Al. Naomi’s brain suddenly clicked back to the task at hand.
It was easy enough to locate Brynn Avery. She was seated exactly in the center of the patio, surrounded by dozens of worshipful admirers. Tears slid silently down her face. If not for earlier, Naomi would have been fooled by their convincing realism. But now, she realized that Brynn was simply using her tears as another piece of bait on her male fishing line.
Sure enough, a guy reached over to hand Brynn a tissue, and his hand 'accidentally' brushed against her left boob. Tenderly, he wiped the tears from her perfectly made-up face. She’d thought to wear waterproof mascara, of course. What a coincidence. Another guy began to 'massage' her shoulders from behind.
Naomi gagged as a thought suddenly wormed its way into her head. Naomi was dressed as a man. The only way she could get any information out of Brynn would be by flirting with her…
*****
Swaying back and forth in a ridiculous imitation of a man’s careless swagger, Naomi strode purposefully towards Brynn. Brynn looked up as she approached, clearly unsurprised to see another admirer joining her posse of minions.
“My lady,” Naomi dramatically intoned, sweeping a graceful bow.
With Brynn, she knew ridiculous flattery would be the key to success.
In a smooth movement, Naomi caught Brynn’s hand in her grasp and forced herself to kiss the smooth skin. Her hand reeked of perfume. Yuck. Naomi fought off the urge to gag as the foul stench burrowed its way into her throat.
“My dear, what caused these blemishes on your ivory arms?” Naomi asked, gesturing at the cuts created by Brynn’s peculiar mirror-smashing ritual. “If this was is the work of a man,” Naomi continued, “I’ll make sure he feels your pain a thousand times over.”
Brynn flushed, her eyes flitting about nervously. Naomi was curious as to what cover story Brynn would come up with. Brynn laughed a shrill, fake-sounding cackle.
“Oh, you mean these little things? It was nothing. I, er, recently pruned the rose bushes.”
“I saw the rose bushes as I was coming in. You did a marvelous job.” Naomi decided it was time to amp the flattery. “Your roses compare to nothing else in beauty…except you, of course. I have never seen a lady with a face so sweet and pleasing.”
Brynn smiled in what she clearly considered a charming expression. She looked like a self-satisfied gorilla. Naomi watched as Brynn bloated like a puffer fish with the praise. Biting back a laugh, Naomi amused herself by wondering how Brynn would react if she knew the true identity of her speaker.
“I’ve come to offer my humble condolences for your loss,” Naomi gallantly declared. “It must be very painful to lose your dear brother.”
Naomi hated herself for using the necessary words of flattery. Brynn had terrorized Broc his entire life, belittling and nagging him at every given opportunity. Naomi had a deep-rooted hatred for the monster that had once made Broc’s life so miserable.
“Thank you,” Brynn simpered as she dramatically wiped a fake tear from her cheek. “His loss has been very hard on me. I’m so grateful for everyone here that has offered their love and support.”
“Were you at home when it happened?” Naomi asked with exceedingly fake concern, “It must have been awful to hear his dying screams.”
Several of Brynn’s surrounding brutes shifted and grunted agreement.
“Thank goodness I wasn’t there when it happened,” Brynn shuddered, shaking her head. “I was out by the river, taking a walk.
So that was her cover story. A well-chosen guise, as there was no way to prove whether or not Brynn was telling the truth.
“Baby, I’m so grateful to hear that,” Naomi cooed, steeling herself to lean in and kiss Brynn’s forehead. She received another mouthful of the disgusting perfume for her efforts.
I doubt I'm going to get any more information from Brynn about the murder. Naomi realized. But while I’m here, I may as well take advantage of this glorious opportunity for revenge. Brynn had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer. Naomi was confident that her brainpower could far outmatch that of ghastly Brynn Avery.
“My dear unpulchritudinous lady,” Naomi gallantly announced, “I have never met a more noisome and currish woman in all my life.”
Brynn beamed; convinced she’d just received a very flattering compliment.
“It has been a pleasure making your splenetic acquaintance.”
With a final exaggerated bow, Naomi swept away from the group. She found that she was unable to hold back her mirth, and burst into raucous laughter. Brynn turned to look at her, and then suddenly narrowed her eyes. A worm of suspicion had finally burrowed its way into her thick skull.
“What did you just say?” Brynn asked loudly, her voice suddenly threatening. Naomi stopped and pivoted around to face the hag.
“Oh, did you not understand?” Naomi asked politely. “I can write it out for you. Then later on, you can look up these words in the dictionary.”
Knowing Brynn would never willingly touch a dictionary; Naomi scrawled the basic translation of what she’d just said onto a thick, white napkin:
My dear ugly lady, I have never met a more offensive-smelling and rude woman in all my years. It has been a pleasure making your bad-tempered acquaintance.
After folding the note and pressing it into Brynn’s eager hands, Naomi rapidly made her escape. Brynn’s admirers had only one real talent in life: beating people up. She had no wish to be kicked into a squashy pulp.
I’ll take looks over brainpower any day. Naomi thought with satisfaction as she fought her way towards the exit.
Naomi strolled through the quiet hallway of the mansion in relief, finally free from the awful, claustrophobic funeral reception. The bottom floor of the house was open to the public, but everyone was outside in order to better enjoy the extravagantly expensive food and champagne.
As she walked down the empty hallway, Naomi abruptly heard raised voices rising from a room to the right. Naomi quickly skimmed her eyes across the hallway. Her search landed on a decorative bench, set against the wall a couple doors down.
Moving with the quick light steps of a gymnast, Naomi picked up the ugly wooden seat and moved it to the wall beside the offending door. Sitting down, Naomi placed a Kleenex box on her lap and leaned her head far back against the wall.
The first voice she heard was male, and clearly furious. Naomi could hear every word with perfect clarity.
“You’re making a grave mistake, Mrs. Avery,” the man growled. “We are offering a very generous deal for your son’s business.”
“I guarantee that you’re going to regret this,” another male voice threatened. “You have no idea how to run a business. Without your son’s leadership, the company will quickly fall into ruin.
“I’m not going to change my mind,” Mrs. Ursula Avery announced firmly. Naomi had never liked Mrs. Avery because of the favoritism she showed towards Brynn. She had always treated Broc like scum. Still, Naomi couldn't help but admire the strength in her voice. It never wavered, even in the presence of such angry and intimidating men. “I will not sell the company,” Mrs. Avery continued. “The matter is closed. Do not bother me about this again. If you do, I’ll get a restraining order. Good day, gentleman.”
The door flew open. Naomi hurriedly held up the Kleenex in order to obscure her face.
Mrs. Avery stormed out into the hallway. A moment later, two men followed.
The first was extravagantly tall, with arms and legs like knobby twigs. The back of his head was obscured by a thick growth of jet-black hair. The second man had a medium build with receding grey hair. He wore a shockingly brilliant electric-blue suit.
Naomi memorized everything that she could from their retreating backs. Sighing, she stood up and realized that her business here wasn’t quite finished.
*****
Swallowed by the sweaty crowd of black-clad posers, Naomi made her way over to a tiny twelve-year-old boy.
�
��I’ll give you five dollars if you can tell me about those men,” Naomi told the boy, gesturing towards the businessmen who had rejoined the crowd mere moments before.
The boy gave her a long look.
“Ten dollars,” he announced firmly, “that’s minimum wage.”
Naomi sighed. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to the boy that minimum wage was paid per hour. Unfortunately, she was in need of his services.
“Fine,” she agreed, “but on two conditions. First, I want you to check the information with several sources to make sure it’s reliable. Second, don’t tell anyone who asked you to do this. Deal?”
“Deal.”
The boy stuck out his hand and they shook on it. Only a twelve-year-old boy, desperate for money, wouldn’t question the motives of such a strange request.
In less than ten minutes, the boy returned.
“The tall guy is named Harold Stetson. The guy in the crazy suit is named Mark Malcolm. They work for a humongous company called Element Electronics. Everyone agrees that they seem like really shady characters,” the boy paused. “Is that enough information?”
It was more than she’d hoped for.
“Can you write that down for me?” she asked, fishing a pencil and paper out of her pocket. “Meanwhile, I’ll get your money.”
The boy rapidly scratched down his findings and then waited impatiently for the dough. The second she handed him the money, he ran away and disappeared into the crowd.
At last, Naomi could leave the horrific funeral reception and go home.
Chapter 6
Jagged black lines zipped back and forth across the screen as the TV struggled to connect with her camera. The whiny buzz of static filled the room. Naomi held her breath. What if the film hadn’t worked? Had all the risk been a complete waste?
Abruptly, an image flickered to life. At first, the view was jumbled and shaky as the camera was lowered to the floor. Then suddenly, the image popped into sharp focus. After spanning the room, the camera paused over the bloodstain and handprint. The gory body fluids looked no different up close than they had from a distance. Then again, she hadn’t really expected them to. Next, the camera zoomed in on the knife. Naomi gasped. That was Al’s butcher knife! He’d bought it after moving in with Naomi. She had never used it; tofu required no complicated cutting techniques.
Of course! Naomi suddenly realized. The reason the knife only contains Al’s DNA is because I’ve never used it. All the murderer had to do was wear gloves when wielding it and stealing it from our house; then Al’s DNA would do all the blaming for them!
Filled with a sudden flash of hope, Naomi leaned back against the sofa. Maybe this mystery wasn’t impossible after all.
Excited to see what else the video would yield, Naomi quickly pressed the play button for a second time. The camera spanned out again, and then zoomed in on the torn-up, rust-stained shirt. Naomi paused the video immediately.
Yes, that was Al’s shirt! But how had the murderer gotten Broc’s blood all over it? She guessed they must have rubbed the shirt against the bloody knife wound before sprinting for freedom. Clearly, the murderer had been a mastermind at planning and timing the attack. Naomi shivered, and wondered if this was the work of a professional killer.
The rest of the video proved fruitless. The slow circling of the room yielded no more interesting results. Naomi re-watched the video several more times, paying close attention to every detail. Forced to give up, she sighed and switched off the TV.
Still, the video had proved a huge success. Now she knew how the murderer had framed Al. Unfortunately, she was no closer to finding the murderer’s identity than she had been this morning. The video yielded no incriminating evidence.
Naomi knew that this made sense. She shouldn’t have expected to find evidence the police missed, especially not with a crappy home video.
After fishing around in her bag for the little boy’s information, Naomi armed herself with a paper and pencil and headed outside to the condo’s tiny front porch.
Perched on the top step, with the glow of sunset all around her, Naomi compiled a list.
Suspects:
Brynn Avery
- Recently divorced, leaving her in need of money.
- Would inherit the estate by killing Broc.
- Would gain control of the company by framing Al for murder.
- The suspect was witnessed in a dramatic fit of rage, during which she smashed every mirror in her room while yelling, “How could you?”
- Claimed she was “on a walk” at the time of Broc’s death. Could easily be lying, since no one can prove her whereabouts.
Harold Stetson and Mark Malcolm
- Hoped that by killing Broc and framing Al for murder they would have a better chance of buying Averan Appliances.
- Threatened Mrs. Avery in an attempt to gain possession of Averan Appliances.
- Considered “shady” characters.
NOTE: they work for a company called Element Electronics.
Naomi paused for a moment, gnawing the end of her pencil pensively. Then she bent down and added one more name to the list.
Mrs. Ursula Avery
- Could gain possession of Averan Appliances by killing Broc and framing Al.
- Always clearly favored Brynn over Broc.
Pushing thick black hair out of her eyes, Naomi languidly leaned back against the smooth porch railing. Sighing, she felt her body relaxing into the familiar settings.
Abruptly, Naomi jolted upright with an overwhelming sense of deja vu. She scanned the porch, desperately searching for the source of the unnerving sensation.
The smooth wood railings that wrapped the condo porch were white, hand-painted by Naomi during one of the first weekends at the condo. She’d chosen the color because it reminded her of white picket fences; she loved the quaint, homely feel of it. The honey-colored floor was smooth and worn from years of use. Scattered across it were a variety of household objects: an old tin watering can, several pots of marigolds, a carton for the weekly milk delivery, a fat pile of firewood, several pairs of rain boots, and an enormous canary-yellow umbrella.
Naomi could sort nothing of importance out of the mess. Clearly, her tired mind had simply been playing a trick on her. The deja vu had been nothing but a figment of her imagination.
Chapter 7
Clear morning sunlight streamed into the half-empty room. Naomi jolted awake, head heavy from a startlingly deep night’s sleep.
What time is it? She wondered. It was almost ten o’clock. She’d slept over thirteen hours! Naomi remembered being almost loopy with tiredness the night before. Thank goodness she was so well rested. It would be pure stupidity to investigate a murder with a muddled, sleep-deprived brain.
After skipping breakfast (she wasn’t hungry), Naomi unlocked her beat-up old Bug and drove straight to the police station.
Mr. G met Naomi at the door, and kindly held it open for her to enter.
“What can I do for you this fine morning, Ms. Zhu?”
“I’d like to see Al, please,” Naomi requested, a little surprised by the unnecessary formality.
“Your wish is my command,” Mr. G gallantly announced, bowing and then offering Naomi his arm.
Naomi gave him a strange look.
“Are you all right, Mr. G?”
“Never been better,” Mr. G grinned, “I just finished re-reading Pride and Prejudice. It’s one of my all-time favorites.”
“It’s certainly a wonderful book,” Naomi agreed. She held back her grin at the discovery that old Mr. G had a romantic side. People often ended up vastly different from their first perception, as Mr. G and Jane Austen so clearly exemplified.
This morning, Naomi found Al standing in the center of his cell, humming distractedly, and dancing the waltz with no one in particular.
“Shhh,” Naomi intoned, putting up a hand to stop Mr. G from proceeding into the room, “Look!”
Mr. G chuckled softly, “Now, tha
t’s a sight you don’t see every day.”
They stood there in companionable silence, watching Al pirouette across the bare concrete cell. He dipped his invisible partner, and then released her in what was clearly a spin.
“Bravo, bravo!” Naomi started clapping. Mr. G quickly joined in.
Al looked up, a deer caught in the headlights. But having been a jokester all his life, Al quickly recovered. He bowed gracelessly to the audience, and then nodded at each person in turn.
“Thank you, thank you.”
“I’ve missed you so much, Al,” Naomi said as Mr. G retreated to the far corner.
A smile breached out of Al’s face, like sunlight streaming through storm clouds.
“I’ve missed you more.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Naomi declared. She walked up to the bars so she could kiss him through them. For a few minutes, Naomi was completely blissful for the first time in days. The dream ended far too soon.
“How much time do we have?”
“Mr. G said we can talk as long as we want. I liked your dancing, by the way.”
Al blushed a vivid red under his freckles. Naomi loved how the fiery tones of his hair clashed brilliantly with his flaming cheeks.
“After I get out of here, I’m going to take you dancing. Somewhere really fancy, where we can get dressed up and dance the waltz with a whole bunch of snobby rich folk. I’ll be the perfect gentleman. We’ll get dinner before and then-”
“Al,” Naomi’s voice came out strangled.
“What?” he asked, face suddenly a mask of worry. “What’s wrong?”
“What happens if I don’t succeed, Al? What happens if I can’t prove your innocence?”
“This place is certainly no luxury hotel,” Al said, gesturing about at the bare cell walls, “but it’s not that bad. The officers will get me books from the library if I ask. I’ll study Chinese or something; learn to speak ten different languages. I could write a book, or…” he trailed off, suddenly struck by the eternity of a life-sentence in jail.
“Naomi, listen to me,” he said at her tormented expression. “Don’t blame yourself for this. It’s not your fault that I’ve been framed for murder. And if you don’t find anything… well hell, even the police can’t find anything. What really matters is that you believe me. You believe me when I say I’m innocent, even when logic says exactly the opposite.”
Deja Vu- A Novella Page 4
