An old proverb says all good things must come to an end. And so it was with my part-time career investigating murders. It was time to set the case notebooks, lockpicks, and sleuthing aside.
It would be inaccurate to say that I looked back on my time spent investigating murders with fondness. In all honesty, it had been emotionally exhausting as well as hazardous to my health. The decisions to insert myself into the middle of five separate murder cases hadn’t been made lightly. They’d been made because I wanted to make sure justice was done.
When friends and family members of the victims asked for my help, I couldn’t turn my back on them. Not in their greatest times of need.
So, instead of categorizing my efforts as an amateur sleuth as a good thing, I’d prefer to think of it like Granny Weatherwax in Terry Pratchett’s Discworld fantasy novels. Simply doing what needed to be done. And good things came out of those efforts. Murderers were put behind bars. The community was able to return to a state of normalcy. Grieving families received answers, sometimes after decades of waiting.
I’d played my part in making my town of Rushing Creek, Indiana, a safer place. It was time to step away from that part of my life, though.
I was getting married in two weeks. That meant my decisions would no longer be only about me, Allie Cobb, owner of the Cobb Literary Agency. They would also be about Brent Richardson, the kindest, funniest, and most supportive man I’d ever met.
If I survived until my wedding day.
Between my bestie Sloane’s plans for my bachelorette party, my brother Luke’s plans for Brent’s bachelor party, and all the other wedding plans to be finalized, there were moments when I wanted to grab my fiancé by the hand, jump in his truck, and elope. His dog Sammy and my cat Ursi would be perfect wedding attendants.
Of that I had no doubt.
Alas, as I was continually finding out, even though I was the bride-to-be, countless things were out of my hands. Brent’s updated passport still hadn’t arrived. Without it, our Caribbean cruise honeymoon wasn’t going to happen. My mom and the florist couldn’t agree which flowers to use at the ceremony.
And then there was the weather. We were getting married at the Winchester-Cobb Memorial Park gazebo. Every time I looked at the forecast, I shook my head and asked Ursi why I thought getting married out of doors in July was a good idea.
All in all, not an ideal situation for someone who liked order in her life.
Which was why, as I finished off a banana and blueberry smoothie, I reminded myself to take things one day at a time. Let go of things out of my control. Everything was going to be fine.
“Time for me to head out, girl.” I placed my cup in the dishwasher as Ursi gobbled up the last of the kitty treats I’d given her. Today was going to be a welcome distraction from the stress of the buildup to the wedding. It was July Fourth and Rushing Creek was having its annual Independence Day Festival at Memorial Park.
The festival was a great time if one wasn’t a cat. I loved every minute of it, but between the heat, the crowds, and the noise, it wasn’t a place for my fur baby. It was also a long day. By the time the fireworks show ended and we headed for home, it would be eleven o’clock.
Thus, the larger-than-normal number of treats for Ursi. It was a way to salve my guilt from having so much fun without her. Then again, a day spent in climate-controlled comfort with unlimited opportunities to nap meant she wasn’t exactly getting a raw deal.
I picked up my tortoiseshell baby and snuggled with her until she let out an annoyed mrrw. That was the signal she was ready to be put down. After kissing her head twice, I placed her on the middle couch cushion. In typical feline fashion, she leapt to the cushion to the right, where she settled down.
“Thank you for not jumping off the couch, my queen.” I laughed when she gave me a long, unblinking look that seemed to say, “Whatever. You may go, Mom.”
Having been dismissed, I got a water bottle out of the fridge and grabbed my bike helmet. As I was strapping it on, my phone’s ringtone went off.
“Sloanie Balonie, what is up this fine Independence Day?”
“The sky, of course, duh.” My bestie let out a laugh. It was full of joy and reminded me how lucky I was to have her in my life. “So, hey, your dude Brent and I got us a prime spot here in the park. We’re halfway between the Memory Oak and the main shelter. Perfect for enjoying the festivities.”
“Fabulous. I’m heading out now. Be there in a few.”
“Don’t forget the paper plates and napkins.” Over the past few weeks, Sloane had relieved me of many of my mundane, everyday chores. That included organizing the annual Cobb Family Independence Day picnic. She said it was her way of making sure I enjoyed the time leading up to the Big Day.
Whatever her motivation, I couldn’t be more appreciative. I did have a lot on my mind. Getting married took a lot of planning. “They’ll be in my saddle bags, along with the plasticware. And a full bottle of bug spray.”
We ended the call and I headed out the door of my apartment, blowing Ursi a kiss as I made my exit. Before leaving the building, I made a detour to the third floor to check in with my friend Calypso.
I gave her door three quick knocks. Calypso was expecting me, so the wait wasn’t a long one.
“What’s up, Boss?” She gestured for me to come in. “Just need to put the green beans in a travel container.”
One could have heard my jaw hit the floor when I laid eyes on her. My young assistant normally dressed in black from head to toe. And used a lot of black eyeliner. And colored her hair jet black.
Today, however, her hair was a shocking shade of fluorescent red. Her shorts were navy blue. Even though her tank top was splashed with the raised fist logo of hard rock band Rage Against the Machine, the rest of it was white.
“Great hair. And if I may say so, you look like a living, breathing rendition of the American flag.”
Her serving spoon stopped in midair, halfway between the cooking pot and a plastic container. She turned toward me and narrowed her eyes. The good old prickly Calypso was alive and well.
“Proceed with caution, oh wise literary agent. I’m proud of my citizenship, but the choice of this top was not by accident. Most people won’t get the message. For once I’m probably being too subtle. Those that do get it are my kind of people.”
“Taking on the patriarchy on Independence Day. Expressing your First Amendment right to dissent. Am I on the right track?” I took over putting the green beans in the container. Calypso had something on her mind and this way she could get if off her chest.
“Totally.” She grabbed a lid for the container. “Last night, at the Pub, some middle-aged dude started hitting on me. When I didn’t respond to his satisfaction, he threw a few insults my way and left me a penny for a tip. And this was for a dinner and drinks with his buddy. I waited on them for ninety minutes. The bill was almost a hundred bucks.”
I grimaced. In general, the residents of Rushing Creek were decent folks. We depended on each other to keep our little tourist town vibrant and tried to take care of our own. That meant treating those in the service sector, especially those on the front lines, with respect while tipping reasonably.
Unfortunately, not all of the tourists were on the same page. I’d heard too many stories to count from my sister Rachel, who owned the Rushing Creek Pub, about customers from out of town, especially men, who treated her frontline staff like trash.
It made my blood boil.
“Some people are the worst. And they’re everywhere. Here, New York, anyplace where someone wants to think they have power over someone else. I could tell you some stories from my time in the City—”
“I know.” Calypso let out a long sigh. “But why do people have to be jerks? I know I’m as cuddly as a cactus, but I never act like a tosser for the fun of it.”
“Deep down, they’re insecure. Like the Emerson quote, ‘Be curious, not judgmental.’ People should spend more time getting to know each other instead of making snap calls that someone is lesser because of how they look or what they do.”
“Do you really think it’s that simple?” Calypso’s eyes got misty.
“Not always, but sometimes, yes. Which is why it’s so important to have a support system. Folks you can lean on when things are lousy. Like now.” I placed my hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the door. “Today’s going to be a good day with people who care about you. We’ll eat, laugh, and have a great time. My mom will be there. Maybe you could talk to her. She’s the best listener I know.”
Calypso took a deep breath and then straightened her top. “Maybe I’ll do that. She told me she’s looking forward to seeing the new hair color. She said she’s thinking about adding some color to her own hair.”
I stopped in my tracks. “No way. She better not mess with her hair. Rachel and I have told her thousands of times how jealous we are of her glorious silver locks.”
“All I know is it came up when Tristain asked if he could color his hair blue for the holiday.”
A shudder ran through me from the top of my head to the bottoms of my toes. “My nephew is going to be the death of me. He’s a terrible influence on his grandmother.”
“You mean he keeps her young,” Calypso said and laughed. It was an encouraging change from her earlier dark mood. “He reminds me a lot of you, actually. Curious. And kind of bossy. Theresa’s a lot more like her mom. Competitive and organized. It amazes me that a set of twins could be so different in the personality department.”
My twin niece and nephew were becoming more and more fascinating. At almost eight years old, their individual personalities were revealing themselves more every day. They weren’t my babies anymore. It was an exciting thought. A frightening one, too.
Where had the time gone.
“I’ll buy the curious part. The bossy part, I reject on all grounds. Now, come on. We need to get to the park.” I winked. If Calypso was going to call me bossy, I might as well play the part.
Calypso waited for me to load my paper products into one of my saddle bags. Then she placed the green beans in the other, wrapping the container with a beach towel to make sure it stayed upright during the ten-minute ride to the park.
“Ready?” I asked as I buckled the chin strap of my bike helmet into place.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Today was Calypso’s first trip on her brand-new bike. Her beater car’s engine had blown up a few months ago. Without the money to pay for repairs, she had the vehicle hauled to the junk yard. After weeks of indecision, she finally spent fifty bucks on a mountain bike my brother Luke hadn’t ridden in ages.
The first thing she did was paint the frame matte black. The second was to plaster it with stickers from punk bands.
Much to her surprise, Calypso found she enjoyed rolling around town on two wheels. It got her to her job at the Pub faster than on two feet. When she worked the late shift, wheeling home felt safer than walking, too. The bike was too big for her five-five frame, though. A week ago, she’d purchased a brand-new set of wheels online.
She’d spent the week assembling it. This would be the first time she’d be seen on it. Oh, yeah, the rig was candy apple red. A very unlike-Calypso hue.
Until she got the new hair color.
I wanted to call her the Girl on Fire but kept the comment to myself. Instead, I remained content with the thought that Calypso Bosley, my proud goth girl, was getting comfortable enough with her surroundings, and herself, to add color to her persona. Right on time for the most explosive holiday of the year.
Oh, boy. Was it ever.