by Clare Kauter
Lea glanced over at them. “Oh, that’s his housekeeper, Karen Martin. She’s Jeremy’s sister. Oh, he’s there too. I better write these down.” I guess that was how James and the Martins were connected. As she was writing Lea said, “I can tell you more about them later. Not that much to tell, though. Apart from how awful Karen’s hair looks.” To be honest, I didn’t think I was the right person to judge someone’s appearance, so I made no comment. “Can you see anyone else?” she asked as she finished writing. She looked up. “Oh, I know him. Oh, and her!”
Lea seemed to know everybody there, so after a while we had a pretty good list. She was spotting tonnes of people and I hardly knew anyone. As much as I hated to admit it, my mother was right. I really did need to get out more. But that was what I was doing, I reminded myself. That was part of the reason I was working at Baxter and Co. Speaking of which…
“What are you doing here, honey?”
I recognised Tim’s voice straight away (his accent was kind of distinctive). I knew he’d be there – I’d seen his car outside, plus he was working on the same case as me. Did that make us rivals? I guess it did. That could be a problem, considering he was probably trained and licensed to do this, and definitely much better at it – he’d spotted me in the crowd, and I hadn’t even noticed him. Then again, when I thought back to our last meeting, the fact that he’d managed to sneak up on me in a crowd wasn’t that surprising. He’d had no trouble doing so in an empty room.
He wanted to know why I was here, and I wasn’t exactly sure what to tell him. I tried to stall him until I came up with a good answer.
“What am I doing here? I could ask you the same question.” Now that I’d said it, that answer seemed more than a little bit stupid. “I could, but I’d know the answer.”
That brought a whole new relevance to the phrase, ‘Once you’re in a hole, stop digging’.
Great, I thought. Now he thinks I’m thick as well as stupid… Then, Did I just think that?
“Yeah, so you know why I’m here. Now you can tell me what you’re doing.”
I had nothing, so I decided to refer to one of my favourite mottos. When in doubt, bullshit like your life depends on it. Especially if it does.
“Well,” I began, “As you know, Frank McKenzie was a pillar of the Gerongate community. He made many sizable contributions to charity, and I just came to pay my respects to him, God rest his soul, and –”
“Cut the crap, Charlie.”
I turned to face him. Time to try my grandma impersonation again.
“You can’t swear in church, that’s blasphemous. God, Tim.” I clapped my hand to my mouth.
He was laughing. “Hypocrite.”
“At least I’m remorseful about it.” Or pretending to be. “You don’t even seem to care.”
He shook his head. “You’re right. I don’t care. I’ve done worse things than swear in church.” He paused. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
“You never give up, do you?”
“No.”
“Oh, Jesus, Tim. Why the hell do you care?”
“I counted two blasphem -”
“Shut up. If you really want to know why I’m here, I’m trying to find out who killed Frank. I made a bet with someone that I could figure out who did it, and losing is not an option. If I win, I get some money and a house, and that’s kind of big for me, ’cause I’m broke and I still live with my parents. That a good enough excuse to be here? Are you satisfied?” I know, I kind of snapped.
“Who’d you make this bet with?”
“Not telling.”
“Then no, I’m not satisfied.”
“Well you’re just going to have to deal with it.” I crossed my arms and put on my defiant face. Which is basically just my regular face.
“You’re muscling in on my job, honey. How do you expect me to react?”
“Oh, save it. I know you don’t think I’ll win. Like I’m a threat. And besides, you get payed for any time you put in on this case. It’s not like you have to solve it. You get payed more for doing nothing than I do for all my effort.”
He tilted his head, and then nodded in agreement. “I suppose that’s true. Still, I get payed more if I solve it. Calm down. You look like you’re about to cry.”
I took a deep breath and tried to keep myself from yelling. “If you want me to calm down,” I hissed at him through clenched teeth, “Saying I look like I’m going to cry is not the way to go about it.”
“Sorry, honey. I’ll store that for future reference.”
That was when Lea turned around and saw Tim.
“Hey, Sharps. How you doing?” she asked.
“Good thanks, Lea. I notice that you’re not standing with Jeremy. Would that mean that you two aren’t together anymore?” I decided that was probably a good indicator that I wouldn’t have to introduce them, so I didn’t.
“I’ve filed for divorce!” She sounded pretty cheery.
“Congratulations,” said Sharps. I thought that was what you were supposed to say when people got together, not when they broke up. I suppose, though, with Jeremy being such an arsehole and all, ‘Congratulations’ was probably quite an appropriate response.
“Mr Carter?” came a voice from behind Tim. All three of us looked to see who had said it and by the way our shoulders all slumped at the same time I could tell we were thinking the same thing.
Great. Cops.
And not just any cops, either. I recognised Michael Andrews from the newspaper article. He was wearing a grey suit and a hideous multi-coloured fluorescent tie. I’m not great with ages but I’d guess he was somewhere in his mid-forties. He was chubby and balding, with beady little eyes on a face that was too small for his head. His brain was probably too small for his head as well. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, and that wouldn’t be very far because he obviously weighed a fair bit.
His partner was far younger, far better looking, far smarter and far more fashion-conscious. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
“Mr Carter,” Andrews repeated, “I’m –”
“D.C. Andrews and this is P.C. Winton. I know. We’ve met before. Quite a few times. Remember? By the way, Mr Andrews, you’re looking great! Have you lost weight?”
I was a bit worried about Sharps aggravating the cops, but obviously they were used to it because Andrews carried on as though nothing had happened. Or maybe he just didn’t get the joke. Jeez, maybe he thought that Tim was serious!
“Interesting that you should be here, Mr Carter.”
“Really? It’s interesting that you two should be here as well. It doesn’t look like you’re here to comfort James. Maybe you’re hoping to arrest someone? That would explain the very stealthily hidden handcuffs. And just as a pointer, if you’re trying to blend in, normal clothes do help. And it would also be better if you wore a tie that didn’t drown out what you were saying. Also, selling your picture to the tabloids isn’t a great move. Only suggestions.”
Little Face frowned. He didn’t understand what Tim was saying – his tie couldn’t talk. “Who are you working for?”
“Sorry, classified information. I’m sure you understand that. It’s a professional thing.”
“Mr Carter, you are obstructing our investigation. I could arrest you for that.” Whatever. Like he’d have enough guts to do that.
“And then I would call my lawyer, Adam Baxter, and he’d get me straight back out. You can’t just come and steal the information I’ve collected as part of a private investigation. Really, I’m starting to think you can’t figure out anything yourself.”
“Mr Carter, I’m warning you –”
“Mr Andrews, I’m warning you. There is a certain amount of professional courtesy between the police and our agency. I suggest you don’t test my patience any further. You don’t want to tip the balance. This issue is between me and my client, and it is confidential. The reason I am here is a private matter and I don’t inten
d to discuss it any further with you.”
When it became clear that Tim wasn’t going to answer his questions, he turned to me. “And what are you doing here, Miss, um –”
“I’m paying my respects. As you do at a funeral.”
“So am I,” Lea added, before he could question her as well. Andrews left in a huff. His partner stayed behind. He and Tim nodded ‘Hello’ at each other. Now I knew who the cop was.
“Sharps,” he said.
“Joe,” Tim responded.
Joe Winton turned to me. “Charlie. Been a while.”
“Pity it wasn’t longer.”
He laughed. “James told me he ran into you the yesterday. I was surprised he came out alive.”
“I’ve never tried to kill him.” Hurt him? Yes. Kill him? Of course not! Well, maybe once. OK, OK, twice.
“You did write off his car with a wrecking bar once.”
“Yeah, after he ran my bra up the school flagpole!”
“Was that your bra?” Lea asked. “Oh, yeah, I remember now. Didn’t he get suspended for that?”
“No.”
“His mother kicked him out, though,” Joe said.
“Not for that. Besides, he went to live in a mansion with his millionaire uncle who replaced his car with a Ferrari. He didn’t exactly lose out.”
“How did he get hold of your bra?” Lea asked.
Not in the kind of fun way you’re thinking, Lea.
“Sneaked into my room during a party.”
“Why was he at your house for a party?”
“Violet McKenzie and my Mum are friends,” I said. “James has always been at our house a lot.”
“James said you made a bet with him,” Joe told me. Thanks, Joe, I thought. Now Tim knows who I’m working for. I shot him a look to tell him to shut up, but Tim had already heard. He smiled at me. Smug prick.
Joe caught my look and turned to Lea, trying to change the subject. “I thought you two,” meaning me and Lea, “Were kind of worst enemies at the moment.”
“Hell, no!” said Lea. “She gave me a chance to get a divorce. We’re best mates.”
“How do you know what happened?” I asked.
“Everyone in town knows what happened,” Joe said, looking at me like I couldn’t have asked a stupider question.
Great. The whole city knew.
“So,” he continued. “How do you two know each other?” This time he meant Tim and me. “Do you go out or something?”
Tim snorted. “Yeah, I take girls out to funerals a lot. Lovely setting for a date. No, we only met on Friday. We work together.”
Joe turned to me. “So, you’ve gone from groceries to security. That’s a pretty big jump. What do you do?”
“Receptionist.”
“Oh, on account of you being such a people person?”
“Shut up.”
“Did McKenzie know where you worked before you made this bet?” he asked.
“No.”
“He’s in for a shock.”
“Yep.”
“You don’t think it was a bit cruel not to tell him?”
“He didn’t ask.”
“Fair enough.”
We stopped talking then because people were turning around and frowning at us. Apparently the priest (or is it pastor? Minister? Anyway, the Jesus Man) had started to talk somewhere during our conversation.
There were sniffles coming from beside me and I realised that Lea was crying. Joe obviously noticed as well, because he squeezed over next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. She threw her arms around him and started sobbing into his chest. Joe turned and pulled a face at us and Tim and I both began to scan the booklet about Frank they’d handed each of us at the door, then took a new interest the ceiling and the floorboards, and just generally tried not to look at each other in case we started cackling like crones. No matter what Hozier says, I didn’t want to be the giggle at a funeral.
The Jesus Man finished his speech alarmingly quickly, leading me to think that we must have talked through a fair bit of it. Oops.
Everyone was invited to the burial. The priest said nothing about the wake, so I assumed the general public wasn’t invited. Not that that would stop anyone from going.
Joe had to go find Andrews, so he left Lea in the care of Tim and me. We walked Lea back to the car.
“Are you alright to drive?” I asked her.
She nodded. I think she was afraid that if she said anything she might burst into tears again.
“OK. Tim,” I said, “Can I come with you?”
“To the burial?” he asked. “Sure. I’ll have to ask James if you’re allowed to go to the wake, though. We don’t want to upset him.”
“OK. Thanks.” I turned to Lea. “You sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah,” she squeezed out, then dragged in a shaky breath.
She got in the car and we watched her drive away. (No hassles, in case you’re wondering. Even more proof that the car only hated me.)
“This is your car, isn’t it?” I asked, pointing at the Porsche.
“No,” he answered. “That’s my car.” He was pointing at the lump of junk that had been parked on the other side of the Nissan.
The horror must’ve registered on my face, because he said, “Just kidding. No need to have a heart attack.” He beeped open the Porsche.
We got a little lost on the way (I blamed the GPS for giving us the wrong directions; Tim blamed me for not being able to work it) so we reached the burial a bit late and they were nearly done when we arrived. Very few of those who had attended the funeral were at the cemetery. Basically it was just cops and McKenzies, although it was really only James who had known Frank. I also recognised Karen Martin from the church (at least, I thought it was her – she didn’t have the most memorable face).
When it was over, most of the McKenzie Clan left, as did Karen. Apparently it was her little pile of silver/rust-coloured junk. Didn’t McKenzie pay her enough to buy a decent vehicle? I wondered how she had managed to beat Tim and me there when she left after us. Sure, we got a little lost, but even so… She probably went on all the backstreets and didn’t get caught in a traffic jam like we did. And she probably sped and rammed her way through town. Her car was already a write-off – it wouldn’t matter if it got a few more dings.
James McKenzie swaggered over to us.
“Sharps,” he said, and Tim nodded in recognition.
James looked towards me. “Queen Evil.”
“King Dickhead,” I responded.
Tim looked back and forth between us. “This is going to be interesting,” he said.
“We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things,” James said. “What with her being so short and all. And she’s jealous because her friends like me better than her.”
“They do not.”
“Oh yeah? Well why don’t they hang around you on weekends rather than watching me from my backyard?”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t boast about being stalked.”
“No, especially not by your freaky friends,” he sniggered. My eyes narrowed.
“OK, a) my friends aren’t freaky, and b) none of them have ever been accused of murder.”
“OK, a) your friends are freaky, they’d have to be to want to hang around you, and b) I haven’t killed anyone. Besides, you’ve tried to kill enough people to make up for all of your friends.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Everyone keeps saying that. Who have I ever tried to kill?”
“OK, you two,” said Tim, “There’s no need to get worked up.”
“It’s not funny! He said my friends were freaky and that I try to kill people.”
“It’s the truth,” said James.
“Wanker.”
“OK!” Tim said it so loud that I forgot I was busy arguing. I think he was a bit over it. “Thank you. Now that you’ve got that off your chests – ”
“Not that Charlie had much on her chest to start wi –”
James caught the look on Tim’s face and stopped. “Sorry, do you two go out?” There was something weird about the way he said that. It was almost like fear. Maybe he thought Tim was going to bash him. If only.
“No. We work together,” Tim answered. I was a little flattered that two people today had seen the outfit I was wearing and thought I was still capable of pulling any sort of boyfriend. Take that, mum.
“Oh, because I was going to say, you must be the first boyfriend Charlie’s had since, um, ever.”
“Up yours.” I gave him the finger.
“As I was saying,” Tim said, “Now that you two mature adults have gotten over that, I think we should get back to the problem at hand. So –”
“Go back a bit,” James interrupted. “Did you say you two worked together?” His facial expression, however, said, ‘I hate you.’
I smiled sweetly. “Yeah.”
“Doesn’t that job require coordination? Something that you quite obviously lack?” I didn’t like this guy. I really didn’t.
“Well, that doesn’t matter too much, being that I’m secretary. Not that I can’t do the other stuff if I try,” I added quickly. A little too quickly, judging by the smirk on his face. He knew he was getting to me, and that just got to me more.
“Sure you can. Anyway –” he said, before I could interrupt. “What were you saying Sharps?”
Tim had a really pissed-off look on his face. I realised that my first impression of him had been right – you did not mess him around. Or talk over the top of him. Or not do what he said.
“Well,” he began, in a tone that made it clear that this time we were going to listen and there was no alternative, “If you two think that you’re ready to listen, then I’ll start.”
We were ready to listen. Well, we weren’t ready to die, so listening seemed like a good idea.
“Good. Now, you two seem to have forgotten the current situation. James, your uncle is dead. Murdered. And we have to find the killer. Got that? The sooner the better, too, because there is no saying the killer won’t strike again. You two arguing isn’t getting us any closer to a result, so you’ll understand if I don’t want to waste time bickering in a graveyard.” He paused. James and I said nothing, so Tim continued. “I was planning to go to the wake. That going to be a problem, James? I might pick up on something.”
