by Gwen Gardner
“Well, it’s right over that way. You must have walked right by it.”
“Oh. Silly me. Thank you so much, you’ve been ever so helpful, you really have.” I smiled wide as he watched my bubble-butt walk off. I could have set the whole block on fire from embarrassment. Turning right onto the street, I looked to see the attendant still watching me. I smiled again and waved with my fingers.
I stopped dead to see Badger leaning against the building smirking at me.
“Oh, silly me,” he mocked in a sing-song voice.
“Oh shut up. He fell for it, didn’t he?”
“I’ll say. Put him on a leash and he’d follow you anywhere.”
My face had to have reddened enough to match a beet. “Did you get it?”
“Of course. Now let’s get out of here before we get arrested. You look positively illegal sashaying around like that.”
He took my hand and we walked back past the parking lot. The attendant still stood in the same spot.
We waved to him as we passed. Then Badger stopped, dipped me backward, and planted one on me. Lifting me back up, he waved to the attendant with a grin.
I’ll admit, the attendant did look a bit crestfallen.
“What was that?” I asked Badger.
“Just a little payback for eyeing you like a piece of meat, my sweet American southern belle.”
I shook my head. “He didn’t. He was very kind and helpful.”
“I’ll bet. Assisting the damsel in distress while drooling over her delectable derriere?”
“My…nonsense. I have no illusions about my bubble butt.”
“Indigo, you can be so naive for a child of the wild, wild, west.”
“Can we not talk about my butt anymore?” I wondered if my cheeks would ever get over the embarrassment. And what did he mean by ‘naïve’?
Chapter Eighteen
Power in Numbers
“All right, you lot. Listen up.” Simon took charge on Saturday night. He reached behind the bench for the murder map and rolled it open across the snug table. We ran out of leads to follow and the worry about coming to a dead end after all our efforts weighed heavily on all of us. “We don’t have much time before Robbie arrives, so why don’t you go first, Indigo.”
Robbie, as yet, didn’t want to know the details of our investigation. Like he said, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. I couldn’t wait to find out what he learned, though, about the investigation into his coworker.
“Badger and I went to Wahlberg’s Jewelers yesterday,” I said, glancing at Badger, “on Operation Engagement.”
Someone snickered. I ignored it.
“Tyrone attended the party three years ago,” I began.
“And he was drunk,” added Badger. “Indigo saw it when she shook his hand.”
Riley scribbled the new information on the board.
“Did you see anything else?” asked Simon, leaning forward. “Was he at the accident scene?”
I shrugged. “I only saw him sitting in his car. I sensed his dizziness, so I think he was drunk. I didn’t see anything else.”
Simon intercepted a glance between me and Badger. “What else?”
“I don’t know if this means anything, but his mother is haunting him. She insisted he wasn’t there,” I said.
“So ‘e’s not a suspect then.” Cappy hung his head and drummed his fingers on the table.
Simon turned to me. “Do you think she’s lying?”
Cappy’s head popped back up.
“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” added Badger. “We don’t know, do we?”
“Bloody hell,” Simon muttered under his breath.
Riley lightly touched his arm. “So we’ll make him a suspect until we get proof otherwise.”
Simon gave her fingers a squeeze. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Robbie appeared in the doorway. “A bunch of juvenile delinquents, I see.” He shook his head.
“Working, juvenile delinquents, you mean,” I said.
He wore plain clothes instead of his uniform. People tended to get nervous around police.
“All right. How about some treats for the working people, then?” He set a brown paper bag on the table. Simon and Cappy both grabbed for it. Cappy was quicker.
“Cor blimey.” He dug his hand in and pulled out a donut, before Simon ripped the bag from his hands and dug in as well. The bag eventually made it to me, and I chose a chocolate-covered cake donut, perfect for dunking into my coffee.
“Eat much?” Robbie laughed.
“Not much, no,” said Simon, spraying bits of donut from his mouth.
Riley leaned back out of the line of fire.
Once we all settled down, Robbie became serious. “This is confidential, of course. I shouldn’t be sharing this with you at all.”
We nodded in agreement.
He continued. “The first thing I found out is that Michael Potter is the nephew of Superintendent Littleton.”
“Well that makes sense, don’t it?” said Cappy. “A bit of preferential treatment for the bloke’s nephew?”
Robbie nodded. “It would appear so, yes. His fellow workers aren’t too pleased with him, either. Apparently he’s lazy and not altogether honest.”
“But did you find out anything we can use?” asked Simon.
“Yes. His squad car has been in for body work on more than one occasion.”
“And?” said Badger.
We all leaned forward.
“Including once around the time of the accident.”
I sat back. D.S. Michael Potter could have been the perpetrator.
“Did you…” I began.
“Yes.” He pulled a baggie from his pocket and laid it on the table. Blue paint chips sparkled from it. “I can’t turn these in, not without drawing attention to myself and what I’m doing. Since you have a private source, I’m giving this to you.”
Simon glanced briefly at Riley as he took the baggie and pocketed it. “Thanks.”
Riley didn’t look at him, just recorded the information on the board. Perhaps they raised the white flag on the secret source issue.
“It came from the bottom of the wheel well where the old paint would most likely be,” said Robbie. “We still use the same paint, but it will have come from a different batch, so slightly different in composition.”
“Anything else?” said Riley.
He shook his head. “No. And I don’t want to know anything from you, either. At least not yet. That way I can honestly say I didn’t know any of the details if it ever comes up.”
“Thanks, Robbie,” I said, as he got up to leave.
“Sure, no problem.”
Once again using cover of darkness to gain entrance through the rear of the house on Quixley Street, we shone our torches along the hallway. Safety in numbers became our new motto.
I had to at least speak to Sadie about the accident to find out what she knew. Then, if I could, I wanted to cross her and Chance over.
“Impressive,” said Cappy, having not been there before.
And it was, even in its dilapidated state.
“This way.” I led the group upstairs where we had just witnessed the light show display through the outside window. I sincerely hoped the Soul Collector had left off terrorizing Mrs. Cuttle.
Iridescent glowing colors seeped through the crack at the bottom of the door. The group stood in a circle around the door. Our flashlights shined as one onto a spot on the floor.
“Well? Now what?” Simon said. “Do we knock and wait to be invited, or just go in?” Low laughter betrayed our nervousness.
“We just go in,” I said, “but leave a couple of flashlights, er, torches, out here in the hall. S.C. has a way of draining energy, even in inanimate objects.” Nobody moved.
I huffed. “All right, then.” I switched my flashlight off and stood it next to the wall. With a deep breath, Riley did the same.
I turned the doorknob and stepped slowly inside. The others shuffle
d in behind me.
Mrs. Cuttle turned from the window. “You’re back.” She folded her arms across her chest and wore the same blue track suit.
Chance ran up to me and dropped the tennis ball at my feet. “Not now, boy.”
Cappy went wide-eyed at the sight and then looked straight ahead.
“What do you want this time?” Sadie asked.
“I – we – came to ask you something,” I said. Reaching to the back of the group, I pulled Simon forward by the sleeve. “This is my cousin, Simon. Do you remember him?”
She nodded once, eyeing me warily.
Simon gulped. “I can see her,” he whispered, amazement entering his voice.
I pushed him forward. “Ask her,” I said.
Looking back at me briefly, as if to say, I can do this, but don’t rush me, he took another tentative step toward Sadie Cuttle. “Mrs. Cuttle,” he began. He glanced back at me again. Another first – he actually spoke with a ghost.
I nodded and motioned for him to continue.
“Um, what I wanted to know is…were you driving the car that killed my mum and brother? Because my cousin, Indigo—” he flipped a thumb over his shoulder to indicate me “—had a vision of your car at the accident site.” He shrugged nervously. “We figure either you or your niece, Roxanna, drove the car.”
Sadie turned back to stare out the window. A long silence ensued. I didn’t think she intended to answer. Nobody said anything. Even Chance lay at our feet chewing contentedly on the ball.
At long last, she turned back to Simon. Her eyes glowed large and luminous, filled with the pain that bound her to a non-life of ghosthood in our dimension.
“I’m afraid I did it, son.” Her voice trembled. “I’m very sorry. I wanted to confess. Roxanna was going to bring me to the police station. But then I died.”
So Roxanna had known. I actually believed Roxanna had driven the car until that moment. I fully expected Mrs. Cuttle to deny it. I could tell by Simon’s blank face that Mrs. Cuttle’s confession shocked him, too.
Simon gulped. “Can you tell me…what happened? The impact knocked me unconscious.”
She nodded. “I only remember it being very dark. It rained steadily that day. The road was bad, wet and full of potholes.” She came closer in earnest. “Not that I’m blaming the weather. Oh no, the fault lies with me. You see, I shouldn’t have been driving at all. I drank heavily that day.” She shook her head. “It should have been me that died, not them.” She buried her face in her hands. “I killed a child,” she wailed. “It should have been me!”
Keening filled the room. Cappy backed against the wall as did Badger, tugging me back with him.
“No,” I whispered, pulling away. “It’s all right.” I stepped up next to Simon. Riley joined me to provide a protective flank. We each took an arm. Simon stood, tongue-tied. He finally had the truth. I’m not sure it helped at that moment.
Mrs. Cuttle, still crying, threw herself at Simon’s feet. “Forgive me. Please forgive me.” She looked up beseechingly at him. “Forgive me,” she whispered.
He knelt beside her and tried to touch her shoulder, but of course his hand went through it like a beam of light. “Mrs. Cuttle.” He swallowed hard on the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. “Mrs. Cuttle…I forgive you. Of course I do.”
The wail of relief erupted louder than the cry of grief. Guilt held her here. Simon’s forgiveness released her.
I couldn’t have been more proud of Simon. It took a really big person to forgive as he just did.
“Thank you, son. Thank you. I would have gladly traded places with them. Gladly.”
“I know,” Simon said.
“Mrs. Cuttle, do you think you could cross over now? And take Chance with you?”
“No. Wait. I have something for Simon.” She disappeared through the door, right between Cappy and Badger. The whoosh blew their hair back.
“W-what th-the bloody ‘ell was that?” said Cappy. The chill left him breathless.
“Mrs. Cuttle. She went to get something for Simon,” I said.
A light whooshed back through the door and materialized as Mrs. Cuttle. “I’ve been saving this for you,” she said. “I didn’t want my niece to get it, so I brought it with me, so to speak. She’s ransacked the whole house, but she didn’t get this.”
Opening her cupped hands revealed a sparkling gold item lying in her palms. It glowed with every color of the rainbow, highlighting the faces that gathered round. I only witnessed something similar one time before, and that had been when Bart passed an item to Riley from one dimension to another.
“Go ahead,” said Sadie. “Take it. It belonged to my husband, passed down to him for generations. It’s my most precious possession and I want you to have it. It’s solid gold. Eighteenth century. It’s yours.”
Glancing at me uncertainly, I nodded. Simon reached into Sadie’s cupped hands and retrieved the item. We jumped at the electrical zap as the item crossed dimensions. An eighteenth century solid gold pocket watch on a chain. Simon turned it over in his palm. He opened the clasp and looked inside. Engraved on the inside lid were the words, “Time waits for no man.”
Mrs. Cuttle stood glowing and smiling. Chance sat next to her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cuttle. Truly. I know this meant a lot to you,” said Simon.
She beamed, then turned and glided away, as if up a long, winding staircase. Chance traipsed after her.
Chapter Nineteen
Simon
One final item of business remained to shut the door on Simon’s closure. He wanted to see the car that his mother and brother died in. The one he almost died in. And he wanted me and Badger to go with him.
Sunday morning dawned quietly, except for the television running in the background. Franny sat on the sofa with Bryan’s head in her lap, both watching a jungle movie. Bryan sucked his thumb and twirled his hair with his other hand. Watchers still floated in and out of the room.
I shook my head. We solved the murder, but Bryan was still there. I tried to explain to him that we found the lady who crashed into them, but he didn’t seem to care.
About midmorning, I invited Franny to my room to help me choose an outfit. “What should I wear?” I went through my trunk and laid items of clothing on the bed. “Should I wear black in honor of the solemn moment? Or color, in honor of hope?”
“I see what you mean, dear.” She dug through the trunk and threw items onto the bed. “If you’d only unpack you’d have an easier time finding something. Although I admit, you don’t have much anyway.” She shook her head and tsked.
Franny floated around the bed, matching up potential outfits to wear. Three possibles.
“No dress or skirt,” I said. “We’re going to the junkyard.”
“Then how about these, uh, black gingers,” she said. “With this?” She held up a long-sleeved black shirt with pastel-colored butterflies.
“Perfect, I think. And those,” I said pointing to the black pants, “are jeans not gingers.”
“Now for hair,” she said. “You cannot wear a braid today. How about a French knot?”
Leaving the house an hour later, we walked down Quixley Street on the way to meet Badger. Glancing up at the window out of habit, all was still.
Stopping by for Badger, we walked to the bus stop. Cappy stood with Riley under the awning.
“Thought I’d come along,” said Cappy.
“Thanks, mate,” said Simon, shaking his hand.
“Me, too.” Riley hugged him.
We were quiet in honor of the occasion.
The five of us rode the bus to Hampton’s Recycling Yard. I called ahead to inquire about the totaled 2000 white Ford Escort and explained why we wanted to see it. Hank, the owner, told me where to find it. He kept totaled vehicles near the rear of the yard for spare parts.
We made our way slowly down the aisle of scrapped cars as directed and located the Escort.
“Here it is,” said Simon, unnecessari
ly, as the mangled blob drew our eyes.
We gathered close together and stared. Nobody spoke.
Simon dug his hands into his pockets and stood hunched. Tears trickled slowly down his cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his hand and sniffed. I started to put my arm around his shoulder, but Riley quickly took his hand and gripped it between both of hers. Badger didn’t seem to mind. Comforting him was natural when he endured such pain. Comfort between friends.
After a few minutes, we slowly circled the car, taking in the damage, peeking in the windows.
In the back seat I glimpsed a furry item. Bryan’s teddy bear! I reached through the broken glass to retrieve it…
The road is dark and wet. Fog envelopes the scene. The road is poor and full of potholes. Headlights approach, crunching explodes into the quiet night, like the colliding of worlds. The only sound is hissing as water escapes the radiator. Footsteps approach the white car. Footsteps run away—squealing tires leave the scene.
Another set of headlights approach. A metallic grind rips through the night. The white car lay on its side. Two wheels spin and squeak in the air. Footsteps come forward, then quickly retreat. Once again, screeching tires race away from the scene.
“Indigo! Indigo, wake up. Please wake up!” Simon’s voice pleaded with me. Why was he awake before me? That never happened. I opened my eyes to a spinning world and lying flat on my back in the gravel. I ached all over and nausea rumbled in my stomach.
“Sick,” I said weakly, then turned my head aside and puked. Unfortunately, somebody’s shoes were in the way. I looked up through blurry eyes to a vague outline of someone short, with dark eyes and dark hair—minus the usual grin. “Cappy.”
A crinkled napkin attached to a hand wiped my face. I squinted. “Simon.”
“Can you sit up?” asked another voice – Riley’s voice.
Concerned faces loomed above me.
“What happened?” Disoriented and confused, I struggled to remember where I was and what had happened and why I laid on the ground with needle-sharp gravel poking a tattoo into my backside.
Simon pressed the napkin into my hand and with Badger’s help, pushed and pulled me into an upright position. My hands stung and ached. Squinting at my palms, they glowed bright red and started to blister, along with some bleeding cuts from the broken glass.
