by Bill Alive
Mackenzie’s skin tone was looking better too. Turned out his meds had also been on the placebo plan … Crowley had wanted Vincent to inherit sooner than later. Hence the well-timed urge to pop into Mackenzie’s bathroom when he’d dropped Vincent off. We figured he must have switched Lindsay’s pills the same way.
We were standing and sitting around a random picnic table someone had plopped on the grass beside the airport runway. Mackenzie had invited us over — and as he’d explained when we’d first arrived, invite was actually the right word.
Now that he finally had his wife’s millions, he seemed to have bought the entire airport, or at least loaned so much money to the new management team that it came to the same thing. Lindsay, he felt, would have wanted folks to keep flying.
But this was the only risky play in his new portfolio. His ex-wife had parked her money in bonds and index funds, and despite all his old rants about getting back in the game, Mackenzie now planned to let the money be and take the guaranteed income for life. He’d gotten full custody of Vincent, and that would come first. Period.
We watched in silence as Vincent trudged across the tarmac like a convict.
Mackenzie shifted on the hard bench. “Vincent mentioned it once, long ago,” he said. “How much he’d like to fly. He didn’t say much, but he did say that.”
We made little noises of encouragement. They quickly died.
Then Gwen said, “Mr. Falcon, I’ve been thinking.”
Mark went tense.
So did I. Several days had zipped by since it all went down at the suspect party, and we still hadn’t talked to Gwen and hashed out our official status.
I hadn’t thought she could possibly grade Mark’s performance as anything but A-plus, considering he’d not only bagged two murderers but also rescued the kid at knifepoint, nearly blowing his own brain up in the line of duty. But as she chilled us now with a thoughtful frown, I realized that with Gwen, anything was possible.
She seemed to be waiting, so Mark said, fairly politely, “What have you been thinking about?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You mean you have to ask?”
He rolled his eyes and growled, “It doesn’t work like that.
“What doesn’t work like what?” Mackenzie said.
“I’d rather everyone didn’t—” Mark began.
But Gwen said, “Mr. Falcon claims to be an empath. He says he can sense thoughts and emotions.”
I braced myself for a Mackenzie tirade.
But the old man peered at Mark with new interest. “Is that so?” he said. “I was wondering what happened back there with Crowley. Good for you.”
“Thanks,” Mark said, surprised.
“I had a sister-in-law who kept seeing ghosts from the Civil War. She had this one damn Union soldier who kept hassling her for peanut butter.”
Mark gave him a tight smile. “Interesting.”
“Sure was. Not jelly even, just—”
“Empathy makes an interesting theory,” Gwen interrupted. “But I’m not sure it explains what happened with Crowley.”
“Oh, that,” Mark said. He looked uncomfortable. “That’s a new thing, I don’t plan on doing that often. Or ever.”
“There’s so much blood,” I put in. “He ruined his one nice shirt.”
“Not that,” Gwen said. “What I mean is, why didn’t you already know it was Crowley?”
“Oh,” Mark said. He looked relieved. “Because I’d only just figured out Lindsay’s password right then. We knew from Sibyl that it sounded like ‘never fish again’, and Vincent had called Lindsay vicious, but it wasn’t until Crowley said it too that I got it — ‘never vicious again’. Lindsay must have gotten that particular adjective a lot. And hated it.”
“Before we saw the photos, we’d thought Lindsay was the terrible parent,” I added. “Vincent had said—”
“You’re not listening to me,” Gwen said. “You’re an empath, Mr. Falcon. When I first met you at Lindsay’s funeral, you were supposedly feeling Crowley’s hate so hard you were about to throw up. How did you not feel anything more from him until it was almost too late?”
Mark looked stunned. He frowned, thinking hard.
Finally he muttered slowly, “Sometimes people shield…”
“Hold up, we only really interviewed Crowley that one time,” I said quickly. “At the restaurant. And you were shielding because of those jerks at the next table, remember?”
Mark’s face cleared. “That’s right.”
“And then remember when we talked to him in Mr. Mackenzie’s driveway?” I said. “Crowley totally led the conversation. He spouted his lines and then drove away.”
Mark eyed me. “You have a good memory,” he said.
I shrugged, modestly pretending not to bask in the praise. “I love details.”
Gwen said, “Fine. So I take it you might not consider your unique approach to interrogation to be absolutely foolproof?”
Mark sighed. “No,” he said. “But I’m working on it.”
“Uh huh,” Gwen said. “And in the meantime, you’ve got murderers who can ‘shield’ coming to cut your brake lines.”
“Look, Gwen, if you want to talk collateral damage, the one that gets me is Sibyl.”
Mackenzie snapped up. “Sibyl? Why?”
“Because my drug execution theory was all wrong. If I hadn’t been grilling her, Sibyl might still be alive.”
“Alive?” I said, with a pang of unease. “How?”
“I got her all worked up about Samson, and then she had to go scream about Lindsay’s last text in front of Vincent.”
“Oh man,” I said. I felt sick.
Mark winced, but he didn’t step away from me. His voice went low. “Crowley must have obsessed about that until he went nuts.”
Gwen gave a thoughtful nod. “We found Sibyl in her bathrobe, hair still wet. It’s possible Crowley planned to talk first and see what she knew, but when he got there, she was up in the shower. So he snuck in, hid, and waited. Then, when he saw her pull up the photos …”
Mark looked as grim as I’d ever seen him. I felt pretty terrible myself.
Then Ceci spoke up for the first time in awhile.
“Don’t even think about blaming yourself, Mark,” she snapped. “You didn’t go strangling anybody. And as for you, Gwen…” She leapt up from the picnic table, folded her arms, and frowned at her sister with flashing eyes. “It’s all well and good to get on Mark’s case for not vibing some psychopath’s innermost secrets, in a couple interviews, using some power I don’t even believe in…”
“Thanks,” Mark said.
“…but leaving aside the fact that you didn’t either, Gwen, what about Crowley’s own family? Why couldn’t Sibyl guess the truth about her abusive brother-in-law? Or what about you, Mr. Mackenzie?” She rounded on the old man, who startled away in surprise. “You’d known him for years!”
Mackenzie looked pained. He clearly missed the Southern Belle Cheerleader version of Ceci he’d first met.
“I only had suspicions,” he said. “And if I’d ever pissed Crowley off, that bastard could have refused me access to Vincent any time he wanted. He was always dropping threats.”
“That’s when you call Child Protective Services!” Ceci snapped. “That’s what they’re for.”
“Lindsay did call,” Gwen said. “We checked. She paid CPS a visit not long after the divorce.”
“That’s right,” I said, “Sibyl said something about Lindsay and social services. But Lindsay started that?”
Gwen nodded. “Problem is, she’d already left Crowley and was sharing custody. In this county, you need an actual photo of the physical abuse.”
“But she had the photos!” Ceci said. “I just don’t understand. Why didn’t she send them? Why didn’t she tell anyone? Not even her sister. Not even after she got out!”
“No,” Mark said quietly. “You don’t understand.”
He squinted out at the runway. Vincent had
refused to climb the plane ladder and was having some earnest argument with Lynch. But Mark seemed to be looking to the distant mountain haze, glimpsing other times and faces.
“I don’t think Lindsay had really escaped her husband,” he said. “I think Crowley ‘permitted’ the whole sham divorce as some crazy long-term plan to get the money. Lindsay would still be carefully monitored, with Vincent held as hostage.”
“But she took those flying lessons,” I said. “And hung out with Fidelio.”
“She needed to look convincing or the mother wouldn’t buy it,” Mark said. “And if any of that was Lindsay taking baby steps of defiance, Crowley could use it to show Vincent that she was an evil mom who’d abandoned her son. And that grandmother totally backed him up.”
Mackenzie grunted. “That woman’s never laying eyes on that boy again.”
“How could Vincent see Lindsay like that?” Ceci said. “She didn’t make those welts!”
Mark’s voice dipped low. “An abuser like Crowley, he doesn’t just hit you,” he said. “He makes your world a mental torture chamber. Every single choice is another chance to prove that he’s right and you’re crazy and evil. Every. Single. Time.”
He took a deep breath. The rest of us kept still, waiting. He rubbed his eyebrows, then raised his voice to normal.
“Vincent didn’t want to be evil. Neither did Lindsay. That’s why she didn’t talk. Telling someone ‘outside’, even thinking about telling someone … that’s treason. The worst possible crime. The end of the world. Meanwhile, the rest of us all sit safe and comfy outside and wonder why the victims don’t call.”
Gwen frowned. “We can’t haul off people’s kids without proof.” Her voice was low, almost gentle. “And Lindsay did call. And take that photo.”
“She only took the photo after she got Vincent to her new separate apartment,” Mark said. “Not in the home war zone. And Vincent must have woken up and then later told his dad, who knew exactly what it meant. If she’d just sent the photo right then … but she got scared. She froze. Freezing made her feel safe.”
He fell silent.
Ceci hugged herself like she was cold. She perched alone on the table bench, her eyes clouded and sad. I wanted to give her a cheer-up hug, but honestly, I needed one myself.
Across the runway, Vincent was finally climbing into the plane. He was still stone-faced.
“How is Vincent handling all this?” Gwen said.
Mackenzie shrugged. “I had to twist his arm to get him out here. Dad says flying is dangerous, Dad says this, Dad says that. I can’t even tell if he’s enjoying it now.”
“He’s excited,” Mark said. “Trust me.”
In the cockpit, Vincent suddenly cracked a smile.
His entire face lit up, like he was a whole different person I’d never seen. He looked so unused to happiness.
My throat caught.
I have to ask Ceci what the nurses do when that EKG finally spikes. Confetti? Champagne? Wheel in the karaoke machine?
We did nothing. Just pretended we all simultaneously found it convenient not to talk.
Stupid grownups.
Gwen, of course, was the first to speak. “Mr. Falcon, about our deal…”
She looked so serious. Crap. After all that, she was totally going to shut us down anyway.
Mark flicked me a pained glance and edged a step away. Then he faced Gwen. “Let me guess,” he said.
“Guess?” she said. “Are you trying to make me change my mind?”
My heart surged with hope.
“Wait,” she said, holding a palm my way. “Mr. Falcon, do you actually plan to get your investigator license?”
“Yes,” Mark said. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I said.
“Well, it’s not free,” he said defensively. “And I don’t know how I’m supposed to get anyone to pay me for this. I have a hard enough time getting clients who want websites.”
Note: this would have been the perfect moment for Millionaire Mackenzie to dash off a little old thank-you check for a few hundred thou or so. Instead, he just squirmed and picked a knot in the table. Oh well.
But Gwen folded her arms and cleared her throat.
Mark perked up. “What?”
“No promises,” she said sternly. “But if you actually get licensed, I might be able to offer you some freelance opportunities.”
We all gaped. Even Mackenzie.
Okay, one of us may also have squealed.
Gwen kept talking, faster than usual. “Don’t expect the Chief to break the bank. He mainly tolerated you as a freebie.”
“I do have a luxurious lifestyle to maintain,” Mark said.
Gwen’s lips twitched. Then she went serious again. “It’s Numb. I need all the help I can get. He may not have been at this airport, but he does have very bad people pushing very bad stuff out here. The few times I catch them, they won’t say a word.”
Mark nodded. “I can help with that.”
“I hope so,” Gwen said. “He’s pushing hard to expand his territory. If we blink, we’re going to turn around and be getting an overdose every day instead of every couple months. It’s already happening in West Virginia. It’s not going to happen here. Not on my watch.”
“I’m in,” Mark said, dead serious.
“Me too,” I said, overriding my lurching gut.
“What?” Ceci said. “You’ll get yourself killed, Pete! All you did this whole case was drool over a suspect!”
“Nonsense!” Mark snapped. “Pete’s indispensable.”
There was a general outcry, which I didn’t find entirely flattering.
But Mark had still said it, and I flushed with delight.
Maybe too much. Mark squinted away from me and shielded his face like I was on fire. “Whoa there,” he said. “What I mean is … Pete’s useful. For instance, who else would I take to the upcoming nuptials of Dr. Kistna and Fidelio Samson?”
“Wait, did she actually send you an invitation?” I said. “Like we’re friends?”
Mark smirked. “You didn’t get one?”
I wilted.
“Oh my gosh, Pete, she’s getting married!” Ceci said.
“Shut up! Shut up!” Mackenzie snapped. “They’re finally taking off!”
The plane was circling near us. As it passed, we got a close glimpse of Vincent in the cockpit, laughing and chatting with excitement.
Then the plane roared off, lifting miraculously into the sky.
Below, I felt a twinge and a lift myself, like some spell had snapped. Both Gwen and Mark were watching, their eyes bright and happy. This was the real deal, not the criminals roasted but the innocents rescued … a kid flying high and free.
We were totally getting that license.
THE END
(Until next time.)
(Which was like two weeks later…)
WAIT DON’T GO!
Oh man, is that it? Are we here? Did I actually write that whole thing? Did you actually read it? This is amazing! You’re awesome!!!
So now we totally have to stay in touch, right? Like I said, Mark and I didn’t even make it two weeks before another murder fell right into our lap … I mean, not literally … well, almost. More like our heads.
We’re still right in the middle of that one (and there’s this girl … I really think she might be into me, and I’m 99.9% sure she didn’t kill anyone … okay, a solid 95%) — anyway, you’ve got to sign up for my spiffy mailing list so I can tell you as soon as I write it all up.
I know, I know, I’m not a huge email guy myself, but I was reading about it and the Internet gurus say it’s still the best way to keep in touch.
They also say I should offer you some cool free gift for signing up … hmm …
Thing is, I haven’t even finished this book yet. I still have to write all these nibbly back-of-the-book bits like “About the Author”. Yuck. :(
OH WAIT — got it. Last week I cornered Mark and finally made him tell me the
whole story about his first murder case, about what the heck went down back in Alexandria with his ex-girlfriend Akina and Zack and the “Condo Killer”, not to mention Gwen’s ex, the regrettable Bradley Hirst.
I’d expected it to be crazy. It still blew my mind. He didn’t even know he was an empath … and then he felt this murder …
I even recorded the whole conversation. Turned out long enough to be a freaking novella! Almost a third as long as this book!
So what I can do is send you a transcription of our whole talk, the entire story. Totally free. Right now. Just click the link or click the cover to sign up:
CLICK HERE to get your FREE NOVELLA! ORIGIN STORY: Mark Falcon, Akina, and the Condo Killer.
Seriously, go ahead and do it now, while you’re thinking about it. You can come back and finish this, I’m not going anywhere.
[ELEVATOR MUSIC WHILE YOU GO SIGN UP.]
[HERE’S THE ACTUAL LINK, IN CASE THIS IS THE PRINT BOOK:]
https://billalive.com/free-empath-mystery
You done? Awesome! I’m glad you’ll get to read that, it totally changed how I see Mark.
And I’m not going to post it anywhere else. Let’s keep it a super-secret special perk, just you and me and our mailing list besties.
Sweet! Okay. Now for these last few book bits that are legally required even though no one actually reads them, ever.
EXCEPT WAIT — one more thing, can you flip past these last boring pages and leave a review?
If you’re reading with the Kindle app, this is super easy. Just get to the end, and it’ll ask you to tap a star rating and leave a review.
(If you’re rocking the print book, no sweat, here’s a short link to the Amazon page to leave a review: https://billalive.com/murder-feels-awful)
Please don’t overthink this. One quick sentence is plenty — seriously, it’s a HUGE deal. With your gift of twenty seconds, Mark and I can make the mortgage while we hunt down another killer, instead of this book tumbling down into the open pit grave of gazillions of forgotten stories, ignored, invisible, and dead.
Thanks. You’re awesome. :)
