Murder Feels Crazy

by Bill Alive

  “Nice house,” Mark said.

  The woman eyed him with sharp, anxious scrutiny, but she must have decided his admiration was genuine. She beamed, and the smile almost reached her light eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Really,” Mark said. “It’s pretty much perfect.”

  She tinkled a tiny laugh and shrugged with self-deprecation. “Not quite.”

  From another room, a foghorn voice boomed.

  “Jocelyn?” It was a man’s voice, old and irritable, like a manager who’d spent his life complaining that he could never find good help. “Jocelyn! We have to get out of here!”

  “It’s the police, dear,” she called. She sounded aggressively normal, as if she were announcing the plumber.

  Beside the staircase, a set of French doors burst open.

  They revealed a glimpse of a lush man cave, luxuriously paneled in dark wood. A massive leather easy chair reclined amid lit candles, a rack of wine, and the lull of smooth jazz. A familiar minty scent wafted out, and I spotted the exact same scent machine that Mark had bought.

  Huh. I had to admit, when that thing was working properly, the smell was rather posh.

  But a large old man pounced through the portal, closed this glimpse of the good life, and turned to face us with a bulldog glare.

  I probably thought “bulldog” because, for one, he had a generous set of jowls. I wondered if he might be Jocelyn’s father. But despite his overall sag and his wispy white fringe of remaining hair, he moved with a robust energy that suggested he was only sixty or so. He had plenty of life yet to taste.

  Speaking of tasting, he wasn’t obese, but he did have the hard apple belly of a long-time gourmand. And his nose was swollen and capillaried with many an evening’s libations.

  Then it occurred to me that here I was fat shaming again. Geez, what was my deal? How could I possibly know that this guy was some suspect glutton? For all I knew, he could be a low-carb vegan who had a life-threatening hormone problem.

  Plus, trying to go both vegan and low-carb might explain why he seemed so grumpy…

  He snapped his bright eyes over us, then turned to his wife and said, “What’s he done this time?”

  “Wallace, no!” she said. “We don’t know that.”

  Gwen said, “I’m afraid I am here about your son.”

  “Her son,” muttered Wallace.

  Jocelyn flinched with hurt.

  Wallace frowned, but he did go over and start rubbing her shoulder.

  “Officer,” he said, and his tone was flat and professional, “you probably know that we’ve all been through a pretty rough time here. Aidan’s just barely gotten back from rehab.”

  Jocelyn shut her eyes.

  “It’s been very hard for all of us,” Wallace continued, “and this is the first night in a long time that my wife and I have actually been able to make plans. You understand?”

  Gwen nodded.

  “Good. Now are you here to arrest Aidan or what?”

  Gwen blinked.

  Mark cut in. “It’s probably best if we just talk to him.”

  Above us, Aidan said, “Talk to me about what?”

  He was standing on the stairs, a cleancut, good-looking dude in the bloom of health. He looked puzzled, but he was smiling, and between the smile and the high cheekbones he’d inherited from his mom, he could have been on that magazine cover with the foyer.

  I would never in a million years have pegged him as an addict.

  Maybe a celebrity addict?

  But no… not really. Although Aidan might have managed a model shoot, he didn’t quite have that aura that demanded fascination. He struck you more as a guy who’d grow up to be a needlessly studly patent attorney. And end up looking like his stepdad.

  No way this guy was putting on an animal costume and shoving Ceci down into a back injury and a hospital bed.

  Said my stupid, privileged, profiling, pattern-matching white male American brain. Ugh. Way to go, Pete.

  Meanwhile, Mark, the one who actually could get a glimpse beyond appearances, peered up at Aidan with a vibing squint. But I couldn’t tell whether he got anything.

  Aidan said, “Is everything okay?”

  Gwen said, “This will only take a few minutes. I promise.”

  Wallace humphed and checked a watch that looked like legit gold. “If we’re doing this, let’s at least get comfortable.”

  He ushered us into the living room, and the overstuffed couches enfolded us like sentient marshmallows. Which maybe sounds creepy, and it kind of was. I wasn’t quite sure I’d get up again without a lifeline.

  Aidan walked with a stiff limp in his right leg. As he settled into a chair, Mark winced.

  “Sorry I’m slow,” Aidan said, with a wry smile. “Ripped my knee up, still not quite up to par. Can’t even drive yet.”

  Jocelyn had scurried off, and now she returned laden with crystal party platters of meat and cheese. She set one on a central table for us, then handed Wallace his own plate. So much for the vegan theory.

  The cheese tasted fantastic. Wow. For the moment, I totally forgot we were investigating an assault.

  Jocelyn clucked and started fussing with the drapes, but Wallace said, not unkindly, “Honey, you spent all day vacuuming this room. Please sit down.”

  She sighed and sat.

  Silence.

  Finally Gwen faced Aidan. “Mr. Cull, your parents mentioned that you’ve recently completed a rehab program. When exactly did you get back home?”

  Aidan’s friendly smile died. He suddenly looked much less automatically innocent.

  On the other hand, I reminded myself, it might be awkward chit-chatting about one’s adventures in rehab. Especially with a cop.

  “Saturday night a week ago,” he said. “Why?”

  “Then where were you this past Sunday at five P.M.?”

  “Here, I’m sure. Like I said, I still can’t drive. What’s this about?”

  “Was anyone with you here? Your parents?” She looked to Jocelyn and Wallace.

  Jocelyn’s high cheeks had gone pale, but she wore a mask of dutiful concentration, as if this were nothing more crucial than remembering a lost phone number.

  Wallace said, “No, we were out all evening. Shopping.”

  “We’re planning a cruise,” Jocelyn said.

  “Yeah, I was just in my room,” Aidan said. “Does that matter? What happened?”

  Mark, sunk deep in thought, and also a massive recliner, turned to Gwen and spoke with quiet certainty. “He didn’t do it.”

  Gwen glowered.

  “Do what?” Jocelyn said.

  Mark heaved up from the clutches of the chair and leaned toward Aidan. “Aidan, we’re looking for someone who’s still into heroin. Desperate.”

  Aidan flushed. “Listen, I’m clean, I’m done—”

  “I know,” Mark said.

  I shivered. I still never get used to this.

  Gwen frowned. “That’s good to hear, Mr. Cull, but our problem is that we still have someone in a cheap furry suit who assaulted a nurse after demanding pain meds.”

  I’m no empath, but to me, Aidan looked genuinely bewildered.

  Mark said, “We talked to the local furry group. Chip said you all parted on bad terms.”

  “What?” Aidan said. He flushed again, redder. “That had nothing to do with drugs.”

  “Do any of them have drug connections?” Gwen said.

  “What? No! They’re just… they’re furries. The whole fandom thing, it was just… super lame.”

  But he was staring at his hands.

  “Mr. Cull, this is very important,” Gwen said. “I need to know where you got your heroin.”

  “That’s enough,” Jocelyn snapped.

  She was perched ramrod straight on the edge of her couch, boring into Gwen with a laser gaze.

  “My son has left those crowds behind,” she said. “Both the animal suit people and the drugs. And he is still recovering from a serious injury.”
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  “Mom—” Aidan said.

  “You have no right to intrude on him and on our family.”

  Gwen said, “Mrs. Cull, with all due respect—”

  “Mrs. Lyall,” Jocelyn snapped. “Cull is Aidan’s father.”

  Gwen glanced at Wallace (Lyall). “Of course,” she said. “I apologize.”

  “Apology accepted,” said Joceyln. “Now please leave our home.”

  “Your home’s not an island,” Gwen said. “You’re part of the larger community. We’ve already had one overdose—”

  “Do I need to call my lawyer?” Jocelyn said.

  Gwen’s lips clamped shut, but her eyes blazed.

  And then… the doorbell rang.

  Wallace groaned and muttered something about Grand Central Station.

  “I’ll show you out,” Jocelyn said, as she leapt up and glided to the door.

  But when she opened the door, she spoke with a whole new edge of surprise and anger. “Aidan?” she called back.

  I hopped up to see. In the doorway stood Luther and Rachel.

  Looking very decidedly pissed.

  Mark winced.

  Chapter 13

  Seeing Jocelyn guard her doorway again, though now from the inside, was a startling deja vu. This time around, her whole posture was tense with hostility, arcing right at Rachel.

  As Rachel faced her, her eyes went cold.

  I realized that Rachel was still wearing the whisker makeup and cat ears. Judging from Jocelyn’s body language, that didn’t make her any less threatening.

  Luther had changed out of his raccoon suit, but his civilian outfit of ripped jeans and a bulky flannel probably wasn’t scoring any Jocelyn points. “We want to talk to Aidan,” he snapped.

  Jocelyn’s reply was chilly with Southern sweetness. “I’m so sorry, but this is a bad time.”

  “The hell it is,” Luther said. “Now the cops are asking about him. If he goes to jail, we’ll never get paid for that fursuit.”

  Aidan staggered up. “Leave my mom out of this,” he called, and he limped toward them with painful speed.

  Mark quietly rose to follow him, but signaled Gwen to stay put in the living room. I went with Mark.

  As we approached, Rachel’s cold eyes flitted over me with a glimmer of surprise. But then she gave Aidan her entire focus.

  “Rachel,” he said. “I canceled that order. You know this.”

  Rachel flinched, like this was some major insult.

  I was confused, but beside me, Mark caught his breath.

  “What? What is it?” I whispered, but he shook his head.

  Luther said, “Screw that. You didn’t cancel till she’d already started the work! You know how much it costs just for the materials alone? Hundreds and hundreds of dollars!”

  I gasped. “Really?”

  Jocelyn said, ice cold, “I think she got her money out of him.”

  “What was that?” Rachel said. “You want to explain exactly what you’re saying here?”

  “Mom, please,” Aidan said.

  Jocelyn’s lips were trembling, but her voice was firm as she glared down at Rachel. “He had to get those drugs from somewhere.”

  “Oh my god,” Rachel said. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t start my worst enemy on that shit.”

  From the living room, Wallace heaved up. “You watch your mouth, young lady!” he boomed. As he bumbled up to join the defense, I was overwhelmed by the blistering revelation that some real people, like Wallace, really do talk in cliches. It’s like their dialect.

  The implications are disturbing.

  Wallace barged into the doorway. “Get off our property this second,” he huffed down at Rachel, “or I promise you, I will call the police.”

  In the living room, Gwen cleared her throat.

  Wallace frowned, then blustered, “See?”

  Rachel ignored him. “Mrs. Lyall,” she said, “it’s not like it really matters, but your son was using long before he ever met me. Ask him.”

  Jocelyn’s white cheeks were blotching red. “He had a sports injury,” she choked out. “He was prescribed… by a doctor…”

  “Mom, come on,” Aidan said. He tried to gently coax her back, but she shook him off and leaned into Rachel’s glare.

  “He had a full scholarship,” Jocelyn said. “Now he’ll never play again. He’s still in pain, although he won’t admit it, and all he can do is coach the kids’ soccer and even that is excruciating. He may never heal.”

  Rachel looked away and folded her arms. In a low voice, she said, “It’s not like he stuck to his prescription.”

  “Get out!” Jocelyn spat. “My God, you stand there judging us and you’re about to explode with that baby. Is this even the father?”

  Luther grimaced, and Rachel flushed. But before she could speak, Aidan physically got between them.

  “Rachel, please, fine,” he said. “I’ll write you a check. Right now. All the best, okay? Just go.”

  Rachel went white.

  Mark breathed, “No. No no no, don’t…”

  But Rachel said, “No. Actually. Since you asked. This isn’t the father.”

  At first, Jocelyn looked confused.

  But then Luther snapped, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” and Aidan muttered a curse, and Rachel just looked at Aidan, and her eyes were glittering and wet and yet still so cold, and he ducked his head, he wouldn’t look back… and finally Jocelyn gave this strangled little gasp, and she covered her mouth, and even Wallace’s cheeks blanched to doughy white.

  My chest started to shake. I felt like I’d walked in on an open-heart surgery that had just gone botched and lethal.

  At last Rachel crossed her arms and said, “So this time’s for real? You’re actually going to write that check?”

  And Luther said, “I will kill you.”

  We all jolted, Rachel most of all. Luther’s face had twisted into a crazy rage. He was facing Aidan with his fists clenched and his lean body coiled to lunge.

  “Sir!” Gwen barked. She had materialized at the doorway, and she was blocking Luther with arms crossed and a glare that would disintegrate granite. “For the love of God, I am standing right here.”

  Luther cussed her out and staggered away down the steps. He bent over and leaned on his thighs, like he might puke. Then he lurched up and clambered into his beat-up truck at the curb.

  Rachel shouted, “Hey!” and she stepped after him down the walkway.

  But he shrieked a final obscenity and screeched off down the street.

  Rachel watched him go. She stood in the driveway, split by the dark night shadow and the house’s glaring security light, bulging with her baby and alone.

  Chapter 14

  Gwen wound up giving Rachel a ride home. Talk about awkward.

  Mark gave her the front seat, of course. She barely said a word, and just stared out the window. I could almost feel her shielding.

  After she left, Gwen started grumbling about the case.

  If Aidan was a dead end, and the real furries wouldn’t have worn such a crappy panda suit, we really had no clue. Any random addict might have bought a cheap suit and assaulted Ceci.

  As Gwen talked, I kept realizing that she wasn’t just determined to catch a violent addict with a penchant for disguises. She was haunted by the specter of Back Mosby going all West Virginia, ravaged by cheap local heroin, with the cops constantly trying to resurrect the rasping dead.

  I tried to listen, but honestly, it was too scary. Besides, as we drove down our clean little Main Street, dystopia still seemed pretty remote.

  Actually, you could drive there in less than an hour.

  But the truth was that I had more pressing personal matters pressing like a fist on my fluttering gut. We were heading to the hospital to see Ceci.

  What with her being hospitalized and all, we still hadn’t talked. I mean really talked.

  I know, I know, how could I be obsessing about this instead of the threat of mass drug
addiction, right? I don’t know. What can I say? I didn’t invent the brain. And if I’d had a toothache, that would have trumped everything.

  It didn’t help that we’d just given that ride to Rachel.

  I mean, in the movies, once the guy actually falls in love, he doesn’t keep wigging out every time he sits next to an extra, does he? And they’re all freaking models. But even through the plexiglass, squeezed into the backseat of a cop car and separated by a shotgun, I’d had literal heart palpitations the entire ride until Rachel finally left. If I ever found The One, wouldn’t she have to make me feel at LEAST as much as some random hot pregnant mom?

  It’s not like I was trying to crash into another pointless crush. I was truly trying to stay out this time.

  But that didn’t seem to change my feelings. Why not? And what did that mean about me and Ceci? It was so damn confusing.

  I mean, worst case scenario, what if I was like, sure, Ceci, let’s give it a go, and then I wound up leading her on and breaking her to pieces? Not even meaning to? Just being me, being not able to hide that there didn’t seem to be any True Love Obsession here to make me blind to every other girl?

  I hated that. I hated the very idea of making her hurt.

  But could we really go back to being Safely Just Friends?

  We got to the hospital, and even though my stomach was churning, I managed to notice that Gwen led us up a back staircase so that Mark would only pass a minimum of patients. She didn’t say anything, but when I realized what she was doing, it gave me a shiver. She really did believe… this was her new normal.

  As we walked into the hospital room, Ceci lit up like a firefly.

  Which I’d always thought was a weird analogy, but it worked in It’s A Wonderful Life, and it was working now.

  She just seemed so… radiant… and cheerful, even flat on her painful back in a hospital bed.

  My hurricane of feelings erupted into fresh confusion. Thinking about Ceci was one thing. Being with her, apparently, was quite another.

  Gwen strode to the bedside, and she tried to just stand there, but her face was working with barely smothered feeling, and she gripped the bed handrail hard.

  Ceci touched her whitening knuckles and smiled. “Hey, sis.”

  Gwen said, “When I catch that furry… bastard…”