“Call the Police, Mom.” My daughter’s words are pounding in my ears.
Call the Police. Call the Police. I keep thinking of our business. I don’t want to hurt my Husband or his reputation. NO. STOP IT. Think. Do it Now. Deal with your fear later. I hold my breath paralyzed with embarrassment spewing out tears and panic words to the Operator on the 911 Call.
Restless, waiting with no idea when the Police Officer would arrive. I make coffee. I pour myself a cup before it has finished brewing. And sat at the kitchen table and worried.
The knock on the front door shook my thoughts away. No one else was expected, so it must be the Police.
I push away from the table. Put my coffee cup in the sink and walk to the front door. I had never seen a Police Officer up close. In the car many times. Nick ceaselessly getting traffic tickets. Nick pulled over and was given citations never tried to be polite. No, he was nasty and always got the Ticket. I uses to say to Nick; you get more flies with sugar than vinegar.
I open the front door. There stood a big life-size Officer in full uniform. Acessorized with handcuffs, gun, badge and spit polish shoes. He introduced himself as Sheriff Matson. He handed me his card and shook my hand. I noticed a bit of gray on the short side of his flat-top haircut.
I smiled and introduced myself. He did not return my smile. ‘Follow me, please, and we will go into the kitchen.” I said, wishing I was doing the right thing. We both sat down at the kitchen table at the same time. I am tearing up and trying to hold it in. I said quietly. “I’ve never called the Police before.”
Sheriff Matson nodded. ‘Would you like some coffee? I asked. “No , thank you, Ma’am. But you go ahead if you’d like some.” I shook my head no.
It’s okay Ma’am. I’m here to help you. Now, tell me your situation.” He pulled out a small notepad and pen from his uniform.
I turn my face away and say a High School friend of my husband (a Bass Player in a Band) asked him to help him get rid of a band groupie. “She was a known Meth Addict, Alchoholic, and Gambler.”
I took a deep breath looking at the table, not the Officer. “I woke up one day and my husband had moved in with the grifter in her ex-husband’s house. The three of them are living together.”
Two days later, I got this,” Reaching for my laptop on the kitchen table. I open it to the threatening email.
Without asking, I read it out loud to the Officer.