Out for Blond

by V. J. Chambers

  Natalie lined up edges of white sheets. “She’s not a violent person. Not at all.”

  “And yet she committed a murder?” said Brigit.

  “If she said she did.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Tell us the truth here, Natalie. Your sister’s lying, isn’t she?”

  Natalie placed a folded sheet in a basket and dug through the clean tangle of cloths for another. “I believe her. Why would a person lie about committing a murder? If she’s guilty, she’ll have to go to jail for the rest of her life. Why would she throw that away?”

  “You know she could get the death penalty, don’t you?” said Brigit.

  Natalie swallowed.

  “You don’t want your sister to die, do you?” I said. “Tell us that she’s lying, that she didn’t do it.”

  Natalie was still quiet.

  I sighed. Okay, fine. Time to try another line of questioning. “What do you know about the Ocapotactu?”

  Natalie made a face. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “They’re Native Americans,” I said. “They settled this land years ago, and your sister was following them spiritually.”

  “No, she wasn’t.” Natalie placed another folded sheet in the basket. “She never mentioned anything like that.”

  I leaned in. “She didn’t?”

  “Nope.” Natalie was down to one sheet. She folded it briskly. “Are we finished here? I don’t really have much more time for questions.”

  “We’re not even close to finished,” I said. “If she wasn’t interested in the Native Americans, then that’s just one more thing that she’s been lying about, because she told me that she was.”

  “Oh.” Natalie furrowed her brow. “Well, then, I guess she was. I really don’t know what she was into. I didn’t spend all my time with her. She could have been interested in stuff and just never talked to me about it.”

  I made a face at Brigit.

  She made a face back.

  We were getting nowhere.

  “Look, I’ve got more clothes to fold,” said Natalie, “and your questions are really messing with my concentration.”

  Was she serious? Like it took any actual concentration to fold clothes. She was being ridiculous. I wondered why she was so defensive against us. Was she hiding something as well?

  Natalie crossed the laundry room and opened up another dryer. She yanked out a whole bunch of tapestries, each with various designs on them. They looked as if they’d been hand dyed, not commercially made.

  “Your sister is lying,” I said. “The only question is why. You let us know that, and then maybe we’ll let you get back to concentrating.”

  Brigit raised her eyebrows, probably wondering why I was getting so sharp with Natalie. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, but I was getting annoyed. I wanted to be able to at least cross a suspect off the list. Of course, once we crossed off the loony loyalists and Gunner, there were no suspects left, so maybe that was a problem. We didn’t actually have any viable suspects. But—whatever. I wasn’t going to find any suspects without asking questions. I needed to get an idea of what life was like on Clayton Farm, since it was where the victim had been killed.

  I focused my attention on Natalie, trying to think of how I could convince her to give up the goods on her sister, tell us that yes, indeed, the people of Clayton would do anything for Gunner Bray, and that the poor sods in jail were lying for him.

  Natalie was shaking out one of the tapestries, and it was emblazoned with a symbol, etched out in red dye, bright and bold against a blue background. The symbol was two circles with a line bisecting them both.

  Wait a second. I’d seen that symbol before. It hadn’t been quite so nicely drawn. The hand had been shaky, but…

  Then it dawned on me where I’d seen the symbol, and I felt a little sick.

  The dead and mutilated skin of Tess Carver swam before me, and this same symbol had been cut into her arm.

  I crossed the laundry room and snatched the tapestry from Natalie. “Where did this come from?”

  Natalie looked miffed at the loss. “We make them here at the farm. We buy the fabric wholesale from a co-op, but we do the dyeing ourselves.”

  I knew it. “So, who made this one? Your sister? Odette?”

  “Why would you say that?” Natalie reached out her hands for the tapestry, clearly wanting me to hand it back. “They don’t have anything to do with the tapestries. I’ve helped make them before, though.”

  I didn’t give it to her. I held it out, gazing at the symbol. “This symbol. What’s it mean?”

  Natalie looked at the symbol, and her face turned white. “Th-that? How would I know?”

  “You said you made the tapestries.”

  “Not that one.”

  “You don’t know what this symbol means?”

  She shook her head, but her eyes were wide, and I could see that she was panicking inside. With shaking hands, she grabbed it back from me. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “So, then you don’t have any idea why it was cut into Tess Carver’s skin?”

  Natalie’s eyes got even wider. She hastily bundled up the tapestry. “I have to go,” she said and fairly fled out of the room.

  * * *

  “So, hold on,” said Brigit. “If they make tapestries with the symbol on it, what does that mean exactly?”

  “It means that the symbol is common knowledge on this farm,” I threw over my shoulder as I tore through the main house. We’d left the laundry room, and I was on my way to find Laura. I’d had it. This was ridiculous. I couldn’t believe I’d wasted so much time on this case.

  “So, what does that mean?” said Brigit.

  I shot a venomous glare over my shoulder. “I don’t have time to explain every little detail to you, okay?” We were right outside Laura’s office. I banged on the door. “Why don’t you just wait in the car?”

  “You don’t have to be like that.” Brigit glowered at me, clearly offended. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes and knocked on Laura’s door again. “Laura, we need to talk!”

  “Oh, fine,” muttered Brigit. “Ignore me, then.”

  “Brigit, I seriously don’t have time—”

  “Fine,” she said again. She turned on her heel and stalked away through the house.

  I felt a twinge. I was being too hard on her. She wasn’t the person I was pissed at. It was Laura and Gunner and everyone on Clayton Farm. I shouldn’t be taking it out on Brigit, and I knew it. I opened my mouth, taking a breath to call after her and apologize.

  But the door to Laura’s office opened, and she was standing there in her ankle-length skirt with her long, long hair, her face a mask of civility. “Yes?”

  Brigit would have to wait.

  I pushed past Laura into her office, slamming the door behind me. “You’re going to pay me what you owe me, and then I’m leaving, and this charade is over.”

  Laura’s lips parted. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” I laughed caustically. “What’s wrong is that you lied to me about everything, and I’m done with this.”

  “Lied to you?”

  “You all pretend to know nothing about the Ocapotactu, but you’re making tapestries with their symbols on them. So, you do know about them, and you’re hiding it for some reason. That’s suspicious. Hell, for all I know, you’re all guilty. Maybe everyone on the farm got together and did this little ritual to appease the Great Spirit or whatever and get protection for your organization. Maybe you’re all crazy enough to have sacrificed her. Whatever the case, I’m done with this. I’m not going to spend any more time working for you people.”

  Laura swallowed. “Listen—”

  “Pay me what you owe me,” I said.

  “You’ve got this all wrong,” she said.

  “I don’t think that I do,” I said. “Or are you going to claim you don’t know anything about the Ocapotactu anymore?”

  “I don’
t think I ever said that I didn’t know anything about them.”

  “Oh, well, that’s an interesting way to sidestep the entire issue.” I chuckled. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

  “I can assure you that Tess was not some kind of sacrifice,” she said. “I can promise you that.”

  “That is exactly what the four people in prison claim that she was,” I said. “And while your organization has been happy to post bail for Gunner Bray, they haven’t lifted a finger for those four—indicating to me that you’re happy enough to let them take the heat for the crime. Probably that was the plan all along.”

  “We offered to post bail for Odette and the others,” said Laura. “They refused. They want to stay where they are. For what it’s worth, I think you’re right. I think they’re lying about what happened because they want to protect Gunner.”

  “Because Gunner orchestrated the entire thing.” Actually, maybe I did remember Gunner saying something about the others not wanting to be bailed out, now that I thought about it. Not that it changed anything.

  “No.”

  “Then why?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and then uncrossed them.

  “I want my money,” I said. “I’m done with this.”

  A look crossed Laura’s face, almost as if she was going to start crying. But then it passed, and she composed herself. “Please, just wait. We need you, and we can’t afford for you to stop working on this case. But we do need you to stop suspecting Gunner and to find the real murderer.”

  “Are you kidding? The more I dig, the more evidence I find that Gunner’s actually guilty.” I couldn’t believe I’d actually slept with him. Well, no. I could believe it. I seemed to have pretty low standards when it came to men I let in my bed. I was disgusted by myself.

  “No, that isn’t true,” she said. “He isn’t guilty.”

  “Give me the money, Laura.”

  “I’ll write you a check,” she said. “And if you have to take a little bit of time to think things over, then I’ll understand. But don’t say anything final yet.”

  “I don’t want to see you people anymore.”

  “Let me explain.” She went over to her desk and got out a checkbook. She began to scribble on it.

  “Explain what?”

  “The reason that you saw that symbol on the tapestry is simple,” said Laura. She ripped the check off and handed it over. “Gunner has been sharing his interest in the Ocapotactu with the farm for the past year or so. It’s quite common on the farm. I know that we concealed that information from you, but you’re an outsider—”

  “Stop it.” I took the check from her. “I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to hear any more lies.”

  “If you could just—”

  “No.” I walked out.

  She came after me, calling my name.

  I walked faster. I walked as fast as I could, never looking behind me.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When I got to the car, Brigit wasn’t there. That made me even more angry. Not only had I been taken in by these crazy hippies and their sexy but ultimately creepy leader, but now my assistant wasn’t even listening to me. That was it. It was the last time that I was bringing her along to interview anyone. It might help to have her along because it would keep my legs closed, but it was hardly worth it if I couldn’t control her.

  Where the hell was she?

  I paced around the car, nostrils flaring out with every exhale. I could not believe that I’d been deceived by these people. What the hell was wrong with me?

  I considered getting in the car and driving off without Brigit. That would teach her not to listen to me, wouldn’t it?

  But in the end, I couldn’t really leave her alone here. This place was weird, and she deserved better than that.

  I got in the driver’s seat, slid down, leaned my head against the window, and waited.

  Ten minutes later, Brigit arrived, a slim notebook tucked under one arm. She yanked open the passenger side door, grinning.

  I’d had time to cool down a bit, so I didn’t scream at her. I mostly felt tired at this point, disappointed in myself for allowing it all to go this far. Truthfully, Brigit had warned me away from this case in the beginning. I should have listened to her. I was going to concede that, after I reprimanded her. To, uh, take the sting out.

  “You aren’t going to believe what I just found out,” said Brigit as she sat down and pulled the car door closed.

  “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me here?”

  “Well, sure,” she said, “but I couldn’t do that. I wasn’t going to let Natalie run off like that without explaining everything to us. I had to go after her, find out what she was hiding.”

  “Brigit, when I tell you to do something, you can’t just ignore that.”

  “I know, but wait until you hear what I found out. It was worth it.”

  “I hired you to assist me, not to ruin my life, you know, and you’re not following my directions, which means that you’re not assisting me. That’s counter to the entire idea of having hired you in the first place.”

  “Don’t be like that, Ivy. I found out good stuff. You would have been proud of me, the way I got her to talk. I’ve really learned stuff from watching you, and I think that—”

  “You’re not listening to me.”

  “No, you’re not listening to me. See, the thing about the Ocapotactu is that—”

  “Gunner Bray is into them,” I said flatly.

  “You already know?” She was genuinely disappointed. “Geez, do you know everything?”

  “Laura admitted it to me,” I said. “Here I am, thinking that Gunner was actually innocent. I’m so stupid. I can’t believe that I took this case. You warned me in the beginning that I shouldn’t, remember? You said he was obviously guilty. I should have listened to you.”

  Brigit looked taken aback. “Well… yeah. I mean, you should have. But… what are you saying? Are we dropping this case?”

  “Do you think Gunner’s innocent?”

  She bit down on her lip.

  I started the car. “See? There’s no reason to keep digging into this. We both know who did this. The police got the right man.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess.” Brigit buckled her seatbelt. “But I got Natalie to give me this notebook and everything.”

  I backed the car up. “What’s in the notebook?”

  “Her notes on Gunner’s, um, sermons. I don’t know what else to call them. He apparently would gather up everyone on the farm and give long talks about philosophy and spirituality and stuff.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And he says he’s not a cult leader.”

  “Yeah. Well, that’s obviously bullshit.”

  “So, the notes? What do they say?”

  “Basically, they have all kinds of stuff about the Ocapotactu in there. He was really focused on them for a while. Had been talking about them for months, outlining all their rituals and beliefs for everyone on the farm. Thought they were great. He was really into them.”

  “So, the bastard lied to me,” I said. “Figures.”

  “I guess he did.”

  It was quiet. I navigated the car down the long driveway toward the main road, away from the Clayton Farm. I felt a sinking feeling of failure and embarrassment. I’d been taken advantage of. They’d pulled the wool over my eyes, and I hadn’t even noticed. Sometimes, I wondered if I was any kind of detective at all.

  “Don’t feel bad,” said Brigit. “It’s a great case. If he hadn’t been guilty, well, it would have been quite a puzzle. I can see why you thought what you did.”

  I gave her a grateful sidelong glance. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

  She grinned.

  “I should have listened to you,” I said. “You knew this from the beginning.”

  “I want that in writing,” she said. “Seriously. Write out, ‘I should have listened to Brigit’ and sign it. I’ll frame it.”

  I rolled my eye
s.

  * * *

  Well, after a day like that, I seriously needed a drink. Okay, lots of drinks. I settled in early at The Remington and started putting away High Lifes around happy hour. As the hours dragged on, I switched to mixed drinks. I don’t believe that crap about “liquor before beer.” Doesn’t make any sense. Concentration doesn’t affect reaction time—learned that in chemistry. I figure the saying got started because people who are already drunk (say on beer) are not particularly good at gauging whether or not they can handle shots, and would down a good bit more of them than they would have if they’d started drinking shots sober, and thus get really sick.

  I didn’t get sick, because, well, I don’t anymore. Vomiting is amateur, and I’m basically a professional drinker.

  But when I drank, what did happen was that my judgment was shit.

  When I first arrived at the bar, I was feeling pretty sheepish about the case. At that point, I was blaming myself for not seeing the truth of the matter. I should have been able to tell that Gunner was a lying manipulator. I shouldn’t have been taken in by him. I laid the fault squarely at my own feet.

  But after a few hours of drinking, well, I started to see things a little differently. I started to blame Gunner more and more. After all, the way I figured it, Gunner was the one who’d seduced me, not the other way around. And I figured he’d done that because he wanted to be able to control me. Probably figured I’d fall hopelessly in love with him, the way all the stupid women on the farm did. Probably figured I’d be easy to control that way. I stopped blaming myself, and I started to think that it was all Gunner’s fault.

  Now, if I hadn’t been drunk, I would have known it was a stupid idea to confront him about it. I also would have recognized that I was too drunk to drive.

  Wait. If I hadn’t been drunk, I would have realized that I was drunk…

  Well, you know what I mean. The point was, I wasn’t thinking clearly when I got behind the wheel of my car and drove to the Clayton Farm around eleven o’clock that night. All the way over, I gripped the steering wheel and raged aloud at the lines on the road. I practiced what I was going to say to Gunner when I saw him. Boy, I was going to let him have it. I was going to tell him exactly what I thought of him, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.