by Laurèn Lee
"Elle?" a man's voice called out.
I turned to see Peter walking toward me with open arms. "Peter! I heard you were too busy to see visitors, but here you are!”
I caught the receptionist's lip curl out of the corner of my eye.
"You're still in town?" Peter asked as he planted a quick peck on my cheek.
"Yes. I didn't plan on it, but here I am," I replied.
"Well, come to my office. We can chat before my next meeting," he said.
I nodded and followed Peter down the hallway toward an office at the end of it. Dressed in a crisp suit, it was hard to imagine this was the same man from high school. For a long time, it was Peter, Noah, and me. We were thick as thieves while I dated Noah. Then, of course, when Noah and I broke up, he took custody of Peter.
I reminded myself why I was here, though. It wasn't to reminisce; it was to probe whether or not he could have been involved in Callie's murder.
"After you," Peter said.
I squeezed past him to enter his corner office. Instead of traditional walls, windows stretched along the length of the room. Outside the sparkling glass, I could see down the stretch of the river. The view took my breath away. Peter had done really well for himself. I, on the other hand, had two shots of vodka in my purse and the audacity to investigate a murder without a badge.
Peter took a seat in his fine leather chair while I sat across from him. He poured us each a glass of water from the pitcher on a table beside the desk, which was filled with fresh fruit and mint leaves.
"I have to say, the last time you poured me a drink, it was Miller Light from a keg," I said jovially.
Peter smiled. "Yeah, that's probably right.”
He handed me the water. I gratefully sipped from the glass, and I had to admit, it was the best water I'd ever tasted. Maybe money could buy happiness, or at the very least, access to the freshest water in town.
"So, what can I do ya for today, Elle?" Peter reclined in his chair while he ostentatiously rested his very expensive shoes on the edge of his desk. He placed his folded hands on his lap as he stared into my eyes.
"I came here more on a bit of business than to socialize.” I gulped, not exactly sure how to broach the subject. After all, I was simultaneously sitting before the most affluent man in town, who also happened to be an old friend.
I sipped from the water again to buy a few more seconds of time while staring at his wedding band. But then I decided to put the water down and drink from my coffee tumbler. To my dissatisfaction, only a few sips remained. I must have drunk more than I realized while driving here. I hoped my breath didn’t reek of rum.
Peter didn't break eye contact, so I looked away first. I stared at my feet as a frog settled in my throat. Breathlessness washed over me while my heart raced inside my chest. My body tensed, and I wished more than anything I was sipping something other than water.
"Well, I suppose there's no easy way to ask this," I said.
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Go on.”
Birds soared through the sky behind Peter. I marveled at their freedom and ability to come and go as they pleased, married to the open air. I wished I could be as free, but instead, life slapped a pair of shiny cuffs on my wrists, and I was a prisoner of my own mind.
"I'm sure you heard the news of Callie Jacksun's murder," I said.
Peter nodded. "Tragic. Truly awful.”
"I was wondering if you knew her or could provide any information about who may have hurt her," I said, swallowing hard.
"I didn't know her at all, actually.” Peter removed his feet from atop his desk and placed them firmly on the floor. "Why do you ask?”
Color rose to my cheeks. "There's no easy way to say this.”
Peter's lips turned upward as he tapped a pen against his desk impatiently.
"Someone from this office building had ties to her, uh, well, to Callie's online profile that provided services to those who paid a monthly fee.”
"I don't understand," Peter said.
Oh, fuck it.
"Peter, your IP address is one of Callie's subscribers to her site where she solicited men. There were only a few others subscribed in Keygate, and the others were teenagers."
Peter's eyes grew to the size of golf balls. He cleared his throat then took a sip of water. "I see."
I waited for a few seconds to see if he would continue, but he didn’t.
"Again, I'm going to ask if you knew her or have any information about her death."
"How do you know for sure my IP address is one of her subscribers?”
Images of Jake typing madly away on his computer to hack the database filled my mind. "I just know, okay? Can you answer the question?”
Peter stood abruptly from his seat. He turned to stare out of his windows at the widespread view of the river on the other side of the glass. "Are you asking me in an official law enforcement capacity?”
"No," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"That's right. Because you're not a detective. You're on leave, right?”
His words stung like a wasp in the summertime. I was hoping not that many people from home would know my current situation. But I was sure the richest man in Keygate had his ways.
"I am not on active duty, no.”
"Then I think it would be best not to poke around in matters that don't concern you," Peter said venomously.
He turned from the windows to face me. His forehead creased while his eyes pierced into my gut. He wasn't even denying it, simply warning me to mind my own business. Did Peter have something to hide?
"So, you know something or you don't?" I asked, my body rigid.
Peter checked his watch and strode toward the door. "I'm afraid I have to cut this short. I have a meeting shortly and need to prepare."
Liquid courage exploded inside of me. “Don’t brush me aside, Peter. Just tell me the fucking truth!”
I thought maybe I could handle the booze, but now it appeared the booze was handling me.
Peter narrowed his eyes. “Are you drunk?”
“No, of course not.” My voice trembled.
“If you don’t leave, I’m going to call security, Elle. Sorry, but this is ridiculous. You can’t just come to someone’s place of work, drunk as all hell, and accuse them of this shit.”
I rose from my seat, despite the sinking suspicions zooming in and out of my mind, weighing heavily on my consciousness.
I walked out of the doorway and turned around. Peter and I stood nose to nose. “I’m going to find out what happened to Callie whether you like it or not.”
Peter snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure you will. A drunk put on administrative leave because she couldn't keep her shit together. I’m sure your dead fiancé would be so proud.”
In the next moment, instinct took over and relinquished any control I had over my body. I raised my fist, cocked it back and released it full-force against Peter’s cheek.
He stumbled backward with a look of awe plastered across his bruising face. “You’re fucking insane! Kate, call security and the police immediately!” Peter shouted.
I scurried out of Peter’s office knowing one thing for sure: I may have just hopped on the bad side of one of the most powerful men in Keygate.
Twenty-Three
The next morning, I pulled on the same black dress I'd worn for Carin's funeral, only now I would be attending Callie's funeral. I planned to come home for one and ended up appearing at two. Dread filled me to my core like lead. It was one thing to say goodbye to a woman who carried many more years under her belt versus a girl who hadn't had a chance to live a long life.
I pressed ruby red lipstick against my mouth in an even line. When I woke up, my hands shook fervently, but after a few sips from the water bottle beside my bed, my body evened out.
This time around, my mom and stepfather would join me. Silence blanketed the house as we all dressed for the somber occasion. With each beat of my heart, pain pumped through my veins. Callie was too
young. She should have been buried in books, not the ground.
"Elle, are you ready?" my mom called from downstairs.
I finished applying my mascara, then reached for the water bottle and drank the remaining few drops. After smoothing my dress in the mirror, I popped a few pieces of gum into my mouth. A few strands of hair wouldn't play nicely, so I grabbed a bobby pin from the dresser and pinned them back.
There. That's about as good as it's going to get.
I hurriedly skipped steps as I rushed down the stairs where my mom and stepdad were waiting for me by the front door, keys and purse in hand.
"You look lovely," Jack said.
I smiled weakly. “Thanks."
I sat in the backseat on the way to the funeral home. It was a different funeral home than where Carin's service was held, but another reputable home nonetheless. My mom and Jack twittered about in the car, discussing this and that, both trying to avoid the subject lingering in the air: Callie's funeral.
Finally, as we pulled in, my mom turned to me from the passenger seat. "Have you heard anything else besides what's in the papers about Callie?”
I cleared my throat. "No, but I'm working on it. On, um, my own.”
My mom nodded and didn't press any further. She understood all too well the challenges of having a smaller police department with diminished resources and, sometimes, limited knowledge. Growing up, there was a brief period when a man stalked my mom. It started out of the blue, and she hadn't recognized him. She didn't know where he lived or came from, but he'd wait in the driveway for her to leave for work. He worked out at the same gym. He even sent her flowers one year for Valentine's Day.
When she called to make a formal complaint, the department didn't take it seriously. Only once did they send an officer to patrol the neighborhood. The stalking continued, even after my mom switched up her routine. Again, the police department wasn't much help.
It didn't take long for me, a determined ten-year-old, to take matters into my own hands. One morning during summer vacation, I saw the man in our driveway. He didn't look as scary as I originally thought he would. He looked like any other man in our neighborhood: average height, clean-shaven, and a little belly seemingly from one too many beers before bed.
When my mom left for work, the man stared after her from the safety of my bedroom window. From what she said, the man never did anything but watch her, and he never approached the house or cared much about me. But that morning, I wanted to put an end to my mother's anxiety about the man. I grabbed a BB gun my friend lent me.
I hurried out of the house and followed the man down the street. I loaded the gun with as many BBs as I could manage. Then, without warning, I started shooting him with a remarkably accurate aim for a young girl. I hit him in the back, the legs, his arms, even his neck. He whipped around to see me standing there with a venomous grin on my face.
"Leave my mama alone, jerk face," I said. "Or the next time I see you, I'll have something stronger than BBs."
Looking back, I realized how dangerous it was for me to approach the man, but he did not retaliate against me or my mom. Instead, he left us alone, never to be seen in our driveway again.
It was this day I realized I wanted to go into law enforcement.
Outside the funeral home, dozens of Keygate citizens lined up to pay their respects. I expected a crowd, but nothing quite like this. It was always an even more extraordinary tragedy when a young person died, reminding everyone of their mortality and the mortality of the younger people in their lives.
I vaguely recognized a vast array of Callie's friends in line too, many of them from the neighborhoods surrounding ours. She may have been one of the first of her peers to pass away. And quite possibly the only person they would ever know to be murdered.
Younger people thought—no, they knew—they were invincible, incapable of being in the same realm as tragedy. When something horrible inevitably happened at your doorstep, it was a shock beyond this world. Realization would dawn: No, I'm not untouchable. Bad things can and will happen to me. Luckily for these kids, they weren't the ones murdered. Not that it made them feel any better.
There were several teachers from high school waiting their turn too. Some I recognized as veterans of the education world, while others I remembered as student teachers during my time at Keygate High.
If I didn't know any better, I'd guess nearly the whole town came out for the funeral. As melancholy as it felt to be in line to say goodbye to a young girl I bonded with so many years ago, it renewed my drive to find out what happened to her. To bring her justice. To let her rest in peace.
As I stood in line with my parents, a familiar face invaded my peripherals. “Renlee,” I said shortly.
Renlee, in full uniform, approached me with a look of grave concern etched on his face. Luckily, my parents were deep in conversation with other neighbors who stood behind us.
“I got a complaint yesterday from Peter. He said you assaulted him in his office.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek while I rubbed my nose. The overpowering fragrance of flowers threatened to entice my allergies out of hiding. My empty stomach churned as vodka sloshed around.
“Are you here to arrest me?” I asked callously.
Renlee narrowed his eyes. “No, he’s not pressing charges. I just want to know if everything is okay? He said you were wasted.”
I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t wasted.”
Renlee leaned in and sniffed near the nape of my neck. “You smell like alcohol, Elle. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on, you ask?” My excitement caught the attention of several others in line. I sighed and lowered my voice. “What’s going on is that I’m at my third funeral in less than a year. I have a dead fiancé, dead stepmother and now a dead friend. Someone murdered Callie, and I need to find out who did it.”
Renlee placed his hand on my arm, but I shuddered and stepped away. “I’m so sorry, Elle, but you can’t just go up to people accusing them of something.”
“I’m going to solve Callie’s murder,” I said.
Renee’s jaw tightened. “You can’t interfere with our investigation, and you know it. You need to pull yourself together, Elle.”
“Do you mind? Can we talk about this some other time and not in a funeral home?”
Curious glances darted our way. I caught my mom’s gaze out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t stop feeling as though the room was staring at me, and my face turned a deep shade of scarlet.
“If I get another complaint about you,” Renlee whispered into my ear, “I’m not going to be able to let it slide. Understand?”
“Perfectly,” I snarled.
Renlee strode away, and I wished more than anything I had a bottle of booze in my hand.
I scanned the rest of the crowd until I caught the gaze of another familiar face.
Noah stared back at me with furrowed eyebrows and a curious frown.
Twenty-Four
What the hell was he doing here? Sure, most of the city was here, but many of them had ties to Callie or her parents. What reason did Noah have for being at her funeral service?
I turned my attention away from my ex-boyfriend, pushing away the anger and resentment Noah brought forth and reminding myself why I was here. I was here for Callie. I may have watched the young girl grow, but I never had a chance to see her grown up. Today was about her and only her. I'd find out why Noah showed his face later.
My parents and I waited in line to greet Callie's parents, Ron and Samantha. Both stood tall with their chins raised, despite the grief ripping through their souls that couldn't be any more evident from their solemn eyes. They greeted each guest with kindness and grace as everyone provided their deepest sympathies.
When it was my turn to see them, my body stiffened, and air caught in my chest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't shake myself into reality, instead finding myself stuck in a web of nostalgia. All the nights I spent with Callie, all the times her paren
ts entrusted me to protect their daughter. Because that's what parents do: they make sure, no matter what, their children are safe.
They were successful for most of her life, until now. Now, they had to overcome a feat no one should have to manage: burying their only child.
Ron and Sam caught sight of me and my parents. A sad smile etched itself across Sam's soft facial features. Her hair, much grayer than I remembered, fell just below her chin in a fashionable bob. Ron, who'd gained a few pounds in the last handful of years, flicked away a stray tear that slid down his cheek.
"Elle!" he said. "So good of you to come.”
Color rushed to my cheeks, and my mom nudged me forward. "Ron, Sam. Of course I'd be here. I'm, I'm—" I couldn't finish. Pain tore through my chest, shredding my heart along its way.
Sam pulled me into her arms. Neither one of us spoke. Neither could utter the words dancing upon our lips, begging to be said. Instead, I squeezed Sam's hands and gazed into her husband's eyes.
"Justice will be served. I can promise you that."
The couple smiled weakly and nodded. They didn't have any idea what I was up to, and I wouldn't tell them until the time was right. But I couldn't wait for the moment when I could tell these parents their daughter's soul could finally be at peace.
My parents whispered with the Jacksuns as I meandered toward the casket. I didn't know if it would be closed or not; not all murders were gruesome. Half of me wanted to see her face again, and the other half of me begged not to. The latter part of me sighed with relief upon seeing the shiny top of her final resting place sparkle under the funeral home lights.
My shoulders tensed, and I couldn't bring myself to take a deep breath. Never once in a million years did the thought ever cross my mind. How could I ever have predicted that one day I'd attend Callie's funeral?
And it wasn't just the death of a person, but the stolen promise of a future. Every hope and dream she ever managed to think of would never happen. She wouldn't become the first woman on Mars, or even the first woman president. She wouldn't win a baking contest while serving on the PTA. She'd never get married or grow old. Instead, her body would be buried, and her memory would dull over the years until one day, anyone and everyone who knew her would cease to exist too. And, just like that, Callie Jacksun's spirit would vanish.
