by Aiden James
“And, light makeup could soften the complexion…right?” I added.
Any stage performer I’ve known—either in music or drama—has used makeup at some point in their careers. Yeah, that goes for the tough-guy rockers I’ve known, too. Everybody’s done it at least once. Some of my peers even use mascara and rouge. It doesn’t make them sissies...at least not necessarily.
“Exactly,” she confirmed, visibly pleased by my support.
“I can buy that, since we might find what you say fits the final facts in this investigation,” said Ed, nodding supportively. “But, there is one other thing.”
Fiona and I waited expectantly, nodding as well when he hesitated.
“We found this other picture at today’s murder scene,” he said, handing a small, framed color photograph to her.
Three women stood together, smiling while they wrapped their arms around one another. The beautiful Candi Starr stood on the left, her flowing blonde hair lifted by a gentle breeze when the photo was taken. On the right side of the picture, Susan leaned in toward the camera, sticking out her tongue playfully. It was in stark contrast to Candi’s dazzling smile, and a defiant gesture to anyone not included in this tight threesome. That left only one more to identify: the girl in the middle.
“I remember when this was taken,” said Fiona, pointing to the Percy Priest Lake pier behind the photographed trio. She sniffed again. “I had just finished doing a reading for both of them, and Susan wanted to capture the moment since both readings came out quite positive. Lots of great opportunities were coming for them both….”
Overwhelmed again, she wept.
“What’s with the lipstick Xs over Susan and Candi in the picture?”
I asked this question, gently, though not realizing the obvious answer. At least not at first. But, the bigger black checkmark over Fiona’s image in the middle made the symbolic message quite easy to discern.
“So, you’re next?” I felt immediately alarmed.
“That would be my best guess,” offered Ed, before Fiona could utter her response. “That’s why as of tonight, she must agree for us to place her in protective custody. That goes for you and your boys, too, Jimmy.”
“For how long?”
Images of what this would do to my band—not to mention my call center day gig—flew through my mind. None of the images were happy…well, okay, the potential of significant time away from the office lifted my heart just a tad. But the prospect of blowing my band’s biggest opportunity at the upcoming garden party in less than two weeks made me quite upset, despite my determined effort to hide it from the detective. No doubt Fiona understood, at least the glance she gave me told me as much.
“For as long as it takes to make sure y’all are safe…. It’s the same deal for your band of misfits too,” he said, motioning back to the rest of NVP, presently gathered near the Thompson mansion’s front entrance.
Swell. Just frigging marvelous.
What a great night this turned out to be.
Chapter Eighteen
Somebody had to keep an eye on Gypsy.
There’s my excuse to return alone to our darkened log home, where only the outside security lights and an overhead lamp in the kitchen were left on. Once Gypsy realized someone in her family had returned home, our terrier’s shrill barks rang out from the living room.
Our big bad watchdog likes to hide under the sofa when no one’s around.
“Hey, girl…Daddy’s back!”
She totally went nuts, doing her twirling happy dance that she normally reserves for Fiona. Being the ‘Alpha Two’ around here, I only get such royal treatment in my wife’s absence. Despite my dog’s fanatical greeting, I grabbed the .44 magnum from its kitchen hideout, including the holster, and made sure the gun was loaded before letting her take care of her business outside. Meanwhile, I listened for any creaks or footsteps, both inside and outside our house.
Nothing so far.
I’d have to really be careful that my overactive imagination stayed in check for the rest of the night. Lord knows it’d be regrettable if I emptied my gun at some fleeting shadow, and had nothing left to ward off a real predator. That’s if one showed up.
I figured the odds were fifty-fifty in my favor, provided the house was truly secured. That became my next priority, which took nearly twenty minutes before I could confidently say it was just me and the dog.
The only thing on my agenda until ten o’clock the next morning was staying alive. To not become Vito Travini’s eighth hack job.
Almost midnight when I got home, it was currently 12:15 a.m. As for my wife and kids, Ed arranged for their escort to a secure haven. A Nashville squad car ran by my mother-in-law’s condo and picked up the boys. Fiona had already told him that her preference is to stay with her Aunt Stella in Goodlettsville, just north of Nashville. The next call from Ed went to a captain working for Goodlettsville’s police department, arranging for another car to take our kids and us up to Stella’s place.
But I declined…for now.
“Somebody’s got to make sure Gypsy’s okay,” I reminded Fiona, who in turn entreated Ed to make an exception for me to pick up the dog.
“Okay,” he agreed. “We’ll let him go do that, as long as you and your boys go immediately to safety in Goodlettsville. I’ve arranged 24 hour protection for you, with an officer on duty starting tonight.”
It seemed noble of him, and I found myself liking him more by the minute.
“And, you’ll arrange for someone to go with Jimmy to pick up Gypsy tonight?”
Her tone sweeter than normal, I sensed this was an extra coercion effort on my behalf.
“Well…it might take me a little time to arrange that,” he advised, his tone more doubtful than his words. “It might mean he has to make the trip to your place alone and then I can get my Franklin contacts to arrange safe passage for him and the dog in the morning.”
Okay, maybe he’s not so gallant after all. I could almost taste the gleefulness behind the last part. He’s probably hoping I’d get another encounter with the mysterious Buick, and betting this third time would do the trick. No more Jimmy to contend with and the perfect opportunity to swoop in on his vulnerable, grieving widow.
He don’t know her ver-wee well....
I’d so love to grab him by his Pierre Cardin silk necktie and scream into his face: “Dude! Get over yourself! She’s with ME and will NEVER be yours… ASSHOLE!!!”
Alas, such actions could readily be construed as assault on a police officer. All that’d get me is extended time in a crowded jail cell with a hard-timer named Bubba. Something tells me Dick Tracy would be just as happy to offer me that kind of police protection if it came down to it.
This brings me back to the present.
I just finished speaking with Fiona, calling her back to let her know the place is secured with Gypsy and me safe and sound. Until that moment I’m sure she worried something terrible would happen to me. My jokes about lots of insurance money didn’t go over well, and it wasn’t until she heard Gypsy barking for her chew-toy in the background that she let me hang up. Before that conversation, I called Matilda at home. Less than thrilled I woke her up, she was even more pleased to hear that I’d be out of commission indefinitely. At least she agreed my team should survive my absence for the next week or so. I have quite a bit of vacation time accrued, and hopefully we’ll find this Travini dude before I dip too far into it.
Ed made arrangements for everyone else’s safety tonight as well, from what Fiona told me. Jackie and Angie are staying with one of Jackie’s songwriting pals on a small farm in Leiper’s Fork, near Franklin. Tony and Justin have joined Tom at his sister’s place, sharing her small basement together. Both the Franklin and Nashville police departments will deploy steady surveillance tours starting at midnight.
So what’s my plan for the rest of the night?
I saw this once in a movie, so I’m going to try it. Other than a few nightlights, I’m going to opera
te in near-total darkness inside the house, and leave all of the security lights on outside. It’s supposed to make it damned near impossible to see into a home’s interior—especially with every curtain closed.
I’ll listen to a few CDs at low volume, and rely on Gypsy’s ears to tell me if anything’s amiss. The house alarm system is also armed and ready.
When I finally get tired, the dog and I will camp out in the living room. The best place to be in terms of central location. And I’ll say this….if anyone tries to break in, I’ll give em’ just a second or two to identify themselves. After that, my .44 will handle any further introductions.
***
I awoke around 4 a.m. when Gypsy growled. I must’ve dozed off around one-thirty…maybe a little later.
Was someone at the door?
Not sure…. But I thought I heard a creak in the floorboards. It could just be the house settling, along with my acute sensitivity kicking in. Or heightened paranoia? Either way, I was awake, listening intently.
There it was again…more creaks. This time they resounded from the kitchen.
My heart raced, more like thumped…loudly within my chest. The security system was still armed, and I could see the green light’s steady pulse near the front door. If someone was in my cabin with me, they didn’t come through any doors or windows. A loud chime would’ve resounded…one that Gypsy always barks at.
She was still growling, though softer…looking up at me.
‘It’s your job to save me, Daddy!’
Shushhh!
I motioned for her to stay put as I got up quietly from the sofa, removing my gun from beneath a throw pillow. On tiptoes I moved over to the kitchen. Three copper pots swayed above the island, like someone brushed against them on their way down the hallway to the office and den.
What in the hell?? It must be a tall sucker....
Shit like that really pisses me off. I ran down the hall, turning on every light as I went along. Every possible hideout now lay exposed. But other than a creepy sensation of being watched by someone or something unseen, there still was no one here aside from me and my pooch…at least not in the flesh.
I grabbed a carving knife from the kitchen to go along with my loaded magnum. One more tour of the house followed, holding the knife and gun guardedly while Gypsy crept behind me from a safe distance. Her head was tilted slightly, and her eyes volleyed from the gun to the knife and then back again.
Surely, she thought her owner had lost his frigging mind.
Why not cease this foolishness and call the cops? I guess it just seemed like a big waste of time to me. Like I’d somehow turn into a Michael Myers filet before the authorities arrived at my home. Hell, I hadn’t even checked the landline phone to see if still worked or if the line’s been cut. My cell phone works on Wi-Fi, and I had a strong enough signal on it. So, I guess I could’ve called somebody if it became absolutely necessary.
I stepped over to the large picture window in our living room, peering through the curtain’s corner to see outside. A soft breeze blew across the front yard, pushing Fiona’s irises and her favorite hyacinth bush gently, side to side. I didn’t detect anyone mulling around outside. Under a full moon’s glow, the graveled driveway looked especially deserted. It made me long painfully for my wife and kids.
The only place left to check was the backyard. It’d be the hardest area to discern a prowler’s presence, since thick wilderness backs up against our property. Beyond the several acres we own is sort of no man’s land. Nothing but a sea of darkness lies outside the reach of our security lights. And when hordes of cicadas sing at night, it’s the perfect cover for someone creeping up toward the house from the woods.
On my way to the backdoor I walked back into the kitchen. No way in hell was I ready for the enormous black mist hovering near the island. It sort of looked like a baby giraffe wearing a black cloak...well maybe not so much. The thing had a rhythmic pulse, which gives it a sort of giant malformed amoeba appearance. At least I now understand how the copper pans got rattled. Hell, they shook again after this thing brushed against them on its way toward me.
The sensation of a thousand icy pin-pricks traveled up and down my spine, and I could tell this misshapen mist studied me… intently, like it was sizing me up on the best way to attack me while I waved my knife and gun before it. Really, like a lot of good that’d do. Probably a better idea would be to turn around and high-tail it to the den. I’ll bet that’s where I’d find Gypsy, who had disappeared. Smart dog, yes…brave protector of the family, not so much.
“Get the hell out of my house!” I shouted while backing away, frightened enough to where my legs felt wobbly. “You ain’t welcome here, so get out NOW-W-W!!!”
Given the way it drifted toward me, I knew I couldn’t outrun it. I had a tough time ignoring the thought I might get absorbed by the dark sucker, eaten alive to where only my cherished snakeskin boots were left to tell the tale of what happened, maybe with a sock left in ‘em and my .44 and Fiona’s Ginsu carving knife scattered on the floor.
The air grew even chillier around me, crackling with energy. I turned and ran, slipping on the hardwood floor on my way to the den. I felt certain the thing would catch me, but then something else unexpected happened. As the mist overtook me, my hand holding the knife penetrated its murky darkness, causing the damned thing to immediately withdraw from me. It flew away at incredible speed while it shriveled and shrunk. Like a helium-filled balloon set free at one of my kid’s birthday parties it moved back through the kitchen. It continued to fade away until it ‘popped’ against the back window. I swear, man, it sounded like a cheap firecracker right before it disappeared.
Cautiously, I pursued it. But when I reached the window only the scent of sulfur remained, most pungent near the curtains. I pulled them open, no longer cautious. In the backyard I saw what remained of the mist only for a brief instant, just beyond the parked Camaro where the security lights’ glow ends. Dissipating like a fleeting shadow, its remnants fluttered past the car and on into the thick wooded wilderness.
I waited for the thing to come back. Damned straight, I did. Once the noxious odor completely disappeared, I realized the event had ended. What it meant, I couldn’t begin to guess. Maybe it’s nothing—just a random visitation. But with everything going on around me—around us—it made sense that this visitation did mean something.
Was it some kind of warning, perhaps a message en masse from our seven murdered friends? That’s a positive take on it, anyway.
I just prayed it wasn’t some morphed version of Charlain Thompson, seeking revenge for the premature end to her misguided, self-serving life. If the Akashic Records that Edgar Cayce talks about really exist, then Dragon Lady’s ghost knows all about the recent compliments me and my NVP buddies paid her the other night.
That’d really suck if it was her and she has decided to return for some fun at Jimmy’s expense. I can easily picture her bringing along another Egyptian high-thread count noose—specially tied for me this time.
That thought alone made me desperately wish to call Fiona, to hear her voice, although I’d surely wake her. Besides, Mr. Ed said ‘No contact’ until I rejoined her at Stella’s place the next afternoon. He’s right about the risks involved in calling anyone, since it’s too damned easy these days to trace phone calls. And I’d already risked my family’s safety when I called Fiona earlier. There’s no way in hell I’d do that again and put them at further risk.
That left me no choice but to wait it out. Wait it out and keep my head on straight. It wouldn’t be easy, but dawn would be coming soon...and a few hours later I’d be reunited with my wife and boys. Whistling quietly to that thought, I got busy cleaning up the mess.
Chapter Nineteen
“Watch me, Daddy…. Watch me jump in the water!”
The look on Ryan’s face was priceless. I made sure I caught it with my digital camera before he jumped into the pool. There’s one for the summer album.
Sund
ay afternoon.
Five days after I rejoined my family at Stella Hughes’s sprawling ranch home in Goodlettsville. My wife’s aunt will literally spoil her guests with the ultimate ‘southern’ pampering. She’s an incredible cook and hostess, and her home sits in a park setting. It’s like a mini resort with a pool, spa, and a great play area for kids.
“Gotcha, kiddo!”
I can already tell that my boys will be reluctant to go back home. Well, honestly, the same might be true for Fiona and me.
Stella’s an attractive brunette woman in her mid-fifties—the oldest sister among three, where Fiona’s mom, Joanne is the youngest—she fits the image of a true “Southern Belle” in the modern age. It’s an amazing thing to watch her effortlessly straddle the line between sophisticated and ‘down home’. Some of Goodlettsville and Nashville’s most noteworthy families are regular party guests in this house, and yet Stella can easily let her hair down for the likes of me and my rocker buddies. Other than my wife, I’ve never met anyone else like her.
Widowed a few years ago, she started a catering business with a long-time friend, and their company now services some of Nashville’s busiest country artists. Fiona has pitched in to help now and then, which is sort of how she became a psychic reader to many of the city’s music celebrities. Call it a friend of a friend of another friend kind of thing. Only in this case it’s family, starting with Stella, who shares the same Scottish foresight she and Fiona inherited from Stella’s mom, Flora Fraser, Fiona’s grandmother.
“When are you gonna swim again, Daddy?” Ryan asked me.
“In a minute…. I just need to talk to Mommy once she gets off the phone.”
“Okay…I’m gonna swim over to Auntie and Alex.”
