by Mak K. Han
“I'm not your baby,” I said sternly. “And it's no problem.”
I pulled away from the curb and started toward Harold's house. Without the radio, the car was eerily quiet. I didn't want Harold to turn it on so I made the first move. “So have you been working on your art?”
I had a pretty good idea that he wasn't. Harold updated me whenever he worked on something, promising that it would be the best thing I ever saw. He hadn't updated me recently, so I suspected he hadn't been working on anything.
“Oh, it's great!”
Harold was drunk, so it didn't take much effort to get him talking. He regaled me with stories about a piece he was working on, and how it was amazing, and how I'd be head-over-heels when I saw it. Meanwhile I listened with half an ear; I was mostly trying to focus on whether or not I could hear the static.
Sure enough, I could hear it very faintly, but only if I concentrated. I wondered if I was picking up radio waves from nearby vehicles. The alternative was that I was experiencing one of those situations where I wanted to hear the static so badly, I was imagining it.
Without the radio, the static drifted in and out. It wasn't until Harold interrupted himself mid-sentence to turn on the radio that I got something like verification—he continued the story about the art he was working on, and I heard the static loud and clear.
It started to bug me. I was fine with the static. You would think that hearing static in your head for minutes at a time would get annoying, but it doesn't. Eventually you get used to it.
What was bugging me about hearing it constantly was that it meant Harold was lying constantly. He was telling me about a piece he was working on.
Wait a minute.
Harold was telling me about a piece he was working on and I was hearing static. My assumption was that he was telling me he was working on it today, and since I was hearing static, he was therefore lying.
“So is this a piece you were working on today?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “No, I think the last time I worked on it was the day before yesterday,” he said. Then he continued telling me his story.
Only this time, there was no static.
Chapter 14
“What do you mean, 'it depends on how you ask it'?” Alex asked between mouthfuls of bread and meat.
When I got home from Harold's, Alex and Emily were hard at work on the case which apparently consisted of sitting on my couch eating sandwiches and watching Seinfeld.
I took a seat across from them. Emily muted the TV.
“Okay, so Harold was telling me that he was working on a piece of art,” I explained. “I assumed he was telling me about a piece he was working on today. I was hearing static.”
“Which meant he was lying about working on it,” Emily said.
“Right, you would think so. The thing was, I was thinking he was telling me about a piece he'd worked on today. But when Harold said he was 'working on something', he didn't mean he worked on it today. He meant he was working on it in general.
“What happened when you clarified the topic?” Alex asked.
“When I specifically asked if he had been working on it today, he said no. The last time he worked on it was a couple of days ago. Once I'd clarified what we were talking about, I stopped hearing the static. The point is, up until that point I could hear the static, even though Harold was telling the truth.”
“A false positive,” Alex said, deep in thought. She set her plate on the table and stroked her chin. “That changes things.”
“It does,” I said. “It means hearing the static isn't foolproof, even if there's a radio nearby. If I think we're talking about one thing and we're actually talking about something else, the static might go off even if the person is telling the truth.”
“It sounds like you just have to be more specific when you ask people questions,” Emily suggested. “Leave no room for misinterpretation.”
I looked at Alex. She gave me a 'beats me' expression and went back to her sandwich.
“Suppose that had been the reason I did so poorly the other night, when we were experimenting,” I suggested.
“What do you mean?” Emily asked.
“Maybe the outcome was influenced. Maybe you knew you were lying to me and it influenced the outcome?”
“Emily was still lying though,” Alex said. “How would that make a difference?”
I thought it over for a moment. “Okay, maybe it's not what Emily is doing. Maybe because I knew Emily was lying about one statement and telling the truth about the others, I was getting false positives.”
“I see what you're saying,” Alex said.
“I don't,” Emily said, shaking her head.
“What she's saying,” Alex said, “is that maybe the test was flawed because Laura knew that you were lying about certain things and telling the truth about others. She's thinking her mind started playing tricks on her, and that it affected the outcome.”
“Oh, I think I see. If Laura misinterprets what someone is saying, it affects whether or not she hears static.”
“Exactly,” I said.
“So what are we going to do about it?” Emily leaned forward, leaning on the coffee table. “How do we make sure Laura doesn't misinterpret anything?”
“I think you're just going to be careful about how you ask specific questions,” Alex said. “Let's say you point to the sky and ask someone what color it is. If they say 'green', you know they're lying. If they say 'blue', you might still think they're lying because you think the color is azure. But if you ask if the sky is a shade of blue, that's an easy yes or no question. If they say 'no' and you hear static, then there's a good chance they're lying.”
“So Laura needs to stick to yes and no questions?” Emily asked.
I shook my head. “It's not that simple. Going back to the conversation with Harold, if I ask if he's been working on something, he might say ‘yes’ and give me a false positive. So I would still need to be clear and specify that I want to know if he's been working on it today.”
“One thing is for certain,” Alex said, grabbing the remote and un-muting the television, “You need more practice.”
“Yeah,” I said. “No kidding.”
Chapter 15
“Okay, Laura, you got this. You're the best Energy Therapist around.” Tina's positivity uplifted my spirits for a moment. Then she added, “Well, except for me. You're the second best Energy Therapist around!”
I took a deep breath, pretending to be nervous. I wasn't too nervous about the whole 'Energy Therapist' thing. I was nervous because Tina had decked me out in official Energy Therapist attire—a tie dye t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops that I hadn't worn in months. It was a far cry from my typical outfit.
The construction site looked different than it did during Jeannie's protest. The barn had been demolished and now sat in a charred black heap. The Northern Catalpa had been knocked over and uprooted, leaving a gaping hole in the ground marked off by CAUTION tape. Tim Hayfield sat with his crew off to the side, eating lunch.
Convincing Tina that this is where my 'test' should take place had been easy. This place was full of negative energy after all. Who would absorb it more than Tim and his guys? Surely if anyone needed Energy Therapy, it was the crew working at ground zero.
In reality, it was all a ruse. Tim Hayfield was high on our list of suspects and I needed a way to talk to Tim about the murder. This was the perfect way to do it. I approached the men. The radio nearby was playing a Nothing Else Matters by Metallica.
“Howdy, Laura,” Tim said, giving me a small wave. “You look... different today.”
I smiled. “Thanks Tim. I'm an Energy Therapist.”
He smiled too. “Oh yeah? What's that mean?”
Okay, showtime. I had to be convincing. “Well, there's a lot of negative energy here, because of, you know, what happened. You guys are working right here on the site so you're probably absorbing a lot of negative energy.” I thought of asking them if t
hey needed Energy Therapy and then bit my tongue. Then I realized they might just say 'no' and wave me away. “I'm here to purge the negative energy,” I said.
The guys laughed. I blushed.
“Well, sure, go right ahead. Just make sure you're out of the way once the machines light up. We don't want you to get hurt.” They started to go back to their lunches.
“Oh, that's not how it works!” I said. Tina had explained the concept of Energy to me, but I'd forgotten it, so I started making things up. “The body stores negative energy inside it. By addressing the negative energy, you purge it. It comes out through your mouth. So, who wants to go first?”
Tim looked around at the guys. The site was quiet for a minute. “Laura, are you feeling okay?”
My cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. “Yeah, why?”
Tim shook his head. “This just doesn't seem like you. Are you upset about everything that happened with Jeannie?”
Clearly this wasn't working. Maybe I'd pushed the 'Energy Therapist' identity a little too hard. That was fine; the situation was still salvageable. It was time to take a different approach. I breathed heavily, theatrically. “Yeah, a little bit,” I said.
“Well, I'm upset too,” Tim said. “I didn't care much for the girl, but she didn't deserve to go like she did.”
“You didn't care much for her?” I asked, giving him a sarcastic smile. “You're telling me.”
Tim chuckled. He knew what I was implying. “She meant well, she just had a lousy way of showing it. Heck, I brought her food and a bottle of water the first night she was protesting.”
My ears perked up. Play it cool, I said to myself.
“Who knows,” I said, grinning. “Maybe you were the one who poisoned her.”
Tim chuckled. “I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind.”
I'd been hoping for him to say something specific, like 'I didn't poison Jeannie'. Had there been static, I would have had reason to keep an eye on him. Had there been no static, I could know with relative certainty that Tim was innocent. He hadn't been quite so clear.
So there were two ways I could go with this: I could push the issue and, if Tim got offended, fall back on the 'I'm upset' excuse. Or I could let it go and keep Tim in the dark. I went with the latter. If I pushed too hard, Tim might figure out this was all a put-on. Which would be bad regardless of whether or not he was the killer; if word got out that I was poking around, it might not end well.
“Tell you what, Laura,” Tim said. “Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? It'll give you a chance to get out of your head. What do you say?”
Tim had been telling the truth so far, but then again, I hadn't really been able to ask him any questions about the case. Going to dinner at his house would give me more opportunities. Plus, I'd get a chance to spend time with Mrs. Hayfield. I knew little about her. Maybe Mrs. Hayfield had done the deed herself, so Tim would start getting a paycheck again? The thought hadn't crossed my mind until that moment, but it was worth following up on.
“Sure,” I said. “That would be great. What time would you like me to show up?”
Tim looked at his watch. “Well, I get out of here at five, so probably around six? I'll introduce you to Lanette. George might be there too.”
“Great,” I said. “I'll see you then.”
With that I turned on my heel and headed back to Tina.
“I heard what happened,” she said. “You lost control! It's okay though, it's okay. Don't worry.” She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. “The negative energy got to you. You have to be a pro. Let me handle it.” She pushed past me and approached the crew.
I left her to it.
Chapter 16
Dinner at the Hayfields was roast beef, potatoes, and green beans. Mrs. Hayfield and I had wine, and the boys had beer. I sipped. I didn't want to get drunk; I was here on business. I showed up at six and conversation was light. We sat down to eat at seven.
“So Laura,” Mrs. Hayfield said between mouthfuls of potato, “Tim says you write.”
I nodded. “Yup. One of my books is in the library. It's called Murder in Tomato Town. It's on Amazon too.”
“Very nice. What's it about?”
“It's about a girl in a place called Tomato Town, who solves the mystery of a man named Mr. Streams.”
Tim chuckled. “Tomato Town? Mr. Streams? Sounds a lot like Strawberry Shores and Mr. Brooks.”
“Ugh, Tim,” Mrs. Hayfield said. “Why did you have to bring that up? That was months ago.”
Now was my opportunity. I'd been wondering how to shift the conversation topic to Jeannie. Murder wasn’t really a great subject of dinner conversation. Tim had just made my job a lot easier. “Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Now we have Jeannie Ferdinand. I think Strawberry Shores is replacing Washington D.C. as the murder capital of the world.”
Mrs. Hayfield wiped her mouth with her napkin, shaking her head. “Unfortunate business, that.”
I focused. The Hayfields didn't have a radio playing, so I'd have to pay extra special attention to the static. “Did you know Jeannie?” I asked.
Mrs. Hayfield shook her head. “No, not personally,” she said.
Was that static I heard?
“I don't think anyone knew her personally,” Tim said. “She just appeared one day and started making enemies.”
“Had she ever been in Strawberry Shores?” I asked. In the interest of keeping anyone from getting wise that I was digging for clues, I followed it up. “Sorry if this isn't the best topic of conversation for dinner. But this is the first time I've talked about it with anyone since it happened.”
“No, no, it's fine,” Mrs. Hayfield said.
“Of course Laura,” Tim said with a sly smile. “You're clearing out negative energy, if I remember correctly.”
I blushed.
“She's never been here,” George announced. “And it's so sad that she passed away.”
“Of course you'd say that,” Tim said. “You were drooling all over yourself when you first met her. That's bad for business, you know, falling in love with the people who hurt your business.”
Mrs. Hayfield laughed. “That's enough, Tim.” She looked at me. “George is inheriting the construction business when Tim retires. Tim is convinced that George is going to fall in love with the wrong woman and bankrupt Hayfield Construction.”
“You know, Laura,” Tim said. “You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. Have you and George ever...”
“Timothy Hayfield!” Mrs. Hayfield blurted out. She looked at me. I was blushing. “I'm sorry, honey.”
“No, it's all right,” I said.
“It's pointless anyway,” George said. “I don't think I'll ever get over losing Jeannie. She was the one for me.”
“Now now,” Mrs. Hayfield said. “I think you'll manage.”
“In answer to your question,” Tim said, “As far as I know, she left when she was eighteen. Her father lived here his whole life and she only just recently came back after he died.”
“So who do you think would have killed her?” I asked.
Tim shrugged. “I'm not entirely convinced she was murdered. I'm thinking she probably ate something bad and then couldn't get to the hospital, since she was chained to the tree.”
More static, as far as I could tell. Or was I just imagining it? Even without the static, I felt like Tim was trying to hide something. We didn't know much about the case, but we did know that Jeannie had the key; if she'd eaten something bad then she could have very easily gotten free.
Was Tim trying to downplay Jeannie's murder to take the pressure off himself?
Conversation drifted away from the Jeannie murder and I couldn't pull it back, not without being too conspicuous. So we finished eating, had a bit of dessert, and about an hour later I announced that I had to get home. Tim and Lanette walked me to the door. We said our goodbyes and I headed out to my car.
I'd gotten some information—enoug
h to suspect Tim but not enough to conclude him as the murder. As I was walking to my car, I mulled over ways I could bring up the subject with him again.
In a rare turn of events, the problem resolved itself on its own.
“Laura!”
I turned. It was George. He had followed me out of the house.
“Hey. Thanks again for dinner,” I said.
“Sure. Listen, you're trying to solve the murder, aren't you?”
I swallowed hard and shook my head. “What? No. I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Come on Laura,” he said. “I read your book—Murder in Tomato Town. That actually happened, didn't it? I heard about Daniel trying to kidnap you guys. That's how Murder in Tomato Town ends. Sheriff Caldwell didn't solve the mystery, you did.”
I scratched my forehead. There wasn't much I could do to argue. George had picked up on the secret. Murder in Tomato Town was inspired almost exclusively by our adventures with Daniel Berkshire, the main difference being that nobody in the story had the ability to hear static when people were lying. That was a secret I didn't take lightly.
In short, most people thought Murder in Tomato Town was fiction. They didn't realize it had happened in real life. George was the first to put two and two together.
“Okay, fine. Emily, Alex and I are suspects in the case because we were the last ones to see Jeannie alive. I'm trying to solve it so we don't get blamed. But—” I put my hand on George's shoulder. “It's important that you keep it a secret. If the killer finds out I'm on the case, he—or she—might come after us.”
“One condition,” George said. “Let me help you. Jeannie was special to me. I want to find her killer as much as you do.”
I looked George up and down. “What can you do?”
“Well, first, I can tell you that it wasn't my mom or dad. They went straight home after the town meeting. Dad was so angry with Jeannie for causing all those problems, he didn't even give her any food or water on the way by.”
I nodded. “Okay, that does help.”
