Finders, keepers, losers, weepers is also a children’s rhyme. The same concept used to claim sunken treasure and important archeological finds also settles playground disputes. And when delivered in a snarky, sing-song voice, it can be particularly upsetting to the victim who may have only set an object down for a second to have a smart aleck swoop in and claim it. The problem with the finders, keepers, losers, weepers law, both in adult and children’s worlds, is determining a fair explanation of abandonment. How long can something sit untouched before it’s up for grabs?
After a short attempt at sleep that didn’t end well, I rose from bed, showered, dressed, and made it to the police station by 8:15, beating Jason Kent to work. I waited in the quiet lobby adjacent to the room of cubicles that looked too normal to be the hub of real police work. But, as Sam liked to say, real police work is done on the streets, not at a desk.
I’d called Sam this morning, a couple of times yesterday, only to get his voicemail. I hadn’t heard back. In his type of work, situations didn’t always allow for breaks to call needy girlfriends. But, I hadn’t seen him or talked to him in over twenty-four hours, making me feel abandoned, just as I felt during our almost-night together.
Though I’d succeeded at the finders, keepers part (Kent’s silk tie was in my purse, waiting for the big reveal), I felt more like I belonged to the losers, weepers group.
I tried him again. No answer.
The last twenty-four hours of my life hadn’t allowed for breaks either. In between turning Beach Read into a gothic shrine, I’d scoped out David Love’s shop, spied on a drug deal, watched security footage until I was bug-eyed, and snooped out the study at the Peacock. I’d had three solid hours of sleep in as many days, and I was about to confront the Chief of Police about his affair. What was I thinking?
I stood up, shaking my head, and was about to race out of the precinct when I heard, “Ms. Duffy?”
Jason Kent waved me toward him. He carried a stainless steel coffee mug, briefcase, and a stern, haven’t-had-time-to-drink-this-yet expression. I could relate.
“You wanted to see me?” he questioned, bypassing all the chitchat and pleasantries I’d hoped for (mainly to calm my nerves).
“Yes.”
He cast me a questioning look, and then pointed down the rows of cubicles. “Let’s go to my office.”
Jason Kent did, in fact, have a real office. At the end of cubicle row, he unlocked a door with his name on it, and led me inside. He motioned toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, identical to the one I’d just spent twenty minutes waiting in, and I plopped down, trying to recall what wise gem of my rambunctious thinking had steered me to do this in the first place.
“Have you remembered something significant about my wife’s case?” he urged.
“No, not really. How is she?”
“Well, you know Val,” he breathed out, “always a fighter.”
I didn’t know her, not well, but that fact was abundantly clear. I nodded, the tension in my heart rising. “She’s feeling better?”
“The concussion’s better, gash is healing, but she also cracked a rib,” Kent listed. “That’s going to take the longest. The worst part for her is taking it easy. Sitting still just isn’t in her vocabulary. So, what can I do for you, Ms. Duffy?”
Kent sat at his desk and eyed me as my mind flurried to figure out where to start. The plan I’d concocted (and that had sounded so good) on the way here vanished from memory. Confronting a man about his affair wasn’t as easy as my natural distaste made it out to be.
I shifted in my seat, and then flubbed. “Have there been any cases of graffiti on the island recently?”
“Um, no, not lately. Why?”
“At the party, I noticed the Kayne’s mermaid fountain had been vandalized-”
“They didn’t report it.”
“I know. Chris Kayne brushed it off. But, I just wondered if you’d seen any other cases.”
“Vandals do like to spread their work around, but we haven’t had an incident in a few years,” he revealed. “What did it look like?”
“A red heart that had been set on fire.”
Kent shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Hearts aren’t typical icons in vandalism. Sounds more like a romantic gesture, an angry ex, perhaps?”
“Maybe,” I returned, “but I think it would take a lot to render a girl that crazy. Don’t you?”
Kent shrugged. “Depends on the woman.”
I winced. Valerie Kent would be that type of angry. I pictured her with her taser, going after Jason Kent and shocking him helpless.
“Is that all you wanted, Ms. Duffy?” Kent prodded.
“No, that’s not it. Why didn’t you review the security footage from the party?” I prompted, nerves rising again. “You believed me, or at least I thought you did. Why not watch the footage just in case?”
“There were no cameras outside and since no one had seen a redhead at the party, I didn’t think it would be helpful.”
I pulled his expensive blue tie from my purse and dropped it on his desk. “So, it’s not because the footage shows you sneaking off with Lucy Monroe to the study?” The question spat out of me, my inner-woman roaring. “I can’t believe that the same man I saw the other night, racing to his wife’s side and practically sick with worry over her, is the same man I saw on that recording, making goo-goo eyes at Lucy Monroe and slipping off with her like a couple of horny teenagers.”
“Now, wait just a minute,” he said, hand extended. “I love my wife-”
“Right,” I bit back sarcastically, “aside from your reaction to her robbery, which was probably put on for show, the evidence proves otherwise. You were fighting at the party-”
“We had a disagreement,” he corrected, “the same as any couple with a few years under their belts-”
“Didn’t look like a run-of-the-mill spat.”
Kent swallowed his anger with a deep breath. “Val wore a green dress,” he told me, “and she wanted me to wear a matching green tie. She laid it out for me. But, I didn’t want to look like a couple on their way to prom. So, I wore this blue tie instead. She got upset, and our arguing continued through the party until she gave up and went home. Like all women, Val overreacts. Me not wearing the tie turned in to me not respecting her opinion or not valuing her or some other nonsense. What it boils down to really, is that Val didn’t get her way and threw a tantrum the entire night because of it-”
“That doesn’t justify your infidelity,” I returned, stinging from the “like all women” remark.
“I’m not trying to justify it. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done. Our disagreement didn’t help matters, but it didn’t cause anything either,” Kent replied. “Such a stupid thing to fight about, but that seems to be all we do anymore. After twelve years of marriage all the niceties go out the window and all you’re left with is a stupid fight about a tie. I love my wife, Ms. Duffy. It just feels good not to love her sometimes. You’re a cop’s wife in training. You’ll see.”
“Oh, I see. So every woman overreacts and every man, particularly a cop, has the propensity to cheat? I don’t think so. Sam would never cheat. He’s not a sleezebag, skirt chaser with an ego to stroke,” I countered, growing more irritated.
He smirked as if he knew a secret that I didn’t, as if his experiences in marriage and my inexperience gave him Yoda-like understanding of how it all is and should be. But, he didn’t press the issue, probably because he knew I’d come across the desk and strangle him with his tie if he tried to insinuate that Sam could be so depraved.
“My feelings for Val always reset back again. Her robbery was a reminder, and I haven’t been with Lucy since. My cheating days are over.”
“That’s very reassuring,” I said, sarcasm dripping like a melting ice cream cone, “but I wonder if Valerie would be so convinced.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
If I valued sisterhood amongst women at all, I should. I scoffed. “I’ve got my nose in too many pots as it is, and yours stinks to high heaven. I don’t have plans to tell her, but if I’m ever asked, I will tell the truth.”
“Fair enough,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. I recalled my college boyfriend, who cheated on me relentlessly with this girl named Mia – a supposed study partner. Hearing about it would’ve been hard, but I wish someone had told me so I wouldn’t have made myself a fool for so long. Jason Kent’s the one who cheated, but I was left feeling guilty.
“There were several people missing from the party at the time of my redhead’s disappearance,” I moved on. “Lucius Kayne, Ed Wakefield, his nephew, Ricky, your wife, and David Love had all left the building.”
“And I’m sure there were several people who left the party even earlier,” Kent returned. “I’m not sure what that-”
“The study at the back corner of the house is right next to where I was standing on the deck,” I explained, “right where the woman came out of the fog. You have to tell me what you saw.”
“I didn’t see the woman,” he reported. “I saw you, heard your footsteps across the deck, and when we heard your screaming, we pulled ourselves together and rushed back to the party.”
I sighed, and hung my head. I believed him, and abandoned any hope that this would lead to a redhead-sighting confirmation. Turns out, I’d found nothing and had jumped to the losers, weepers group after all.
As if throwing me a bone, Kent added, “I believe you, though. I don’t know what happened to the redhead, and I certainly can’t devote manpower to it, but if you say she was there, then she was. Just a matter of proving it.”
“Easier said, than done,” I returned, though I was thankful for his vote of confidence. “I appreciate you meeting with me, Mr. Kent. I should get back to the store. Is Sam around here or is he out catching bad guys?”
“Sam?” Kent questioned, coming over to the door to let me out, though he certainly didn’t need to. “He’s not back from Fayetteville yet.”
“Fayetteville?”
“Left yesterday,” Kent reported, “saw him heading out of town myself, on his motorcycle.”
“Motorcycle?”
Kent laughed. “Maybe redheads and hearts aren’t where you should be focusing your attention.”
I grimaced. “Sam and I don’t have secrets. It just slipped his mind to tell me, that’s all.”
I stepped out of the precinct feeling more ridiculous than when I entered, if that were possible. I had hoped to find answers, but instead only further cemented the notion that I wasn’t playing with a full deck anymore. No one saw the redheaded woman but me. And what I did uncover, quite unintentionally, was that my boyfriend had skipped town without telling me – again.