Clouds In My Coffee

by ANDREA SMITH

  Asshat.

  So, what if I couldn’t remember the exact fucking song Marshall had dedicated to whomever forty years ago? I mean, what the fuck? Even Taz hadn’t acted all pissy about that! Marco sure did though. Shaking his head and turning his back to me, his hands on his hips like he was disgusted.

  Now I continue to rack my brain trying to remember that dumb-ass song for my own peace of mind. Maybe I should’ve written it in my notes while it was still fresh in my mind the way Marco had chided me.

  Fuck me!

  I keep trying to recall it. And then, just as the song title from Marshall’s dedication is on the tip of my tongue, my cell phone starts playing Ryan’s ring tone! As if I even want to think about him at the moment. I’ll never be able to hear that song and not think about the cheating fuck!

  Damn!

  ‘Make it okay, I swear I’ll behave…’

  I quickly mute the phone and then stop cold. I suddenly have a brilliant idea. I get up and grab Marco’s black wool overcoat from the back of the chair he had been sitting in. I remember that he had shoved his cell phone into the pocket once Taz had started the interview this morning.

  I pull it out and am thrilled to see it’s an Android—similar to mine. Hot damn! I won’t need a password to download a ringtone and, luckily, he hasn’t deleted me from his contact’s list yet.

  Awesome.

  It takes me all of thirty seconds to download a song as a personal ring tone for my number in his phone. Song choice? “Angie,” by the Rolling Stones. A 1974 classic, along with having the same name as Marshall’s murdered ex-girlfriend!

  Am I brilliant or what?

  I make sure to take his phone off mute and stick it back in the pocket of his coat.

  My timing is perfect as I hear them outside in the hall talking before the door to the conference room opens and in they come.

  “Okay, I think we’re good to go,” Taz says. “Thanks for your help, Parrish, I think you’ve given us some very valuable insight into Judge Rydell’s background.”

  Marco simply grunts something inaudible.

  “You’re very welcome, Agent Matthews. I hope things go well today. How long do you think your interview will last?”

  Marco gives me a puzzled look and then pulls his overcoat on. Damn, he looks awesome in black.

  “We’ve only got a ninety minute window but, if we make good use of that, it should be sufficient. Got everything, Marco?” he asks.

  I watch Marco dig his smart phone out of his coat pocket and toss it inside his opened briefcase. He pulls a manila folder out and hands it to Taz, closing his briefcase. “Yeah, we’re good to go. I’ll let you hang on to the file with the questions since you’re lead on this.”

  “Let’s do it then,” Taz replies. “Oh, and, Parrish, we ordered lunch for you so they’ll be bringing it to you in just a bit. Sit tight until we get back, okay?”

  “Thanks, Agent Matthews. Good luck.”

  And they are out the door.

  I keep glancing at the big wall clock above the door. The interview should be well under way. It’s nearly three o’clock.

  Time for a blast from the past.

  I pick up my cell and hit Marco’s name on the call list. I hold the phone to my ear, hearing it ring once, twice, three times, all the while I’m picturing Marshall Rydell’s face as he hears the familiar name embedded in the lyrics of that song.

  Oh, Angie, don’t you weep, all your kisses still taste sweet…

  After eight rings, it goes to his voicemail. I wait another seven minutes and then call him again. It rings eight times again and then goes to voicemail.

  On the third round at three-fifteen, I call again. This time, the call goes directly to Marco’s voicemail.

  Oh fuck.

  Well, seriously, how pissed can he be?

  Oh, you will soon see!

  Chapter 41

  It’s damn near five o’clock and I’m at the drinking fountain just outside the conference room where I’ve been holed up all afternoon wondering where the hell Marco and Taz have been. God knows I’m not going to call Marco’s cell phone again.

  No sooner is that thought processed, when I hear the sound of footsteps coming up the tiled stairwell. Taz is first up and, when he sees me standing there with what I can only guess is a deer-in-the-headlight expression, he gets this totally sexy shit-eating grin on his face.

  Well that’s a good sign anyway, right?

  Wrong!

  Marco is right behind him and I don’t think there are words enough to describe just how utterly pissed off, angry, enraged and furious he appears to be.

  With me.

  I swallow nervously as Taz passes by and heads into the men’s room.

  “You,” Marco snarls, “In here, now!”

  He holds the door to the conference room allowing me to pass through before he slams it shut behind him.

  I watch as he yanks off the wool Burberry scarf that still has flakes of snow attached and then unbuttons and removes his overcoat, dropping it onto a chair. “Sit,” he bellows, his brown eyes flashing darker until they resemble onyx.

  “Are you pissed at me for some reason?” I ask, my brow furrowed as if I’m clueless, as I sink down into one of the wooden chairs at the conference table.

  “Are you serious? Are you fucking serious?”

  “Well…it wasn’t rhetorical, so yeah.”

  He’s now standing behind the chair next to me and I can see his hands are balled into fists, resting against the top of the chair. “What you did, Parrish, was borderline obstruction. Do you even fucking get that?”

  “Oh, come on—”

  He interrupts that thought, “No, you come on! This isn’t some fucking game here! What? Do you think federal agencies operate at your whim? At your pleasure? Well, fuck that! I’m here to tell you that you’ve been privy to much more than any regular person off the street would ever have been privy to for one reason and one reason only. And that’s because you brought us credible information no matter how incredible the source happened to be. Did I laugh and send you away? Huh? Did I?”

  Fuck, he’s hot when he’s pissed!

  “No,” I murmur meekly, looking down at my hands clasped in my lap. “I didn’t do that as some…some party joke.”

  “Then what the fuck? Why did you do that? What possible reason would you have had to program some old song with a dead girl’s name as the title into my phone?”

  He leans closer and studies me intently. He wants an answer. I don’t have one. At the time, it seemed like a great strategy for psyching out the judge; to get him to confess. I mean, hell, I think I’d even seen something similar done on one of those shows I watch.

  Law and Order? Or maybe it was Criminal Minds?

  “I’m waiting,” he growls, slamming a fist on the table, which startles me back to the present.

  “I—I thought maybe it would spur something in his conscience, you know? I figured by the time I made the first call, you would be pretty well into the interview and maybe hearing that song from back then, with Angie’s name would…I don’t know…conjure up some guilt or remorse from him? Make him more amenable to confessing?”

  He slaps the back of the chair and whirls around, pacing away from me and shaking his head in frustration. “You have no idea how these things are handled and you had no business interfering that way. You could’ve blown everything to shit!”

  I start to say something—to apologize because I feel tears welling up inside and I want so much to turn time back so that I can do things differently. I sure as hell didn’t mean to let anyone down, especially Cece.

  “Marco,” I say, standing up and walking to stand behind him where he has his back to me, leaning against the white board on the wall. His one hand is rubbing the back of his neck. He’s trying to work the tension out of it. “I’m really, really sorry. I should’ve never played psychologist and pulled such a lame stunt.”

  He turns to look at me and I can see
that some of the anger has dissipated. Just as he starts to say something, the door opens and Taz pokes his head inside. “Marco, let’s go. We’ve got the Attorney General on the phone. He’s already listened to Judge Rydell’s taped confession and the federal prosecutor wants to finalize the details of his plea agreement.”

  “Stay put,” Marco instructs, heading out. “We’ll discuss this when I get back. I shouldn’t be more than thirty or forty minutes.”

  And he’s gone.

  Now it’s my turn to be furious. What the fuck was all of that about? How dare he rip my ass, letting me think I’d obstructed whatever without even telling me that they got a fucking confession out of Marshall Rydell?

  Fuck me.

  I grab my cell and call for a cab.

  I write a quick note to Marco, fold it in half, and leave it on top of his briefcase. It’s short and to the point:

  Fuck you.

  P.

  In less than two hours, I’m on a plane heading for Salt Lake and, very soon, I’ll be heading back home—wherever I decide that is for the time being. But, one thing is for certain, it will be far away from Marco Trevani.

  I figure I can stay with Mom for a while, just to regroup and then decide what I want to do with my life going forward. I have only one more thing to do before I leave and that is to give Cece the good news so that she can finally cross over.

  One less stalled soul.

  One more broken heart.

  Chapter 42

  The following day, I’m at the cemetery and, as I wait for Cece to materialize in the sunny but cold February day, I think about her mother and hope that Marco plans on making a personal visit to her at the retirement home to give her the news. That’s his loose end to tie up as far as I’m concerned.

  “Hey Parrish.”

  I turn and there she is, smiling at me, with a bundle in her arms.

  Rewind…what?

  “Cece,” I start, walking closer, “I have good news for you. Marshall Rydell confessed everything to the FBI. He’s going to be prosecuted for your murder and I’m pretty sure Angie’s as well.”

  “I knew you’d come through for us, Parrish. Your mom told me that you wouldn’t let me down. How can we ever thank you?”

  “We?”

  “Yes, Erika and me.”

  “Not following.”

  “Come see,” she says and, as I step closer, her ghostly hand pulls the blanket back just a bit so that I can catch a glimpse of the beautiful, angelic face of a baby.

  “She’s our daughter. Erik’s and mine. She’s with me now.”

  “Oh my God,” I say in a hoarse whisper. “Oh Cece, she is perfect and so beautiful, too.”

  “Isn’t she though? And now we can be together because of you and what you’ve done for us.”

  My eyes mist up as I gaze at the beautiful little cherub that never knew life on this planet but, blessedly, is now within her mother’s spiritual arms.

  “There is one more thing I can do for you. If you want me to, that is.”

  “Oh?”

  I fill her in on how I helped Ma say goodbye to Dad that day in the cemetery in West Virginia, telling her that I would be willing to do the same for her and Erik.

  “Hmm,” she said quietly, “Do you think it would freak him out?”

  “Why don’t we let him decide for himself? Either way, I’ll be back tomorrow to say goodbye one last time, how’s that?”

  “Far out, Parrish. Later.”

  And she fades, still smiling and still holding their unborn child.

  I turn to leave, a smile gracing my face, and immediately see Marco waiting by Sheila’s car for me.

  Oh, what now?

  I make tracks back to the parking lot, choosing to ignore his presence.

  Yeah, that’s not happening.

  He’s immediately at my side, grabbing my wrists and pulling me around to face him. “Why the hell did you run off yesterday?” he asks, his voice irate and a bit demanding.

  “My note explained it all,” I reply, struggling to get free of his strong grip. “Take your fucking hands off of me, Agent Trevani.”

  “Not until we finish talking.”

  I’m not gonna lie, I kind of like it when he gets strict with me. My belly tingles a bit and my heat has taken notice.

  Oh, what? Doesn’t mean I have daddy issues!

  I look up at him and god, those eyes of his are fucking intense as they bore into me, but shit, I have the right to be pissed off too!

  “We’ve got nothing left to talk about. You ripped my ass for something that seems to have served the purpose intended, which, quite frankly, begs the question as to what the fuck is your problem?”

  He relaxes his grip on me just a bit and I can tell that, for whatever reason, I unnerve him. “Parrish, fuck,” he replies, “It just doesn’t sit well with me that you seem to have this total fucking disregard for protocol with this shit. I mean, hell, you always want to jump in or take the lead and it makes me fucking crazy!”

  “Well, no worries Agent. It’s not like I’m with the Bureau and you have to put up with me. My job here is done. I’ve just told Cece and now I have to pay Erik a visit.”

  He releases his grip on me now completely and his eyes are searching mine. “Whoa, wait a minute. Why are you going to see Erik?”

  “Don’t go getting your boxers in a bunch—oh wait, that’s right, you go commando, don’t you?”

  I see a flicker of amusement cross over his face.

  I ignore it. “I’m actually going to see if Erik wants to say goodbye to Cece and…their baby.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I know it’s freaky, but I managed to pull it off with Ma and my father, so I thought I’d at least make the offer to them. I mean, shit, don’t you think they deserve it after all of these years?”

  His hand rubs the five o’clock shadow along his jawline and then he gives me a sheepish look. “Mind if I tag along, Ms. Locke?”

  I shrug. “Suit yourself, Agent.”

  We drop Sheila’s car at the house, and then Marco drives us out to Erik’s business. He fills me in on the details of Judge Rydell’s confession, deliberately leaving out the part where my ringtone of “Angie” obviously helped initiate it.

  According to the good judge, he had been under the almost constant influence of hallucinogenic drugs and depressants back then. Coupled with a chemical imbalance in the brain that had yet to be diagnosed or treated, the combination had provoked some psychotic and violent episodes. His stint in rehab had served to get him clean, and his underlying chemical imbalance condition had been diagnosed and subsequently treated.

  “So, what are you saying? He’s still going to be indicted, right?”

  “The federal prosecutor is inclined to make a plea deal. You have to understand that a federal judge is appointed by the President of the United States and it’s for life. Impeachment proceedings can take ten years or more, if the federal officer chooses to fight it.”

  “So, what’s the bottom line?”

  “He agreed to resign and do ten years in prison, getting out in five for good behavior. He can never work for the federal government in any capacity and he’s open to civil suits by the families of Angie and Cece.”

  “Hmmph,” I reply, “Slap on the wrist if you ask me.”

  “I don’t disagree, mia caro, but it beats having to spend the next eleven years with him still on the bench while the House and Senate battle it out, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “One thing, Parrish. Don’t say anything to Erik about any of what I’ve just shared, understand? Nothing’s official until it hits the news media.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  He smiles. “You’d do well to remember that, babe.”

  Marco was kind (or chicken shit) enough to allow me to let Erik know that Cece had been pregnant at the time of her death.

  “Oh man,” he said, burying his face in his hands momentarily and then looking over
at the both of us, “Why the hell didn’t she tell me?”

  “She was going to, Erik. The night she died, she was going to tell you after the concert,” I reply quietly.

  “And you know this…how?”

  “It was all in her diary,” Marco interjects. “Her mother never even knew.”

  “So, then she planned on having the baby?” he asks, looking back and forth between us.

  “Of course she did,” I reply, “She loves you very much.”

  He looks over at me strangely. Probably because I’m speaking in present terms. Here’s my chance to segue into my offer. “Erik,” I begin, “I’m not sure how you feel about supernatural things—whether you’re a skeptic or a believer but, for the moment, let’s put that aside. If I told you that there is a way that you could have a few moments with Cece, to say whatever it is you never had the chance to say to her before she was taken from you, would you want that opportunity?”

  He’s studying me intently now, trying to figure out what the hell I’m getting at or maybe he’s contemplating the possibility that he’s having some acid-induced flashback years later, I can’t really tell.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking, Ms. Locke.”

  “Call me Parrish, please? What I’m saying, in simple terms, is that I have a gift—it’s kind of a paranormal thing that just recently surfaced but, for whatever reason, it allows me to act as a medium of sorts, bridging certain spirits from beyond to their loved ones here.”

  His forehead creases in confusion and then he looks at me as if a light bulb has gone off in his head. “Do you mean something like what happened in that movie…Ghost?”

  “Exactly,” I reply, with a slight chuckle.

  “Hey,” he says with a shrug, “I grew up in the seventies so there isn’t much I refuse to believe in, I guess. I’d give anything to see her one last time—just to say goodbye and to let her know how I felt, still feel even now, about her and about what we had together.”

  “Meet me tomorrow around noon at the cemetery?”

  “I’ll be there. And thanks, Parrish.”