Fables & Felonies

by Nellie K Neves

  “It’s not good to spy, H. –B”

  I ran my hand under the seat and found two more balled slips of paper, each with their own threatening messages. That drove me upstairs. I made quick work of the door and snuck inside. Amos had told me there was nothing to see in the bedrooms because he’d never been back there, but obviously he hadn’t told the truth, at least not the complete truth.

  There was only one bathroom and one bedroom. I started in the bathroom, but found nothing. I was about to leave when another thought occurred to me. Long ago, when Amos was still James in my mind, he used to leave me messages on my bathroom mirrors. It was his way of letting me know that he was always one step ahead of me; no matter the lock I installed, no matter the precautions I took, he could always get in. It became a challenge between us, harder locks, and trickier circumstances. Always trying to outdo the other.

  The pipes groaned a bit before the water flowed. I flipped the switch to activate the shower and left it running as I moved to the bedroom.

  I found a small box on the dresser. Nestled in with her bracelets and jewelry were more notes, more allusions that she wasn’t safe. She was being watched.

  On instinct, I ran my hands between the mattress and the box spring. Nothing on the right side. I moved to the left side, hoping my instinct would pan out. At my place I would hit my loaded 9mm, but at Hallie’s place I found a hard-bound notebook.

  “You seemed like the type to keep a diary,” I said aloud as if she were in the room with me.

  I flipped it open, passing the dates from when she first came to the city, her dreams of making it big, but not having enough cash to go somewhere substantial like LA or New York.

  “Loads of people get found in obscure places, and I’m just five hours away from the OC. It could happen.”

  I wanted to read more, but trespassing didn’t make for a good reading nook. With the water running in a dead girl’s apartment, I was asking for it. I shoved the book in my purse and returned to the bathroom. As expected, the steam filled the space, thick as fog in the valley. I turned off the water and waited. Within seconds I read the message.

  “You’re dead, Hallie.”

  Chapter 15

  The book burned from my purse, urging me to read it, but I was determined to get home first. Once there, I knew I couldn’t go back to the cottage because Eleanor would be waiting for me. I loved my sister, but I needed solitude. I parked and headed in the normal direction I took to go running. I let my mind roll over what I knew, the shady characters at Club Feugo, the paranoia that Amos said plagued Hallie’s last days. With all the notes and messages she’d received, I understood it. From her perspective, she’d had no safe haven. Her killer taunted her like a cat with a mouse.

  I realized my walk had nearly become a run by the time I turned the corner. All the messages were making me as paranoid as Hallie had been. Seeing a grassy knoll near a shallow pond, I took a seat and opened the journal. I turned page after page, skimming, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Finally, I came to the point where she’d met Amos.

  “Sang at Aces tonight. I was approached by Mack of Earheart Music. He’s really interested. Going to sing for him tomorrow.”

  I skipped forward again, noting the way she talked about him. He had charmed her for sure. She wrote about dinner dates, giving him the money to start her recording contract, thinking there might be more to their relationship than met the eye.

  “I’ll have to be careful B doesn’t see us together. He might realize something is up.”

  B. That was the signature on every note. I flipped back to the start of the journal, but she only ever listed the mystery man as B.

  On the entry from two weeks before her death, the writing changed. I noted the tremble, the looping flowing script changed to heavy, erratic spacing and characters.

  “I saw something,” she wrote. “I think I got out in time, but I’m scared. If B finds out, he’s going to kill me.”

  The next entry was a week later. All it said was, “HE KNOWS.”

  Where she used to write every day, the spaces expanded. I felt the paranoia in her language, and then the dam broke.

  “Mack isn’t who he said he was. He’s a fraud. I’ve made a mistake. He says he loves me, and I swear I was falling for him, but he lied, and with everything else, the notes, the cars following me, I just don’t know who he is anymore.”

  The entry from the day she died was short. “B says he can forgive me. He’s coming for dinner tonight. I’ll make it right. I messed up before, but I won’t betray him, not this time.”

  Shivers ran down my spine. She’d met B for dinner, and he’d killed her. After weeks of toying with her mind she’d let him in, and he’d swallowed her whole.

  Looking up, I spotted the statuesque egret near its companion. My body stilled, watching their peaceful stance, like sentinels waiting on still waters.

  The egret.

  I don’t know why it popped into my head but the story Amos had told me, The Egret and The Oyster. Hallie was the oyster, and Amos, the egret. They’d been so wrapped up in their own problems, they hadn’t even seen the crocodile coming and he’d eaten them both. The question remained, who was the crocodile? Who was “B”?

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Without telling anyone I’d been home, I made the half-hour trip to the precinct again. My stomach growled in protest as it was past lunch, and I still hadn’t fed it yet. Once more I ignored the pain and pressed on.

  The desk sergeant was away, but I signed in and made my way back, despite her absence. Ranger’s desk sat empty, but I pulled out a chair from a neighboring desk, determined to wait to show him the journal first hand. If needed, I could put it back under her bed so he could find it himself to be sure protocols were followed for his precious reports, but any way around it I felt as though I’d found enough reasonable doubt to free Amos.

  Minutes passed. I have to admit that I’m not the most patient person. When I get bored I tend to look for things to do, and my favorite past time is snooping. I like it more than sleep, and that’s saying something.

  I started in his top drawer, remembering he used to keep a deck of cards there when I was younger. That was a bust. Maybe he’d only kept them there for me. I pushed aside a few folders on his desk, peeking here and there to see what he’d been working on. Nothing too interesting. Not at least until I reached the very base of the stack. A file marked “Lindy.” Inside, I found my pictures from Club Feugo and notes from our conversation. It was all protocol, but why buried at the bottom of the stack?

  “Lindy, I didn’t know you were here.”

  Ranger’s voice startled me. I nearly dropped the file. Closing it, I set it back on his desk. His eyes followed my movement with scrutiny, more than I thought I deserved.

  “Yeah, I was back in the area, and I thought I’d check if Narcotics had a chance to look at my file.” I tapped the manila covering. “I guess not.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s been a little hectic around here.”

  I rose up and started for the door. “Yeah, I get it. Just thought I would check in.”

  My instincts told me to keep the notebook to myself, but it made no sense, Ranger was on my side. Still, why hadn’t he passed on the information right away? He’d taken the time to print it, so why not pass it along?

  “Anything else?” he asked as I edged toward the door.

  “No, that’s all,” I said, still watching him watch me. What was he looking for? What was I not seeing? Had I become just as paranoid as Hallie had been? Was I crazy, or did I see a coldness in his eyes I hadn’t seen before? No “Lindy Belle” this time.

  “Be careful out there.” He tucked my file back into his stack. “The world is full of crazies.”

  He didn’t have to tell me that. I’d seen them first hand.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I called my father again, but once more he pushed me to voicemail. Unwilling to let it go any longer, I drove to his office, ma
rched past the front desk, past the DA’s office I’d broken into, and straight through my father’s door. For once he wasn’t on the phone.

  “We need to talk,” I said with all the confidence he’d once taught me. “There’s something going on, and I deserve to understand it.”

  There are moments in my life where I dive head first into a situation without realizing there might be more at play. As my father looked up from where he stared at the grains in his desk, I realized this might be one of them.

  “You’re probably right. Close the door, take a seat.”

  I followed his instructions, slumping into a chair only after I’d closed the office door. Dad rose to his feet and began a slow pace of the floor. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why are you really mad at Ranger? I know about Mom, but I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t let it destroy a friendship. You taught me to let go of anger and move on. This isn’t like you.”

  Muscles on his face twitched and danced. I knew from past experience that he was talking with himself inside his head. He ran life like a courtroom in his mind, testing words and hearing testimony, waiting for the perfect structure to come to play before he was willing to speak again.

  “I was very angry with Layton when I found out he’d asked your mother to leave me, but yes, you’re right, I was trying to move on and preserve the friendship.” He stopped by the window, the same window that I’d tumbled through only a few days before. “Not long after I found out the truth, I was put on a case with Layton. We were prosecuting a drug bust. I noticed some discrepancies in the reports, missing kilos of heroine. I brought it to him as a friend, not wanting him to get busted for faulty reports. Those reports are used in court and one typo can derail an entire case.”

  I didn’t like where any of this was going. The stress lines around my father’s eyes told me he’d harbored this secret for years, and somehow I’d managed to ferret it out of him.

  “Layton told me that he’d kept a couple kilos, offered to let me in on the take.” His hand stretched the length of the window frame, staring off into the afternoon sky as if he could see a video of the memory there. “You know me, black and white, good and bad, and the line was clear. I told him I wouldn’t turn him in if he got the drugs back in the evidence locker. He wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Who’s gonna get hurt?’ he asked me. But I had signed up to bear the full weight of the law, and I stood my ground. He got them back in, or at least I’m pretty sure he did. Shortly after that case I noticed his new car, a new fishing boat, and I was always left to wonder.”

  I connected the rest of the dots on my own. “You told him to stay away from us. If he was going to ride that fence, you told him you didn’t want him near us.”

  “I never told your mother. She’s a gentle sort, these cracks in character and reality shake her.”

  “Was there ever anything else?” I asked. “Any other time that you worried he might not be on the right side?”

  “There’s always something, Lindy,” he said, returning to his desk. “In my line of work, you learn distrust and assume guilt. We aren’t the defense, we put criminals away, not set them free.” The weight of his life’s choices returned again as he added, “But Layton is good at heart. Your mother never would have fallen for him if he wasn’t. If he’s mixed up in something now, it’s not his fault.”

  I carried his words with me the rest of the day, through a very quiet dinner and even as I watched the sun set from my cottage porch. Many times as a teenager I’d wished that Ranger could have been my father. He was adventurous, brave, nothing like my nerdy father who loved to do the right thing. But with new perspective, I understood my father was braver than I’d ever given him credit for. I was lucky that my mother had chosen him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Knowing I was suspicious enough, I didn’t call in a third day for work. One more day, and I could access the records in the file room. I needed everything to appear as normal as possible.

  Eleanor offered to do my hair and makeup so that I still looked under the weather. I did worry about the example I set for her. But then, I’d never had a very good example of what a big sister should look like.

  Jackie.

  She was never far from my thoughts. I hoped when everything with Hallie’s murder was resolved, provided I wasn’t killed in the process, I might have a chance to keep working on that relationship.

  “There you go.” Eleanor put down her makeup brush. “Bags under your eyes, pale complexion with a hint of pink in the cheeks like you’re fighting off a fever. Perfect.”

  “I found her,” I whispered, unable to keep my secret any longer. “I found Jackie, Elle.”

  Her brush clattered to the floor. She’d been an infant when our sister had been taken, but she picked up on more than most kids. Still, she had no idea about Germany, or the fact that Jackie was alive.

  “Jackie died.” She retrieved the brush from the floor. “She drowned.”

  “No,” I said. “Mom and Dad made us believe that because she was kidnapped and sold.”

  “Lindy, this isn’t funny. If you’re trying to scare me,” Elle started to pack her makeup back in her case as if she might run, “this isn’t a good prank.”

  “I found her,” I said again. “Mom and Dad don’t know. Kip searched her out for me. That case with St. Anthony, the one where I got shot, he was her kidnapper.”

  Connections formed in her mind, but she fought against them.

  “No,” she said again. “Jackie died.”

  I took her cold hand and squeezed it. “I’m going to solve this case, and then I’m going to fix our family. Just wait, Elle.”

  The smallest glimmer of hope showed behind her glistening eyes. “I think you need some sleep first. You’re getting delusional.”

  Add that to my paranoia, and I wasn’t far off from a mental breakdown. Maybe Ryder and I could share a padded cell.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Everyone at work gave me a wide berth, obviously Elle had outdone herself with my makeup. I tried to watch for any suspicious behavior on the part of Andrew or any of the other associates, but nothing popped out. Granted, as a receptionist, it wasn’t like I was privy to happenings behind closed doors.

  After lunch Pavi, the paralegal I’d helped in the filing room, stopped by my desk.

  “You look like death. You should go home, get an early start on the long weekend.”

  “I missed Monday and Tuesday. I don’t think anyone is going to give me Thursday and Friday off as well.”

  She started to speak, but her words cut short as she eyed me. “Did you hit your head as well?”

  “No.” Nervously I checked my forehead for abrasions. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d gotten hurt and forgotten about it. One of the many joys of MS was finding injuries and not remembering where I’d gotten them. But surely I would have remembered a head injury.

  “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.” She said it with delicate precision, as if it might upset the unbalanced receptionist. “The office is closed for the rest of the week.”

  I’d forgotten Thanksgiving. How had I forgotten Thanksgiving? It was another residual effect of Eden’s Haven. Dates hadn’t been important, time had filtered by without months or days of the week. But it made sense, the decorations around the office, Elle coming home for a visit, maybe I had hit my head and forgotten it.

  “Oh gosh.” I set my palm to my forehead. “This bug must have really rattled me.”

  “Seriously,” she tapped my desk with her fingers, “you need to rest.”

  Before she could leave, I asked, “Does that mean the cleaning crew will come tonight?”

  It was the last thing she expected me to ask, but at least she gave me a weak, “Yeah, I guess.”

  She left me there to ponder my plan. I wasn’t prepared, at least I didn’t feel prepared in a pencil skirt and heels to do late night B&E work. But I had no choice.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I hung out in
my car after work waiting for the last associate to leave, and more importantly for the cleaning crew to get there. I followed them up, taking the elevator just after them. When I got to the office, the door was locked, but a woman in a uniform had started vacuuming the lobby. I tapped my keys against the glass and held up my ID for Katie Fullerson as I waved a file I’d snuck out of the office earlier that day.

  The woman nodded and flipped the lock on the door. I thanked her quite a few times and then asked, “Could you let me into the filing room? I promised one of the paralegals I would file this for her, and I totally forgot.”

  She weighed it in her mind, , but what harm could one silly receptionist do? Smiling, she punched in the code and held the door open. Once more I thanked her for saving my job.

  The door closed and left me alone. There was only one video camera in the room, but thankfully a little stepping stool as well. Without crossing into the sight line of the camera, I pushed the stool beneath the camera, stepped up, and pushed the device until the lens pointed at the ceiling. If all went well, no one would check the feeds until Monday, and by then I hoped this whole mess would be behind me.

  I worked on the locked cabinet with a bobby pin I’d borrowed from Pavi. It wasn’t nearly as easy as my lock picking kit. I nearly gave up, but I felt the pin fall and I gave a twist. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I pulled the drawer back slowly enough that it wouldn’t make noise. I found the Club Feugo file and pried it loose.

  The first pages were nondescript, a previous suit about wheelchair access, another suit about a bouncer getting handsy with a girl while tossing her out. What I might expect from a nightclub. I turned the page and found pay dirt.

  Assault charges against one of the owners spelled out in black and white. The case was settled out of court for an exorbitant sum. Next, I found an open case about drug possession with the intent to deal. As bad as it was, it didn’t shock me. Clubs were often mixed up in some sort of shady business, and none of it would free Amos.