Silent Weapon. Debra Webb

What more could a teenage girl want?

      I shrugged in answer to her question. “Is my name mud upstairs?” I felt certain she had heard any rumblings going on in her boss’s office.

      She dragged me over to the side, a little farther away from where Helen conscientiously worked. Sarah held my gaze a moment before she said, Chief Kent is having a closed-door session with Detective Barlow and Chief Adcock right now. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. I believe they’re talking about you.

      Uh-oh. That didn’t sound too good. I knew Chief Adcock was the chief of Homicide. Then again, I supposed it made sense, since the case I’d solved fell under his jurisdiction. I’d seen him at some point over the weekend.

      “Am I in big trouble?” Translation: bigger than I already knew.

      Sarah did the shrugging this time. All I know is Barlow doesn’t look pleased. Whatever the chief has decided, Barlow doesn’t like it.

      A frown wiggled its way across my brow. Why would Barlow care what happened to me? I mean, it wasn’t like we really knew each other. He should be grateful I’d solved this case for him. But I knew he wasn’t. I’d skirted the law, which, technically, I had not been obliged to follow to the letter since I’m not a cop, and I’d risked my life without being smart enough to tell anyone what I’d uncovered. If I had been killed—I cringed inwardly at the thought—no one would ever have known what I’d accomplished. I could see that quite clearly now. Funny thing, I hadn’t thought about that once while absorbed in the heat of the hunt.

      “Is he angry that I got Sawyer when he couldn’t? Do you suppose he doesn’t like that I made him look bad despite the upside that a murderer has been apprehended?”

      Sarah thought about that for a bit, leaving me with the need to distract myself or burst with anticipation. I studied the delicate features of her face. Sometimes her beauty caught me off guard. Long, silky blond hair, serene gray eyes, a face that demanded any man breathing take a second look, and a willowy figure to boot. I’d known her forever. My brother was really lucky. Michael was two years older than me. A fireman in the Brentwood area where he and Sarah lived. The two were planning to start a family this year. Sarah would make a terrific mother. Not once had she ever let her beauty go to her head.

      I don’t know Detective Barlow that well, she said. But he doesn’t strike me as the type to let his ego get in the way of the job. I’m really not sure what’s going on.

      Her lips formed the words cautiously, her face uncommitted to a particular emotion. If she’d looked overly concerned I would have been worried. Since she didn’t, I felt relatively relieved. Relaxed but guarded, if that makes sense.

      She draped her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. I should get back to the office. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. She smiled. See you tonight.

      Oh, God. How could I have forgotten about that? My folks had insisted that another family dinner was in order tonight. Since Saturdays or Sundays were generally the days we had family get-togethers, I could only assume the worst. This meeting would be about me, same as the one going on upstairs. The one difference was the chief only held the power to make my professional life miserable. My family, well…they held serious power over my entire existence.

      The Walters family home stands proudly in a quiet, genuinely middle-class neighborhood on the fringes of Nashville’s west side. The houses that line the streets of the neighborhood are the signature architecture of the seventies. Think Brady Bunch tri-level. Four or five bedrooms, three bathrooms and always, always a den for the family as well as a formal living room for entertaining.

      Not that the Walters family entertains on a regular basis, but holidays and birthdays are big deals in a clan this size. Especially when you take into account the uncles, aunts and cousins. Good thing they all have the big Brady Bunch kitchen and dining room, too.

      I moved around the table placing the silverware next to each china plate. Blue Willow, the same pattern my mother had used for my entire life. At family get-togethers, each member always had his or her chore. The men were currently slaving—think the loosest definition found in Webster’s of the word—over the barbecue grill while the women scurried to set the table and place the cold side items on the buffet.

      All four of my brothers are married, but none has kids as of yet, much to the dismay of my folks. Since my hearing loss and the subsequent exit of my fiancé, the pressure has been off me to produce offspring.

      I surveyed the table to make sure I hadn’t missed anything and couldn’t help thinking that the scene belonged on the set of Cheaper by the Dozen. All four of my brothers were lugheads when it came to the overprotective sibling genes. Not once in school did anyone dare to pick on me. Not the boys, for fear of being pounded. Not even the girls, for fear that their brothers would be pounded or, in the absence of a male sibling, for worry of being blackballed in the dating arena. In order to remain popular among the star athletes one had to stay on the good side of the whole team.

      Boy, did I have a surprise waiting for me when I went off to college. For the first time in my entire life I’d had to stand up for myself without big-brother backup. I guess that’s when I realized what I’d been missing all that time. I didn’t want to be the sweet little overprotected girl who never got into trouble and who never, ever took a chance. Needless to say, I made up for lost time in a big way. The only thing conservative about my higher-learning experience had been my major, elementary education. I dated a different guy every week and basically had a blast. Not that I’d been promiscuous. The fact was I’d only slept with two guys my entire college career.

      Life had calmed down when I’d settled into teaching and my work had given me the sense of accomplishment I needed. Why couldn’t anyone see that I needed that feeling again? It was so simple…such a small thing.

      Someone tapped my shoulder and I found Lola, my next-to-oldest brother’s wife, waiting patiently for my gaze to settle on her lips.

      Food’s ready but first we have a family meeting in the den. She looked about as pleased regarding the prospect as I did.

      I nodded, then followed her down the hall to the den. Everyone else was already there. I took my seat. That’s another thing about big families. Everyone has an assigned seat. The concept cuts down on the quarreling over who sits where—it especially did back when we were kids.

      Martin, my oldest sibling, started off the conversation. Usually the opening words were issued by my father. That he’d deferred to the senior member of Metro’s police force in the family set me on edge. This was no typical family meeting. This was about me and my little undercover escapade.

      Merri, you know how much we all love you.

      Uh-oh. Now I was really worried. In my experience, whenever a family meeting started off with those words it usually meant I was grounded for at least a week. But I was almost thirty…grounding was not likely on the agenda.

      I nodded, well aware that everyone in the room expected me to respond in some way.

      What you did this past week, however heroic, was very foolish.

      Anger flushed my cheeks. “We’ve already been over this,” I said pointedly. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I glanced at Sarah in hopes of getting some support.

      She moistened her lips, looked from me to Martin. The chief has already counseled her firmly about it, she offered. She managed a smile for my benefit. I don’t think we have to worry about our Merri getting into anything over her head like this again.

      As much as I appreciated Sarah’s bolstering words, she was wrong. They were all wrong. I looked from one concerned face to the next. How did I make them see that I had to do something more? Being a file clerk, or historical archivist, as Helen would say, simply was not enough.

      “Mom, Dad—” I met the gaze of each as I spoke “—as much as I understand and appreciate your concern, you have to understand my position. I have aspirations.” I searched my father’s eyes. The eyes of a man who had risen from untrained office assistant