by Harper Lin
All the questions about animals going to heaven and won’t their owner miss them and did the poor little beast suffer seemed a bit too much for the hard-hearted John, who held his son and tried to soothe his worries as best as any dad could.
“Yeah, well, I heard that you had seen an altercation between the mayor and George Pilsen’s brother.”
“How did you hear that?” Amelia huffed.
“Word travels fast in small circles.” John sounded as if he were bragging. Amelia was sure he was. “One of the reporters who was on the scene is a friend of mine. He said he saw you there and that you saw and heard the whole thing.”
“I did.” Amelia chose her words carefully. “Does someone need me as a witness or something?”
“No,” John snapped. “In fact, the whole thing is so ugly they’d like you to not speak to anyone about what you heard and saw. I told them I’d call and make sure you didn’t.”
“Really? This is coming from whom, John? Who told you this?”
“Look, we’re just trying to protect the Pearl family. Maggie is all alone now and…”
“Yeah, all alone with her husband’s six-figure pension and a house on a hill in addition to her summer home in the Hamptons. I’m sure she’ll figure out a way to scrape by.”
“Amelia, I’m not asking. I’m telling you. Do not speak to anyone about this. The detectives on the case don’t need your help, and reporters don’t need your version of what happened.”
Amelia knew John wasn’t speaking as a real insider. He had known of the mayor. Doing the kind of law John did, it was inevitable that some of his social circles would cross over into local politics. But he hadn’t quite made it to the man’s Christmas card list.
“Besides, it isn’t about you. It’s about the Pearl family and their loss. Show a little compassion for once.”
Amelia clenched her fists. His comments made her want to hang up and dial Channel 8 News and blurt out her whole version of what took place. But then, she thought of Meg. If that hippy hot dog vendor was capable of killing the mayor just minutes after making lewd comments to her fifteen-year-old daughter, there was no telling what he might do if he tied the two together.
“Promise you won’t talk to anyone. Amelia? Can I trust you?”
“I was never the one whose trust was called into question,” she stated, enjoying one small zing regarding his infidelity. She took a deep breath, letting it out as she tossed her head back.
“Good enough. Jennifer and I are going to the funeral. It’s the day after tomorrow. I’ll send a bouquet on behalf of you and the kids.”
“Send it from the kids. I didn’t vote for the man.” Amelia looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go, John. Is there anything else?”
John quickly wrapped up his end of the conversation. As usual, he didn’t ask about The Pink Cupcake, the food fest, or anything that had to do with her life but made sure she remembered to have the kids ready on time for his next visit.
Her mind began to click as she wondered why John would make such a phone call. It was odd even for him.
Grabbing her laptop, she began reviewing the local news. The death of Mayor Pearl was all over the place. There were pictures of him smiling and laughing, shaking hands with voters, and being a man of the people. Anyone who wasn’t from the town of Gary would think he looked like the most honest fellow you could buy a used car from and after the transaction have a beer with.
But there was nothing about the altercation with the hot dog vendor. The article mentioned the mayor going to Gary Food Fest. It stated he enjoyed samples of the local cuisine. It sounded as if he’d had a great time up until the very end.
“That’s weird,” Amelia mumbled. “All those reporters around. Not a snapshot. Not a blurb. Nothing about the argument.”
Then a strange line caught Amelia’s attention.
The mayor’s ex-wife could not be reached for comment.
“Sure. She probably doesn’t want to incriminate herself. I can only imagine the stories that old Babs Montgomery-Pearl would weave about her late ex-husband.” Amelia closed up the computer and stared into space for a few minutes.
Barbara “Babs” Montgomery-Pearl had been married to Mayor Pearl for as long as Amelia could remember. As with so many divorce stories, the mayor had gotten tired of the woman who’d supported him at the very beginning of his career when he had nothing. So when it was obvious he had acquired everything, he dumped Babs for, surprisingly, an only slightly younger model. That was Maggie.
It was also well known that part of the divorce agreement required Babs to keep her mouth shut about all things.
“I wonder what her allowance was for that,” Amelia mused again. “I wonder if it applies if the guy is dead.”
Maybe it did since the woman couldn’t be reached for comment. Unless she had her own version of John calling to tell her not to talk. To think of the poor grieving family and let bygones be bygones.
Amelia shook her head and stood from the table. She was going stir crazy. It was the frustration at not being able to bake and sell her cupcakes—the worry over having dumped so much money into an event she couldn’t even participate in had taken its toll on her.
“I’ve got to do something to keep busy,” she grumbled.
She called both kids and told them she was going to go to the truck and clean things up and see if there was any news about when they’d be back in business.
Meg requested to be dropped off at Catherine’s house. Adam said he would enjoy the solitude of his basement lair and fix himself a sandwich if he got hungry later.
Within an hour, Amelia was at The Pink Cupcake. She knew it was just a truck, but its hot-pink color made it stand out so that Amelia thought it looked like a pretty thing that had gotten stood up for prom.
“You had the same idea as me?” She heard a familiar male voice to her right.
“Hi, Gavin. Yeah.” Amelia sighed. “This is a real blow.” Her hand went to the nape of her neck, and she smoothed her hair.
“Right? The guy didn’t even eat any of our food. I just don’t understand this.”
Amelia nodded.
“I don’t even know what I’m doing here. They said they’d call if we were going to be able to open up again. I guess I just thought if I showed up, maybe…”
“Maybe they’d let us open up?” Amelia finished Gavin’s sentence. “Yeah. I just don’t like leaving my truck here. I don’t trust anyone around her.”
“Her?” Gavin said teasingly.
“Yeah, her. My daughter picked the color, the name. The Pink Cupcake is definitely a ‘her.’”
Gavin laughed and looked out at the police who were standing and talking at the perimeter of the yellow DO NOT CROSS tape, then down at his shoes.
“Hey, it’s almost lunchtime. Would you like to grab something to eat while we’re killing time?”
Amelia, who realized she hadn’t eaten anything all morning, suddenly felt a pang in her stomach. Lila’s advice quickly flew through her mind. Before she could stop herself, she nodded.
“Sure.”
Chapter Eight
La Café was a small Mexican restaurant just around the corner from Food Truck Alley. The place had three Formica tables and did a ton of carryout. Amelia and Gavin took a seat by the window.
Before Amelia even realized what was happening, she was laughing and smiling, telling stories about her kids and Lila.
“My question is,” Gavin said, “why cupcakes?”
“Well”—Amelia frowned while chewing a mouthful of chicken burrito—“why did you pick Philly Cheese Steaks?”
“Because I am actually from Philadelphia.” Gavin smirked.
“My kids always liked it when I baked for them. They said that my cupcakes were way better than any of the ones the other kids’ moms brought for their birthdays or class parties.”
“Is that all?”
Amelia wiped her mouth with the paper napkin.
“I’m good
at it. It’s just one of those weird gifts. I feel comfortable in the kitchen. I know women aren’t supposed to say that anymore, but its true. When I’m baking something, I’m in charge. I’m the boss. I’d never been the boss before.”
Gavin smiled. He had a very handsome face, and Amelia could tell that he took care to stay in shape. But she wasn’t sure if there was a connection there. Not yet. She looked at his bright-blue eyes, which reminded her of Paul Newman’s, but quickly looked away.
“Why are you blushing?” he asked eagerly.
“I don’t like to talk about myself. I’d rather talk about my kids. Or Lila. She’s a stitch.”
Gavin slowly nodded as his eyes seemed to feel their way over Amelia’s facial features and down her neck.
Feeling a little awkward, Amelia proceeded to tell Gavin about how she and Lila came together and babbled on that Lila was responsible for her hugely successful PB&J cupcakes.
By the time lunch was over, Amelia felt exhausted. She knew she had talked too much, but she was nervous. Gavin probably thought she was some kind of lunatic.
“I really had a nice time with you, Amelia,” he said as they walked back to Food Truck Alley.
“Me, too,” Amelia chirped. “But I wish you would have let me pay for my own lunch. I’m not destitute yet.”
“Call me old fashioned. I invited you. It was my pleasure.”
As they rounded the corner, Amelia saw a familiar face by The Pink Cupcake.
“That’s Officer Miller over there.” She pointed. “I provided the cupcakes at her bridal shower. She must be back from her honeymoon. So I guess she isn’t Officer Miller anymore.”
“Hey, let me know if she has any news about when we can get cooking again,” Gavin said. “And let me know when you are free for dinner. I’d love to take you to this great Italian place over on the south side.”
Amelia smiled, only half hearing what Gavin had said, and turned to him with her hand extended.
“I’ll do that.” She felt his warm hand almost completely engulfing hers. “Thanks again for lunch. I had a really nice time.”
Leaving him to find his way back to the Philly Cheese Steak mobile, Amelia quickly hustled up to Officer Miller.
“Darcy!” she called, waving. The officer smiled broadly and waved back.
“I was just looking for you.” Darcy straightened her belt, which held her weapon, cuffs, mace, and who knew what other law enforcing trinkets in hidden pouches.
“Oh yeah? What for?” Amelia prayed that it was to tell her they’d be reopening the trucks within the next fifteen minutes.
“Can you tell me about what happened yesterday with the fellow who yelled at the mayor?”
Amelia’s thoughts went to her ex-husband’s bizarre request.
“Well, I already gave a statement to Detective Walishovsky. Both Lila and I told him everything yesterday.”
“Yeah, he told me that. But now it looks like all his notes that he typed up for the file are missing. His handwritten ones were torn out of his pad.”
“Could they be misplaced or…” Her words sounded like a pitiful excuse a child might give a teacher when they didn’t do their homework.
“We’re talking about Detective Walishovsky.”
Nodding, Amelia put her hand up as if to say, “Yeah. Stupid to ask.” If it was to help Dan, Amelia had no problem repeating everything she had said yesterday. Darcy wrote down the notes quickly and then stuffed them deep inside her jacket pocket.
“Darcy, do you have any idea when we might be able to get back to work?”
Amelia sighed. It was like a broken record in her head. When are we getting back to work…when are we getting back to work…
“They haven’t said anything yet. They’ve put up a grid.” Darcy pointed to the small stakes tied together with string making tiny squares along the grass. “Once they make it through each square, I suppose then they’ll open things back up. They are about halfway through.”
“Do me a favor,” Amelia whispered. “Crack the whip. I need to get back to work.”
Darcy smiled and gave Amelia a wink. “I’ll do my best. In the meantime, there might be another catering job for you in the near future if you’re interested.”
“You’ve got my number.” Amelia nodded.
She watched as Darcy walked back toward the officers standing at the yellow caution tape. Darcy issued a few orders, to which the men turned and told the guys on the ground to pick up the pace.
Gavin leaned out the back of his truck and gave her a questioning glance. Amelia shook her head and shrugged. No news.
Sure, she could have stayed with The Pink Cupcake, but it was locked up tight, and with so many uniforms around, it was probably as safe as it would have been in the driveway. Instead, she decided to go for a drive and clear her head.
Dan must have gone ballistic after realizing his paperwork was missing. Who would do that and why? Why didn’t anyone want to know about this guy? Why wasn’t the press reporting about him and asking for anyone and everyone with information about him to come forward? What kind of people were these?
What was really frightening was that John was also involved. Did he know that the police report had been messed with?
“He couldn’t have. Darcy seemed to insinuate that was private information,” Amelia said to the steering wheel of her sedan. “What kind of people are these exactly? Someone knows this guy, I’ll bet.”
The funeral.
“That’s it. I’ll go to the wake and the funeral. If they don’t let me in, I’ll just watch the place. I can do that. I’ve done stakeouts before. But if John is involved with these people and they are messing with Dan’s work…” She didn’t know what else to say. Did she think she could take on city hall?
Turning her car around, she headed back home. Calling Meg on her cell and Adam at home, she made sure they were okay, stopped at Pizza Hut, and brought home an early dinner.
Then, getting back on the computer, she found out all the details of the wake that was taking place tomorrow. Luckily, she had a black dress that still fit. Amelia opted for a pair of flat black shoes. For some reason, she thought there might be a chance she’d have to run off on foot. Heels would not be a good idea. Her binoculars would fit perfectly in her clutch purse.
“Girl, you infiltrated an AA meeting without being noticed. You’ve got this,” she said to cheer herself on, nodding and smiling as if she were doing nothing more than crashing a party.
But these are politicians, not a bunch of recovering alcoholics.
Pushing the words aside, Amelia pretended not to have heard her thoughts.
Chapter Nine
Hughes Funeral Chapel was in the prestigious Bridgeport suburb that was as far away from downtown Gary as you could get but still be in the district for voting purposes. Bridgeport was also the home of the late Mayor Pearl and his second wife, Maggie. Those streets were the first to be plowed after a snowfall, the first for the sweepers to sweep every Wednesday, all the residents always received their mail, and with so many retired police living there, too, the most severe crime reported all last year was vandalism. Some kids spray-painted NO REGRET on the overpass at I-394 and Sauk Trail.
Not all the homes were as prestigious looking as the mayor’s. He did live on a hill, and his neighbors had huge houses and large pieces of land. But the majority of the homes were simple middle-class-looking ranch-style homes. The yards were clean. The cars in the driveway were huge Chevy trucks or Cadillac SUVs.
Shaking her head as she drove, Amelia thought it all had a film over it. Something dirty.
“You’re just saying that because you hate the mayor and all politicians,” she said scoldingly to herself. “These are normal people. Just doing their jobs.” But she couldn’t shake the feeling that not only were things different in Bridgeport, but she was being watched.
Casually, she scanned the fronts of the homes. Sure enough, many of them had surveillance cameras.
�
��Surveillance cameras for these simple homes?” she muttered. Shaking her head, she slipped on her sunglasses, tried not to stare, and followed the directions to Hughes Funeral Chapel.
Before she could even get on the same block, she was stopped at a roadblock. Rolling down her window, she leaned out to get the attention of the officer who was directing traffic.
“Hi.” She tried to sound natural. “I’m trying to get to the Hughes Funeral Home.”
“Sorry, ma’am. The road is blocked to all thru traffic. Do you have a pass?”
“A pass?”
The officer’s face looked tired, as if he had already repeated what he had said a thousand times and it wasn’t even nine in the morning yet.
“Only police, press, and immediate family and friends are allowed past the barricades.” He looked over her car. It was obvious she was the least interesting thing around.
“Oh, um, well, I was supposed to meet Detective Walishovsky here?” She swallowed hard. What was she doing? Under the pressure, his was the first name to pop into her head. Detective Dan “Strictly by the books” Walishovsky was going to have kittens if he found out about this.
The police officer let out a sigh.
“Okay, go around this block and park your car there. You’ll have to walk through.” He shook his head with frustration.
Amelia did as she was told. After parking her car and quickly hurrying back to the barricade, she saw the officer standing alone at the orange-and-white roadblock. This blew her chance of surveillance from a distance. She couldn’t very well stand across the street staring through binoculars at who was coming and going.
Almost on tiptoe, she hurried past the blockade and made her way to the funeral home. The next obstacle would be getting into the place itself. Slowing down her pace, she pretended to be looking at her phone and having a quiet conversation as she watched the cars that were allowed to pull past the roadblocks from the opposite direction of the street.
