by Lakota Grace
Silver didn't look around—never look around, she'd learned. With one swift motion, she grabbed the keys underneath the sweater. Then she straightened and waved confidently to the male attendant entering the front door.
“Going to be a GREAT day!” she enthused.
He smiled back. “Hard work out?”
“You bet!”
“That's the spirit!” His tone mirrored her own.
She gave him a good look at her ass as she strutted out the entrance. She'd use that interest when she returned. According to the class schedule posted outside, she had less than forty minutes before yoga was over. Time to move.
Silver examined the key ring on her way to the street: The fob for the gym, a plastic circle with the picture of a young boy, a small padlock key—wonder what that was for?—and the remote control key for the Mercedes.
Silver looked wistfully at the car—she hadn't driven one of those in a while—but regretfully passed. Making the key would take too long, and there were special procedures that the locksmith had to go through to duplicate a luxury car remote. That left one key on the ring, a Yale lock. Bingo.
She half-jogged to the Ace Hardware at the end of the street and smiled at the attendant behind the key counter. “Need a copy of my house key.”
“Sure, no problem.” The young man took the proffered key and turned to the key rack. His finger traced each column of blanks. Silver noted the time on the store’s wall clock. Fifteen minutes gone, already.
“Something wrong?” she asked impatiently.
The guy’s ears reddened. “Uh, I'm new here. I'll call Gus. He knows everything about keys.”
Gus ambled over, looked at the key, unerringly went to the right row and picked out a blank. He turned the procedure into a teaching moment, showing the new guy how to put the blank in the vice, run it through twice to be sure it was well cut.
“Now smooth off the rough edges and slip it into one of these small envelopes.”
Silver's fingers tightened against the edge of the counter. How much longer?
More delay at the checkout. She shifted from foot to foot as the customer ahead of her counted out screws. Another minute and she’d be screwed. She looked around for help.
A second register opened.
“I can check you out here, Miss.”
Finally! Silver grabbed her change, shoved the small key envelope in one pocket and the keychain in the other. She forced herself to walk slowly. Once in the open, she ran in earnest.
One minute turned into six long ones before she breathlessly reached the door of the gym. Swiping the woman's key fob at the entrance, she dashed in.
“Forgot my water bottle!” she announced to the male attendant at the front desk.
She turned so that her back was toward him and bent over to present an unforgettable view. She slipped the woman's keys beneath the pink sweater, in the bottom cubbie, third over.
Then Silver drank from the water bottle she'd grabbed from the cubbie above, hoping it contained no cooties. She hated using someone else's glass, much less a gym bottle, but needed to delay a few more minutes. She wiped the sweat from her brow and stretched out her back, waiting.
It didn't take long. Students streamed from the classroom across the courtyard. Yoga was over. Trailing the group of chattering, relaxed participants was Blond Ponytail. Still alone. Good.
Silver casually smiled at her as the young woman collected the pink sweater and keys so that the woman would remember her face. Silver anticipated approaching her when she neared the Mercedes, always a successful time to engage a prospective mark, when attention was distracted.
At the last moment, the woman veered and headed across the street to the Oak Creek Espresso Shop.
Even better.
With a shiver of distaste, Silver replaced the water bottle in the right cubby, exactly in the position it had held. She waited for a count of fifteen and then followed the young woman to the coffee shop.
She deliberated which approach to use to achieve her next goal.
Peg gets a New Job
~ 7 ~
Pegasus
I let Rory's call go to voicemail as I descended the hill from the Fisher mansion. I knew he'd be awkward at the death notification, but to turn on me as though it was my fault he blew it? How could he?
But the brutally honest truth was I needed the part-time pay from the FLO work. With that and my park salary, I'd make the rent this month. I needed to keep Rory happy, and I hated to be in that position.
My cell phone rang again. Rory wouldn’t let up. I pulled to the side of the road, rehearsing my response. Friend or no friend, I wouldn’t allow him to treat me that way. But the caller ID said Beatrix Fisher.
“Peg! That man who came with you called me back. He said Andy's death was a suicide. That's not right. Andy would never hurt himself!”
“Who? Are you referring to my partner?” Now what sort of mess had Rory created? He didn’t know anything about people relations. He’d flunk out of FLO School the first day.
“Yes, that name is right here on this business card,” Beatrix said. “He told me to accept my husband’s suicide and move on.”
Her voice turned screechy. “I know something. I didn't tell him, but I'll tell you if you come talk to me. It changes everything. Please!”
Perhaps Rory didn't mean to be that callous. Sure he had lessons to learn in how to deal with human beings, but he was still my friend.
“I can swing by your house for a few moments,” I said. “You'll be home?”
“Where else would I be? There’s nowhere, now that Andy is gone.” Her voice was hollow.
As we hung up, the phone beeped again: The automated reminder of Rory’s call. I punched in the voice message code with an exasperated finger.
A terse: “I left my notebook at the Fishers. Pick it up for me.”
What was I now—his errand girl? Rory was taking this promotion to detective entirely too much to heart.
Okay, I'd swing by to see Beatrix, then return to the Fisher house to retrieve Rory’s stupid notebook. And I'd bill the sheriff's department for every single minute. Rory had darn well better get my pay voucher in. He’d hear from me if he didn’t.
I ignored the small voice in the back of my mind that tracked the minutes I’d been away from Red Rock State Park. A death took precedence over keeping the kids from jumping in the creek. Anyway, weren't there plenty of cops swarming the meadow right now? The red rocks were safe.
***
When I reached the little house in Elmerville, Beatrix was sitting on an old cast iron bench in the front yard. I sat beside her and gave her hand a quick squeeze. The wind rattled through the branches of a mesquite tree overhead, and the afternoon sun was bleak.
“I won't keep you long,” Beatrix apologized. She shivered and drew her sweater tight.
I'd come across this before. A bereaved relative clung to the notion that someone else murdered their beloved, that they hadn't killed themselves. Sometimes they were right. So I settled back on the bench and listened.
Beatrix sniffled and then began her story.
“Andy and I fought. That part was true. But I'd just told him I wished we could start a family, that I wanted a baby. He agreed! So he couldn’t have killed himself with that future ahead of us.”
I wasn’t so sure. Sometimes a pregnancy wasn't happy news to both parties. But I withheld judgment.
“What happened next?”
“Andy called his father like I asked him to,” she said. “They set up a meeting at Red Rock State Park.”
“That night?”
She nodded tearfully.
Now I was convinced she was lying. The park closed at five. And being early spring, there wasn't even a full moon hike scheduled. Those hikes were spectacular in the summer months, but nobody wanted to be negotiating those bridges at night when they might be ice slick, like now in early spring.
“No, it's true,” she said. “Andy found the old w
ay into the property—that back gate is never supervised. He asked his father to meet him in the meadow below the headquarters. Henry Fisher was the last person to see Andy alive.”
And the meadow was where Andy's dead body was found. We hadn’t told her that, so there was some merit to her story. At least I could check it out with Andy’s father. Thanks to Rory I had to return to the Fisher house to get the darned notebook. I’d add this to the list of things to ask Henry Fisher about.
“Okay, Beatrix, I'll talk to him and confirm what you say. But if nothing comes of it, you'll have to do what Rory recommends and let it go. Would you be willing to do that?”
She bit her lip and then nodded.
Did I believe her, that her husband hadn’t committed suicide? I had serious doubts. But if questioning her father-in-law closed this matter in her heart, maybe running interference for Rory’s notebook was worth it.
As I reached my car to make the drive to the elder Fisher’s residence, the phone beeped, announcing an incoming text message. Rory again? I might as well see what he wanted. Sighing, I pulled to the side of the road. It was turning into a very long day.
But it wasn't Rory this time, either. The text came from the new acting supervisor at Red Rock State Park. I scanned the message. Stunned, I read it again, word by word.
“We needed you here this morning, and you disappeared without notice. That's unacceptable. You're FIRED.”
That wasn’t possible. Maybe he was joking. Nobody gets “let go” via text. I reread the message.
No mistake. No joke. I’d been fired.
I'd left plenty of jobs on my own accord. Goodbye and good riddance. But being ordered to leave? That shouted to the world I couldn’t even keep a part-time rent-a-cop job.
All right, I cried. Just a little. Me and Reckless sitting under a bridge somewhere, homeless and alone. Surely this wasn’t happening to me!
A Place to Stay
~ 8 ~
Silver
As Silver entered the coffee shop, she smelled fresh cinnamon and hot java. That was always a good sign. The tables were almost full, which would make her next move easier. With a swift glance, Silver located the young woman in the pink sweater at a corner table staring blankly into a huge cup of cappuccino.
Silver walked confidently to the front of the shop and surveyed the pastry counter. They looked good, especially that gluten-free double chocolate cupcake, next-to-last on the top row. She hesitated, then ordered a large black, no milk. Coffee was coffee as far as she was concerned.
“Here or to go?” the attendant asked, accepting her money.
“Here please.”
“Name?”
“Annie.” Never use your real name, but always give them something easy to spell.
Silver noted the café’s exits while she waited at the pickup counter: The front entrance, a corridor that led to restrooms—could be an exit there. A backdoor delivery through the kitchen. That made three possibles.
You never knew when you might need to leave a place quick. Silver respected crazies. You left them alone, they left you alone. She'd lived on the street with enough of them. But random shooters were another breed of dangerous, even in a friendly coffee shop. It paid to be cautious.
“Annie? Large black, no milk.”
Silver picked up the mug, took a sip—not bad. She'd have to remember this place. She drank again so she wouldn't spill any—that was tacky—and walked to the corner where Pony-Tail sat.
“I think we met at the gym. May I join you?” she asked.
The woman hesitated and then shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
Silver put her coffee on the table then reached over a swift hand. “My name is Annie. What's yours?”
The young woman's grip was limp, and Silver adjusted her own to make it softer.
“Robbyn, Robbyn Fisher.”
“Robbyn, what a beautiful name!”
Then she paused as the young woman's eyes welled up with tears.
“Did I say something wrong?” She reached into her backpack for a clean hanky. Always carry a clean hanky.
Robbyn took it gratefully, honked into it, balled it up and wiped delicately at mascaraed eyes. She refolded it into a square and gave it back.
“Thanks.”
Silver took the handkerchief by one corner and dropped it into an outer pocket of her daypack where it wouldn't touch her clothes. Snot carried the worst kind of germs.
“My world is crashing! Just crashing,” Robbyn said. “I thought the yoga would help, but it made things worse.”
With the diamond carats in that tennis bracelet, Robbyn's world was in no way as crashed as Silver's was. But she assumed her so-sorry-tell-me-more expression and then waited for the young woman to continue.
Robbyn hiccupped once and then began.
“My husb—husband and I argued this morning. He threatened to cancel my credit cards.” Her tone grew indignant. “I might have to go back to w-w-work.”
Silver reached over and gave her hand a sympathetic pat. “That's terrible! What happened?”
“He said my account is overdrawn, that we're out of money. How could we be broke? My checkbook has plenty of checks left.”
“Well, maybe it's just that bank. Do you have other accounts?” Gather as much information as possible before making the Pitch.
“Not according to him.” Robbyn's eyes flashed. “He says we have to economize. That we might have to let the Nanny go.”
“That’s just awful. It happened to me once, too. I remember when my mother said my allowance at private school was reduced.” Silver recalled the photo on the keychain. “And my little brother had to drop out of his preparatory Ivy League preschool.”
Silver nodded at the young woman in Mutual Understanding.
Robbyn puckered up. “And he said I can't see my trainer anymore. I need my trainer. How can I manage my life without him?” She sobbed uncontrollably.
“I’ve gotten so much out of working with mine,” Silver agreed. She carefully mirrored Robbyn’s pitch and cadence. “There, there. You'll be fine. You’re a Resilient Woman.”
Robbyn smiled through her tears at the compliment.
“You mentioned work,” Silver said. “Where?”
“At the art gallery. I've got an interview set up. But it's awkward. I ‘knew’ the gallery owner—before my husband and I met, of course.”
Robbyn drew the air quotes that Silver hated.
“Of course.”
Silver assumed a girlfriend-to-girlfriend expression of condolence. “That does make it awkward.”
Robbyn puckered up again. Other patrons were noticing. Never good to be noticed.
“Look, let me take you home,” Silver offered. “You're in no condition to drive right now.”
“I just feel so awful,” Robbyn said. “Are you sure you don't mind?”
“It will be my pleasure. Here, give me your car keys and we'll have you there in a jiff.” Robbyn looked like a “jiff” kind of girl.
“But you? How will you get back?” Robbyn looked up with baby-doll trusting eyes.
“Not a problem. I'll call my father’s limousine driver. He'll be glad to pick me up. He's such a sweet guy.”
“Unlike my husband.” Robbyn was definite.
“Unlike your husband.”
On the drive to the Fisher residence, Robbyn settled comfortably into the passenger seat like she owned it, which she did, and chattered happily in response to Silver's questions about what Henry did for a living—retired; their children—just one, Henry, Jr.; Robbyn's other assets—tons of jewelry.
“A girl can never have too much jewelry,” Silver observed.
Robbyn giggled at that, her good humor restored.
When they reached the subdivision, she gave Silver the gate-code and Silver punched it in. The gate rolled back smoothly, and the Mercedes purred up the hill to the circle drive.
“Well, here we are,” Robbyn announced.
“Here we are,” S
ilver echoed. “Do you remember the security code to the house?” she asked, noting an alarm company’s sign by the front door.
“Oh, we don't have a system. That sign is a fake. Who needs security? This is Sedona.”
Silver handed over the key ring and watched Robbyn skip up the front steps.
“I'll see you at the gym soon,” the young woman called back.
“Right! Take care of yourself, now.”
Silver turned and walked down the hill. She picked up a newspaper lying in a yard and helpfully put it on the porch of a vacant house. Folks forgot to cancel their subscription before leaving on vacation. That could be a tip-off to burglars, almost as bad as putting the hall light on automatic dusk-turn-on. Easiest thing in the world to spot if you were a pro. And that’s what Silver considered herself.
She planned to return to the Fisher residence late that evening. Somewhere in that big house was a vacant bedroom with her name on it. She'd leave before the family rose, the bed carefully made up and the towels folded neatly.
In the meantime, she jogged to the main highway and stuck out her thumb for the ongoing traffic. It wasn’t long before an obliging older couple in a recent-model sedan picked her up.
On the ride back to the Village of Oak Creek, Silver thumbed through the Sedona Vortex Guidebook she’d stolen from the gym counter. According to the illustrated map, the seven vortexes located in the red rocks contained amazing spiritual energy.
Those at Cathedral Rock and the Chapel of the Holy Cross were feminine energy while the ones at Airport Mesa and Bell Rock were masculine. Not that Silver believed any of this, but if others did, the information could be useful. She could use some masculine energy herself. It had been a while.
Bell Rock was hiking distance from the Village of Oak Creek. There should be busloads of tourists up there with spare change to spend on an authentic Vortex guide. Silver knew enough to stay away from the stingy Germans. And the well-organized Japanese usually came with their own guide. That left the British.
