Assignment Austin

by Lucey Phillips

  “I miss my parents. And I have a bunch of little nieces and nephews. I feel like I’m missing their growing up—soccer games and birthday parties and stuff.”

  “You can go home for visits,” I whispered, almost pleading. “Just because I stay out on the road all the time doesn’t mean you have to.”

  Colin whispered, “I know that,” in a way that sounded like he might laugh. “But I don’t want to miss anything. If we’re not finding dead bodies or hiding in closets, you’re getting held at gunpoint or swimming with sharks or something.”

  “Yeah,” I said, grinning around my words. “I’m a riot.”

  Cheers and laughter exploded from the conference room.

  “Finally!” one woman said. “If you didn’t get here soon, I thought Larry was going to chew off his arm.”

  “Sorry, guys. I sort of lost my customers. They were supposed to be waiting in the lounge, but I guess they bailed while I was helping that pain-in-the-ass kid.”

  “We get it, Dylan. You have too many customers to keep track of,” another man said with a laugh. “Quit bragging.”

  I nudged Colin with my elbow.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll sneak out after this meeting and just say we couldn’t find him.”

  I shook my head, then remembered Colin couldn’t see me. “I don’t want to talk to him anymore. We’re getting nowhere.”

  “Don’t you think he’s a good suspect, though?”

  “Well, yeah. But first we have to figure out if he has an alibi. And I don’t see how we could possibly do that during a test drive.”

  Shuffling and clattering noises came from the conference room. The meeting was adjourning. I wondered how we would decide if it was safe to sneak out from where we were hiding. Maybe I would be able to peek under the closet door.

  “So, are you and Bonnie ready for your cruise?” a man asked after the commotion in the room died down.

  “Mmm, well, she is,” Dylan replied. “You know how it is. I’m always last minute with that stuff.”

  “You’re going to miss the end-of-quarter promo,” the other man said. It sounded like he was shoving food in his mouth while he was talking.

  “I know, can you believe it? My bonus for highest sales last year is going to take me out of the running for this year!”

  “Nah, you’ll get caught up. Especially if fuel prices keep doing what they’re doing.”

  The men’s voices were fading. They were walking out of the room now.

  “So, how many stops does your cruise make?”

  “Let’s see,” Dylan replied, his voice becoming muffled, as if they were stepping out into the hallway. “There’s Jamaica, then two different ports in Mexico…”

  I couldn’t hear any more after that. I felt my body tense all over. One foot had fallen asleep a long time ago and the other leg was numb from the hip down.

  I wanted to turn to Colin—to ask him if he’d heard what I heard. Was Dylan actually leaving the country? How easy would it be for him to disappear on a shore excursion? Would he take Bonnie with him?

  My head started to spin. I realized I’d been holding my breath.

  “Okay, let’s get out of here,” Colin whispered softly in my ear.

  He moved his feet, getting ready to stand. I pressed my palm against his chest, indicating him to stop. We couldn’t be sure someone wasn’t in the room working, or tidying up after the meeting.

  I pulled my phone out of my bag and held the camera lens up to the crack below the door. It didn’t show much of the room, but at least I could see that there weren’t any feet in the immediate area.

  Colin whispered, “I’ll crack the door.”

  He leaned forward and across my legs. Then he turned the knob so slowly and carefully that it didn’t make a sound. He eased the door open less than an inch. For a moment, all I could see was the pillar of white light streaming in.

  Then the door hinge creaked. I flinched a little, but Colin was motionless.

  A long, quiet few seconds passed, then he said, “We’re good.”

  Pushing the door open, he stood and reached a hand out to help me up.

  “Hey, can you watch the door for just a second? Then we’ll leave, I promise,” I asked him.

  He nodded and walked toward the door.

  I skimmed over the clipboards we’d seen earlier and finally found one that listed sales staff names and dates, along with VIN numbers and some other data. I tried to find the sales from the day Harris was murdered, but the days weren’t listed in order. I considered shoving the papers in my bag, but decided to take pictures of them instead.

  I was halfway through the stack of papers when Colin cleared his throat loudly. I looked up to see him motioning me toward the door. I left the clipboard lying on the table and ran toward him. By the time I got close to the door, I was able to hear footsteps coming our way. Colin took my hand and we started running in the opposite direction of the footsteps.

  A man’s voice boomed, “Hey, you’re not supposed to be in there!”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see a portly man with dark, slicked-back hair wearing a navy pinstripe suit. He was red-faced as he tried, and failed, to catch up with us.

  I pushed open the door at the end of the hall. It led to a stairwell. It only took us a few seconds to run down the stairs. There were two doors at the bottom. One led to a hallway of offices while the other had an “Alarm-Fire Exit Only” sign. Colin and I looked at both doors, then at each other, both of us frozen and a little panicked.

  When we heard the door at the top of the staircase crash open, I made a decision. I leaned into the fire exit door and pushed it open, setting an alarm blaring and a strobe light flashing.

  Colin followed me. We were behind the dealership, on a hot strip of blacktop bordered by green-brown scrub and a noisy highway.

  “This way,” Colin said, as he started running toward the edge of the lot.

  He climbed a low concrete barrier. I followed him, though much less gracefully, thanks to my short stature. Now we were in a restaurant parking lot.

  We followed the barrier toward the road. When we were directly across from our rental car, we climbed back over the barrier, walked calmly to the car, and drove away.

  | Fifteen

  The large crowd that had turned out at Harris Myer’s memorial service was making me doubt his unpopularity.

  “I really thought there wouldn’t be that many people here,” I said to Colin as we sat in our car, parked inconspicuously in the back row of the St. Augustine Cathedral parking lot.

  “Maybe people just want to make sure he’s dead,” Colin said.

  “Pfft. Maybe. Or maybe they’re intrigued by the fact that he was murdered.”

  Colin sighed. “That’s just gross.”

  “Whatever. You know morbid curiosity puts the food on our table.”

  He gave a resigned shrug.

  A group of women climbed out of a white SUV and started walking toward the church. One of them had piercings in her nose and lips. Another had pink hair and the other two wore conservative business outfits.

  I recognized them from the last bout we’d seen. They were members of the Violent Crown.

  I sighed. “I really want to go in. Maybe Bonnie Key is there—lurking in the back or something.”

  Colin rolled his eyes. “She’d have to be crazy to show up at her married boyfriend’s funeral.”

  “Not necessarily. They were business acquaintances too.”

  A dark blue Crown Victoria crept down our aisle at a speed that was painfully slow—even for a church parking lot.

  “Who’s that?” I asked in a whisper.

  “Who?” Colin hadn’t noticed the car yet.

  As it rolled closer, I recognized the driver. It was Rocky Kruger.

  “Oh,” Colin said softly. “Do they always do that? Homicide detectives going to the victim’s funeral? Seems kind of ghoulish.”

  As I opened my mouth to answer, my e
yes locked with Kruger’s. He seemed to sneer at me as he rolled past.

  “Only when they’re hopelessly lost,” I finally answered Colin. “Then again, we’re here too.”

  I adjusted my bag over my shoulder and announced, “I’m going in. If Kruger’s got the nerve to be here, then so do I.”

  Colin turned toward me. “I don’t know. If the derby women recognize you, it could be a problem,” he said. “Plus, SoCo Athletics workers will probably be in there. Don’t you think things could get pretty weird if they recognize ‘Mike and Jennifer’? Not to mention Rita, who almost busted you.”

  “I’m not going to stay for tea and cookies. I’ll just run in at the last minute, and leave before it’s over,” I said.

  Then I added, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” just to be sure he knew I was doing what I wanted, regardless of his opinion.

  Colin shook his head. “Good luck. Guess I should stay here—drive getaway?”

  I smiled and thanked him as I climbed out of the car.

  Walking into the cathedral, I kept my head down, trying to appear both somber and inconspicuous.

  Men were handing out programs at the entrance to the sanctuary. Kevin, the trainer who had shown us around SoCo Athletics, stood in front of an entrance on the left. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit and holding a stack of programs.

  To avoid him, I got in line to sign the guest book. Then, when he left to usher an old woman to her seat, I approached another man handing out programs, took one, and walked into the sanctuary. I found an aisle seat in the back, near a group of gray-haired men.

  One of the men nodded hello to me. I returned the gesture before I got busy reading the program.

  Harris seemed to have a small family—no kids and only one niece. It looked like friends and one cousin would be serving as pallbearers.

  At the bottom of the program’s second page, I saw something I’d never noticed before—a request for donations to be made directly to the widow, Rita Myer. Usually memorial donations are directed to a beloved charity or a special community project. If there is a young child, donations might be requested for a college fund.

  But for a healthy, working, middle-aged widow? That was odd.

  Lacey, Rita, and a couple who looked about Rita’s age—possibly Lacey’s parents—were led into the sanctuary last. Lacey’s mouth wore its standard scowl, but her eyes were red and puffy.

  Rita had dark circles and pink swelling around her eyes, which had a numb, glazed-over look. Her movements seemed forced and out of sync. I wondered if she’d needed to take some anti-anxiety medications but she wasn’t used to them.

  A young priest walked up to the pulpit and began the service by reading from the Bible. Then one of Harris’ friends delivered a eulogy that painted Harris as a sharp business man and a devoted member of the community.

  One SoCo Athletics employee and one member of the Violent Crown came to the pulpit to talk about their experiences with Harris.

  The roller derby woman called him “generous” and the employee called him “honest,” both delivering their comments in a slightly emotionless tone.

  I looked around for Bonnie Key. I’d only seen a Facebook profile photo of her, so I wasn’t exactly sure who to look for. I only knew that she wore an expensive balayage-blonde shoulder-length haircut on a petite, middle-aged figure.

  There was one woman wearing a trench coat with the collar raised—an unusual choice for this warm day—and another woman in a gray cardigan over a black tea-length dress, who could have been Bonnie. But both women were in front of me. I couldn’t see their faces and had no idea if either woman was actually Harris’ girlfriend. Or mistress—if you believed in such a ridiculous label.

  Finally, I gave up. I felt out of place and, even though I knew she couldn’t see me from her seat way up beside the altar, I imagined Rita glaring hatefully in my direction.

  When the priest asked everyone to stand and sing, I dashed toward the exit. Kevin was standing beside the closest door, so I hung my head and held one hand up by my eyes, as if I were hiding tears, while I brushed past him. I could sense him watching me as I made my way to the parking lot.

  When I heard the heavy wooden door fall closed behind me, I took a breath and realized I’d been holding my shoulders tense—probably for the entire time I was inside.

  “Well? Anything good?” Colin asked when I climbed into the car.

  I shook my head. “It was really blah. There wasn’t much genuine emotion.”

  “Not even from the wife?”

  “Not really,” I said. “She just looked tired. And sort of zoned out.”

  I opened the program and showed Colin the second page.

  “What do you think of this?” I asked. “It’s weird, right?”

  While he read, Colin made a face as if he’d tasted something bad.

  “I’ve never seen that. Memorial donations are supposed to be for charity,” he said. “Unless… unless it’s, maybe, some sort of regional custom to donate to the wife. I mean, the widow.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll have to look up some obituaries online to see if it’s a common thing around here.”

  “Should we get moving?” Colin asked, his voice more serious now.

  The church doors had been propped open and mourners were streaming out.

  “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  Colin was able to navigate around the wandering pedestrians and make it to the parking lot exit. But there, we were blocked for a couple minutes by a long line of limousines.

  “Pretty lavish,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Colin agreed. “Harris must have had one whopper of a life insurance policy.”

  I tried to count the limos lined up in front of the church. After four, I couldn’t see any farther. A small crowd was blocking my view.

  At first, I just thought the people in the crowd were friends and family members consoling each other. But when I noticed a woman holding a television camera on her shoulder, I realized I was looking at an impromptu press conference.

  I yanked the car door open.

  “Oh! The family’s talking!” I said.

  I hopped out of the car and started walking up the sidewalk toward the crowd. A small pang of guilt nudged me—Colin probably wanted to see this, too, and I was treating him like my chauffeur.

  I shoved that pang away and approached the little crowd.

  “So, the coroner has released the body?” one reporter asked Rita, pushing his microphone toward her.

  She looked at her feet.

  After a beat of silence, Lacey stepped up to the microphone.

  “Yes,” Lacey said solemnly. “The cremation was performed yesterday.”

  “Mrs. Myer, are you satisfied with the investigation? There haven’t been any arrests,” the reporter said.

  Now Rita seemed to be looking at the reporter’s feet. She nodded.

  “They tell me they’re getting closer to making an arrest,” Rita said flatly. “Everybody knows that boyfriend from the derby team—that Neil guy—”

  Lacey leaned in front of her aunt again.

  “We definitely are not satisfied. Our family wants justice. The community does, too. And this is taking too long—plain and simple,” Lacey said.

  Rita leaned close to Lacey’s ear and cupped her hand beside her mouth. After a couple seconds, Lacey nodded and leaned back toward the microphone.

  “My aunt just reminded me that we are going to set up a memorial fund in my uncle’s name. We want to help local youth teams. That was something Uncle Harris always believed in,” Lacey said.

  She started to step back, but Rita furrowed her brow at Lacey, then gave her a prodding nod.

  Lacey leaned into the microphone, looked back at her aunt, then said, “There’s a link to the donation page on the SoCo Athletics website, and also on all the family members’ Facebook pages, if anyone is interested.”

  Another reporter had approached while Lacey was talking.

  �
�Is it true that police have searched Mr. Myer’s computers and business ledgers?” the new reporter called out.

  Lacey began to answer, but before she could get two words out, the family attorney stepped in. Breathless from walking across the cathedral lawn, he squeezed between Lacey and Rita and the small crowd of reporters and photographers. He held an arm out to his side as if to shield the women from the press.

  “I’m going to remind you folks we are at a man’s funeral. How about showing a little compassion?” he asked.

  “And besides that—those are questions for the police,” he added. “This family has been through enough without trying to publicly speculate on the murder of their loved one—especially today.”

  Then the three walked toward the first limousine in line, the one parked directly behind the hearse.

  A sweaty cameraman standing beside me snorted a laugh. “Nice ride. Is this a funeral, or prom?”

  I tried to hide my giggle as I glanced his way.

  The reporter standing beside him added, “These people are odd.”

  | Sixteen

  Lance’s voice was crackling through the car speakers when Colin picked me up in front of the cathedral. He sounded irritated.

  “Just what, exactly, is going on down there?” our editor asked.

  Colin smiled and winked at me. Then he continued driving while he replied to Lance.

  “Well, we’re getting some really good material,” Colin said. “Did you see Jae’s photos from the tattoo shop?”

  “Yeah. They’re pretty good,” Lance huffed reluctantly. “Where is she, anyway?”

  “I’m here,” I announced into the car.

  “Jae! Are we doing a feature or a crime story or what?”

  “A feature,” I said. “You know. The usual.”

  I turned toward Colin, feeling a bit wide-eyed and panicky. Colin raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I know we’re on schedule and we’re not over budget or anything, are we?”

  “No. It’s not about the schedule—or the budget. You two are the only people on this staff who spend money like you’re at work and not on some grand holiday,” Lance said.