Not wholly unexpected, a good majority of calls into Scarlet’s Mending Men show were fueled by curiosity. Stewart Steele’s arrest was at the forefront of Bay area news and the media had made no secret of the fact it all started with Scarlet. Two of the inquisitive men offered her marriage proposals, and three others asked if she planned on visiting Stewart in prison. One man, pausing to take long drags on his cigarette, professed amazement at how long it took Scarlet to deduce Stewart was a psychopath.
Silently agreeing with him, Scarlet exhaled before taking the last call of the evening.
“I can’t talk for long,” the caller declared dramatically.
Looking at the clock, Scarlet smiled inwardly. Here was confirmation, only kooks called after ten.
When the caller spoke again, Scarlet became aware the distressed sounding person, appeared to be altering their voice.
With an almost comically deep delivery, the caller said, “The place near the place where you’re from. Bad things are happening to someone you know.”
Scarlet, despite her mind racing, politely asked whom she was speaking with.
Clearly agitated the caller implored, “You have to help before she’s gone like the other girls.”
While struggling to think of a suitable response, Scarlet heard the line disconnect.
Staring into space for a moment, Scarlet forced herself to stay present. Pulling the boom arm down and towards her, she spoke into the condenser microphone, “I’m sorry our last caller was feeling unease, please stay in touch and here’s a classic from Billy Joel for you.”
Starting the song bed off with, You May Be Right, Scarlet sat back in her high stool.
Sylvia entered the studio, a selection of oversalted and overpriced vending machine snacks clasped in her bejeweled fingers.
Seeing Scarlet’s worried expression, Sylvia began, “Oaks, I heard the call. It’s nothing. Just some nutjob.”
Slowly nodding, as the words, the place near the place where you’re from, swam around in her head, Scarlet returned, “I’m sure you’re right.”
Setting her purse on the floor, Sylvia climbed up onto a stool. “You’ve been through a ton of crap lately, I don’t blame you for being on edge. But remember, this is radio, and we get our share of loons.”
Inwardly marveling at how Sylvia could be so impressed by a Beatles-inspired tattoo one minute and the voice of reason the next, Scarlet exclaimed, “See why I need you as my assistant?”
Amid loud crunching, Sylvia declared, “This is going to be a great year. No more drama at Bay Radio. Just a couple of girls making money and fixing lives.”
Turning lights off in the cavernous studio, Scarlet pushed back her feeling of foreboding, hoping more than believing Sylvia’s pronouncement to be accurate.
James stood, just a few feet from the station’s entrance, equipped with a gorgeous smile. He and Scarlet waited until Sylvia was safely in her car before James navigated his way out of the poky parking lot. “You handled that last caller really well.”
Feeling a chill slowly creep through her bones, despite the cozy temperature of James’ car, Scarlet asked,
“That was a woman’s voice, wasn’t it?”
James suppressed a chuckle. “That was certainly my guess. Did her plea make any sense to you?”
Leaning back into the leather headrest, Scarlet answered with a question, “Do you have an early start tomorrow?”
With a sidelong glance, James replied, “Stocks trade just as well in the afternoon.”
“I’m probably way off base. The caller was no doubt, just a lonely person seeking some attention. But …” with a crinkle of her brow, Scarlet continued, “If you can stand it, I’d like to tell you about my sister, Violet.”
Raising his eyebrows, James responded, “I’m all ears.”
Pulling up under the carport at the top of Rose’s steep drive, Scarlet couldn’t resist peeking at James’ ears. They were little, in comparison to his Roman nose, and perfectly formed.
Ten minutes later, giggling, as attempts to reach their destination in relative silence were foiled by creaking floorboards, Scarlet and James entered the third-floor den.
Armed with an odd assortment of bottled water, fruit, and chocolate pudding cups, the couple deposited their hastily grabbed snacks on the oval table.
“I think you said Violet is older than you,” James began, hoping to break the ice, on what he suspected was a difficult subject.
“Yes, by two years,” Scarlet replied while sinking into old couch cushions. Closing her eyes momentarily, she was startled to see James kneeling at her feet. Without a word, he removed Scarlet’s boots.
Relieved with the knowledge her socks were relatively new and clean, Scarlet smiled as James returned to the couch with both her legs in tow.
Now facing him, as he massaged her toes, Scarlet continued, “I guess it’s all relative, but I believe for the first eleven years of Violet’s life, she was your average young girl. Certainly, she pushed the envelope a little, but I always imagined it was more to pave her way than upset our folks. Dad traveled a lot with his job when we were younger. I often wonder as I’m sure he does, would things have turned out differently, if he’d been around more. Pointless to dwell on it since there’s no way for us to know. Anyway, the drama started on her twelfth birthday. One of those tea party places had opened in Aptos, and it was the ‘in’ thing to have a birthday celebration there. Mom loves doing the ‘in’ thing, so no expense was spared, and all of Violet’s friends were invited. Princess style dresses, jewelry, and hats were provided. A makeup artist was on hand to transform girls into little women. They even had an etiquette coach in attendance to instruct the girls on the correct way to hold a tea cup. To this day, I can picture Mom’s beaming smile, as mothers oohed and aahed over the unique experience their daughters were enjoying. Then…” Scarlet grinned, as James, eyes wide, gripped her toes tightly in anticipation. “Girls began making beelines for the restroom. There were two toilets and fifteen girls. Sadly, about twelve of the fifteen had a simultaneous need for the facilities.”
Eyes growing wider, James enquired, “Food poisoning?”
Scarlet bit her lip. “That was the initial thought. Pandemonium ensued. Girls were throwing up all over the floor. Mothers were literally screaming. Some called their husbands and one, Mrs. Tremon, who Mom, to this day, loathes and despises, called the police.”
“The Police!” James repeated eyebrows raised.
Nodding her head, Scarlet went on, “An ambulance, fire truck, and three police cars arrived ten minutes later. In other words, the emergency services of Aptos, in their entirety. The police called the health department and in the meantime searched the kitchen looking for goodness knows what. I’m not sure officers are trained to know a good scone from a bad one.”
Chuckling, James asked, “Is that all they’d eaten?”
“No, to be fair, there were sandwiches and cakes too. The young women who’d prepared the food were in tears, as police attempted to ascertain where the food had been purchased and stored. Keep in mind these poor women had already endured abuse from the mothers. Then, the owner of the tearoom arrives, looking thunderous. She’d been called away from her sister’s wedding. After a brief visit to the kitchen, she walked up to the large round table the girls had been eating at. With all eyes on her, she picks up a tea cup and sniffs it. Then, systematically, with no expression on her face, smells every single cup. One of the policemen copied this action and, if it were possible, the mayhem increased.”
Scarlet paused, as James dramatically placed a hand over his eyes.
“Yes,” Scarlet affirmed, to the conclusion she imagined James had reached. “Violet had generously added Absinthe to three teapots, sitting innocently, atop the lace covered table.”
“Absinthe!” James almost shouted. “I thought you were going to say she’d topped it up with a little Miller Lite.”
Laughing at James’ look of horror, Scarlet explained, “Oh no. Violet doesn’t do things by halves.”
Scarlet attempted to be matter of fact as she continued, “Violet lost all her friends that day. Mom couldn’t walk around town without whispers following her. The tea shop sued for defamation and Dad had no choice but to come back early from his business trip abroad.”
Leaning forward and handing her a chocolate pudding cup, James said, “How awful. I’m so sorry.”
Scarlet gave a weak smile of thanks. “As you can imagine, everyone was furious with Violet. I mean everyone. Her teachers, the principal, the lunch ladies. The parents and siblings of all the girls who’d become ill. Every shop owner in Aptos. Of course, Mom, Dad, and our brother. Even Gran and Grandpa gave her the silent treatment.”
Scarlet paused to look for a spoon. James joined the search and when it was apparent none had been brought up, volunteered, “I’ll go down and get them.”
Putting a hand on his arm, Scarlet narrowed her eyes and grabbed a banana. Tearing the foil lid from the desert, she then peeled the banana half way down before unceremoniously dipping it into the soft chocolate pudding.
Impressed with her ingenuity, James mimicked the action.
When the banana, serving as a spoon, was all but gone, Scarlet volunteered, “I just wonder… did Violet feel she’d messed up so badly, there was no going back? The Absinthe had been gifted to Dad, from a French engineering team he’d worked with. It was a beautiful bottle. Violet was only twelve. Did she know how potent it was? Did she actually intend for her friends to become violently ill, or simply imagine it would provide a bit of fun?”
“Was she given a chance to answer these questions?” James asked sympathetically.
Scarlet frowned in concentration. “I was only ten at the time, so I can’t say for sure. I can tell you, Violet is strong and stubborn. If it hadn’t escalated to such a horrific degree, I think she may have explained herself. But when people demonstrated how furious and disappointed they were with her, she appeared willing to ride the wave with sheer obstinacy.”
Scarlet peeled them each an orange. She was enjoying her foot massage too much to have James’ hands engaged elsewhere.
As twenty-one juicy segments were enjoyed between them, James was appraised, be it briefly, of subsequent shenanigans involving Violet.
Scarlet concluded the details of her sister’s roller coaster life, with Violet’s current living arrangement, in a commune, on the outskirts of Aptos.
Watching Scarlet yawn, James suggested they continue Violet’s life story, over brunch the following day.
“Ni…. ills”, Scarlet said around a yawn.
“Yes,” James responded, “shall I send him a text first thing tomorrow?”
Pulling boots on so she could walk him to his car, Scarlet replied, “Please, and then text me with a time and location.”
“I could pick you up,” James volunteered, looking out from under dark blond eyebrows.
Scarlet smiled. “James, much as I appreciate the offer, I’m aware you have a living to make. You’ve already been so generous with your time. I’ll meet you there.”
Nodding in submission, James followed Scarlet down two flights of stairs.
Escorting him the short distance from kitchen to carport, Scarlet apologized if she’d bored him with details of her sister.
Lowering his chin, James responded, “There is nothing boring about Violet.” Kissing Scarlet on the cheek, he added, “See you in a few hours.”
With the reminder of dwindling sleep time, Scarlet headed straight for bed.