Sidekicks

by Linda Palmer

  Since I was still driving Tyler back and forth to school—Brynn had totally bailed, as predicted—I took him home and then went to my house. Cooper picked me up there. We got to MPD by four-thirty. In response to the front desk alerting Detective Simms to our arrival, he stepped out of his office and started our way.

  I immediately noticed that the haze had returned and surrounded him.

  “Come on back,” said the detective.

  We followed him to his office and sat in the chairs he offered.

  “Can I get you two something to drink?”

  “No thanks.” I had my eye on his bulletin board, completely unadorned today except for a flyer about a missing child I knew had been found days ago. That rattled me a little. Had he solved his cases? The last thing I wanted to do was offer unwanted help that he might take as a lack of faith in his abilities, especially when he’d said straight out that they had things under control. Or was I simply looking for an excuse not to talk about what I’d been seeing? In truth, I felt very reluctant to share the details.

  “What can I do for you?” asked Detective Simms.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm nerves oddly jangled. As a rule, I loved helping out. This was proving to be torture. “Will you tell me about the women who were on your bulletin board last time we were here?”

  He hesitated before answering. “I’m really not at liberty to talk about them.”

  That surprised me. There’d been at least one article in the newspaper about murdered women, and didn’t cops want the word to get out just in case someone knew something about them? “I thought the police always asked the public for any clues that might lead to an arrest.”

  He tried to explain. “We’re trying to keep certain details from the press for now.” His gaze narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think the spirit of one or both of them has approached me.”

  Detective Simms leaned forward. “Go on.”

  “I believe I’m seeing two women of Asian ethnicity, though maybe a mix, and both are definitely dead. The women I’m seeing favor each other physically, I think, but apparitions are never very clear.”

  “Do they speak to you? Name names? Give you details of any kind?”

  “Not so far.”

  Now he leaned back and began to click a pen. Point out. Point in. Point out. Point in. He studied me while he did it, as if silently trying to decide between several possible courses of action. “Though we haven’t found the killer yet and you might be a big help to us—” Click. Click. “—I have to admit I’m torn. Whoever murdered those young women is a very dangerous man.”

  “So you know it’s a guy?” I asked.

  “Not for sure, but it’s likely, based on the nature of their injuries. If we find another body, the FBI will work up a profile. But I can’t call them in until then. It takes three deaths and identical MOs for a murderer to be considered a pattern or serial killer, and the FBI won’t investigate crimes on a local level until one is involved.”

  I nodded that I got it.

  “I’m very reluctant to involve you in anything having to do with someone so vicious. On the other hand, you could be a huge asset if you get information that could help us solve these cases and get a murderer off the street.”

  “How many women have gone missing so far?” asked Cooper.

  “That’s one of the facts I can’t share. Don’t want to start a panic. Not that you’d tell…” He gave us a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you understand.”

  We both nodded even though we didn’t.

  “Why don’t we leave it at this? If you’re approached by another specter that you think is connected, call me.” Detective Simms handed us both a business card. “Anytime. Day or night. I won’t mind.”

  “Okay.” I stood and picked up one of the photos on his desk—the one of him wearing camouflage. “Were you in the military?”

  Detective Simms stood, too. “Yes, special forces in the middle east. Served there ten years.”

  The moment he said that, the haze surrounding him began to shift and reform. Viewed through my inner eye, the room grew darker and the haze grew brighter. Even as it did, I began to make out individual, shadowy faces. Men, women, and children took shape, and they hovered all around Detective Simms. Were they civilians he’d been unable to save? If so, they clearly haunted his psyche in a PTSD sort of way. I wondered how the man slept at night. No wonder he was such a good cop. He was driven to save the innocent, something he might not have been able to do while in the military.

  “Mia?” Cooper’s voice yanked me back to the present.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Detective Simms asked for your cell number.”

  “Oh, um, sorry.” With a rueful smile, I gave it to him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, frowning slightly.

  Was it my imagination, or did he seem uneasy? I hoped he hadn’t guessed I could see the remnants of his military past. That would be awkward, to say the least. “You can always call Mom if you can’t get me right away. You have her number, right?”

  He nodded and walked to the door. We slipped past him and into the hall. “Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem.”

  We soon left the building. I’d never felt so shaky and actually had to stop to catch my breath before we got to Cooper’s truck.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? What happened in there?”

  “You didn’t see them?”

  “Who? The women?”

  “No. Those middle easterners. At least that’s what I assumed based on the clothing they wore, that sandstorm I thought was a haze, and Detective Simms’s background. There were dozens of them. You really didn’t see them?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But you did see the sandstorm, right? The one that hovers around him?”

  “Not today, I didn’t, and when I saw it the other day, I wasn’t reminded of sand.” Cooper bent his knees slightly so he could peer into my eyes. Apparently he didn’t like what he saw. “Should I call your mom?”

  “Oh God, no. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.” He took my hand and walked me to his truck, opening the door and then shutting it once I’d gotten in. A second later, he slid behind the wheel.

  Suddenly it was all too much. “I don’t want to think about any of this anymore.”

  “Okay with me.” He started the engine and pulled out of the lot. We got to my house twenty minutes later.

  “Want to come in?”

  “Baby, you have no idea. But I can’t. I’ve got an essay due tomorrow, and I haven’t even started it yet.”

  “Thanks for coming with me today.”

  “I plan to be with you every time you talk to Detective Simms.”

  “Really, why?”

  “I want to buffer the weirdness that’s his world.”

  “His own private world?”

  “No, his law enforcement world. By default, there’s a lot of bad stuff in the heads of those cops, Simms included. It’s hard enough for me to keep from cluttering my mind with it. You wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “But I don’t get anything from the living.”

  “Doesn’t mean you never will. So you won’t be going there alone if it’s up to me.” His firm parting kiss gave those words the ring of truth.

  Friday night, I actually let Brynn drag me to the football game on the condition that she would explain if I didn’t understand what was going on. Did that make me the only teenage girl in town who just didn’t get it? Probably, and it meant she talked the whole time, using words that ran together: quarters, downs, offside, illegal motion, end zone…blah, blah, blah.

  I finally got the semi-hang of it by halftime and had to admit we had fun, something I credited to the chill in the air, the smell of fresh popcorn, and a lively marching band. The sight of all those muscled-up guys in their tight pants was a trip, too. As for the cheerleaders, well, they were just colo
rful, noisy icing on a very sporty cake.

  The best part came when fans spilled out of the bleachers onto the field after the game to congratulate our team on another victory. When I ran up to Cooper, he faked a shocked stagger backwards and then scooped me up in a hug. I decided then and there that nothing smelled as good as a sweaty football player with a big grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

  “Did you enjoy the game?” he asked.

  “Oh yeah. Especially the homeruns.”

  Laughing heartily, Cooper kissed me, neither of us caring if anyone saw us. And someone definitely did. Mr. Marsh, also on the field exuberantly congratulating the players, made it a point to look at and then skip his stepson, which totally pissed me off.

  Oh, how I wanted to wave and yell, “Excuse me? Didn’t you just miss the best one?” His pettiness was a shock even though I knew he and Cooper weren’t getting along. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so bad for my boyfriend.

  Late that night but before I dropped off to sleep, my cell came alive with my guy’s special ring and vibrated all over my nightstand. I snatched it up. “Hey.”

  “Hey. Just wanted to thank you for coming to the game. It meant a lot.”

  I smiled into the dark. “Believe me, the sight of you in that football suit made it all worthwhile.”

  “It’s a uniform, and you looked pretty hot, yourself.”

  “Aww.”

  “I love you, Mia.”

  “And I love you, Cooper.”

  “Will I see you tomorrow? My dinner break’s at seven, which would give us an hour.”

  “Of course. And I’ll be your meal buddy every Saturday from now on.”

  I cherished his soft laugh long after we said goodnight.

  Brynn called after that to update me on progress with Marty. She told me they were going to a concert Saturday night in Shreveport. Since she was the biggest Keith Urban fan ever and it was a Rob Zombie event, I knew it must be love.

  *

  Chapter Nine

  In the wee hours of the morning, Nick approached, waking me from a nightmare about bombs and guns and people trying to find their way home through a blinding sandstorm. I instantly knew where those images had come from—Detective Simms’s head. How odd that I should be getting thoughts from him, a guy still breathing. I felt so sad that his memories haunted him. “Whew. Thanks for waking me up.”

  Someone’s here to see you.

  I sensed Brett Ray and heaved a sigh before I spoke to him. “Oh my God. Is Cooper still blocking you?”

  Unlike Nick, with whom I’d communed for years, Ray was new to my world, which meant we hadn’t developed any sort of ghost speak yet. So he expressed himself through images as he’d done the other times we’d interacted.

  Tonight he showed me two people talking through glass, like in a prison visiting area or something. Only one was using the telephone that would let them hear each other. That told me that Cooper hadn’t lowered his barriers.

  “Okay. I get it. What do you want me to tell him?”

  Ray next showed me a photo of my grandmother who’d died six years ago, as well as a map of Texas. I also saw a ring with a red stone in it and a can of apple pie filling, which no self-respecting chef would use, with the word Comstock on it.

  “Grandmother, Texas, Ruby, Comstock.” I tried to piece the puzzle together. Couldn’t, so I went over all I knew about Cooper’s parents’ parents, thinking out loud. “Cooper called his mom’s parents Betty and Sol Weeks, so they’re probably out. Are you trying to tell me something about your parents?”

  I felt a rush of relief.

  “But they don’t want him in their lives. Or has something changed?”

  I now saw an anonymous grave with the words loving grandfather on it. “Oh wow. Is your dad dead?”

  In answer, another presence moved into the room. I thought I might’ve sensed him before. He felt older than Brett Ray, but eerily the same. Could that mean Ray and his father had reconciled in death? I felt a rush of affirmation that was nothing but good and might mean Cooper’s grandmother now wanted to mend fences.

  “Are you saying I need to tell Cooper to contact his grandmother in Texas and her name is Ruby Comstock?”

  Ray’s father gave me the equivalent of a ghostly thumbs up, which was more about uplifted spirits than anything to do with hands.

  “Texas is huge, you know. Can you give me an address?”

  Emptiness was my only reply.

  “Nick?”

  No answer. Apparently all spirits had left the building.

  Great. Just great. Something else to figure out.

  My parents left before I got up Saturday morning, nothing new. I made myself some toast and sat in Dad’s usual chair to eat it, scanning the newspaper headlines. One, in particular, caught my eye, an article about a rodeo accident in Nacogdoches, Texas. A bull had stepped on a fallen cowboy, killing him.

  Moments later, I ran across information about a well-known Hollywood actress from that very same city, who’d donated a bunch of money to cancer research. Was someone trying to tell me something?

  I knew what and who just seconds after when I saw the word Nacogdoches a third time, this mention in a letter to Dear Abby. Curiosity piqued, I went straight upstairs to my laptop and Googled Ruby Comstock in Nacogdoches, Texas. A white pages site obliged me with an address and phone number.

  If I’d misread clues, both Cooper and I would look like idiots if we ever went there. But what could I do but share with him what I’d been told?

  Cooper was clearly watching for me when I walked into Chick-fil-A just in time for his dinner. As always, his grin made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. After asking me if I wanted to eat something, which I didn’t, he grabbed a chicken sandwich and a drink. Of course I sneaked in a kiss as we settled into the same booth as before.

  “I have something to tell you, but first I want to know why you’re still blocking your dad.”

  Cooper winced. “He came to you again?”

  I nodded. “And will probably keep on coming if you don’t open up some doors.”

  “Damn it, Mia. I don’t know what to say to him.”

  “Well, I know what to say to you, at least I think I do.” I gave him all the details of my conversation with his deceased dad and grandparent the night before, if you could even call our communication that. “Do you think I’m right?”

  “Seems to be adding up.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Visit a woman I hope is my grandma Ruby in Texas, I guess.”

  “When?”

  “Can you go tomorrow?”

  So he wanted me along. I couldn’t hide my smile. “Yes. I have her number if you want to call her.” I began digging into my hobo bag.

  Cooper stopped me. “No. We should go unannounced and get a feel for the place. If the vibe isn’t right, we’ll leave, no harm done. How far is it to Nacogdoches, anyway?”

  “Just over a hundred miles.”

  He acknowledged my answer with a nod, but his expression told me he had some qualms about dropping in on a grandmother who’d never made any effort to contact her grandson. I honestly couldn’t blame him. We’d both need a good shot of courage to get it done.

  Night had closed in by the time I left at eight. On my way home, I stopped by the restaurant to get takeout for my dinner. I loved Tagliaro’s, from the gorgeous courtyard seating to the pristine kitchen. Located in the outskirts of Martinsburg, it stayed busy, especially on weekends. The Tagliaro reputation and a couple of good write ups by well-known food critics had resulted in a five star rating that kept diners coming. And we never got bad reviews on the internet.

  Tonight I slipped in through the backdoor, acknowledging the spiritual presence of the chef who’d helped my parents open the place twenty-five years ago. Berthold Caputo had been the real thing, as Italian as my dad’s parents who’d immigrated in the early 1900s. I thought he lingered because he’d loved the place in
life.

  “Buona note.” I kept my voice low. Though I’d told Mom and Dad that Bertoldo was hanging around, I hadn’t mentioned his visits to anyone else.

  As was normal for most Saturdays, I found the kitchen in controlled chaos. I saw servers coming in and out, their arms laden with either empty dishes or full ones. Ben Mills, sous chef, smiled a greeting. “What’s your pleasure, Mia?”

  “Chicken parmesan, I think.”

  He nodded and got busy. I headed to the office, where Dad worked on his computer, no doubt entering the day’s receipts. I gave him a hug from behind. He patted my hand. I went in search of Mom, who I spotted mingling with diners up front. As always, I absorbed the beauty that was Tagliaro’s. Raised in the restaurant as I had been, the clink of silver against china was music to my ears, as were the muted conversations of our happy guests.

  I waved to Tony, the bartender, and to Gina, the hostess, on my way to my Mom. She gave me a side-armed hug when I got to her. “Everything okay?”

  “Uh-huh. Just getting myself some dinner.”

  “I’ll put it on your tab,” she said with a teasing laugh.

  I smiled politely at the diners she’d been talking to and made my way to the kitchen once again. There I sat on a stool and watched everyone until Ben handed me my food. To say it smelled like heaven didn’t come close to describing the amazing aromas coming from the plate.

  Not wanting to eat in the break room all alone, I dragged my stool to a corner so I’d be out of the way as I ate. After that, I helped Dad, who summoned me back to his office. He wanted to make changes to the menu, something I always did for him. His computer skills were limited to correspondence and spread sheets.

  When I finally finished printing off new menus, it was closing time. I grabbed some bread sticks to-go and put them in a Tagliaro takeout bag as I left. With my radio blasting, I hit the road, noting that the rural two-lane I always traveled to get home was unusually deserted for a Saturday. The smell of garlic tickled my nose, so I slipped a hand into the sack to steal a break stick that I was really too full to eat. Just as my fingers closed around one, a woman came running out of nowhere and streaked across the road in front of my car. Screaming, I stomped the brake, but I ran right through her anyway.