Jammed

by Deany Ray

  “All I know is that the guy was supposed to get all the windows framed today. And now that job falls to me.” He looked at the sky. “If it doesn’t rain, that is. I’m sorry, sis. I’ve got to go.”

  “This drug guy – do I know him?”

  “I wouldn’t think you would. I think he moved here after you were gone. Name is Hector Elkins. Not the kind of dude you’d want to hang around. Wasn’t super friendly, but he didn’t do bad work.”

  Hector Elkins. I would have to write that down as soon as I got back inside the car. I hoped I’d brought a pen.

  ***

  At the diner, things were slammed with every table full. Marge looked flustered as she walked past me with a tray loaded down with food. “Thank you so much for coming in.”

  Just then, Celeste hurried past. “Well if it’s not the limbo queen,” she said. “You were very limber last night. You’re fun to party with.”

  It sounded like I might have burst back into town in a humiliating way – conduct unbecoming for a young detective.

  Stopping in the kitchen for an apron, I glanced casually around. No sign of the world’s most handsome fry cook.

  Marge peeped into the kitchen. “Could you take section three?” she asked. “That big table in the center is kind of in a rush.” I was just getting my apron tied on when she peeped in again. “Oh! The special today is chicken casserole. And the soup is minestrone.”

  The first hour was a mad rush, but I managed to more or less match the right main dish and sides with the correct customer each time. But by hour two I had too many things taking up space in my head. Extra butter for table two, more tea for table seven. I started to get sloppy.

  As I rushed past with a pork chop plate, a teenage boy put a hand up and motioned for me to stop. “Hey, miss, I’m still waiting on more bread. And I never got my coffee.” He had the patient tone of someone who was trying hard to be kind but had been waiting a long time.

  “Coming right up, sir.”

  “And we still need ketchup over here,” a woman said at a nearby table. She sat across from a screaming toddler, and she looked as frazzled as I felt.

  “Ket-up!” wailed the little boy. He stared down with tear-stained cheeks at a plate piled high with fries.

  An elderly man looked up from the paper he was reading. “And my coffee’s getting cold while I’m waiting for my cream.”

  Ketchup. Bread sticks. Creamer. I added each item to the checklist in my mind as I hurried to take another order. A man was waving his menu in the air as if it was an absolute emergency that he order then and there. I wrote down what he wanted: chicken casserole special with green beans and slaw. Then I hurried to the kitchen to pick up a tray of food. I added the bread sticks and the ketchup and little packs of creamer then moved back into the fray.

  As I set down plates in front of customers, I spotted Alex Cole strolling in from the kitchen with an order of fried mushrooms. Ah. He was at work. He caught my eye and winked and then leaned backwards as if he were playing limbo. I blushed and lost control of the tray, but managed to catch it (thank you, patron god of waitresses) before anything was lost.

  At least I thought I had until I noticed the creamer packets nestled into the hood of a Boston Red Sox jacket hanging on a chair. Its owner was the teenage boy who still was waiting patiently for his bread and coffee. There was no graceful way to rescue the tiny packets of flavored cream, and no one seemed to notice. But, in fact, I soon found out, someone had indeed been watching. The fry cook was doubled over laughing.

  Okay, I was doing fine until a gorgeous man had to waltz into the picture. I made my way to where the young mother sat, then let my eyes wander just a bit. I studied the shape of Alex’s arms. So strong. With muscles that strained against his white shirt.

  Again the tray began to tip as I got lost in a stupid daydream. Pay attention, Cooper. Thankfully, I got it back in balance before disaster struck, but the ketchup bottle fell off, twisting in the air three times to the wide-eyed amazement of the red-faced toddler. His mother was busy cutting a sandwich into tiny bites, and so she missed the show. No worries, I told myself. The lid was screwed on tight. But where had the ketchup landed? I frantically looked around.

  And that’s when I saw the little bottle; it had landed in the mother’s open purse.

  “Ma’am!” a stern voice called out. It was the older man with the cooling cup of coffee and still no cream in sight. Damn.

  “And please, could you get my bread?” asked the kid with creamer in his hoodie.

  “And also some ketchup for my son?” The toddler’s wails joined the chorus of unhappy customers.

  Yikes. I put the tray on a nearby cart, and, as nonchalantly as I could, reached into the hood of the Red Sox jacket. The coat’s owner looked alarmed.

  “Excuse me,” I said calmly. “I believe you have my cream.” I pulled my hand out of the open hood to produce two creamer packets, plain and caramel. The teenager looked amazed.

  I quickly delivered them to the older man then turned to the table where the young mother was trying to calm her son.

  “My ketchup?” she asked in a weary tone when she noticed my hands were empty.

  “I believe it’s in your purse.”

  “My purse?”

  I nodded to the satchel bag overflowing with small toys and…a mini ketchup bottle.

  “Whoa. When did I…oh, just never mind. I can’t think straight these days.”

  Celeste came up behind me with fresh coffee for the teenager and the older man.

  “And how about my bread?” the teenage boy asked, who had finally lost his patience. “Are you gonna do another magic trick and pull it from my hood?”

  Marge slid in beside me with a basket of bread sticks. “Fresh from the oven, hon.”

  “Thank you. Oh, my word,” I whispered to my friends as we moved off toward the kitchen. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “You’re the worst waitress I’ve ever seen.” Celeste shook her head. “How could you be so good at limbo and such a klutz at something simple like balancing a tray?” She smacked her gum and studied me. “But you didn’t have to come in. We appreciate the help.”

  Marge gave me a puzzled look. “I thought you’d be so good at this. Being with the police and all.”

  Celeste rolled her eyes. “Just cause she’s a rock star at her desk job doesn’t mean that she can set a plate of chicken on a table and refill a glass of tea.” She winked at me. “But we know that she can have some fun with tequila shots.”

  Wasn’t that my luck? The star of the party for once in my life, and I couldn’t remember a thing.

  Alex appeared about that time and handed Marge two plates. He glanced at me and smiled. “I thought that was kind of sexy, the way you did the limbo.”

  I blushed again. “Yeah, well, don’t count on that happening again.”

  ***

  Things had slowed by nine and we began to do some cleaning up. I was in charge of trash. It was already dark when I stepped out behind the diner with heavy garbage bags. It took some effort to lift them and toss them into the dumpster.

  The grassed-in area in the back smelled rancid, like old food. But after a day in the noisy diner, I stood there for a moment to take in the quiet. Not a soul in sight and that felt really good.

  I lifted the last bag up against my shoulder. One more for the dumpster, then I could head on home and kick off my shoes. I was about to let the bag go when I felt something slimy on my hand. I glanced down and…eww. A yellow liquid was leaking out, and my hand and arm were covered with…well, it was better not to know. Could this day get any worse?

  I set the bag down and headed back into the kitchen to get another one. I’d have to double bag the last one to contain the gooey mess. And betcha anything I’d run into Alex. How sexy did I look now?

  That’s when I noticed something by the dumpster. It looked kind of like a shoe. I squinted in the dark. I was pretty sure it was a shoe. I moved a little c
loser and my chest seized up with fear. The shoe was attached to a leg that was stretched out on the ground. Cautiously, I crept even closer and peered around the dumpster. The figure on the ground lay in a pool of blood. Which wasn’t so surprising given the hole in the center of his forehead.

  “Graywell,” I said in a shaky voice.

  Then I heard a rustling noise and the sound of footsteps coming from the wooded area that stretched out behind the body.

  My heart seemed to freeze inside my chest. And I answered my own question. Yes, the day could get much worse. A stop-your-heart-and-prepare-to-die, chilling kind of worse.

  Chapter Five

  The footsteps got even closer. And somebody whispered “Shit!” For sure it wasn’t Graywell; there wasn’t any doubt that my detective friend had yelled his last expletive.

  Then – holy waffle on a stick – a male figure appeared out of the darkness and headed straight toward me.

  My first instinct was to sob. Just curl up in a ball and sob. Then to eat a looot of chocolate chip cookies. I was quite the detective. I knew even then that I should run the hell away. But I was frozen in place with terror, afraid to move an inch.

  But no. I had to act. I had to do something. Then I saw a broom propped up against the dumpster. As the guy moved even closer, I rammed the broomstick hard into his thick chest and knocked him to the ground. Whoa! Really, was this me? I kicked his chest and legs with as much strength as I could muster. I probably looked like a crazy woman. I didn’t even have the courage to look up at his face. But I knew he must be pissed. And any second he’d get up.

  Please don’t let him have a gun, I thought. But of course, he had a gun. Because how else did Graywell end up with a hole straight through his forehead? Crap.

  What would it feel like to get shot? How sad to die at twenty-nine? And right here on the verge (perhaps) of getting myself a life. I pictured my mother’s face. Who would have the awful job of telling my mother that I’d died? And who would have ever thought it? My mother had been right! With all her mumbo jumbo that had predicted, I was doomed.

  The thought of my mother’s tears made me so furious that I hauled back with my broom and aimed for my assailant’s head as he lay there on the ground. Although I was still too terrified to look him in the face.

  “What the…? What are you doing? Are you crazy?” a familiar voice cried below me in the grass. I stood back and, for the first time on that awful night, took a good hard look at my “enemy.” “Alex? Is that you?”

  “Charlie! What the hell? Are you some super ninja? Do you take orders for bacon and eggs by day and kill people after dark?”

  Alex? I was confused.

  I glanced down at Graywell’s body. “Well, you can see why I was freaked out. And then when I heard footsteps, I thought you were the one who…Well, I thought the killer was still here.”

  And was he the killer? Because here he was lurking by the body.

  Still sprawled out in front of me, he rubbed his chest and winced. “You were ten feet from the door right there.” He glanced toward the rear entrance to the diner. “Why couldn’t you do the normal thing – run in and call the cops? Instead, you grab a freaking broom. What’s gotten into you?”

  “Well, it’s not like I had time to think. You scared me half to death. I was terrified.” I still could barely catch my breath. I’d been so sure that I would die. It was his fault that I’d freaked out. Who was he to criticize?

  I loosened my grip on the broom. “What were you doing anyway?” I asked. “What were you doing at the dumpster?” Shut up, Charlie. Walk away. If he was indeed the killer, chances were pretty good that he had another bullet.

  Slowly he got up, testing his legs to see how much damage I had done. Then he limped off toward the back door. “You ask too many questions.”

  Wait. What kind of jerk was this guy? “You scare me half to death. And then I ask a simple question and you just walk away?”

  He slowly turned around, and a grin spread across his face. “You’re cute when you get angry.”

  Cute? Did he just call me cute? I had steam coming out of my ears.

  He leaned against the wall and stared into my eyes, the grin still on his face. “Except when you were going at me with that broom. I might have used a different word to describe you then.”

  So he thought that this was funny. “I demand an answer.” I moved closer to him and put my foot on the ground. “What were you doing here? And I think you’d be smart to tell me. Since I can tell the cops that I found you in the dark standing by a dead guy with a bullet in his brain.”

  If the captain knew how reckless I was being, he wouldn’t even think about more detective work for me. It was like I’d taken a class: How to Turn Yourself into a Corpse. And was about to graduate with honors.

  I looked around. It was unfortunate that Alex was between me and the door. Should I run to the front entrance? Maybe I should scream. Marge and Celeste were still inside.

  He held up his hands. “Hey look, I’m sorry that I scared you. And I’m sorry that I laughed. I didn’t kill the guy. I swear. Now go inside where you’ll be safe. Let me call 911.”

  In case I had to run, I started inching toward the path that led around the building and up to the front door. “Then what were you doing out here by the dumpster?”

  “I’d just rather not say, okay? I’ve got my reasons, Charlie.” He reached for the handle on the door. “When the cops are finished, you can go back home and take a nice long bubble bath. Wouldn’t that be sweet?” He smiled. “Go on. I’ll handle this.”

  So I’m too sweet to get involved in anything important? Furious, I grabbed my trusty broom. “I didn’t get an answer,” I said. My voice was firm but quiet. “And if you take a gun out, I swear I’m gonna scream. I’ll scream ‘Alex shot me’. And Celeste and Marge will make darn sure that your ass goes to prison.”

  He held his hands up in the air as I inched toward him with the broom. “Whoa, hold on for just a minute! I would never shoot you! Who do you think I am?”

  “And I’ll tell everybody where I found you. Unless you tell me now what’s up. Why were you behind the dumpster?” He might just give me an answer that would break the case wide open. Case closed by Charlie Cooper.

  He looked around and probably decided there’s no way to get out of this one. He sighed. “Okay, fine. But what I’m about to tell you is confidential. Do you understand that?” His jaw was tight and his voice soft, but authoritarian.

  “Spill.” Was I about to solve a case? Just by taking out the garbage?

  He paused. “I’m no fry cook, Charlie. And you don’t need to call the cops. Because I am a cop. And right now I’m undercover.”

  At first, I was too stunned to speak. What just happened here? A couple of minutes ago I was just taking out the trash. And now, there’s a dead body right beside me and the fry cook is an undercover cop. There is too much information I have to digest. “Undercover? As a cook?”

  “Well.” He looked down at the ground. “I should not be running my mouth about this stuff to you.” His eyes moved from my face to the broom which I was holding high up in the air like it was a spear. “But you were about to blow my cover with your threats to scream and stuff. So let’s keep this to ourselves, okay?” He sighed. “The thing is that there might be stuff going on in town that the cops need to know about. And the chief thought that if I was at the diner, I might pick up on some talk. You know, everybody eats here.” He shrugged. “If something big is going on, you hear it first at Jack’s.”

  “So you’re with the Springston PD?”

  “Yeah.” He squinted at my face, then rubbed his hand against his cheek. “You’ve got some salad right about here.” He pointed to a spot just beside his nose.

  I remembered the leaky bag. I touched my cheek and…ewww!

  He continued with his story. “I’d just discovered the body when I heard you come out with the trash. I was about to call for backup.” He studied me. “O
kay, my turn to ask some questions.” He nodded toward the body. “I heard you say his name. So I guess you know this guy. What’s your connection with this Graywell dude?”

  Then it was my turn to tell. Did I really have a choice? And would it really hurt to tell another cop? I just hoped he was telling the truth about who he really was. “Well, we’ve got some things in common. I’m not really here to see my parents. I’m with the Boston PD. And they sent me undercover.”

  He smirked. “Yeah, right. And instead of handing you a gun, they issued you a broom. Charlie Cooper, undercover. You’re a funny girl. Answer the question. How do you know this guy?” He looked over at the body. “Cause as you can see by this little mess here, I’ve got some work to do.”

  “I answered you already. I said that I’m a cop! Well, a secretary really. But the captain knew that I was from here. So when he thought that maybe there was…” I looked around, then whispered, “some drug stuff going on, he said for me to come hang out, see if I might overhear something he could use.” I glanced down at the body. “And they sent Graywell too. Graywell here’s a cop. A real cop.”

  He stared for a couple of seconds. “Drugs? Did you say drugs?”

  “A major drug case, yeah. One of the biggest ones we’ve had since I started there. Who knows if Springston is connected?” I shrugged. “But they think there may be something here.” I was thinking the answer almost had to be a yes, there was something going on in town. Because someone was watching, and they were anxious that I leave. I stared down at Graywell’s shoes. And when they wanted someone gone, these guys knew how to make it happen.

  All of sudden, I was glad that Alex was right there. He’d been an asshole, sure. But he was an asshole with a gun and a badge, and he was on my side. I had to believe that.

  He’d stared at me the whole time I was spilling out my story. “That’s some crazy stuff,” he said. “You really are from the Boston PD? A secretary turned detective who flings creamers into hoodies and does the limbo like a master.” He chuckled to himself. “And that’s not even the weirdest thing. Get this – we’re working on the same case! Mine’s a drug case out of Boston. But they traced a call to Springston. So here I am. And here you are.” He laughed like having me on the case was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.