Midnight Snacks are Murder

by Libby Klein

  “Do you know what gluten is?”

  “… no.”

  The smell was making my mouth water and I felt my resolve weakening.

  “Gluten comes from grains. Look, I can’t have anything in here.”

  The window started to close again.

  “Okay, fine!” I could buy a healthy smoothie or a bottle of water, or a water ice to take home for Itty Bitty Smitty. Then I heard the words fly out of my mouth unsanctioned. “I’ll have a funnel cake.” What?

  She took my five dollars and propped the window open. Then she took a plastic condiment bottle and squeezed the batter into the fryer in concentric circles. “What do you want to know?”

  “I’m sorry for asking such a touchy question, but what happened between you and Mr. Brandt?”

  “My dad says I’m not allowed to talk about that.”

  Great.

  “I hear that you’re a gifted artist.”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “Was Mr. Brandt helping you apply for scholarships?”

  Erika wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Yep, he was.”

  “I don’t want you to get into trouble with your dad, I just want to establish Mr. Brandt’s character. Do you know if any other girls ever had a problem with him?”

  She flipped my funnel cake over to fry the other side, but she still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Any of the other girls from the Teen Center, maybe?”

  Erika blanched. She took the pillow of fried dough out of the oil, put it on the world’s flimsiest paper plate, and dumped a mountain of powdered sugar on it, then chucked it through the window.

  “Your dad said it happened at the Teen Center.” I picked up my funnel cake and the wind blew powdered sugar all over my shirt and in my eyes. I managed to steal a bite of the crispy greasy sugar between coughs.

  “Did you ever go to the police to report him?”

  “My dad wanted me to.”

  “But you weren’t up to it?”

  She shook her head no.

  “I understand that. I don’t think anyone knows what they would do under those circumstances.”

  Erika shrugged.

  “Do you think it would help if you had someone you could talk to about it? It doesn’t have to be me, but I could help you find a counselor or—”

  “No! Look.” Erika spoke in a monotone. “I don’t want anyone else to know. It’s already gone too far. If I tell you what happened, will you promise not to say anything to anyone else?”

  I took a deep breath before answering. “I will do my best.”

  “Brody told me to stay late to work on a scholarship application. When everyone else had left, he locked the door and turned out the lights. Then he grabbed me and forced me to kiss him while his hands groped me.”

  Ugh. My funnel cake now sat like a greasy rock on my heart. After hearing what this poor girl had gone through, I was ashamed that I was stuffing my face with pastry while I forced her to tell me about it. “That must have been awful, and you know it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Whatever. I don’t think I was his first victim, but at least I’ll be the last. End of story, now leave me alone.” She put her hand on the window and started to slide it.

  “Listen, take my number. In case you need someone to keep you company when your dad goes to Chicago for work.”

  “What?”

  “Chicago. Didn’t your dad just fly back on the red-eye last Monday night?”

  “My dad hasn’t been to Chicago in weeks. He was out playing poker till two in the morning. He came home in a pissy mood because he lost again.”

  “Oh, I must have misunderstood him.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She ran her hand through her greasy hair. “I gotta turn off the fryer now, we’re closing.”

  I gave her my number and she put it in her cell phone and promised she’d text if she needed someone to talk to. I dumped the rest of my plate of shame in the nearest trash bin.

  On my walk home, I thought about what Erika had told me about Brody. I wouldn’t blame Jonathan Lynch if he’d killed him. If I had a daughter who was molested I might do the same thing. But what was up with her father not being in Chicago like he said he was? Why would he lie to me?

  My face started to itch and my pants were getting tight. Why do I do this to myself ? I know I can’t tolerate gluten and sugar. Why don’t I have any self-control? The front of my neck was starting to sting. Now my thyroid was swelling. You’d think I’d be able to avoid food I react to, so I’d feel better, but no. I just haaaad to have the funnel cake. I should have at least had her wrap it up for Georgina. If anyone deserves to get fat it’s her.

  I wallowed in my misery down the sidewalk and all the way up to the porch steps until someone grabbed me from behind. Fear coursed through me and my heart began to race. I felt panic rise from the pit of my stomach and my funnel cake threatened to make a repeat appearance. I wanted to cry out for help but a hand clamped down over my mouth. I tried to scream, but it went nowhere. Everything in me roared RUN!

  Chapter 31

  I was dragged down into the hydrangeas. I tried to fight back. I flailed my arms around like a broken helicopter, but it was no use. I was powerless. I wriggled to my side, threw an elbow, and made contact with my assailant. I heard a loud “Oomph!” and I tried to crawl away.

  A small voice croaked, “Please stop. I just need to talk to you.”

  I stopped struggling, if only to lull him into a false sense of security before I gave him a Warrior Two strike to the nose.

  He let me go and I rolled to sit up. “Please. I didn’t know any other way to contact you.”

  It was the skinny boy from the Teen Center.

  “So you grab me from behind and pull me into the bushes? Are you out of your mind?”

  His eyes were wide and his mouth hung slack. “I’m really good at making bad decisions.”

  “Ya think!” I scratched my neck where a couple small welts had broken out from my own bad judgment. The boy looked like a frightened possum. The hopelessness on his face caused me to feel sorry for him. I got up and went over to the porch swing and gathered myself. “Okay, what do you want to talk to me about?”

  I got a better look at him once he was in the light and not covered by that enormous hoodie. He was shaped like a Blow Pop in size thirteen Chucks. Tall and very skinny with a perfectly round head too big for his body. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old.

  I motioned for him to sit down in one of the rockers. “What’s your name?”

  “Emilio.”

  “I’ve seen you watching me.”

  “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

  “How do you know you can trust me now?”

  “I don’t, but I’m desperate. Keisha said you been coming in asking questions about Brody. I know stuff, but I don’t have anyone who will believe me.”

  “Is that why you keep lurking around the Teen Center? You have information?”

  He looked down at his shoes. “I’ve been banned from the TC.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I came in with a bag of hard candy.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Bro had a zero-T policy.”

  “Zero tolerance?”

  Emilio nodded.

  “For hard candy?”

  Emilio nodded again.

  “Why? Is it like a ruin-your-appetite-before-dinner kind of thing?”

  Emilio narrowed his eyes. “Hard candy? Big H?”

  I shook my head and shrugged.

  “Heroin, lady. I came in with a bag of smack and Brody took it from me and kicked me out.”

  Well, don’t I feel incredibly old now. Just where did I put my walker? “I see.”

  The porch light flicked on and off a couple of times.

  “What was that?”

  “It’s hard to say just yet.” I have my money on Georgina.

  Emilio shrugged. “Keisha said the co
ps found drugs at Brody’s house. They were asking the others if he’d been dealing.” Emilio jumped out of this rocker and began pacing. “It had to be mine.”

  “How are you so sure? Maybe Brody was doing the hard candy too.” Now I sound like an idiot.

  “No way, man, not after all he’d been through. Brody was my NA sponsor. He wasn’t using again. He just got his seven-year medallion. He was helping me get clean and I blew it.”

  “Why would you buy drugs if you were trying to get clean?”

  “I had a fight with my uncle Jack and he kicked me out. I tanked. I have self-destructive behavior. At least that’s what Brody called it. You wouldn’t understand.”

  I scratched my cheek and tried to breathe through the funnel cake tourniquet that had formed under my waistband. I nodded for Emilio to continue.

  “I went to my dealer and bought a half piece. Brody says—said—that’s what an addict does. No matter how bad they know it will ruin their lives, they still crave it. It has power over them.”

  My cell phone vibrated and I checked the screen. R U O K That’s street slang for Are You okay? ~ Georgina.

  I rolled my eyes on the inside. “Look, I get that. I really do.” More than you know. “But why would you take it to the Teen Center if you knew it would get you kicked out?”

  He placed his hands on top of his head and shook it. “I don’t know, man. I guess I wasn’t thinking. Maybe I wanted Brody to find out. To see if he’d really kick me out.”

  “Well, mission accomplished.”

  Emilio nodded. “I had it coming.”

  My cell phone buzzed again. Is that a street thug? ~ Georgina.

  I typed back I’m Fine. “Sorry. So how long had you been working with Brody?”

  “Five months, since I was released. I did eight months in Johnstone. I got out early because they needed a bed. I had to sign an agreement to work the program and be accountable. Brody took me on and agreed to a mentorship plan. It was my last chance. My next strike I get charged as an adult.”

  “Your next strike for … buying drugs?”

  “It’s called possession. Don’t you watch TV or anything?”

  “Nobody gets arrested for possession on Cake Boss.”

  “What’s Cake Boss?”

  “It’s like Breaking Bad, but with frosting.”

  Emilio nodded politely. “Hmph.”

  “So, Brody was helping you get your life in order.”

  “He was trying. After I’d been clean for a year we were going to get my record sealed so I could get a job after high school, maybe even go to community college, but I blew it.”

  “What do you mean, get your record sealed?”

  “You know, so no one knows I’ve done time.”

  Brody the hero again. Was Brody Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde? Could Emilio be lying about the drugs, to protect him? But why would you cover for a dead guy?

  I heard a tap tap tap on the window. Then my phone buzzed again. I THINK I JUST SAW HIM ON TO CATCH A CRIMINAL. ~ Georgina

  I typed back, GO TO BED. “Emilio, what do you know about Erika Lynch?”

  “Erika?” He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Why do you want to know about her?”

  “Something happened at the Teen Center, and I’m looking into it.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “What kind of relationship did she and Brody have?”

  Emilio punched the air. “Man, she be trifling.”

  “What? What’s that?”

  “Trifling, you know, she’s shady. That girl’s a stalker. Brody couldn’t go anywhere without Erika magically showing up.”

  “Wasn’t he working with her on scholarships?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Do you think everything was on the up-and-up with them?”

  Emilio shrugged. “You ain’t working on scholarships at ten a.m. at a man’s work.”

  “She went to his office?”

  “It was all over the Teen Center. Keisha said Brenda had to come pick her up and take her to school.” He laughed to himself. “She had a serious rage fest after that. Serves her right.”

  “I gather that you’re not a fan of Erika?”

  Emilio looked out into the darkness. His eyes were sad and his voice soft. “Some people believe in second chances, and some don’t.” He shrugged. “Erika don’t.”

  “Okay, do you know if Brody ever had any of the girls stay after the Teen Center closed? To keep working or anything?”

  Emilio screwed up his mouth and shook his head. “I doubt it. He ran the nine p.m. NA meeting out of St. Barnabas seven nights a week. He’d have to leave a few minutes early just to start the meeting on time.”

  “Hmm.”

  “So, do you think you can help me?”

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Tell the cops you got an anonymous tip that the drugs were from an unnamed source so they don’t shut down the TC and destroy Brody’s rep. They can’t know it’s me though … three strikes.”

  “I’ll do what I can. But from now on, if you need to talk to me, just knock on the door.”

  “Thanks, lady.”

  “What will you do now?”

  Emilio flipped his hood back up, covering his head. He swiped at his eyes. “I’m going to a meeting. A guy I used to work with said he could sponsor me … now that Brody is … gone. I don’t know how I’ll get along without him. He was like a brother.” Emilio gave up a deep sigh. “For the first time in my life I believed in myself.”

  Emilio disappeared into the shadows. How sad to be so young and have that many scars. I really hope he can get his life turned around.

  By now, Georgina probably had the house on high alert and everyone was worried about me. I’d better go in and let them know I’m okay. I tried the knob and … I was locked out. The blinking light on the alarm system said Armed.

  Really? “Georgina!”

  Chapter 32

  I lay awake all night from revenge of the funnel cake. I’m over forty years old. I shouldn’t be bossed around by pastry. And yet, I still let myself be lured by the siren call of powdered sugar. Figaro sensed my pain, didn’t give a flip, lay on my stomach all night and rode out every wave of my discomfort with indifference.

  Now I was dealing with day-after shame and eater’s remorse. Determined not to spiral into a forbidden snack binge, I promised myself to get right back on the Paleo Diet Wagon … or at least the Caveman Wheel. Whatever applies.

  I crawled out of bed and did my yoga flow while thinking about the past forty-eight hours.

  Brody Brandt—hero, humanitarian, possible pervert, maybe drug addict, alleged embezzler. Love him or hate him, no one was on the fence.

  I put myself together as best I could and headed downstairs. Aunt Ginny was flitting about the kitchen making a fruit salad. Smitty sat at the table drinking a cup of coffee and looking at a hardware store circular. They were far too relaxed.

  “Where is Georgina?”

  Smitty smiled wide. “Haven’t seen the nut job.”

  I poured myself a cup and started to sit down just as the doorbell rang. “I’ll go get it.”

  I spied two orange eyes peering out from the midst of a wandering Jew plant on the entry table.

  That’s not gonna end well.

  The doorbell rang again before I could reach for the handle.

  Good Lord, what’s the rush?

  Officer Amber stood in my doorway wearing her official police uniform. Her cruiser was parked in the driveway. I found myself choking back an egg of terror that hatched in my throat. “What do you want now?”

  “McAllister. Is your aunt home?”

  Aunt Ginny came down the hall drying her hands on her apron. “What is it?”

  Amber stepped into the foyer. “Good morning, Mrs. Frankowski. I need to ask you a few follow-up questions. Could you come with me down to the station?”

  “Am I being arrested?”

  “No, this is just to go o
ver your testimony again.”

  “Do I have to come right now? I have something on the stove.”

  The stove we don’t have? I hoped Amber wouldn’t come to the kitchen to check.

  “Yes, I really need you to come right now.”

  Aunt Ginny began to wring her hands. “I have medicine I have to take in a couple of hours. You know I’m not well.”

  “It shouldn’t take too long. I just have a few questions.”

  Aunt Ginny wrapped her arms around herself and started to sway back and forth. “Dear Jesus, give me strength. I don’t think I can make it through this attack of the enemy!”

  Amber leaned away from Aunt Ginny and eyed her curiously. “It’s not really that serious, not yet.”

  I butted in, like I do. “If she isn’t under arrest, why does she have to come to the station? Why can’t you ask her your questions here?”

  Aunt Ginny started to howl like she was in pain. Figaro dropped low to the floor and moaned.

  Amber’s eyes dilated and she took a step backwards. “Oh my God! Quiet down. Look, I have to show you some pictures on the station computer. That’s all. Can I trust you to come in today on your own recognizance?”

  I eyed Amber suspiciously. “She’s not in trouble?”

  Amber pointed a finger my way. “This is your doing. I just need to check some new testimonies against hers, but you’ve got her all wound up.” Then to Aunt Ginny she said, “Just come down before eight p.m., okay, Mrs. Frankowski? That’s when I get off my shift.”

  Aunt Ginny stopped howling and nodded.

  Amber glared at me. “I’m going to hold you personally responsible for her getting to the station on time.” She turned to go.

  “Have you looked into Frank Trippett?”

  Amber heaved a sigh. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  I would not be deterred. “He’s Kylie Furman’s boyfriend. Apparently, he showed up at the victim’s office and threatened him a few weeks back.”

  “What’s your point?” Amber snapped.

  “He was described by eyewitnesses as hostile. I met him the other day. Something about him feels malevolent. I don’t trust him. Have you checked his alibi?”

  Amber shook her head in disbelief. “If you don’t butt out of my investigation, he won’t be the only one who’s hostile.” Amber stormed away to her police car. She’d given nothing away.