by Lotta Smith
“Correct,” he said. “Yet I haven’t collected all the pieces of the puzzle though. It takes some waiting, I guess.” He shrugged. “If you’re tired and fed up with being mocked at by an innocent shrink with a wicked humor and ruining your shoes, you can stay here and do more creative work such as grocery shopping, shining the silverware and watering the plants, just to name a few.”
“What a lovely offer, I’m touched. But I’ve got a plan today.” I shrugged, hoping that I was as nonchalant as him. “A plan not only to ID the killer but actually catching the culprit. Let’s see who catches the killer first.”
“Very funny,” Archangel said with a wide grin, like he has just heard a joke with good punchline; which added a further annoyance to my already pissy-offy mood.
Waving at me with one hand, he said. “Good luck with your project today. Don’t forget to call in to check with the progress.”
“Consider it to be done,” I said, thinking assuming there’s actually a progress on your side.
I didn’t know why I started competing against my employer. I knew for the fact that however hard I tried, I wouldn’t be able to beat Michael Archangel when it comes to detecting. Still, I didn’t like the current situation in which he didn’t even try to accelerate the process of finding and nailing the killer part. Especially, considering that Karen was still missing. Also, as he has mentioned, having been ridiculed by Dr. Springer the shrink had something to do with my crankiness.
Anyway, I was determined to find the killer before he or anyone did. I was ready to run for the Next Top (Amateur) Sleuth contest, if only such a contest existed.
“Hey, will you consider giving me a raise in case if I reached the killer first?” I said.
I was feeling the urge and desperation to prove myself, maybe for the first time in my entire life. The mysterious part was I had no idea who I was trying to impress.
“A raise? Oh yeah, I’ll give you a 20% base salary raise in a rare case that you reach the killer first.” He shrugged. “But that will likely to happen only when pigs start to fly.”
Chapter 28
The day started slow.
As soon as I left Archangel’s office, I went to Dupont Circle to visit one art gallery after another, on an attempt to find any information regarding Sam. Within a couple of hours, I had widened my search to my neighborhood. Without a clue, or rather, more information that I can handle, I ended up at Tyson’s Corner.
Considering the enormous collection at her home, late Alice Sinclair, the second victim of Eyeball Snatcher, had presumably frequented those galleries. Each gallery had a variety of artwork by Sam, Samantha, Samentha, Samuel, Samuela, Samurai, Sammy…just to name a few. After hours of hanging around the galleries, I couldn’t come up with any useful information that had remotely matched the description of Sam, the secret lover of late Alice’s.
I gave out a sigh.
I was clueless after hours of investigation. I really hated to admit, but Michael Archangel’s comment that legwork on my part will most likely to end up a waste of time, energy and good shoes.
At 1:45PM, I had two options: One; buy grocery and return to the office as if it was just a long grocery shopping trip, or Two; think of something creative to ID and catch the killer, hopefully within minutes. Oh, there was Option Three; return to the office, confiding in to my employer that after all, he was right and I was so wrong, so I could enjoy today’s daily dose of snicker.
It was a tricky situation.
After all, the name “Sam” was pretty much worthless as a clue. Assuming it was a first name, there are practically countless number of people with the first name “Sam” all over the world. Not to mention that there was a possibility that “Sam” is a part of a surname.
Oh-la-la. I thought. A nasty cloud of depression was beginning to hover all over my head. Stay positive, Kelly. I told myself. I had to keep my-cup-is-half-full attitude instead of grim my-cup-is-half-empty-and-it’s-drying-away one.
For starter, I congratulated myself for keeping the ugly purple Pimp car. I might not be Sherlock Holmes, but I’ve got my own ride to conduct my own investigation. Albeit its gas mileage was terrible, the car was safe to drive in heavy traffic; people tend to drive extra-carefully around my Pimp car for the fear it might be a gangsta vehicle. Add that three-salami and Mozzarella calzone at Luciano’s tasted just divine. I’ve got a vehicle and a calzone, what else do I need? (OK, so I treated myself with a cannoli. I intended to skip dessert, but the Italian pastry shot me with a charm gun from the next table, tempting me out of my will. The cannoli temptation was simply irresistible. Just like an Italian gigolo.)
Only thing I needed was more information to make “Sam” work.
I thought. And I thought a lot.
And I had the moment. The moment metaphorically described with a brightly shining light bulb suddenly appearing on your head out of nowhere.
Probably this Sam had interacted with other victims as well as Alice Sinclair?
I thought about other victims; Leonie Ganong and Dr. Julia Stewart. It’s possible that the killer had interacted with them.
The moment this thought hit on me, my mind was set. I decided to pay a visit to late Dr. Julia Stewart’s home. She seemed to be a person who bought artwork pieces. And she was close to her family. Probably, I could talk to her family, friends, or neighbors and if I get lucky, they might remember something important.
I went straight to the parking lot, got into my purple Caddy and started the car.
It was nice to have a destination for a change.
Chapter 29
I sped past large upscale shopping malls, high-rise condos, mansions in prime location, small to moderate strip malls, a large park, small to moderate parks, woods, houses, more woods and houses.
I exited Capital Beltway and passed by a tiny roadside Hallmark shop. Then I realized that I was empty-handed.
Where are my manners? I had to buy flowers.
I needed to bring flowers as a condolences gift. That’s the protocol. I had to show my respect for the deceased. And indeed, I truly wanted to offer my deepest condolences to her loved ones. I was aware that nothing could revive her or fix the situation, but I was compelled to do whatever I could do to console her family. Slowing down, I made a mental note to find a florist.
Then my cell phone chirped. I muttered a curse. My guess was that Michael Archangel was calling to check on my progress, or rather lack thereof.
I pulled over to the roadside. Caller ID said Blocked Number. Hmm, it didn’t seem like a call from my employer.
I took the call anyway. “Hello?”
After a couple heartbeats of silence, I heard “Hi. Is that you, Kelly?”
“Hello?” I said inquisitively. The voice on the other end of the line sounded like that of a young girl’s. I wasn’t expecting a phone call from a young girl.
“Who’s there?” I said.
“You don’t remember me? Ouch, that hurrrts.”
“Is it a prank call?” I said, seriously considering hanging up.
“Don’t hang up!” As if she could feel what I was thinking, the person on the other end said rather desperately. Then added “please?”
I sucked in air. Now I remembered that I was familiar with her voice. Throw in Archangel’s word that it was possible that Karen was still alive. As much as I wanted to believe that she was still alive, I wasn’t really sure if I could cope with the cold reality if my gut instinct turned out to be wrong.
“Who’s there?” I asked again. It was more like a whisper than a question.
“It’s Karen.” She said.
“Prove it,” I said. I wasn’t 100% positive if I was truly hearing what I believed I was hearing. I might have been hallucinating what I wanted to hear. I couldn’t ditch the suspicion that it was a prank call from some naughty kid who had randomly pushed the dials and somehow reached me.
She gave a resigned sigh. “We met at my apartment. You came with Mr. Archangel regardin
g this Eyeball Snatcher cases on an account that my BFF and neighbor Alice Sinclair had fallen victim to that serial killing. Mr. Archangel had on beautiful high heels. Your shoes were okay though a tad bit boring. Oh, and don’t tell me you forgot that you ate Neiman Marcus Exclusive chocolate coated potato crisps in the kitchen.”
I gulped the air. Being one of those people who never on blog, Facebook, Twitter, or even Instagram, there was no way that a total stranger had knowledge about my personal activities. The tone of voice, the way she talked, it was definitely her. Add being smartass to the list that indicated it was Karen.
“Holy fuck,” I gasped. Then my voice raised an octave. “Pardon my French. Do you happen to be calling from afterlife, such as heaven?”
“No. I’m not dead, yet. How about chilling a little, Kelly?”
“Chill? Hello? That’s asking a lot. How am I supposed to chill myself when I’m talking to someone calling completely out of the realm of reality?”
“Kelly,” she gave out a sigh. “Has it ever occurred to you that you may be having a real conversation with a live person who happens to be someone who regards you as a friend?”
“So…” I gulped. “Are you still alive?”
“Hello? I’ve been trying to let you know that I’m alive in the past couple of minutes. Not to mention that all parts of me are still attached to my body, including but not limited to the eyeballs.”
I opened my mouth to say something intelligible, only to find that words failed to come. So I shut my mouth, and opened it again, hoping something comes out. I repeated the procedure several times.
“Wow,” was the best I had managed to say. Unbelievable was an understatement. “So, Karen, where are you? What have you been doing? Are you okay? Or, are you hurt? Oh gawd, I’ve been so worried sick about you!”
Without answering any of my rapid-fire questions, she said. “Listen, Kelly. I need your help.”
“What can I do?”
“We need to talk.”
“So we’re talking. Tell me everything, I’m all ears.”
“No, I mean, we need to talk in person. Would you please come and see me?”
There was something über-serious in her words.
“I will,” I said. “I’m more than happy to see you. Where can we meet up?”
“Before talking about it, Kelly, I need you to promise something.”
“What’s that?”
“Please promise that you’re not gonna tell anyone that I called you or that you’ll be meeting up with me?” She said in a form that sounded more like a question. “I still want to keep our meeting a secret. A private meeting, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh…” I furrowed my eyebrows. “So, you haven’t called your mom yet?”
“No,” she said. I could see her shaking head on the other end. “Don’t tell me that I need to call her or the police. I’m just not ready for that. I need a moral support from you.”
“Oh my God!” I screeched, “You are pregnant!” Assuming from the context, it was obvious that she had gone missing at her own will, throw in her super-superior IQ and voila, I couldn’t imagine any other reasons that drove her to take such a teenager-ish desperate measure.
“No way!” She shot back. “Kelly, I can’t believe you said that. How old do you think I am? I’m eight, not freaking eighteen! I haven’t even had my first sex! Believe me, if I were pregnant, I would be filing a miracle report to Vatican rather than talking to you.”
“So, you’re not pregnant. All right, how nice. What a relief…”
“Exactly. I’m not pregnant.” She added rather sheepishly. “Will you come?”
“Of course, I will.” I said. “But you’ve got lots of explaining to do.”
“I guess so,” she sighed. “I can’t believe my stupidity.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself over the past. What’s happened has happened.” I said as reassuringly as imaginary possible.
Karen’s sudden getaway reminded me of Bart, one of my past brothers-in-law with somewhat questionable academic performances. When he was in fifth grade, he faked his own kidnapping to stop his dad from meeting his teacher at a pre-summer-vacation parent-teacher conference, causing a hell of a panic and a massive manhunt involving the police and the FBI. Later, he was found safe in a weekend house within 10 miles of our home address. He was playing Gameboy when the police discovered him. He wanted to keep his crappy grades a secret but apparently, his tactics didn’t work well. He ended up spending that summer in an intensive studying camp without Gameboy or Play Station.
I continued, “Karen, I’m glad that you called and you’re well enough to make a phone call. I can imagine it was not easy just taking the first step by breaking silence, but you did it anyway and I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks for kind words. That’s nice to hear.” She tried to chuckle but it ended up more like a gagging sound.
“We’ll meet and then we’ll talk. Take it easy, Karen. Everything will be alright.” Though I wasn’t all that sure how to make things alright.
“Okay. I really hope something magical would happen.” She mattered nervously. “So, please pinky swear that you are coming all by yourself without telling a soul.”
Yep, pinky swear. Trust me.”
“Don’t even think about fessing up to your boyfriend.”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t tell a soul. Besides that, I don’t have a boyfriend in the first place. Anyway, my lips are zipped and the key’s thrown away.” I zipped my lips and threw away the imaginary key. “So, where can I meet you?”
She gave a shallow sigh. “A little shop called Rhapsody in Pink. I’ll meet you there. Remember Kelly, you’re coming here all on your own.” She gave me an address and after a pause, she added. “Kelly, I really hope to see you soon. And remember, if you ever break our promise and tell anyone that I called you before meeting me, I won’t be able to meet you no more, much less talk.”
I sensed desperation from her last words.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Karen?”
I tried to clarify, but the line was dead.
Chapter 30
Reciting the address Karen had given me over and over like the alphabet song, I made a U-turn and drove the way back to the shop in Kendall Avenue. The destination was close. As in five minute drive close. Good thing I was already so close to Karen.
Anyway, things were turning out pretty well. It looked like I was making a huge progress.
Okay, so it was more like pure luck that I got a phone call from Karen, rather than the fruit of my hard work. Then again, as they’ve been saying “All is well that ends well” since Shakespeare era, finding out Karen to be alive and well was even better than catching the killer. Now that Karen was not in danger, visiting Dr. Julia Stewart’s family could wait.
I thought about calling Archangel to give him an update of my latest progress. After all, his theory that Karen should be still alive turned out to be right.
After some serious debating with myself, I chose not to call him. Yet.
Obviously, Karen was serious when she said that she needed to speak to me in private. I knew she’s not a dumb kid who enjoys getting herself and others in trouble. It seemed like there was a good reason for her demanding of privacy. I didn’t want to ruin our mutual trust by prematurely bringing in Archangel before finding more about the situation.
I drove three more blocks on the broad street, turned left and drove into a residential area.
Low-rise apartments and moderate to large houses were lined up in quiet streets, peppered with occasional small shops and cafés. I couldn’t help wondering how Karen had ended up here. The neighborhood didn’t seem to be bad or dangerous, but it was far from her home.
Driving slowly, I scanned each building for ads and/or signs of my destination. In the middle of the third street, I found our rendezvous point.
It was on the ground floor of a red brick three-story building. A small yet eye-catching hot pink billboa
rd that said Rhapsody in Pink in white letters was hard to miss. Also, Antiques, Arts & Crafts, Psychic Reading written on the window with glittering stickers facing the street was hard to miss as well.
The building didn’t come with parking spots for visitors so I rolled past the store, turned left, rolled into the corner of the street. I parked my car. Then I jogged to my destination.
There was the OPEN sign sticker on the glass and wrought iron door. From the outside, the shop’s décor was shabby pop. Numerous stickers and banners were on the door and the window facing the street, making the place somewhat mysterious.
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Wrought iron bells hanging from the door hinges of matching materials jingled as I walked in.
Inside, there was a guy tending the shop all by himself.
“Hello, there,” he greeted.
He was a Caucasian in late-twenties to early-thirties. Average height and slim body. He was wearing a light blue fleece top and a pair of khakis. He had green eyes and freckles on pale skin, and he was kind of cute. His rose-colored lips curved into a shy smile.
“Hello.” Anxious to see Karen, I cast glances around the place.
“May I help you?” He said, fumbling with cuff buttons of his fleece shirt.
“Actually, I’m supposed to meet up with a friend here.”
“So you must be Kelly!” His smile widened. “I know her and I was expecting you.”
“Uh…really? Wow.” I said, a little bit baffled with the situation. “And you are?”
“I’m Alan, Alan Hamilton,” he said, “Nice to meet you.” Smiling, he continued, “Karen just called and told me everything. And I believe she’s coming here in five minutes or so. Have a seat?” He gestured for a white wooden stool.
“Thanks, but I prefer to look around the shop, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, help yourself at home,” he nodded, went to the door and flipped the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED.” “Let’s make it private here. Rhapsody’s reserved just for you and Karen.”
