezing her body tightly to his own. He kissed her. She fumbled to set the mugs back on a dresser, then she put her arms around his neck and pulled hard, wishing her robe would disappear between them. She could feel her husband’s hands making the wish come true.
     “Mom, where are my cleats?” Parker called from his bedroom.
     Both their bodies relaxed and Lana readjusted the front of her robe.
     “We pick this up later?” he asked, as she picked up the mugs and then opened the door.
     “Make no mistake,” she said, exiting the room.
     “Terry,” she called over her shoulder.
     “Yeah,” came the reply, echoing off the ceramic tiles; loud enough to hear over the shower’s running water.
     “Ask Mason if he wants to come to dinner tomorrow. You’ve talked about him long enough. It’s about time we all get together.”
     She met with Parker at the top of the staircase, as he finished pulling a T- shirt over his head.
     “What are we having to eat tomorrow?” Parker asked.
     “Anything your father wants to cook,” she smiled, grabbed both mugs by their handles with her left hand and put her right arm over his shoulders, “this is my weekend off.”
     Parker leaned into the plush warmth of his mother’s robe and they went down the steps.
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