by F J messina
Just past one o’clock, Sonia watched the county medical examiner walk in the door. Dressed in a simple white blouse, black pencil skirt, and black pumps, she carried a black cardigan sweater over her arm along with her functional handbag. Her black hair was cut in severe bangs, matching the look on her face. She wore rimless glasses.
As usual, Dr. Li made her way to the counter and spoke a few words to Hildy. After she had paid, she turned and walked back to the coffee bar, poured herself a cup, and found a seat at an empty table near the window. She sat, sipping her coffee, lost in her thoughts for over thirty minutes.
All the while, Sonia was seated near the door, surreptitiously observing Dr. Li. She knew she couldn’t muster any good reason to interrupt the Medical Examiner’s quiet time, so she would have to catch her on the fly, as she was leaving.
Sonia had sat at her table for a little over twenty minutes as she waited for Dr. Li to arrive. That twenty minutes had certainly been interesting. On the other hand, the thirty minutes or more that she waited as Dr. Li simply sat there staring into space seemed interminable to her. Sonia had gotten up and poured herself another cup of coffee then sat there doodling impatiently on the pad in front of her. This kind of static waiting was anathema for Sonia. Sonia looked down at her pad and was surprised. She had been mindlessly writing out a drill she had been forced to do seemingly hundreds of times during her school years.
Having grown up Italian in Cincinnati, it was no surprise that Sonia’s family had sent her to Catholic schools. The nuns she had studied under in those intermediate years had been all about classical training: memorizing long passages, finishing sentences with brief phrases in their original Latin, learning to use Roman numerals. Now, waiting for the motionless Dr. Li, she was well along in writing out the numbers from one to one hundred in those same Roman numerals.
Finally, Sonia saw Dr. Li stand. She dropped her pen, popped up, and headed for the counter. She got to the counter just before Dr. Li and, loudly enough for the medical examiner to hear, asked Hildy what type of cake she recommended Sonia bring home for the weekend.
Hildy seemed dumbfounded. Sonia had never asked a question like that before. In fact, Hildy knew Sonia didn’t even have a family to bring a cake home to. But before Hildy could say much of anything, Sonia turned, trying to be nonchalant, and said to Dr. Li, “Oh, hello. How are you?”
Dr. Li looked at her with a bit of surprise, then seemed to recognize her. “Oh, yes, hello.”
Sonia turned back toward the counter for a moment, and then back to the doctor. “It’s so hard to know what everyone will like. They all have different tastes, don’t they?”
Dr. Li replied a bit timidly, “Yes, that’s always a problem. It’s hard to make them all happy.”
“I just don’t know. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Well, I bring home the yellow cake with the milk chocolate icing and the almonds around the side every week. That way they all know what’s coming and no one bothers to complain. It’s simple that way. Plus, they all seem to like it.”
“Hmmm.” Sonia put her finger to her mouth. “You’re probably right. Just keep it simple. By the way, you’re the county medical examiner, aren’t you?”
Dr. Li’s eyes squinted in reaction to the sudden shift in gears, but she managed to get out a quiet, “Yes, I am.”
“I saw you on TV yesterday. You were there at the news conference. Wasn’t that awful about that man, Mr. Hastings?”
“Mr. Hensley. John Hensley.”
“Right. They say he committed suicide, don’t they? Oh, I’m sorry. I guess it was you who said that he committed suicide. Is it hard to tell sometimes?”
Dr. Li shrank back a bit, becoming somehow smaller. “Sometimes it’s obvious. Sometimes not so.”
“Well, what about Mr. Hensley? Was it obvious with him?”
Dr. Li stiffened. “As our report indicated, it was our conclusion that he did, in fact, take his own life. If you’ll excuse me, I really do have to get home to my family.”
Sonia pressed. “But there was nothing out of the ordinary, was there? It was clear that he had done it to himself?”
“There was no indication otherwise.” Li stood on her toes and said over Sonia’s shoulder, “I’ll take my cake now, Hildy.” Then she glanced back at Sonia as briefly as possible. “Have a nice day, I mean evening.” She shook her head. “I mean weekend. Goodbye.”
With that, the Dr. Li walked around to the side of the counter and, with her back to Sonia, waited for Hildy to bring her the cake. Her weekly order in hand, she all but scurried out of Magee’s, seemingly glad to be getting away from the nosey lady at the counter.
Hildy looked at Sonia waiting for some sort of decision. Sonia simply waved her hand, turned, and walked out of Magee’s. She trudged up the stairs, into the office, and plopped herself down in the red chair opposite Jet’s desk.
Jet looked up. “Did you get anything out of her?”
“Yeah, bring home the yellow cake with the milk chocolate icing and the almonds around the side. The whole damn family will love it.”
“Huh?”
“No! Nothing. I got nothing.” Sonia stood up again. She walked past Jet’s desk and to the front window. She looked outside, her eyes scanning the same scene she saw almost every day. Then she spoke, her words reflecting off the window and back to her own ears. “There’s no freakin’ way Hensley killed himself, but the cops and the medical examiner all say it’s an open and shut case. Now that I think about it, I’ll bet if they sent me the Medical Examiner’s Report and I read the whole damn thing I wouldn’t know a bit more than I do now. And that bullshit about the farm being in financial straits? I don’t buy it.”
Sonia paused and thought for a moment. “No, if I’m going to find out what actually happened on that farm, I have to come up with another plan. Try a whole different approach. Problem is, I don’t have one.”
Jet didn’t respond.
As usual, Sonia’s eyes drifted first to the school district building and then to the white house. This time, however, she not only saw the house and the sign that said Semper Fi Investigations, she saw a big rugged man walking out the door and down the steps. Although it would have been impossible, it seemed to her that she could see his bright blue eyes from all the way across the street. “Brad Dunham,” she whispered.
Jet swiveled her chair around to face Sonia’s back. “What?” she asked softly.
Sonia watched the man disappear around the building. “Nothing. Nothing.”
“Oh no, you said something.”
Sonia turned around and looked directly at Jet. “We need to talk to Brad Dunham.”
Jet stuck out her hands, palms up. “What the hell for?”
“Listen,” Sonia said, as she walked back around Jet’s desk and took a seat.
Jet swiveled in her chair to follow her.
“This PI thing, it’s cool. Really, it’s a trip, and we’re doing some good work. What is it, twenty-one people we’ve helped in the last year or so? We’ve done everything from cheating spouses and lovers to that man who hadn’t seen his daughter in over four years. But this is different.” Sonia looked directly into Jet’s eyes. “Come on Jet, are we really the kind of PIs who can deal with a murder case by ourselves? Are we?”
Jet leaned back and crossed her arms. “We don’t know it’s a murder case.”
Sonia could feel the energy rising in her chest. She straightened her back and leaned toward Jet’s desk, placing her hands on her own thighs. “Well, we damn well know it’s not a suicide. And even the medical examiner isn’t saying Mr. John Abbott Hensley died of natural causes. This is big-time stuff, Jet, and we can do this, but we can’t do it unless we get the help we need.”
Sonia thought she saw hurt in Jet’s eyes, and she immediately felt bad. “Look,” she said quietly, as her body relaxed, and she leaned back into her chair. “Two years ago, I was a technology specialist at the school district. You were a work-from-hom
e wife with one little sideline after the next. What was it, vitamins, then makeup, then air purifiers?” She shook her head. “Then you caught him cheating with that slut and all hell broke loose.” She leaned in. “You realized you’ve got a passion, a passion for catching folks doing bad things. And I’ve got to admit you’re pretty damn good at it. That’s why you started BCI.
“Then I came along. Two years past being left at the altar in Cincinnati, I move to Lexington to work in the school district, helping teachers help kids. Then budget cuts come and I’m out of work. I was emotionally and financially drained. You knew I was good with technology, so you offered me a job. I was grateful, and I still am. We did good work together. And,” she said softly, looking directly into Jet’s eyes, “we’ve become friends, close friends.”
Sonia sat further back in her chair. “But what does that all add up to if someone did something very terrible to Hensley. Don’t we owe him the best that we can do, even if it means swallowing our pride and asking Mr. Hotshot across the street for help?”
Now it was Jet’s turn to stand up and look out the window. It seemed clear to Sonia that Jet was struggling, turning things over in her mind. Sonia gave her time, watched her stroke her ponytail.
“Look, if you want to go over there and talk to Mr. Hotshot you go right ahead,” her voice was defensive, “but this is not an official case for us.” Jet turned, her voice even more pointed. “If you want to go, you go, but I’m staying out of it. You’re on your own with this one.”
Sonia heard more hurt in Jet’s voice than anger. And the last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt Jet’s feeling. She stood up and walked toward the door. “Okay,” she said softly, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then she left BCI and headed for . . . actually, she had no idea where she was headed; she just felt the need to put some space between her and her dear friend. She hoped that as Jet had time to think about it, she might come around to seeing Sonia’s point of view. One way or the other, though, Sonia was more and more convinced that she needed to try to enlist help from Brad Dunham, ex-Marine. She owed it to John Abbott Hensley.
Sonia had taken the weekend off again. She felt that she absolutely had to clear her mind.
Saturday had been warm and sunny, with a light spring breeze. So, after her morning run, Sonia had decided to get in her car and just drive through the beautiful rolling hills of central Kentucky. She had eventually found herself in a picturesque little town called Midway, one commercial street in town, a railroad track running right down the middle of it.
For all her efforts, however, Sonia had not been able to shake her obsession with the death of John Abbot Hensley. As she had stepped out into the street in Midway, a fancy sports car with a Jaguar hood ornament drove by. Sonia had immediately caught a mental glimpse of Dahlia Farm. Questions had danced around in her mind. Why didn’t I figure out what was going on? I was right there. Why didn’t I do something to save that poor guy’s life? Shouldn’t I have been able to do something?
Driving back to her apartment on Saturday, Sonia had made a very difficult decision. The last thing she wanted to do was to go to Mr. Hotshot, Brad Dunham, and ask for help. But, this was about a man’s life. I can’t let this go just because I’m not experienced enough to figure out what to do. I just can’t. I’m going to have to walk across the street and ask Mr. Hotshot for help. I don’t want to, but I have to. I just have to.
After she’d made that decision, Sonia really couldn’t wait for the day, and the weekend, to be over. She knew what she had to do and she couldn’t wait to get started.
Monday, at nine fifty, Sonia stepped out of the BCI offices and walked down the steps toward East Main─toward the white house. She fought back a sense of trepidation.
She had made her decision and was about to embark on the first case in which she didn’t have Jet’s unconditional support. In fact, the conversation she was about to have might begin the unraveling of her partnership with Jet, the relationship, other than the one with her family, that was now the most significant in her life. An ugly feeling roiled through her stomach. She was pretty sure it wasn’t from the three cups of coffee she’d already had that morning.
At nine o’clock, she had called Brad Dunham and, without telling him where she worked or what she did, made an appointment to see him. Actually, she had been surprised that he had been in his office so early. But then again, he was an ex-Marine.
Sonia walked up the steps to the white house, running her hand over the smooth, freshly painted hand-rail. She remembered that the building itself had not been in very good shape when she’d started working at the school district. Now, however, the building was in much better shape. Mr. Dunham’s presence in the building seemed to be having a very positive effect.
Sonia walked through the big doorway and into a dark hall. She found Brad Dunham’s office on the first floor, to her left. She knocked on the door and heard a deep voice politely say, “Come in.”
Part III
13
Sonia put her hand on the doorknob. The door itself was old, just like the door to the BCI offices; but, whereas the doorknob at the top of that long set of stairs was tarnished and difficult to turn, the doorknob that led into the offices of Brad Dunham and Semper Fi Investigations was new and shiny. It worked smoothly. A small quiver ran through Sonia’s body as she turned the knob. Dang, this is how you enter the office of a successful organization.
As she stepped into the room, nothing she found gave her any reason to change her impression. The room was an unusual, yet very effective, blend of old and new. Hardwood floors and high ceilings of an older era contrasted with the latest in sound and photographic equipment. There was a highly-polished, antique wooden desk, upon which sat what appeared to be the Dell computer one of the local retail outlets had been pushing so hard recently. Two eight-by-ten framed flags hung on the wall: one, a framed miniature United States Marine Corps flag; the other, a flag Sonia didn’t recognize. On the desk were photographs of three people and a desk nameplate. Sonia’s eyes quickly scanned the three photographs: the first, a standard official portrait of a Kentucky State Trooper; the second, a high school football coach with his arm around one of his players; the third, a woman Sonia guessed to be in her early forties, probably a family member. The nameplate, on closer inspection, was a placard which simply read, “Do the Right Thing.”
For Sonia, however, the focal point of the room was not a piece of furniture or a decoration. It was the large, quiet man who stood behind the desk and captured her with his incredibly bright, blue eyes. He was staring right at her, but he waited before he spoke─as if to give her a moment to take in the room. Finally, he addressed her. “Ms. Vitale?”
Sonia snapped out of the trance into which she had fallen. “Yes, uh, Vitale. I’m Sonia Vitale. And you are Mr. Dunham?”
“That’s me.” Brad Dunham nodded his head toward one of the two wheat-colored cloth seats that faced his desk. “Would you like to sit down?”
Sonia sat down in the chair on the right. She sank into it. Dang, these chairs are low. Oh, I get it. This guy’s playing power games. You find yourself looking up at him, and that puts him in the stronger position. I’ll bet most clients don’t even notice that. Dang, he’s good. She kept her hands on the arms of the chair, trying to elevate herself a tiny bit.
Brad Dunham sat as well─in his executive desk chair, simple, black, functional. A few moments passed. Brad Dunham said nothing. He just waited, his elbows on the arms of his chair, his hands tented in front of him. More power play. Then Sonia started. “Mr. Dunham—”
“Brad. Brad will do.”
Sonia chuckled inwardly. Oh, power and “Mr. Nice Guy.” This guy does have his stuff together. “Yes, Brad, I’m here because I need your help . . . or at least I think I do.” Sonia felt her body collapse just a tiny bit. Nice going. Now he’s all power and strength, and you’re such a crumbling cracker that you don’t even know if you need help or not. Crap.
Brad�
��s only response was a small, ever so small, nod of his head.
“Listen, here’s the deal,” said Sonia, trying to rev up and get the conversation back on track. “I’m a private investigator—”
His hands relaxed and he stirred just slightly in his chair. “Bluegrass Confidential Investigations. Offices right across the street, over Magee’s. Nice location, but I’ll bet it’s pretty cold up there in the winter. And I wouldn’t want to have to climb those stairs all day long.” There was a small smile on his lips.
It was Sonia’s turn to sit in silence. Are you kidding me? This guy already knows who I am, knows all about us. Sonia’s foot began to tap. Something she often did unconsciously.
“We passed the other day inside Magee’s. You were wearing your dark blue pea coat with the plaid scarf and had that bell hat on.”
Sonia squinted. “You mean a cloche hat?”
He cocked his head. “Yeah, I guess, if that’s what you call it. Anyway, I think you had on a white sweater underneath the coat.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, though, it was hard for me to tell.”
Sonia blinked involuntarily. Are you kidding me? Do you want to tell me what color panties I was wearing too? She struggled to sit up taller. “How observant of you, Mr.─I mean Brad. Do you always keep such close track of those around you?”
Brad was silent for a moment, his hands tented again. Then he said softly, “In certain environments.” There was something about the way he said it that made the hairs on Sonia’s neck stand up.
Brad remained silent for another moment. When he spoke, his voice was more upbeat. “How can I help you, Ms. Vitale?”
Sonia felt like this was turning into quite a chess game. She remained tall in her seat─as tall as she could─and pressed on. “As you obviously know, I’m a PI, and I was staking out Dahlia Farm the other day. That was the day, and evening, that John Abbott Hensley died. I use the term ‘died,’ because I don’t believe for an instant that he committed suicide.” She leaned forward.
