“Yes, it was, thank you, Olivia,” CJ replied as he folded his arms and glared at the chief.
“Heh, heh, heh.” There was that creepy little laugh again. “I’m sure that isn’t what you saw,” the chief assured them. “Why don’t you tell me the story?”
“Last night we were all at a Halloween party at the house next door to the mayor’s,” Coco began.
“Which side?” the chief asked.
“What?” Coco asked.
“Which side of the mayor’s house were you on? Were you at the Thomsons’ or at the Williamses’?”
“What’s the difference?” Coco said, knowing full well he was trying to assess whether they were friends of the pain-in-the-ass Thomsons or the goody-two-shoes Williams family, who had roots in town dating back to colonial times.
“The Thomsons’,” Coco offered.
“Uh-huh. Go on,” the chief said.
Coco shot CJ a look. She didn’t have a good feeling about any of this, since everyone in this town knew what a whack job Lois Thomson was.
“Well, we were at a Halloween party at the Thomsons’ and went outside for a photo in the yard. We started walking toward the mayor’s house when someone suggested that we had to see a rather unusual statue the mayor had on his property—” Coco got out before being interrupted again.
“Who suggested going to the mayor’s house?” the chief asked.
“I don’t remember,” Coco replied.
“Well, if you weren’t invited and were trespassing, then we have a different story here, now, don’t we?” the chief asked.
“Nobody had an invitation, nobody was trespassing. We just looked through the grove from the Thomsons’ property,” CJ countered. “Besides, you know it’s impossible to tell where one property ends and the other begins out there, certainly not well enough to make that sort of accusation.”
“What were you there to see again?” the chief inquired.
“A sculpture of some kind. We weren’t on a mission. We were just wandering over to have a look. This really isn’t the point, sir,” CJ said.
“I’m just trying to get a clear picture and all the facts,” the chief said.
“We witnessed a murder,” Olivia jumped in. “Is that clear enough for you?”
“No need to get upset, heh, heh, heh,” the chief said.
“No? Well, I’m upset. Very. For those of us who aren’t on the police force, murder is rather upsetting. I’m sorry! Did you ever witness a murder?” Olivia asked.
“Yes, yes I have, actually. So what do you think you saw?” the chief asked.
“What do I think I saw? I know what I saw,” Olivia replied. “I saw the mayor rolling a body into a rug. A dead body.”
“Heh, heh, heh. C’mon. The mayor? I don’t think so. I’ve known Jim for over twenty years. Impossible,” the chief replied.
“We know what we saw,” said CJ.
“No, you know what you think you saw, and if you weren’t trespassing, then how on earth could you have seen such a thing? Was the mayor outside his house with his dead body?” the chief replied.
“Well, no, he wasn’t,” Olivia said.
“So I will ask again. Were you trespassing?” the chief asked.
“If we were, why would it matter? Doesn’t murder trump trespassing?” CJ asked.
“If it were an actual murder, then of course; but this sounds to me like you were somewhere you shouldn’t have been. Am I right?” the chief said smugly.
Finally Bailey, who had been silent until this point, could no longer contain herself.
“Listen, mister. We are here to report a crime. A murder, in fact, which we know we saw. And our proof is that now we are being blackmailed. So you explain it to me: if there was no crime, then why would someone be blackmailing us? Huh? Huh?” Bailey asked, using her reporter’s gotcha voice.
“Simple enough. It was a Halloween prank,” the chief replied.
“Excuse me?” Coco said.
“Absolutely. C’mon, don’t be so naïve. It’s obvious someone is playing a Halloween prank on you guys, heh, heh, heh.” There it was again.
“So what do we do?” Olivia asked.
“Remember when you were little and other kids would pick on you?” He seemed to be insinuating that all four of them were bullied as children. “What advice would your daddies give you when the meanies were bothering you? He’d say, ‘Ignore those kids, and they’ll leave you alone.’ Look, someone’s obviously trying to get a rise out of you, and it appears to be working. Right? So just ignore them and they’ll get bored and leave you alone.”
“But the envelopes…. the threats….” Olivia began to plead.
“Well, these guys are good, I’ve got to admit. It’s just a really good prank. We used to play the best pranks at Colgate. One time we duct-taped the quarterback of an opposing team to his bed in the wee hours of the morning before a playoff game. Nobody could find him, and they had to send in the second string. Heh, heh, heh, we slaughtered them.” The chief chuckled as he put his feet up on the desk. Bruno Magli wingtips, not the Tony Lama cowboy boots one would almost have expected. “Ahh, I miss those days.”
Detective Casey stood still behind them, betraying no emotion. When they had shared their stories with him at Bailey’s, he’d clearly believed them and didn’t even mention the possibility of the whole thing being a prank. He struck them as being intuitive and intelligent—Quantico, after all—so what came out of his mouth next felt to the four like they’d been walloped with a polo mallet.
“You know, that makes perfect sense to me,” Casey said. “Look, I know none of you are familiar with police work, and you’re certainly not accustomed to being involved in matters such as these. But, having discussed these details, the chief and I have both concluded that nothing is going on here. Trust us, no murder took place.”
Coco and CJ spun around so fast they almost gave themselves whiplash.
“Really?” CJ practically hissed.
“You think it was a prank too?” Olivia asked him.
“Sure. Doesn’t that make more sense than thinking you saw the mayor of Greenwich commit a murder?” Detective Casey asked her. “C’mon now. Would he be involved in such a thing? This is a nice town, full of nice people.”
Olivia looked him in the eye, wanting to believe. “Well, I…. Sure. I guess so,” she replied, unconvinced.
“But what about the faked documents in my envelope? Those were as real as I am standing here right now,” Coco asked Detective Casey directly.
“I say ignore them. The chief is right. This whole thing is just an elaborate prank. Someone is screwing with you,” Detective Casey replied evenly. He was having trouble making eye contact with her, glancing past her at the wall instead.
“I would very much like to believe that,” Coco said.
“Me too,” CJ agreed.
“Look, go home. And if anything else happens, you come back here and we can look into who is fooling around with you and get them to knock it off, okay?” the chief said.
It seemed nobody believed them anymore. How had the chief turned this all around to make them look foolish?
“Okaay, then. Thank you for your time, I suppose,” Coco said as she stood. Detective Casey put out his hand, but this time it was she refusing to look at him; she pretended not to notice the handshake.
“My pleasure. Let me walk you out,” Detective Casey said to the group.
Casey and Olivia momentarily made eye contact as they walked out the door, but the dick quickly looked away. The hurt in Olivia’s eyes would have stung any man.
If Casey didn’t actually agree with the chief, Coco thought, he certainly couldn’t show it. Protocol was a matter of honor, and keeping one’s job depended on making your boss believe you had no interest in contradicting him. But it was no excuse, she decided. She was steamed.
As they opened the door to the limousine, Detective Casey reached into his pocket. “Here is my card,” he said as he handed on
e to each of them. “Please call me if anything else happens, okay?”
“After all we told you, do you really think all this was a prank?” CJ asked again, out of earshot of the chief.
“Sounds like a reasonable explanation to me,” Casey muttered as he gazed at his shoe tops.
Bailey pulled Casey aside. “If you’re not onboard with us, then you need to give me my fucking tape back— now, ” she hissed.
“It’s in my safe for private case evidence. Not here, ” he emphasized the last part quietly, through almost closed lips. “Would it be okay with you if I dropped it by tomorrow morning?”
“Okay, fine. After eight thirty yoga,” Bailey said. Something in the way he said “not here” made it seem he might still be on their side. “Just promise me: nobody else’s eyes but yours.”
“Promise.” Detective Casey pressed his hand to his heart when he said it, as if he were saying the pledge of allegiance. He seemed solemn, but there was a flash of the strong, friendly detective she’d admired before this whole fiasco in the station house. The way he did it stirred Bailey, and made her squirm ever so slightly. She was simultaneously touched by his gentleness and inflamed by his manliness. Was he flirting with her? Or did she just wish he was? Of course she did. She’d slept with Jesse L. Martin when he played a detective on Law & Order, but how much fun would it be to play with a real one? The fact that Olivia had a thing for him gave Bailey pangs of guilt. But only Olivia had shown interest in him. There wasn’t necessarily any mutual interest. All’s fair in love and war, right? For the moment, he was fair game.
Detective Casey watched as the four of them climbed into the car and drove away. He walked back into the station and saw the chief on his private phone, the one with the number given only to the mayor, a senator, and a few Greenwich celebrities who had donated generously to his election. The chief looked directly—one would say almost menacingly—at Detective Casey as he slowly shut the door. Casey knew what he had to do.
Seven
The Nervous Nelly
CJ woke up nauseous. He knew he wasn’t sick, but he had an uneasy feeling that reached down into the pit of his stomach and told him something wasn’t right. Well, I know I’m not pregnant, he said to himself as he made his way to the kitchen. I haven’t had sex in months! He laughed at his own corny joke. Nanny wasn’t up yet; if she were there’d already be fresh hazelnut coffee and warm, buttered scones out on his favorite blue Jasperware Wedgwood plate.
He still had two hours before yoga, yet he debated whether he should go because he felt a Nelly coming on. CJ didn’t get anxiety attacks like the rest of us, he got a case of the Nellies, as in the nervous Nellies. They were purpose-driven hissy fits that started in the stomach and festered all day until they hit the brain and burst. CJ recognized this feeling immediately. Normally he would react to it—well, overreact to it, to tell the truth—but since the police chief and the man he trusted, Detective Casey, said there was nothing to worry about, CJ decided to ignore his impending Nelly and headed into the family room for some important TV time.
Part of CJ’s job as a Rachael Ray producer was to watch recently aired episodes looking for ways to make the show feel fresh and ever more exciting, lest the audience lose interest. CJ loved Rachael Ray. She was one of the few genuinely nice and caring hosts he had ever worked with who was also totally involved in the production. Simply not true of most hosts. He’d been with the Ricki Lake show for years and had vivid memories—toward the end of the show’s run—of Ricki showing up moments before airtime, hopping out of her town car in sweatpants, dashing through hair and makeup, then doing the taping as quickly—and poorly—as possible. Seconds after the show ended she’d be back in her still idling limo and off into the night. Ricki clearly had no interest in being there anymore. But not Rachael Ray. She was at every meeting, every brainstorming session, every photo shoot, and had a say about everything that went on air. CJ loved that. He loved his job and his boss so much that here he was on a weekend watching old episodes in order to improve the already Emmy-winning show for his queen. Well, his princess, actually. He preferred to be the only queen in the room.
CJ usually loved watching old Rachael Ray episodes, but today he simply couldn’t concentrate on anything. That Nelly was nagging at him, growing worse and worse until he just couldn’t take it anymore. He had to make a decision: should he get his Nancy Drew on and pursue what they saw together that night? Or should he just let it drop as he had been instructed? He had to talk to Coco—CJ could tell she was the voice of reason, even though they’d just met. Coco was one of those people who could talk him off the ledge. He decided that if she were willing to drop it, shrug her shoulders and move on, he would too. As he began looking up her number on his BlackBerry, he heard Nanny coming down the stairs. Now that he was back staying in the house he grew up in, familiar sounds were a comfort. But something this morning didn’t sound as he had remembered. Instead of the familiar sound of his saintly Nanny’s feet moving along on the carpet, it was as though a herd of injured elephants were stampeding toward him. The sound went boom, boom, boom…. shuffle…. boom, boom, boom…. shuffle. What the hell could that be?
CJ knew he heard the comforting voice of the woman who’d raised him, but who was she admonishing now? She couldn’t see him, and he hadn’t done anything wrong, but she was most certainly addressing someone. CJ peered around the corner of the TV room. From there he could see both the landing at the bottom of the staircase and the kitchen.
“You be careful, you a go outta de back door by de keetchen,” he heard Nanny say.
He couldn’t imagine who she could be talking to. She was alone—precisely why he had moved back to the house. He knew that Nanny’s husband had died years ago and her children lived in England, so who was there? Had she gone mad?
As he watched, CJ saw Nanny lean over, and then there were smooching noises. From around the bend of the staircase, a man appeared. There was CJ’s tall, robust Jamaican Nanny in her dressing gown, bending over a bit to kiss her short, balding, two-hundred-year-old Jewish cardiologist! Whaaat?
“Wow, even Nanny’s getting some,” CJ muttered. He wanted to yell out Good for you, girl! but realized it might not be a good idea, considering her heart condition. Then again, at least she was with her cardiologist.
The man was so old CJ wondered about the mechanics of the act itself, but imagining his Nanny and the codger in any sort of sexual union made his stomach even worse. With the Nelly coming on and Nanny in congress with this fossil, he felt overwhelmed and let out an uncomfortable, gagging cough, just loud enough for Nanny to hear and rush her paramour out the kitchen door. Well, rush was a strong word in this case. More like schlep.
Nanny returned to find CJ standing at the entrance to the kitchen. “Oh, Scubu…. Lawd ’ave mercy! You not supposed t’ see dat,” Nanny said.
She kissed his forehead, which grossed him out a bit, thinking where those lips had probably just been.
“Well, good morning, lady! Don’t you worry.” He smiled slyly. “I think it’s great. You go, girl!” There! He got to say it. “But how did it happen? Has it been going on awhile? Give me the dirt, lady!”
“Me and dat man? Yes, Scubu, ’im and me. It had been a long time since I been wit a man and a long time for ’im as well. And thanks to Viagra—” she started to say.
“Okay, TMI, TMI, I get it, but…. good for you,” he blurted out.
“What you doin’ up so early, Scubu?” Nanny asked as she cinched her robe tighter.
“I couldn’t sleep. That man who came by with that envelope…. I went to the police with it. They said it was just a practical joke and I should forget it,” he said.
“And you nah wanna, is dat it?” Nanny asked.
“You know me, Nanny. I can’t just drop something because someone tells me to. I have to know for myself,” he replied.
“Ah, you don wanna be involved wit dose men, trust me. You let it go, son, take my word for dat,” Nann
y said.
“Okay, for you I will,” he assured her.
“Now put on our show. Me wanna see me li’l strawng mahn,” she said.
On Saturday mornings their thing was cartoons, which they’d watched together since he was little. At first, she’d hated the shows he watched: G-Force, Transformers, Power Rangers. But one day he had on the oldies— Heckle and Jeckle, Merrie Melodies, and the Popeye Hour —and she happened to sit down with him. She remembered many from her childhood and took anew to Popeye. They both enjoyed the aspect of the little man vanquishing the bully, but she saw Popeye as a gentleman and told CJ he would do well to learn from the sailor’s good manners and love of spinach. But CJ was strangely compelled by Bluto, the bully, a giant of a man with a hard beard, a deep, rich voice, a dominant personality, and a hot, tight sailor uniform. Spinach be damned, the only thing CJ wanted was to be Olive Oyl, chased down by this big bad wolf.
But this morning CJ couldn’t focus on the shows and his mind wandered to bigger problems.
Coco’s plane was delayed. It sat on the tarmac nowhere near the gate it had left a mere thirty minutes earlier. The flight crew was all abuzz, serving drinks and snacks early in an effort to distract the passengers. She was on her way to Arkansas. Bentonville, Arkansas, to be exact, home of Walmart, which had been considering putting her Butt-B-Gone product in their stores on the heels of her great success on QVC and her “bomb-diggity” Dun & Bradstreet rating, as her accountant—who clearly watched too much of that tool Jim Cramer on Mad Money —put it. He was one of those insufferable white guys who fancied himself a bit “gangsta.” For years he’d been the accountant to major hip-hop stars from Salt-N-Pepa to LL Cool J to Jay-Z, but he also worked with celebrity products, so her lawyer had introduced them, and he’d managed her money ever since.
Coco wasn’t in a hurry, but she was anxious to get off the plane, if only to readjust her seat belt. She had several odd quirks, or obsessions maybe, which made no sense to anyone but her. Her latest one began when she started traveling for work. She needed to readjust the seat belt to make it smaller when she left the plane in order to make it seem as if a very skinny woman had been sitting there. She would do it in the hope that the next passenger in that seat, despite never having seen her, and not knowing her, would think My goodness, the person who sat here before me must’ve been so tiny!
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