A Genuine Fix

by J. C. Kenney

  After a couple of hours wandering up and down the Boulevard, the nickname for Rushing Creek’s main thoroughfare, sampling all kinds of food and drink, we arrived at the Chamber of Commerce booth. I’d always loved this stop since the Chamber served venison stew.

  As a little kid, I’d always thought eating venison was partaking in something as exotic as dining on caviar while cruising the Mediterranean. Nowadays, the sampling of the stew meant one word that I’d come to learn was as important as anything in my life.

  Home.

  With an eyebrow raised, Brent sniffed at his bowl. I dove into mine like I hadn’t seen food in a week. His over-the-top reluctance to try the stew was borderline hysterical.

  “Chicken. What are you afraid of?” I devoured a spoonful that left my bowl empty and relished the tangy flavor of the local delicacy.

  “You said this was deer meat.” When I rolled my eyes, he handed his sample-sized bowl to me. “You eat it. I can’t stand the thought of eating Bambi.”

  Our verbal joust was interrupted by a shift change among the booth volunteers. To much fanfare, Larry Cannon arrived on a bike wrapped in red, white, and blue crepe streamers. He was wearing a blue blazer that had a red, white, and blue button on the lapel emblazoned with the logo Keep Cannon.

  “Allie, it’s good to see you again.” The mayor shook my hand. “And you as well, Mr. Richardson. I was worried about the weather, but it’s turned into a fine day, hasn’t it?”

  “That it has.” I kept my tone friendly. Part of me didn’t trust the man and probably never would.

  On the other hand, he’d supported the proposal to build Winchester-Cobb Memorial Park without a moment’s hesitation. He’d been the one who suggested I serve as the steering committee chair. If I needed to see him about anything related to the project, he made the time.

  I couldn’t escape the sense he was trying to make up for the abhorrent way he’d treated me in the past. Whatever the reason, the least I could do was act like an adult and respond to his olive branches in kind.

  Larry cleared his throat. “Mr. Richardson, would you mind giving Allie and me a moment alone?”

  Brent’s eyes narrowed, but when I nodded, he shrugged. “Sure. I’ll be looking at the stained glass in the next booth.”

  When we were alone, Larry shoved his hand in his pockets. “Chief Roberson briefed me on the unfortunate circumstances of Friday. I wanted to let you know I’ve instructed him to use any and all tools at his disposal to find the culprit. The true culprit.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  He smiled. “Given the circumstances, would I be correct in saying that you won’t be content leaving the investigation to others?”

  “Yes.” I chuckled as my cheeks got warm. “You know how I am.”

  He offered me another sample of stew. “You’re a valuable asset to this community. I want you to know you have the full support of City Hall. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  After looking at the stained glass and a few other artist’s booths, I was ready to get off my feet. I suggested to Brent that we head to Big Al’s. As tasty as they were, I’d had enough of trying the various festival offerings and was in the mood for a burger and fries.

  The diner was buzzing with activity, as we’d arrived during the midday rush. After we got the usual round of hugs, Al seated us in a booth near the back. Jeanette walked in as we were perusing the menu. I waved at her to join us.

  “Is it appropriate for you to be seen with a known felon?” Brent asked Jeanette as she eased into the opening next to me.

  “Probably not, but at least my last meal as a police office will be a good one.” She gave me an elbow to the ribs and winked.

  After we ordered, I reached for my fleece. There was a small notebook in one of the pockets, and I wanted to jot down key observations as we discussed the case. I looked to my left, but it wasn’t there. The same thing when I looked to my right. I even checked beneath the table. Still no luck.

  “My fleece. It’s gone.” I looked at the coat rack by the diner’s entrance, but nothing was hanging from it. I wracked my brain but couldn’t recall where I’d left it. Panic built within me like the lava in a volcano about to erupt. I squeezed my eyes shut to slow the lava flow.

  When I opened my eyes, Jeanette was talking into the radio attached to her collar. Brent was tapping away on his phone.

  “I texted Luke to keep an eye out for it.” He took my hand. “I know it’s special to you. Don’t worry.”

  “What’s it look like?” Jeanette relayed the information I gave her into the radio. “It’s sky blue with ‘Cobb Literary Agency’ embroidered with navy blue stitching on the left breast area. If you see it, let me know.”

  She gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Tommy just came on duty. He said he’ll take a swing through the vendor area and ask around.”

  My friends’ reassurances calmed me. “I know it’s just a jacket, but it was new.”

  Al placed our orders on the table, and for a few minutes, all my troubles disappeared. The spicy curly fries left me in a state of pure bliss, and I didn’t even care that I’d have to schedule an extra workout with the kickboxing bag to counteract the calories contained in the double burger with cheese and bacon.

  Then I had a brain blast. “Speaking of Tommy, I’ve heard he’s had some disciplinary problems in the past.”

  Jeanette wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think I like the sound of this.”

  “I know you’re all under the gun and can’t be seen breaking any rules, but if he really does have a short fuse with a big boom, it could be relevant.”

  I told her what Mom said about Tommy missing out on the promotion, minus the domestic violence part. “If there’s information in his file indicating he held a grudge against Georgie, it would be helpful to know, don’t you think?”

  “Of course it would.” She sipped her diet cola. “I didn’t want have to tell you this, but Matt took me off the case.”

  “Why? You haven’t done anything wrong.” In her eleven months since being promoted from reserve to full-time officer, Jeanette had been a model cop. She was smart, thorough, and caring. The Rushing Creek Police Department was lucky to have her.

  “It’s not that. Since you and I are friends, Matt thought it best to have someone else work the case.” She stared at her plate, evidently as unhappy as I was about this development. “At least I still get to help with evidence collection if we need it.”

  “Sounds like more of this election-season silliness you were telling me about earlier, Allie.” When Brent was unhappy, he frowned. When he was angry, he clenched his fists. At the moment, he was doing both.

  “I’ll see if I can figure something out and let you know.” Jeanette slid out of the booth. “Since I’m sticking my neck out on this, you can pick up my lunch tab.”

  “When this is all over, I’ll buy you a Surf ’n’ Turf dinner at the pub. How’s that?” The Surf ’n’ Turf dinner was the most expensive item on the menu there.

  “Deal.” She gave us fist bumps. “We’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

  When we were alone, Brent finally unclenched his fists. “I can’t believe they’re doing that to Jeanette, and to you. If I was in your shoes, I wouldn’t want anyone else working on the case.”

  “No argument there.” I let out a long sigh. “I get it. She has to be careful. Besides, she didn’t say she wouldn’t help, only that she had to be discreet.”

  While we finished our drinks, we made a list on a napkin of the places we’d visited over the course of the morning. Between the two of us, we came up with a thorough retracing of our steps.

  As we exited Big Al’s, feelings of confidence at finding the fleece battled with anxiety for supremacy. What if we didn’t find it? Had
I simply misplaced it, or did someone snatch it? If someone had snatched it, another question begged to be answered.

  Why?

  On the way home, we retraced our steps, and every vendor and storekeeper promised to keep an eye out for my fleece and contact me if it turned up. We even crossed paths with Tommy Abbott, who told us he’d asked around about it and would do so again later in the day.

  By the time we got back to my apartment, we were tired from walking and disappointed with our inability to find my fleece. I told myself the jacket was only a thing and could be replaced in a matter of days. It still didn’t take away the hurt. I was so proud of my first article of Cobb Literary Agency apparel.

  And now it was gone.

  I plopped down on the couch and let Brent get me a glass of water while I took off my shoes. Ursi jumped onto my lap and gave me a long look, her golden eyes letting me know she was sorry I was sad.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Brent handed me the water as he sat beside me. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  A few thoughts crossed my mind, which made my cheeks warm, but I nudged them aside.

  Then there was the other thing. Since Mom was struggling enough with the bride and groom-to-be living in sin, I’d promised her I wouldn’t let Brent stay the night when he visited. The bargain was silent regarding my trips to visit Brent, so I kept my mouth shut about that detail.

  “No. I’m bummed it’s gone, but I’ll get over it. Thanks for being so patient while we looked.”

  “Anything for you.” The conviction in his voice left no doubt he truly meant it.

  We spent the evening chilling on the couch and watching Netflix. I made chicken Caesar salads for dinner since neither of us had much of an appetite after eating ourselves through Rushing Creek.

  When it was time for Brent to go, he gave me a kiss, ruffed Ursi’s tortoiseshell coat, and made his way out the door with a promise to do some research of his own to help the cause. He also promised to make his next visit a longer one. While I treasured every minute with him, spending only one day together wasn’t enough.

  Later, as I got ready for bed, my mind drifted back to the events of the day. Overall, it had been positive. The weather had cleared. The food was great. Brent had been the perfect companion.

  And yet, I couldn’t get the fleece out of my head. As much as I told myself I was being paranoid about a matter of petty theft, I couldn’t escape a tiny voice in the back of my mind.

  A voice that kept insisting the missing fleece was connected to Georgie’s murder.

  Chapter Seven

  I slept the sleep of the dead Monday night, no doubt thanks to the seventeen thousand steps my fitness tracker had recorded. Refreshed and ready to tackle a new work week, I got right to work on my real job as soon as I finished my first cup of coffee. It was a big day. Check that, it was a momentous day.

  Red Skies, the latest thriller from my client Malcolm Blackstone, was being released today. I would always have a special place in my heart for Malcolm. He had refused to leave the Cobb Literary Agency when Dad got sick. Then he encouraged me to take the agency’s reins after Dad passed away. To top things off, he insisted I become his new agent.

  If anyone in the literary world had my back, Malcolm did.

  Reviews had been strong for Red Skies, and Malcolm’s publisher had high hopes for it to follow the path of his previous book and land on the best-seller lists. I was a little more cautious in my expectations. It wasn’t that I lacked faith in the story. I thought it was fantastic. At the end of the day, I simply thought it was too much to ask for the first two Cobb Literary Agency novels released under my watch to become best-sellers.

  A girl could still hope, though. Right? I called Malcolm right after I poured my second cup of coffee.

  “Congrats, buddy,” I said as soon as he answered. “I’m looking at your Amazon sales ranking. You’re off to a roaring start.”

  “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you. I, uh…”

  “Is something wrong?” The way his voice trailed off had me worried. Release day was a hugely important day in an author’s life. It was a day to celebrate the months, sometimes years, of blood, sweat, and tears put into a book. Malcolm didn’t sound as overjoyed as I expected.

  “Well.” He took a deep breath. “I heard about your recent troubles. At the risk of sounding selfish, is there any reason for this to worry us?”

  I stifled a laugh. God love the man. He was such a kind soul he couldn’t come out and say what was really on his mind. To be honest, he had every right to be concerned. The thought of his agent landing in jail probably had him as frightened as a rabbit trying to hide from a red-tailed hawk lurking on a nearby branch.

  “No reason at all.” I put a cheery tone in my voice to try to relax the man. It was his day. He deserved to enjoy every minute of it.

  “I spoke with the police department yesterday. They’re pursuing several leads. We just need to give them time to conduct their investigation.” It was stretching the truth far enough to almost snap, but I did chat with Jeanette. That should count, right?

  “Glorious. I’m so pleased to hear that.” His tone had changed like the sun coming out from behind a rain cloud. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but now I can relax and enjoy the day.”

  “As well you should.” We chatted for a few minutes about promotional efforts he had scheduled, including a tour of bookstores near his hometown of St. Louis.

  By the time I signed off, I was as excited about the book’s prospects as Malcolm. It was a great start to the day, so to keep the momentum going, I went back online and posted a handful of blurbs about Red Skies on social media.

  Then I did something I should have done days ago. I made a post on the agency’s private group site about my situation. The chat with Malcolm had served as a hard reminder that Georgie’s murder, and my potential implication in it, affected a lot of people beyond me.

  Including Thornwell’s estate, I was now representing eleven authors. The nine clients I signed after Malcolm didn’t have the history he and I did. I was remiss in failing to notify them about the situation earlier. While it was uncomfortable notifying them now, it was the right thing to do.

  A few authors responded to the post with questions, which I answered with complete honesty. Okay, mostly complete honesty. They didn’t know about the past Georgie and I shared. I was embarrassed enough having it resurrected among folks who’d known us both for years.

  From the day I met Georgie, way back in first grade, I’d had a crush on him. He was the bad boy who could make my heart flutter with a simple raise of his eyebrow. It was a classic case of unrequited puppy love. All my classmates knew I had a thing for the boy with the long hair who spent as much time in detention as he spent in class.

  Including Georgie.

  I had enough brains and self-respect to stop him from ever taking advantage of me, though. It was simply beyond rational thought that he would spend time with a plain, bookish type when he could have a lot more fun with the girls who liked to party and didn’t mind getting in trouble.

  It was never meant to be and that was okay. Especially after he tried to sweet-talk me into the back seat of his car after a football game when we were juniors. When I said no for the third time, he put his arm around me and tried to guide me toward his car.

  We hadn’t gone two steps when Sloane appeared from out of nowhere, just like Batman, and slugged him. Georgie crumpled like a house of cards. As he lay on the ground, spewing cuss words and massaging his jaw, Sloane towered over him.

  “Don’t ever mess with my best friend. Got it?” He tried to get up, but she pushed him back to the ground with her foot and wouldn’t let him up until he apologized to me. I had no idea the events of that night would come back to haunt me, but they did. In a big way.

  Georgie worked hard to get back in my g
ood graces, bided his time, and then asked me to the senior prom. I should have known his intentions were less than honorable, but I was so shocked I said yes. The whole situation was like a fairy tale, until he turned the dream into a nightmare by standing me up.

  I was a modern-day Cinderella, with no ride to the ball, no Prince Charming, and no fairy godmother to make things right. That night was one of the worst nights of my life. There was no way I was going to share one of the worst nights of my life with anyone beyond a need-to-know basis.

  On a lighter note, one of the authors asked if she could pick my brain when this was over so she could use some of the material for a book. I agreed but joked I’d only do it if she promised to include me in the acknowledgments as a subject-matter expert.

  Spending time with my authors was like eating ice cream on a sunny day. For me, there wasn’t much better in life. The time spent answering their questions also served as a reminder that I had a lot of good things going. I shouldn’t lose sight of that.

  After a trip to get groceries and a walk around the block with Ursi, I spent a few hours e-mailing editors to check on manuscripts I’d submitted for their consideration. I was thrilled to have a second Cobb Literary Agency book in the world, but I couldn’t rest on my laurels. The next agency book wasn’t scheduled for release until November, and it was critical to keep the wheels turning.

  The e-mail exchanges with the editors were so promising, I felt as powerful as Wonder Woman. With a sense of invincibility coursing through my veins, I opened my case notebook and reviewed my notes.

  It was time to start solving a murder.

  * * * *

  Parke Landscaping was situated on Lincoln Branch Road, northwest of town. The business was started by Roger Parke’s grandfather as a timber-harvesting firm. As the decades passed and the tiny population of the area grew, the company shifted its focus to landscaping services and winter snow removal.