Mind Over Monsters

by Jennifer Harlow

  I look down at my salad and start moving the food around. “Sorry.”

  Will looks at me. “It’s okay,” he says quietly.

  “I won’t mention it again.” I look up. “But … ”

  He tenses again. “What?”

  “You can see how people could come together that way, right? I mean, there they are, sitting on his couch, she’s crying, he reaches over to smooth her hair and wipe her tears. Next thing they know they’re … you know.” I sip my coffee. “Happens all the time.”

  Will grimaces. “Sounds like you’ve had experience in this area.”

  I feel my cheeks go red. Am I that transparent? “My therapist.”

  Will sits up straight, which makes him seem double his real size. “How old were you?”

  “Nineteen. It just happened one session … and lasted two more. See? Grief is such a negative emotion, you want to replace the feeling with something else, anything else. Davis Wynn is clearly still hurting over his wife if he’s only dated twice in ten years, so I can see Valerie seeking him out, either consciously or unconsciously.”

  “We still need proof.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s there. We’ll find it.”

  “Not a doubt in my mind, Agent Alexander.”

  “Why thank you, Agent Price,” I say with a smile.

  He grins back. “You’re welcome. Now eat, we have a lot to do.”

  Don’t need to tell me twice.

  SEVEN

  PRIME SUSPECT

  Things settle down a little on the streets during the forty minutes we eat. Will orders seconds and we just talk. Not like first-date talk, much to my chagrin, but about the job, my training, and San Diego. Safe topics. I’m getting the feeling this whole chemistry thing is all in my head. It wouldn’t be the first time my fertile imagination got the best of me, and it won’t be the last, I’m sure. He’s not into me. Better to know it at the beginning before I have any more fantasy children with him. I still like looking at him though.

  Everyone must have ran their errands and gone back to work. The sun has finally come out from behind puffy clouds, and I’ve got to say the town looks much better without the gloom. The yellow trim around the window of Wynn’s Meating Place (groan!) actually looks cheery and not the color of an institution like the other shops.

  From the window, we can see two women in line and a teenager behind the counter handing one of them a white package. Poor guy, I guess he’s never heard of Clearasil—or shampoo by the looks of his greasy brown hair. I wouldn’t want this guy to touch anything of mine, let alone my food. The woman he’s helping pays and walks out of the store. Will opens the door for her and is rewarded with a polite smile and nod.

  “I don’t see Ellison,” Will says.

  “She’s probably in the back preparing the meat.” A flash of Davis Wynn’s mangled, bloody corpse pops into my head. I suppress a shiver.

  “We should go in.”

  He takes a step toward the door, but I touch his arm. “Wait. Do you think maybe I should be the one to go in there?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you know … all that blood and meat. What if you get excited or something?”

  His eyes narrow at me. “I think I can control myself.” Guess he never read the case of the werewolf who entered a butcher shop and ended up eating not only a whole cow but also the butcher. Obviously elementary students aren’t the only ones who neglect their homework.

  Will patiently waits behind the second customer, and the only sign of something odd is his nose twitching every second. I just smell antiseptic like in a hospital. His super-smell must have kicked into high gear. The place itself is somewhat antiseptic too. White walls with no hangings except a business license. The only decorative thing here is a display case filled with various meats. Salami is on sale. Above the glass case is a counter with two digital scales and a cash register. Simple, but it looks like it gets the job done. In the wall behind the counter is a metal sliding door where Carrie must be hiding. The teenager takes the money from the customer and gives her the meat.

  “Thank you, Tommy,” the woman says.

  “Have a nice day, Mrs. Painter.”

  Of course, the woman nods at us as she passes. This place is a chiropractor’s dream, the cases of whiplash he must get. Will and I step toward Tommy, Will’s badge already out. Tommy’s nervousness hits me. Oooh, maybe he has something to do with … I look into his bloodshot eyes. Oh. Add Visine and Lysol to the list of hygiene products this kid should look into.

  “I’m Special Agent William Price; this is Special Agent Beatrice Alexander with the FBI. We’re investigating the deaths of Valerie Wayland and Davis Wynn. Is Carrie Ellison here?”

  The boy’s nerve level drops to the floor. “Oh, um, yeah, I guess. She’s in the back cutting meat. Should I, like, go get her?”

  “That would be great, thank you,” I say.

  Tommy shuffles over to the metal door. A burst of cold air hits us as he opens it. “Be right back.”

  “Not the brightest bulb,” I mumble after he disappears into the back.

  “We should interview him away from Carrie. He might—”

  Just then, Tommy comes back followed by a woman I presume is Carrie Ellison. It is obvious why men fall over themselves. Even in a large winter coat, blood-splattered apron, and sweat-soaked brow, this woman is beautiful. Thick hay-colored hair pulled into a ponytail, huge brown eyes, straight nose, and petite figure—except for the boobs, I applaud her plastic surgeon—that gives her a gorgeous, elfin look. Her type have been the bane of my existence since middle school. I so hope she did it.

  Carrie doesn’t even look at me but turns to Will with one of those model smiles that shows off her white teeth. “I’m Carrie, Officer … ,” she says, still smiling. Oh, please.

  “Agent Price,” Will corrects, “and this is Agent Alexander.” She briefly glances at me. “We need to ask you some questions regarding Davis Wynn. Is there someplace private we can talk?”

  “Office in the back?” she chirps. Yes, actually chirps.

  Tommy lifts apart the counter to let us pass. Oh goody, we get to go into the meat locker, my day is complete. Carrie leads us through the locker past a huge steel table covered with reddish and purple meat I hope was once a cow, but I wouldn’t put anything past a girl who raises zombies to eat people. Across from the table is another counter holding a meat grinder with hamburger hanging out of it. Either the chill in this room or the Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibe makes me shiver.

  The office is in another room right next to the meat locker. It’s plain white, like the rest of the store. Just a file cabinet, desk covered in papers, and a yellow plastic chair, all of which barely fit into the room. Carrie sits behind the desk, never taking her eyes off Will. He takes the seat across from her, which leaves me leaning against the file cabinet. I pull out my pad as Will asks the first question.

  “How long have you known Davis Wynn?”

  “Known? About ten years, I guess. We didn’t really get close until I started working here.”

  “What was he like to work for?”

  “He was okay. Paid me on time, gave me overtime when I needed it.”

  “What about as a man? Was he a good man?”

  Her nervousness spikes for a second. To lie or not to lie? “I guess so. He was never mean to me or anything.”

  “Why’d you open the store today?” I ask this time. “Your boss just died. I would have taken the day off.”

  She finally looks at me with a smile. I know about as much about her teeth as her dentist does now. “Davis would have wanted me to open the store. He had the strongest work ethic I’ve ever seen. Never closed the shop, even when there was ten inches of snow on the ground.”

  “You admired him,” I say, “but you don’t look at all shook up about his death.”

  Her eyes turn cold. “You don’t know what I’m feeling.” Actually, I do, hon. Right now it’s nervousness and anger, a combo that makes my
stomach hurt. Too many positive emotions and I get a headache; bad ones and I get a stomachache. I just can’t win.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. This must be very hard for you.”

  “Yes, it is. He was … ” She looks down at the floor. “Sorry. It’s just hard to believe. And the way he was killed. I heard they found him in pieces, is that true?”

  “We can’t comment on an open investigation,” Will says.

  “Oh. But I heard it was a bear attack or something.”

  “That’s what we’re looking into.”

  “Was there anything out of the ordinary that happened yesterday? Was Davis acting odd in any way?” I ask.

  “Not that I noticed.”

  “Did he close the shop last night?”

  “Yeah, I opened and he closed. Usually the closer has to stay about two hours after to clean everything and get the meat ready for the next day.”

  “That means he would have left the store around eight?”

  “Well, he must have left a little earlier because the sausage wasn’t done and the hamburger wasn’t ground. He was supposed to open today, so I figured he was planning on doing it in the morning.”

  So he left work undone? Someone had an appointment to keep.

  “So besides that, there was nothing different about Davis last night?” Will asks.

  “Not that I noticed.”

  “Did you know of any reason for him to be out in the woods last night?”

  “No.”

  My turn. “You’ve only worked here a year, is that right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you worked at the bank before that? With Valerie Wayland?”

  Nervous anger hits again. “Yes.”

  “And you left because you were passed over for a promotion? One that Valerie Wayland got?”

  “No,” she says, “I left because I was bored.”

  “And working with raw meat is more thrilling?” I’m digging being the bad cop.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Nothing. I was just saying it was quite a change. I mean, are you happier here? It takes a person with a strong stomach to be around this stuff all day.”

  She leans back. “It doesn’t bother me.”

  I’m about to open my mouth again, but Will beats me to it. “Miss Ellison, wh—”

  “Carrie. Please,” she says with a smile.

  “Carrie, was there anyone who made trouble for Davis? A customer who threatened him?”

  “Or an ex-girlfriend?” I cut in, raising an eyebrow.

  “Nobody that I knew of,” she says, not missing a beat.

  “So you weren’t upset when Davis dumped you?”

  Her cherubic mouth drops open. “That is nothing but filthy gossip.”

  “But you two were in a relationship,” Will asks.

  Carrie glances at Will with her mouth open, but his face remains stony. I’m liking this guy more and more each moment. Carrie looks back at me. “For about five seconds! We went out a couple times, but it ended months ago, and it sure as hell wasn’t serious.”

  “After you two split, was he seeing anyone else?”

  “Not that I knew of. It’s slim pickings around here, in case you haven’t noticed. He likes—liked—to be alone.”

  “Did Valerie Wayland come in a lot?” Will asks.

  “No more than anyone else.”

  “He give her any special attention?” I ask.

  “Valerie?” Carrie asks with a scoff. “Have you seen her?”

  “What was left of her,” I say. “So you don’t think Davis and Valerie were having an affair?”

  “No way. No way in hell would he ever touch her.”

  “You didn’t like her very much, did you?” I ask.

  “I didn’t hate her enough to kill her, if that’s what you mean.”

  “We have to ask,” Will says. “Where were you last night around eight thirty?”

  “I was at home with someone.”

  “We’ll need their name.”

  “Can he be kept out of it? It’s kind of a delicate situation. He’s married.”

  “We’ll try to keep it as quiet as possible, I promise,” Will says.

  Carrie sighs. “John Graham.”

  “The sheriff?” I ask in shock.

  “Yes.”

  “And what about the night Valerie Wayland was killed, around nine thirty?” Will soldiers on despite my gaping mouth.

  “Same.” Carrie sighs. “You know, this is ridiculous. I heard what happened to them. There is no way a person did that.”

  “Anything is possible, Miss Ellison,” I say.

  Will stands up. “Thank you very much for your time. We may have some follow-up questions later.”

  “Okay.” There goes that smile again. “I assume you know where to find me.”

  Oh, gag me. “We do. Have a nice day”

  Carrie doesn’t follow us out of the office. The front of the store is empty when we walk out. Could be because the door is locked. Through the window, I see Tommy standing outside against the wall smoking. He drops the cigarette and stubs it out when we leave the store.

  “Sorry,” Tommy mumbles.

  “Cigarettes aren’t illegal,” Will says genially. “Do you have time to answer some questions?”

  “I guess.” He starts walking slowly down the street and we follow. I feel like today’s been one long game of follow the leader. My feet may go on strike if this keeps up. We stop in front of the last store on the road, the bakery. The smell of fresh bread and cakes stirs my hunger again, not that it takes much.

  “Uh, what do you want to know?” Tommy asks.

  “How long have you worked for Davis Wynn?” Will asks.

  “Um, seven months, I guess. I’m just part-time.”

  “Were you working yesterday?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I opened with Carrie.”

  “Did she or Davis seem odd yesterday?” I ask.

  “Not really. They ignored each other like always.”

  “They don’t get along?” I ask.

  Tommy scoffs. “No. It’s tense as hell, like, real bad vibes. When Davis comes in, Carrie, like, makes it a point to stay as far from him as possible. She gives me messages to give to him. Real stupid shit—sorry, ma’am, stuff—like ‘we’re out of veal’ and shi—stuff like that. I feel like a friggin’ message boy.”

  “When did this start?” Will asks.

  “Like forever. Three, four months, I guess. The first few months were okay. I even saw them kissing once in the office. Then, all of a sudden, Carrie keeps calling in sick and when she does show up, she’s crying in the back all the time and it’s awkward central.”

  “Has it gotten worse?” I ask.

  “About two weeks ago they got into a screaming match.”

  “What about?” Will asks.

  “Hell if I know. I was stuck up front during the lunch rush. I heard shouting, mainly Carrie, I think. She left right after.”

  “Do you know the exact day?” Will asks.

  He thinks for a second. “I think it was a Wednesday, a couple weeks ago.”

  That would be the day before Valerie was killed. “Did you know Valerie Wayland?” I ask.

  “Yeah, she lives down the street from me and my folks. Lived, I guess. Nice lady.”

  “Have you seen her husband around since her death?” Will asks.

  “No. I heard he’s in California. He left last week.”

  “Did Val and Davis seem particularly close?” I ask.

  Tommy shrugs. “No. He actually kind of avoided her. Whenever she’d come in, he’d go into the back, and one time he did serve her, but they wouldn’t even look at each other, which was totally weird for Dave. He was always harping on me for not smiling at the customers.”

  “Was she the only customer he did that with?” I ask.

  “Maybe, I don’t know. Look, I gotta get back before Carrie freaks out.”

  “Okay, here’s my c
ard,” Will says handing it to him, “if you think of anything else.”

  “Cool. Good luck and everything.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Tommy nods and starts back toward the shop. Poor kid, all alone with an emotionally unstable killer surrounded by sharp objects. He should get hazard pay.

  Will sighs. “That was no help.”

  “I’m sorry, were you listening to the same boy as I was? We now have proof they were having an affair.”

  “What, the fight? It could have been about anything.”

  “Sure, and I’m Wonder Woman. Not just the fight, the fact that Valerie and Davis were keeping clear of each other. When a person is trying to hide or deny feelings, they usually avoid the person they have the hots for. You never did that?”

  Will doesn’t answer, big surprise. He just starts walking back toward the butcher shop. “I’m still not convinced,” he says. “In a small town there would be at least whispers. The fact nobody suspected—”

  I stop dead. “Oh my God, how could I be so stupid?”

  “What?”

  I point across the street. “Look.” Sarah’s Beauty Palace or, as I’ll call it, Sarah’s Truth Palace. “If there is anything to know, it’s in there.”

  After looking both ways, I dash across the street. Will doesn’t follow. He walks to the crosswalk. Jeez, uptight much? I don’t wait for him to go in.

  Sarah’s Beauty Palace is covered in faded pink paint with matching pink chairs and mirrors. The smell of chemicals and shampoo is heavy in the air. Another homesickness pang hits. I’m getting real sick of those. At least once a week, I’d pick April up at the mall where she works as a stylist, gossip with her and the other stylists, and then we’d go out for drinks or to a movie. She’s been my best friend ever since I was eight. I knew we’d be best friends forever when I spent the night and accidently made her stuffed animals float because I was so nervous about my first sleepover, and she thought it was the coolest thing ever. We won’t be having another girls’ night anytime soon.

  Two women sit in the pink chairs, an elderly woman with curlers covering her head and a teenager getting a haircut. The stylist giving the perm is middle aged with curly hair and thick black glasses. She looks up at me and smiles. “Be with you in a minute.” The other stylist, with very blond streaks in her dark brown hair, then smiles as well. The teenager ignores me.