by Brian Parker
“Ma’am, are you Gwendolyn LeBlanc, widow of Beau LeBlanc?” The taller of the two officers spoke, as his partner took the opportunity to look at trinkets and knick knacks arranged around the shop.
“No one has called me that in years.” She spoke softly as she sat nervously in her chair.
“Do you have time to talk to us right now? We may have some information on your husband’s case and we’d like to go over it with you. We just have a few questions.”
“Of course. I have nothing but time for Beau. I thought you’d all given up. I wondered if you even cared at all.”
“We’re sorry that it’s taken us so long to update you. You know how it is around here, lots of criminals, not a lot of cops. We may have a lead, but we need you to take a look at a piece of evidence we found.” he spoke frankly. “Can we use this table?”
Before she could answer Gran and I had cleared the crystal ball and trinkets off the table. Nothing was more important than this moment. The up to this point uninterested officer pulled a small bag out of his coat pocket marked “Evidence” and laid it down on the table.
“Do you recognize this necklace?” he questioned in a voice that oddly didn’t match his features.
The confidence drained from my mother’s posture, her shoulders fell and her voice cracked as she answered. “Of course I do. I bought it. It’s my husband’s Saint Christopher medallion. I had the back engraved. See the small heart and the letter G? I wanted him to know I loved him. He used to run his fingers across the engraving when he was nervous. That is why it is barely there. He would do that whenever we weren’t together. Can I have it back?”
“Sorry, ma’am. Not today.”
“Where did you find it? Do you know who killed my husband?”
“I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.” The officer was all business, and I could see he was trying his best to get out of our shop as quickly as possible. “All I can say is that with your confirmation that this item belonged to your deceased husband, the department is now classifying his homicide as an open investigation. We’ll be in touch if and when we have any new information. Thanks for your time, and we would appreciate it you don’t take any trips any time soon, just in case we need some more information from you.”
The officers left, and with them they took the air out of the room. There was an odd mixture of feelings. Relief that something was being done and progress was being made. Anxiety that opening the case would dredge up trouble. Anger that it took this long for any evidence to present itself. Curiosity of where the necklace was found, and who had it all this time. Impatience for resolution.
Gran broke the silence. “Well that was some shit, wasn’t it?”
“Mother!”
“Well, it was. I would have never thought in a million years that we would see those useless pigs in here ever again.”
“Mother! They are finally going to figure out what happened to Beau. Be nice!”
“I’ll apologize when they put whoever did it in jail. Until then, I stand by it.”
My mother mumbled something to my father as she headed out of the room. Gran pulled the metal gate down, closing the shop early for the evening. She may not have much confidence in the police, but she was kind enough to allow my mother to have one night of hope for closure.
This time, it was just me on the back step taking large drags from my electronic cigar, content for the first time that I could remember. I sat dreaming of what it would feel like to finally have some answers. Even more enticing was the chance at being able to confront the person who destroyed the joy in my family, to finally get to see them punished for what they stole from us. I allowed myself to have hope for a future event as I stared at the stars above me, well past when my mother’s light clicked off above me. I was still there long after Gran turned off her music player. The world was quiet and still, and for once, I was too.
The morning came all too quickly. Sleep had always been a struggle for me, but after hearing that there was forward momentum in my father’s case, my body was at peace and sleep came easily. The morning light came pouring in through the window into my unprepared eyes, and I wished that I had made an investment in the absolute darkness, blackout glass filters they had been advertising nonstop. Bodies that aren’t used to a full night’s slumber tend to push for a sleep coma. I would have pulled the covers over my face and allowed the rest to overtake me if not for the shouting assaulting my barely awake ears.
“You never cared before! What makes you think that you can come in here after all these years and have an opinion about any of this?” My mother’s voice was familiar but foreign. She wasn’t a yeller, and yet there it was, punching at my eardrums.
“All I am asking is why you would want them to drag it all up again. He’s gone, and nothing is going to change that. Why stir up trouble?”
“He was your son! How could you let it go? Doesn’t it matter? Didn’t he matter?”
My father’s mother was barely in our life after my father died. She made yearly visits in the beginning, but by now those had stretched out much further than 365 days. As I turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs I was taken aback by how I barely recognized her.
“Grand-mère,” I stated.
“Ophelia. Was any of this your doing?” the Grand-mere asked.
“None of this was any of our doing, you witch,” my mother hissed. She always felt the need to protect me and fought too many battles for me without asking. “They came here looking for us because they found something of Beau’s.”
“Grand-mère, I would have thought you’d be happy,” I replied. “We may find out what happened.”
“It won’t change anything. Why can’t you just let it be?”
Maybe my mother needed someone to fight this battle for her, because her wild eyes were pointing toward another visit from the officers—this time to arrest her for assault. “We just do,” I whispered. “Twelve years is enough time to not know. If you don’t need answers then don’t be involved, but you won’t stop this from happening. We’ve waited too long for anyone to get in the way.”
“He was my son,” she protested.
“Then act like it,” I spat back at her.
I caught a glimpse of her true feelings as her eyes burned in pure hatred. Gran had always warned me to stay on Grand-mère’s good side. She said that years of being a madam had turned her cold. They had known each other as children. Gran was a people pleaser, but not Lisette LeBlanc. From birth she was hell-bent on being the most powerful woman in Easytown, and while she may not have accomplished that, she’d still risen high enough in her neck of the woods for most to fear or respect her. And that was enough.
I mimicked her expression back at her, but must have failed miserably as she was not intimidated, and Gran let out a snort. As usual, Gran had an amazing ability to diffuse a situation without trying.
“Just let it lie, Gwen,” the madam ordered. “You won’t like where this path will take you.” With that last threat, she turned and stormed out.
“I need a minute,” my mother announced. “Close the shop for the morning. We can open a bit late. It won’t hurt anything.”
Yet again, Gran and I were left staring at each other, unable to escape the uncomfortable situation. This was just another one of those times that someone else took the wheel and was driving off a cliff. All I could do was sit, open mouthed staring down at the chasm. Gran was right, at twenty it was time to take the lead in my own life.
“We need to talk, Ophelia,” Gran muttered. “Things are going to heat up around here, and you are old enough to hear some of the truths that we conveniently omitted for you. Your father—how do I put this? He had to make some choices to get the shop started that weren’t completely on the up and up.”
“You waited until now to tell me this?”
“I didn’t think it would ever come up.”
“So what, you just wanted me to believe lies my whole life? I am sorry Gran, but that
is bullshit.”
“Yeah, probably. I hate to break it to you kiddo, but none of us are perfect. Not even your sweet ole grandmother.”
“Please, Gran. I never thought you were perfect.”
“Sheesh, I should be insulted, but I’ll give you a pass,” she winked. “You know with all the drama going on.”
“What kind of things did dad do?” I was hoping to get this conversation back on a more productive track.
“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I know he was working with Lisette. Her hands are never truly clean, if you know what I mean. I tried not to question it too much. Your mother seemed happy, and he was doing his best to get everything up and running before you came along. Growing up here, you know that it’s better not to get involved, so I didn’t pry. I do know that he had a few big paydays in a row, and then once the shop opened he distanced himself from that life and from Lisette. She wasn’t really happy about it.”
“I have a feeling she isn’t going to want to fill in the blanks for me.”
“Yeah, I would bet all the money in my bra that she won’t.”
“Gran.”
“What? You and your mother. Such prudes.”
Gran had perfected ending a conversation. The worst part of being alone was the inability to escape your own thoughts. If I was obsessed with finding my father’s murderer before, the last twenty-four hours had been gasoline on the fire. How much time had I wasted searching the wrong avenues? If my father had been involved with the seedier parts of Easytown, how likely was it that his murder was random or just a run of the mill robbery gone awry?
I stood dumbstruck, wandering the possibilities in my own little world when the crystal ball hologram clicked on. My father’s face materialized in the orb. I knew it was a trick, but it caught me off guard and the air was knocked out of my chest.
“Ophelia, my little firefly, you need to stop them from digging too deep. Who knows what will happen if the killer gets scared that they’ll be caught? You could be in danger. I just want you to be safe.”
The voice was close, but not close enough. Whoever was trying to contact me knew my father enough to know his pet name for me. His mannerisms were dead on, but the voice stopped the illusion from pulling me in completely.
“We both know you are not my father. This is just cruel.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you are trying to stop me from finding you. How do I know you didn’t kill my father? Nothing is going to stop me from finding out what happened. I don’t care how dangerous it is, and you can’t scare me away. I will find you. I will find his killer.”
“I didn’t kill your father. I loved him. You’re all that’s left of him. Don’t ruin that by getting killed asking too many questions. Just let it go, Ophelia.”
“If it wasn’t you, and you know who it is, you should go to the police. He deserves justice. If you really loved him you would help put his killer away.”
“How would my death right his?”
“They could protect you from the killer.”
“Goodbye, Ophelia. Be safe. It’s what I would have wanted.”
“You aren’t my father,” I shouted.
The noise brought my mother running. Unfortunately, she burst through the door as the image of my father faded out of the ball.
“Beau!”
“Mom, you know it isn’t him.” I curled up around her as she collapsed on the floor. “It’s a trick. Someone hacked into our program. It isn’t that hard to do. We don’t really have security on it. I’m sorry, Mom. It isn’t him.”
She sobbed like it was the day he died. She sobbed like she’d lost him all over again. She sobbed, and I sobbed with her. It took twelve years and a reopened case for us to finally grieve together. For the first time ever we cried together, and with the floodgates finally open we were able to cry until there were no more tears left to fall. We needed closure, and nothing was going to stop me from getting it for both of us. As I pulled her up to her feet, Gran came in and put a warm cup of tea in my mother’s hands as she led her to the kitchenette in the back.
When Gran returned, I said, “I’m going to close the shop for now. None of us are going to be able to do our jobs until this is resolved. After that, I’m heading out. Gran, you got things here?”
“Of course, I do. Don’t be out late. Your mother will worry.”
The locks clicked shut on the gate behind me. It had been years since the shop was shut down for more than a few hours at a time, but some things were more important than making a buck. The first stop was going to have to be my Grand-mère’s brothel. If my father had been doing business for her, then that would have to be my starting point. She may not want to help me, but like a hurricane, I wasn’t going to be stopped.
The two officers that came to our shop last night were making their way out of the front doors when I started up the front steps.
“Miss,” the taller one said as he tipped his hat. “Wait, aren’t you Beau LeBlanc’s daughter?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“I got the impression from your grandmother that you weren’t in contact.”
“We aren’t, but you stirred up a hornet’s nest. Some things are going to have to change.” I didn’t feel that I was required to share any information with them until they made an effort to be more forthcoming with me. Plus, I hadn’t been given any information that would make a real difference at this point, just some vague warnings and a lead on a life I’m sure they already knew about.
“Well, she wasn’t happy that we were here to see her. Just a warning, Miss.”
“Thanks. Not sure she’ll be any happier that I’m here,” I said as they went to their car.
The cold handle on the front door turned easier than I expected and I almost fell over backward when the door flew open, knocking me back a foot or so. There went any hope I had of seeming confident. The foyer held two options. Turn right and you would be in the brothel, or turn left and press in the sconce on the wall to open a false wall to the living quarters of the madam and her girls. Before I had a chance to decide which room I would head into, the bookshelf slid to the side and an arm reached out, pulling me inside and I spilling me onto the hidden room’s floor.
“What are you doing here?” one of the working girls hissed at me. She was stunning. The kind of beauty that took your breath away and made it hard to think straight. It was only when you looked close that you could see the signature of a plastic surgeon in each of her far too perfect features. She was the same age as my parents, but had spent a small fortune hiding that fact from the world.
“I need to speak to my grandmother, Shan. I know she doesn’t want to see me. She could have had the decency to tell me that herself, though.”
“She didn’t send me. Christ, Ophelia. You’re hardheaded. How many times do you have to hear that you need to let it be?”
“How do you know what I have been told?” All I knew was her name and nothing more. Shan had worked for my grandmother since I was a kid. We were never close, and her interest genuinely confused me.
“I just do. I know what you’re digging at, too. You’re not going to like what you find.”
So many bad, vague clichés, and I was fed up. “Of course I won’t. I didn’t like finding my father dead that day either, but that happened. Where is she?” That last bit was more of a demand than a question.
“Some people just can’t be helped,” she mumbled to herself. “Upstairs.”
I took the back stairwell toward my grandmother’s office. Knocking was a courtesy that I felt was unnecessary at this point, so I stormed in, gun blazing and wholly unprepared for the scene in front of me. There at her desk, sat my grandmother with a half empty bottle of bourbon, a lit old fashioned cigar, and a revolver pointed at her temple.
“What? What do you want from me?” she demanded.
“I don’t know. Answers, I guess. But not this,” I sputtered.
“What go
od are answers? They can’t fix things. Nothing can.”
She had a point. Nothing would bring my father back. There was no magic reset button that would allow us to turn back the hands of time so we could change the circumstances that led up to a lifeless hand in a pool of crimson blood being burned into my memory. So, if nothing could change, why was it so important for me?
“I need to know why.”
“What is that going to do?”
“Let me move on.” It was so simple, and so true. “Grand-mère, I never really knew my father. It turns out he had a whole life separate from being the perfect father. I was eight years old when he died. I never knew more than the magical world that he created around me, and with him gone I have been stuck in place. I am still eight, and I still miss my Daddy.”
“You know, people think I don’t care,” she said. “They think my heart is stone, and I never grieved the loss of my son. He was my blood. My legacy. He meant everything to me. That is, until your slut mother took him from me.”
The slight slur to her voice did nothing to mask the vile hatred there. “They loved each other,” I countered. “They loved me.”
“He loved me before she stole him.”
Silence. Awkward and uncomfortable silence.
The gun moved dangerously close to her head again.
“If you want to kill yourself that’s fine by me, but I want answers first.”
She lowered the revolver again and took a swig from the bottle. “Fine. You get three questions.”
“What kind of work was he doing for you to get money to open the shop?”
“Side jobs. He smuggled some things, and did a bit of enforcing. That was a wasted question.”
Her dismissal was a gut punch.
“Did you kill him?”
