The Longest Silence. Debra Webb

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       1

      Westwood, Kansas

      Friday, March 4, 8:30 a.m.

      Ellen Schrader only wanted a gallon of milk.

      How was she supposed to feed her children breakfast without milk? Now her son was late for school. All because she’d needed that damned milk. What she got instead was rear-ended by an old man who couldn’t see his hand in front of his face and suddenly somehow it was all her fault. No one had said as much but why else would that young officer be sending her so many suspicious glances? He and the old man had been huddled together talking for far too long.

      Probably whispering about her.

      Ellen braced her hip against the police cruiser. The officer had told her to wait right here next to his cruiser. All those flashing lights from not one but two police cruisers as well as the ambulance were making her head swim. She’d already told the paramedic that she wasn’t hurt. She was fine. Perfectly fine. Now he, too, was in deep conversation with the officer. For Pete’s sake, you would think she was some sort of criminal. This was what she got for attempting to obey the speed limit. Everyone else, including the old fart who’d hit her, wanted to fly like they were in a race against time.

      The officer peered suspiciously in her direction once more.

      This was ridiculous! Her hair was damp from the rain that continued to sprinkle just enough to be ignored by every single person except her standing on the side of this godforsaken road. On top of that she was freezing and no one appeared to care. The officers who were so kind at first now appeared too busy taking the old bastard’s statement and shooting those wary looks in her direction. He sure as hell had no right to cry whiplash. He was the one who hit her for God’s sake!

      Neither of the cops had offered to have her wait in one of the police cruisers or in her car. She groaned as she considered the ugly way the tailgate of her Mercedes was crushed. That old pickup had done a number on her SUV.

      Where the hell was Art? The officer who’d taken her report had called him. Her husband would be livid. The Mercedes was barely a year old. God, this was all she needed. Ellen closed her eyes and tried to keep her body from swaying. The spinning eased a bit and she hugged her arms around herself to try and control the shivering. The rain made the cool morning air feel even colder.

      “Ma’am.”

      Reluctantly she opened her eyes, grateful for the vehicle at her back since the whole world seemed to have joined the spinning in her head. “What now, Officer...?” She frowned. What was his name? She blinked to clear her vision and stared at his chest. The two blurry name tags finally blended to become one. “Officer Edwards?”

      “I’m afraid I’ll need you to take a Breathalyzer test, ma’am.”

      His words hit her square in the stomach, making her sway again. “Are you suggesting I’ve been drinking?” She made a scoffing sound. “It’s not even nine o’clock on a school day. Please.”

      For some unexplainable reason her knees began to shake.

      “Ma’am,” he said a bit more firmly, “you have the right to refuse, but then I’ll have no choice but to arrest you.”

      The rain was coming down harder now. Ellen hugged herself more tightly. This could not be happening. Thank God Art’s minivan pulled up behind the cruiser. As if the officer had only then realized they were all standing in the rain, he asked, “Mrs. Schrader, would you like to sit in the squad car?”

      What difference did it make now? She was soaking wet already. Before she could say as much, Art shouted, “Ellen! Jesus Christ, are you all right?”

      She tried СКАЧАТЬ