Fables & Felonies

by Nellie K Neves

  “Run me through it again,” I urged him. “What happened between you?”

  “She backed out of our deal,” the quiet words barely connected to his body, “and I came to talk her back into it. She was crazy.” Amos tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Totally unhinged.” He exhaled long and heavy, as if he’d been holding his breath. “We argued, yeah, but then she came at me, wanted blood, and took half my neck off instead. I shoved her off me and she fell.” His eyes moved to an open spot of carpet. I swore I saw a few smudges of red in the fibers, likely his blood from Honey B clawing at his neck.

  “I told her we were through,” he caught himself before he spoke again, carefully tailoring his words, “and I left.”

  I waited. I waited and hoped he would tell me the parts he was holding back, but nothing. He kept those secrets to himself.

  “I didn’t kill her, Sparrow. I didn’t.” Amos made eye contact. He needed me to believe him, but why? Because he was lying, or because he wasn’t?

  “Who was she meeting for dinner?” I motioned to the table.

  “I dunno,” he said, voice quiet again. “It never came up.”

  “The police said the rest of the apartment was untouched, have you been back there? Would you recognize if anything was missing?”

  Amos shook his head and refused to look at me again. “There was no reason for me to go back there, so I wouldn’t know.”

  He was lying again, or rather omitting.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.”

  “Yeah, well.” His jaw jutted forward as he sucked his cheeks in tight. “I didn’t ask for your help anyway, did I?”

  “Are you going to save yourself?”

  “Maybe I’ll run. It’s not like they’ll ever find me.”

  He ducked out the door, but his words stuck with me. Why hadn’t he run? Guilty or not, he could have made a break for it before his arrest, or even the night before at my little backyard cottage, and yet he stayed. Why? Running was where Amos excelled.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Driving back home, the car sank into silence. Amos clutched his bag as if it were his favorite teddy bear. He stared out the window. I stared at the road. Somehow I had to get him to tell me everything he was keeping to himself.

  “You hungry?” I took the next exit off the highway. “I think there’s still a burger shop up here on the left.”

  “Oh, you’ll feed the prisoner then?”

  I didn’t appreciate his tone, but there wasn’t much point in scolding him.

  “Maybe just some bread and water.” I turned into the graveled parking lot.

  The burger shop had been there for years. My dad used to bring me on days when I’d tag along with him to work. The whole thing dripped with cheese and grease, but after my last couple months, I figured I could gain a few pounds.

  The whole structure was basically a shack with one window and a red striped awning. Two tables had been added to the right of the building, but only two people sat under the red umbrellas. Back in the day the place had been hopping, but things change, with new developments and mainstream chains near the courthouse.

  “Two number ones, with chocolate shakes,” I said to a burly man in the window. He was happy I knew what I was doing and took my cash.

  “Five minutes,” was all he said before he stepped into the back.

  I twitched my head in the direction of the open table. I slipped into one of the plastic chairs and Amos took the one across the way from me.

  “What am I eating?” he asked after he settled. “This place doesn’t exactly look up to code.”

  “Just be glad I’m feeding you, prisoner.” I winked and the mood between us lightened. “It’s a burger, homemade, everything from scratch. I think you’ll like it.”

  “I thought you’d be eating only leaves and twigs from the shape of you.” Amos eyed me with suspicion. “Figured you gave up on trans fats and carbs and what have you.”

  I wanted to say something to change the subject, to keep my stories to myself, but that was our problem, wasn’t it? We both played our cards close to the chest, too much alike, and refused to trust. Perhaps if I shared a part of myself, he’d do the same.

  “Nothing as awful as that,” I assured him. “We both know I wouldn’t have the discipline.” He waited for the rest and for once, I gave him the answers he wanted.

  “I was working a missing person’s case. This girl disappeared inside a compound that ended up being a cult of sorts. Women were treated badly, the food was minimal, apples and rolls mostly, and I deteriorated a bit in the two months I was there.”

  Amos chewed on my words for a moment, then asked, “Is that where you got the—?” He traced his cheekbone as if to draw a replica of the scar on my face.

  “No, that was another case.”

  Cars whizzed by us on the street. Amos watched them as if they were important. “I told you a long time ago that this job would try to kill you.”

  “Yes, James did tell me that.” I smiled, even though he wasn’t looking at me. “Granted, James was also a world class private detective just barely retired from Interpol, so he must have been right.”

  Amos flashed me one of his winning smiles. “That was a fun alias. A lot of other fun perks from working with you as well.”

  Blood rushed to my cheeks at his insinuation. To my relief, a waitress stepped from the shack carrying a tray of food. The waitress set the food on the table and said, “Two number ones with chocolate shakes. You need anything else?”

  “No, I think we’re good.” I slipped her a couple bucks.

  I expected her to turn and leave, but instead she said, “Lindy! Lindy Johnson? Is that you?”

  She stared at me as if I should know her. I took in the short, cropped, bleach blonde hair, green eyes, round face, and yes she was familiar, but not as familiar as she found me.

  “Katherine.” She pressed her palm against her chest. “Katherine Fullbreit.”

  It clicked in my mind. “Katie?”

  Her smile was as easy as it had been back in high school. We hadn’t been close, acquaintances who shared a few classes and memories of smelly locker rooms, but it’s funny how the years can take all that away.

  “Yes! Oh, it’s good to see you, Lindy. How have you been? What are you up to?”

  “Good,” I said, though I wondered if it was actually a lie. “I’m a private investigator, but I’m home visiting my parents right now. How about you? You work here?”

  I caught Amos’ smirk at my words. Of course she worked here, she just brought out our food.

  True to the good nature I remembered, Katie smiled. “My dad owns the place. He’s getting older, so I’ve taken over in the back. The kids are in school now, twins, both six, and Tanner and I have been married nine years now.”

  Tanner Anderson, the football quarterback. Yes, they would fit together, wouldn’t they?

  “Is this your husband?” Katie looked at Amos.

  His eyebrows rose with amusement, as if daring me to say yes and play along. We’d run cons like that back in the day, but no way would I blur those lines again.

  “No, I’m not married. This is my friend.” I fumbled for a name before I said, “James. He’s flown in to visit.”

  It was the only time her smile faltered. I’m sure she wanted me to have a happily ever after like hers, but at least I’d left out the grizzly parts of it all. Granted, if I had to list it all out loud, ending with the man I love being in the hospital on the brink of a mental collapse while he barely remembered my name, I might start bawling like a dope. It seemed ill-timed for a reunion conversation.

  “Well.” She tapped the table with a couple fingers. “You two enjoy then.”

  The way she said it made me think she thought there was something romantic happening between my companion and me. She left before I corrected her.

  “Shall I slide over and show some affection to drive this all home?” Amos offered with far too much
twinkle in his eye. “We could practice your undercover skills like we used to.”

  Those lessons had been what had started our relationship in the first place. Dares in public places, Amos, or James really, telling me to convince everyone around us that we were a couple, and somewhere in the middle of it I’d convinced myself.

  “Eat your burger. She’s an old friend, that’s all.”

  “She watching like it’s her favorite movie. Are you sure you don’t want to put on a show?” Amos winked shamelessly. “For old times’ sake?”

  “No. Eat lunch, or I’ll eat it for you.”

  He knew me well enough to know that it wasn’t an idle threat, and he began eating.

  “Can you think of anyone else that might have been a threat to Honey B?” I asked after a moment.

  “She was a nice girl,” he said between bites, “no reason for anyone to kill her. Probably why I look so good for it.”

  “Did she have family nearby? A lover? Any other business associates who might have been angry?”

  “No.” His sharp answer caught my interest. “No one. That’s why she was a good mark.”

  He’d taught me well when we’d worked together three years ago. I’d struck a nerve. The secret was about one of those: family, lover or business. No, it didn’t narrow it down too much, but it was a start.

  “What about the open mic club? Any drama there?”

  He shrugged and ate a fry from the tray. “I know a couple of the other regulars were upset she got picked up to record and they didn’t, but I don’t think it was enough to kill her.”

  “Do you know when they’re around? Do they have regular nights they show up to sing?”

  “It’s open mic night tomorrow night, but it’s not like I can show my face around there. Everyone knows me as Mack, and they all think I did it.”

  “I can go on my own.” I sipped on the thick chocolate shake. I imagined my arteries filling with cholesterol, and for some wicked reason I kind of loved it. “You stay back at my place, keep your head down.”

  Amos sank back in his chair. The plastic bowed under his weight. “You know, if this wasn’t so good, I’d be mad at you, but you were right, this food is amazing. Fine, I’ll lay low. At least for now.”

  I counted his compliance as a victory. I needed him safe, but more than that, I needed to get answers and I was more likely to find the truth when Amos was gone.

  Chapter 6

  The backpack skidded a couple feet from where it landed after Amos tossed it into the cottage living room. The couch groaned as he sank back into the cushion.

  “What now?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t have a lot to go on. I’m hoping the girls at the club will give me something to chase tomorrow. If you could think of anything I might need to know…” I let my voice trail off, hoping he’d fill in the space, but his mouth remained tight.

  “I’m going to go up and talk to my mom then.” I knew I should explain, but it was hard enough for me to do what I needed to do; explaining to Amos felt impossible.

  The TV switched on before I stepped out the door. He appeared content to dive beneath the waves of indifference and avoidance, as if this life wasn’t his. For the time being I could let him, but eventually the push would have to come to make him tell me everything he’d been avoiding.

  I smelled dinner cooking before I even reached the house. The sunset framed the entire structure, an older farmhouse, the kind of place my mom had always wanted. They’d built a path running directly from their back door to my front door. I could have felt smothered, but for a moment I let myself feel the love of parents who wanted to protect me.

  A deep breath, and my pride pulled into check, I pulled open the screen door at the back and let it bang loud enough behind me that I wouldn’t scare her. I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. She waited for me, one hand resting on her hip, the threadbare apron she loved just a little askew and splattered with flour.

  “Hi, Mom.” From experience, I knew she heard the apology in my voice before I said the words.

  “Hello, Lindy Belle.” She softened and went back to work on the rolls she was shaping at the table.

  “Do you need any help?”

  Her head popped up with one eyebrow cocked in question. Before my adventures in the back country I never would have offered, but it came second nature to me because of the work I’d done with Harmony in the kitchen. Without waiting for permission, I went to the sink and washed my hands before I set to work beside her shaping and forming the rolls. I felt her interest as my hands moved differently than she’d ever taught me, flattening the dough into a snake, then coiling it to a rose and turning it inside out to form a smooth ball. Harmony had insisted I learn to do it perfectly. It was all to avoid a beating, but still, I had to admit it was pretty.

  My mom didn’t ask where I’d learned it. But having me work in the kitchen was likely enough for her. My sister Eleanor was the one who always helped with the baking and cleaning. I typically did the eating with Dad. Before my bravery could disappear I said, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was rude. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

  “You were tired. You’ve never been very easy to deal with when you’re tired.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  “Still, I didn’t act civil, and you’ve done a beautiful job on the cottage.”

  “We want you to feel at home. Independent, but at home.”

  A conversation would still need to happen, one that discussed the fact that I’d never move back home again, because my home was in Washington with Ryder, but best not to open that mess before necessary.

  The tension faded between us, so I asked, “What’s for dinner?”

  “Grilled lemon chicken and creamy tomato soup,” she placed the last roll on the tray and moved them to the oven, “as well as these rolls.”

  “It smells great.”

  “Cookies are in the jar if you’d like some. There’s a cake in the fridge for after dinner.”

  “Dessert before dinner? You never let me do that when I lived at home.” I meant to make a joke, but her face remained serious and it clicked. It was the way I looked. It was the way my clothes hung off my body.

  Tears glistened in her eyes. I lessened the distance between us to wrap my arms around my mother. Even though I knew my oldest sister Jackie was alive, in my mother’s memory, she’d lost her. Every time my case pulled me to the brink of death, my parents were left to wonder if they would bury another set of memories. The last time I hadn’t been awake to watch her through my life and death fight.

  The way I looked, the scars, the weight loss, it was all too real for her, and I let her cry softly into my shoulder. I wanted to tell her that I’d found her, that Jackie was still alive, but what if I were wrong? What if it was all coincidence, and she wasn’t really my sister? I couldn’t put them through that. Not yet. Not until I knew. Not until Jackie would admit it as well.

  I spent the next hour getting dinner ready with my mom. Dad was late, so I liked to think she was grateful I knew how to light the barbeque and do those chores she might deem more manly. As I set the table, four places, Mom mentioned as an afterthought, “Eleanor might be here this weekend.”

  “Really?” My voice betrayed my excitement. I hadn’t seen her since Kip’s wedding over the summer. Shane told me she’d visited while I was in the hospital, but, being unconscious, I didn’t remember.

  “I told her you were working a case, and you might not be around much, but she is in the full final push of wedding preparations, so she swears she doesn’t care and she needs sister time.”

  Mom was right, I was working a case, but I was also wasting time until I could return to Ryder. Sister time would be a very worthy distraction.

  Dad pushed open the kitchen door and made his way to my mother. It was the same routine as he arrived home at the end of the day. A two-armed hug, a kiss on the cheek, and some sort of sweet nothing in her ear that made her
blush. As a kid it had made me ill, as an adult I realized how lucky I’d been to have a stable example of marriage my entire life. But okay, it still made me a little ill.

  “Who’s the fourth?” Dad pulled the newspaper from the counter where Mom always left it.

  “Amos,” Mom and I said in unison, as if he should have known better.

  His eyes bulged at the thought of it. “I can’t eat dinner with someone my office might prosecute. If they found out, if anyone found out...” His hands ran over the top of his head. I was surprised he didn’t pull a tuft of hair out with it. “No, we can’t, he can’t—”

  “Stop being so dramatic,” my mother chided as if his reaction had never happened. “He’s a friend of Lindy’s, and I’m sure he’s hungry. It’s not like anyone is watching.”

  His mouth fell open. It wasn’t often Mom and I teamed against him, much more likely Dad and I were against Mom. I don’t think he liked the way the tables had shifted.

  “I think we’re ready,” I said. “I’ll go get him.”

  Just as I left the kitchen I heard Dad say, “Fine, but no cake. We don’t serve cake to suspected murderers.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Thanks for the cake, Mum.” Amos pushed back his plate after his second slice of chocolate dessert.

  My dad was glowering, but then he’d glowered through most of dinner. Mom, on the other hand, was completely charmed by Amos. Maybe it was the accent. Maybe it was his exuberant tales of travel that fed into her wanderlust I knew she’d suppressed for years. Either way, she was happy to feed him as long as he kept talking.

  “You’re very welcome, Amos,” Mom said. “It’s nice to feed someone who loves my cooking.”