by Deany Ray
The captain really should have given me tips on how to make this work.
As I headed back into the dining room, I almost collided with a guy who turned a corner way too fast with a plate of fries. He had on a long, white coat so I guessed he was a cook.
“Hey! Watch out where you’re going,” he said in a startled tone.
Hey, wait a minute. Me? He was the one who was walking ninety miles a minute without a care in the world about who he might go careening into.
Then he broke into a grin. “Or I take that back.” He looked me up and down. “I think I might enjoy colliding into you.”
And now he was flirting? This guy had some nerve.
Then I got a better look. Whoa, this guy was hot. He was tall with deep blue eyes, and his brown hair looked so soft. I wanted to reach out and touch the silky bangs that fell down into his eyes. Calm down, Charlie. Easy.
Well. My parents were always anxious for me to come home more. They might just get their wish. This guy might be their ticket.
After he had strolled away, I looked up to see Celeste watching me with a grin. “He’s a looker, huh? All the ladies think so. That’s our fry cook, Alex Cole. Hasn’t been here long.”
By then, things had slowed down in the diner. Marge was wiping off a nearby booth. “Hey, Charlie,” she called out. “Do you have plans tonight?
“Just hanging around the house, I guess.” Watching my brother watch TV. Hoping that my mother didn’t break out into a chant to cure my “bad energy.” Shoot me now, I thought.
“Come out with us tonight. There’s a festival downtown.” Celeste put on a pot of coffee. I shouldn’t be surprised. Springston could think of a million reasons to throw a party complete with music, booths, and food.
In September, for example, the town turned out in droves to mark the date the Mayflower had set sail. Children built colorful toy boats and tried them out in Clara Lake. On July 1 the town all gathered for the Halfway festival, which marked the midpoint of the year. A kind of Happy New Year Take Two. Vendors sold halves of hamburgers, half hotdogs and cookies halves. Businesses gave employees a half day off or held elaborate half-price sales.
So. There was a festival that night, even though it was a Monday. As far as Springston was concerned, any night of the week was a great night for a party. And for me, it was a reason to escape the house on Arden Way. Plus, I could do some mingling. After all, that was the reason that I’d come.
I told the girls that I would meet them downtown at seven, thank you very much.
***
At home, I decided I might as well get down to work. I started with my mom. “We’ve been so busy this past week,” I said. “The crime rate’s way up in Boston.” I tried to keep it casual. “But Springston always seemed so safe. I guess that hasn’t changed.”
“You know, some of my clients worry about that kind of thing. They’ll come into class and tell me that someone took their watch the week before, or their mother’s pearls.”
“Really? Thefts are up?” Could this be a clue? Might the two things be related?
But my mother waved the thought away. “Oh, I don’t think so sweetheart. These are older folks. Most of them, that is. And most often the “stolen” property turns up in a drawer.” She smiled. “But exercise is good for keeping their minds sharp. My ladies are working so hard to keep their bodies limber.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “And to find their inner peace.”
She kept her eyes shut tightly and was silent for a moment as if the inner peace had snuck in and lulled her almost to sleep. Then she snapped out of her trance and smiled. “You should try it, darling. You might see an improvement with your energy.” She whispered the last two words like I had some kind of embarrassing health thing, like maybe diarrhea.
We baked sugar cookies, cut them into shapes, and added sprinkles as if I was five-years-old. But who cared? I had a good time. It was only after I cut my cookies into hearts did I realize it. Was that supposed to mean something?
My mom made her cookies into the shape of fish. “Because my moon’s in Pisces,” she said, outlining a fish tail with blue icing.
Then I took a plate of cookies into the den and shared the treats with Brad who had taped the latest Game of Thrones. While he fast forwarded through commercials, I tried to ask about his life. Long ago I’d developed a system for interpreting his grunts. There was the hmmmm that meant that things were good, the humph that mean bad news, and the ummmm that meant he didn’t know. Most of the time, he didn’t know.
Later I met some of my mother’s students as I was heading out the door to meet the girls. It was a bit of unfortunate timing, or – as Brad would put it – humph.
I put on my friendliest smile as they offered congratulations on my job in Boston. What exactly had my parents told people that I did?
“I went to Boston once,” said one lady proudly. “In nineteen-eighty-two. I saw My Fair Lady.”
I made the mental observation that the older my mother’s customers were, the brighter the lipstick and leotards. The foyer was a rainbow of patterns from shimmery purple to leopard prints. My mother was trying to get them focused on the task at hand as she shooed them toward the basement.
“Think calm thoughts, ladies,” she called out. Then she began to chant. “Ommm.”
***
It didn’t take long to find Marge and Celeste at the Clam Chowder Festival. I just looked for a tower of bright orange hair sticking up above the crowd. It took a while to make my way over to them. The downtown streets were packed; Springston loved their festivals. Vendors called out to me to try my luck at throwing darts at red balloons or throwing rings around a bottle.
Soon, my new friends and I all had steaming bowls of chowder, served up in plastic clam-shaped bowls complete with googly eyes. My new waitress friends settled in at an empty table while I went to grab some beer for the three of us. A band was playing nearby; I thought I recognized the lead singer from high school algebra. I didn’t think he sounded bad. A few people were dancing in the street as the band sang some oldies.
As I stood in the long line for drinks, I felt someone touch my shoulder. I turned to see the pair of piercing blue eyes that mesmerized me earlier on that same day.
“And so it’s you again,” he said with a gentle smile. “You must be new in town.”
“Oh, no. This is where I grew up. I was just gone – for a while. Well, not completely gone. I came for visits but not so often. I’m here now…visiting.” This is embarrassing. Just shut up, Charlie. Maybe the best thing would be to nod and smile; that way it would take longer for my awkwardness to show.
He winked. “Well, that’s good news for me. Cause maybe I’ll get lucky and run into you again. Hopefully not with a plate a fries.” His eyes crinkled when he laughed. Which was kind of adorable. “But isn’t this a magic Monday? Crossing paths with a beautiful girl two times in one day.” He smiled the easy smile of a man who knew he was attractive.
What a flirt this guy was. But he also was…deliciously hot.
“Enjoy your night,” he told me, brushing his hair out of his face, then lifting his hand up in a wave. “I’ll keep an eye out for you if the band starts in with a slow song. The night is very young.” And with that, he was gone. I admired his long and muscular legs as they carried him into the crowd. And suddenly, I felt very, very warm. Surely, the reason for it had to be the mild air of that lovely July night. Yeah, that was probably it.
When I reached the bar, the bartender gave me three beers and my change along with a folded note.
“What’s this?” I asked him, startled.
He shrugged his shoulder. “Just some note. Some guy left it here. Said to hand it to you when you came up in the line.”
I moved to the counter’s edge where I could put the beers down and unfold the note. You could say I was confused – if not terrified – when I read the note.
Go back home to Boston. You’ll be sorry if you don’t.
Chapter Four
I wheeled around and shouted at the guy behind the bar. “Who left this?” I cried out. “Where is he?”
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
A couple of people stopped to stare. I needed to calm down.
The bartender only shrugged. “It was just some guy. I don’t see him now.”
“What did he have on?”
He handed a customer a mixed drink. “A shirt, I guess. Some pants.”
Here I was in trouble, and he gives me a description that fit almost every single guy in the whole wide world. “Could you give me something? Anything? What color was his shirt?”
He shrugged and took some change out of the register. “Lady, see this line? I’ve seen a lot of guys. I don’t critique what they are wearing. I just hand them a beer.”
My chest was numb and I was glad to have a cold one. I tipped it to my mouth. Had someone been watching me that day at the diner? Was it – holy smokes! – the one who killed the driver? I tried to push the image from my head: the dead guy slumped behind the wheel, blood covering his face. Had the killer shot him, strangled him, beaten him up? Had the driver seen it coming? Did I even want to know?
And how did he – or they – know what I was up to? I’d tried to be so careful at the station when I talked to Graywell. I’d checked and double checked; no one had been around.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
I forced myself to take deep breaths. It might be a joke. Maybe that was it! Some cop (Graywell maybe?) trying to be funny.
Across the street, Marge caught my eye and waved. I needed to get moving. But was there someone in the crowd who wanted me to die? I wanted nothing more than to run back home. I could tell the girls that I felt faint. Which wouldn’t be a lie. I could sink down into the couch with Brad, become a TV zombie. Nobody tried to kill you if you never left the couch.
But something inside me said no. Something inside me kind of knew that if I didn’t take this chance, I’d be stuck forever with no life. The captain – who knew why – thought that I could do this. For once, I had the chance to make things happen and not just write them down after someone else figured out the answer or caught the bad guy or jumped in to save the day.
Plus, I needed the raise. I needed the raise badly.
I heard a whistle from the crowd. I looked up and saw Celeste, pointing to my chowder. I knew that it was getting cold. Celeste. What would she do if she were me? She’d use the stupid note to wipe the puddle of beer that had dripped onto the counter. She’d declare that she had every right to stay here if she wanted.
So that’s what I’d do too. After all, this was my town. And I was gonna stay. But no one shoot me. Please.
I made my way back to the table and handed out the beers.
“You look kind of thoughtful there.” Celeste watched me carefully as I tasted my clam chowder.
“Just a little tired,” I said. I carefully watched the crowd as they stopped to visit friends or try their hand at games. But no one looked suspicious like they were out to strangle me and throw me in a lake.
To get my mind off the threatening words that had been scrawled out in black pen, I decided it was time to get down to business. I’d see if my new waitress friends might have any info I could use. “I’ve always loved this town,” I said. “Is there ever any crime? I’ve always felt so safe here.” Pretty good acting, I thought: pretending to feel all safe and cozy when I was petrified.
Marge thought about it for a moment. “A couple of purses stolen from a neighborhood near town. But nothing much to speak of.”
“And it’s just some kid who did it.” Celeste picked the story up from there. “And the women just left their pocketbooks in their minivans, didn’t even take two seconds to click the thingamajigs to lock the stupid doors. What did they expect?”
“They expected people to behave,” Marge said. “You be nice.” She gave Celeste’s hand a little slap.
I tried again. “Sometimes with these kinds of things, the thieves are after money so they can pay for drugs. But maybe not in Springston.”
The women exchanged glances. “No, I don’t think we have your big-city problems here.” Celeste examined the sharp points of her long blue nails and rubbed away a smudge.
Oh well. I wondered if Graywell had uncovered any info. If there was anything worth knowing, I wanted to deliver the news to Kingsley before Graywell knew which end was up. The competition had begun.
Marge took another bite of chowder. Then she took a lipstick from her large purse and smiled across the table with a sweet look on her face. “Who’s up for some tequila shots?”
I laughed. She was full of surprises, that one. And with a killer as a pen pal, tequila sounded really good.
***
The next morning when I woke up, I was surprised to see wallpaper with tiny yellow roses instead of the peeling blue paint of my bedroom back in Boston. Then I remembered where I was just as a shooting pain made me feel like my forehead was about to split in two.
What had happened the night before? Had I come home stumbling drunk, sneaking past my parents’ bedroom? Continuing my theme of being stuck in the kind of life that I’d had since high school. I couldn’t remember a thing.
I pulled on a t-shirt and some shorts and went down to the kitchen. I needed coffee badly, and I needed an aspirin.
I hadn’t even made it down the stairs when I smelled bacon, eggs, and pancakes. It wasn’t all bad, after all, stepping back into my old life. The smell of syrup and cheesy scrambled eggs beat the heck out of the way that my kitchen smelled in Boston in the mornings. Back home, the smell of cheap coffee would be mingling about now with odors drifting up from the dumpster just outside my window.
My father and Brad were at the table. Dad had the paper spread out in front of him. Mom was at the stove, flipping bacon in a pan.
Were they up when I came in? Should I be embarrassed? The last thing I remember was doing one more shot and asking the lead singer if he knew any country songs.
My brother was grinning at me. That was not a good sign. I hadn’t seen him react to anything since the power knocked the TV out in 2009. “I think someone had a good time at the fair last night,” he sneered.
“What exactly happened?” I asked in a small voice.
He laughed. “You were really hammered.” The words came out almost as a shout which made my head pound worse. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sipped it like medicine. Then I sat down at the table.
My mother set a plate of food in front of me. “Oh honey, it’s just fine. Your sweet friends brought you home. They said you had a good time.” She smiled merrily as if she were reporting the details of a meeting of her garden club.
“They said you won the limbo contest!” My father grinned. His booming voice was even louder than my brother’s. The noise was making my head pound.
This was just great. If the captain wants me to report something to him, I’ll say I won the limbo contest. That’s all I had for now.
My dad leaned back in his chair in that way he had that signaled a story coming on. “Did I ever tell you that your old man won the limbo contest once?” He grinned. “At the Clam Chowder Festival of 1984.” He winked across the table at my mom. “That might be the first time I caught your mother’s eye.”
She refilled my coffee, then sat down across from me. “I hadn’t known your father long. So I let him win.”
His booming laugh filled up the room, and a ball of pain seemed to burst inside my head. Please. Don’t tell him another joke.
“I’m so glad you had a good time.” My mother beamed at me. “You need to get out more. Next time, just take it easy. Those tequila shots are awesome, but they make them really strong at the Clam Chowder Festival.”
My dad picked the paper back up. “What are you doing this afternoon, my long lost darling daughter? I could use some help down at the diner. I had a waitress call in sick.”
I’d been hoping, actually, to crawl back i
nto bed, but I had a job to do. And waitressing would be the perfect cover to move from table to table, talking to the diners.
I’d waitressed before a few times when my dad really needed me. At first, it hadn’t seemed so hard: write down what they want to eat, and then go tell the kitchen. But then they’d all want something at the exact same time: to get a refill, change their order, could I bring the bill? And I was a disaster as a waitress every single time.
But for the sake of my investigation, I agreed to help. After I finished my breakfast, I headed up to take a shower. If I went back to bed, I might sleep till after dinner, so I decided to stop by to see my oldest brother, Sam.
***
Sam is in construction and when his job is interesting, I like to pop in at the job site, see the homes take shape from a simple framework to somebody’s finished house, front door, roof and all. And, according to my father, my brother’s current project was a mega mansion.
When he saw me pull up by his truck, he came over for a hug. “Little sis! Hello.”
“This looks like a good one.” I looked approvingly at his work in progress, which sat on the banks of a sparkling lake. “When can I move in?”
He laughed. “As soon as you can come up with about seven hundred thousand.”
“Oh, well. Bye bye, house.”
“Hey look, I’d love to talk. But we’re way behind. They had to fire a guy.”
“How come?”
Sam looked down and shook his head. “Dude got caught with drugs.”
Bingo. Score one for Charlie. The captain would be very, very interested to hear all about this news. I hoped Graywell hadn’t found out.
“When? What kind?” I asked.
My brother looked at me questioningly. “Since when are you interested in drugs?”
I stuttered. “I’m not interested in drugs per se. It’s just…I’ve just finished some reports on drug abuse back in Boston and was curious, that’s all.”
