by Jeff Shelby
“I’m not sure that’s really the question,” he said, biting off a piece of orange chicken from his fork. His hair was all mussed and his cheeks had a healthy pink glow. “I think the question is, do you want to do it?”
“You’re the one pushing it.”
“But you’re the one who keeps...doing it.”
I traded him the lo mein for the chicken. “I don’t know that I keep doing it.”
He tucked his chin and stared at me. “Daisy. Seriously?”
I shrugged. “Things just happen. And I happen to be around them. It’s not my fault and it’s not like I go looking for trouble.”
“No, but once you find trouble, you tend to keep finding it until you figure out what’s causing it.” He stabbed the air with his fork. “That is the truth, whether you like it or not.”
“Hmm,” I said, digging around in the chicken, looking for the small pieces.
“So here’s my thing,” he said. He leaned back in the sofa and wound noodles around his fork. “I’ve said that if you’re going to do it, you should get paid for it. But I also think that it would protect you.”
“Protect me? From what?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But if you were licensed, if you were an official investigator or whatever, then you could actually, like, investigate. You’d be allowed to. It wouldn’t be just sticking your nose into a situation. And if you were working for an agency or for yourself or whatever, then you’d have some liability protection.”
“Liability protection?” I asked, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“Let’s say you were doing surveillance on someone,” he said.
“On who?”
“I have no idea. Just listen to me. But let’s say that’s what you were doing for whatever reason. And let’s say the person makes you.”
“Makes me? Makes me do what?”
Jake rolled his eyes. “‘Makes you’ – meaning, they see you spying on them. They identify you.”
“I think you’ve been watching too many spy movies.” I dug my feet under his legs and he wrapped his free hand around my knee.
“And let’s say the person doesn’t take too kindly to you watching him or her,” he said, ignoring my movie comment. “Maybe he or she accuses you of stalking or something along those lines. If you’re just a private citizen, technically, they’d be right. But if you were licensed?” He shrugged. “Then you’re justified and there’s not much they can do about it.”
I started to suggest that I doubt I’d ever do that kind of thing, but then wisely reconsidered. Over the previous few months, I’d done exactly what he was talking about. And he was right. I was lucky I hadn’t gotten in more trouble than I did. I’d been fortunate.
“And, to be honest, I think you’re a little bored,” he said, cutting his eyes sideways at me.
My fork was halfway to my mouth. “Excuse me?”
“I think you’re a little bored,” he repeated. He pulled more noodles out of the carton. “Look, the kids are getting older. They’ve got friends and activities. It’s not just you driving them around town all the time. Yeah, you still have to do that, but they’re starting to carve out their own lives. And I think you aren’t quite sure what to do with that.”
I stared into my carton of chicken. I hated that he was able to get into my own head so easily. He was right, of course. I’d realized that the kids were starting to do more of their own things now and didn’t need me in the same way they used to. I should’ve taken that as a sign that I’d done my job as a mom, but it also forced me to reconcile with the fact that they were getting older. And that was an uncomfortable feeling. I liked having my kids at home. I wasn’t ready for them to leave me yet. And it had given me more than a few moments of anxiety.
“Well, if you care, I think you’d be good at it,” he said, handing me back the noodles.
I traded the chicken back to him. “You do?”
He nodded. “I do. You’re stubborn. You’re tenacious. You notice little details about people. You have a natural curiosity.” He smiled at me. “And you’re a total pain in the ass sometimes.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Well, I think it might take all of those things to be good at being an investigator,” he said. “You might have to learn other things, but those things? You already have them.” He smiled again. “Plus, I already know you’re interested.”
“Oh, you do not,” I said, completely irritated that he thought he knew me so well. Then I glanced at him. “How do you know that?”
He set the now empty carton on the coffee table and shifted on the couch, turning his body toward me. “Because we’re having this conversation. Because you haven’t shut me down. You’re pretending like it’s a silly idea, but you haven’t told me to shut up yet. You’re letting me point out all the reasons you should think about it but that’s only because you’ve only thought of them already on your own. I’m just affirming them.” His hand moved from my knee to my thigh and he squeezed me gently. “That’s how I know.”
It was a curse and a blessing, having a husband who could see inside my brain. I hated that I was so transparent, but I loved that he cared enough to take a look.
I finished the lo mein and set the carton on the table next to the one he’d emptied. “So you want me to do this?”
“No. What I want is for you to take the time to see if you want to do it,” he explained. “Read through the websites, see what kind of time it would really take, think about the pros and cons. If you do, let’s figure out what the next step is. If you don’t, I’m good with that, too.” He fished for my hand and held it in his. “But if you don’t, then I want you to dial it back. I don’t want you getting mixed up in things that have the potential to harm you.”
“I’m not going to get hurt,” I told him.
“You don’t know that and I’m not willing to let you take the risk,” he said. “So you’re either in or you’re out. And I’m good either way. But no more straddling the line.”
I knew he was right. On nearly every single account. I needed to figure out what I wanted to do and then commit to it. One way or another.
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll look at it. Seriously. And make a decision.”
“Good.”
“Should I start now? Go grab the computer?”
He started to say something, then swallowed the words. Then he leaned toward me and kissed my neck. “I think it can wait.”
“You told me to get on it,” I said. “Urgency. Make a decision.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, kissing me right beneath my ear. “But there’ll be time for that. I think we need to focus on something else first.”
I leaned into him and closed my eyes. “What’s that?”
I could feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin. “More research.”
TWENTY
“These look terrific, Daisy,” Joanne Claussen said, wide-eyed. “I mean, honestly. This is far better than what I’d imagined.”
It was the next morning and I’d made plans to get over to the theater and meet with Joanne to show her what I’d come up with for the program designs. It was a Saturday so school wasn’t in session, but there were high school kids milling around near the gymnasiums and concession stand. I’d slipped into the theater and found Joanne backstage, sitting in a rickety wooden chair, her laptop set on a coffee table. They were props from an old show, items that for some reason hadn’t made it back into the storage closet.
“Really?” I asked, pleased she was so enthusiastic. I’d given her the flash drive with both designs and she was staring at her screen in awe. “I wasn’t entirely sure about what I was doing.”
“Oh my goodness, yes,” Joanne answered, nodding her head up and down. Her brown curls bounced like springs. “Like night and day from what I was able to dream up.” She looked over the laptop screen at me. “So does this mean you’ll do them?”
“Tell me which one you like best and
, sure,” I told her. “I’ll do it.”
She took a deep breath, clearly relieved. “This is great. Okay. If I have to choose one, I like the second design the best. I like the colors and the way you’ve laid everything out. But if you prefer the other, I’m okay with that, too. They both look terrific.”
She’d picked the one I’d already decided I liked best. “I like that one better, too. Okay. We’ll run with that.”
She spun the laptop around so we could both see the screen. We spent a few minutes going over some of the details and she told me she’d get me the name of the printer so I could make contact with them and make arrangements for the printing. I made notes in my phone so I wouldn’t forget anything.
“I really appreciate this, Daisy,” she finally said. “You’re really saving me here. I’ll let Eleanor know we’ve got it all under control.” Something flashed in her eyes. “Well, at least this part under control.”
Before I could say anything, the side door to the theater slammed and Madison marched across the backstage area. She stalked toward us, a scowl on her face.
“I need to talk to you,” she said to Joanne, completely ignoring me.
Joanne looked up from the computer. “What is it, Madison?”
Madison folded her arms across her chest. “I was supposed to have a custom wig. That thing you bought me looks like it came from the thrift store!”
“I bought it online from a wigmaker,” Joanne told her.
Her voice was calm but her hands were tightly fisted and I knew she was struggling to maintain her composure. I didn’t blame her.
Madison snorted. “Then return it and find another one. Because I am not wearing that piece of crap onstage.”
“It cost two hundred dollars,” Joanne told her.
Madison’s hands moved to her hips and she stared Joanne down. “I don’t care how much it costs. Fix it. Or I’m telling Mother.” With that, she turned on her heels and flounced out of the room.
“Let me guess. Madison is another one of your problems?” I asked. She looked more than a little stressed and I felt bad for her. Anyone who had to work closely with either Bandersand woman deserved a bit of sympathy.
“I can handle her,” she said with a weak smile.
“Anything I can help with?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. I think we’ve got the volunteering projects under control now. It’s just…” She looked around the empty backstage area. A few people were milling around on the stage, but they didn’t seem to concern her. “It’s the money thing.”
“The money thing?”
“Remember how I mentioned Eleanor was concerned about the revenue the other day?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think it’s a bit more dire than I realized.” She swallowed and shifted in her chair. “The activities director here at the high school called me at home last night. We pay to use the facilities.” She paused and then lowered her voice when she spoke. “Apparently, the check I wrote her bounced.”
I stared at her. “You mean from the theater group’s account?”
She nodded. “Yes. And, well, it’s not the first one.”
A knot formed in my stomach. “It’s not?”
“No,” she said. Her eyes were bright with worry. “I had to pay the man who films and cuts DVDs of the performances. I had to give him a deposit. He called me two days ago and told me there was a problem. And we had to purchase the wood for the set backdrops. The lumberyard called me last week.” She sighed. “When the lumberyard called, I assumed it was just a mix up, and Eleanor told me she just hadn’t made last week’s deposit. So I wasn’t worried. But now?” She shook her head again. “I think there’s something else going on.”
Three bounced checks wasn’t the result of a late deposit. It certainly sounded like there was a problem to me. I wondered how bad it actually was.
“How did you pay for the wig?” I asked. “Did that check bounce, too?”
“I have the theater credit card so I used that,” she said. “But I have no idea how we’re going to pay that bill when it comes. Especially if there’s no money in the account.”
“Oh gosh,” I said. “That’s not good at all. And that might explain what you told me the other day… about the tickets and trying to drum up business.”
She nodded slowly. “I know. Anytime I ask Eleanor, though, she tells me it’s just miscommunication, or that it must be a mistake. But I’m not dumb.” Her mouth fixed into a tight, tense line. “And it’s making me rethink a few things.”
“Rethink?”
She looked toward the stage again, her hands fidgeting on the table. Then she ran a hand through her hair and chewed on her bottom lip for a moment.
“Um, no one really knows this right now, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it between us,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “But when Eleanor brought me on for this play, she told me it could become permanent. It’s a volunteer position now, but it was a job in the past.”
I remembered hearing that at the coffee shop. I nodded.
“As in, paying,” she said. “And… well, we could use the money.”
I nodded, my sympathy kicking into overdrive. “I understand.”
“That’s why I’ve paid so much attention to everything Eleanor has asked of me,” she said. She looked toward the stage. “And I’ve done everything I can think of to try and drum up publicity for this play.” Her eyes glazed over a bit. “Everything.” She stared at the stage for a few moments before shaking herself from whatever she was thinking about. “And now I’m thinking I’ve done all of this for no reason and that I should just finish up and start looking for another job. One that might, in fact, be real.”
I nodded again. “Right. I can’t fault you with that. Have you asked Eleanor about any of this? Just to get a better sense of the finances?”
“I’ve tried, but she just gives me the runaround,” she said, frowning. “Which doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. And yet she prances around here acting like there are no issues.” She leaned into the table. “You realize that if we can’t pay for the facility rental, she’ll have to cancel the play?”
I sighed. “Of course.”
“I mean, I know this is a high school and not a private entity, but they aren’t going to just let us keep coming here if we can’t pay them.”
What she was telling me made me both sad and angry. Sad because I was already thinking about how disappointed the girls would be if they had to cancel the play. They’d both been so excited about trying out and once they were cast as dwarfs, their enthusiasm had increased ten-fold. Well, once Grace had gotten over her disappointment at not being cast as Snow White. And I was angry, because it seemed irresponsible for Eleanor to be running around, acting like there wasn’t a problem and having Joanne act as the go-between. I hadn’t liked her from the first time I met her and it had only gone downhill since.
“I’m sorry, Joanne,” I said. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?”
She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, there really isn’t. I think I just needed to vent. I’m sorry to dump all that on you.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said, smiling at her. “Venting is good.”
“Anyway,” Joanne said, shaking her head like she was trying to clear the cobwebs again. “I’ve bent your ear for long enough. I can’t thank you enough for taking over the programs. Thank you so much.”
“Of course,” I told her. “I’m happy to help.”
She glanced at her watch. “Okay, they should be about done. Could I ask you for one more favor?”
“Absolutely.”
“I need to close up the stage area and the theater,” she said. “A few of the kids came in today for an extra practice and to work on the sets. Could you check the classrooms we use on your way out? Just make sure everything is out and make sure they are locked?”
“For sure,” I said. “I’d be happy to.”
Joanne gather
ed up her things and handed me back my flash drive.
“Thanks again, Daisy,” she said, standing. “I truly appreciate your help. And your ear.”
“Anytime,” I said, shoving the flash drive in my bag. “Happy to do what I can.”
She touched my elbow. “Cross your fingers. Maybe we can get this pulled off yet.”
TWENTY ONE
I found a bag.
I’d closed up two of the three classrooms. I pushed chairs back under tables, picked up a couple pieces of trash and shut off the lights. Which was sort of like picking up after my own kids.
I walked into the last classroom and did the same things: shoved three chairs back under the desks they belonged to, dropped two soda cans in the recycle bin and was getting ready to kill the lights and go home when I noticed a purple backpack in the far corner. It was expensive looking, with wide black straps and sparkles in the fabric.
I went over to the corner and looked at it. There was no name written on it. For all I knew, it might have been left there by a student the day before. I wasn’t sure.
I picked up the bag. It didn’t feel like it was full of books. More like clothes. Which meant it was more than likely the property of someone in the play.
I unzipped the first small pocket and found a tube of lipstick, some gum and a couple of pens. I zipped that pocket back up and then unzipped the other small pocket. I pulled out a piece of paper that had been balled up like it was supposed to be thrown away. I set the bag on the nearest desktop and unfolded the wadded up paper.
It was a letter.
Addressed to Madison Bandersand.
It read:
Ms. Bandersand,
Thank you for your interest in the University of Minnesota’s theater program. Each year, our program receives hundreds of applications for a limited number of spots. While your application was impressive, we regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission at this time. We wish you good luck in your future academic and dramatic endeavors.
