by Cole Baxter
"But isn't that how successful people do things?" I asked. "They get an idea and then they just pounce on it and do it right away?"
"I don't know," he answered. "Probably."
"You and Belinda are so successful, though," I pointed out.
He chuckled. "That is a different kind of success," he replied. "Belinda and I just went to school and studied extremely hard. In a way, we gave up our lives so we could read books."
"But your knowledge is saving lives," I said. "You saved mine, at the very least."
"Normally, I get there after the lives have not been saved," he said with a soft smile.
"Why did you decide to go into that?" I asked. "As opposed to working on the floor or something?"
Mario shrugged. "I have always been good at looking at situations with a different view," he said. "Obviously, I can't save the lives that are coming to me, yours excluded, but I can do the research and try to see if there's something that can help people in the future. Uncovering a danger after one person has died could save thousands, like a virus or poison."
"That's so interesting," I said. "So, in a way, you're . . . saving more lives than those doctors who do CPR all night."
"I don't like to think of it that way," he said, although I could tell he was flattered by the compliment. "It's not a race. We're all in it together."
"You're such a good person," I said as we drove. "You'd think that Devon would be like that, being a firefighter. But he didn't want to save lives. He only did it because he wanted the hero worship after the fact."
"I mean, I don't think it matters why lives are saved," Mario said softly. "As long as they were saved in the end."
"I do agree with that," I replied. "And Devon certainly rushed into enough burning buildings and pulled out enough desperate housewives. But that was his kink. In the beginning, he'd come home and ask me to role play that he’d just saved me and now I owe him everything. And I told him that I didn't have to pretend. He was my hero, and . . ." I felt the tears come to my eyes again.
Mario reached over and patted my hand gently. "It's okay," he said and pulled open the glove compartment,where there were packs of Kleenex. They hadn't been in there before, and I realized that he and Belinda had likely put them in there just for me.
Great, now I was known for being a crying mess who needed a stock of Kleenex everywhere I went.
I really hated this. This wasn't me. I wasn't the person who cried at the drop of a hat. Yes, I was timid. Yes, I was quiet. But I didn't dissolve into tears anytime someone so much as looked the wrong way at me.
Devon had done this to me. Devon had done all of this to me, and it made my anger against him grow even more.
What would my life have been like without Devon? What kind of person would I have become? Would I have finished college? Would I have made it through to graduation and then gotten a normal job? Would I have been married with two point three kids and a white picket fence by now?
They told me in therapy that playing the what if game was a horrible idea and it never led anywhere. They told me to focus on the things that made me stronger and build a new life from there. But that didn't mean I didn't sit here in agony and confusion, wondering if there was a gap in my memory whenever I recalled what Devon did.
"Will I ever be the same person?" I asked Mario when we were almost home. "These memory blackouts, this . . . brain damage that they keep talking about . . . I know it's healing, but does it mean that I will go back to who I was?"
"No," he said. "And that had nothing to do with medicine. It just has to do with the fact that our experiences shape us. You cannot be the same person you were before all of this unless you forget all that happened to you while you were with Devon. And we don't want that, either."
"Right," I said. "But I will get stronger?"
"You're stronger already, Laurie," he said as he pulled up into the driveway.
He came around the other side to help me out, like he usually did, but I was quick and up on my feet before he could do so. I was getting stronger, he was right. I couldn't wait to see just how strong I was.
Chapter Eleven
Blake
The next step in my investigation was to talk to Devon's parents. After the fire, they had made a very public display of grief for all the world to see. Of course, it was completely understandable that if your son died, you would be upset. I wasn't faulting them for that. I was faulting them, however, for calling the media over and demanding that they listen to their son for hours. It seemed like every news outlet attended their press conference and all that came out of it were heartbreaking quotes.
And accusing Laurie, of course. They managed to work that in, and I wanted to know exactly why.
When I got to their house, I whistled. I knew they had money, but I couldn't believe the amount of money that went into even the gate that obscured their mansion from view. These people weren't just comfortable. They were filthy rich. These were the type of people who probably couldn't spend the amount of money they had if they tried. These were the type of people who had everything.
"Who is it?" said a voice on the intercom.
"My name is Blake," I said as I leaned outside my car window. "I'm here to talk about the fire."
"Come in," said the voice, and then the gate buzzed in.
As I drove up to the mansion, I looked around for anything that could possibly be useful in the investigation. There were many cars in the garage, and there were beautiful gardens and a valet waiting to take my car. It wasn't like they secretly had a can of gasoline hidden in plain sight, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to keep my eyes peeled as I went in.
When the door opened, Devon's parents greeted me. I had read as much as I could on them before I got there, but nothing prepared me for seeing them in person.
Ellis looked like his son was the spitting image of him. He was as thin as Devon, with blue eyes that were empty and white hair that I'm sure was once the same dark color as Devon's. He was standing in the hallway, and he didn't look grief-stricken. Of course, it had been a little while since Devon had died, but I expected it to be a bit of an emotional experience for both of them to talk about it.
Shannon Whitman, from what I read, had been a former trophy wife. She was probably lovely in her younger days, but now her strawberry blonde hair was straw-like, and she looked like she'd had so much plastic surgery that I was surprised she could blink at all. She was standing behind Ellis, which I also found interesting. I thought that a couple who had lost their son would be standing together, hands held, the typical expression of grief. At least, that was how they were when they were together in the media, just after Devon died. Now, it was like I was looking at two different people.
"Hi," I said awkwardly. "I'm Blake. It's uh . . . nice to meet both of you, although I'm sorry that we have to meet under these circumstances."
"Ellis Whitman." He came forward to shake my hand. "And this is my wife, Shannon. Thank you for coming. We cannot wait to put Laurie behind bars for murder."
"Uh . . ." I tried to think of the most tactful way to say it. "So, I'm just here to look into things further. I can't say that I'm going to do one thing or another."
"But there is evidence," Ellis said.
I nodded. "Of course," I said. "And I'd like to hear the whole story. Thank you for having me over to your house. It's lovely."
"Come this way," Ellis said and gestured toward a room just off from the main hallway. "Shannon, can you get us some drinks? Quick, the man hasn't got all day."
I noticed that Shannon hadn't said a word, but I didn't hold it against her. Some people found it difficult to speak when grief was in their way. Ellis and I sat in the study, and Shannon returned with two glasses of what looked like whisky, which were considerably fuller than normal.
I eyed it like it was a demon. Yes, I wanted a drink, and yes, I had a pretty high tolerance, but this seemed excessive to serve a guest. Maybe they were just being generous, or maybe her hands w
ere shaking when she poured it. Either way, I thanked her.
"Are you not having one?" I asked her, and she glanced at her husband and then shook her head. “Okay, well . . . cheers," I said and awkwardly clinked glasses with him.
"So, Blake, you're a private investigator," he said. "How did you come to be involved with the police force?"
"I used to work for them," I said. "And then I switched careers."
"Any reason?" he asked.
His gaze was boring deep into me, and I shifted. There weren't many people in the world who could make me uncomfortable, but he just had one of those gazes.
I could practically hear Lola's voice in my ear. I needed to be kinder. I needed to be more considerate. I was being an asshole. These people were grieving.
"Just needed a change of pace," I said and pulled out a notepad. "You don't mind if I take notes?"
"No, no, not at all," he said. "You've read the fire report?"
"I did," I said. "Fire reached ridiculously high levels because the fuel tank went up as well. There wasn't much left . . . of the body except for some teeth and a few bone fragments."
"You see, the fuel tank is a dead giveaway," Ellis said. "I don't think that Devon would ever be stupid enough to leave something hot near a fuel tank. Firstly, that is basic human common sense. Secondly, he was a firefighter, for God's sake. He wouldn't do that. He knows better."
"That is why it has to be Laurie," Shannon blurted out.
Ellis glanced at her and she shrank back in her chair.
"Please, continue," she murmured in an almost whisper.
"As my wife said," Ellis said slowly. "That is why we suspect Laurie. She came from a poor family, you see, and she married my son very quickly. I suspect she married him for the money."
"But then why fake her own death?" I asked.
"So she could make him out to be a monster," Ellis replied, "and tell a sob story on the news. And now look, people are flocking to her like she's the second coming of Jesus. She wants pity and she wants money."
"I assume that there was no prenup?" I asked.
Ellis shook his head. "She was nineteen when they married," he replied. "She could barely sign her own marriage license. She played dumb a lot with Devon, but I think she knew exactly what she was doing."
"So was Devon actually . . . a firefighter?" I asked. "I was under the impression that he changed jobs a little bit beforehand."
"He was a fire safety advisor in the end," Ellis said. "Which makes this all the more ridiculous."
"I understand," I said as I took more notes. I thought it was ironic, of course, that a fire safety advisor would have his house go up like that, but I didn't think it was impossible. People had done stupider things in my time, and there were several cases that I had to fight to crack simply because I couldn't believe that people were that stupid when the evidence was in my face. I suppose I had been trying to think like Lola and give the underdog a chance. She always tried to bring up the bright side of things, even when we were dealing with a mass murder.
God, I missed her so much.
"Blake?" Ellis asked.
I shook myself out of my thoughts. I was proud of myself, at least, because I hadn't taken a single drink. "Sorry," I said. "Was there anything else?"
"Are you going to go and see Laurie?" Ellis asked. "Because I think she should explain herself. And I bet if you ask her the right questions, she won't be able to explain herself."
"I will," I said. "She's next on my list. But listen . . . how long had their marriage been bad for?"
"It wasn't bad," Ellis grunted. "At least, not on Devon's side. He was a saint, and he did everything for Laurie. She just wanted more and more and more, and eventually, it got to the point where he couldn't provide her everything alone. She was probably sleeping around because he would spend two or three days on shift at the firehouse."
"Do you have evidence that she took other lovers?" I asked.
Ellis shook his head. "No," he said. "Just the knowledge that she is a slut."
My face didn't react, but I took a note and underlined it twice.
"What makes you think that?" I asked.
Ellis looked uncomfortable. "She was always asking him to do things during their lovemaking that he didn't want to," Ellis said. "I don't want to go into details, but she forced him to do a lot when he'd rather just love his wife . . . normally."
"Sure," I said. "Different strokes for different folks."
"You don't know how many times Devon called me," Ellis said, "trying to ask for advice to make his wife happy, and I had to keep telling him that she was unreasonable. He didn't want to hear it because he thought there wasn't anything he couldn't do for her. And now she's running around, spewing this garbage about him."
"So, from your perspective," I said, "nothing she is saying is true?"
"Not a single word," he said.
"Well, I have been to the ER, and a lot of people actually saw her die," I replied.
"It was all a cover-up," he grunted.
I flipped back through my notes to the notes that I had taken at the hospital.
"Right, sure, someone at the hospital could have helped her . . . but she has a lot of hospital records with injuries . . ."
He chuckled at that. "Laurie is the clumsiest person you will ever meet," he replied. "She could fall off a flat surface. I'm not surprised that she has a record at the hospital. But none of it has to do with my son."
"So, do you think she was really attacked, mugged, whatever that night?" I asked.
Ellis glanced at his wife for a second. Shannon's eyes were wide, and I wondered why she wasn't saying anything. Unlike some detectives, I liked to let people talk when they were ready and not before. If she wasn't speaking, there was probably a whole other investigation I needed to do as to the dynamics of this marriage.
"Sure," Ellis said at last. "I think she was, and she saw her chance. Or she hired someone and pre-planned the whole thing. Have you looked at her bank accounts to see if there is any money missing around the time of the attack? These types of people, they like to get paid in cash."
"Um, I haven't, not yet," I replied. "But I promise that I will look at things from every angle."
"That is all we ask," Ellis said. "Is there anything else I can tell you?"
"Do you have any of Devon's things here?" I asked. "Anything I can look at?"
The old man stiffened. "Why?" he asked. "It's all old stuff. Everything from his house is gone."
"Like from his childhood?" I asked.
He nodded. I didn't think that would be especially useful, and I could see that I had emotionally exhausted these two. I didn't want to be a total dick, even if I thought they were a bit strange. I just wanted to do my job. “Okay, well, would it be all right if I come back another day and look at it?"
Shannon breathed a sigh of relief and Ellis nodded.
"That would be fine," he said and stood up.
I took that as an invitation to leave and stood as well. I was proud of myself for not touching my drink once.
"Thank you for coming, Blake."
"Thank you for sharing your story with me," I said as I shook his hand. "I'll get to the bottom of this."
That was my usual tagline because it didn't promise that I would take their side. It seemed to satisfy Ellis, though, and he showed me out, leaving Shannon to clean up our glasses.
There were a few other places I wanted to stop today, and I was already running late. However this case turned out, it was becoming one of the most interesting ones I had ever tackled. Usually, people didn't fake their own death and then write a book and show up alive. Someone who did that was either very mentally ill and possibly capable of murder or had a whole other story that needed to be uncovered.
Chapter Twelve
Laurie
When I watched the news, I felt like I was living outside my body. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
There had been a fire at the house that Devon a
nd I had shared. It wasn't just a small kitchen fire that had gotten out of control, either. This was an explosive fire that had blown up the entire house. They said that the fuel tank had caught fire and that the entire house was basically a write-off. From the pictures I could see on the news, it was emphatically a write-off.
I didn't know how to feel. At first, I felt a sense of relief. The house that held so many bad memories was gone. My slate was wiped clean. The life that I had with Devon was erased and I really could start fresh.
But there was also the fact that Devon was likely dead. They said that the fire had been so intense, they hadn't been able to find a body. They had found a few bone fragments and some teeth and that was it. Devon hadn't been seen since, and no one could even get ahold of him. There was no movement on his accounts. There were no calls made on his cell phone.
He had probably been in the house. It had occurred this morning, and if I remembered his work schedule properly, he hadn't been at work yet.
He was gone.
He was just gone.
I hated him. I hated him so much for everything that he had done to me. Yet, at the same time, I couldn't help but see flashes of memories of our life together. I saw the flowers he had given me on our first date and I saw our first kisses. I saw the ring he had used to propose to me, which was now in a bag upstairs with the rest of the items from my old life. I saw the car that we used to drive, now burned to ashes, and the six cars he kept just as display pieces.
I saw the world we had built before everything had gone bad.
I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel happy. I just felt numb.
He was gone. The person I had spent most of my adult life with, the person who both knew me best and didn't care about me at all.
He was gone.
"Mario!" I called through the house as I watched the news. "Belinda!"
It was a stroke of luck that they were both off work that day. They both came into the living room, where the TV was. When they saw the news, their eyes widened.