by Leo Bonanno
“It’s me…Emily Sellars.” Then silence for a few moments. “Reevan?”
“Yeah, yeah. Dr. Sellars, what’s wrong?” I answered, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
“Well, I really need to talk to someone. This whole thing, well it’s just tearing me up and-” She continued to talk but her voice got further and further away.
I had just started reading the sheet of paper that was in my hand; the one that I slobbered all over after succumbing to slumber on the coffee table. As I read, my eyes grew wide and my heart started to pound faster and faster. When I was finished, I lowered my hand and just stared at the kitchen wall. “Reevan? Reevan, are you listening? Reevan, why won’t you say something?” Her voice came in clear again with piercing force. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, yes I’m fine. Sorry, I…I just woke up. I’m sorry. Please, say it again.”
“I asked if you could meet me at my office in an hour. I could really use a friendly ear.”
“Oh, oh. Of course. It’s just that, well…” I trailed off again as I held the sheet of paper up to my old eyes once more. “Actually, could we make it closer to noon instead? I have a stop to make first.” She said sure and I hung up and raced into my bedroom. A quick shower and shave later and I was out the door, my guard dog still chasing rabbits in my living room.
“You lied to me!” I screamed. “What the hell are you trying to do, Leon?”
“I did not lie, Reevan. I swear it! Just calm down. What’s this all about?”
“It’s about this, Leon,” I said, thrusting the piece of paper. He clutched at it, missed, and it fluttered to the floor like a leaf from a tree. He stooped to pick it up as I plowed past him and into his living room which, for another bachelor, was suspiciously tidy.
“Is this drool?” He asked.
“Just read it, Leon. You read it and then you explain it to me.” I paced with rage as his eyes combed the page. When he was finished, he folded the sheet in half and walked it back to me. I snatched it ravenously and shoved it into my pocket. I froze on the carpet, eyes open wide, nose upturned, arms crossed, and I waited for a damn good explanation.
It seems Arnold Medley was a religious documenter. This wasn’t any surprise to me since the first personnel file I examined was his own. Nor was it a surprise after reading Carol’s or Dennis’. In each file, in all the files, were notes; dozens and dozens of notes. Conversations, meetings, phone calls were all logged or jotted down or synopsized in some form or another. Post-its, napkins, whole sheets of paper. If the man said it out loud, he wrote it down somewhere.
The sheet of paper was dated the Tuesday before Arnold’s murder. It read:
MEMO TO PERSONNEL FILE
LEON KINNEY
Today was a scheduled meeting between Leon Kinney and me. Topics of discussion included an upcoming budget amendment hearing and possible exhibit revisions, as well as my upcoming retirement. I informed Leon that though his work has been beyond expectations, I had decided to recommend another employee for the position of Curator after my departure. Leon said he respected my decision, though he feared I would regret it after my decision was announced and my replacement appointed. I thanked Leon for his dedicated service and ended the meeting.
“Well?” I asked.
“Well what?” Leon replied.
“You told me you didn’t know who he was recommending, Leon? You told me you didn’t know anything about this mess. Why are you did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie,” he said, almost shouting. “You asked me if I knew who he was recommending for the Curator position and I told you I didn’t and that is the truth. I don’t know who he recommended or would have recommended, I just know it wasn’t me!”
“Come on, Leon! You should have told me about this. You should have told Tuttle about this.”
“I didn’t even remember the meeting until you asked me yesterday, and I had already talked to Tuttle by then. What does it matter, Reevan? The man said he wouldn’t recommend me because of my lack of management experience. He said with more time I could run that museum someday, or any museum. I thanked him for his kind words and the meeting was over. It’s not like I-oh my God…” his eyes widened. He came towards me and thrust his wrinkled finger into my shoulder. “Do you think I killed him? Killed him for a job?”
“I didn’t say that, Leon.”
“No, you didn’t, but you’re thinking it aren’t you? Admit it, you are.”
“Read it again, Leon. You told him he would regret his decision. What the hell is that all about? Sounds like a threat to me.”
“I was referring to Dennis Trago. I figured he was going to recommend Dennis for the job. He turned me down, Dennis’ promotion seemed certain. Arnold always said he did good work, not to mention all of the butt kissing he’s been doing. Read the memo again, does that sound like a man who has just been threatened to you?”
“It doesn’t matter how it sounds to me, Leon. It matters how a Sheriff will see this when he’s on the hunt for a murderer. You have to bring this to him before he finds out on his own. It will look ten times as bad if it looks like you withheld this information.” Leon walked back to his front door and leaned on the knob.
“If you believed me, you’d see it how I do Reevan. A harmless memo about a harmless meeting, and nothing more.”
“But it’s not nothing if-” Leon opened the door and stood silently. “What? What are you doing? You’re kicking me out?”
“Peering through my personnel files, making wild accusations. I can’t be friends with someone who thinks I’m a murderer, Reevan. Get out of my house.”
“Leon, I never said-”
“I said get out!” With that, I straightened my collar, pushed back what was left of my hair, and started for the door. As I stepped over the threshold, Leon spoke again. “You’ll have to get your next fifteen minutes of fame somewhere else, Reevan Hunt. We’re fresh out in here.” I stopped and turned to him.
“It’s your fault I’m here, Leon Kinney. You invited me to a dinner so you could impress your starchy science geek boss and his dweeby employees. You’re too busy riding my coattails to step on a soapbox and preach to me. You know where I am when you’re ready to apologize.” I turned and walked briskly down the walk, my heart pounding. I heard the door slam as my own fingernails gouged into my palms. You could’ve handled that better Little Reevan said. You didn’t handle that well at all.
Emily Sellars’ father was the first Dr. Sellars in Pendleton. His office and home were actually the same building…sort of a duplex arrangement. Emily followed in Daddy’s footsteps from the very beginning. As a girl, she’d visit the office after school and hand out lollipops to the children inside riddled with measles or the chicken pox. As a teen, she worked as a receptionist on the weekends. Her college days left her in a nursing capacity, and by the time Old Doc Sellars retired for Florida, little Emily had two medical degrees and years of experience in a big city hospital. She bought the whole place from her Dad and took care of the residents of Pendleton from then on, carrying on a proud family tradition.
I stood in front of the office door for a few moments, too nervous to knock on the glass. What if she lies the little voice asked. You saw them arguing. You know she went back. What if she lies to you? Can you still fantasize about a liar? A murderer? I always thought the great thing about fantasies was that you didn’t have to answer to anyone about them. I ignored my nosey conscience and pressed on.
“The office is closed today,” a voice said from behind me. I turned quickly to see Emily standing in the other doorway leading into her home. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, or a stunning blue dress or even a white lab coat. She wore bags under her eyes, uncombed hair and bare feet, not to mention a plain pink T-shirt and gray sweatpants. The mat under her read WELCOME, but I didn’t believe it. “Come in,” she said plainly and disappeared into the shadows. I followed. A light breeze followed behind me, opening the door wider and waking a set of wooden wind chimes that
hung just left of the door jam. I acknowledged them and shut the door behind me.
“So, you called?” I asked aloud. We had been sitting at the dining room table for almost two minutes without a word between us. The wind chimes faintly reminded us that our ears were still on land, but our thoughts raced and rambled at a level high above our bodies. Her blue purse and dress hung over the chair at the head of the table. I looked in their direction. She had probably taken them off and flung them there after the party two days ago, yet there they remained, telling the story of a man’s death.
“That I did,” she said, getting up and leaning on the back of her chair. “I needed to talk.”
“I do too.” My fingers, laced in front of me on the table, diverted my eyes. “They found a petal in his office, you know. A white petal from a white orchid underneath one of the chairs. Any idea how that could’ve gotten there?”
“There’s a garden in the building, Reevan. That thing could have been there for ages.” My eyes rose to meet hers. They were trembling and watery.
“Not true,” I said. “The petal was fresh, Emily. Still fresh and alive. It wasn’t there when Arnold showed me around his office. I’m sure it wasn’t there. At least, I think I’m sure. No, it wasn’t there for ages.”
“And what?” She snapped. “You think I waited for everyone to leave so I could kill him? Is that it?” Her eyes began to well up.
“I didn’t say that,” I said, standing and circling the table. “I didn’t say that at all.” I put my arm around her and guided her into the living room. We sat on the couch, and I waited for her to compose herself.
“So what are you saying?” She finally asked.
“I’m saying that the police are going to ask you about that petal on the floor. They are going to ask you where you were last night. They are going to ask you what that argument was about.” Her head tilted up slowly.
“You told them about that?” I nodded and stared at the far wall. A Monet print hung there, and I remember thinking how easily I could loose myself in that pond, beneath the lily pads.
“I gave my statement yesterday. I had to tell Myron Tuttle what I saw, Emily. I told him heard your raised voices. You’ll need to explain that soon. You’ll need to explain it all.”
“And my flower?” She asked.
“No, I didn’t mention the flower. That I, well I just couldn’t bear to-”
“Why not?” She interrupted.
“Because it was too special to spoil with a police inquisition.” I smiled, and she smiled back.
“Just as well,” she said, her voice and eyes drying up. “It wasn’t my petal hiding under his chair, Reevan. I never went into his office that night.”
“But then how-”
“I never went into his office that night.” Her eyes burned into my sockets, her bloodshot whites wide with insistence.
“Okay, okay.” I replied. We sat in silence a few moments. Then I asked, “So, what was the argument about?” After clear hesitation, Emily finally began to speak.
“There was, well, something between us, Reevan. It wasn’t for long, and it wasn’t for keeps, but it was there once.”
“And?”
“And he wanted more,” she hissed. “He wanted more of the same and I wasn’t giving it up. It was nothing, it was a one-time thing. I had just started volunteering at the museum. I was smitten by the man’s charm and intelligence and humor. It was nothing after that. I sure as hell didn‘t kill him for that, Reevan.”
“I don‘t think anyone said you did-”
“If you want reasons for murder, look at the others. Who knows what the others might have done if they found out about me and Arnold? Sure, we all know about Carol. Maybe she was sleeping her way to the top while Dennis tried to brown-nose his way there. Who knows how upset they might have gotten if they heard that I was going to get the Curator job? Who knows what any of them would have done?”
“You mean he was going to recommend you?” I asked.
“I don’t know for sure,” she said. She started to speak faster. “He offered it to me once. He said he would give anything to have me again. That’s exactly what he said, and that’s exactly why I said no. The man tried to buy me, like he bought that stupid fountain or that stupid chandelier. The man tried to buy his way in here when the charm dried up.” She clutched at her chest.
“You’re right, of course,” I said, suddenly flashing to my confrontation with Leon that morning. “It could have been anyone of them.”
She turned to me then, and placed her hand on my cheek. I closed my eyes. “I was never in love with him, Reevan. I think…” she paused. I opened my eyes and hers were there. “I think he reminded me of someone else.” Her eyes closed, and she leaned closer to me. My eyes closed again. I could smell her breath and her skin and it was magnificent, and it was No! No! No! the little voice roared and echoed. My eyes shot open and I bound to my feet.
“I have to go,” I said, hustling towards the door. She followed me, reached for me. She grabbed my left arm and spun me around. My right arm became airborne and hovered over the chair at the head of the dining room table. My sleeve caught the decorative knob on its top and sent the chair spilling to the floor. Emily’s dress and purse fell, her purse’s contents spreading across the dining area floor. We both dropped to our knees. I panicked and scrambled for a tube of lipstick that was rolling away. A compact mirror slid under the table and I reached for that too. I started shoving things back into her purse as fast as I could, the whole time Emily was speaking but I couldn’t hear anything but a dull murmur and the little voice screaming Get out! Get out! No! No! No!
“Reevan, please!” She screamed, reaching for my arms again. I broke free, and sat still. She did too, staring at me as I stared to the floor. “Reevan? What is it? What?” I slowly reached forward, between her knees. Her eyes went down my arm to my hand, then followed it as I raised it up between us. The orchid was in my clutched hand.
“Five petals,” I said aloud, not even realizing it until my voice traveled up to my own ears.
“What?” She said again, softly. Her eyes bounced from the flower to my eyes and then back to the flower. Mine finally met hers.
“Only five petals,” I said softly. “There were six when I plucked it. Six when I gave it to you.”
“Reevan, calm down,” she said, her voice shaking and getting louder.
“Only five now,” I mumbled again. I dropped everything in my hands. The purse fell to the floor and spilled out its guts for a second time. I got to my feet too fast for a man my age and swiveled on my own legs. She called to me as I hastened to the door, but her voice began to grow dull to my ears as my overtaxed brain shut her out.
I escaped and shut her door behind me. The wind chimes sang on as I hustled to my car. Emily came to the door in tears. “Reevan, wait! Let me explain!” But I didn’t wait. I shifted my car into drive and headed for the road. I reached it and picked up speed, but couldn’t resist looking in my rearview mirror. My own eyes began to well up as a woman in a pink T-shirt and gray sweatpants ran into the middle of the street and stood there until she was nothing more than a spec on the road.
I was home by one. I couldn’t park in my own driveway. The news vans were back and reporters poured out of them as soon as I pulled up. I raced for the front door, fumbling with my keys. “Is it true you’re helping with the investigation, Mr. Hunt?” One of them asked.
“Any leads on the Medley case?” Shouted another.
“Is this all just a ploy for another fifteen minutes of fame, Mr. Hunt?” Yelled another.
I felt my key ram home as I slid it into the lock. I locked the deadbolt behind me once a made it inside and turned to stare through the peephole, breathing heavily. A whimper came from behind me. I turned to see Niki standing at my side, wagging her tail, and waiting for me to explain my sweat-drenched clothes and bloodshot eyes. “Don’t ask,” I mumbled. “For God’s sake, don’t ask.”
I rushed past
Niki through the foyer and up the stairs to my seldom used master bedroom. I kicked off my shoes and flung my shirt on the bed, all other thoughts pushed aside by my one driving mission of reaching the shower. I noticed the small light on the home phone beside my bed was flashing. A voicemail, but I had no desire to check it. I turned the water on, finished undressing and then shut the door. The room filled with steam and darkness. Only a hint of sunlight shone from under the bathroom door. As I stood in the shower, the hot water soothing my tense and aching body, I started to cry. “Why me?” I asked to the empty room, but no one but my own echo replied.
After my shower, I sat on the toilet lid in my bathrobe for what must have been twenty minutes. I could still faintly hear the noises from the news people outside, and the occasional growl from Niki. I joined her in the bedroom eventually, opening the door and squinting as I stared into the sunlight let in by the undrawn shades. I drew them, then plopped on the bed hard next to Niki, and scratched behind one of her ears. Still flashing the little voice reminded me, and I reached my hand over my head and fumbled around the nightstand. I knocked over a carafe and an alarm clock before my fingers folded around the handset. I stared at the phone for a few moments, nauseated by the incessant red flash. It seemed to take all of my remaining strength to get to a dial tone and enter my password. My hand returned to Niki’s ear.
“You have one new message,” a sultry robot voice proclaimed.
“I have one new message,” I repeated. Niki seemed unimpressed.
“Professor, it’s me, Myron,” the recording began. “Didn’t hear from you after you left yesterday. I’m just checking up on you. I finished with the museum folks yesterday afternoon. Man, those two can really go at it. I made the mistake of letting them both go to the bathroom…that Dennis fella is going to be plucking toilet paper out of his hair for a week!” I smiled. “Anyway, I reviewed Medley’s financials. Didn’t actually get a chance to look at’em until this morning. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary here. His paycheck was direct deposited, had some annuity checks coming in, and another nice deposit every month for the past seven years which I’m guessing is the life insurance on his dearly departed wife. We’ll follow up of course, but I’m not seeing anything helpful here. My leads are drying up fast. There’s just no meat left on these bones, buddy.” I sighed again.
