Read For Whom the Minivan Rolls for Free Online

down in
his swivel chair.
    I took a napkin out of the Dunkin’ Donuts bag and
threw it at him. “Here. You got powdered sugar all over yourself,
and you’re going to lose the respect of your men.”
    “It’s worth it,” he said. At least, I think that’s what he said. He could barely get a sound out through the
mouthful of donut. What actually came out sounded more like “iss
worf id.” With the donut nearly consumed, Dutton’s eyes narrowed,
he swallowed one last time, sat up, and considered me. “You’re
plying me with a donut.”
    I reached into the bag for the chocolate frosted.
“You want another one?”
    “Oh, boy. This must be a doozy.” Imagine a police
chief who uses the word “doozy.” Luckily, the man pumps iron every
day of his life, and has a chest the size of a five-drawer dresser,
so everyone is afraid to call him on it. He took a long gulp of his
coffee. “What is it?”
    “Madlyn Beckwirth.”
    Dutton’s mouth tightened down to a slit in his face.
His eyebrows threatened to meet in the middle. And his eyes
actually closed, as if he were grimacing in pain. It startled me,
and I leaned forward just a bit. Quick as a flash, Dutton reached
over and grabbed the chocolate frosted out of my hand. Hell, I
would have just given it to him.
    “Why are you bothering me about Madlyn
Beckwirth?”
    “I’m writing about it.”
    “Why, did she take the stereo system with her when
she left?” It’s good to have a funny police chief. He must keep the
criminals in stitches —maybe laughs them into confessions. I knew
for a fact he’d never drawn his gun on anyone in his life.
    “The Press-Tribune assigned her to me. I’m
looking into her disappearance.”
    “You’re kidding.” I sat and looked at him.
    “Would I have brought donuts if I were kidding?” I
tried to look intense, but that’s hard to do with a hot chocolate
mustache.
    “Aaron,” Dutton said, “Madlyn Beckwirth probably ran
out on her husband because he’s an insufferable twit.” Even the
cops in Midland Heights sound like college professors. Can you
imagine a cop at the 23rd Precinct in New York City saying
“insufferable twit”?
    “Probably. But he doesn’t think so.”
    “They never think so. It’s part of what makes them
so insufferable,” Dutton said.
    I took a bite of the cruller. Dunkin’ Donuts hadn’t
lost its touch. “Well, there’s more.”
    “Don’t talk with your mouth full. More what ?
More donuts?” He looked hopefully in the bag, but all he found were
packets of artificial sweetener and about fifty-eight napkins.
    “You really are a carbohydrate addict, aren’t
you? No, not more donuts. More about Madlyn Beckwirth.”
    “Oh yeah?”
    I told him about the prior evening’s threatening
phone call, and I saw my friend Barry become Chief Dutton of the
Midland Heights Police Department. He sat back and listened,
absolutely all attention. If I could get Ethan to listen like that
in fifth grade, I could start filling out his application to
Princeton tomorrow. Dutton put his fingers together, like he was
going to show me the church and the steeple, and put them to his
nose. When I got to the end of the phone conversation, and my
attempt to trace it, he stood up.
    “Outside the area? Maybe I can trace it here. Let me
get Verizon to send over your phone records from last night. Maybe
we can find out who made that call.” He looked at me, frowning.
“Were you going to tell me about this?”
    “I just told you, didn’t I? And I made the
appointment to see you before it happened. I knew I’d be here this
morning.”
    He didn’t like it, and neither did I. The only
people who knew for sure that I was looking for Madlyn Beckwirth
couldn’t have made the call, and the idea that, by finding her, I’d
be killing her just flat-out didn’t make sense. I asked Dutton what
the cops had been doing to locate her after Beckwirth reported his
wife missing.
    “Well, he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with