“Nothing went boom because the trapdoor never sprang. I clicked it about ten times. The remote batteries are dead!” Sebastian paced the floor, picking at the remote control device with shaking hands. The cover snapped off, and the batteries spilled to the floor. He threw up his hands in disgust.
“What’s happening to me?” Avy wailed.
Between prison guards who had fixations on her mother, poems of ghost lovers, long-haired priests, heavenly angels, miraculous pregnancies, and falling through solid trapdoors, Avy was convinced that she had reached the ultimate brink. She was stark raving nuts.
Chapter 7
Avy lay across the motel bed, her chin propped on a pillow. She skipped the pages in the diary that spanned the timeframe from six years old to the time she turned ten. Most of those entries were adolescent scribbles—subjects that dealt with school, persistent boys, stupid little girl things. She flicked through the pages, keeping alert for anything out of the ordinary. She hoped that she had described some weird happening or unusual event. She did have “dream-mares,” often recording them in detail.
Before long, she found one that was very familiar.
She was fourteen years old when she wrote: I’m there again. At some kind of a gate looking out at a green hillside. It has lots of flowers with clumpy bushes. The sky has pretty pink ribbons in it. The mountains are bright purple with white snowcaps that look like little hats. When I step through to check the place out, everything goes black. Oh, well, I guess they charge admission to get in.
Though it was a recurring dream, it still meant nothing to her. She slapped through more pages, settling on a passage about her relationship with Drake.
He makes me feel cheap, almost guilty. It’s the way he looks at me. He’s always looked at me that way, like I just committed some horrible crime. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him so mad. I know he hates me. I’ll bet he wishes he’d never adopted me.
Another passage caught her attention. She was fifteen when she wrote: I was scolded today for asking questions about my mother. Drake said she wasn’t worth the time or effort. He couldn’t figure out why I was interested in bringing up such a horrible past. He said it would hurt me if I found out about the murder. He said I wasn’t old enough to understand any of it. I told him I wasn’t afraid to know the truth. He told me that I should be very afraid. Afraid of what? He wouldn’t answer me. Now I suppose he won’t talk to me for a week again. His loss.
Another entry six months later: I brought up the subject again. I asked if Mom and her husband had a fight the night of the dinner party. The night when everything went bad. I thought they might have been arguing about divorce or something. Drake told me to back off, because he was tired of hearing about it. He said it was always ‘Tom this’ and ‘ Tom that’ when they were little. I thought it was weird that he got angry, so I ended up going to my room. I slammed the door real good. I don’t think I’ll ever bring up the topic again. What’s the use? My mother is a murderer. End of story.
Before she could get any further into the diary, a light rapping announced a visitor at the door. She stashed the book under the bed, then answered the door.
Sebastian gave her a weak smile. He had a large takeout bag in one hand, a bushel of yellow roses in the other.
“Don’t worry,” he said, pushing the bouquet at her. “These are real, not a prop. I thought you might like to share some biscuits ’n gravy this morning.”
She hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside. He went to the small kitchenette, took a vase out of the bag, and put the flowers in water. Ten minutes later, he had the breakfast prepared. They sat on the bed, sharing the meal together.
She couldn’t help asking, “How did you know where I live?”
“Kind of hard to miss that little Suzuki Jeep. Not many of those purple ones on the road. It was parked in front of number twenty-three. Didn’t have to use my clairvoyant powers to know you might be behind this door. Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker.”
“What are the flowers for? Hmm, these are good eats. Hits the spot.”
“For the wonderful performance. A great stage act often includes a token of appreciation from the fans when the show is over.”
“But the performance is tonight.”
“That’s the point. It’s already a winner, just like you. I hope you don’t feel bad about what happened. I’ve torn my pants, gone headlong off the stage, even lit my sleeves on fire. The act is full of hazards, I can tell you.”
“You’re gonna have me spitting gravy here in a minute. You don’t seem like the type to make mistakes. I hope you’re not saying that to make me feel better. Although, I am over it. It was kind of funny. Except for that weird route I took.”
“I thought about that. I figure the trapdoor dropped, then recycled faster than normal. It’s spring-loaded with a damper piston. The piston valve might be defective. A little maintenance will take care of it.”
“I’m glad to hear that it was something normal. But it still doesn’t explain how I ended up outside the theater.”
“You probably got confused. You just went the wrong way or something.”
She was seeing another side of him. He had a light in his eyes when he looked at her. His voice had a serious tone to it. It didn’t take a genius to know that he had more than feelings of friendship on his mind. He seemed to say all the right things. He could delight her one minute, amaze her the next. She’d had similar feelings toward him from the moment she had met him, knowing deep down she might return those affections. Her mind said, “Danger,” but her heart wanted to race ahead.
The silence grew thick between them until they finished the meal.
“I think I’m going crazy,” Avy blurted. “How would you feel if your assistant was a blithering mental case? What if I told you I have a truckload of skeletons in my closet? I’ve been preoccupied with something I can’t shake. I won’t lie to you.”
He answered while discarding their empty food containers. “Then I would say skeletons need rattling. If you’re on a mission of some type, you ought to see it through. Take whatever time you need. If you have something that doesn’t sit right in your guts you should purge it. If you feel like dumping some trash, just remember my ears work.”
“It’s a complicated story,” she warned. “I don’t even smoke, but I wish I had a cigarette right now.”
“Un-complicate it for me.”
She told him about her mother, including all the horrid details. She didn’t leave anything out—she even explained her visit with Chubby. She admitted ignorance of her birth father, explaining how she came to be adopted by Drake, outlining all of the personality clashes she’d had with him. The confession spilled like a torrent. After it was over, she felt somehow unburdened. Purged.
Sebastian blew out a whistling sigh. “Damn, girl. Makes my life on the road look like a Sunday in the park playing pitch ’n catch. I’m sorry about what happened to your mother. It must have been a living hell. Drake sounds like a real scumbag. Enough to raise anybody’s hackles. As for Janus, I think that might be a coincidence. Just my two cents worth.”
“I’m going to the library, Sebastian. Would you like to come along? It won’t take long.”
“Sure.” He winked. “If you let me drive that little Samurai. I haven’t got a thing to do except feed the doves and bunnies later.”
He was lonely too, she realized.
They made it to the library with Sebastian at the wheel. Of course, he had to present the clerk with a handful of fantasy flowers. Abigail Folger squealed with delight. She mentioned that she recognized him from a time she’d attended one his shows.
Avy found an unoccupied computer. She brought out a piece of paper that contained her pass code. Drake had allowed her special visiting privileges to tour the plant, giving her access. In addition, he had given her authorization to inside security features through the main website. It was a code level two clearance, not the highest, but it would be enough for what
she wanted to find out. The code had never been used.
She brought up the website, entered her code, and found the company history of Cyberflow after clicking on the icon. She noted when it had been founded—the official date of incorporated status. Tom Labrador was listed as the original CEO, which was no surprise. Transfer of ownership was initiated by the courts a very short time after Tom’s death. The applicant was Drake Labrador, again no surprise except for the speed at which the company changed hands. Company earnings indicated that Cyberflow was already in the black and climbing in profits before Drake assumed ownership. The means of transfer was outlined in the will. The surprise involved the split of the company: Seventy percent went to Drake—the remaining thirty percent had been divided between Avalon’s mother and Drake’s parents. Avy did not know that.
“Now there’s a surprise,” she said. “According to this my grandmother owns fifteen percent of Cyberflow.”
“How well do you get along with her?”
“I don’t. She disowned my real mother after the conviction. From what mom tells me, she never came by to visit me when I was little. I sure don’t remember a letter or postcard for any holiday.”
“Bad blood,” he said. “You were guilty by association. That blows.”
When she studied the earnings statements from Drake’s administration to the present, the figures did not show a company that was making profitable strides, or at least a decent growth percentage that would have been anticipated with such a corporation like Cyberflow. She knew this from her business and accounting classes. Expenditures on advertising seemed high. Those figures could have been false, buried in unknown or secret accounts, Avy realized. It didn’t take a math major to understand it. Likewise, the general labor force had doubled since the beginning, showing an unclear understanding of profit and loss. The greatest expense in personnel came with the addition of an armed security force—a chief with about thirty officers.
Avy pointed at the screen. “Look at that.”
Sebastian, who had been reading along with her, squirmed in his seat. “What are they using, solid gold motherboards? High-tech electronics is a competitive field with lots of patents involved. Security is always extreme, but that’s a small army they have there. That excess alone is eating into profits.”
“You have a good head for business.”
“I had no choice but to learn off the cuff. I’m a bare bones outfit. I have to watch my books. Comes from paranoia. But I did pick up a lot from Dad, who owned three computer stores.”
“I agree. I’m no expert, but it doesn’t look like he knows what he’s doing. There’s a big turnover in the secretary pool. But I knew he was a cad. There’s also lots of petty cash for tons of private purchases. I knew about the limousine service, but I didn’t know he had two private jets. I’ll bet Mom’s plastic surgery, personal trainers, and salon visits are coming straight out of the company expense account.” She gave her head rueful shake. “The company is wasting away and he's the cancer who is eating it. His bio is bogus too. He doesn’t have degrees in management or business. He was a mail clerk at one time. I know that he sold insurance when he was younger because Mom told me. The dude’s incompetent—way out of his element.”
“Are there any records of him working for Cyberflow during Tom’s administration?”
She checked the files. “I don’t see it listed. Maybe Tom didn’t trust him enough to hire him. Something was wrong.”
“It sounds like Drake was a man who would create more problems by draining the expense account.”
“That might have caused some nasty disagreements. Which could have led to something more serious.”
Avy was exploring some very dangerous territory, but her eyes were wide open, seeing a disturbing trend. Sibling rivalry was common in the lives of professional men where one just happened to catch the brass ring while the other stood next to the carousel, destined to watch the world go ’round without him. Jealousy and resentment were heady emotions for a younger man who had to stand by listening to the cheerful calliope music while he watched his brother ride the golden stallion.
Avy kept her voice low. “Drake was the second to the last person to see Tom alive. One of Chubby’s articles said that he drove right home from the dinner party. My Mom testified that he arrived home late in the evening. She said he stayed there, but she couldn’t be sure of the exact time because she was taking prescription drugs under a doctor’s care. I wonder.”
“Gee, Avy. There are a lot of bells going off in my head right now. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Would he have had the time to set that up, carry it out, and then cover his tracks?”
Avy brought up a county map on the screen. She studied the ledger, calculating the distance of the body position to the home of Tom Labrador. She factored in the speed limit of the round trip, and added an hour to the timeframe to account for the manipulation of evidence. She also added the time it would take to drive home for the final trip. It was possible. Drake’s arrival time at home was undetermined, but it was within the window. The crime was doable within the timeslot.
She turned the computer off, gazing at the blank screen. “I knew he was a pig, Sebastian, but I never thought he could be capable of doing it. If it’s true, he destroyed three lives with one act. Two of them were deliberate, but one of them—”
“Was collateral damage,” Sebastian cut in. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“I think I’ve had enough,” she said. “Any more of this is bound to throw my timing off tonight.”
They left the library and drove straight to Crabtree Valley Mall. Avy picked up some white dinner gloves and a pair of lavender pumps. On the road again, they decided to kill some time. They stopped for an impromptu picnic at Shelly Lake, sitting under the shade of an oak, talking about general subjects, admiring the weather and scenery. Avy enjoyed herself, relaxed with the easy-going manner of her companion. She chalked it up to a date, since the last time she’d been out had been to a movie theater with a high school boy who’d had a hard time taking no for an answer. She made a mental note that Shelly Lake qualified for a spot in her diary.
Leaving the park, refreshed from the brief respite, the couple stopped at a custom tailor shop to pick up Avy’s modified costume. Swapping vehicles at her motel, their next destination was the theater. Once there, Avy arranged the prop tables while Sebastian attended to the animals, installing them in quick release cages in preparation for the night’s performance.
Sebastian walked her through a complete show at faster than normal speed, sans music. This time the trapdoor worked without incident. Sebastian explained that their ticket-taker would arrive thirty minutes before show time. Her name was Mindy. Sebastian had hired her for her efficiency at keeping the receipts straight and disallowing sneak entries into the theater.
People began showing up at five-thirty, filling the first two rows, eager to get close to the action. Sebastian explained that they always did so in an attempt to spot the hidden wires or trick gismos.
Just before show time, the ticket booth was closed. The house lights dimmed. Sebastian began the music. Avy stepped out on stage, a smile plastered across her face, determined to dazzle the crowd.
The show began. She had no idea what to expect, but when she moved to hit her marks in the first act, she began to fall into a comfortable rhythm. She had acted in theater stage plays before, but those audiences seemed dignified compared to these viewers. The audience members “ooohed” and “aaawed,” often calling out, clapping after each trick. Sometimes they raised such a din that Avy couldn’t hear the music. She feared she might get out of sync.
The second act went without major mishap. She had to put some tissue in one of her shoes, since she hadn’t counted on getting a blister with the new pumps so soon.
The third act was a near perfect performance. When it came time to release the doves, she did it with even more gusto than before, but this time without the wardrobe malfunction. She vanis
hed through the trapdoor and appeared stage left, just like it was supposed to happen.
The second show of the night mirrored the first performance. She felt she had entered the “zone.” The second crowd filled up just a third of the house, but they were a riotous bunch. The whistles and catcalls shrieked with a persistence that began to get annoying. But she ate it up, knowing that it was for her. After they made their last bows, Sebastian turned the house lights on. Avy squinted, watching the crowd depart. She couldn’t believe she had pulled it off. The boost to her confidence was indescribable—like a mountain that had been lifted from her shoulders—her grand initiation into the realm of professional theater.
A man walked down the aisle toward the stage. Funny she hadn’t remembered seeing him in the audience. Although anyone sitting in the back row dressed in black would have been close to invisible. Yet this man stood out above the rest.
It was the priest.
Janus gave her an energetic applause. “That was marvelous. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. What a performance. She is a quick study, yes, Sebastian?”
“That she is,” said the magician, holding out his arms to retrieve his pet doves. Avy watched the birds fly to perch on him one at a time. “Nice to see you, Janus,” said Sebastian. “Glad you caught the act, although you have me feeling a little self-conscious. Did anyone see anything I did?” He giggled.
“Stop it, you guys,” said Avy. “You’re giving me a big head.” She hurried back to the storeroom to change into her jogging clothes and let her hair down. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she found the two men sitting on the cot, drinking from coffee mugs. They were speaking in hushed whispers. She made herself a cup of instant coffee, then pulled up a metal chair across from them. What she really wanted to do was sit between them—sandwiched between two beautiful hunks. It couldn’t get much better than that.
Now that she had both of them together, it was time to straighten out a little matter. She favored Janus with a smile. “I remember you telling me that Sebastian was once a member of your parish. I was wondering why he’s wearing a Star of David around his neck.”
The War Gate Page 8
