Twisted Dreams

by F J messina

  Sonia was surprised by the tone of voice. She knew it was supposed to be one of the characters from those “Ring” movies, though she couldn’t name him. “Okay, whatever-your-name-is. I give up. You are most certainly welcome to share my morning treasure. Would you like me to go downstairs and get you a fresh cup of coffee?”

  “No,” Jet scrunched her face, “we have our own vessel filled with hot, steaming brew.”

  Sonia pushed a wisp of hair out of her face with the back of her hand. Damn, she’s got that voice down. Scary. She tore the croissant in two and laid half of it on a clean piece of paper sitting on the edge of Jet’s desk. Hoping the slimy evil creature was no longer inhabiting her dearest friend, she asked, “What or who got you in here so early today?”

  “Before I answer that,” Jet picked up a manila envelope, “here, this is for you.”

  Sonia took the envelope. She opened it and pulled out a five by ten photograph of an attractive dark-haired, dark-eyed, young woman. Sonia looked at Jet, “Mariana Castillo?”

  “Yeah. Her father dropped it by early this morning.” Her voice was subdued.

  A darkness slid over Sonia as she ran her fingertips gently across the image. Where are you, young lady? What has happened to you? She put the photo down.

  Jet took a bite of the croissant and flicked some of the flaky crust off her fingertips. “By the way, have we gotten any information on Mariana’s car?”

  Sonia twisted her lips in frustration. “Not a thing.”

  “Too bad Detective Sergeant Adams left town after the Hensley case got wrapped up. I’ll bet he would have been willing to do some digging for us, maybe have somebody looking for it out of state or something.”

  Sonia chuckled. “Listen. I’m pretty certain I know a former Marine who still has NCIS connections that can find out that kind of information for us. I might just have to spend an evening with him soon. You know, just to worm some information out of him.” A warm smile of anticipation slid across her face.

  Jet returned her knowing smile then shifted gears. “Now, as for who got me in here so early. Who else? That damn Burnett Saunders. Son-of-a-bitch called my cell at six-thirty this morning. Said he would have called when he got to work at six, but he didn’t want to disturb me too early.” She popped another small piece of croissant into her mouth.

  “Yikes.”

  “Yikes, is right. I barely knew who I was talking to, or should I say to whom I was speaking, for the first five minutes.”

  Sonia carefully removed the lid from her coffee. “And what did ol’ Burnett want at six thirty in the morning.”

  “He was just ready to get started on the Brownlee case. I had to tell him I hadn’t even gotten a confirmation from Brownlee indicating that it was okay to bring on a forensic accountant.”

  Sonia took an almost non-existent sip from her extremely hot coffee. “How’d he react?”

  “Silent. Just silent. I’m telling you, this guy is as stiff as a board.”

  Sonia waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure that Brownlee understands we need the accounting help. Mr. Saunders will get his permission to move forward in a day or so.”

  Jet picked up her University of Kentucky coffee cup, one with a bold, blue UK image. Looking into it, she found nothing but a quarter inch of brown liquid. Her lips pouted in response before she continued. “And that wasn’t the only weird thing. You should’ve heard him when I said that you would be the one who would be working with him. Hell, it was the first time I got a rise out of him about anything.”

  Sonia blew on her coffee, trying to cool it. “What do you mean?”

  Jet reached down and plucked her battered old red thermos off the floor. “I told him, since this was both an accounting issue and a technology thing, he would mostly be working with you.” She poured some warm coffee into her cup. “You’re our technology person, and you and he would take apart the computer files to see if the young hotshot, a guy named Michael Oakley, is screwing Brownlee.”

  “And?” Sonia was only mildly interested.

  Jet took a quick sip and her voice perked up. “And he starts coming up with one cockamamie excuse after the other as to why he has to work with both of us.”

  “Like?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Jet looked at Sonia with disbelief on her face. “Like three is a prime number, and when people work in groups of three they solve problems better.” She ran her ponytail through her hands. “It’s all a bunch of crap.”

  Sonia decided her coffee was still too hot and put it down. “So, what did you say?”

  Jet put her elbows on her desk and interlocked her fingers. “Look, I think we need this guy. As strange as he is, I bet he’s a real whiz at this stuff. So,” she shrugged, “I just told him we’d all work together as much as he’d like, as long as I wasn’t needed somewhere else.” Her hands opened up. “Heck, it probably is true that three brains are better than two, especially if one of them keeps running off at lunchtime and getting wasted on margaritas.” A mischievous smile crept across Jet’s face.

  “Whoa.” Sonia’s hand went up. “Wait a minute. That was your doing. I never ordered that second margarita. Hell, I never ordered the first one.”

  Jet’s eyes rose to the ceiling. “Funny how it’s always somebody else’s fault.” She shook her head broadly. “How sad, how sad.”

  Sonia raised her hand again then gave it a twist. It was a move she’d seen her Italian uncle use when he was upset. It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. Just then, Sonia heard the exterior door to the BCI offices open. She turned and looked back over her shoulder.

  Along with a beam of sunshine, a youngish woman in jeans and a bright pink spring jacket entered the space. She was thin and wore the kind of running shoes you don’t really run in. Brown-eyed, with a long face, her blonde hair looked tired, as did she. She carried a mother-sized purse, large enough to carry a juice box and a zip-lock bag of Cheerios without a bit of trouble. Inside the jacket, she wore a thin, white top. She stood at the back of the room looking lost and fragile. Weary. Sonia turned further in her chair. That’s how so many people look when they enter our office, either lost and fragile─or pissed as hell.

  “Can we help you?” Jet called out, rising to her feet, still standing behind her desk.

  “Is this the office of Bluegrass Private Investigations?”

  “Close enough,” said Jet. “Come in.”

  The woman walked across the waiting room and stepped into Jet’s office.

  Sonia stood and extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Sonia Vitale.”

  Jet followed suit. “And everyone calls me Jet.”

  The woman looked around the room, clearly uncomfortable. Her voice was tentative. “Hi. My name is Mandy Petropoulos. I need to speak to someone. It’s about my husband.”

  “I’ll bet it is.” The look on Jet’s face was one of muted disgust.

  Sonia gave Jet a quick look, then turned back to Mandy. “Is he okay?”

  “I guess you’d have to ask him that.”

  Sonia figured that Mandy must have been quite attractive just a few years ago and could still be if she weren’t so exhausted. Exhausted and sad. Neither Jet nor Sonia said anything.

  Mandy seemed to brace herself. “You see. I think he’s cheating on me.”

  “Now,” Jet’s eyes lit up, “that’s right up our alley, sweetheart.”

  Almost immediately, Sonia picked up her coffee and took Mandy by the elbow. “Yes, we do that kind of thing, but I’m afraid that Jet, here, has to make some phone calls about another case. Why don’t you come into my office so we can talk?”

  As Sonia led Mandy to her office, she looked back over her shoulder and saw frustration on Jet’s face. She’d learned, however, that it was often better for her to get the details about a cheating husband. Jet, she knew, could get personally involved so quickly that sometimes the clients got the wrong impression─the impression that the fine ladies of BCI were more interested in assassina
ting a cheating spouse than simply proving that they had strayed.

  Sonia sat at her desk and directed Mandy to the seat in front of it. She watched Mandy’s eyes search the tiny room, eventually falling on the pictures of Sonia and Jet at the firing range.

  “You ladies, you’re serious about your work, aren’t you?”

  Sonia smiled. “No need to worry. We rarely go beyond taking a picture or two in this kind of work. Now, tell me what’s going on.”

  Mandy leaned forward, clutching her purse on her lap as she started. “Well, my real name, my maiden name, is Hamilton. I’m Mandy Hamilton Petropoulos.”

  “So, you married a Greek guy?”

  “Right, Nick Petropoulos. His real name is Nicos, but everyone calls him Nick.”

  Sonia leaned back in her chair. “I grew up Italian myself.” She smiled. “So, tell me about your husband.”

  Mandy took a short breath. “Well, his father, Vasilios Petropoulos, owns a roller-skating rink. Not Champs, the other one, The Wildcat Roller-Skating Emporium, out on North Broadway.”

  Sonia had never been to The Wildcat, as the kids referred to it, but over the course of the past two years, private investigation work had led her through almost every part of town. “And how long have you been married?”

  Mandy absentmindedly rolled her wedding ring back and forth on her finger. “Six years. We’ve been married six years.”

  “Kids?”

  Mandy looked up. “Two. Two boys. Five and three.” A weak smile crossed her face.

  Sonia’s face reflected the small smile. “You started your family right away?”

  Mandy’s eyes dropped once again. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Sonia worked hard to keep her voice level. “And your husband, what does he do?”

  Mandy looked up. “That’s the thing. Two years ago, Nick’s father retired to Florida. He left Nick in charge of the skating rink. Of course, he works mostly at night.”

  Sonia took a sip of her now somewhat-drinkable coffee. “And you? Do you work?”

  “I do. I started out at UK studying accounting. I dropped out of school to marry Nick when I found out I was . . .” she took a quick breath, “I was pregnant. But I know enough to handle the books at the rink. I do the accounting, order the soft drinks and popcorn, all the concession stuff. Sometimes I work the birthday parties and things like that.”

  “And you and Nick are on opposite shifts?”

  “Yes.”

  Sonia leaned forward in her chair. “That’s tough, isn’t it? Not seeing each other much?” She felt like she was already getting a pretty good idea of what was going on.

  “Yeah, I guess. It’s just that Nick says that’s how it has to be for now. The business isn’t doing well enough for me to stay home, or for him to hire someone to run the place at night.”

  “So, Nick stays home with the little one during the day while the other boy is at school?” Sonia’s voice reflected her growing sense that she could probably fill in all the blanks.

  “Yeah, until about four. Then I come home and he goes off to the rink.”

  “It doesn’t seem like that leaves a lot of time for him to get involved with someone else. Is it someone at work?”

  Mandy’s eyes roamed around the room, looking for a place to land. “Well, kind of.”

  Sonia started to take another sip, then paused. She waited for Mandy to continue.

  “You see, there’s this sorority, at the university, and they’re having this semester-long fund-raising event every Tuesday night. It’s for a good cause, something about kids with a certain kind of cancer.” Mandy almost huffed. “Lately, it seems like when he comes home from work every Tuesday night all he wants to do is go to sleep.”

  The words struck Sonia as both expected and surprising. “Well, it’s late, isn’t it? He works late hours, doesn’t he?”

  Mandy squirmed in her chair─just barely, but Sonia noticed it. “You don’t know Nick.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well,” Mandy leaned closer to Sonia, as if being close would make her explanation more credible. “I think Nick always thought being a man meant certain things. His father was a real ladies man, a womanizer actually. And Nick thought it was his destiny to be just like that. He’s got a voracious appetite.” She lightened up a bit. “And I don’t just mean for baklava. Every night.” She shook her head. “Just every night. Honestly, it’s exhausting.”

  Sonia leaned away again and began tapping on the arms of her chair with her fingertips. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah, whoa.” Mandy’s eyes dropped to her purse. “But now it’s not every night.” Sonia sensed a trace of anger in Mandy’s voice. “It’s every night except Tuesdays. Now, on Tuesdays,” Mandy’s voice became more sarcastic, “it’s, ‘I don’t know honey, I’m beat. I’ll take care of you tomorrow, okay?’ ” She shook her head. “Honestly, I’m glad for the break.”

  Sonia paused, wondering what that must be like, to feel that way about your husband. She plowed on. “But you’re wondering why, after all these years, Tuesday’s are a no-go, right?”

  Mandy sat up straighter in her chair. “Actually, it’s not so much that I’m wondering. More like I want to prove it. I don’t think there’s any question that he’s getting it on with one of those sorority girls─maybe more than one.”

  Sonia sat up taller as well, matching Mandy’s posture. “Well, I hate to say it, but that’s something we do all the time; we prove that someone is cheating. What else can you tell us?”

  “Not much I’m afraid.” She was more businesslike. “All I know is that it’s every Tuesday, like clockwork, and that it’s never happened before in six years of marriage.”

  Sonia and Mandy finished their conversation, coming to terms on a fee and a timeline for finishing the case. A few minutes later, Sonia watched as Mandy stood and walked out of the BCI offices, her running shoes creating not a sound, her face casting a silent and sad smile in Jet’s direction.

  As soon as Mandy was gone, Jet walked into Sonia’s office, apparently eager to find out about another slimebag husband. “Well?”

  “Well,” Sonia said, unenthusiastically, “looks like we’ve got ourselves another case.”

  9

  After their unexpected visit from Mandy Petropoulos, Sonia and Jet each worked in their own offices for about an hour. Jet was squaring away arrangements with Steven Brownlee as regarded bringing on Burnett Saunders to do forensic accounting work with them. Sonia was trying, via numerous social media sites, to find out everything she could about Mariana Castillo.

  A little before twelve, Sonia knocked on the window to Jet’s office and spoke to her through the glass. “C’mon. We’ve got a one o’clock appointment out at Mayweather, and we need to get some lunch first.”

  Jet stood and walked out of her office, toward Sonia’s. “Hey, I think they’ve cooked up some new kind of sandwich downstairs, a Philly cheesesteak or something. Want to get one before we go?”

  Sonia nodded. “Sure.” They walked out of the BCI offices, down the steps, and into Magee’s.

  Magee’s was pretty full, a good-sized lunch crowd lining up for the combination of breakfast and lunch meals that were available until the place closed at two each afternoon. Sonia didn’t mind waiting; this place was a second home to her. She spent her time looking around at the people and at the delicious pastries that were on display.

  After they’d ordered, Jet asked, “So, what did you find out about Mariana?”

  “Not a whole lot.” Her eyes had locked on a cherry-cheese Danish, though she knew she wouldn’t get it. “I looked on every site I could, but there are two problems.” She turned to Jet. “First, Mariana is a rather private person. There’s a very limited amount of her life that’s available to the public via social media. Second, she’s one hard-working young lady. Seems to me all the girl has time for is work. I’ve only been able to identify two current friends and neither one could tell me anything useful. In fact, they say
she barely has time for them. I saw a few postings about her being at work by five thirty in the morning or working twelve-hour days. It doesn’t appear that she has a lot of energy left for her social life. I did notice, though, that she was involved in some sort of project that she hoped continued to go ‘so well.’ ”

  “What kind of project?”

  “I don’t know.” Sonia shrugged. “She didn’t say. I don’t know if that’s because it’s particularly private or just because that’s who she is.”

  It only took a few minutes for the girls to finish their Philly cheesesteak lunches, sitting across from each other at one of the long, high tables that had recently been added to Magee’s interior. Neither did they have time to linger over the cold drinks they had gotten. By twelve thirty-five, they had gotten into Sonia’s red Subaru, turned left out of the parking lot, and headed all the way through town on Main Street. They passed the old Lexington Cemetery, final resting place of the famous statesman, Henry Clay, and left town behind.

  As they drove through the rolling hills of Central Kentucky, toward the small hamlet of Midway, Jet kept her eyes focused straight ahead. “So how are things with you and Brad?”

  A satisfied smile crossed Sonia’s face and she glanced momentarily at Jet. “Great. He and I get together most nights. We eat dinner, maybe watch a movie or something. A couple of times we’ve just taken long walks through my neighborhood. It’s nice.”

  Jet turned. “Sonia, I’m not asking what y’all do together. I want to know. How are things going with Brad? C’mon. Spill.”

  Sonia was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke softly, carefully, her eyes on the road. “Well, they’re okay.”

  “But?” Jet’s eyebrows reached for her hairline.

  Sonia let out a small sigh. “I don’t know. I just can’t tell how serious he is about things. He just seems content to be where we are right now.”

  Jet huffed. “Really? After that big display he made the other night, when all the shooting stopped, holding you and giving you a big Rhett Butler kiss right in front of God and everybody?” She glanced over at Sonia. “Look, I know you all haven’t been together for a long time. But geez, the time you’ve been together has been intense, really intense. Hasn’t it?”