A Genuine Fix

by J. C. Kenney

  “A full nine hours.” I normally slept between six and seven hours, so nine was a huge number.

  Her wide eyes proved I’d convinced her there was nothing to worry about, so I shifted the conversation. “How did the dress shopping go?”

  “Not as bad as I was afraid of. She’s down to two dresses and plans on making a final decision by the end of next week.” Sloane’s relationship with her mom wasn’t good, but they were working on it. Her report made me warm inside. Family was important.

  Satisfied we weren’t hiding anything from each other, we got up and made our way to the kitchen. First, we emptied the cabinets of their contents, then we put the plates, cups, glasses, and similar items in boxes. While we worked, she told me about their day looking for a mother of the bride dress.

  The wedding colors were sage, sandalwood, and cream. The maid of honor, which was me, and the bridesmaids were wearing sage-colored dresses. Sloane wanted her mom to wear something in sandalwood, since the flower girl, my niece, Theresa, was going to be in a cream-colored dress.

  Accompanying my friend step-by-step as she planned her wedding had been an interesting character study. At the start, I had no idea what to expect from my ultimate tomboy bestie when it came to wedding planning.

  After helping her make decisions on everything from the wedding ceremony’s location to the guest list to the buffet menu, I concluded Sloane knew what she wanted yet was the polar opposite of a bridezilla. When she made a decision, she talked it over with Luke before making it final. Then she was firm, yet gentle, that the decision was to be respected.

  At the end of the day, she wanted one thing for her wedding. She wanted a day everyone would look back on with a smile. That included her mom. I had guarded optimism that the wedding would be a huge step forward in their relationship.

  Once all the kitchen items were boxed up and labeled, we moved to the spare bedroom, where Sloane kept the supplies for her trail-running career, including a decade’s worth of training notebooks, boxes of energy bars, and large plastic jugs of powdered nutritional supplements.

  Luke yelled at us to get back on track when he caught us flipping through a photo album. She told him he could sleep on the couch tonight. When he tried to argue that the house was his, I reminded him that once they were cohabitating, she was in charge and had the final say in all matters. We shared a giggle when that seemed to shut him up.

  As we loaded the final boxes into the truck and Sloane’s Subaru, Sloane tossed a few questions about yesterday’s events in my direction. I deflected each one, insisting that while it was horrible Georgie had lost his life, I had full confidence in everyone at Rushing Creek PD.

  A few hours later, the three of us were sitting on the backyard deck of the happy couple’s house, soaked in sweat but pleased with our efforts. While we sipped iced tea from pint glasses embossed with the Rushing Creek Public House logo, Luke tried to put his arm around Sloane.

  “Yuk.” She scooted as far away from him as the love seat would allow. “It’s too hot for you to get all snuggly. You need a shower.”

  “Whatever.” My brother rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “We appreciate your efforts to make this day about us and not about you, Allie. We’re worried about you, though. You want to talk about yesterday?”

  Lacking the energy to argue, I told them everything, from the time Ursi discovered the finger to the time I concluded my note-taking session. “At this point, I’m not sure what to do next. I might sit tight and wait until I can get a copy of the police report.”

  Luke put down his drink and leaned toward me. “Check out Roger Parke. Georgie worked for him until he crashed one of Roger’s trucks. Totaled it. Since he was on the clock, he had to take a mandatory drug test.”

  “And?” Dozens of possibilities were running through my mind. Given my negative attitude about the guy, none of them were good.

  “He failed it. No surprise there. Tested positive for weed. Roger fired him that day.”

  “And you’re privy to this information how?”

  Rushing Creek was like any small town. Gossip and rumors spread faster than the pace of high-speed Internet. As I’d recently learned firsthand, though, accuracy often took a back seat to hyperbole.

  “The mayor made Luke hire the bum.” Sloane had a pinched look like she’d just bitten into a fresh lemon.

  “What?” In the months since I’d moved back to Rushing Creek, there had been numerous situations in which I felt totally out of the loop, thanks to my dozen-year absence. This was the latest.

  “Yeah.” Luke scratched the back of his neck. “Lori was pregnant with Brittany at the time. Larry didn’t want Georgie to be out of work.”

  Stunned into silence by the revelation, all I could do was shake my head. After what seemed like hours, I finally found my voice.

  “You’re suggesting Roger Parke killed Georgie because Georgie cost him money by crashing a truck? Years ago? Seems like a stretch to me.”

  “That’s not all.” Sloane traced a circle in the condensation on her glass. “Georgie claimed he got hurt in the crash. He filed a workplace injury lawsuit against Roger.”

  “Not so much of a stretch now, huh?” Luke finished his drink. “I’m starving. Let’s continue this conversation at the pub. I’ll buy.”

  An hour later, we were cleaned up and seated in our favorite corner booth at the Rushing Creek Public House. Luke had a pint of the pub’s house brew, Rushing Creek Red. I had a glass of chardonnay. With a race two days away, Sloane had a sparkling water.

  Our waiter, a young man with electric blue hair and Latino features, had just taken our appetizer order when Rachel slipped into the open spot next to me.

  “I was wondering if you guys were ever going to get here.” She added sweetener to her iced tea and lifted her glass. “To my brother and the sweetest woman I know, who’s willing to put up with him. May you enjoy your weeks of living in sin until you get hitched.”

  We clinked glasses among warnings to Sloane to make sure Luke did his own laundry and reminders to my brother to leave the toilet seat down. The waiter brought the appetizer, an order of deluxe nachos served on a sixteen-inch pizza pan, and all conversation ceased.

  “To what do we owe the honor of having you join us?” I scooped salsa and sour cream onto a nacho chip. The salty, spicy, and creamy combination sent my taste buds straight to heaven. “My compliments to your chef, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” Rachel’s blue eyes sparkled at the compliment. “We’re going to feature them in the Taste of Rushing Creek during the Fall Festival.”

  While we munched on the nachos, the conversation turned to the unpleasant topic of Georgie’s murder. Rachel wanted to know what progress I’d made, so I brought her up to speed, including the information from Luke and Sloane.

  When I finished, she tapped her fingernail on the lacquered wooden tabletop. It was something she did when she was deep in thought. “Something else you should know about. Georgie hung out at Hoosiers a lot. And by a lot, I mean he was there almost every day after work. Talk to Willie Hammond. If anybody knows what Georgie was up to last Thursday, I’d put my money on Willie.”

  Willie Hammond was the brother of “Big Al” Hammond. Big Al, the owner and namesake of the restaurant that served the best burgers in Indiana, was one of my favorite people in the world. Willie, not so much. Where Big Al was like a giant-sized teddy bear and was always ready with a smile and a hug, Willie was like a real-life grizzly bear. You could feel his presence, even if you couldn’t see him. If you weren’t part of his inner circle, he kept you at arm’s length, and if he felt you wronged him, he’d turn his back on you in the blink of an eye.

  The Hammond brothers were a mere eighteen months apart in age, Willie being the elder, but miles apart in every other way. Their parents had owned Hoosiers for years, running it as a family restaurant that featured all ki
nds of pop culture memorabilia related to the state of Indiana. When they decided to retire and spend their golden years in the Florida sun, they turned the restaurant over to Al and Willie to jointly run it.

  The brothers’ visions for the restaurant differed as much as their personalities, and within a year, Willie had bought out Al’s share of the business. Al took his proceeds and opened Big Al’s Diner. With Al out of the picture, Willie turned Hoosiers into a sports bar. Both businesses had thrived over the ensuing two decades, but the split had caused a rift between the brothers that time had yet to heal.

  “You think he’ll talk to me?” It was no secret around town that Al and I were close. I ate at his restaurant at least once a week.

  “Cheese and rice, we’re not in middle school. Just because you babysat for Al’s kids doesn’t mean Willie’s going to treat you like a loaf of moldy bread. I’m on a committee with Willie at the Chamber of Commerce. He’s not so bad once you get to know him, and I’m one of his competitors.”

  “Rachel’s got a point,” Sloane said. “Couldn’t hurt to talk to him. I mean, it’s only your freedom on the line.”

  “Indeed.” I looked at my dining companions one by one. They wanted to help, and their advice was solid. “I’ll talk to both Roger and Willie.”

  “And let us know what you find out.” Luke pointed his fork in my direction. “We’ll do whatever we can. Got it?”

  Later that evening, I scratched Ursi between her ears as I updated my Keep-Allie-Out-of-Jail notebook list with information I’d obtained during the day. There was much work to be done and not enough time to do it.

  Exhausted, I let out a long sigh. “We’ll take things one day at a time. Right, missy?”

  Ursi lifted her head to look at me. Once she had my full attention, she closed her eyes at a languid pace and opened them again, a gesture of affection and trust. It was always a good sign to have my kitty in my corner.

  My question to Ursi unleashed a torrent of other questions, though. All revolving around a factor that was my enemy—time.

  When, exactly, did Georgie die? Was he dead before or after the mulch was piled on top of him? If he was at Hoosiers the night he was killed, when did he leave? When was the dump truck taken from Parke Landscaping? When was the last time someone who wasn’t the murderer saw him alive?

  As I got in bed and turned off the light, another question came to mind. If I could find answers to the timing questions, I could find the answer to this latest question.

  Why did the murderer kill Georgie?

  Once I figured that out, I’d find the killer.

  Unless the killer found me first.

  Chapter Five

  I’ll admit it. The reason I went to Mass every Sunday was more about spending time with Mom than saving my soul. Over the last few months, Sunday mornings had become our time. We met outside St. James Catholic Church, attended 9:30 Mass, and then had breakfast.

  On this Sunday, the church became my sanctuary. For whatever reason, I didn’t think about the murder until Father Edwards delivered his homily. During the priest’s talk, he addressed Georgie’s death and reminded us that, in the darkest of times, it was up to every one of us to be our own source of light. And that by sticking together in the spirit of service to others, our light would become so bright there would be no dark corners left where evil could hide.

  The words resonated with me as I reflected on the past few days and how so many people had offered to help, without even being asked. Their confidence in me was empowering. Their unwavering belief in my innocence was, too.

  Leaving the church, I made a promise that when I returned next week, Georgie’s killer would be behind bars. It was a promise I had every intention of keeping.

  “Let’s go to the diner for brunch. I’ll buy.” With gray skies overhead, but no threat of rain, it was an ideal morning for the four-block walk to the Brown County Diner. Besides, my muscles were a little sore from all the packing, moving, and unpacking from the day before, and the walk would help loosen them.

  Mom hesitated. “I was hoping we could have the morning for just the two of us.”

  “Uh-huh.” I started walking. “You just want to get me alone so you can ask me all the questions you wanted to ask on Friday but didn’t have the time and you’re too scared to ask them in public.”

  “I am not.” She caught up with me. “I simply want to have a nice, quiet visit with my daughter. Is that so wrong?”

  “No.” I smiled. “Except for the fact that your denial confirmed you want the scoop about”—I shrugged—“you know. You can interrogate me to your heart’s desire at the diner.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  That wasn’t the response I expected. On top of that, her clipped tone was a decades-old signal she was hiding something. With my curiosity piqued, I turned toward her. “Why not?”

  After looking around to make sure we were alone, Mom took a deep breath. “I have something that might help with your investigation. If I tell you, I’ll be violating a patient’s confidentiality.”

  “Then don’t tell me. I’m in enough hot water. There’s no need to add you to the pot.” I started to move, but she took hold of my arm.

  “I mean, when I tell you. This is too important. You are too important. So, let’s go to your apartment where we can talk without being overheard.”

  Mom was a straight arrow and one of the pillars of the Rushing Creek community. If she was willing risk getting in trouble by sharing information, whatever she knew had to be huge.

  “My apartment, then.” I looped my arm through hers and forced a smile that I hoped didn’t look forced as we headed for her car. “Shall we?”

  * * * *

  While I rummaged through the fridge to decide what to prepare for breakfast, Mom and Ursi entertained themselves. They were in the living room, batting a toy onion ring back and forth across the hardwood floor. Mom used her foot, while Ursi used her front paws. They were so caught up in their competition I had to tell Mom brunch was ready three times before she joined me.

  “Breakfast burritos, eh? What’s in them?” Mom spread a thick slice of margarine on a piece of toast. Sometimes she could be as finicky as the twins when it came to food. I enjoyed seeing her expression when she tried something new I’d prepared and liked it.

  “Don’t worry. Nothing too exotic. Corn tortillas, sliced bell peppers, poblano peppers, mushrooms, and grated cheese.” I slid two small serving bowls across the table. “Be sure to add some salsa and guacamole. I made the guac myself.”

  She took a bite and raised her eyebrows. “This is great. Where’d you get everything?”

  “Got the tortillas at the bakery. Everything else at the grocery. Even the avocado.”

  “Avocados in Rushing Creek. I see your browbeating the folks at the grocery is getting results.” She winked as she dipped a piece of her burrito into the guac.

  “The Barbours know what they’re doing. It only took a little begging on my part.” The current proprietors of Rushing Creek’s grocery store were second-generation owners who’d been running the operation for twenty-five years. They’d remained in business because they were good people and smart businessmen.

  One aspect of those smarts was reflected in their willingness to stock unusual items when a customer was willing to pay a premium for them. If I had to pay more to get an avocado in Rushing Creek than I would if I drove to Bloomington or Indianapolis, so be it. It was important to me to have thriving, local businesses. My agency was one, after all.

  We got caught up on the local goings-on while we ate. It never ceased to amaze me how much could happen in a little town in a single week. And especially know much my mom knew.

  “Do you know everybody’s business?” I emptied my coffee mug and poured a refill from the ceramic carafe.

  “Of course not, but it’s my job to know what�
��s going on in the lives of my patients. I need to pay attention. I never know when someone may say something about a new ache or a spouse who isn’t sleeping. Maybe it’s nothing, but I’ve lost count of how many times something a patient thought wasn’t important turned into a diagnosis of something major.”

  “Okay. I get it.” I took a drink. Hot coffee always helped me focus. “While listening to your patients, you get intel on everything, and everyone else.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Mom scooped up her last piece of tortilla and a stray mushroom. “Which is why I wanted to talk to you here. I know something about Georgie. It’s something you need to know.”

  “I don’t want you to violate doctor-patient confidentiality.”

  “And I don’t want you to go to prison.” She took our empty plates to the sink. It was as if she needed time to decide once and for all whether to share her secret. When she returned to the table, she spread her napkin on her lap. The debate had ended.

  “When Matt was up for police chief, he wasn’t the only candidate for the job. Tommy Abbott was being considered, too. A lot of people in town, myself included, thought Tommy was the better candidate.”

  “Why didn’t he get it?” I’d gotten to know Tommy Abbott a little bit while I investigated Thornwell’s murder. He seemed like a good cop.

  “Right around the time the city council was interviewing candidates for the chief job, there was an incident. Tommy tried to arrest Georgie one night at Hoosiers. I’ll spare you the details, but Georgie filed a complaint claiming police brutality. Tommy denied it, but…”

  “With a charge like that hanging over Tommy’s head, there was no way he was going to get the job.”

  Mom nodded. “Tommy’s wife, Wendy, is one of my patients. Based on some of her comments, Tommy’s never gotten over it.”