| |
TRACI STOOD NEXT TO the table filled with fruit pies and checked her watch. It had been forty-eight hours since she dropped off the note at Franklin Manor. She was sure Earl Garrett had time to see it. If he was still there, she thought. So much was riding on one single delivery. What if the doorman didn’t pass it along as promised? All she could do was wait. “Keep it together, Traci,” she told herself.
By 10:30 a.m. people were trickling in from the neighboring townships and the church vans brought loads of shoppers from their congregations. The Keeferton Recreation Center shuttle arrived right on schedule with the youth sports teams to help hang banners and set up the corn hole and horseshoes games. The new Raging Reds baseball team parked their bus along the entrance to the field and patiently signed photos, baseballs and took selfies. Traci stood amazed at how beautifully different Bent Willow looked for Market Day. But she couldn’t shake that uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She glanced over at Randall once again. He was still there, arms folded across his chest, leaning against his squad car near Hazelton House. She joined Moe at the sandwich sign, passing out free produce tokens and samples of fresh salsa on tortilla chips. Moe was in his element and she loved seeing it. Everyone was impressed at the amazing job he had done organizing the event. He kept everything humming along and stepped aside to handle contract orders from the local restauranteurs and executive chefs.
At 12:30 on the dot, Traci noticed a silver SUV pull up the driveway of Hazelton House. The driver got out, but the passenger remained inside the car. He left the car running, adjusted his belt buckle and walked toward the house. Traci looked for Randall and spotted him joking with two ball players next to the bus. She waved to him, but he didn’t notice her. She sprinted over to Moe and said, “I’ve got to step away for a bit.” He nodded and took the fanny pack that she used to make change and hand out tokens. She took out her phone and frantically scrolled through the apps while she rushed through the crowd and up the path.
“Hello Mr. Garrett,” Traci said, as she mounted the porch stairs. “Would you and your friend like to check out the market? A lot of fresh produce and some delicious homemade pies, today only.”
“Hello again, Miss Simmons,” he said tightening his jaw.
Traci looked around him to see who was in the car waiting, but the sun’s glare on the windows blocked it.
“No thank you,” he said looking around, “Let’s go inside.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, leading the way.
“This is a great old house,” she said after they entered the parlor, “It would be a shame to see it torn down.”
“I never cared much for it. Couldn’t wait to leave.”
Traci sat on the arm of the settee. “I can’t believe that you have no interest in it at all.”
“Not at all. Except for what I came for. Do you have it?” He looked out of the window to check on his passenger.
“Yes,” Traci said trying to stall for time. “I was just wondering ...”
“Let’s get this over with,” Earl Garrett said, looking around, “before someone comes in.”
Traci walked across the room and searched for Randall as she passed the window. She could see the ballplayers, but he was no longer with them. She thought she might have seen Milo through the kitchen door, but on second glance, there was no one there.
“It’s in the attic,” she said walking slowly to the kitchen.
She stashed her phone in her apron pocket and opened the closet door to reveal the hidden stairs. Then she walked up the narrow staircase with Earl Garrett following slowly behind her.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, Miss Simmons,” he said and grabbed the rough handrail, “but, I’m not here to play games with you.”
“All I want to do is give you the information,” she said feeling the temperature rising as they ascended to the attic. “Just trying to help you. As you can see, Miss Rowena was such a friend of this community. I didn’t know her personally really, but everyone seemed to love and appreciate her.”
“They weren’t married to her,” he muttered through heavy breathing.
“Well, helping you is the only way I know how to pay it forward,” Traci said and turned back to look at him. “Do you know what I mean?”
“I guess,” he said, sweat dripping from his forehead, “and I don’t care. Are we clear?”
“Sure.” She wondered if he was going to be alright.
“I used to stay up here all night and listen to these albums.” He wiped a handkerchief across his face, and slowly walked into the room. He brushed his fingers across the vintage phonograph and collection of dusty vinyl records, their thin paper sleeves faded and stained.
“Any of your music in there?” Traci said pointing to the stack. She noticed how his countenance soften at her question. “I understand that you were pretty good.”
“One of the best,” he said nodding. “My work could match any of the big names. Everybody knew it.” He rummaged through the milk crate overflowing with magazines. “Here,” he said pulling one up by the corner. “Look at this write-up they did of me in the Jukebox Jazz Journal.” He handed her the magazine with the page opened to the article. Then another one with his photo on the cover. He blew dust off the front of an album and rubbed it clean with his forearm. “Earl Garrett Trio - Greatest Hits.”
“I’d like to hear your music one day,” she said and meant it. “Why’d you give up?”
“You have heard it, just don’t know it,” Earl Garrett grumbled. He sat on the windowsill and looked at his hands, “And I didn’t give up. Life gave up on me.”
“What do you mean?”
“These hands,” he said making them into fists. “Rowena, she loved that farm. This house. More than anything.”
He looked around the room full of artifacts. “Sure, we toured all around Faucier and Pekote, but, how far can you go and still be tied to this place? Do you know what happens to a man’s hands after working in them fields, building and repairing everything yourself?”
The edge in his voice made her shudder. And she didn’t know what to say. It was so hot in the attic even with the windows open, there was no ventilation. This was a bad idea, she thought, I’m so stupid.
“Naw, you don’t. I’ll tell ya,” he said staring at her again, eyes red, searching her face. “After a while, everything you trying to hold onto, steals everything from you. All the things you really want. That you was born to do.” He looked out the window toward Bent Willow. “Rowena,” he continued, “she never got that. I could never get her to understand that.”
“I understand,” Traci said softly.
“Do you?” he said, his furrowed brow beading with sweat. “Really? What have you sacrificed? What do you know about looking back and got nothing to show for it? And then get shuffled off to a nursing home to waste away what’s left of your life. To sit there and lose your mind!”
“Well, maybe not that part. Of course not,” Traci said nervously, “but, Miss Rowena...”
“Rowena,” he shouted her name like it was a curse word and shook his fist, “You didn’t even know her and you still got sucked into this, this ...” He stopped and took a breath, “I got free, that’s all I’m saying... I finally got my freedom.”
“From what?”
“From living in the past. Don’t you get it?” he stood up. “Trying to hold onto something that should’ve been dead and buried decades ago. Something nobody else cares about.” He started toward her. “For what? I watched Rowena carry this place on her back like a ...”
“Is that why you killed her?”
Earl Garrett’s head snapped back as if she had punched him and his eyes narrowed.
“What are you saying?” he said through gritted teeth.
“I said, is that why Miss Rowena had to die?”
“Earl,” a woman’s voice sliced through the room, “don’t be answering this foolish girl.”
The woman had long auburn hair streaked with blonde highlights that flowed into waves upon her shoulders. She was thin with an athletic build, her cheetah print coffin-shaped nails rested tightly upon her hips. She walked into the room carrying the thick scent of L’Eau de Marseille that Traci hated. The sun exposed her silhouette through the pastel yellow linen dress as she looked out of each window, then rejoined them in the center of the room. She was taller than any woman Traci had ever seen. So tall, she thought, and so young.
“Charlotte, I asked you to wait in the car,” he said almost pleading.
“I know you said to wait,” she said staring at Traci. “You’re always saying ‘wait’. I came up here because I knew you couldn’t handle this on your own either. You never finish anything.”
The woman walked closer and stood in front of Traci, “Where is it?”
“I don’t have it, actually,” Traci said defiantly.
“What?” Earl said.
“See,” Charlotte said nodding. “This is what I’m talking about.” She turned toward him, “You didn’t have sense enough to know better than trust this ...” She pointed in Traci’s direction. “What does she know about us?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“I know you’re the reason Miss Rowena is dead,” Traci said.
Charlotte drew in a deep breath and hissed, “What did you say?”
“She’s lying!” Earl stared at Traci in disbelief.
“I heard you,” Traci said, “I heard you say it. Right here.”
The woman reached in her purse, “What did you hear, child? Tell me.”
“Charlotte don’t...”
“Earl, get in the car. I’ll handle this. Go!” Charlotte waved the back of her hand and he walked out of the attic and down the stairs without protest. “Give me the package,” she said to Traci. “Don’t be an idiot. I know you have it.”
Traci’s body tensed as the woman stepped even closer, that perfume hung so heavily in the air it made her head swoon. “Focus ...” she thought and tried to take a deep breath to steady herself, but the humidity enveloped her, and she struggled to stay on her feet.
“Okay, you’re right,” she gasped. “It’s over there,” She pointed to the steamer trunk where Peter was sitting on the Dependable Flyers Urgent Delivery package. Charlotte shoved the cat away, picked up the package and ripped it open. She stood back, reading over the document with a wild grin, then pivoted to face Traci again.
“Go on, tell me what you think you heard.” Charlotte said and stepped between Traci and the door, then pulled the weapon out of her purse.
“I heard everything you said,” Traci said backing up toward the window. She didn’t know much about guns but she recognized a suppressor mounted on the barrel. “Who is this woman?” she thought.
“Why should I believe you?” Charlotte laughed and inched closer. “I think you’re crazy.”
“Maybe I am,” Traci said between panted breaths. She had wanted to find the killer. Now that they were in the same room, she had no idea what to do next.
“You don’t even look scared right now.” Charlotte’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m not.” Traci had lost her fear of death at eight years old. She was not afraid to die. But if she still had a choice, this would not be the way. “I need air ...” she thought and reached behind her for the windowsill.
“Really?” the woman said, amused, “You should be.” She raised the gun and pointed it at Traci’s chest. A smile creeped slowly across her face.
Traci closed her eyes and focused on her heartbeat throbbing in her chest. Her thoughts racing. Each year of her life had been one storm after another. She had hoped that one day the clouds would part and there would be ... what? Freedom. Earl Garrett was right. There should be something to show for the time you were given. She understood that now but it was too late. “So, this is how it ends,” she thought and took a deep breath.
“Earl, I told you to wait outside...” Charlotte shouted over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
Randall Wells grabbed Charlotte’s wrist, pointed the gun to the ceiling and wedged his hand over the trigger. He twisted her other arm behind her back and shoved her against the wall.
“Let it go,” he said, pressed his shoulder into her spine and tightened his grip.
She loosened her fingers on the gun, and Randall placed it out of her reach on the bed. He leaned his forearm across Charlotte’s back, pulled her wrists together and locked them in handcuffs.
Traci slumped to the floor and started hyperventilating.
“Four things ...” She began to heave large gulps of air as her torso spasmed. She couldn’t feel anything. Nothing was working.
Randall took Charlotte by the arm and led her to the second officer waiting near the door, then reached over to help Traci stand on quivering legs.
“You’re okay. Tracinda, look at me,” he said and took her into his arms. He brushed back her hair, looked into her eyes and said softly, “Traci, you’re safe now. Everything’s going to be fine.” He cupped her face in his hands, “I’ve got you.”
She braced herself against him until the shaking subsided, her head on his chest, and the rhythm of her breathing matched his. He reached into her apron pocket and removed her phone, then tapped End Recording on the video chat app.
“I didn’t think you...” she whispered.
“I heard everything. And, their license plate is a match from the other night.”
“Here, you need this too,” Traci said and handed him the Urgent Priority envelope from Dependable Flyers.
“What is it?”
“A royalty check,” she said after skimming the document, then gasped. “Quarter of a million dollars for Earl Garrett’s full discography. Royalties and a lawsuit settlement from artists’ unauthorized use and sampling of his original tracks. Miss Rowena was registered as executive producer, so the check was mailed to her. He probably knew she would just pour the money into Bent Willow ...”
“So rather than fight it out in court ...” Randall said and turned to Charlotte, “someone got greedy and decided to take it all.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” Charlotte said giving him a sideways glance through mink lashes.
“No problem,” he said, “you’ve said enough to earn a ride downtown. Your partner is waiting. Let’s go.”
“What about ...” Traci said, reaching for her phone.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Randall pulled it out of her reach and smiled. “Evidence.”
