The receptionist at the Channel 11 studio gave me a quick up-and-down look as Viv and I walked through, taking in my getup. Then she looked over to Viv's polished shoes and sharp suit.
“Oooh, snazzy,” she said, with a nod toward Viv's sparkly Union Jack shirt.
Viv struck a model pose, tucking the jacket back with one hand on her thrust-out hip, nose in the air, and her cheeks sucked in.
“Y'all here to see Patrice?”
“That's right.” Viv straightened.
“She's in her office. You can only stay a few minutes, though. Her husband has asked me to limit her disruptions.”
“No problem. Cheers.”
The receptionist wrinkled her brow and checked Viv's hand for a glass she'd missed.
“That's British for thanks,” I said as I followed Viv through the swinging door.
“Oh, okay. Well...cheers!” She waved.
Trisha was back in her office with her feet propped up, reading from typed pages. “Hey, you two,” she said when I tapped on her door. “Come in.”
“I'm in charge of making sure we have media coverage of the Veterans Day ceremony at Belle Court,” Viv said without preamble, plopping down in the chair across from Tri-Patrice's desk. “Can you take care of that for me?”
“I can put someone on it.”
“Thanks. The drill sergeant who's heading up the committee wants it in writing. I assume she doesn't need it notarized.” She rolled her eyes.
“I can have them put something on station letterhead if that helps.” She picked up her phone and spoke into it. By the time she put it down, everything appeared to be on its way to being taken care of.
“Can you be there?” Viv asked. “And interview me?”
“Sorry, I can't be there myself. But I can ask Misty to interview you. What's your connection to the war?”
“I want to impress a bloke at Belle Court.”
Trisha cast a quick raised-eyebrow glance at me.
“It's true,” I said. “It's that British guy I was telling you about. He flew Spitwads in the war.”
“That's not funny.” Viv game me a disgusted look. “Spitfires. Little planes. He was a war hero. You need to show some respect.”
“Sorry,” I said, feeling kind of sorry for the disrespect but happy that I'd gotten Viv's goat, since it was her fault I was walking around looking like a vagrant while she looked like she'd just stepped out of Retired British Model Magazine. “Spitfires. He is handsome,” I allowed.
Tri-Patrice appeared to be trying to frame a question to mitigate its rudeness. “He lives at Belle Court?”
“That's right,” Viv said. “In the new cottages, on the north side of the complex.”
“Aren't those independent living? He must be doing really well if he's old enough to be a Spitfire pilot and still able to live independently.”
“Oh, believe me, he's still got everything going on.”
I looked at her. “Everything? And you know this for a fact?”
“Indubitably,” she said.
“And how do you know this for a fact?”
“A woman knows, Salem,” Viv said. She rolled her eyes. Clearly, she'd had enough of my attitude.
“I see.” I raised my eyebrows at Trisha, and she hid a smile.
“Just for your information, he actually lied about his age and his ability to fly. He was so keen on becoming a pilot that he ran away from home at fourteen and pretended to be a janitor on the base where they trained the pilots. He listened and snuck in after dark to read their textbooks. He hid behind corners and listened to the lectures, and he snuck into the planes while everyone was asleep and learned where all the controls were.”
“Wow,” Tri-Patrice said. “That is a story. I'll ask Misty to interview him.”
“Just make sure he knows that I'm the one who got you to do it. I'll introduce Misty to him, in fact. Set up some face time.”
Tri-Patrice nodded. “You do that.” She picked up the phone and told whoever was on the other end to add Misty Monahan to the story on Sunday.
Someone tapped on her door and it opened a crack. It was the camera girl we’d seen with Misty Monahan on Tuesday night.
“Yes, Jessica?” Trisha asked.
“The video’s ready, they’re just changing up some of the music.”
“Go ahead and upload it to the server. I want to look at it.”
Jessica closed the door and Trisha gave us a flat smile. “They're working on the tribute video to Peter.”
She waited a few seconds, then clicked on the video file. She turned the monitors and scooted her chair so Viv and I could stand behind her and watch it.
The video opened with Peter sitting at the anchor desk, talking to Trisha and Tom, his white teeth flashing in a slow-motion laugh. Pictures slid slowly one by one: Peter holding a microphone out to an interview subject. Peter laughing with a group of school kids on a field trip to the station. Peter with his pregnant wife, holding a black and white sonogram photo. Peter, somber and contemplative as the sun set behind him. The entire KBST news team at a picnic somewhere, wearing their matching blue polo shirts. Lots of slow-motion laughing, hugging, a tug-of-war game, Peter holding up a plate filled with hot dogs, grinning triumphantly. Another picture of him and his wife at a gender reveal party. Fade to black as the music fades out.
“That's so sad,” I said.
Trisha cleared her throat and reached for a tissue. “I still can't believe it. It's just...it doesn't feel real.”
“Have they said yet what happened to him?” Viv asked.
“They're not saying. But it's very suspicious. I mean, he was young and healthy. What reason could there be for him to lie down under a mesquite tree and die?”
“We have it on good authority that he was wrestling with demons,” Viv said.
Tri-Patrice looked at her. “What? Where did you hear that?”
“Come on, Patrice. We share a code of ethics. We can't reveal our sources.”
“There's a psychic out at G-Ma's new shopping center that had a vision,” I told her.
Viv glared at me.
“You're the one who has me running all over town in my very shabbiest clothes while you look like Rich Retiree Barbie,” I said, lifting my shoe to show Trisha. “You have only yourself to blame.”
“The thing is,” Viv said through gritted teeth, turning back to Trisha. “we just don't know, do we? What demons, exactly, could he have been wrestling with?”
“You know that could mean anything, right? I mean, they weren't actual demons. She probably meant demons like we wrestle with.”
Viv and I had met at AA. We knew from demons.
“Or, it could mean an actual bad guy. Or bad guys. Don't underestimate the power of the prophetic vision, Salem. There are things in this world we're not meant to fully understand.”
“Well, I'm leaning toward the actual bad guy theory, to be honest.” Trisha shifted in her chair and put her feet up. “Peter Browning was at the top of his game. He had job interviews scheduled with stations in big markets: Houston, Atlanta, Chicago. He was getting all kinds of attention for the reports he was doing on the fracking-related earthquakes. His star was on the rise, for sure. And you know his wife is pregnant. He was all excited about the baby. He had no reason to be wrestling with inner demons.”
“That's all about how stuff looks from the outside, though. You never know what's going on in a person's private life. Some people are good at presenting the perfect facade when their life is quietly going off the rails.”
Not me, of course. Anybody could spot my own personal train wreck from forty paces. But that was one of the things that surprised me most from my AA meetings—some people really had the outside figured out.
“Well, I know there were some police officers who didn't seem exactly sad about Browning's death.”
Trisha frowned. “That doesn't surprise me. He made some enemies with that Space Cop story.”
“The Lubbock PD are not demons Peter was wrestling with,” I insisted. “Seriously.”
Trisha sighed and shook her head. “I'm sure you're right. The truth is, he had quite a few enemies. After David Baucum's death, his popularity took a real hit. There was even some talk that Baucum's death should be laid at Peter's feet, but that's just...” She waved a hand. “That's just stuff people say. Monday morning quarterbacking. Everyone has an opinion.”
“That's true,” Viv said, giving an 'utterance of wisdom' nod of her silver curls.
“Wait, what? Who's Baucum?”
“David Baucum, the architect who designed that elementary school that collapsed.” Viv looked at me. “Where have you been?”
“He was actually an engineer,” Trisha corrected to my instant satisfaction. “He didn't design the building, he did the soil report that the architects and engineers based the building design on. Salem, we ran parts of that interview five or six different times. You never saw any of it?”
“Oh, that Baucum,” I said. I vaguely remembered a middle-aged guy's leering face imposed over a collage of a collapsed building and ambulance pictures.
“Anyway, after Baucum died, some people said that Peter had been too hard on him, but that's just how people are—everyone knows how everyone else should be doing their jobs. The vast majority of comments I read were that Peter was a hero who exposed corruption, and Baucum got exactly what he deserved. I can promise, whatever demons Peter was wrestling with, regret over those stories was not among them. He was getting ready to ride that train to the big time.”
“So, jog my memory. How did Baucum die? Did they ever say?”
“Overdose. Accidental, supposedly. I heard it was alcohol and Ambien. He'd been drinking a lot since the firm closed. I heard several stories of him being berated in public, attacked practically, for that little girl being crippled.”
Now that part of the story I did remember. When the earthquake hit, a little girl had been crushed by a falling wall in the new cafeteria. She'd survived, but would never walk again. I'd read all about it online. I'd even given to her GoFundMe campaign.
“That reminds me,” Trisha said, turning to Viv. “They always present the Baucum Local Hero award at that Veterans Day ceremony. What's going on with that?”
“Nothing, apparently,” I said, happy to have something to contribute to the conversation, thanks to The Gaggle.
“They're just going to skip it?” Trisha raised her eyebrows. “Wow.”
I shrugged. “Looks like.”
“That's the talk, anyway,” Viv said. “But I'll see if I can get confirmation on that.”
“Please do. I'd like to give Misty a heads-up if there's a scoop she needs to be watching out for.”
––––––––
Fortunately, Veterans Day was on a Sunday so there were a couple of things I didn't have to worry about. One was that we would get a rush of dogs to groom and I would miss the ceremony entirely. The second was that I would have to go in my grooming clothes. Since I was already dressed nice for church, I was all set. I wore my current best dress to church and gave another little prayer of gratitude for the fifteen-pound weight loss. The last time I'd worn this dress, my ample hips had been uncomfortably emphasized by the chevron pattern. Now the thing draped a little more like it should.
At Belle Court, I opened Viv's door and said, “Knock knock.”
“It's open, obviously.”
She wasn't in the living room or dining room, so I sat and prepared to wait. “The room is filling up down there,” I called toward the bedroom, where I assumed she was primping. “You'd better hurry if you want to get a seat.”
“Almost done.”
A few seconds later, she came out wearing a lavender pencil skirt with a black satin button-down shirt and black pumps. Pinned to the side of her white head was a black and lavender...hat? I supposed it was a hat. It was a small purple box with black ribbons and black mesh ruffling out from it.
“What do you think?” she asked with a wide grin, tilting the hat in my direction. “It's called a fascinator. It's an exact replica of one Princess Kate wore to the Royal Ascot races last year.” She dropped into a curtsy, then winked at her reflection.
“You know what? That's actually pretty awesome.” I stepped close and looked at it. It did look rather fetching against her silver hair. So what if she was going to be the only person within two thousand miles to wear a “fascinator?”
“I know, right?!” She grinned and spun, her arms out. “I've ordered seven more in different color combinations.”
Downstairs, the Fireside Room—named for the giant stone fireplace that took up an entire cathedral height wall—was filling up fast. Misty Monahan and some guy from KLBC were both there. “I didn't realize this was such a big deal,” I murmured to Viv as we scootched down a row to two empty seats.
“It's usually not,” Viv said, sitting up tall in her chair and glancing queenly around. She nodded once as if to confirm that hers was, in fact, the only fascinator in attendance. “It's Nigel. He's a big draw.”
The ceremony came to order then and we hushed. First, a man from the Belle Court Board of Directors stood and spoke about his father and what he would think about the day. His dad had been a WWII vet, and he himself had done a tour of Vietnam. He was a vice-president of a bank or something and was probably used to getting the respect his position normally garnered, but the air was thick with a “so what?” kind of attitude.
He sat, and a different man stood and thanked everyone for coming. The crowd perked up a bit at this.
“Cecil Turnbull!” I whispered to Viv.
“Shhh!” She hissed.
Unlike with Nigel, Viv didn't have to try to get Cecil Turnbull's attention. Cecil volunteered at the prison ministry that my friend and mentor Les ran, and every time Viv and I went up there, Cecil was all over her like a golden retriever puppy.
Viv was having none of it, since Cecil had both a wife and a history of embezzlement. Also, she just didn't like him.
“I didn't know they'd moved into Belle Court,” I whispered. I looked around the room and spotted Janine, Cecil's wife. Janine was nice. She'd stuck by Cecil through the scandal of his embezzlement from the bank and subsequent prison term, and through losing their family home and all their society friends. When Cecil was released, she joined him in volunteering at Exodus as if it was just another one of her Junior League charities, although Janine was always the only one there wearing pearls. Personally, I thought she deserved better than Cecil Turnbull.
“They moved in three months ago, and look at him. He's already practically running the place.”
Cecil nodded toward Nigel, who sat looking regal in his sport coat and ascot, his white hair particularly leonine and his goatee groomed to a sharp point, and Nigel nodded solemnly back. I had to admit, he and Viv would make a very handsome couple. Together they could probably do commercials for fancy European river cruises or reverse mortgages.
“But I'm afraid I have some disappointing news. As many of you know, Belle Court has recently welcomed a new resident who is also a World War II hero from across the pond. Nigel Frost has been a resident here for the past several weeks, and when I learned that he had flown Spitfires in World War II and was involved in some of the major battles in the war, I asked him to speak about his experience. He graciously agreed, but unfortunately, over the last few days he's suffered from laryngitis, and he's not able to speak. His friend Anne has agreed to read his presentation, and Nigel is here for moral support, but he won't be able to speak or answer any questions today.”
Viv frowned. “What? Blimey.”
“Shhh,” I said. “I think that means something pretty bad.”
Anne stood and smiled nervously, her red cheeks flushed. “I want y'all to know that I haven't spoken in front of a group since I retired from teaching twenty years ago. I'm out of practice!” She laughed and then fiddled with the presentation clicker until Imogene Hall stood and helped her advance to the first slide.
“I'm going to read directly from Nigel's presentation, because he's done such a good job of laying everything out. I'm sure you'll agree that he has a fascinating story.”
She clicked through the slides and, if it wasn't what I would call fascinating, at least it wasn't boring. Nigel had included pictures of his plane, group pictures of his troop, some in-air pictures that he said were taken from Life magazine. There were maps of where he flew and a few anecdotes of his misadventures. Once, his plane stalled over open water and, just before he was about to crash, he was able to get it started again. On a slide about the lengthy post-flight procedure the pilots had to go through, Anne read the same line three times and never seemed to realize it. It took Imogene standing and encouraging her to go to the next slide before the whole thing moved forward.
Anne kept looking out at Nigel for reassurance, and he smiled back warmly and nodded each time, even through the needless repetition bit. He had kind eyes, I thought. And he really seemed to care for Anne. I hated to think that Viv was going to miss out on her next Mr. Right, but from everything I saw, this couple was pretty solidly established.
Once it was over, the crowd clapped and Anne turned to sit down.
Viv stood. “If you don't mind, I know Nigel said he couldn't answer questions, but maybe just one yes or no question? I've been reading up on the different planes that were flown by the British pilots, and from what I understand, most Spitfire pilots also flew Hurricanes.” She turned to Nigel and gave him a flirtatious smile. “I wondered which you preferred—Hurricanes or...Spitfires?” She waggled a brow.
Nigel blinked a few times, then smiled, his own eyes a little frustrated. He pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket and scribbled quickly, then tore off the paper and handed it to Anne.
“He says that's too complicated to go into briefly, so he'd like to answer at a later time.”
“Of course,” Viv said, with a gracious nod of her own. “I'll look forward to that.” She sat and whispered, “Bloody hell.”
“Viv! Language!” I whispered back.
“Bloody heck, then.”
I leaned toward her and whispered, “He was impressed by your knowledge. I could tell.”
“I guess. Maybe he's really into that whole helpless female act that Anne puts on. Maybe brainy isn't the new sexy.” She frowned, then slap at her thigh in frustration. “Golly gumdrop!”
I raised an eyebrow at her.
“You're the one who won't let me say bloody hell,” she said in a you-have-only-yourself-to-blame kind of way.
Everyone milled around with their cake and punch, taking surreptitious looks at Viv's fascinator. Both Misty Monahan and the KLBC guy had cornered Cecil Turnbull and wrangled a few questions out of him. He seemed happy enough to comply. I made a mental note to avoid the comments section of this news story. People got all bent out of shape when someone refused to slink away in shame when they made mistakes.
Cecil cast a glance Viv's way every few minutes, but she didn't notice because she was too busy keeping an eye on Nigel.
Nigel kept one hand on Anne's elbow as they slowly circled the room, looking at the different pictures that people had brought. Every time someone spoke to them, he would touch his hand to his throat and give an apologetic smile.
Viv held a plate with an untouched piece of cake on it, scowled and tapped her foot.
“You know what?” I leaned closed and said in a low voice. “Who needs that guy anyway? You don't. You're a hot, exciting red-blooded female who has a lot to offer a red-blooded male. You don't need to look farther than your own doorstep to find a man who'd be thrilled to get a second glance from you.”
“Oh, I know,” Viv said, and clunked her plate on the closest tray. She sighed gustily. “He's not even going to be interviewed, though. I was looking forward to recording it so I could listen to his accent over and over.” Then she straightened. “I could at least get a picture.”
She fished in her handbag and brought out her phone. “Get a picture of me and my fascinator.”
I pulled up the camera and pointed it at her.
She smiled and said through her teeth, “Is he in the background?”
Nigel and Anne were still walking slowly through the room.
Holding the phone up, I took Viv's elbow and gently moved her so Nigel would be in the background. He turned his back.
“Do you want one of his back?” I asked softly.
She frowned and shook her head. “His jacket is too long for that to be any good. Wait until he's turned around.”
Finally, after I had kept turning Viv in almost a complete circle, Nigel looked in our general direction. I snapped three quick pictures.
Viv took the phone back and flipped through them. “That will have to do,” she said with a sigh.
I looked around for something to cheer her up.
“Let's see if we can talk to Misty Monahan and get some info on the Browning thing. You're good at leading people to believe you feel sympathy for them. Let's mention how upset she looked when we saw her the other night and see if you can get her to talk.” I made a silent apology to Tony, but I was sure he would understand if he could see how dejected Viv looked. Besides, we were in the Fireside Room at a retirement home. What danger could I be in here?
Viv sighed again, still looking unhappy. “Hush. I am sympathetic. Usually.”
“Well, then. Come on, let's go use your power for good.”
She dragged after me, but she turned on her charm when we reached Misty.
“Hello, Miss Monahan, do you remember us?”
Misty was packing away her microphone, but she stopped when she saw us. “Of course, Patrice's friends. How are you?” She cast a cautious eye up to Viv's fascinator, but didn't say anything about it.
“We're doing very well, thank you. What we really want to know, though, is how are you? We were at the scene when Peter Browning's body was found.” Her voice dropped into a smooth cadence and she tilted her head. “You seemed so distraught, Love. How are you?” she asked again, placing a soothing hand just above Misty's elbow.
I crinkled my own brow in concern and did the head tilt thing, too. I did feel bad for her, that much was true. I just didn't have people skills like Viv did.
Misty swallowed and nodded, her mouth tightened in a flat smile. “That was really hard,” she said. “I worked with Peter for a year, and it was...well, it was hard. For him to be found like that.”
I sensed Viv's antennae going up the same as mine. Like that. Like what? Did she mean just the fact that he'd been a young man who was found dead? Or did her choice of words indicate something more?
Viv shook her head. “Such a shame. And such a shock. You don't expect someone like that to...end up like that.” She rubbed Misty's arm and waited for her to drop another hint.
But the movement seemed to bring Misty back to the present. She frowned and moved away from Viv's touch. “Of course, it's a shock.”
Viv gave it another go. “I heard the Medical Examiner's report will be released sometime this week. And then it will all be out in the open.”
Misty's eyes snapped to Viv, but she said nothing.
Viv waited a couple of beats. Then she said, “I mean, they'll have determined the exact cause of death, at least.”
Misty nodded and her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. “Yes, of course.”
“Weird, isn't it, that they aren't saying anything about how he died?”
She gave a slight shrug and “Not really, no. When there are no obvious injuries, it takes a full autopsy and sometimes a toxicology report to determine exact cause of death. It's not like on TV, when you find out at the scene.”
Viv blinked. “Yes, well...”
“Was there anything else? No? Okay, well, have a good day.” She shouldered her bag and walked away.
Viv and I watched her go.
“Son of a biscuit,” Viv said.
“Right,” I said. “The cookie kind again?”
“Shut up.” She sighed and frowned. “Well, that was a big ol' ball of useless.”
“She's kind of scary,” I said. “She reminds me of a much younger Imogene Hall.”
“Me, too.” She snorted. “Thinks she's too smart for us. But did you see that moment of sheer panic in her eyes when I said it'll all be out in the open? I got one over on her.”
“I don't know that I'd call it sheer panic.”
“It was definitely sheer panic. She has something to hide,” Viv insisted.
“Maybe.”
“And what about the way she said, 'Like that.' Like what, Love?”
“That could have been something. Then again, she also said there were no obvious injuries.”
“True.” She frowned again, apparently realizing we hadn't actually gained any information. I felt guilty for taking what she'd seen as a win after being disappointed by Nigel.
“Oh, I forgot about the Baucum Local Hero thing,” I remembered. “We told Tri-Patrice we would find out. Should we ask Cecil about it?”
The look she gave me has no polite word to describe it.
“No? Okay,” I said, not bothering to hide my grin.
“Let's ask that girl.”
I looked back the way Misty Monahan had gone, but she was nowhere to be seen. The same camera girl who'd been with her at the scene Tuesday night was there, though, packing away her camera. I took Viv by the elbow and moved through the crowd to talk to her. We caught her just as she was about to follow after Misty.
“Hi,” I said, standing in front of her to keep her from leaving. Viv needed a new thread to pull on, and if it was a non-scandal, then so be it. “I'm not sure if we met. We're friends with Patrice Watson.”
She lifted her chin. “Oh, yeah, I've seen you at the station before.”
“We were just talking about the thing they usually do here on Veterans Day, the Baucum Local Hero thing. What's going on with that, do you know?”
“Oh, that. They said it was postponed on account of the weather.”
We all looked at each other for a beat.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“I know, right?” Jessica said. “As if they couldn't move the ceremony indoors, like they've done on several occasions.” She shrugged, then peered around my shoulder.
Probably looking for Misty, I thought. “Do you think they're hiding something?” I asked, kind of desperate to find a string to latch onto, if for no other reason than to cheer Viv up with a new lead to follow.
She shrugged again. “I mean, who knows? My theory would be more along the lines of they just weren't prepared. Baucum Engineering always coordinated the whole thing, from what I understand. No Baucum Engineering, no Baucum Local Hero award. Everybody's just standing around waiting for someone else to either take up the responsibility or pull the plug.”
She took a half step sideways, again looking past me.
“I'm sorry,” I said. This wasn't going to give Viv anything to work with, so I might as well let her go. “I don't want to make you miss your ride.” I stepped aside.
She smiled, but her brows twitched. “Misty would never leave me,” she said as she walked away.
Viv and I stood silently, both feeling kind of bummed. I fought the urge to cheer myself with sugar-laden red punch and saucer-size cookies. “Come on. Let's head to the outlet mall and find some new shoes that will make Nigel sit up and take notice.” Because I wanted to get her into a better mood, I said, “Do you want to drive the Monster Carlo?”
She didn't even feign disinterest this time. She took the key from me wordlessly and headed across the parking lot. She was so lost in her funk that she barely watched where she was going and nearly stepped into the path of an oncoming pickup.
The horn blared, and I grabbed Viv's elbow, pulling her back. The pickup slowed almost to a stop, past us by this point, and I lifted a hand in apology. After another second or two, the guy drove on.
“Do I have to put one of those leashes on you like they do toddlers? Get your head out of the Nigel cloud.”
“I'll have you know I am thinking about the case.” She unlocked the Monster Carlo door and dropped into the seat with a sigh. “I'm thinking about Nigel, too. Maybe I'm a bit too CSI Miami, and he's really more into Miss Marple.”
“Miss Marple? Is that—”
“Agatha Christie. Little old woman who knitted and solved the case by eavesdropping.”
“I haven't read those.”
“Me either, but I've seen a few episodes of the TV show, and if that's what he's into, he may be a lost cause. Mousy hair, little old lady clothes, polite type who's seen and not heard.”
“Nope,” I said. “I can't see you pulling that off.”
She pointed the Monster Carlo for the outlet mall.
At the mall, Viv not only found three pairs of shoes, but two handbags and three scarves. That lifted her mood considerably, enough so that she offered to spring for an early dinner at the steakhouse.
I slid the basket of rolls over toward her, dutifully ordered a grilled chicken breast and steamed vegetables, and spent the rest of the time half listening to Viv talk about how maybe she didn't want Nigel anyway and half remembering what those warm yeast rolls with melted butter tasted like. When my chicken came I kind of wanted to slap the plate to the floor.
I cut into it with determination, though, and at that moment a thought popped into my head. “Hey!” I looked up at Viv.
She froze, eyes wide, a buttered roll halfway to her mouth.
“The guy who almost ran over you in the Belle Court parking lot. He was driving an Eagle Construction truck.” I remembered the sign on the tailgate of the pickup.
“Yes. And?”
“And the guy out at the crime scene the other night? He was wearing an Eagle Construction shirt. Remember? He called Misty Monahan something. A rat. No...a vulture.
“I remember him. Are you sure he had on an Eagle shirt?”
“Pretty sure. I remember the logo with the eagle in the circle.”
Viv bit her roll, then tilted her head. “I suppose it's worth following up on. But that company must have a hundred employees. It's not hard to imagine that two of them would be at two different high-profile events.”
I raised an eyebrow over the concept of the Belle Court Veterans Day Ceremony being “high profile” to anyone living outside the Belle Court campus, but didn't say anything.
“After dinner we'll head over there and see if we see anything unusual.”
At that moment, I remembered I was supposed to be discouraging this kind of activity, not encouraging it.
“It probably wasn't him.”
“Probably not. But we're near there, so we might as well check it out.”
Crud. “Actually, I really need to get back to Tony's so I can pick up Stump.”
“What's happened to Frank?” Viv asked.
“I think he must have a girlfriend,” I said. “I hardly see him anymore.”
“Good for him. It's about time. Handsome, virile man like that needs a woman.”
I was so stunned at the idea of Frank being handsome—not to mention virile—that for a second I forgot I was trying to talk Viv out of hunting down clues to a mystery that might not even be a mystery.
“In any case, I'm sure Tony won't mind hanging on to Stump for another half hour while we check out this construction guy.”
I chewed my steamed broccoli and thought. Talking to Misty Monahan in the safety of the Belle Court Fireside Lounge had felt safe. Going to a construction company felt infinitely less so. If we did happen to be following a murderer, there could be all kinds of ways to get into trouble. He'd have...tools and stuff. Hammers, crowbars, probably even nail guns. Yikes.
On the other hand, there was the fact that we didn't even know if there was a murder to begin with. So it wasn't like we had compelling reason not to hunt the guy down and...hmmm...apologize for walking in front of his truck? That sounded like a decent straw to grasp at.
“We'll need to make it quick,” I warned. “Maybe just swing through the parking lot to see if it's the same guy. We won't even get out of the car.”
“Whatever. You stay in the car if you want to. If I see him, I'm talking to him.” She signaled for the check.
––––––––
Eagle Construction was a couple of miles from the outlet mall, and I insisted on driving this time. If things went south, I didn't want to rely on Viv to get us out of there.
“There he is! Don't let him get away.”
“Would you chill out?” I said, annoyed that she'd made my heart race for no reason. “He's not going to flee the interview.”
“He will if you don't hurry up.” She was out the door before I killed the engine.
It was definitely the same guy from Tuesday night. Whether it was the same guy as at Belle Court, I couldn't say. What I could say—and didn't care for—was that he carried a tool box in one hand.
“God, if this guy is a murderer, please don't let him kill us, or else Tony will be so mad at me.”
“Excuse me,” Viv called to the guy, the ribbons on her fascinator flouncing with each step. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out one of those mortifying business cards.
Jeez-o-Friggin-Peet. I killed the engine and wondered what could be going through his mind—one old woman and one chubby girl in a forty-year-old Monte Carlo, handing out bondage cards.
“First, I wanted to apologize for stepping in front of you at Belle Court. That was you, wasn't it?”
He looked at the card, then looked from Viv, her hat, then to me.
I tried not to look embarrassed.
“I'm sorry...what?”
“At Belle Court, after the ceremony.”
“Ceremony?”
“The Veterans Day ceremony this afternoon. Were you there? After it was over, we were walking to our car and I accidentally stepped in front of your truck.” She nodded toward the pickup he'd been about to get into. It looked like eight other white pickups in the parking lot.
“Oh, yeah...that. Yes, that was me.”
I got a little thrill of fear. One pickup out of nine happens to belong to the same guy we were looking for. We happen to see him twice in less than a week, at two totally unrelated events. We happen to find him here on a Sunday evening, when the place was closed. It all had to add up to something, right?
“I wanted to apologize for that. I get a little preoccupied in my thoughts.”
I eyed the well-muscled arm that still held the tool box. Could he just...whip out something and bash us over the head with it? Just in case he got any ideas, I thought I'd better make sure he knew we were no danger to him. I put my arm through Viv's and patted her. “She gets confused sometimes. Forgets to watch where she's going.” I hunched my shoulders and giggled. “Sometimes it's all I can do to keep her from wandering onto the Loop in her nightgown.”
Viv gave me the stink eye, but turned back to the guy. “Anyway. Were you at the ceremony?”
He took a moment to turn and slide the tool box into the pickup seat. He turned back to us and stuck his hands in his pockets. “No, I didn't know there was a ceremony, actually. My mom's up there in the Alzheimer's unit. I was visiting her.”
We were silent for a moment. “I'm sorry,” I finally said.
He took a deep breath and nodded in a What can you do? kind of way.
“I'm sorry to hear that,” Viv said. “Belle Court does have the best Alzheimer’s treatment available, though. She's in good hands.”
“I know.” He nodded again. For a second his face flashed with anger, and I was reminded of the way he'd muttered, “Vultures,” at the reporters Tuesday night.
Now that we'd bumbled our way into this situation, I wasn't sure how to proceed, though.
Luckily, Viv had no such problem. “We also saw you on Tuesday night, when Peter Browning's body was found.”
“Oh, yeah.” He looked from Viv to me and back again. “Yes, I remember you. That was something else, huh?”
“Shocking,” Viv said.
“I was driving by there on my way home and saw all the commotion. I had to stop.” He ducked his head and gave us a sheepish look. “I hate to be a sightseer, but I had to stop. You know.” He shrugged. “All the lights. You have to wonder what's going on.”
“Did you know Peter Browning?” I asked.
He tilted his head forward. “Who? Oh, the reporter guy?” He shook his head. “No, not really. I mean, I knew who he was, from the television. And I'd seen all the stories about him going missing. But I didn't know him. I've only lived here a few months.” He frowned and shifted, as if something had just occurred to him. “Now, what did you say you were doing here? You're...” He looked at the card. “Private investigators?”
“That's right,” Viv said. She lifted her chin. “We're investigating the death of Peter Browning.”
He drew his brow down, confused. “But...I heard it was suicide.”
“The ME report isn't in yet,” Viv said. “It's not like on TV when you know the cause of death within half a day, you know.”
“Of course, I'd just heard, you know, there was a note or something.”
Viv and I looked at each other. We hadn't heard about any note!
“Yes, well...what does a note prove?” Viv crossed her arms over her chest.
He shrugged again. “I guess that depends on what is in the note.”
“Yes, and what was in the note?”
“Exactly. I mean—umm. What?”
“What was in that note?” Viv leaned toward him, her eyes flashing. “Come on. What did it say?”
“How should I know?” He took a step back, eyes widening.
“You're the one who said there was a note.”
He looked lost. “That's just...that's the rumor I heard.” His confusion was quickly turning to annoyance.
“Where? Who told you?”
“Look, lady—”
Clearly it was time for me to intervene. We certainly didn't want to annoy someone into becoming a murderer if they weren't already.
I put my hand out. “Please excuse our...overzealousness.”
“It's actually unbridled enthusiasm,” Viv said.
“We just hadn't heard about the note, so this is a bit of a surprise to us.”
He frowned, but gave a slight nod. “I guess if there's no crime, there's no need for an investigation.”
Viv did not look happy about that. “Bloody heck.”
I apologized again, and we got back into the car silently. Viv sat with her arms crossed and her chin stuck out, looking like an 80-year-old toddler who'd been sent to bed without her supper.
“Your enthusiasm is admirable,” I offered as I pulled onto the loop.
“Fat lot of good it's doing me.”
I decided not to continue. Truth be told, I wasn't exactly feeling energized by the way that had gone, either. I felt stupid for bothering the guy and reminding him about the mother with Alzheimer's. It was probably a good thing Tony didn't want me to investigate anymore. I wasn't exactly good at it.
But what was I good at? What were my gifts?
I went through the list I'd read in Romans the other morning. Teaching? No. Prophecy? Clearly not. There was something about contributing with generosity, but since I had to get by on my salary as a dog groomer, it was difficult to see how that could be my God-given gift.
Exhortation. Wasn't that kind of like enthusiasm?
That was not my gift, either, but thinking of it did remind me of how excited Viv had been after leaving the psychic the day before, all jazzed up because she'd been told she had lived a life of unbridled enthusiasm.
Personally, I could use something encouraging like that, and it looked like Viv could use a fresh shot. Maybe Serena could give me some insight into myself that would help me figure out why I was here.
“How about we go back to Serena's and see if she's had anymore visions?”
Viv shrugged. “Might as well.”
The new lease on the motel's life had given G-Ma a new lease on life, too. She seemed to have aged backwards a good fifteen years. At least her hair had. The solid red football helmet style she had worn for years was replaced by a soft auburn with blond and brown streaks and a soft, wispy fringe of bangs around her forehead.
She met me and Viv on the sidewalk, turning this way and that to give us a chance to fully admire the new 'do. Sometimes it was easy to see where my mom had gotten her confidence.
“What do you think? Elma did it just this morning.”
“It's great!” I said and meant it. “Who's Elma?”
“You knew her as Felicia.
“Oh,” I said, and immediately changed my mind about going to her for my own updated new look. Felicia had expressed a desire to kill me one time when I'd accidentally gotten us all arrested for prostitution. I didn't know if “Elma” held the same views, but I wasn't keen on finding out.
“We're here to see Serena,” I said. “Get some more information about her visions.”
“That's a great idea.” G-Ma clapped her hands together. “Fantastic!”
My dour, grumpy G-Ma, clapping her hands together and declaring things “fantastic!”
“She has a new collection of crystals, just in today. You have to see them!”
I drew my head back. My G-Ma, who scoffed at anything she couldn't see, hear, taste, or feel, excited about crystals. Who was this woman?
“Have her read your aura,” G-Ma said. “She just told me mine was purple. Purple is a sign of financial gain. She said the universe is telling me to keep striving, that all my hard work is about to pay off.”
It all made sense now. Nothing excited G-Ma more than the idea of “financial gain.” I could certainly understand that. That would probably make me happy, too.
“Come here and rub some of your purple off on me,” I said, closing in for a hug.
Across the parking lot, Viv was already inside Serena's shop. The place was lighter than I expected, but still had plenty of shiny, spinny, dangly things hanging around the room—dream catchers, spinning crystals, other unidentifiables. Something like music played in the background—a humming, moaning kind of thing. Whales, maybe?
“We actually haven't had a chance to talk to the police yet.”
“That's great,” Serena said. “The opportunity will present itself when the time is right for it to be received.” She smiled with serenity.
She turned to me, still smiling. As soon as she saw me, though, her smile vanished. She drew her head back, her brow suddenly furrowed.
Uh-oh. My heart started to pound, and I immediately ran through the list of possible explanations for this reaction. Back when I was drinking, I'd had quite a talent for mouthing off and offending people. Okay, the truth was I wasn't too shabby at it now. But when I was drinking, it was as if I looked for ways to offend people. They weren't hard to find.
I studied Serena's face, trying to trigger a memory so I could know what I should be apologizing for. Did I flirt with her boyfriend? Spill a beer on her? Insult her to her face?
Nothing came to mind. After a few seconds, I realized she and I were staring at each other.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was trying to jog my memory—your face looks familiar to me.” It didn't, but that seemed like a good enough opening.
Serena shook her head. “We've never met.” Not a trace of doubt.
“Oh.” Soooo...the sight of me made her frown for no real reason? I looked over at Viv, who was busy studying a crystal.
“I'm sorry,” Serena finally said. “I've just...I've never seen such a deep blue before.”
I looked down at my dress.
“No, your aura.” She looked at the area just a few inches above my head.
“Oh?” I stood there feeling self-conscious. “Umm, well. Thank you.” I gave a tiny curtsy.
“Seriously.” As if in a daze, she waved her hands lightly above my head, as if trying to touch it. “It's so dark it's almost black.”
I remembered what G-Ma had said about her purple aura. Purple meant financial gain. Blue and purple were right next to each other on the color spectrum, right? My heart rate ticked up another notch.
“That's great,” I said.
“No, it's bad,” she said.
“Bad?” Good grief. Financial loss, then? But I had nothing to lose!
“Well, I mean...nothing is good or bad, right? It just...is what it is.”
“If it is what it is, why is your face all like this?” I pulled my own mouth down in an exaggerated frown. Suddenly, she was kind of getting on my nerves.
She shook her head and gave a flat smile. “It's not...it's just...I feel bad for you.”
“But why? I'm going to be hit by a bus or something?”
“No, it's not like that. Auras don't predict the future or anything like that. Auras reflect the state of our spirits, the state of our energy.”
“So, what does dark blue mean, then?”
“It's the color of blockage. The color of...” She frowned again and put her hands on her hips. She tilted her head. She put her hand to her chin, studying me. “It's the color of repression. You, my friend, are harboring an enormous fear of self-expression.”
Then she straightened and smiled, satisfied.
I waited a couple of beats. Then, “That's it?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. You have the biggest fear of self-expression I've ever seen.”
“Well, give me a smiley-face sticker!” I said sourly.
She laughed. “I get that it's not exactly the thing someone would want to hear unless—”
“No kidding,” I interrupted. “You told Viv she was a bright ray of sunlight or something and told G-Ma she was about to come into great wealth.”
“Not precisely true on either count,” she said. The serene smile was back in full force.
“I need to hear something good,” I said.
“Nothing is good or bad. It simply is what it is.”
I sighed. Did I really need this? No. No, I did not. I turned to Viv. “You ready?”
“If you want to change the color of your aura, all you have to do is start expressing yourself.” Still with that smile.
I wondered what color my aura would turn if I, say, bounced one of those crystals off the side of her head. “I can't,” I said. “I've taken a vow of nonviolence.”
She laughed. I hated that she had such a nice laugh, light and bubbly.
“Just be you. That's all. Let the world see you. You deserve to be seen.”
“I am me,” I snapped. “I'm me every blessed day. If I knew how to be someone else, believe me, I would have made the switch long ago.”
She drew her head back again. “Whoa.”
“What?”
“It actually just turned darker.”
I held my hands out, game show hostess style. “Get me, I'm a wonder of spiritual constipation. Viv, are you ready?”
“Sure, let me just get a couple of these.” She handed over a handful of shiny things to Serena. Then she looked at me. “Jeez-O-Peet . What are you frowning about?”
I hooked a thumb at Serena. “I came here hoping she would say something to cheer me up, and she made me feel worse.” Something about that smile made me want to smash it.
To me, Serena said, “Why do you need cheering up?” Then to Viv, “That'll be $39.74.”
I opened my mouth to explain about Tony and chasing bad guys with guns and about Paul pointing out the different jobs in the body of Christ and about how I had no idea what part of the body I was.
But I didn't want to talk about Tony in front of Viv. It would seem a bigger deal than it was. Viv would go all feminist commando on me, and I wasn't emotionally prepared for that. Not with my navy blue aura and all.
“Nothing,” I finally mumbled. “It's just that Viv and G-Ma were encouraged by what you said to them.”
“You could be encouraged, as well.”
I felt my eyes bug. “Encouraged?”
“Yes! Encouraged to let open the floodgates, be who you are, express your deepest self, and walk out of this small world you've locked yourself in.” She handed Viv the paper bag of her goodies.
I shook my head. “Nope. When I open the floodgates, entire villages are wiped out.”
“Hmmm...must not have been your true floodgates you were opening, then.”
I stared at her. I blinked. I opened my mouth to say something, but couldn't think of a thing. “What?”
She nodded serenely. “Yes.”
I sputtered a few attempts at words, then said. “Look. I came in here hoping you could help me—I don't know. Tell me why I'm here. What my purpose is. I feel lost and pointless and...”
I drifted off because she'd lifted her hands to her mouth, opened in a fond smile. The smile you would give your five-year-old who has just learned to ride a bike without training wheels.
“What?” My heart thudded. This was good, right?
“You are!” Serena said. She clapped her hands. “You really are!”
“I really am what?”
“You really are seeking!”
“Well, that...yeah. That's what I'm saying.”
She nodded, grinning. I wasn't sure, but I thought there might be the faintest hint of a tear in her eye.
I lifted my palms. “Okay, so...?”
“Oh, I can't give you the answers.”
I gritted my teeth. “I'll pay you $39.74.”
“No, I mean...I don't know. The journey is for you to find out.”
“Find out what?”
“Exactly.” She nodded, still with that same grin.
“Ugh!” I sighed and spun on my heel.
Serena laughed. “The universe is telling you something. That's why you have this feeling that something is missing, this uneasiness. That's why you feel that hole.”
“Okay, great,” I said, turning back to her. “Let's fill that puppy up.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head, her smile turning sad. “Trying to fill that hole with anything except your true purpose only leads to heartache and disaster.”
“Addiction,” Viv said.
“Exactly,” Serena said again.
I shook my head. “Been there, done that.”
“So, be patient, but be excited!” Her grin widened. “The universe is telling you something,” she said again. “Once you find it—once you're in the flow of your true purpose—all other problems will simply fade away.”
Chapter Five