Chapter 11 - The Mantel And The Brass Candlestick
The waiting stretched. The sheriff hadn't let anyone leave the living room. He stood near the fireplace with his notebook open, his radio low on his shoulder. My grandfather sat beside me on the edge of the couch, his hand still light on my back. My sister was on my other side, close enough our shoulders touched. My dad was by the drinks table, not sitting, not standing exactly. The woman in green was by the mantel.
She looked at the brass candlestick sitting up there. The sheriff had moved it earlier, placed it dead center on the mantel with a gloved hand and told us not to touch anything else.
"This is ridiculous," she said. Her voice was calmer now, trying for reasonable. "Can I at least pick up the coats? The water is going to ruin the marble. And the candlestick isn't supposed to be there, it goes on the dining table."
She took half a step toward the entryway where the pile was still on the floor. The red scarf was on top, bright against the wet dark wool. The puddles had spread further, a thin shine under the warm lights.
The sheriff held up his hand. "Ma'am, leave it. I told you, the scene stays as is until CPS clears it."
"I just want to tidy up," she said.
"No," he said. He wasn't sharp about it. Just flat. He lifted his phone, opened the camera, and stepped toward the entryway. "I need another set with a time stamp anyway."
I watched him take photos. He did it slow and methodical. One wide shot of the whole pile with the open door behind it where the blue snow light was still coming in. One closer of the red scarf on top. One low angle of the melting snow and the water pooling around the marble grout. Each click made a soft shutter sound and the flash bounced off the floor.
My grandfather had his own phone out. He'd been on hold, then someone answered.
"Yes, this is Thomas Keller, I'm the maternal grandfather on scene with Sheriff Dalton in Park County," he said quietly. "I have the children with me. You said to keep the video line open if there were conditions to show?"
He pressed the speaker button and turned the camera.
A woman's voice came through, tired but clear. "Go ahead, Mr. Keller. Show me what you're seeing."
He stood, keeping me in frame with him, and panned slowly from the fireplace toward the entryway. "This is the entryway as it was when I arrived at approximately seven fifteen. The coats were piled on the floor. This is how the boy was told to stand with them."
The phone showed the pile, the wet shine, the red scarf.
"Is that snow melt?" the CPS voice asked.
"Yes," my grandfather said. "Two inches tonight. The coats were still dripping when I got here. That puddle there is melt from the boots and the coats combined."
My sister leaned in a little. Her voice was small.
"Ma'am?" she said.
"Go ahead, honey," the voice said.
"My brother and I share a room upstairs," she said. She swallowed. "The vent is closed. She told us not to use the space heater because it costs too much. We have one blanket."
The room went very quiet. The woman in green turned from the mantel, her mouth tight.
"That's not true," she said to the phone. "They have heat. The house is seventy-two degrees."
The sheriff looked at her, then back at my sister. "Let her finish," he said.
My sister didn't look at the woman. She kept looking at the phone. "Last night it was twenty-two outside. I could see my breath."
The CPS voice said, "Thank you for telling me that, sweetheart. Mr. Keller, can you show me the mantel area as well?"
My grandfather panned to the brass candlestick. "This was held aloft during the confrontation," he said. "Sheriff has it secured."
After that the call ended with instructions to keep everyone together and keep the line open.
A few minutes later my dad came over and crouched in front of me. The sheriff had stepped to the doorway to talk on his radio, but he kept his eyes on us.
"Hey, buddy," my dad said. His tie was loosened now. "Can I talk to you for a sec? Just you and me?"
My grandfather's hand tensed a little on my shoulder, but he didn't pull me away. My sister looked at me.
I nodded.
My dad leaned closer so only I could really hear him. "Do you really want to leave tonight?" he asked. His voice was low, like he was trying to be kind. "It's Christmas Eve. Your room is here. Your toys are here. If you go with Grandpa, it's a long drive in the snow. Are you sure that's what you want?"
I felt my throat get tight. He smelled like the cologne he wore for parties. I looked past him at the pile of coats on the floor, at the red scarf still sitting on top where it had been dropped. I looked at my sister.
I didn't whisper. I said it clear enough the sheriff could hear it.
"I want to stay with my sister and Grandpa," I said. "I don't want to stay alone with her."
My dad blinked. He glanced toward the woman in green, then back at me. "Alone? I'm here, buddy."
"You don't stop her," I said. My voice shook a little but I kept going. "You just watch."
He didn't have anything to say to that. He stood up slowly and stepped back toward the drinks table. He put his hands in his pockets.
May you like
The sheriff came back, slipped his phone into his pocket, and looked at his notebook. He made a note and said, out loud for everyone, "At eight oh seven, the child stated his preference to remain with his sister and maternal grandfather and expressed fear of remaining alone with the stepmother. Statement made in presence of father and law enforcement."
The woman in green stared at me from by the mantel. Her hands were clasped tight. The candlestick stayed where the sheriff had put it, untouched. The coats stayed on the floor, the puddles still spreading, everything exactly as it had been.
