Seed of Desire

by Ellen Parker

  Taking a few sips of water, she returned to her music stand and stood still. Closing her eyes, she allowed the intricate patterns of a Bach prelude to fill her senses. The music’s familiar melody and counter melody rinsed off stress accumulated earlier in the day.

  “Ready?” Daryl held the final chord of the organ composition.

  Beth nodded. “Yes. Can we make it the last? If it goes well.”

  “Suits me. I’ve got work waiting across the street.”

  She smiled at his vague reference to the office for his private investigation firm. While she and her cousins worked hard to increase the profile of Big Cat Farm, Daryl appeared content to stay below the radar. If a poll was taken, she’d guess at least half of the residents in the valley would say the building with “Springs Press” painted on the windows was vacant. Most people thought Daryl was merely a church musician living off a government retirement.

  “We’ll make it good then,” she said.

  Instead of the first note of the introduction, the slap of hard soles against floor tile reached her ears. She shifted her gaze to the sanctuary entrance and froze. Why is Jackson here?

  “You’re prompt. For a lawyer,” Daryl commented.

  “Did I interrupt? Should I wait outside?”

  Beth alternated her gaze between them without moving her head. Daryl expected him?

  “Have a seat. Be our music critic for our last pass.” Daryl issued the invitation with a trace of command in his voice.

  She reached for her water bottle, her mouth dry as sand. “Please. I need the practice.”

  “As you wish.” He set his briefcase at the edge of the aisle and slipped into the fourth pew from the front.

  She drew a deep breath, glanced at the dimpled acoustical panels on the ceiling, and nodded to Daryl.

  As the first chord floated into the high-ceiling room, Beth turned her attention to the task at hand. She released the first word on cue, and the familiar words and melody of “Abide with Me” flowed behind. Looking around during memorized phrases, she focused on the light fixtures, the back wall, an empty pew. Her gaze touched every area of the congregational seating except where Jackson sat. During the four measures of interlude before the final verse, she risked a glance in his direction. He sat with one arm stretched out along the back of the pew. His index finger tapped the rhythm in silence.

  Drawing a deep breath, she launched into the last verse. In synchrony with the organ, she exaggerated the pauses between the final phrases. During the concluding note, she closed her eyes, extended the sound, then let the organ prolong it another long beat.

  Firm, even clapping made her open her eyes and seek the sound.

  “Excellent. Don’t think I’ve ever heard that hymn done so well.” Jackson smiled at her, revealing one dimple.

  Heat climbed her neck, and she pressed one palm against a cheek as if to prevent the blush from rising. Instead, the heat under her skin multiplied and spread. She looked at her toes with unkind thoughts of her maternal grandmother’s gift of pale skin and freckles.

  “I agree with him.” Daryl packed his music into a black briefcase. “See you tomorrow at nine twenty.”

  “I’ll be here.” She gulped the last of her water. “How many people do you expect?”

  Daryl shrugged. “More than six. Less than three hundred.”

  Her exhale turned into a laugh. Thinking she heard a chuckle from Jackson’s direction, she resisted looking toward him. “In other words, you have no idea.”

  “You’re sharp. Think I’ll keep you for a friend.”

  “I’d like that.” She’d also like to be able to afford to hire him. According to people who should know, he was excellent at finding people. And finding a particular person, or his body, would clear a lot of fog from her life.

  “Shall we go?” Daryl walked over to Jackson, and together they exited the sanctuary.

  If this was a movie, this is where they’d plot their next crime. The image of the two men, the taller one whispering in the older one’s ear as they matched strides, lingered as she shut off the lights. She turned and paused in the center aisle. Late afternoon sunlight through stained glass cast blue, gold, and green abstract shapes around her. Some were small and precise. Other were distorted where they encountered the pews. Pieces of my life.

  Chapter Six

  “Thanks for the warning.” Jackson pressed his pencil hard into the pad.

  If any man but Daryl was at the other end of this phone call, he’d ask him to start over with the truth this time. The report had begun with good news—Daryl had located the owner of the credit card used at the gas pump. And then it had deteriorated when he gave the name.

  “I detect history with her in your voice.”

  “Bunches of it. I’ll give you a summary next time we’re face-to-face. How long ago did you leave her place?”

  “Fourteen minutes.”

  Jackson smiled into the phone. Precision and Daryl were practically synonyms. “In that case, I’ll take the next few minutes to get set up. Unless I get lucky and manage to have left the building for my meeting before she arrives.”

  “Best of luck, Jackson.”

  “Thanks. Same to you.”

  He ended the call and glanced at the doodles on the pad. The loops and overlapping ovals reflected his mixed feelings about the information. The situation needed to unfold with only gentle prods on his part. He viewed this sort of witness as delicate tissue paper—when handled carefully, it could be strong. But one overzealous move and it would be torn to shreds.

  He gathered the files for his noon meeting with the attorneys representing the growers and snack food company. Their two primary claims were inferior seed and false labeling. Late into last night, he’d read reports and procedures supplied by his client, Double Goode Seed Company. It’d been tempting to pick Linc’s brain while studying charts of storage temperature, humidity, and their relationship to germination percentages. But he’d limited the brief breakfast conversation with his brother to a simple question about references and textbooks.

  Two timid knocks on the doorframe preceded the receptionist’s voice. “Mr. Dray, do you have a moment?”

  “What do you need?” He nodded at Barbara Hoffman, the quiet, efficient woman-of-all-talents who kept White & White running smooth.

  “There’s a young woman to see you. No appointment. Just walked in. She says Mr. Frieberg sent her.”

  Jackson skimmed a suddenly damp palm down the thigh of his dress pants. “Already?”

  “I can schedule her for late this afternoon.”

  “No, I’ll see her now. Give me a couple minutes first.” He slid a handful of files into his briefcase. She must have ignored the speed limit to arrive this soon. So much for the notion he’d avoid her by leaving for the other meeting. “I’ll give her ten minutes, no more. If you’d be so kind as to buzz me at twenty-five after.”

  “Got it.” Barbara smiled and headed back to the reception area.

  One minute later, his back turned as he shelved a book, he sensed her on the threshold.

  “Come in, Ms. George.” He turned and extended his hand while indicating which chair she should take. “This will be very preliminary. I don’t have much time this morning.”

  She ignored his hand and set a red purse the size of a small suitcase on the chair. “Why so formal, Jackson? We’re not strangers.”

  “This is a law office. I intend to keep our conversation professional.” He remained standing between his desk and chair. Without taking his gaze away from her, he organized his questions in silence.

  Unbidden, his mother’s description of safety procedures when entering the enclosure for any of the big cats at the Milwaukee County Zoo popped into his mind. What sort of animal would Sylvia be today? Harmless? Or eager to inflict wounds?

  She shrugged while tracing a curved pattern around the corner of his desk with one index finger. “What do you need me to say? Mr. Frieberg was rather cryptic.”

/>   “Good observation.” Mysterious was the face Daryl preferred to show in public. “I want you to tell me about Sunday evening. My client tells me you may have information valuable to his case.”

  Chewing her nails again. Her short, ragged tips with chipped polish reminded him of the nervous habit she’d tried several times to discard. It tended to resurface when she encountered stress. During college, that could be either a classroom exam or disapproval.

  He removed a small audio recorder from his desk drawer and displayed it to her before setting it between them and starting it. “Preliminary statement of Sylvia George taken on Tuesday, August twenty-second in the law office of White & White.”

  “Must you?”

  He nodded. “Please summarize your activities of the night of August twentieth. Beginning around nine.”

  “I visited friends in the early evening. Didn’t look at the clock when I left.”

  “Where do these friends live?”

  “St. Paul.” She clipped the name and moved behind the visitor’s chair, dancing her fingers along the top of the padded back.

  “After you left them, where did you go?”

  “I drove home.” She stared into his face.

  He stared back, using a trick from high school drama class to keep a serious face. “Did you make any stops?”

  “I stopped in Wagoner. For supper.” She glanced toward the open door, straightened, and crossed her arms below her abundant breasts. “My friends are on some sort of trendy diet. I was hungry for a real hamburger.”

  “What was the name of the place you stopped?”

  “Corner Bar. It’s on the highway, next to the motel.” She toyed with the bright “S” on her necklace. “Good food. Generous servings. You should take me there some time. You still owe me dinner. I’ll settle for lunch.”

  I owe you nothing. Except good manners. “Did you look at the time when you arrived?”

  “Late. I needed a break after driving in the dark.”

  “Did you check the time during your meal? Or when you left?”

  “Nope.” She held up a bare wrist. “I seldom wear a watch. You should remember that.”

  He remembered too well. She’d arrive late for a meeting or class with the same excuse. “Tell me about the other customers.”

  She evaded or gave bland responses to his next several questions. Her fingers, or arms, or feet moved in continuous, small motions. It was only after he established she’d stopped for gas at the small station on the other edge of town that her answers returned to specifics. Almost too specific, like she’d rehearsed this part.

  “I paid at the pump. Stayed next to my car the whole time. Only other vehicle was a truck over at the air pump.”

  “Which of you left first?”

  “The truck.”

  “Describe it. Make? Model? Anything about the paint job.”

  “It was dark, Jackson. So was the truck. Small. I can’t tell one make from another, never could.”

  “Did you see the license plate?”

  “It had one.” She set her fingers on the edge of his desk and leaned toward him. “Tailgate damage. Passenger side. The tail light was out on that side.”

  “That’s helpful.” He glanced at the ceiling, failing to erase the view she’d displayed in the deep V of her knit shirt. At this point, her words were the only thing which might establish his client’s location at the time of the assault at the home of Mr. Marsh.

  “Mr. Dray,” the receptionist interrupted on the intercom. “You’re due at your meeting in five.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Hoffman.” He directed his attention back to Sylvia. “Stop at the desk and make an appointment for a formal statement. Allow an hour. We’ll use video in addition to audio that day.”

  “That’s all? You’re kicking me out?”

  He halted the recorder. “I’m asking you to leave. You were fortunate I had time to see you at all without an appointment.”

  “You owe me. More than lunch after this.” She pointed at the recorder.

  “All debts were cancelled between us a long time ago.” He sealed his lips against any mention of when, but the day was clear in his mind. Spring break, second year of college, his parents’ front porch. He had been packed and ready to go on a road trip with three other guys when she marched across the street and told the entire neighborhood her opinion of being left behind. Evidently she didn’t feel the dozen times in the previous few weeks, when he’d tried to tell her their romance was over, had been enough. So he’d played into her drama.

  “We’ll see about that.” She grabbed her purse, flung the handles on her shoulder, and hurried out.

  He sank into his chair and closed his eyes. That had ended badly. Instead of a weak, hesitant alibi witness, he’d turned up her hostility to full volume.

  * * *

  Beth relaxed as a burst of tropical flower shampoo filled her nostrils. Classic jazz drifted from multiple speakers while expert fingers massaged the scent deep into her scalp. “Mmmmm.”

  “Just the sound I like to hear.” Tina, the owner and chief beautician of A Cut Above, switched from working the shampoo in with her hands to rinsing it away with a spray of warm water. “You walked in tense. Let’s send you out relaxed and optimistic.”

  “I thought you were a cosmetologist, not a miracle worker.”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “You can trust me. I’ll only tell the dogs. And if they start spreading rumors in English, we’ve all got big problems.” She allowed her lips to curve into a small smile. Her standard threat to her canines regarding secrets involved selling them to a Hollywood agent if they started speaking English. So far, their home at Big Cat Farm was secure.

  “Pets are more dependable confidants than humans, that’s for sure. My cat hasn’t blabbed my weight yet.” Tina laughed while moving the spray across Beth’s hairline one more time.

  “Are Tuesdays a good day for drop-ins? It looks like I’ve been picking the wrong time when I need a trim.”

  “My regular ladies are on vacation. Gives me the sort of day to catch up on other things. And give my helper an extra half day off.”

  “I wondered where she was.”

  “Hi.” The shop door opened with a squeak, and a petite blonde entered with her chin tipped high. “Are you busy? I have a sort of emergency.”

  Tina wrapped a towel around Beth’s wet hair and pointed her toward the styling chair before addressing the newcomer. “What do you need? Unless it’s a color or a perm, I can find time.”

  “Manicure.” She displayed the chipped and ragged nails on her right hand. “Had an unexpected interview this morning. It was so embarrassing. Working from home has made me careless.”

  Have we met? Beth studied the new arrival. The woman looked like a college girl as she stopped at the counter. One hand continued to grasp and release her purse strap as if unable to be completely still.

  “You’re in luck. I’m Tina. Have a chair and pick your color. I’ll be with you as soon as I do this trim.” She handed the blonde a ring with samples of the shades she carried.

  “Thanks. I’m Sylvia.”

  “Beth.” She lifted her hand and waggled her fingers. “Are you new to Crystal Springs?”

  “Kind of. Moved in last month. Cute little apartment above the bookstore.”

  Beth mulled over the information for a moment. The girl looked familiar. Where had they crossed paths? She discarded the bank and the convenience store quickly. It may have been Jack’s. Or the café. Almost everyone patronized one or both.

  “Nice.” Sylvia claimed a chair and examined the available colors.

  Tina pulled a wide tooth comb through Beth’s hair. “By the way, I enjoyed your solo today. You should do that more often.”

  “You were at the funeral?”

  During the hymn, Beth had kept her focus over the congregation, able to tell only where people sat, not recognize any faces. After the service, she and Daryl had estimated attendance a
t seventy. A nice crowd for a man who’d not lived in the community for several years.

  “Yes. In the back. With Aunt Grace and her wheelchair. It’s a good policy for the care center to let you take relatives to special events.”

  “How did you know Mr. Spitzer?”

  “He lived across the road from Aunt Grace for years. I got to know him when I visited. He lived alone. She’d send us over with baked goods. One spring he hired me to clean his house. Once was enough.”

  “Any special problem?” From what Beth had gleaned by observation, Tina worked hard and maintained high standards of cleanliness.

  Tina shrugged. “It was too much for a fifteen-year-old. And I think he was oblivious to dirt. The next spring, I found a real job.”

  “Did he pay well?” Beth discovered she felt genuine curiosity about the man.

  “Minimum wage in cash for the cleaning. Paid for the baked goods with labor and carved birds. He did beautiful work. I have a cardinal and a woodpecker I put on the Christmas tree every year.”

  “Too bad we didn’t have this conversation yesterday. It almost feels too late to learn about the man.”

  “She let kids deliver baked goods to an older man? Sounds risky.” Sylvia jiggled the sample ring.

  Tina chuckled. “Spoken like a city girl. Mr. Spitzer was safe as could be. We considered him a bachelor, but rumor said he was married once. When he was in the Army. One of those that didn’t last.”

  Beth closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping her breathing even. Hearing rumors of an old man’s short, secret marriage made her more protective of her own past. Her cousins were the only ones in the valley who knew her whole story. A few select people knew portions, and she let them use their imaginations for the rest. She didn’t want the attention that would accompany the full truth.

  Beth glanced in the mirror and addressed Sylvia. “Which city did you grow up in?”