A Timely Murder

by Max Parrott

  "Whaddya know?" Luffy said, cocking his head. "If that isn't the place from Jasmine's vision, then I don't walk on four feet."

  "This sucks," Joe grumbled quietly to himself.

  "Don't worry," Luffy said. "You'll be able to tuck that cold hand of yours into your pocket. Let me just free it up."

  He bolted forward, yanking the leash straight through Joe's cold, weak hand. It splashed down and dragged along the wet pavement behind Luffy as he sprinted down the sidewalk.

  "Hey!" Joe yelled. "Luffy, come back! What's got into you?"

  The blonde woman looked back just as she opened the door. Her eyes widened with fear as she saw Luffy. She stepped into the house quickly and slammed the door shut, yelling something about a rapid dog in the neighborhood. Or maybe it was rabid; that was far meaner and less accurate.

  "Crap," Luffy said. He looked back and saw Joe closing in, a skeletal man in dirty clothes.

  "I hate to do this to you, buddy," Luffy said. "But I've gotta run again."

  He turned right and dodged Joe's swinging arms, running into the narrow alley that led along the outside of the townhouse. Joe could have fit, but he didn't dare follow. There were too many windows, too many chances to be spotted and labeled a peeping tom.

  "I'll be right back!" Luffy called.

  He slowed down as he approached the back corner and hunkered down in the gravel, behind a waterlogged bush. Ignoring Joe's harsh whispers, he turned his attention toward what was happening in the back yard.

  There was the sound of a patio door sliding open, and voices caught in the middle of conversation.

  "-don't really see what the big deal is," a familiar voice said.

  "Care to share with the class?" Luffy asked, smiling as he panted in the clammy air.

  Sampson Hawke and the blonde woman stepped into his view, carrying glasses of wine out to sit under an awning. Under the gloomy, muffled glow of a single porch light they sat and shared a quick toast.

  "There's plenty to worry about, Sampson," the woman said.

  "Why? Did Lyle find out?"

  "As far as I know, he might have," said the woman.

  "Sandra, slow down. Tell me what's going on."

  Sandra. Where had Luffy heard that name before?

  "Okay," Sandra said with a long sigh. She took a drink of wine that was even longer, draining half the glass. "I don't know when it happened, but my ring is gone. I haven't been able to find it. As far as I know I left it at home in my bedside table the last time we met."

  "But it isn't there?" Sampson asked.

  She gave him a look. And if looks could kill, Sampson Hawke would have been dead.

  "No, darling," she said sarcastically. "It isn't. If it was, we wouldn't have a problem."

  Sampson looked scared. "You don't think Oliver would have told him, do you?"

  Sandra shook her head as she took another swallow of wine. "Oliver was sworn to silence. He would have held his knowledge of our affair over my head for the rest of his life, using it to get his way. He wouldn't have given that power up for anything. And now he has no power at all."

  Her voice was flat, devoid of any kind of emotion.

  "Then how could Lyle have found out?" the professor asked.

  "He's not an idiot, Sampson. Far from it. He could have sussed it out in any number of ways. There's no love lost between Lyle and I. Our marriage is nothing more than a symbol at this point. And I'm fine with that. Lyle's money and your attention. Life was perfect before my brat of a son found us out. But even now, I'm not going to give up what I have."

  "Not even for love?" Sampson asked, pushing his glasses up.

  She reached across to cup his cheek. "Not even for love. Darling, I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other for a while. I came here to give you a warning. The ring disappeared before Oliver died. For all I know, he's the one who took it as part of some strange game. But just in case..."

  "I'll watch myself," Sampson said. "You do the same."

  "That's what I've been doing for twenty-three years," Sandra replied. "Lyle is a bastard. A brute. And he and I made a bastard, brutish son..."

  She shifted in her chair, glancing back. She saw Luffy there and jumped up, nearly spilling her wine.

  "There's that dog again!" she said.

  Sampson narrowed his eyes. "Is that...?"

  Luffy quickly retreated, backing down the narrow alleyway. He felt Joe grab him from behind, pulling him.

  "Don't pull a stunt like that again!" the man said. "Jasmine asked me to take care of you, and that's what I'm going to do."

  "Yeah, yeah, I hear ya," Luffy said. "Quick, we gotta get out of here!"

  Joe didn't need any encouragement for that. He obviously felt ill at ease in such a well-to-do neighborhood, the windows of fancy houses staring at him like accusatory eyes. They took off running together, and didn't look back.

  "I've dug up a big old bone this time!" Luffy said proudly. "Wait till Jasmine hears about this!"

  ***

  The restaurant Pineapple took up a whole block in downtown New Market. The building itself stood at the center, with parking lots and a literal park surrounding it, where people walked and enjoyed the air after their meals. As she and Barrett pulled up, Jasmine stared around with wide eyes.

  "I kind of want to check out a menu just so I can see how expensive this place is," she said.

  Barrett keyed the engine off. "My sister and her fiancé came here on Valentine's Day. They spent three hundred dollars between them without even trying. And they didn't even get dessert."

  "Yikes," said Jasmine. "That's half of my month's rent."

  Barrett pointed at the park area. "See those trees? They're not native to New York. They're not even native to America, I guess. They're some exotic thing from Africa or something like that. Lyle and Sandra had to get special permission from the governor to plant them here."

  "Luffy would love to pee on those," Jasmine remarked. "You don't get a chance to mark your territory on an exotic tree that often. Maybe one day we'll travel somewhere faraway together..."

  She leaned her head back and stared at the walkers wistfully, dreaming of another life where her bank account was always full and she could do what she wanted.

  "Sorry about Luffy," Barrett said. "I know you wish he could be here right now. But maybe this is best. I don't think Lyle would be too happy about a dog coming into his restaurant."

  "Yeah, you're probably right. But we can swing back around my apartment after this and see if they're back yet."

  Barrett nodded. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, which he proceeded to click several times.

  "You do the talking, and I take the notes," he said. "Sound good?"

  "Peachy," Jasmine said. And she meant it.

  Her bravery only lasted until she stepped out of the car and realized what she was wearing. The same lazy clothes she had slapped on after her run this morning. A highly mismatched set of dark jeans and a graphic tee shirt of a smiling avocado, which she usually used as pajamas. Then she looked around the parking lot and realized that every car here was foreign and very expensive.

  "This is not where I belong," she said.

  "Not yet," Barrett replied. "You've got a bright future ahead of you, Jasmine."

  "Not this bright. Not with an English degree."

  He shrugged. "I wouldn't be so sure. Just act natural. I've got my badge... that's all we need."

  They approached the restaurant and entered the vestibule, where leather benches sat to either side. A few old ladies were waiting here, resting as their husbands paid the check on their lavish meal. Barrett nodded to him, trying clumsily to tip a nonexistent hat.

  As they stepped through into the restaurant proper, Pineapple was revealed to them. It was all polished hardwood and crystal chandeliers, immaculate snow-white table cloths and spotless floors. The wait-staff was dressed to the nines in starched suits, not a single hair on their heads out of place. They moved to and fro with
stunning grace, almost like they were dancing. Their legs seemed to move slowly even as they zoomed across the dining area, the trays in their hands never moving an inch.

  "Whoa," Jasmine said.

  "I know, right?" said Barrett.

  She shook her head in disbelief. "I guess with a name like Pineapple I expected it to be a little tackier."

  She nearly jumped in surprise as someone approached from her rear and laid a hand gently upon her shoulder. A man stepped into view, and there was no doubt at all, even if she hadn't seen the name tag, that this was Lyle Bridges. Even ignoring the resemblance to Oliver, there was an air about him. The air of a leader, a man who was confident and used to being in charge. Jasmine was instantly mesmerized by his easy charm and good looks, but she forced herself to remember the way he had treated Joe.

  "It's a funny story, actually," he said, smiling between her and Barrett. "I had everything put together. I had furniture and decor ordered, staff interviewed and in training, a menu made up and all the food ready to be stocked... but I just couldn't think of a name. As I wallowed in frustration, I found myself at a birthday party for a young niece of mine, and she was having pineapple upside down cake. Voila."

  He laughed, making a gesture in the air like a magician summoning something out of thin air.

  "Officer Barrett," he said, "very nice to see you. And you, madam, you must be Jasmine Moore. I'm very surprised not to have seen you earlier. In fact, I'm surprised I haven't seen either of you."

  "Well, there's a simple reason for that," said Barrett. "You didn't return any of my calls, and I didn't want to bother you at this... vulnerable time."

  "Ah, yes," said Lyle, folding his hands in front of him. "Vulnerable, indeed. But I'm in my element now. When I'm here at work, I feel like I'm disconnected from everything that happens out there." He gestured vaguely toward the doors. "Working helped me a lot when my mother died. And when my brother passed as well. And now it's helping me still."

  Jasmine expected a bit of the facade to slip away then, but it didn't happen. Lyle went on grinning.

  "I'd show you to a seat," he said. "Best seat in the house, actually... but I assume you aren't here to enjoy the food."

  "I couldn't afford it," Jasmine said, remembering the deal; her talking, Barrett taking notes. It was meant to be a light joke, but Lyle took it seriously.

  "It's true that my restaurant is steeply priced," he said. "But for good reason. I offer only the finest ingredients, some of which you can't find anywhere else in the country. But we do have our more affordable menu items. Right now we're offering a wild mushroom risotto that runs only forty dollars a plate."

  "Very generous," she said with a smile, despite the fact that forty dollars was the sum of her usual weekly grocery trip. "But I've already eaten. We were just here to follow up with you after the tragedy that's happened, Mr. Bridges. Do you think we could have a moment of your time?"

  "And by a moment," he said, "you mean..."

  "As long as it takes," Jasmine replied.

  He smiled. "Well, if you insist..."

  "I do insist."

  He gestured for them to follow, and then he let them back into the kitchen. It was brightly lit and, despite the busy activity taking place, it was also very clean. However, it was incredibly hot. She saw a waitress dabbing a sweaty chef's face with a wash cloth. The smells, however, were incredible. Deep and rich, unlike anything Jasmine had experienced. The plates she saw were like little artworks, little masterpieces of color and texture. More like experiences than actual meals. Which was a good thing, because it would have taken five such plates to fill you up.

  "Through here," Lyle said.

  He led them past the kitchen and into an office that was, blessedly, air conditioned. He shut the door, pulled the shades down over the window, and turned around rubbing his hands together.

  "Where do we begin?" he asked.

  Barrett took a seat. Jasmine elected to remain standing. Lyle was already tall enough without letting him tower over her further. She knew he could bowl her over without effort in any conversation, talk her down to a whisper and defeat anything she tried to say.

  "Is your wife around, Mr. Bridges?" she asked. "I hoped to talk to Sandra as well."

  "You just missed her, actually," Lyle replied, leaning on the edge of the desk and getting uncomfortably close. "Sandra comes and goes. Some days she helps out, some days she just sits at the bar and entertains people. She used to be a full-time employee, but that hasn't been necessary for some time."

  "So, she's at home?" Jasmine asked.

  Lyle shrugged. "I imagine so. But who knows? She could have gone to a movie, or shopping. It's none of my business."

  "But you're married," Jasmine said.

  "Yes. We're married, not glued at the hip. We have our own lives. She could be at home, or she could be anywhere else. What does it matter to you?"

  "Mr. Bridges," Barrett said.

  "Shh, let the girl talk. Let her answer on her own." Lyle stared down at Jasmine with penetrating eyes. "I just want to know why you're so curious about Sandra."

  She stared right back at him, aware that her heart was beating fast and he could probably see it in her neck.

  "Mr. Bridges," she said, "you're aware that your son's death is being treated as a homicide."

  He nodded. "I'm aware. And?"

  "And in most murder cases, the perpetrator is someone the victim knew well."

  "You're suggesting me or my wife might have killed Oliver?" he asked with plain offense.

  "Do you want me to answer that truthfully, or treat you like a baby?" she asked, glaring up at him.

  He stared angrily for a moment. Then, strangely, a little smile crept across his features.

  "I like you," he said. "I like people who can just say what they mean. Most are too cowardly. Isn't that right, Officer Barrett?"

  "Sure," he said, completely oblivious of the undertone as he scrawled his notes.

  Lyle finally stepped around his desk and sat down, inviting Jasmine to do the same. She lowered herself onto an available chair and waited, for Lyle seemed to be preparing some kind of speech. He seemed like a man who could have memorized a speech and recited it with little preparation, but he was taking his time. Which to her meant he would speak more or less off the cuff, and perhaps therefore more honestly.

  "I can't speak for my wife," he said, "but I most assuredly did not kill my son."

  This seemed to be a place where most people would stop and wait for another question. But Lyle was smart. He knew exactly the line of inquiry that Jasmine would take, and knocked down her questions before she could even think to ask them.

  "Oliver was everything I wished to leave behind," he said. "I knew from his youth that he wouldn't ever care to take over Pineapple for me, but I didn't care. I had and still have capable workers, men and women I respect, any one of whom could easily take control upon my retirement. I have a passion for food, but only because I have a passion for making people happy. One of the easiest ways to do that is through the taste buds.

  "But my own son's happiness was important to me, as well. I let him follow his own path. Like me, he was always very smart. Very observant. But his passion led him to use his gifts differently. He was always introspective, looking at the way people think to see why they act the way they do. Figuring them out, empathizing with them. I dare say, and don't quote me on this, Oliver was the only person living or dead who ever truly loved my wife Sandra. He saw her evil and he accepted it. He sought to protect himself and his father from it, but he also tried to protect her.

  "Not to say I'm not a bit evil myself," he added, fixing Jasmine with a meaningful gaze. Obviously he was referring to the incident with Joe. Somehow he knew the two of them were connected, but that was probably just owing to his position in the community. Jasmine doubted anything escaped him.

  "But," he went on, "I know how to recognize the good in others. My son was good, and you shouldn't let any jealous, i
gnorant person tell you otherwise. Always he held in his heart the desire to improve the station of others. If I may make a rather bold comparison, I always likened him to the Buddha. A person who had it all but saw that others did not, and wanted to understand and ease their sorrows. He had no reason to care about anyone else, except that it was in his heart to do so. He wasn't much like his parents in any way. I accepted him, but Sandra did not. I think she hated him from the time he was an infant."

  "Enough to kill him?" Jasmine asked.

  He shrugged. "You might think I know my wife well after over two decades of marriage. But you might as well ask me to describe the inner feelings and features of a rock. The woman knows nothing other than the selfish pursuits of her desires and the fulfillment of her laziness. As long as you keep her happy, she's pleasant enough to be around. And I have mastered the art of keeping her happy. But..."

  Lyle's confidence finally showed a few cracks. His eyes darted away from Jasmine's for just a moment. When they came back, they burned with a weaker light than before.

  "But," he went on, "for a week or two leading up to Oliver's death, she was in a sour mood. Nothing could make her happy. She was short with me and the staff, and I eventually ordered her to stay home. She was insufferable. I can't say I know for certain what was the matter. But I can say that she's been more or less back to her old self ever since Oliver left us."

  He looked down at his desk, idly touching the edge of a picture frame. Jasmine couldn't see the picture itself from where she was sitting, but she would bet her life that it was a photo of Oliver.

  "Has she shown any remorse at all?" Jasmine asked.

  "Sure, a little. The bare minimum to be expected from a grieving mother. I'm not one to call out sexism against my own privileged gender, but I feel like mothers get a free pass when a child dies that is rarely awarded to fathers. They are allowed to grieve in their own way, at their own time. It isn't seen as strange or suspicious that Sandra hasn't been crying. But everyone I've come across since my boy died seems to think there's something wrong with me, that I'm still working, still doing the things that keep me sane."