Pick up the Pieces

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  But he remained conscious. I’d done about as much damage as a tackle clipping an opponent on his way down the football field. At least the bat was gone and Stone was on my same level. He rose up as though preparing to jump on me. Silently blessing the college advisor who’d suggested I take martial arts for a P.E. credit long ago, I kicked Stone with a flexed foot in a spot best described as sensitive. He howled, but managed to punch me in the stomach which delivered a pain like I’d never experienced in my life. I tried not to be sick as I scrambled on my hands and knees toward a small stack of boxes. I began frantically pitching them at him in the hopes they’d keep him from getting to me right away.

  Then he was above me again and there was nothing I could do. I kept kicking and tossing boxes. It was pointless, but I was determined not to give up without a damned good fight.

  Then, without warning or sound, Stone dropped to the floor. I hadn’t noticed, since I was busy tossing heavy cardboard into the air but Marigold had somehow crawled the twenty or so feet from where I’d left her and made it to the bat. She’d knocked Stone out and then collapsed in pain.

  I heard sounds coming from the stairs leading to the basement and glanced over in time to see Nic tearing down the steps. Behind him were a crowd of police officers and EMTs and one furious Detective Reece Harrison.

  Nic rushed to my side and cradled me and kissed me. Paramedics efficiently strapped Arianna onto a stretcher while Reece Harrison equally efficiently strapped handcuffs onto Stone’s wrists. The EMTs then helped Marigold onto her own stretcher.

  “How the heck did you guys know I was here?” My voice cracked and sent my pitch into soprano territory. “I kept trying to call but all I’d get was your voice mail and then I didn’t call when I snuck downstairs because I found Marigold and she was telling me what happened to her ten years ago and a few days ago.”

  “GPS tracker. Junie, who hates authority and believes the government spies on citizens 24/7, nonetheless installed them in all her vehicles. I knew something was wrong when I tried calling you back and didn’t get an answer. I called Junie and she said you’d gone. So I quickly got in touch with Reece. He decided to add first responders in case you were hurt, which ended up being a blessing for Arianna and for Marigold. End of story.”

  Nic hugged me tightly against his chest then rocked me in his arms. He finally let go, just long enough to kiss me again until my breath was gone.

  Ironically, I began to hear music. I glanced up toward the speakers, which had hidden Arianna from my view when I’d entered the basement. There were several cd players that had been taken out of a box and lined up next to one another. Someone had left an old recording inside years ago. The batteries were amazingly durable because when the player fell, it had triggered the “on” button. In the middle of a wrecked and ruined basement the sounds of Gold Dust Woman began to fill the entire space.

  I stared into Nic’s eyes; although my own were blurry with tears. “Nic, Marigold was right. It was all in the music.”

  Chapter 39

  “Don’t tell me. She’s definitely not joining us, is she?” I asked.

  Nic shook his head. “Nope.”

  Cam shrugged. “Come on, guys. Not news. We just kept this ridiculous hope that a modicum of responsibility would sift into Saffron Baker’s consciousness and she’d come back for one lousy night and help us out instead of being the selfish little diva she is.”

  Dusty said, “We were optimistic fools. But, interesting as this all is, and squelching feelings of sincere envy toward Saffron’s music career taking off in Nashville and trying not to express shock Nic is giving up a chance for Nashville notoriety, um . . .”

  “For a very good reason whose name is Bebe,” Nic interrupted. “Besides, I’m very content to stay with Pieces and I must admit I even like being an attorney on occasion when I can help people who can’t find a good defender.”

  Dusty rolled his eyes, then winked at me. “Too true. All of it. But, back to the point, we’re minus a soprano again and the dance starts in forty minutes.”

  Silence.

  Finally, Cam stated the obvious. “Okay, it’s in everyone’s mind. Marigold Blume is alive and well apart from a broken ankle. Which doesn’t affect her vocal chords, although no one has heard her sing for ten years. At least not in Texas. The question is, do we invite her to rejoin Pieces? Here, tonight? It’s been twenty-four hours since Bebe found her but has anyone thought about this?”

  Again there was silence. This time I spoke first. “Honestly? And don’t take what I’m about to say and try to attribute it coming from any residual anger at what happened ten years ago when she refused to trust any of us and the domino effect she caused. Because, although anger is definitely at the root of my . . . what can I say . . . discomfort, it has nothing to do with her singing. But somehow the idea of Marigold waltzing back in and taking back the soprano spoteven though she originated itwell, like I say. I’m not comfortable yet. I’m also not stating this very well.”

  Nic hugged me “Go on. You’re doing fine.” He winked at me “Admittedly, I’m prejudiced but you’re still doing fine.”

  I smiled at him. Nic Jericho. My fiancé. The thought alone made me so happy I could barely summon opposite feelings, yet catching one small glimpse at Clifford Black’s face, sitting with Reece Harrison in a table down front of the Palace ballroom, brought me right back to near rage.

  I took a deep breath. “It’s not even a matter of forgiveness. Or disgust over her idiocy in her original decision or urge or whatever to entice Stone to try drugs and then get him so damned worked up he did what he did. Bad ideas leading to worse actions. Actions directly leading to the death of eighteen-year-old Daria Black. Daria wouldn’t have died if Marigold had been even remotely brave enough to tell the truth about Stone and his and her drug usage, and his sexual obsession with her. Instead, Marigold chose to run and leave innocent people to bear the horrible consequences of what she’d set in motion. I’m sorry, but I can’t see rewarding her cowardice by letting her get up here tonight and sing as though we’d all entered some time warp where everything is lovely and ten years of pain wiped clean.”

  I winced. “Am I awful?”

  All three men quickly and firmly stated, “No.”

  Nic added, “Bebe’s right. Look, we love Marigold. We do. And, we’re dealing with how to eventually forgive her. But I agree. I don’t want to be on stage looking out into an audience remembering how excited Daria Black was to be at the dance ten years ago, hoping she would someday be performing on stage, only to ultimately end up in a ditch only miles from home because of a deranged drug dealer and a woman who was too selfish to understand her actions had consequences beyond just herself.”

  For the third time since the discussion had begun there was total silence.

  Dusty finally inquired, “So, gang, we’re in agreement. Which still leaves us minus a soprano. That’s not a problem for the album since we haven’t started recording. Heck, we can always dump the songs needed the alto/soprano blend. But tonight? We’re in limbo.”

  I smiled. “I have a thought.”

  “Yes? Are you going to run from mic to mic, switching parts? No problem with the range but unless you’ve figured out how to clone yourself, the harmonies could be dicey. Or we could totally skip those.” Nic chuckled.

  “Ah, but I have someone much better than a clone,” I said. “And the someone has this exact instant entered the ballroom with Junie Blume and Marigold. Take a peek.”

  The men peered out of the backstage curtain. All three began fist bumps all around.

  “Perfect.” Cam exclaimed. “Bebe, would you do the honors?”

  “You got it.” I trotted down the stairs past the atrocious Dracula mannequin and made my way through the dense mob of college students, supportive police officers and townspeople until I reached Reece and Clifford’s table and welcomed the newcomers. Junie, Marigoldand Arianna Prentice.

  Marigold barely met my eyes.
There would be time later to try and salvage what we could of the wrecked friendship. I didn’t feel as though I were about to betray Marigold and I somehow knew Marigold understood. I no longer feltthe outrageor the adoration. Marigold was a flawed friend with a great voice and a real talent for lyrics. She’d been a wonderful musical mentor. She wasn’t a goddess. She never had been.

  I hugged Arianna before the girl had a chance to sit. She was still weak, but a night in the hospital had restored color to her cheeks and she was more than capable of hugging me back and repeating her thanks for finding her the night before.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Amazingly good. The doctor just kept sighing, ‘oh, to have the resilience of youth’ as he poked and prodded before letting me sleep through the night. I rested all day today. I was lucky Stone didn’t drug me after the first night he grabbed me.”

  I laughed. “Nice to be a bouncy eighteen, huh?”

  “And alive and able to speak without a nasty rag in my mouth.”

  “Speaking of speech, how’s your singing voice?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Singing voice. Um. We need a soprano for the right blend, and Glenn told us the first night you went missing you have an awesome sound. Group decision ending up withwant to join the band, even though it’d only be for two, or maybe three, songs?”

  Arianna didn’t hesitate for an instant. Her squeal of joy echoed throughout the ballroom. “Yes!”

  “Well, come on, then. There’s a nice little spot where we can warm up backstage and try to get used to singing harmony with me in about sixty minutes. Crazy but doable.”

  Arianna took off without another word and headed backstage. I stayed for another few moments.

  “Marigold? How are you?”

  “I’m okay. Ankle hurts like fury, but I’m so determined to stay clean now I’m only taking aspirin for the pain.” She smiled and pointed to the glass in front of her. “Iced tea only. Herbal.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad. I am. And proud of you for taking the step.” I turned to Junie. “How about you?”

  Junie sighed. “In shock. Nuts. Happy. Sad. Devastated. Regretting I didn’t see what was happening with Stone and with Marigold ten years ago. All of the above.”

  Reece patted her hand. “Junie. None of this was your fault. No one saw Stone had fallen way off the beam. He and Marigold were both incredible at hiding their drug usage. No one could have predicted what would happen. Just stay focused on helping both kids get through this.”

  Junie nodded. I nodded too, and then glanced at the curtain where Nic was waving less than unobtrusively to get me to finish chatting and head back.

  I quickly told Cliff Black how saddened I was about Daria and received a huge hug in return. I then ran backstage to join the band. My band. I had no idea what would happen after the dance, apart from finishing the recording. We might decide to keep Arianna in the group or wait and see how Marigold progressed in excising her personal demons. Dusty would continue to work his farm. Cam had his photography studio in Austin. Nic was moving back to Austin and taking a job with the Innocence Project. I’d be moving there as well as soon as I could gather my belongings and my dog Clyde up in Jersey. I’d put in an application to teach music here at Southwestern, at University of Texas in Austin, and St. Edward’s in Austin, and should have an answer from one or all by the end of summer.

  One other thing had been decided when the band gathered at the Palace Ballroom earlier in the evening to set up for the dance. Whether or not the cd took off, Pieces was back together.

  Nic and I had already begun making plans for a June weddingwhich meant next month. Yesterday evening, after the rescue of Marigold and Arianna, Nic had made the announcement at rehearsal to Glenn, Cam and Dusty (who were extremely pleased) and later to Junie, who calmly told us she was thrilled but not surprised. She’d been jotting notes for ten years on which floral arrangements would work the best. Her biggest concern was giving Mickey an estimate for how many cakes we wanted, and what kind.

  Arianna was going over some chords with Dusty and Cam over by the backstage piano.

  Nic put his arms around me. “Ready for this?”

  “Yes!”

  He grinned. “Ready for after?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Oh the next couple of weeks of manic planning and moving and finding a house and all the things two people getting married need to deal with.” He looked somber for a moment. “And, not to put a damper on the good but you might have to testify at Stone’s trial, although if he’s smart he’ll plea bargain.”

  My voice croaked just a little, “Planning to defend him? I mean as a lawyer, not to me.”

  Nic shook his head. “I’m all for folks getting justice. In this case Stone’s justice will be a long prison sentence or a long stint in a psychiatric hospital. I may sound harsh because we do care about him, but every time I remember that Daria Black will never get to enjoy another dance . . . sheer fury sets in.”

  “Same here. And I’m grateful you’ll be at my side through all this. Keep me from turning into a nervous wreck.”

  He leaned down and kissed me. “Well, while we’re talking grateful, I can’t even start to express how glad I am you were smart enough to realize, somewhere in your subconscious, you and I never stopped loving each other and were meant to be together. I’m also glad and proud of you because about ten days ago, you bravely accepted a strange invitation on an embossed card, picked up your own pieces and came home.”

  END

  About the Author:

  Flo Fitzpatrick was born in Washington, D.C. and spent her first years traveling across oceans and countries as an Army brat. She has very little memory of living in a chateau outside of Orléans, France but is certain the Gothic nature of the castle inspired her to write. After earning degrees in dance and theatre Flo shuttled from Texas to New York City, performing, choreographing and teaching. She still loves both states for their ability to spawn wacky and diverse characters who tweak her writer’s imagination.

  Flo’s website is www.flofitzpatrick.com

  Flo’s Books Currently Available:

  Mystery/ Romance with a Touch of Paranormal

  Ghost of a Chance

  Hot Stuff

  Abby Fouchet Mysteries:

  Sweet Dreams

  Aria in Ice

  Cold Wind to Valhalla

  Mystery

  Serenade to a Cuckoo

  Sweet Cream Ladies, Ltd.

  Mystery/Romance/Paranormal

  It’s a Marvelous Night for a Moondance

  Haunting Melody

  Romance

  Legacy of Silence