Page 149 of Hello, Summer
Averting her eyes past the broken body sprawled on the lawn, she made her way through the debris toward the porch, where she clambered over the bits of boards and plaster.
The driver was slumped sideways, his head covered in blood. She hesitated, then remembered that the driver had not hesitated but had sped up and barreled straight ahead into Walter Poppell and his bullet. She reached in through the open window and gingerly touched a finger to the driver’s neck. There was no pulse.
Conley heard the scream of police sirens approaching, and looking toward the street, saw three cruisers streaming toward the house.
“Conley!” The lights on the front of the house were so bright she had to squint, but she knew that voice and ran straight toward it now, throwing herself into Sean Kelly’s open arms.
He held her tightly against his chest, stroking her hair, whispering in her ear, “It’s over. You’re okay. It’s over, Conley.”
Her voice was muffled by his shirt. She looked up at him. “He’s dead, Skelly.”
“Poppell? Yeah, I saw.”
“Not him. Buddy Bright. He’s dead. He saved my life.” She shuddered violently. “Poppell would have killed me. He said he was going to. He was watching me, Skelly. I don’t know how Buddy knew, but he did. Poppell was dragging me out of the house. He said he’d take me out to the beach and—”
“Never mind,” Skelly said quickly. He touched the side of her face. “Your face is bleeding, and it’s starting to swell and bruise. I think we need to get you to the hospital.”
“No!” She shook her head. “I’m okay. Really. Poppell slapped me is all. I’m fine.”
“Ma’am?” A man’s voice cut through the far-off sound of more sirens. Two uniformed Silver Bay police officers approached. “Are you the person who called to report an intruder? We need to talk to you, ma’am.”
Skelly wrapped a protective arm around her waist.
“I know.” Her voice was shaky. “I’ll tell you everything. Can we… go someplace else to talk? This is my grandmother’s house. Maybe we could go around back and go in the kitchen?”
“Do you know who those men are?” the other officer asked, pointing toward the bodies.
“Yeah,” she said. “The driver of the Corvette’s name is Buddy Bright, and the one on the grass is a Bronson County sheriff’s deputy.”
“His name is Walter Poppell,” Skelly said.
Conley looked up at him again. “I’ve got to give these guys a statement. But could you do me a favor? Call Grayson. She must have slept at the paper tonight. Tell her what happened here and ask her to send Michael Torpy over. And tell her to tell him to bring the good camera.”
57
The kitchen door banged open. “Conley?”
Grayson rushed into the kitchen, nearly knocking aside the Silver Bay Police detective who’d been interviewing Conley. “Oh my God! Are you okay? Wait. You’re bleeding. What happened?”
“Sit down,” Conley said wearily, gesturing toward the only empty chair at the kitchen table. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m getting you an ice pack for that bruise on your face,” Grayson said. She opened a drawer, got out a plastic bag, filled it with ice cubes, and handed it to Conley. “Put that on your face. I feel horrible. Tony and I talked for over an hour, and then I guess I fell asleep on the sofa. Maybe if I’d been here, none of this would have happened.”
“It’s not anybody’s fault,” Conley said. “If you’d been here, he would have waited for another time. Poppell was determined to hurt me. I’m glad you weren’t here.”
“Who’s this?” the detective asked, looking annoyed. He addressed himself to Grayson. “We’re working on a homicide investigation here, ma’am, so maybe you could come back later?”
Grayson pulled herself up to her full five-foot-four height. “I’m not going anywhere. I happen to be her attorney.” She looked over at her bruised and battered sibling and her expression softened. “And her big sister.”
“And my boss,” Conley added. “Detective Jefferson, meet Grayson Hawkins, managing editor ofThe Silver Bay Beacon.”
“Anything you hear in here is off the record,” Jefferson said. “And if you’re not okay with that, we can continue this interview at the police station.”
Three hours later, Jefferson finally declared himself done with the formal interview. “For now,” he cautioned as he stood by the kitchen door. “We’ll have more questions after we talk to the sheriff over in Bronson County.”
“Where’s Michael?” Conley asked as soon as the detective was out of earshot. “Did he get photos of everything? And have you called G’mama yet? I don’t want her hearing about this from anybody but us.”
“I called G’mama on the way over here from the office,” Grayson said. “She’s worried, but I assured her that you’re okay.”
