Mayhem, Murder and the PTA

by Dave Cravens

“Gracias. Can you help me?”

  “I don’t know where they are. I’m looking for my grandson,” the woman gently touched Parker on the arm, then abruptly tugged at her sleeve. “His name is Pedro. Do you know him?”

  Leave it to a grandmother to think everyone in the world might know her grandkids. “No,” answered Parker. She offered a hopeful smile, despite knowing the odds of finding a missing child grew direr with each passing hour. Still, the elderly woman didn’t seem to be overly upset. “When did your grandson go missing?”

  The question prompted the old woman to frown, when suddenly, a heavy door near the bullet proof glass opened to reveal a tall, lanky man in a tan hat and matching uniform. He spoke with a young, bubble gum chewing girl who looked barely old enough to have graduated high school. “Try Ramirez again and get him to come in,” said the man.

  “He doesn’t speak Spanish,” the girl noted in a slight valley-girl accent, the kind where every declarative sentence sounds like a question that masquerades as an insult.

  The man grimaced. “What? Isn’t he from Mexico?”

  “Minnesota.”

  “Really?” The man stopped in his tracks. He turned to challenge the girl. “I’m pretty sure on his application he said he speaks Spanish.”

  “He’s fluent in Mandarin.”

  “Mandarin?”

  “It’s Chinese.”

  “I know—” The man’s thoughts were derailed again as he spotted Parker standing next to the old woman. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. Hello, Ms.—”

  “Monroe,” greeted Parker. She stood up to extend her hand. “Parker Monroe.”

  The man smiled. “Bill. I’m Bill. The Sheriff. Sheriff Bill.” He eagerly reached to shake Parker’s hand. “Have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”

  Parker tried smiling back politely to Bill who kept shaking her hand as though it might jog the memory of him loose. His tanned face wasn’t particularly handsome or ugly, in fact, if there was an exact middle point between the two extremes he would be its poster child. “I don’t believe so.”

  “You sure?” asked the Sheriff. “My mind is like a steel trap. I never forget a face!”

  Parker shrugged. Maybe you’ve seen my face plastered all over cable news after being fired?

  “She doesn’t remember you,” said Bubble Gum chewer. “Awkward.”

  Bill let out a nervous chuckle. “Ha! Yeah, okay.” He snapped his fingers. “Powers! Get Ivan Powers on the phone,” he said excitedly. “I remember now, he’s the one who speaks Spanish! See? Steel trap!”

  Bubble Gum popped an impressive bubble in the face of her boss and turned to march back to the heavy door.

  Bill nodded to the old woman doing needle point. “She’s been here for over an hour and doesn’t speak a lick of English.”

  “She’s looking for her grandson, Pedro,” informed Parker. “He’s missing.”

  Bill blinked. “How do you know that?”

  “She told me.”

  “You speak Spanish?”

  “I grew up in this town,” answered Parker. “We’re thirty miles from the border. I figured taking Spanish might come in handy.”

  “Huh. I took French.”

  Parker impatiently looked at her watch. “Sheriff--Bill, is it? I hate to press you, but I’m running way behind today. I’m here to claim my car from the pound. Would you like me to ask this woman anything for you before I pay my fee and be on my merry way?”

  Bill nodded appreciatively. “Yes, of course. If you could, tell her that we have a translator on the way.”

  Parker was about to recount the Sheriff’s words in Spanish when Bill added an addendum. “And tell her, we’ll assist her with a missing person’s report. And ask her if she has any family who might speak English that we can connect with. And ask her if she lives nearby. And then ask her when she saw Pedro last.”

  Parker took a deep breath. “Anything else?”

  Bill smiled. “No, it’s good to see you.”

  “What?”

  “No, it’s good. That’s good, I mean. Just tell her all of that stuff, please?”

  Before Parker could turn and open her mouth to speak, the tinted street door to the lobby opened with a digital chirp. A younger, handsome Latino, dressed sharply in a grey silk suit, walked in. His eyes lit up with a smile upon seeing the elderly woman. “Mamma!” he greeted with open arms. The old woman turned up her nose at the man, who spoke quickly to her in Spanish. Parker could only catch so much of it, but determined the man was asking his mother where she’d been.

  “Excuse me,” Sheriff Bill interrupted. “Who are you, and do you know this woman?”

  “Who am I?” asked the young man, nearly offended by the statement. He shook his head. “Yes, of course, I have been so rude,” he apologized. “Her name is Cecilia. She is my grandmother.” He firmly shook Bill’s hand. “I am Victor. Victor Cortez.” Victor then nodded to Parker with a gracious smile.

  Commanding the room’s attention, Victor knelt to speak with his mother on an eye to eye level. “Mamma, you had us all worried,” he said in English. “You were not at the bus stop where you said you’d be. We’ve been looking all over town for you.”

  Parker watched Cecilia’s expressions carefully. She looked at her grandson with a mixture of anger and confusion. Bill said Cecilia didn’t know any English—so why was her grandson not addressing her in Spanish? Something didn’t feel right. Parker stepped forward to interrupt Victor’s tender display. “Do you know this man?” asked Parker to the old woman in Spanish.

  “Yes,” Cecilia answered slowly in her native tongue. Her eyes did not stray from Victor’s. “Victor is my-- grandson.”

  Victor pulled his steely gaze away from Cecilia and cast it upon Parker. “You know Spanish?”

  “A little,” Parker lied.

  Victor slowly rose to his feet to face Parker.

  Parker could see Victor tensing up, despite the charming smile that remained plastered on his face. She decided to press Victor with a friendly but ignorant question that she already knew the answer to. “Your grandmother mentioned someone name Pedro. Do you know who she’s talking about?”

  Victor’s smile eased into a mask of concern. “Pedro is my nephew,” he answered. Victor turned his attention back to Cecilia and spoke to her in Spanish once again. “Mamma, Pedro is at home. Please, please, Mamma, won’t you come with me? We can go see him together.”

  Cecilia’s eyes narrowed. She turned to look at Parker, then to Sheriff Bill, then back to Victor. Slowly, she held her hand out to her grandson, who in turn, gently helped her to her feet.

  Bill, not understanding any of the conversation that had transpired before him, stepped in. “Now, hold on here, I’m not exactly sure what is going on, but this lady came in looking for Pedro.” He turned to Parker for confirmation. “Right? Pedro is missing?”

  “Pedro is safe at home,” assured Victor. He turned so that his back was turned to Cecilia. “I must apologize, but my grandmother. She gets—confused, now and then. She’s old, and she is the one who has been missing. She’s had us worried. That is why I came here.”

  Bill screwed up his face into an idiot grimace. “How do I know you are who you say you are? Do you have an ID?”

  “Of course,” said Victor. For a moment he looked puzzled by the request. But Victor complied, pulling his California driver’s license from his wallet to show the Sheriff.

  Bill nodded to Cecilia. “Does she?”

  Victor smiled. “Sheriff, if I were not her grandson, surely, she would not feel comfortable enough to come with me. I appreciate your concern for her safety. And I’m sure it has nothing to do with you wondering about her legal status in this country.”

  Bill’s eyes hardened. “Safety, Mr. Cortez, is my only concern right now.”

  Sensing the temperature of the room rising, Parker stepped into diffuse the situation. “Perhaps if you left your contact information for the Sheriff, Victor, he could
reach out later if he has any more questions.”

  Victor took a moment to look Parker over, then nodded in sudden agreement. “Of course!”

  Parker watched Victor and the Sheriff as the appropriate contact information was exchanged. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had just stumbled onto, but the silent alarm in the back of her head was practically screaming right now. Something just wasn’t right.

  Stop being so paranoid, Parker told herself. Sniffing out stories isn’t your job anymore.

  Cecilia slowly walked toward the door with Victor. The old woman glanced back at Parker one last time, then to Sheriff Bill before muttering something in Spanish to him and disappearing out the door.

  Parker and Bill watched through glass doors as Victor helped the old woman into the back of a black Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows. “Fancy car,” Bill commented. “Expensive car.”

  “Is that a crime?” asked Parker.

  “Of course, not.” Bill rubbed his chin. “Say, what did the old woman say to me before she left?”

  Parker frowned. “She called you an Idiota.”

  “Cool,” said Bill. He scratched his forehead. “What does that mean?”

  12.

  “I’m home!”

  announced Parker stumbling through the front door. “Three hundred dollars later, and the Highlander is free to terrorize the streets of Oak Creek once again!”

  “Mom!” squealed Ally as she clomped out of the kitchen. She raced across the hardwood floor into Parker’s open arms.

  Parker squeezed her youngest tightly – she needed a good Ally hug. “Hello, little one!”

  Valerie emerged from the kitchen in an apron. “We were just making cookies together,” she informed. “Ally is quite the little helper. How was your old classmate, Bill?”

  “Bill?” Parker grimaced. “You mean, the Sheriff?”

  “Yes, Parker you went to high school together.”

  Parker threw her purse and keys onto the chair. “Really? I think I would have remembered that, Mom.”

  “If you say so. Have you eaten lunch?”

  Parker set Ally back down and kicked off her stiletto heels. The rims of her feet throbbed like never before. “No time,” she answered. “I’m exhausted, I can barely breathe in this skirt, and I just want to put my head down and close my eyes for ten minutes.”

  “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap?”

  Parker waved her hands as she stumbled toward the living room couch across from Valerie’s grand piano. “No, no, if I do that, I’m not going to wake up. I’ve got exactly an hour and a half before I need to leave for school.”

  “Parker, I can pick up the kids!” Valerie offered.

  “No, Mom, it’s gotta be me! I’ve got to see this through!” Parker held her head. She felt drunk with exhaustion. In a desperate attempt to find comfort, she unzipped the back of her skirt and shoved it to the floor to let her belly expand back to its natural state. “Oh, hell yes, that’s soooooo much better.” Parker lumbered to the couch and sank into it, grabbing a blanket off the arm and pulling it over her.

  “Parker, you need to rest.” Valerie insisted.

  “Hello? That’s I’m doing! Ten minutes!” Parker stretched her legs out and pulled the blanket close. Her eyes shut. “Wake me up in ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes later, Valerie gave her daughter a gentle nudge.

  Parker smacked her lips. “Huh? What?” She didn’t even bother to open her eyes. “Give me another ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes after that, Valerie was back at the couch, promptly nudging her daughter.

  “Five more minutes!” Parker whined.

  The process repeated until forty minutes later, Parker didn’t wake up at all.

  13.

  Deep in sleep, Parker’s head filled with recent memories.

  Images of Kurt swirled about the dreamscape as he played with a younger, happier Maddy. They sat side by side at the upright piano of their old apartment in Chicago. Kurt corrected her fingering on scales, scribbled notes onto her sheet music, and sometimes, just sat and marveled at his prodigy daughter.

  Kurt never complained about putting his own music career on hold, but Parker knew he missed it, and teaching Maddy was just the outlet he needed from being a stay-at-home dad. It helped that Maddy was a natural with the ivory keys. Her playing never bothered Drew and could lull Ally to sleep with the right song selection. The graceful arpeggios of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata proved to be such a song. The notes raced through Parker’s dream as she continued to sleep on Valerie’s couch.

  Moonlight Sonata -- the last song Kurt would ever teach his daughter. The song Maddy practiced when Parker informed her of Kurt’s death.

  Parker watched Maddy in her dream gracefully play the notes. Her fingers landed perfectly and with a nuanced touch beyond her years. Then the dream world around Maddy suddenly grew cold and dark. Maddy’s fingers stumbled as she approached the end of the song. Instead of single notes, she crushed the keys angrily, pounding them with her fists into utter discord. She pounded, harder, and harder, screaming as she did so until—

  Parker startled awake on the couch, her shirt soaked in her own sweat. Her chest heaved up and down, as she realized the living room was completely dark except for a single music lamp at the grand piano. Maddy sat there quietly in her night gown.

  “Maddy!” Parker gasped, still trying to get her bearings as she woke from her dream. “Wh--what time is it?”

  Maddy didn’t respond. She sat perfectly still at her grandmother’s piano.

  “How long was I out?”

  Maddy remained quiet and still.

  Parker checked her phone. It was 10:17pm.

  Fuck. I slept the entire afternoon? Through dinner?

  Parker slapped her forehead. “Shit, I missed pick up, didn’t I?” she grumbled. “Obviously, I missed it. I’m sorry.”

  Maddy bowed her head.

  Parker tried smiling innocently. “And I just swore, so I owe you another five dollars – right?”

  Maddy curled her hands into fists. The fists began to shake.

  Valerie swept into the room, tying her robe at the waist. “What was all that racket on the piano?” she asked, then noticing Maddy. “Maddy, was that you? Why are you playing at this hour? You’ll wake your brother and sister!”

  Maddy turned her head toward her grandmother but didn’t utter a word.

  Parker sighed, finally getting her bearings. She frowned at her daughter. She finally knew what was going on. “That was your plan, right, Maddy? Make a huge scene? Make a big racket on the piano?”

  “What?” asked Valerie, astonished at the accusation. “Why would Maddy do that?”

  “To let me know I screwed up,” answered Parker. “She’s pissed I didn’t pick her up from school.”

  “But I picked you up, Maddy,” said a confused Valerie. “I don’t understand, was I not on time?”

  “This isn’t about you,” Parker corrected.

  Maddy finally broke her silence. “You said you’d be there,” she said in a quivering voice.

  “Maddy, your mother was exhausted!” Valerie defended. “She’d been up for hours just—”

  “Mom,” Parker interjected. She locked eyes with Valerie. “I got this.” Parker rose from the couch and dusted herself off to slowly approach her daughter.

  “You got this?” Maddy scowled at her mother. “You can’t show up on time. Ever. You don’t even have any pants,” she sneered.

  “I don’t need any goddamn pants,” Parker shot back, kicking her skirt across the floor and out of the way. “You got a problem with me, Maddy, you take it up with me. You sure as hell don’t wake up the whole house by banging on a piano in the middle of the night!”

  “You said you would be there, Mom!” Maddy shouted, pounding her fist on the piano keys.

  “That’s Mom, the Almighty!” Parker shouted back.
>
  “You’re a terrible mom and I’m not playing your stupid game anymore!” Maddy exploded out of her seat and stood toe to toe with her mother. “It’s stupid! I hate that game! And I hate you!”

  “Maddy!” Valerie gasped.

  Parker threw up her hand at Valerie to stop her from interfering any further. Maddy’s words lingered in the night air. Parker wanted Maddy to own the moment, for better or worse. After an uncomfortable silence, Parker swallowed the lump in her throat and stared into Maddy’s trembling rage filled eyes. “I don’t want to see you or hear you until you wake up for school tomorrow morning,” she commanded. “Go to your room.”

  Maddy’s breathing increased. Her entire body shook. But she did not take a step.

  “Go to you room!” Parker screamed at the top of her lungs. She pointed the way to the stairs.

  Maddy stormed off and proceeded to clomp up the stairs. Each step seemed to contort every muscle in Parker’s body tighter and tighter until her ears caught the slam of a bedroom door. It was a miracle Drew or Ally hadn’t woken up.

  Parker finally exhaled, and noticed Valerie standing at her side with her jaw dropped open and eyes as wide as golf balls.

  “Parker,” Valerie started in a whisper. “For the love of Condoleezza Rice—"

  Parker slowly shook her head. “Why didn’t you wake me up, Mom? You were supposed to wake me up!”

  Valerie frowned. “I tried, Parker. You were out. Cold. And I don’t blame you. So, I took your keys, packed up Ally and went to pick up Drew and Maddy. You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you, it’s just—” Parker found her own fists clenching like Maddy’s did. Is that where she gets it from? “I told her I would be there.”

  “You need to stop being cryptic with me, Parker. You never told me what happened between you two in Chicago. I’ve been patient, but you’re living in my house now. And I’ve got a granddaughter mad with rage banging on the piano in the middle of the night.”

  “I know,” said Parker. She held her throbbing forehead. She always got headaches when she was starving, and her stomach growled viciously to remind her she’d slept through dinner. “You’re right. You deserve to know. I’m just--hungry.”