Wedding Day of Murder

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  He shook his head, sure he was being paranoid. No one took Lacy, not yesterday, and not today. The medicine made her hallucinate and she wandered, that was all. To think anything else based on so little evidence was reaching. He had to stay focused, stay calm, and work a logical investigation. He couldn’t afford to blur the lines of the murder investigation with the fact that Lacy was missing. They were separate. It was coincidence that Lacy went missing twice when her name came up as the only lead in a murder.

  What if it’s not a coincidence? The little voice wouldn’t be quiet, and it threatened to break the dam on his self-control. He was tired, tense, frustrated, and worried. When this was over, he would go for a long run and work out all the negative emotion. Until that time, he had to keep it together and keep his priorities straight. That was the real crux of the problem; he was thinking like a boyfriend when he was supposed to be thinking like a cop. Lacy was missing because she wandered and the murder had nothing to do with her. That was what he needed to remember as he started the car and drove to the baseball fields. Find Lacy and everything else will be okay. This time when the little voice spoke, he listened.

  Chapter 11

  Lacy woke, feeling as though cotton was stuffed in her mouth. A quick poke with her finger verified that her mouth was indeed stuffed with gauze. “Wha happen?” she murmured, and a stream of drool ran down her chin. She was groggy, disoriented, and confused. Her body temperature alternated from freezing cold to burning hot in rapid succession. Her mind was awash in blurry images. Doctors. Nurses. Water. Jason. Pudding. What did it mean? What had happened to her? More importantly, where was she? Everything was black. She attempted to move and banged her head on a wall.

  “Ow.” Another stream of drool ran off her face. It landed somewhere she couldn’t see; the space was so dark that not even the front of her shirt was visible, if she was wearing a shirt. Was she? She felt for it and found a thin cotton gown. “Am I dead?” As if in answer to her question, someone appeared beside her, someone she recognized. “Bobby Fway,” she mumbled. He smiled and nodded, his flaming red hair shimmering in the darkness. She didn’t question why a food celebrity was suddenly beside her, just as she didn’t ask why she could see him when she couldn’t even see her hands. She simply enjoyed the company. She wanted to ask him the proper way to grill a steak, but suddenly sleep seemed more important. “Will you stay wif me, Bobby Fway?” He nodded again, smiling. Satisfied, Lacy curled into a ball and fell asleep.

  Lacy was not at the shack where he’d last found her. So far she wasn’t anywhere. The search had lasted for three hours, long enough for Jason to capitulate and call for the state patrol’s infrared plane. They had swept the hidden areas in the county—cornfields, sheds, cars, and anywhere else a person might hide. They came up empty. The good news was that with them covering the outlying areas, the search team could focus on town. People everywhere had now heard that Lacy was missing and either promised to keep an eye out or actively joined the search. The bad news was that no one had found her. She wasn’t anywhere, and now he had the added pressure of her doctors telling him that she hadn’t had enough antibiotic to effectively fight the infection. She was probably raging with fever, in pain, hungry, and hallucinating from the medication. Why had he left her? Why hadn’t he stayed at the hospital? While it was true that hospitals were generally safe places and she had been asleep, it was Lacy. He should have known something like this would happen. He had no one to blame but himself for this failure. He hadn’t looked out for her well enough, and now she was gone.

  You can’t protect everyone all the time; you’re not Superman, he could almost hear Lacy arguing with him, and he smiled. Even when she wasn’t with him she had the ability to cheer him. Perhaps his sense of obligation and protectiveness was overdeveloped, but not without reason. If he had heard his brother fighting for air in the night, if he had checked on him, if he had realized how sick he was, maybe he wouldn’t have died. Jason had only been five when Josh died, almost six. He had been sound asleep in the other room with the door closed, but no amount of rationalization could take away the feeling of guilt. He didn’t know how, but somehow it was his fault that his little brother died all those years ago. He had spent the intervening years since trying to make amends, trying to take care of everyone, trying to keep everyone safe. “I’m a psychiatrist’s field day,” he muttered as he drove through the side streets of Tosh and Riley’s neighborhood, searching for any flash of red. When he saw one, he slammed on the brakes and stopped short. It only took a second to realize that the person wasn’t Lacy; it was Michael. He stood staring thoughtfully at Tosh and Riley’s house, probably trying to think like Lacy and figure out where she might go. Jason watched him watch the house; the same prickling sense of alarm that he’d felt earlier came creeping back.

  He took out his phone and called dispatch, hoping for another favor. Thankfully because of Lacy’s disappearance, they were feeling generous. They promised to find everything they could on Michael O’Donnell from Minnesota and get back to him. While he was on the phone, Margie hailed him.

  “I have that info you requested on Susan Jenkins,” she said.

  “Who?” he asked, distracted.

  Margie huffed at him. “Rain.”

  “Oh, right. I’ll get it as soon as I get to the station,” he said. Arroyo could handle Rain, especially since it was his case. Jason had more pressing issues at the moment. He disconnected and put the car into gear. Before he could go, Michael turned to look at him. He wore a smile that seemed to say he knew Jason was there and watching him the whole time. He gave him a little salute and walked away. Jason watched him go with a frown. Yes, there was definitely something off about him; the sooner he found out his story, the better.

  For a while, he drove in endless circles. When he could no longer stand the encroaching helpless feeling, he went back to the station. It was shift change; he could talk to the units and touch base on their search. Thanks to Mr. Middleton, he was more informed on the volunteers’ search than the progress of his coworkers. Lacy’s grandfather ran his control center with terrifying precision. His searchers gave updates on the quarter hour and not a second later. Jason knew where all of them had been almost down to the square inch. He wanted to talk to the other officers and make sure they weren’t duplicating their search. Maybe he was being a control freak. At this point, he didn’t care.

  Of course there was always the danger of getting sucked back into work if he showed up at the office. That happened almost immediately after he met with the road units at shift change. None of them had seen Lacy. It was a slow day, so they spent a lot of time looking. They also stopped frequently at the firehouses to touch base with them. None of the EMTs or firefighters had seen Lacy either. Once again Jason stuffed down his frustration. It wasn’t their fault Lacy was missing. They were doing the best they could; in fact, they were going over and above what they might do for any other adult who had a habit of wandering. He thanked them and left before he could give in to his desire to badger them for more vigilance. They would keep looking for her until she was found. To pester them might alleviate some of the pressure cooker stress he was feeling, but it would needlessly alienate coworkers he was already trying to placate. Some of them hadn’t been happy that such a young deputy made detective. After months on the job, Jason was just now making some headway into their acceptance. He didn’t want a moment of temporary insanity to undo all his hard work. He stuffed it down on top of everything else.

  He was attempting a clean break back to his car when Arroyo waylaid him. “Did you have a chance to re-up the interview with Rain yet?”

  Jason gritted his teeth. I’ve been a little busy, what with my missing, delusional girlfriend and all. “Not yet. She’s still stewing in the tank.”

  “Margie found her info.” He held out a packet of papers to Jason, and the implication was clear. Work comes first; do your job.

  Jason looked at the papers and considered smashing them in t
he older detectives chest, along with his badge, but once again he knew that was the frustration talking. He had worked too long and too hard for too many years to blow his career over one stressful day. Besides, he couldn’t do anything for Lacy right now. What was the harm in taking twenty minutes from his day to interview someone? Maybe this time he would learn what he needed to know and they could send her on her way. Or, if he was really lucky, Rain might confess to murdering Carl Whethers, and that case could be neatly tied up with a bow. All these thoughts flew through his mind at lightning speed so that there was barely a pause when he reached for the folder and said, “Sure.”

  “She’s waiting in Interview One,” Arroyo said. Then he grabbed a sandwich from his desk and sat down to eat. Jason turned away. Stuff it down, stuff it down, don’t lose it. A little while longer, and it will all be over.

  He headed to the interview room where Rain sat. He sat and studied the information that Margie had provided, ignoring Rain completely.

  “I’m going to sue you,” she said.

  “If I had a nickel. What’s your complaint?” he asked.

  “My religion is not being honored,” she said.

  “Which religion is that?” he asked.

  “Islam. I was not provided with a mat and no one in the jail would tell me which direction was east.”

  He thumbed over his shoulder. “That way. Use a towel. How long have you been a Muslim?”

  “Since this morning,” she said. “I’m very devout.”

  “You know, lunch in the jail today was sausage,” he said.

  “So?” she said.

  “So you’re lying. You’re not Muslim, you’re not ‘Rain,’ and you’re not a protester,” he said.

  “I am,” she argued.

  “You’re not,” he said. “What I have in my hands is everything I need to know about who you are. My dispatcher called your dispatcher and got the scoop on you.”

  “I didn’t have a record when I was a kid,” she said.

  “Exactly. You were a good kid. Even when your family fell apart, you kept it together. Something happened, I don’t know what, and you ran away. That’s when it all fell apart, isn’t it Susan?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said.

  “Because Susan is boring and you want to be interesting, right?”

  “I am interesting. I’m saving the world.” She smacked her palm on the table. Her fingers quaked, breaking up the sound.

  “You’re trying to save yourself.” He held up the booking picture from her first arrest. She looked like every skinny, insecure dork he’d ever seen, except maybe more. Whatever her childhood issues had been, they’d had a profound effect on her. She looked nothing like the girl from the picture. “You want something to believe in, you want a cause.”

  “I do have a cause, I have lots of them,” she said.

  “You have nothing. You are Susan Jenkins from Polar Springs, Michigan. You turned to petty crime to try and make an impression, but it’s not happening. It’s not working. No one is buying your act, least of all me. Now, tell me why you’re here and what you know.”

  She stared at him a minute, lip quivering. “This is all Michael’s fault,” she said.

  “What’s Michael’s fault?” Jason asked.

  At the mention of his name, she burst into loud, convulsive tears and dropped her head to the table. Jason tried without success to get a few more words from her. If she said any, they weren’t coherent. He finally broke her, but he broke her too well. How was he supposed to put her back together enough to get a cohesive answer from her?

  Someone tapped on the door. He did a double take when he saw Margie tapping impatiently. She never left dispatch. It had become something of a joke that if she went anywhere other than the dispatch room or her car then the world would turn on its axis and begin to rotate the other way.

  He waited to speak until the door closed on Rain’s weeping. She was so loud that Margie scowled. “What’d you do to her?” she asked.

  “I have a way with the ladies,” he answered. “What have you got for me?”

  “The information you requested on Michael O’Donnell. When I read it, I knew I needed to deliver it in person. I also have a message.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Margie, you’re hand delivering information and messages now? What’s happened to you?”

  “Senility, I guess. I knew one day the job would take what was left of my mind. Anyway, a nurse from the hospital called, the one you’ve been trying to get ahold of. Her phone battery died, but she’s back at work now and needs to talk to you. She said Lacy had visitors.”

  “Thanks, Margie. Remind me to buy you something pretty,” Jason said.

  “I’ve seen what you make; you couldn’t afford what I think is pretty.” She ambled away, probably never to emerge from dispatch again. Jason eagerly pulled out his phone and called the nurse, tapping his foot impatiently when he was put on hold. His impatience grew when he had to listen to her describe the delay again.

  “My phone died. That never happens. I always have it on me in case my kids need me. I’m due for another phone in a few months, so I have to cope until then. It’s so frustrating to think it can just die like that, you know?”

  “Yes, frustrating. You said you had some information,” he said.

  “Oh, right. Well, I was the one who brought your girlfriend the pudding. I’m probably the last one who saw her before she left. But I didn’t know if maybe she went with the visitor who was with her when I brought the pudding.”

  “The visitor? What visitor?” Jason asked.

  “I didn’t catch a name.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Man, definitely man. I don’t usually go for that type, but this one was particularly charming.”

  “What type?” Jason asked.

  “Redheads,” she said. She might have said something after that, but he didn’t really listen. He thought he thanked her before he hung up, but he couldn’t be sure. Michael had been there. Why hadn’t he said so?

  The mention of Michael reminded him of the information now in his hands. He opened the interview room again and sat down. Rain was still weeping. He tuned her out as he read. One page in, he stood up, sat down again, took out his phone, stared at it, and put it away again. He forced himself to keep reading. By the time he was finished, the little veil on his self-control was gone. All the day’s frustration boiled over, and he lost it. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, Jason Cantor threw out the rulebook and went rogue.

  When Lacy woke again, Bobby Flay was gone. “Bobby, Bobby Fway?” she called, a little desperately, but there was no answer. She hurt in places she didn’t know it was possible to hurt. Her throat was parched. Her head throbbed. She was both cold and hot and her cheeks felt unrecognizably swollen. After a few seconds of frantically searching for Bobby Flay, she was exhausted. She lay back down and tried hard to think, no easy task. Her brain was foggy. Something had happened to her, but what?

  “Dey stole my teef.” She remembered saying that, but to whom? And why? Had someone taken her teeth? If the swelling and gauze were any indication, then the answer was yes. Her mind flashed to an episode of 24. Taking someone’s teeth was a routine method of torture, and the victims were often held in dark, enclosed spaces. Was she a political prisoner? What had Jack Bauer done to her? Was this real or a dream? Maybe her whole life had been a dream and this was reality.

  Her thoughts were on fast-forward, like a one of those flip books that if flashed fast enough looks like animation. There were so many images. Which was real? She remembered Jason. Jason was real. She had seen him not that long ago. Where was he now?

  Frannie was in some of the pictures, only she was riding on a flying broom in the middle of a tornado. That one wasn’t real. Kimber, Riley, Tosh, Andy, Michael, and Travis all flicked quickly through her mind. Some of those images felt real, and some felt blurred. There were a lot of official-looking people wearing white. Had she gone insa
ne? Did someone put her in an institution? She felt around, but the walls weren’t padded.

  Her body felt sick, her mind muddled, but her psyche struggled for lucidity. Occasionally it would break the surface of confusion and she would have a clear thought, but it was gone before she could take hold. All the real thoughts bobbed up and down in a sea of false images. She closed her eyes and focused, trying hard to put the pieces together. Her last clear memory was of running with Jason. The mortification from that day had left an indelible impression, that’s how she knew it was real. What happened after the run?

  There was a meeting. That was why Travis was in one of the scenes. He had made the meeting break apart. Her mother. Lacy talked to her mother and it hadn’t gone well, but that might have been any conversation between them. Work. She went to the Stakely building, and that was when things really began to fall apart. There was fear, a flash of green, Jason, a doctor, and pudding, it always came back to pudding.

  “Dey stole my teef and gave me pudding,” she rationalized, although she had no idea why. Had she sold her teeth for pudding? No, she had money. Didn’t she? Was that part real? Had she inherited a million dollars? She thought so, although that also seemed like a fairy tale at the moment. But no, she did something with the money, something concrete. She bought a building. The Stakely building; that was why she had been there. She was working at the Stakely building because she owned it.

  She tried to smile as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. She was Lacy Steele. She owned a building. She was dating Jason Cantor. The smile that had never made it all the way up tried to turn down. Her cheeks were so swollen that her lips had a couple of convulsions and went slack. Was she dating Jason Cantor, or was that part of the dream? It seemed so real, but also like a fantasy. I love you. That was real. He had said that to her. Hadn’t he? They ran and he told her he loved her. That part must be true because it was too irrational to be made up. If she were going to make something up, it would be something believable.