by Jada Ryker
“Pretty sure?” Daisy screeched.
Cole patted the air as if she were an upset horse. “With Breathitt gone and you in prison, I can finally hit the big time.”
“You framed me for murder for money and freedom?” Daisy’s face twisted in fury.
“Now, Daisy, we’re playing ‘What If’.” Cole smiled.
“But I supported you all those years when you weren’t winning, and you weren’t making any money at all.”
“You were my wife. It was your duty. But now I don’t need you anymore.” Cole turned to Dreamus. “A jury won’t convict a man of murder based on the marks on his feet. A jury can’t say a person is guilty based on what if.”
Dreamus smiled. “I see I have another philosopher. Juries like the practical, not the theoretical. I believe they will convict.” He held up Landis’ phone. “I recorded your hypothesis for them.”
Bert gently folded Daisy into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and he patted her back with a gentle hand the size of an Easter ham.
“Cole Sawyer, you’re under arrest. Landis, read him his rights and cuff him.”
The officer’s face shone like a searchlight in a dark forest. “My first handcuffing! Other than practicing at the Academy, that is.” He reached for the handcuffs. “I have to find my card with the rights on it. Let’s see, you have the right to remain silent—”
“Lieutenant Camden.” Still holding Daisy in one arm, Bert touched Dreamus’ sleeve with his free hand. “I saw you on television, discussing that girl who was murdered twenty years ago.”
Dreamus pivoted back. “Mayla Kenton.”
“I also saw Berea Kenton on television,” Bert said. “She was bleating about Mayla. Berea said her daughter was so smart, so beautiful and sweet and talented.”
“Mrs. Kenton loved Mayla. She wants her daughter’s murder solved.” Dreamus waited.
“You saved Daisy today, so I’ll tell you something I thought I would take to my grave. Mayla wasn’t the perfect little angel her mother thought she was.” Holding Daisy away from him, he leaned over until his mouth was near Dreamus’ ear. “I saw Mayla Kenton kill her grandfather. They were both standing on the pier at her father’s resort. She deliberately pushed him into the water. He drowned.”
Dreamus phone rang. “Camden.” He turned to Landis, who had finally managed to cuff Cole. “We have a shooting at the University.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I’m surprised you want to help Berea Kenton, Clay. I admit it’s possible we’re sometimes pretentious, but it hurts to be called names.” Althea blinked back tears as her fingers tightened on the telephone receiver in her hotel room.
“Regardless of Mrs. Kenton’s eccentricities, Mayla’s death is an interesting puzzle. It would be a good cognitive exercise to investigate it.” Clay’s voice sounded gravelly.
“I refuse to report progress to her,” Althea insisted. “I won’t write her daughter’s story, either.”
“We’re amateur investigators,” Clay said. “We don’t work for money. Mrs. Kenton isn’t a supervisor breathing down our necks. Althea, I’m going to the University to ask questions about Mayla. Would you like to accompany me? We could leave in an hour.”
“Yes, Clay, I’d like to go.” Althea thought. “It may be difficult to find someone who’s still on staff who taught twenty years ago.”
“Tenure does give certain professors jobs for life. Therefore, it may be more difficult to find a professor who hasn’t been teaching for twenty years.” Clay laughed.
“You’re right.” Althea sighed. “I think tenure is the antithesis of great teacher performance and productivity. Faculty members don’t have incentives to teach well and help their students when they have jobs for life. See you in about an hour, Clay.” She placed the telephone receiver gently on its cradle.
She moved to the mahogany desk. I have time to work on my story… and my conception of honor, Althea thought, Diana’s words in her mind. She uncovered her typewriter and rolled in a fresh sheet of paper.
An Alien Act of Honor
By Seretha Ranier
Part Five
An anthropologist could title her time with Winter and his family “Balls in the Dust”, Mae Rue thought. Smiling at her own nonsense, she shed the heavy coat and pushed at her straggling hair. Might need a different title. What would an internet search of ‘Balls in the Dust’ unearth? Even though her underarms were sticky with sweat, Mae Rue shuddered in revulsion as she remembered the time she had searched online for Dick’s Sporting Goods.
In the arctic cold of the outbuilding, she hefted one end of a box to assess its weight. Grunting, she wrestled the box to the center of the floor.
“You do not need to help us, May-Roo. Allow us to move objects with kinetic energy.” Worried, Winter hovered between her and the box.
“I want to help—-”
The children streamed in. Cat hovered in a corner. If he could have whistled, Mae Rue was sure she’d hear nonchalant musical tones. The smallest ball proudly hovered in front of Mae Rue, surrounded by all of her siblings except Cat. “Sparrow, what on earth?”
The small balls happily bounced. They sported blue and green eye shadow, splotches of pink shaped like lips, and feathery smears of black forming eyelashes. While the others were fairly well made up, Sparrow looked like she’d rolled in the makeup case.
“Is that my makeup?” Mae Rue hid a smile.
Mother angrily bounced to Mae Rue, the makeup case levitating next to her. “Winter, you had better do something with your children!” She glared at her innocently rolling son. “Especially Cat!”
She sounds like an exasperated Earth mother. Mae Rue plucked the makeup case from the air. “They’ve done a great job, Mother, I just need to make some adjustments.” With her free hand, she pulled a clean rag out of her jeans’ pocket.
Before her siblings could move, Sparrow happily presented herself to Mae Rue.
The door of the outbuilding squeaked open wider, bringing a swirl of cold wind and powdery snow. “Hello?” Sheriff Norton stepped inside. Shivering in his thick coat, he pulled the door closed. He stared at the years’ accumulation of junk, farm implements, and dirty boxes, illuminated by the bare light bulb hanging from the rough rafters. His dark chocolate eyes fell on Mae Rue’s hands. “Makeup, Mae Rue Conner Brooks?”
A quick scan assured Mae Rue the alien family had hidden before the sheriff entered the building. She glanced up. Winter and his kin were wedged among the bare rafters. Not wanting the sheriff to follow her gaze, she jerked her head down.
Sheriff Norton’s face was white with strain. The creases at the corners of his dark eyes were deeper than Mae Rue remembered.
Mae Rue frowned. “What’s wrong, Sheriff? You look terrible.”
“I’m sick.” His attempt to smile was a sickly movement of his grim lips. “Sick at heart. I have to arrest you.”
Part Six
“Mae Rue Connor Brooks, you’re under arrest for the murder of your husband, Jeremy Brooks.”
Winter zoomed from the rafters. He planted himself between Mae Rue and the sheriff.
“What the hell? A ball?” Sheriff Norton peered at Winter.
At a feminine battle cry, Mae Rue jerked her head up. Grandmother and Mother were dive bombers, heading straight for the sheriff. At the last second, the two pulled up, their centers less than an inch from the sheriff’s shoulders. Like a formation of small helicopters with smeared military insignia, the children flew to the floor at the sheriff’s feet. Grandmother rammed his shoulder, causing him to stagger backward. When he stepped on the small balls, they rolled like marbles. He frantically danced, trying to keep his balance. When Mother rammed his other shoulder, he crashed to the wood floor. The children bounced in triumph.
“Ow! That’s assault, Mae Rue! You’re piloting those balls with a remote control. Get them away from me!”
Mae Rue laughed so hard her side hurt. “What, am I operating a remote control
disguised as a makeup case?”
When he stood, the three adults and the children formed a wall between him and Mae Rue.
“In spite of your little army, I have to do my duty.” He dangled his handcuffs. “The Lord knows I don’t want to arrest you…”
“Lord! Want!” Mae Rue screeched. “I know where the artifact is hidden!”
“Artifact?” Sheriff Norton’s mouth fell open.
Mae Rue shouted. “Come on, everyone!”
“Everyone?” Sheriff Norton stared at the wildly bouncing balls.
As she pounded up the uneven steps of the house, she heard the sheriff’s booted footsteps behind her. In front of the framed samplers, she panted. “I thought it was two embroidery hoops set side-by-side.”
She turned to the lawman. “When you said ‘Lord’ and ‘want’, your words jogged my brain.” She grasped the grimy frame in her shaking fingers and lifted it away from the wall.
Cat bounced around the sheriff’s face in the frenzied excitement of a ten-year-old full of birthday cake while his siblings circled out of reach.
“Have you lost your mind? And what’s with these crazy balls?” The lawman swatted and missed.
“Stop trying to hit Cat.” Mae Rue smacked the surprised sheriff on the shoulder. She turned to Winter, hovering anxiously at her shoulder. “We have to take this thing apart.”
* * * * *
“I can’t believe we barely missed a shooting at the University!” Althea shuddered. “The campus had been on lock down, opening just moments before we arrived. Camera crews and reporters were everywhere, as well as shocked students and faculty.” She glanced over at Clay.
Clay’s profile was dominated by the aggressive nose. His hands on the wheel of his Jaguar communicated firmness and deftness. His body, relaxed in the pressed gray suit and gray striped dress shirt, accenting the color of his wintery eyes, represented strength.
Clay must have sensed Althea’s gaze on him, and he briefly turned his head to meet her eyes. He swiveled back. Checking first in his rear view mirror, he signaled a turn.
Althea was surprised. “We’re not at the hotel yet, Clay.”
“I know. I want to pull over so we can talk.” He guided the purring car into a tiny park. Clay turned deferentially to Althea. “Would you like to walk?”
The autumn sun was low in the sky. The rays spread warmth, the past week’s chilly rain a distant memory. They walked along a path and into the shade of the towering trees showing off their autumn colors. Clay guided her to a bench. “Shall we sit?”
With a painful squeezing of her heart, Althea noticed he did not add his usual endearment. He thinks I’m wrong in how I’ve handled the situation with Marisa. Did he bring me here to break our engagement?
Over their heads, the birds twittered, as if they were discussing plans for their upcoming southerly journey. In the distance, Althea could hear the muted sounds of other visitors’ conversations and children’s laughter.
Clay broke the silence. “I’m glad we found the music professor who taught Mayla Kenton.”
“But Clay, Dr. Verton told us things in direct contradiction to Berea Kenton’s story. She said Mayla was not an angelic, hardworking college student. Dr. Verton said there were rampant rumors of Mayla using threats of blackmail against the other professors to get good grades.”
“Dr. Verton was nice enough to give us the names and email addresses of Mayla’s former classmates from the alumni database. We’ll contact them and get their perspectives.” Clay reached for her hand. He let his hand drop in his lap.
Althea blinked tears from her eyes, determined to hide them from Clay. “What about the professor who left the university at the same time as Mayla’s death? She didn’t even give her notice.” She dug in her purse, grateful for an excuse to look away from her companion. The emerald engagement ring on her third finger caught the sun’s rays as she rooted in her bag. She pulled out her notebook, stuffed with papers. “Dr. Priscilla Eades. Her former graduate assistant, now a professor, was kind enough to pull up Dr. Eades’ information on her computer and print it for us.”
Clay plucked a sheet of paper from Althea’s stack. “Dr. Eades was a popular teacher among the students and seemed happy in her job teaching choreography. She left the University unexpectedly right after Mayla’s death. Here’s the profile from the school she went to in Florida.”
Althea peered at the photograph. “She’s lovely, isn’t she, with her exotic features and dark coloring. We need to find her and ask her about the timing of her departure.”
“The graduate assistant tried to find Dr. Eades online for us,” Clay said, handing the paper back to Althea. “She said the professor seemed to drop off the grid soon after taking the job in Florida.”
“The college announced the hiring of a new professor just months after hiring Dr. Eades,” Althea said, referring to another paper in the sheaf on her lap. “There weren’t any other mentions of the teacher on the school website.”
“When we get back to the hotel,” Clay said, “I’ll use my laptop to search for her information online.”
“I didn’t know you had a computer.” Althea was surprised.
“It’s a handy tool for locating information in a short period of time.” He shrugged. “Of course, one must not believe everything one reads online.” He raised a silvery brow. “The computer is also great for typing documents. You may want to think of writing your books with one.”
“Oh, I don’t think I would feel comfortable writing on a computer.” Althea fidgeted. “I’ve heard horror stories of people losing entire books.”
Clay’s mouth curved into a gentle smile. “You would have to back up your work, Althea.” He turned to Althea. “Speaking of your work…” His face was set and his lips were thinned in determination.
Here it comes. Be strong. Althea straightened her spine. He’s going to say he doesn’t love me, and he doesn’t want to marry me.
Clay rose to his feet. He extended his hands to Althea. When she took them, he pulled her gently to her feet. He released one hand to point to the bench behind them.
Althea frowned. The tiny plaque caught her gaze.
In Loving Memory of Horace Jones. He Lived an Honorable Life.
Althea smiled. “Your best friend Horace. He was also your former boss when you worked at…”
Clay grimaced.
“…the electronics firm. He risked his life decades ago to help you save people the night your building exploded.” She stared down at the brass plaque with its black lettering. “Are you trying to tell me something, Clay?”
“Yes, Althea. Please open your heart and listen. Before it’s too late.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I’m being discriminated against because I am Goth. I want to file a complaint against my supervisor.” Clarinda’s straight black hair swept the shoulders of her black blouse as she emphatically nodded.
“Let me get this straight.” Marisa refrained from rubbing her pounding head. “You’re a Radiology Technician. Your supervisor allows you to dress in the Goth fashion of black lipstick, white makeup, and black clothing. But that’s not enough. You want to use a lap guard with skulls on it.”
Clarinda’s black lips twisted. “Jim’s a racist. He said he thinks the lab guard will scare the patients. He said because they’re already dealing with illness, injury, and pain, we shouldn’t add skulls. He’s using it as a cover to discriminate against me.” She shook the lap guard in Marisa’s face. “See, the skulls are friendly. They’re smiling.”
“They’re not smiling, Clarinda.” Marisa pushed the macabre apron out of her face. “The teeth are exposed because they don’t have any skin. They’re creepy.”
“You’re a racist, too, Ms. Adair. I’m going to call the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. The EEOC will force you to let me use my lap apron.” Clarinda pulled her cell phone from her black purse and waved it threateningly.
The office door rattled with an urge
nt knocking.
Marisa rose from her desk. “Goth is a lifestyle choice. It is not a protected category like age, race, national origin, etc. Call them. They’ll tell you the same thing.” She strode to her door. “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Clarinda.” She opened the heavy wooden door.
“Marisa, I rushed here as soon as I heard about the shooting.” Barbara Adair fell onto her daughter.
Although Barbara Adair was a petite woman, Marisa staggered under her mother’s weight. “Mom, what are you doing here?”
Clarinda flounced past them. “I’ll research my options, Ms. Adair, and then I’ll be back.”
Barbara stared after the younger woman. “What’s her problem?”
“Just a work issue, Mom.” Marisa’s headache intensified. “Why are you here?”
“I saw the news report about the shooting,” Barbara answered. “It showed you and Alex leaving the scene. Alisa was on a stretcher.”
Marisa blinked down at her mother. “Alisa? You saw the school bully and Mosely’s own personal tormentor?”
“The news report said you shot her. Great job! And you didn’t even get arrested. That’s my girl.” Barbara hugged Marisa.
Marisa disentangled herself. “What are you talking about? That woman’s name was Tamara.”
“I recognized her on television. When they called her Tamara Greenup, I was surprised. I used Mosely’s computer to pull up Tamara on Phiz Phase. I compared the Tamara and the Alisa profiles. She used an old picture for her Alisa page, and a current picture for her Tamara profile. Both profiles show the same hometown, graduating class, and date of birth. They’re the same person.”
Marisa closed her eyes and concentrated on Alisa. She mentally aged her old nemesis. “You’re right.” She opened her eyes in amazement. “Tamara’s heavier and older, but she’s Alisa.”
“Alisa/Tamara doesn’t deserve to live. She uses her Alisa profile to bully people online. She used her Tamara profile to solicit donations for a child who wasn’t sick. Thank goodness she got caught for fraud. Now she’ll probably open a kickstarter campaign for her hospital bills and legal expenses. Someone posted on the Tamara page that her husband Brent framed her for the shootings.”
