Finn-agled

by Kristine Raymond

  She cleared her throat. “Not to sound insensitive or anything…”

  “When have you ever let that stop you?”

  Zara rolled her eyes. “Come on, Finn. You’ve been in love with the guy since before puberty–”

  “Hey! I take offense to that statement! I’ll have you know I was proudly sporting a training bra the first time I laid eyes on him.”

  “Ah, yes. The infamous training bra. I seem to recall you going through a box of tissues a week.” Zara giggled. “Remember how your mom thought your dad was sneaking off to the basement with them and–”

  My hands flew to my ears. “Ewww…stop! I beg of you! It was bad enough thinking that in the seventh grade! I don’t need a reminder of it now. Anyway, my usage of certain disposable paper products a million years ago has no bearing on the current topic.”

  “Okay then, so why you?” Zara asked, stuffing the empty takeout boxes into the carry-out bag.

  “Why me, what?” I took the bag from her and dropped it in the can next to the counter.

  “Why’d Spencer ask you to be his date for his sister’s wedding?” She held up her hand to stave off my snarky comeback. “Don’t look at me that way. The thought crossed your mind, too, and if it didn’t, it should have. You pined for him all through junior high and high school but, to my knowledge, he never so much as glanced in your direction. And in the years since, you’ve had no contact with him whatsoever.” Her eyes narrowed. “Unless you’ve been holding out on me.”

  “You know I wouldn’t do that. I tell you everything.”

  “You didn’t tell me the two of you are dating,” she pointed out.

  “Technically, we’re not dating. I was on the phone with him Monday night when he asked me to tag along to Darby’s.”

  “After he showed up here and asked you to be his plus one, and before he asked you out to dinner on Tuesday. If that’s not the definition of dating, I don’t know what is.”

  I hate it when Zara applies deductive reasoning to my life. True, she doesn’t know I already brought the topic up with Spencer, though come to think of it, he never did give me an answer. In fact, we’ve yet to finish any conversation we’ve started. I wonder why that is?

  Certain she was expecting me to argue, I changed the subject, knowing that one surefire way to redirect my BFF’s train of thought is to bring up anything crime-related. “Have you made any progress on my case?”

  Zara snorted. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “What am I doing?”

  Not buying my innocent act, she nonetheless indulged my curiosity. “No. Not yet. Are you sure there’s nothing else you remember? The sound of his voice, or the cadence or an accent. Anything that would help find this guy?”

  “I wish I could. He didn’t speak, at least, not that I remember. Just felt his hands closing around my neck, his fingers pressing into my throat.” I shivered at the memory.

  “Well, we’ll find him. Don’t worry about that. More than likely, it was a case of wrong place/wrong time. He wanted to rob the place and thought the shop was empty. Finding you here meant he had to improvise, so he strangled you. You’re just lucky he didn’t whack you over the head with one of those clubby things over there.”

  “Croquet mallets once owned by former First Lady Lucy Hayes,” I clarified.

  “Whatever,” Zara shrugged. “This could’ve ended much worse for you. So much worse.”

  “I know, but it didn’t. Sure, losing a day’s receipts won’t exactly help my bottom line and the chances of the DMV ever catching me on a good hair and makeup day again are minimal, but at least I didn’t lose any inventory. There are quite a few items here worth big bucks if you know what you’re looking at.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Ignoring her skepticism, I jumped up and headed for my office. “In fact, I have something to show you. Just wait until you see this antique writing case I boug– oh no!” Dropping to the floor, I peered under the coffee table and sofa (huh. So, that’s where the cap to my lip balm went), and was promptly joined by Garfunkel (who mere moments before had been virtually unconscious), his nose twitching like a bunny’s. Finding nothing of interest, i.e., edible, he followed his olfactory receptors to the area near the counter where the promise of leftover take-out beckoned.

  Zara, having materialized in the doorway at my cry, ascertained no immediate threat and holstered her sidearm, watching amusedly as I slithered along the carpet. “What are you looking for or do I want to know?”

  “It’s gone!”

  “What’s gone?”

  “The box I wanted to show you. It was here in my office before the break-in, and now it’s not!”

  “Finn, calm down. It’s gotta be here somewhere. One of the investigators probably moved it while processing the scene. Are you sure it’s not out on one of the shelves?”

  Head smack. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? They really did leave this place a mess.”

  Thirty-seven minutes and a thorough check of the inventory later proved that wasn’t the case. The shop looking worse now than when I’d started cleaning, I threw my hands up and plopped down onto a 19th Century chaise. “That must’ve been what he was after.”

  “What who was after?”

  “This couple showed up at closing time on Tuesday asking about a mahogany and brass writing box. When I told them I didn’t have one, the man got kind of aggressive. He must’ve come back later to steal it.”

  “Finn, you’re not making any sense.” Zara sat down next to me. “You just said you didn’t have the box.”

  “Well, I sort of lied. But not really. I mean, that particular piece was in the shop, it just wasn’t for sale.”

  “Let me get this straight. A customer walks in looking for a particular item and gets upset when you tell him you don’t have it. You actually do have it, but it’s not on display, so that person would have no way of knowing you weren’t being truthful, yet you think this man came back later to steal what he didn’t know you had?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I need a drink.”

  “Zara, it was him! I know it was.”

  “You said you didn’t see your attacker. How can you be so sure?”

  “I didn’t. I can’t. It has to be him, though. No one else makes sense.”

  Zara took a beat to absorb this information. “You didn’t happen to catch his name, did you? Or that of his companion? Didn’t you say it was a couple who came in?”

  “No names, but I can give you descriptions of both.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s go.”

  “Go where? Why can’t I just tell you now?”

  “Because you need to make an official statement.”

  “But my head hurts.” Whining is not my most attractive quality, so it’s a good thing I’ve got my looks. Yeah, right. “All I want to do is go home and crash. Can’t this wait?”

  “The sooner we have a description on record, the sooner we can start looking for this couple. I thought you wanted to see action on your case.”

  “Fine,” I pouted. “The condition this place is in, there’s no way I’ll get it in order by tomorrow anyway. I’m better off closing the shop permanently.”

  “Dramatic much?” Dragging me up out of my chair, Zara was on her phone before I could utter a protest. Okay, I uttered one, but it went unacknowledged. “Duley? Meet me at the station, pronto. I don’t care what Suzanne’s wearing. Get your butt down there. Finn remembered something.”

  Chapter Six

  “How’re you feeling? I can take you home if you want.”

  “Will you stop asking me that? I’m fine. A little tipsy from these designer cocktails maybe, but otherwise A-Okay.” Alarm crossing his face, Spencer scooted his chair a few inches away from mine. How insulting! As if I’d throw up on him twice in one week! “Oh, stop. I promise there’ll be no repeat of Monday night’s parking lot debacle.”

  “That’s a relief,” he g
rinned, scooting back. “I’m running out of clean shoes.”

  A tingly feeling caused by either his teasing or these melon-infused rum concoctions I’ve been knocking back for the past two hours spread throughout my body. It was nice to relax and let go a little. In fact, I haven’t had this much fun since Mom, Grandma Lena, and I won first place in the karaoke contest at the Port New Quahog Festival two years ago after belting out our rendition of ‘It’s Raining Men’.

  Bestowing upon my date a lopsided grin, I turned to watch the bride and her besotted groom make their rounds around the hall, the epitome of wedded bliss. Two-hour-old wedded bliss, but hey, who’s counting? “CJ looks happy. Doesn’t she look happy?”

  “She does,” Spencer agreed.

  “Everything was perfect, don’t you think? The flowers, the music…”

  “The open bar.”

  Apparently, rum makes me gush, a fact which hasn’t gone unnoticed by my date, and while I find his observation accurate – though less than humorous – it’s difficult to take offense while signaling the server for another round.

  Polishing off the last of the coconut shrimp on his plate (dang! I was hoping to snag one), Spencer changed the subject. “You were telling me about your conversation with Zara. Has she come up with any leads on your case?”

  “Not yet. I gave her descriptions of the couple who showed up as I was closing Tuesday night, but so far, nothing. Speaking of which, did you go by the station and give your statement?”

  Spencer nodded. “Wednesday afternoon. Duley was out, so I ended up talking to De-tec-tive O’Hara. What’s with her, anyway? I remember Zara being tightly wound in high school but nothing compared to how she is now. Did she have her heart broken or something?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because she seems to be a man-hater.”

  I bristled. “She is not! Zara gets along with everyone!”

  “So, her contempt is directed at me, personally.”

  I shrugged, great at feigning ignorance when it’s called for. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Too bad Spencer wasn’t buying it.

  “Come on, Finn. I’m pretty good at spotting a lie when I hear one. Care to explain why your best friend gives me the evil eye every time our paths cross?”

  “I’ve never noticed.”

  “Finn…”

  “I’m not getting in the middle between you and Zara.” I’d staked that claim long ago. In fact, I was paying property taxes on it. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

  Draping the upper half of my strapless, aqua chiffon-enrobed body across the tabletop – I closely resembled a mermaid, but this dress was all I could find on short notice – I whispered loudly, “I’ve stumbled upon a mystery!”

  Underwhelmed by my revelation, Spencer eyed the buffet table, contemplating a return trip for more shrimp. “A lot of mysterious goings-on in Port New, are there?”

  “Actually, yes! Quite a few, in fact. But none as cryptic as this.” His baby blues registered a modicum of interest. “You’ll never guess what I found!”

  “Found where?”

  “In the box!” Duh. “The antique box I told you about earlier? You know, the one that was stolen.”

  “How can you find something in an item that’s no longer in your possession?”

  Sighing heavily, my eyes cartwheeled in their sockets. “Have you even been listening to me? I made my discovery before it went missing!”

  “Oh, right.” Another glance at the buffet table. “Well, what did you find?”

  “Since stuffing your face is apparently more important than anything I have to say, I’m not sure I should tell you now. You don’t seem all that interested.” Stiffening my spine, I jutted my chin toward the dance floor and crossed my arms over what Grandma Lena refers to as my ‘ample bosom’, holding that position only long enough for Spencer to take hold of my hands and turn my chair around to face his.

  “I’m sorry,” he groveled. Well, not really, but I can pretend, can’t I? “You have my undivided attention. Please tell me what mysterious artifact you found in the priceless, one-of-a-kind, 19th-century, mahogany and brass writing case before it was appropriated from your ownership.”

  Huh. He had been listening!

  Glancing around quickly to make sure no one was within earshot, I dipped my head and whispered, “A secret and undecipherable code!”

  “That’s it?” Unimpressed, Spencer dropped my hands and plucked a cherry tomato out of his salad, squashing it between his teeth.

  Hmmm. Not exactly the reaction I was expecting. The music is kinda loud in here, though. Maybe he hadn’t heard me clearly. Raising my voice a smidge, I repeated emphatically, “A secret and undecipherable code.”

  A crouton followed the tomato; his plan, evidently, to consume his salad one ingredient at a time. Crunching thoughtfully, he asked, “What, exactly, qualifies your find as either secret or a code?”

  Geez, enough with the skepticism already! I’m not asking for fanfare and fireworks, but a little enthusiasm would be nice, especially considering he makes his living writing fiction. Failing miserably in my attempt to mask my sarcasm, I elaborated. “Well, for one thing, my discovery was hidden in a secret compartment, and for another, the letters written on the scrap of paper I found are indecipherable. Hence, secret and indecipherable code.”

  “Did you just say ‘hence’?”

  I erupted, earning curious glances from several wedding guests seated nearby. “That’s your takeaway? That I used the word ‘hence’? You know, just because something is unbelievable doesn’t make it any less real. And I find your inability to take me at my word rather insulting!”

  I turned my back to him, a wayward cocktail shrimp that had fallen beneath the table adjacent to ours, catching my eye. Directing my ire towards it, I endeavored to set it aflame with my mind. Superpowers would be so cool right about now.

  “What’re you getting so upset about?” Yes; he actually had the nerve to ask me that. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. I was merely remarking on your choice of adverb.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Literary show-off! I narrowed my eyes at the shrimp. Sizzle, baby. Sizzle.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  Damn! Way to break my concentration. Now I’ll never know how long it takes to flambé a crustacean. On the other hand, the band is playing a slow song which means up close and personal, body-to-body contact. Not a hard choice now that I think about it.

  Swaying back and forth while Chris de Burgh crooned Lady in Red, my aforementioned ample bosom squashed uncomfortably against Spencer’s chest, my recent conversation with Zara sprung to mind. “You never answered my question.”

  “Which question?”

  Funny how all conscious thought evaporates when a pair of lips flutter against one’s neck. Focus, Finn, focus. “The one I asked you on Monday night at Darby’s. Why’d you invite me to be your plus-one tonight?”

  Spinning me in a circle, Spencer caught me around the waist and pulled me close again. “Why? Aren’t you having fun?”

  A little too much pressed up against him like this. “Sure, I am. But I’m curious. When you were sorting through your list of available dating prospects, how did my name come up? I mean, we never even spoke to each other in high school. I was invisible to you.”

  He shook his head. “Finn Bartusiak, you were anything but invisible. I wanted to ask you out at least a dozen times but never had the nerve.”

  “Oh, please! How stupid do you think I am? Spencer Dane, Editor of the school newspaper, Chairman of the Yearbook Committee both junior and senior year, Valedictorian of the senior class – you expect me to believe you were afraid to approach little ’ol me?”

  “Terrified!”

  How appropriate the wedding photographer waited until I’m making this face to take our picture. “No wonder you’re a bestseller, Dane. You have a way
with fiction!”

  “Why, thank you, Ms. Bartusiak. I appreciate the compliment.”

  The band segued into At Last, my all-time favorite Etta James song, and we abandoned further conversation in favor of snuggling; Spencer’s arms wrapped securely around my waist, my head nestled against the curve of his neck – which smells divine, by the way. Closing my eyes, I think back fifteen years to all of the dances we didn’t have. This one more than makes up for them.

  And then the moment became more perfect.

  “Tell me more about this mysterious code you found. Have you had any luck cracking it?”

  “Not yet, but I haven’t had much of a chance, what with the strangling and dress shopping taking up most of my week. But I’ll figure it out.”

  “I have no doubt you will.”

  “Thanks.” His confidence in my decryption abilities made me smile. “I’m still convinced it’s related to my attack though, even if the dynamic duo isn’t.”

  “What makes you think that?” His arms still in place, Spencer leaned back to study my face.

  “Don’t you find it the least bit coincidental that the day after some shady-looking guy comes into my shop wanting a measly thousand bucks for an antique–”

  “Since when is a thousand dollars measly?” Spencer interrupted. “I could do a lot with that kind of cash.”

  “Would you pay attention? Stop getting caught up in the details.”

  “My apologies. Continue.”

  “As I was saying, the day after I took possession of the box is the day I’m attacked and said item disappears.”

  “Along with your wallet and bank deposit.”

  I hate it when he’s logical.

  Spencer spun me in another circle. “Maybe the perpetrator needed a last-minute gift for his wife or girlfriend and grabbed the first thing he could lay his hands on.”

  Cringing at his choice of words seeing as the miscreant had laid his hands around my neck, I had to admit his explanation made sense. Not that I’d say that out loud. “What about the pushy couple? There was something off about them, too.”

  “You mean, the ones you described to Zara?”