by Jane Tesh
“That’s okay,” I said. “If I need the details, I know who to ask.”
The search through the second box was just as unsuccessful. Jerry shook his head. “Why is it so hard to find one gold watch?”
Del grinned. “Are these women likely to come after you with a shotgun?”
I thought Flossie Mae might, but not Sylvie. She’d just look at him with sad, disbelieving eyes. Somehow I knew Jerry was trying to avoid that look.
Jerry pushed the box across the counter. “Thanks, Del. Let me give you my number. If you hear of a gold watch, call me.”
“One last try, buddy,” Del said. “Fred and I are going to play some twinkles at the Pyramid. You sure you don’t want in?”
The Pyramid is one of Parkland’s fancier gay bars. “Twinkles?” I said. “That doesn’t sound very politically correct.”
“That’s not a term for my people,” Del said with a grin. “A twinkle’s any reflective surface you can use to see cards. Jewelry works great, and it’s not a problem at the Pyramid. Everyone’s very festive, especially for the Red Ribbon Ball.”
“I wish you every success, Del,” Jerry said, “but I no longer twinkle, thank you.”
“If you change your mind, it’s Saturday night. Great fund raiser for AIDS research.”
I waited until we were back in the car before asking my question. “You’re giving Flossie Mae and Sylvie their money back?”
“Yes. I’d still like to find a watch, though.”
“You know, your reputation as a psychic is no longer at stake.”
“I’ve still got time.”
“Anywhere else in Parkland you need to go?”
“No, thanks. I appreciate the detour to Del’s. If you turn right here and go down West Avenue until you get to I-40, from there it’s about thirty or forty minutes to Rossboro.”
Traffic on I-40 was crazy, as usual, but we arrived at the Rossboro exit without being sideswiped or rear-ended. The exit was bristling with signs for every known fast food restaurant. We stopped at Wendy’s for drinks and drove on into town, passing many car dealerships, a Wal-Mart, and strip malls filled with tanning salons, video rental stores, and more restaurants. The downtown area looked like a smaller version of Parkland.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything special about this place,” I said.
“They have a nice park.”
“Nice park” was an understatement. In the center of town was a huge park, lush and green with walkways, bike trails, benches, and a large fountain in the center, water splashing from the mouths of smiling stone dolphins. Bordering the park on the far side was a row of antique shops. On the left was a baseball field and tennis courts. On the right was an amphitheater and a courtyard with tables and chairs.
“This is amazing,” I said. “Was all this here when you and Jeff were playing your knife game?”
“It had just been built.”
I admired the park and had to admit it looked busy compared to Celosia’s calm streets.
“It’s not that far away from Celosia if you wanted to open an office here,” Jerry said.
“It’s something to think about.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Clover and Fourth.”
“That sign says Third Street.”
I turned around the park past Third Street and down the next block to Fourth.
“There’s MacDonald’s,” Jerry said. “Rossboro Baptist Church, Rossboro High School, home of the Fighting Roosters.” He chuckled. “Somebody told me they used to be called the Fighting Cocks back in the Fifties. He told me this great joke about—”
“Thanks,” I said. “We’ll just leave it at roosters.”
At the corner of Clover and Fourth was a large office building. I found a parking place across the street. We got out, crossed the street, and went inside. Misty May’s name was listed on a directory. She was in Suite Fifteen on the fifth floor. We rode the elevator up and found Suite Fifteen. Misty May’s secretary, a pleasant-looking older woman, told us she’d let Ms. May know we were here, but things were hectic this afternoon, so she could probably only spare a few minutes.
“We just need a few minutes,” I said.
The secretary pressed a button on her phone and said, “Ms. May, Ms. Maclin is here.” She smiled. “Go on in.”
Misty May was tall and blond. She had on a gray suit and a peach-colored blouse that should have clashed with her coloring, but instead, enhanced her pale good looks. She shook hands with both of us and indicated the chairs in front of her desk.
“Nice to meet you folks. Here’s the card. I don’t know how it could help you.”
The card showed Bufo with his crown, scepter, and smug, “Ha, Ha, I fooled you all” expression. I handed the card to Jerry. “Look familiar?”
“It’s the king card.”
“Just like the one in Amelia’s packs.”
“Yes, and in Nathan’s.”
“It has to mean something.”
Misty May shrugged. “I wish I could help you, but I don’t know what it means. Elijah just handed it to me. He was laughing, as I said, so he must have thought it was funny. You can have it.” She kept looking at Jerry. My husband is the kind of man women look at, but this was a more calculating gaze. “Excuse me, Mister Fairweather, but have we met? You look very familiar.”
Jerry didn’t even blink. “I was thinking the same thing. Did you go to Parkland High?”
“No, that’s not it. I believe I saw you just a few years ago here in town.”
Uh-oh, I thought. Was she one of the many people taken in by the knife trick?
Jerry wasn’t at all flustered. “You probably saw my brother Tucker. He looks very much like me. He’s in a touring company called ‘Broadway on the Road.’ Did you see Company? He was in the revival.”
“That must have been it. I remember it was a show of some kind.”
I thought Jerry’s lie was very smooth, but I could tell she wasn’t completely convinced. I also thought we’d better leave before she figured things out. Fortunately, her secretary called to tell her a client was here. I stood up and offered my hand. “Thanks so much for your time, Ms. May.”
She shook my hand, but she was still looking at Jerry. “Sorry I couldn’t help you. You folks have a nice day.”
“How much did you take her for?” I asked Jerry as we rode down the elevator.
“You know, it’s all a blur.”
“A few more minutes, and she would’ve had you.”
“But your timing was great. Didn’t you get an adrenaline rush?”
“More like a panic attack.”
The elevator doors opened, and we walked out of the building into the bright afternoon sun.
“I just don’t have a lot of time,” I said. “And I can’t forget those paintings I haven’t finished.”
“You’ll make it.”
“Do I look that anxious?”
“You have a couple of furrows in your brow, yes.”
On the drive home, I wondered what my next move should be. I could talk to more people at the school. I could poke around Nathan’s apartment because I had the feeling he knew more than he was telling me. There were many thing to consider, not the least of them Jerry.
“Furrows again,” Jerry said.
I gave him a look. “I wonder who put them there.”
“Jeff and I never used our real names. Misty May will forget all about me.”
“How many times have I said that one day your past will catch up with you?”
“When and if it does, I’ll deal with it.” He turned on the CD player. A rich baritone voice sang an ominous sounding aria.
“That’s foreshadowing if I ever heard it,” I said.
“‘Scintille, diamante,’ as if you didn’t know.”
I’d heard this aria many times. “Isn’t he talking about a sparkly diamond and trapping someone’s soul with a mirror? No wonder you love this song.”
“Yup. ‘Th
e one parts with its life there, and the other loses her soul.’” Jerry sang along for a while. When the aria was over, he turned the music down. “Only I’m not going to lose my soul.”
“Good plan.”
“I’d keep the sparkly diamond, though.”
Traffic was heavy on I-40, so I hadn’t really noticed the dark blue Dodge Ram pickup truck until it followed us down the Celosia exit and onto West Avenue. This didn’t concern me until it continued to follow my car as I took a couple of short cuts to Main Street. I’d lived in Celosia only a few months, but that was long enough to recognize practically every car in town, and I didn’t know this truck.
Relax, I told myself. Why would someone be following you? The only person with a possible grievance was Misty May, and she was not driving the Dodge Ram.
I felt foolish when I pulled into an empty parking place near Deely’s Burger World and the truck went past without slowing down. I caught a glimpse of the driver, a large, ordinary looking bald man who didn’t even give me a glance.
Jerry and I went into Deely’s and ordered cheeseburgers and fries. We were just digging in when a beefy young man in overalls and a baseball cap pulled low over his narrow dark eyes stopped at our table and glowered at Jerry. He was Jackson Dooley, Sylvie’s fiancé.
“Just what the hell is going on with that watch story you been telling Sylvie?”
I had to admire how Jerry didn’t flinch. “We’re very close to finding it.”
“You’d better be. I told her all that fortune telling stuff was crap, and if she was going to marry me, she’d better stop going to your stupid séances and having you tell her all this nonsense about her dead aunts.”
“Okay.”
Jerry’s calm reply wasn’t what Jackson expected. I could tell he’d been hoping for a fight. He clenched his fists a few times and looked around the crowded restaurant. He lowered his voice. “So listen up. You’d better come up with a watch, and you’d better tell her that was the last message from dead people. She’s all caught up in that spirit stuff, and it’s not right. She gets a watch, she’s happy, then it’s over, and I’m happy, got it?”
“Why don’t you get her a watch, then?”
Jackson leaned on the table. “Oh, no. It’s gotta come from you, and it better be real, or there’s gonna be trouble.”
I cleared my throat. Jackson straightened. “Pardon me, ma’am, but he’s gotta make it right. He’s been leading her on for too long now. I’ve had enough of his tricks.”
I wanted to say, I have, too, but managed to contain myself. “Sylvie and her aunt have enjoyed their visits.”
“I’m sure they have, and I’m not saying they can’t visit any more, ‘cause I can’t tell Mrs. Flossie Mae what to do, that’s for sure. But they’ve paid good money, and they deserve results. How long were you planning to string them along, Fairweather?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jerry said.
“You damn sure will. I’ll give you till Monday. Bright and early.” He touched the brim of his cap. “Ma’am.”
He lumbered off. I calmly dipped my French fries in ketchup and ate them while Jerry drummed his fingers on the table. Finally he said, “You’re not going to say anything?”
“I think Jackson said it all.”
“When can we go back to Parkland?”
“Tomorrow.”
“That’s Thursday.”
“That’s right.”
“That should give me enough time.”
“I hope so, or Jackson will be knocking on our door.”
“I can take him.”
I chuckled. “I can, maybe. I don’t know about you.”
Jerry stirred his straw around in his Coke. I could tell his thoughts were stirred up, too. “What do you think he’ll do?”
“More than likely, he’ll punch you in the eye, but I believe his mother works for the Celosia News.”
Jerry stopped stirring. “Bad publicity for your agency.”
“‘Fairweather Scams Local Woman’ might not be the best thing for Madeline Maclin Investigations.”
“It’s not going to come to that, Mac.”
“You see how these stupid schemes always catch up with you?”
He took a drink. “Well, ordinarily, I’d be long gone by now.”
“And you’re staying because—?”
“Because now I am a fine upstanding member of the community.”
“Who’s still holding fake séances.”
“I promise I’ll hold only one more, hand over the watch, and say good-by to the spirit world.”
“Good.” I was hunting in my pocketbook for some money to pay the bill when Rachel Sigmon came in with her two daughters. She saw me, waved, and ushered the two girls over to our table.
“Madeline, these are my girls, Bronwen and Magwen. Girls, this is Madeline Maclin, a former Miss Parkland.”
As I’d seen in their pictures, Bron and Mag had none of their mother’s attractive features. Instead of long dark hair, they had tired brown hair that lay flat on their little round heads. Suspicious eyes gleamed from their doughy little faces. I could only guess they looked like their father.
“Hello, girls. This is my husband, Jerry. Jerry, Rachel Sigmon.”
They shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Jerry,” Rachel said. “Madeline, I just wanted to tell you the girls are so excited about being in Little Miss Rainbow.”
The girls eyed their mother with all the excitement of facing long hours at the dentist.
“For her talent, Bron’s playing a piano solo by Edvard Grieg, and Mag is doing a dramatic recitation.”
“‘The Raven,’” Mag said. “It’s a poem.”
What cheery choices. “Well, good luck.”
“I apologize again for pestering you about coaching them. The director of the pageant said he had plenty of time to show all the girls what to do. Of course they have their dance recital at the theater first. I hope you can stop by the house and visit us some time soon.”
“I’ll try.”
“Okay, girls, let’s go. You have a lot of practicing to do. See you later, Madeline.”
Bronwen and Magwen sighed and trudged after their mother.
“Poor things,” I said.
Jerry grinned. “The Spud Sisters.”
I had to laugh. “That’s unkind.”
“At least their mom isn’t after you to coach them any more.”
“They would need a lot of coaching. Ready to go?”
“All set.”
But next, Fiona Kittering came up. By her tense expression and glittering eyes, I could tell she was a rat terrier on the hunt.
“Madeline, Nathan says you were asking him all sorts of questions about Amelia Lever. What’s going on? You can’t possibly think he had anything to do with her death, can you?”
“I just wanted to know if he knew her. She was his cousin’s fifth grade teacher.”
Fiona quivered like a terrier who has caught sight of a squirrel in her territory. “You think he killed Amelia? That’s crazy.”
“It’s my job to ask all kinds of questions. Sometimes the craziest thing can lead to a clue.”
“No, it’s your job to solve that riddle.”
“I’m doing that, too.”
The terrier had now jumped off the porch. “But it has to be solved by Monday! Are you any closer to finding the answer? That’s why Nathan hired you, not to accuse him of murder.”
The people in the next booth were almost leaning over to listen.
“Okay, calm down,” I said. “I didn’t accuse him of murder. I only asked if he knew Amelia.”
“Well, when he called me, he was very upset.”
“I’m sorry. I realize he has an important deadline, and that’s probably why he’s on edge. I’ll call and apologize.”
Fiona took a deep breath and became human again. “Yes, well, that would be very nice. Sorry I blew up. Guess I’ve been on edge, too.”
“That’s all right. Y
ou’re concerned about him. I understand.”
I thought she would say something else, but she turned and left the restaurant.
“Well, that was interesting,” I said. “Nathan got upset enough to call her. Was he hoping she’d warn me off? That I’d stop asking inappropriate questions, or give up the case?”
“Okay, so we’ve both been accosted in Burger World,” Jerry said. “What say we go home?”
“That’s a very good idea.”
***
When we got home, there was a dark blue Dodge Ram pickup truck parked in the driveway.
“Who’s that?” Jerry asked.
“I don’t know, but the truck followed us from Rossboro.”
The man who got out of the truck wasn’t just large. He was extra large. He was at least six feet tall, wearing camouflage pants and a tank top. He had more muscles on his arms than Jerry has on his entire body. Even his bald head looked muscular.
He smiled. “Evening, ma’am, sir. Somebody told me this was where the Fairweathers lived. I’m looking for Mister Fairweather.”
“That’s me,” Jerry said.
“I’m Bert Finchner. You owe me five thousand dollars.”
I don’t know how Bert Finchner managed to look affable and sinister at the same time. Maybe it had something to do with the way he smiled as he loomed over Jerry.
“How do I owe you five thousand dollars, Mister Finchner?”
“Call me Bert. My lady friend, Misty May, called me to say you had stopped by her office, and as luck would have it, I was down at the gas station next to the highway. She recognized you as one of the fellows who had a little knife game going at the fair a couple of years back. Seems she had a bet with some of her girlfriends, and they all gave her some money to bet on the outcome of that game, money I believe you took under false pretenses.”
“I’m not sure you can prove that.”
Bert Finchner grinned. “Oh, I imagine I can. See, I watch a lot of TV, especially that Discovery Channel. They got a great program called ‘How Do They Do That?’ Not long after Misty lost her money, they showed on that program how you do that knife trick. Pretty clever, I have to say, but pretty dishonest, too, to take folks’ money that way. It’s a little set of pegs on the side, and the one the knife’s in sticks out just so you can see it, but nobody else can. So you’re never gonna slam your hand down on the cup with the knife in it.”
