Pick up the Pieces

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  Silence. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. She uh, said, she was meeting, uh, Nic around one-thirty at some bar.”

  “Oh.”

  I slid completely under the water. Would anybody care if they found my drowned body the next day? Anybody being the charming Nic Jericho.

  Chapter 24

  I was so exhausted I should have been asleep the instant I crawled into the king-sized bed in the guest room, but my brain kicked into creativity mode. Three in the morning and I was awake, softly humming original melodies while trying to stop remembering every second of the kiss we’d shared in front of the studio. I had the rueful suspicion it had only been an apology kiss and he was sharing better and more committed moments with Saffron Baker.

  “To hell with it.” I grabbed my mega-sized Mets sweatshirt from my suitcase, threw it on over my smaller “I Love my Dog” sleep tee, then tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen. I’d been too upset to eat more than a bite or two earlier while Saffron had been chowing down all the leftovers. I felt certain a dark-of-the-night snack would help soothe my troubled mind. I clicked the kitchen’s light switch and nearly fainted.

  Junie was sitting at the table, wearing an ancient “McGovern for President-1972” T-shirt and grey sweat shorts circa the same era. “Bebe?”

  “Hey, Junie. What are you doing up? And in the dark?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. I just finished heating up some apple turnovers Mickey made yesterday morning and the tea is boiling and ready. Been quite a night, I’d say. I needed my tea fix. I turned the lights on so I wouldn’t burn the place down, but I needed darkness for a few minutes. Join me?”

  “Definitely.”

  We didn’t speak for about five minutes. We sipped, munched and wiped apple filling off our chins. After two turnovers and a cup of tea, I sighed in sheer contentment. “Is Mickey available? Can I have him?”

  Junie mumbled through a mouth full of pastry, “You’d have to fight off his wife and five kids, then me, the rest of the staff and his private catering business. The man is a treasure. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to tell restaurant owners throughout Travis County Mickey is my discovery and not for sale.”

  I grinned. “I can still taste his amazing cheesecake from years ago. Miguel’s Guaranteed Gateau, Marigold called it. The guarantee was that one slice would add ten pounds to one’s hips but after devouring, no one would care. Demonic stuff.”

  Junie nodded. “He won’t ever tell me what he uses but there are at least two different kinds of cream cheese and ricotta and the freshest vanilla from Mexico and some other wild super-secret ingredient. I remember the whole band would come racing to my house claiming they’d smelled it from Georgetown, and then they’d dive in until there was nothing left. Not a crumb.” She stared at her empty plate then grabbed two more turnovers. She plunked one on her plate and one on mine. “Bebe, food is fun to talk about and eat and a great avoidance. So, tell me to shut up if you want, but may I please do my ‘mom thing’ and ask what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious? Break-ins and abductions and weird messages written in seeds and trucks in a ditch are what’s going on.”

  “You’re being deliberately obtuse. You know quite well I’m talking about you and Nic. I see the two of you together and I sense the same feelings y’all had from ten years ago. But he’s running around with Saffron and you’re not lifting a finger to stop him. I never understood why you broke it off in the first place. I mean, you hauled it back to Laredo within days of Marigold going missing then boom! you’re living in Jersey. Ridiculous. If ever two people were meant to be together, y’all were.”

  I ate my second turnover without even tasting it. I took a deep breath before quietly stating, “He slept with Marigold. And”

  Junie interrupted with, “Old news. They dated long before you turned up. Although, in all honesty, I can’t say precisely how sexual their relationship was, but with Marigold . . . well . . . I assume it was pretty hot.”

  “I’m not talking about before I met them. I think Nic slept with Marigold only days before she disappeared.”

  Junie inhaled. “Wait. Are you sure about this? I must admit Marigold had a tendency to be pretty wild at timesokaya lot of the time, but I can’t see her ever doing anything to hurt you. She was very aware of how you and Nic felt about each other. She was always so smug because she’d been the one who introduced y’all in the first place.”

  I poured more hot water over my tea strainer and kept silent.

  Junie didn’t wait for me to speak.“ Exactly what makes you believe Nic and Marigold had a last fling?”

  “Marigold as much as told me the night she disappeared. She said she intended sowing her oats around Texas and beyond, starting with the boys in the band. She asked me how I’d feel about her ‘sampling’ Nic. It was like he was a box of chocolates or something. And remember? Nic had a small studio apartment near the Georgetown campus where I swear he stayed more than his place in Austin. Anyway, only two nights before, I’d seen her leave that apartment about six a.m., right when I was jogging by. Thankfully, she didn’t see me. She had the most awful cat-eating-canary grin on her face.”

  “Not proof, Bebe. There’s a lot of reasons why she could have been there. Not to mention you’re not giving Nic much credit for fidelity.”

  I took a sip of hot tea and stared into the cup. “Consider this . . . Marigold. Nic. Two extremely sensual beings with a past and at least one of them with some rather flaky ideas about sex, who very possibly was back on drugs and might not have cared about little issues like fidelity. Do the math.”

  Junie reached over and patted my hand. “Did you ever actually ask Nic about this supposed liaison?”

  “No. I haven’t been able to although I’ve kind of hinted. I’m not sure I want to. Hell, I’d lost my best friend twice in one night because I felt she’d betrayed me and then she disappeared. I felt guilty because I was angry and confused. She refused to tell me what was behind all her wacky behavior those last weeks. And after she disappeared I was scared. I couldn’t help wondering if someone in the band might have done something to her. Which is what Clifford Black thinks as well.”

  Junie inhaled sharply but quietly said, “Go on. About Nic and Marigold. I sense you’re more suspicious regarding their relationship than thinking he had any part in her going missing.”

  “Your sense is pretty sharp.” I inhaled, then sighed. “If all that hadn’t been enough, Nic’s father showed up at the Palace Theatre the day after Marigold disappeared while everyone was searching for her. Judge Adrian Jericho laid it out very nicely and clearly. Bebe Becerra was not fit company for his darling son, who had a real shot at being district attorney up in Dallas, which would be his start to a judgeship. So I ran home to Laredo with my proverbial tail tucked beneath me and fought like crazy to apply for scholarships anywhere but at Southwesternand ended up at Princeton. I guess I was subconsciously waiting for Nic to make a move and contact me but I was afraid to confront him about Marigold and ashamed of my family and trying to stop the nagging certainty his father was right and I was nothing but low-class trash who’d ultimately drag Nic down. Nic never called or wrote or knocked on my door in New Jersey. So, I let it go. All of it.”

  “But Bebe . . .”

  I ignored her. “And now, here we are. Ten years have passed and he’s at it again with Saffron.”

  Junie said, “You’ve changed, Bebe. You were always ready to give someone the benefit of the doubt. You were probably way too naïve, but it was charming and it felt right for you.”

  “Well, naïve may work for a while when one is seventeen or eighteen. But twenty-eight is another story. I don’t particularly enjoy getting hurt. And, ready for this? Even with the distance and not talking to him and all the doubts, I’ve clung to the notion of Nic and me for all these years. Had this picture in my head we’d see each other and run straight into each other’s arms. Like some sappy commercial or romance movie. Now? I’m doin
g all I can to not let him see how much I still care. I’ve been putting on a whale of a performance to pretend he’s just one of the guys. Craziest thing is he kissed me tonight like he meant it, but then I heard he and Saffron are getting together after rehearsals so now I’m just trying to be careful not to let either of them know how much it hurts.” I swallowed, trying to stem the spate of tears rolling down my cheeks.

  Junie added two teaspoons of honey to her own cup and started stirring. “Careful doesn’t get you a life, Bebe. And careful doesn’t always keep you safe. It’s obvious you still have some very strong feelings for Nic and if you go back to Jersey without voicing them and giving him a chance to explain and hopefully to move the relationship to an adult level, I’ll . . .” she squinched up her face, “well, I’ll be beyond ticked. You should also march down to Federal Court in Austin and tell Nic’s dad he’s a jackass.” She flashed a grin. “Which he is. And while I’m at it, you can’t tell me Nic and Saffron have anything serious going. They might be running around together but that’s it. I’m pretty observant and those two in a real relationship is not in my field of vision. Believe me.”

  “Well, you may have to live with ‘beyond ticked,’ Junie. I’m not even sure Nic ever wants to be tied down. I always wondered how deeply he subscribed to Marigold’s rock n’ roll anthem of free love, free booze and free-to-be-me. It’s probably Saffron’s anthem as well. Which reminds meGlenn told me on the Q. T. Saffron has a sealed juvie record, which I find very intriguing.”

  “Steering off topic again?”

  “Yep. Right into a guardrail. Call it my natural evil curiosity.”

  “Okay. Swear you won’t tell the guys in the band, though. Other than Glenn, I’m certain they’re clueless. This involves Marigold too.”

  I sat straight up on my stool. “Oh, cool. Spill, spill!”

  “They were wild children. The pair of them together spelled trouble with an even bigger ‘T’. They kept urging each other on to bigger, nuttier and better pranks. Glue on the teacher’s desk under test papers, instigating food fights in the school cafeteria and so on. Anyway, they grew bored with what they considered baby stuff. So, close to Christmas their eighth grade year, Marigold and Saffron stole some fireworks from one of those highway vendors. The girls placed them in various mailboxes around Taylor, including one in the convent where the nuns lived, then set them off and ran. Boom! Explosions all over town.”

  I began to laugh.

  Junie joined me in the laughter. “It was kind of funny and at least they did this on a Sunday so nobody’s mail was destroyed and no one was injured. But the boxes were toast.”

  “How’d they find out it was Marigold and Saffron?”

  “The girls might both have been musical geniuses but as criminals they weren’t exactly in the top of the class. Saffron had a notebook from her bag with all her contact info listed. She dropped it at the scene of one of the crimes. Specifically the convent. I have to say I was rather proud of Marigold. Saffron refused to tell the police who was her fellow vandalous pyromaniac, and the cops started becoming pretty testy so Marigold owned up before Saffron found herself in worse trouble. They lucked out of any kind of juvie detention center after a judge with a good sense of humor and six kids of his own realized there wasn’t malice involved. Mischief only. They put in some community service hours, repaid the owners for the mailboxes and were grounded by their respective parents for the next year or so and of course the arrest is on record.” Junie chuckled. “Barely slowed Marigold and sure never stopped her from playing pranks. Especially after she met Cam, Mister Practical Joker. Doubtless missing the rivalry with Saffron.”

  “It’s sort of ironic. Marigold actually showed that sense of humor the night before she disappeared. She smeared food all over band instruments during rehearsal. Dusty’s keyboards had mayo on them and there was some whipped cream on the snare drum. And she stuffed peanut butter inside my boots. I’d already planned how to get her back. Nic and I were going to enlist your help and literally steal all her clothes from her closet. Every piece. Leave her with undies, one bra, one T-shirt and a pair of truly ratty shorts. No make-up. Not even an eyebrow pencil.”

  “Love it. Of course Marigold would have worn the same outfit for the next three months just to annoy you and not let on how much she adored your prank.”

  Laughter quickly turned to tears. Junie handed me a tissue and another turnover. Blueberry. She sighed. “You and Nic. I’m sorry to keep harping and going back but face ityou’re going backwards in your emotional life rather than forward. Maybe it’s my love of the Sixties the band shares, although Marigold’s ideas were more focused to the bad stuff in terms of drugs and sex, but it seems to me one of the precepts of my era was the big ‘C’ and y’all slid right by it.”

  “Huh? ‘The big C’?”

  “Communication. You sang about it in your songs but you never managed to practice it with one another. I’ve never seen folks as close as all of you in Pieces who couldn’t grasp the idea of talking. Not holding so many secrets within.”

  “Maybe we didn’t want to know what demons lurked inside of us?” I quietly asked.

  “Maybe. But then again, you might have discovered most demons are better shared and are often destroyed when they’re not hidden.” She stood. “I’m going to try to catch a few hours of sleep and I suggest you do the same. I have three deliveries to make tomorrow and I need rest if I don’t want to total the truck by driving through someone’s living room window. Which reminds me. The cops brought back the truck you were driving, but there’s no evidence from the other car; not even a paint smear. Whoever this joker is, he’s smart and he’s fast. What’s scary is he must have seen Saffron join you after he ran you off the road and watch you leave together. Apparently even the truck’s bumper had been wiped clean. Speaking of . . . don’t bother to deal with this mess. Jorge will whisk this all away before anyone’s down for breakfast or brunch and you’re welcome to hang out here as long as you like.”

  She floated noiselessly toward the stairs leading to the bedrooms. I finished the turnover and was actually starting to doze a bit, when I heard sounds coming from outside the house. A car. I glanced at the sunflower-shaped clock on the wall.

  Four a.m. I ran to the window overlooking the garage just in time to see a vehicle disappear. Van? SUV? It was too far away to make out details of make, model or color. I opened the door, which led outside then winced as I stepped barefoot onto gravel. “Ouch. Ooch! Yowch! Damn!”

  Why couldn’t Junie pave her driveway like a normal person? Sharp rocks were digging into my feet and the sensation wasn’t pleasant. The car was gone. Vanished into the night. I had no desire to go roaming through the garage to check if one of the staff had made off with a vehicle for some ridiculously early shopping. I inched back to the kitchen trying to avoid the most damaging pebbles.

  Junie had had the right idea. Sleep. I turned off the kitchen light and headed back upstairs.

  Something was wrong. I had left a small lamp burning by the bed in the guest room. It was off, so I clicked the overhead light switch. The room was in chaos. Not as badly as Marigold’s had been but then, the perpetrator hadn’t had as much time to search.

  This time, however, there was something missing. My carryall bag. The one I’d been using to haul all the sheets with the lyrics and the music. Marigold’s music.

  Chapter 25

  Junie had morning deliveries to make in the truck, so I decided to go with the vehicle closest to the garage entrance, which happened to be a 1957 Bellaire Chevy. As was the case with all Junie’s cars and trucks, the Chevy was in pristine condition. It ran smoothly despite an odometer reading of over 450,000 miles. Junie apparently drove the cars to Stone’s shop for whatever repairs were needed since he’d refused to set foot in the Blume house for ten years until persuaded to do so the other night after Arianna’s disappearance.

  Silently thanking Stone’s expertise with moving vehicles of all makes and ag
es, I drove down Highway 70 toward Thorndale and Freddy’s Steakhouse without experiencing a single rattle or squeak to interfere with the pleasure of the moment. Visions of an upcoming disgustingly fatty feast danced through my head.

  I passed the sign reading Texas Boll Weevil Education Bureau and smiled, recalling the last time Marigold and I had driven this waytwo months before she went missing.

  Marigold had pointed at the sign and snickered, “Educating boll weevils? Our tax dollars at work. Seriously? Like the little critters aren’t already experts in how to burrow through cotton on their own without undergoing further training?”

  We’d howled, made the left turn just beyond the sign and skipped any more discussion about intelligent insects and instead concentrated on the joy of diving into a Freddy’s steak complete with buttermilk biscuits and the pie du jourwhich was always coconut cream no matter the day.

  Following yesterday’s basically crappy events, I’d decided this morning that I couldn’t sit around agonizing over who’d stolen the bag. If it was to grab a song Marigold had written, good luck in getting it published and asking for royalties. I knew every word she’d scribbled and left in those boxes. She’d set music to most. If the sneak thief was looking to score big by selling to a record company, he’d have to contend with one irate Bebe Becerra calling foul. However, I didn’t truly believe the robbery was about musical plagiarism. My bag had been snatched after everyone in Pieces learned it held the last three songs Marigold wrote. I shared Junie’s suspicion the reason behind Marigold’s disappearance was related to music. Whatever had been bothering Marigold in the weeks before she vanished was doubtless stated in Marigold’s lyrics, albeit in such an obscure manner it would take some serious code breaking to figure out what she meant and why it was important.

  I’d said as much to Junie this morning when I told her about someone breaking into the guest room and stealing the bag, We wondered if it was even worth it to phone Reece Harrison and give him the word our thief had returned. I finally said, “Forget it. Arianna’s disappearance is vital to solve. A giant purse with some sheet music is not top of the list for the police and it shouldn’t be. And my bet is our burglar isn’t coming back. He got what he wanted. My bag.”