Nightingale

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The Gang's All Here

Margaret and Michael Weathers, Sr., pulled into the gated driveway that led to the Tudor mansion they'd called home for the past thirty years. Mr. Weathers opted to park on the circle drive rather than in the three car garage adjacent to the house so the two of them could leave quickly after changing clothes. Church had run a little late this morning, and his growling stomach was ready for the Sunday buffet at the Crafton Country Club.

Margaret laughed at his urgency. "Really, Michael, you act like you're going to starve to death!"

Michael rolled his eyes. "By the time we get there, all of the peach cobbler will be gone. I don't know why you think you have to change clothes before we go," he said and quickly circled the car to help her out.

"In case you haven't noticed," Margaret began sarcastically, "it's only noon and the temperature is at least eighty-five degrees. You always insist we sit outside on the patio, and if you think for one minute I'm going to roast in a suit and panty hose, you are sadly mistaken, counselor."

Michael laughed and pulled her close for a quick squeeze. "Over thirty years of marriage, and I haven't won an argument yet. Guess I should've sent you to law school."

Margaret smiled and brushed his cheek. "Be nice and I might even let you help me with my zipper."

Michael Sr. shot her a raised eyebrow as he unlocked the front door and shut it quickly behind them. He pulled her close for an embrace. "I'm suddenly not hungry anymore," he whispered and leaned in for a kiss. His cell phone rang before their lips touched. "Dammit! Give me a second..." he broke off. She smiled and walked toward the stairs. "Hello?" he said impatiently. The alarm in Eddie's voice on the other end caught him off guard. "No, we just got home, why?" he said and snapped his fingers to get Margaret's attention as he walked toward the den. The concern on his face had Margaret following him quickly. "Turn on the TV...channel 10," he mouthed to her.

Margaret pressed the buttons and stepped back, watching Michael's confession. She dropped the remote, and her hand instantly went to her throat. She watched the officers rush toward him with guns drawn. Her face paled, and she reached absently for Michael Sr. while she witnessed them drag her firstborn into the police station in handcuffs. "Oh, my dear God! What has she gotten him into?" she whispered.

Michael Sr. rubbed his forehead nervously as he listened to a brief version of today's events from Eddie. "What the hell did he do that for?" he yelled. "Okay...okay...let me make a few calls. No...I think it's fixable. I've been down this road with George before, and he's not going to make it easy. Yeah...we're on our way. I'll call Sarah and let her know what's going on. I'm sure she'll want to be there. Bye," he said and quickly closed the phone.

Margaret crossed her arms and pursed her lips as Michael re-opened his phone and pushed a number. "You've got her on speed dial?" she asked through gritted teeth.

Michael sighed and waited for Sarah Mathis to answer. "Now is not the time for your unfounded jealousy, Margaret. We've got to go," he said and motioned her toward the door. The two of them quickly exited the house and got into Michael's silver Mercedes. As they pulled out of the driveway, Sarah picked up. Margaret sat in stony silence while Michael shared what he knew. "Yes...we're on our way. Don't get upset...we'll figure things out. See you in a few," he said and closed his phone. He gave Margaret a wary glance. "It's not what you think," he said as they sped toward the police station.

"It never is," Margaret said coldly as she stared straight ahead.

#

Sarah Mathis accelerated the closer she got to Crafton. She'd had an uneasy feeling all weekend, the kind she always got when Sam was in trouble. Whether it was mother's intuition or an uncanny connection, she didn't know. All she knew was she'd been trying to call Sam the entire weekend, and she hadn't been able to reach her. Her cell phone went straight to voicemail each time, and she hadn't returned any of the countless messages.