Flamingo Realty Mystery Box Set

by CeeCee James

  A rattle of silverware commanded our attention to the front of the table. Ian had thrown down his utensil and turned to glare at Jasmine. She appeared frightened.

  Uncle Chris nudged Ian’s arm.

  “Calm down. Smile. It’s a party,” Uncle Chris encouraged. And then he seemed to try to change the subject by saying, “Now tell me how I’m going to finish my bid for Brookfield Mayor?”

  Ian unclenched his hand gripping the cloth napkin. He forcefully relaxed his face and turned his attention to Uncle Chris. Soon they were talking animatedly about political campaigns.

  Celeste hummed next to me. “It’s a pity none of his family could be here to help celebrate. Or, perhaps, no wonder, with that temper of his.”

  “None?” I asked.

  “His brother doesn’t seem to have been able to make it. And his parents are gone.”

  A waiter set a plate brimming with barbecue before me. I thanked him and then turned to Celeste. “I thought he said his brother threatened to tell his mom he couldn’t come to a birthday party?”

  She picked up her fork. “Oh, that’s his foster mom. His birth parents died in a car accident when he was a young boy. Although, I do believe they’re here in spirit. At least his mother.” She raised a blonde white eyebrow. “Literally.”

  “Literally?” Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I self-consciously rubbed at them.

  “Oh yes, the Stubers are known for haunting their descendants. And with it being Ian’s mom, I’m sure she’s very close. They’re in the shadows. Always watching.” She shrugged a thin shoulder. “You know how mothers are.”

  I must have reacted because her sharp gaze zeroed in on me, again. “Are you close to your mom?” She speared a bit of salad.

  And, just like a wet fish flopping on the end of a line, there it was: the question I’d skirted around my entire life. My mom.

  Growing up in Seattle, people were used to the idea that my mother wasn’t around. It had been commonly accepted throughout my school years that it was just Dad and me. Of course, every now and then, someone would ask about her, but I’d always managed to fend off any curiosity with a casual, “Oh, she’s been out of the picture since I was little.”

  I cleared my throat now in preparation to deliver the party line. “I don’t know my mom. It’s always been just my dad and me.”

  Celeste’s eyebrow flickered slightly at my answer. “I see. So, did your parents divorce, then?”

  Of course, that was the reason I always gave. But, as I opened my mouth to drop the yes, I paused.

  Why did I believe that my parents had divorced? My mind raced through childhood memories until one surfaced of my dad explaining to me that I needed to use that excuse with my first-grade teacher. He’d told me that the word meant two parents weren’t together anymore. And I’d blindly accepted it.

  A chill ran down my neck. Was that what really happened? Had my parents been divorced?

  I swallowed as my inner voice poked with another question. Were they ever really married?

  The enormity of that thought caused me to gasp. “I don’t know,” I finally stuttered. “My dad mentioned something like that, but we’ve never really talked about it. I was a child. It was what he’d had me tell my teacher.”

  “How young were you when he said that?” she asked, her expression softening.

  “Oh, about six,” I answered, remembering that day. I’d worn light-up sandals with pink embroidered flowers. I’d loved those things, and been more concerned about stomping my feet to get the shoes to light up than in understanding the complicated word my father was sharing.

  “And you’ve never seen her since?”

  I shook my head.

  Celeste leaned back in her chair. “There were no talks of visitation? No custody issues?”

  “We never really talked of her again.” I rubbed my neck, still creeping with chills.

  “That seems highly unusual, don’t you think? You don’t suppose it’s possible he’s kept you from her, do you?”

  What had I thought? No, I thought my mother had wanted nothing to do with us. The way my dad had cried when my mother had left… he’d been heartbroken.

  I shook my head, my arms crossed. My father was a good man. He’d never do something as low as kidnap me. “It destroyed him when she left. I think she was done with us. She broke his heart. In fact, he’s never even dated again.”

  “Hmm.” Her brow puckered, and she tapped her lip. “Very peculiar.”

  “It’s just normal life for me.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t suppose, being that you were so very small, that your mom died, do you? Perhaps your father never knew how to tell you. He just said she went away. That happens, you know.”

  I picked up a fork. To be honest, I was trying to stall, desperate to do anything I could so that I could catch my breath. This woman was mentally sharper than me, and there was no knowing what she’d say next. Her words felt like a deluge of water pouring over me. I set down the utensil and fanned my face.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  At that moment, a man and a woman peered in through the dining room doorway.

  “Knock! Knock!” said a heavy-set dark-haired man with a grin. He waggled a bottle of wine. “I heard someone was having a party!”

  “Gordon Taylor!” shouted Ian from the head of the table. He stood, and they shook hands.

  “Please! Have a drink,” shouted Gordon. He popped the cork to the squeals of some of the women. Ian looked at his glass confused. It still had an inch of wine in it. He quickly drained the glass and then held it out.

  Gordon filled it up.

  Jasmine covered her glass with her hand. “Sorry, I’m not drinking.”

  “Oh come on. This is the good stuff!” Gordon said. He turned the bottle so the label could be read. I had no idea what it was, but several of the guests let out impressed sighs.

  Ian sipped it and wrinkled his nose. Finally, he nodded. “It’s good. Very good. Please! Have a seat.”

  The caterer brought over a few more chairs. We all scooted down, chairs rumbling against the floor, until there was a sliver of space available for the new guests.

  I turned toward them, welcoming the distraction. Welcoming it so hard that I would have taken anything at that point to stop the conversation between Celeste and me.

  Little did I know what was coming next.

  Chapter 2

  After the neighbors had finally settled into their seat, things got back to normal around the table. Celeste turned toward me, her chest rising as she drew in a breath. By the pursing of her lips and the raised eyebrows, I imagined she wanted to pop off another round of questions. Rapidly, I spun toward my other neighbor.

  “Are you enjoying the food?” I asked the man, my voice high and filled with desperation.

  The man appeared to be in his fifties, with wrinkles just starting to whisk out from around his eyes and mouth. His pasty-white skin color accentuated the enormous pores dotting his nose and cheeks.

  Just as I asked the question, he made a face like he’d crunched on a bit of bone.

  “What’s the matter? Are you okay?” I watched with concern. His facial expression wasn’t improving.

  He shook his head, nose wrinkling. “Potato salad tastes off.”

  I watched him wipe his fork clean with his napkin and then glance at my own plate where a plop of the salad sat on a lettuce leaf.

  “Don’t eat that,” he advised, shaking his head.

  “Really?” I asked, dipping a tine of my fork into the mayonnaise mixture. I brought it to my nose and gave a quick sniff, but it smelled normal to me.

  He took a gulp of water. “Definitely off. In fact, we should tell the caterers to clear it away before anyone else eats it.”

  There was a cough from the front of the table. Ian waved his napkin in front of his face. He smiled weakly at whatever Gordon, the neighbor, was saying, and gestured with his hand that he’d be right back. He took a big dr
ink of wine, grimaced again, and stood with a scrape of the chair legs against the wood floor. Ian’s face glistened with sweat. He had that green around the gills look, and I thought he might vomit, to be honest.

  Celeste tapped my elbow. “He doesn’t look like he feels very well.” She poked at her barbecue chicken. “I hope it’s not something in the food.”

  I glanced at the potato salad. Besides my neighbor, everyone else had eaten it and seemed to be okay. “Maybe it’s a virus,” I said.

  She nodded. “The stomach flu does seem to be going around.” Still, she laid the heavy silver fork on the plate with a soft clink. “Now, about your mother.”

  I stared at Uncle Chris, hoping for a lifeline.

  He must have felt my eyes on him. “How you doing down there, ladies?” he asked.

  Celeste answered, “I was just telling Stella that I think Ruth, Ian’s mom, is here wishing him well tonight. Don’t you think so, Jasmine? That she’s here, lurking around the corners, keeping an eye on things?”

  Everyone around the table quieted at the strange statement. I wondered what kind of crazy thing she was going to say next.

  Jasmine’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, I… I don’t quite know about that.”

  “Oh, they come and check in, especially on momentous occasions. Life. Going away parties. Death.” Celeste tittered. “You know that cold feeling rising along the back of your neck when you are convinced someone is watching you? And you spin around, hoping to catch them, but no one is there?” She winked. “That’s the spirits checking on you from the other side.”

  Now, I considered if Celeste might be drunk.

  Jasmine didn’t seem to know how to answer that. “That very well could be.” She twisted a napkin and tossed it on her plate. “If you will excuse me.” She got up and moved stiffly through the doorway in the direction that Ian went.

  I turned back to my potato salad. This party exemplified everything I hated about crowds, stuck as I was between two doozy conversationalists. Concentrating on my plate felt like the safest option by far.

  My peace didn’t last for long.

  “You know,” said Celeste, brushing my elbow again. “I’m sensing a spiritual presence for sure.”

  “I told you the salad was no good,” grumbled the man on my right. “Poor guy is probably puking his guts out.”

  “They can make themselves visible if they want,” continued Celeste.

  “Just hope it doesn’t happen to me,” growled the man.

  At that moment, Jasmine re-entered the room with a smile.

  “Is he okay?” asked the neighbor’s wife.

  “He’s just freshening up,” she said to the entire table.

  “Well, that’s good news,” said Celeste, while my neighbor frowned discontentedly, apparently preferring the visual of Ian being sick.

  The servers cleared the plates and then dessert was offered, chocolate mousse and French silk pie. I was stuffed and passed. Besides, I couldn’t tell if it was the idea put into my head by both my neighbor and Celeste, but I was feeling a little queasy.

  “Poor Jasmine, being forced to move,” Celeste said again. I was scared to give her my attention, unsure of what topic she would start in on next.

  “I heard it was a great move for them,” I finally answered.

  “She loves this house. She’d never dreamed of leaving it. No, he’s forcing her.” She went back to spooning up her dessert. She tasted the dot of chocolate at the end of the spoon before putting down the utensil. I realized I’d scarcely seen her eat a thing.

  I hardly knew how to answer that, and decided to nod and focus on my wine. Across from me, Kari seemed to be feeling great. She laughed at whatever the neighbor’s wife said to her and finished her wine.

  But when the servers came later to remove the dessert plates, I think we all eyed Ian’s empty seat. It was a weird feeling, not knowing exactly what to do with the guest of honor absent. Do we get up and mingle? Sit and wait?

  Jasmine glanced nervously back in the hall’s direction, clearly surprised Ian wasn’t back. Finally, Uncle Chris balled up his napkin and stood up. “I’ll just go check on him.”

  Jasmine seemed reassured and dipped her head in a graceful nod. An uneasy feeling curled inside of me, the kind that brought to mind old TV shows that my dad used to love where they threw salt over their shoulder while muttering about dark signs. So it was with sinking dread, but no surprise, when Uncle Chris returned, gray-faced. “Call the police,” he demanded.

  “The police?” gasped the neighbor, Gordon.

  “Is it Ian? Is he not well? Should I call an ambulance?” Jasmine jumped up and gripped the table. The blood drained from her face, allowing her lips to stand out like raspberries on ice-cream.

  Uncle Chris faced her. He exhaled deeply and the lines around his mouth deepened. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. An ambulance won’t help him now. He’s dead.”

  Gasps and screams of shock rose around the table. I stared in disbelief toward Jasmine.

  Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fainted, nearly hitting her head on the table. Somehow Uncle Chris managed to catch her before that happened and eased her to the floor.

  The police arrived a short time later. They quarantined us into separate groups where we were all questioned. It surprised me when Officer Carlson arrived. We’d run into each other a few times now, over the course of the time since I’d moved to Brookfield. I don’t think I was one of his favorite people. In fact, he’d made fun of me and called me Hollywood because I was from the west coast. I’d sarcastically mentioned that Washington was not California, but he didn’t seem to care.

  His eyes widened when he saw me, and then he turned to mutter at his partner. Of course, it was loud enough for me to hear. “I’m too close to her to interview her.” The two of them laughed.

  I didn’t like what his buddy thought Carlson inferred, and Carlson didn’t seem to correct it. I crossed my arms, my face settling into the same scowl I’d used when staring down mocking competitors at a track meet in high school.

  Officer Carlson walked away, and his partner beckoned me over to him. I stalked over with more attitude than one should have when the guest of honor has died at a party.

  “I’m Officer Daniels, and I have just a few questions. So, please set the scene for me, where were you during the dinner?” he asked, staring me straight in the eye. Officer Carlson was tall and bald, but his partner was a short guy. Officer Daniels didn’t have much more hair than Carlson though. However, Officer Carlson’s bald head was by choice rather than nature—and Daniels seemed to desperately be hanging on to his fringe from the looks of the hair wax.

  “I was at the table,” I succinctly answered. I’d learned in my past dealings with the police to limit the details I offered.

  He took out a pad and pen and used his teeth to pull off the cap. “Did you see Ian leave?”

  “Yes. He seemed sick.”

  “So he left the table to…?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure why he left. Maybe to go to the bathroom?”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Uncle Chris talking with another officer. His pale face showed how he was still in shock, and I felt sorry for him.

  “What did you think when Ian didn’t return to the table?” the officer asked.

  “I thought nothing of it, because his wife got up and checked on him. She said he was fine, just freshening up.”

  “So, what made you think he might have gotten sick?”

  I started to mention the potato salad, but that would put the focus on Kari. I shrugged instead. “Everyone has weird food allergies nowadays. You never know what will affect a person.”

  “Did anyone else notice he was gone?”

  “I think we all did. I heard that lady over there ask Ian’s wife if he was okay. Maybe that’s what made me wonder if he had become sick.”

  “And what did his wife say?”

>   “Jasmine said she was sure he’d be right back.”

  “Did Jasmine act suspiciously in any way?”

  That jerked me upright. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, was her behavior in any way suspicious? Did it seem like she was trying to delay people looking for him, etcetera?”

  My eyebrows raised, shocked he was asking me, but I shook my head. “No. I think she checked on him after being concerned, but she herself was reassured after she’d talked with him.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you asking these questions? What exactly happened to him?”

  Officer Daniels ignored me. “Was there anyone else that caught your attention by acting strangely?”

  Again, I shook my head, breathing deep to remain calm. It occurred to me that every person here was being asked the same questions. What if someone thought I’d done something suspicious?

  He snapped the notebook shut. “We might like you to come down to the station at some point, so stick around town.”

  “Why would you need me to come down?” I asked.

  “To get your fingerprints. We don’t know the cause of death yet.”

  I clenched my hands when he said this. He noticed and lifted an eyebrow as he flipped open the pad to scribble some more. Great. Now, what did he write? And why was I suddenly feeling guilty? Heat crawled up under my collar and filled my face. I could just imagine that my cheeks were glowing like stop signs.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss O’Neil. That will be all for now.” He glanced around the place. “Is anyone staying behind to clean up? It looks like Mrs. Stuber will need some help.”

  Punctuating that statement was a sob that Jasmine let out as the neighbor’s wife hugged her. “Yes, I will.” I rubbed the back of my neck, still amazed to be caught up in all of this.

  Officer Daniels walked over to Celeste while I headed toward Uncle Chris. A balloon bobbed in my way, and I batted it down. Uncle Chris was talking with one of the guys that both he and Ian had graduated with.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked and pulled me in with a heavy arm over my shoulders.