Mayhem, Murder and the PTA

by Dave Cravens

Huh. You understand English just fine, thought Parker. “Cecilia was looking for Pedro.”

  Bernstein carefully grabbed a glass of lemonade off the tray. “Odd. I don’t seem to remember Pedro ever missing. He’s been staying with us for weeks. And to involve the Sheriff?” He took a sip of lemonade and winced. “Oh, dear.” Then in Spanish to Imelda. “Imelda, please, these drinks are much too sour. We can’t possibly offer this to our guest. Can you add some sugar?”

  Imelda tilted her head as if to mull over the request. “’Si,” she replied, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “Too sour,” Bernstein explained to Parker. “I must say, I’m baffled by your meeting with my mother-in-law. I know she gets confused now and then, but when you said it the way you did you made the whole thing sounds rather suspicious.”

  It is, thought Parker. “Cecilia’s son eventually came into the office looking for her, what was his name--?”

  “Victor.”

  “Yes, Victor Cortez.” I remember. Just seeing if you do.

  “Imelda’s brother.” Bernstein confirmed.

  “Right. He assured Cecilia and the Sheriff that Pedro was safe at home. Is this his home, Mr. Bernstein?”

  Bernstein smiled again. “It is for as long as Pedro needs it to be. His mother, you see,” Bernstein leaned back to see if his wife was listening in the kitchen. “Imelda’s sister-- she’s having a bit of bad luck, right now, I’m afraid. We’re taking care of Pedro until his mother can get her affairs in order.”

  “What kind of bad luck?”

  Bernstein widened his smile as Imelda re-emerged with another tray of lemonade. The couple exchanged an uneasy glance, followed by Bernstein nodding to Parker. “I’d rather not discuss such unpleasantries. It’s a family matter. You understand.”

  Nope. “Of course.”

  Imelda’s eyes narrowed. “Lemonade?” She pushed the tray forward.

  Parker caught herself as she reached for the lemonade glass presented to her. She paused, watching the water dripping down the side of the glass. It looked delicious, and yet something felt off to her. Am I overreacting? In her experience, it always paid to be paranoid, but if she was wrong, she didn’t want to discourage the Bernstein’s from helping her in the future. It’s time to force a graceful exit. Parker smiled politely and continued to reach for the lemonade only to flinch suddenly. “Oh!” She laughed as she reached into her purse for her phone. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.”

  Parker put the phone to her ear. “Hello. Mmmm. Really? Well, shit. Alright, Mom. Yup, just put a wet cloth to it and see if the bleeding doesn’t stop.” She looked to Imelda, then to Bernstein. “I’ll head back right now. I’m at Bernstein’s place. Yup, you have the address.” Parker was sure to make eye contact with Bernstein and his wife, so they understood a third party knew of her location. “Okay, I’ll see you in a bit.” Parker put the phone down and smiled apologetically. “Ally did a back flip off the kitchen table.”

  Bernstein’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh my! I hope she’s alright!”

  “I need to head back. Anyway, thank you for your time, and I hope you’re feeling better, Mr. Bernstein!” Parker bolted for the door.

  “Hmm?” Mr. Bernstein put his hand to his throat and swallowed as if in pain. “Yes, thank you, I’m getting better with each day.”

  Bernstein and Imelda watched Parker run to her car from the window of their house.

  72.

  They’re obviously hiding something.

  Parker threw her minivan into gear and pealed out of Bernstein’s dirt driveway.

  Mendez must’ve suspected that too. She practically pointed me to Bernstein with her leaving the keys to the filing cabinet. Why couldn’t she just tell me what it is? Should I even trust her?

  Parker watched Bernstein’s farmhouse shrink in her rearview mirror. She could see the odd couple watching her from their window. And there, in the window just above, was a hint of the boy’s face pressed against the glass – Pedro. Parker turned the corner at the driveway’s end and onto the two-lane highway.

  Maybe I’m just paranoid. But Imelda creeped the shit out of me. Hopefully she bought the whole fake phone call thing with my mom.

  The “Ally Back-Flip” was a variant of a tried and true routine Parker had used several times in the past. She often employed it to get out of dead-end interviews with attention-whores who pretended to be witnesses. Of course, it also came in handy during supremely boring staff meetings.

  And what was up with the lemonade? Did she lace it with Rohypnol or GHB or something? That’s awful to think. I’m a terrible person. Imelda’s probably a lovely woman who I just don’t understand. A lovely woman who drugs strangers and then hacks them up to bits. Fuck! What is wrong with me?

  Alone on the road, Parker pushed the mini-van to a solid seventy-five miles an hour. She shook her head. She knew she wasn’t operating at peak performance. This whole motherhood-PTA-fundraising-murder-mystery thing was a delicate dance.

  Focus, Parker, get rid of the noise. Everyone keeps saying Bernstein is such a great guy. Why? I need answers.

  “Call the Sheriff,” Parker commanded Siri.

  “Calling the Sheriff now,” Siri cheerily replied. The minivan filled with a digital chirping as the phone tried to connect.

  “Parker?” Bill answered after a loud click. “Everything okay? Did you get another text message?”

  “No,” Parker gripped the steering wheel to hug the next curve. “Tell me everything you know about Gerome Bernstein.”

  “Bernstein?” Bill remained silent for a few seconds. “Why? Where are you? It sounds like you’re driving.”

  “I just paid a visit to Bernstein at his house.”

  “Of course, you did.”

  “Do you remember that old woman who came into your office looking for Pedro? Her name was Cecilia. Did you know that same Pedro is living at Bernstein’s place?”

  “Parker, there are a lot of Pedro’s in Southern California.”

  “Sure, but I confirmed it with Bernstein. These Pedro’s are one and the same.”

  “Okay,” Bill blew into the phone. “Having a Pedro in the family is not exactly a crime. Where are you going with this?”

  Parker grimaced. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

  “I’m a cop who does magic. That’s weird.”

  “Come on, Bill, work with me.”

  “Fine. Did you see Pedro?”

  “I did.”

  “Did he look alright? Any bruises, cuts, or anything that seemed out of the ordinary?”

  Parker frowned. “No. But--”

  “Did Pedro seem afraid? Like he wanted to leave? Did anyone try to hide him from you? Pretend that he wasn’t there?”

  Damnit. No, no, no and no. “I’m telling you, something is off. Maybe it’s Bernstein’s wife. Or her family. He eluded to her sister being an unfit mother. She was acting funny the whole time.”

  “Who? Imelda?”

  Parker glowered at Bill’s name on her phone screen. “Funny, I didn’t mention her name.” Her pulse spiked. “Bill? How do you know the wife’s name?”

  “Parker—”

  Parker’s cheeks flushed red. “Damnit! You know these people? And you didn’t tell me? How do you know these people?”

  “It’s--complicated.”

  “That’s not an answer!”

  “Parker, come on!” Bill let out an audible sigh. “Listen, I will explain everything. But not over the phone, okay? It’s kind of – sensitive. Just, I, I can assure you, Bernstein isn’t a threat.”

  “Why are you always defending this guy?”

  “Tomorrow night. I’ll stop by. I’ll explain everything. It’s not what you think.”

  Parker’s mashed her lips together. “No good. You need to explain this tonight.”

  “I can’t. There are other things going on in this town other than just—”

  “Solving a murder?” Parker blasted. “Tomorrow morning. The Bean. Aft
er school drop-off.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Bill relented. “You’re buying.”

  Parker rolled her eyes. “You know I’m unemployed, right?”

  “Yeah? I’m living off a Sheriff’s salary. And I’m doing you a favor. Again.”

  Parker shook her head. “Just order something cheap.” Parker’s voice trailed off. Her eyes focused on the blue Chevy Tahoe SUV closing in behind her in the rearview mirror.

  “Heh. No promises.” Bill clicked off.

  “He had better have a good explanation,” Parker mumbled to herself. “A fucking brilliant explanation.” Her eyes flashed again to the rearview mirror. The Chevy was pulling up fast. Parker noted her speedometer, she was now going about eighty miles per hour. She stared at the Chevy in the mirror. “Alright, jack-ass, you can ease up now.”

  The Chevy accelerated.

  Parker gripped her steering wheel. Is this guy going to ram me? She jerked her steering hard left to pull into the empty oncoming lane and avoid being hit. To Parker’s surprise, the Chevy also jerked to the left and stayed right on her bumper.

  That’s not good.

  The Chevy eased off a little, riding Parker’s bumper. She squinted for a better look at the Tahoe’s driver, but its windows were tinted too dark to reveal anything. Parker switched back to the right lane. The Chevy followed suit. It gunned ahead.

  Parker’s body jerked forward as the Chevy tapped her minivan’s bumper. “What? The? Fuck!” Parker stomped her minivan’s accelerator. The Chevy’s engine roared to life behind her. In no time, Parker was speeding down the road at 92mph and the Tahoe was still closing in.

  Parker knew there was no way her minivan was going to outrun this Chevy. “Siri, call the Sheriff!” she yelled. Parker swerved into the opposite lane again to avoid being run over.

  “Calling the Sheriff now,” Siri calmly replied. The digital chirping started to break up signaling a weak connection.

  “Come on, come on!” Parker’s speedometer held at 93mph. The RPMs were maxed out. “Come on, you stupid minivan!”

  The Chevy’s imposing blue hull pulled up alongside Parker.

  “Something went wrong with the call,” Siri explained. “Shall I try again?”

  “Yes, fucking try again!”

  The Chevy swerved closer to Parker’s minivan, causing her to flinch off the road, but never touching her. Parker’s tires squealed as she straightened out.

  “Calling the Sheriff now,” Siri said again. The phone chirped again in an attempt to connect.

  The Chevy swerved at Parker, just barely missing her as she edged away off the road. “Fuck, is this guy playing? Or trying to kill me?”

  Parker looked away from the Chevy and glanced up the highway. A small, but sizeable gas truck had rounded the next bend and was heading directly for her. Its foghorn blared out warning, but there was nowhere for Parker to go.

  “I know!” she growled. Parker pumped the brakes in an effort to swing behind the Chevy, but it mirrored her move. When she sped up to pass, it matched her speed. “Stop it!” Parker screamed at the Chevy.

  Smoke erupted from the gas truck’s tires signifying it slammed on the breaks. Parker had no choice but to slam on hers, causing her minivan to shake and shimmy. The Chevy raced ahead, disappearing around the bend, leaving Parker and the gas truck to face each other head on in a game of melting rubber versus shrinking road space. Parker’s ears filled with the grind of the anti-lock system. She prayed that both she and the truck driver had tried stopping in time. When she decided they hadn’t, she released her brakes and swerved to the right. She accelerated past the truck, scraping the side of her van on the edge of its grill.

  Parker’s minivan flew onto a small dirt clearing off the side of the road. She slammed on the breaks, kicking up a dust storm as she skidded to a halt. She wiped beads of sweat off her forehead, just as Siri connected.

  The phone clicked on. “Parker?” asked an annoyed Bill. “What is it now?”

  73.

  Parker pushed open the front door to her house with an exhausted sigh.

  The post adrenaline rush of her near-crash experience had left her feeling hollow, raw and more confused than ever. Ally scampered in from the kitchen with bright eyes and open arms, but Parker barely had the strength to lift her.

  “Mommy!” Ally cheered.

  Parker held her youngest as tightly as she could. Her arms trembled. “Oh, you have no idea how much I need this, Ally!” Parker whispered.

  Valerie, Drew and Maddy were quick to follow. Drew rushed into his mother’s arms. “Mom, I’m so glad you’re okay!” he said as he squeezed her tight.

  Parker looked to her mother. “You told them?”

  Valerie calmly brushed a strand of hair away from Parker’s forehead. “Was I not supposed to?” asked Valerie. Her eyes scanned Parker up and down, no doubt, as if examining her for holes.

  “I didn’t want the kids to worry,” answered Parker.

  Arms folded, and head tilted toward the floor, Maddy glared at her mother. “Worry about what? You almost getting killed?” she asked snidely.

  “Maddy!” Valerie stared down her granddaughter. “Mind your tone. Your mother’s been through enough.”

  “Didn’t have to be,” Maddy scoffed. “All she had to do was pick us up from school.” She turned to Parker. “Where were you? What were you even doing?”

  Parker tried clenching her fist, even that felt difficult. “Maddy, I don’t need to explain everything I do in a day—”

  “We’ve already lost Dad!” spat Maddy. Tears welled up in her eyes. She turned back to Valerie as if appealing to a judge. “It’s like, she won’t stop until she joins him! Am I the only one who sees it?”

  “This isn’t your mother’s fault!” Valerie insisted.

  “You sure about that?”

  Parker was about to step in when Valerie, in a rare moment of concise and direct parenting, put her foot down and pointed to the stairs. “Go to your room.”

  Parker’s jaw dropped agape – almost as wide as Maddy’s.

  “I didn’t do anything!” Maddy shouted.

  “I won’t say it again.”

  Tears in her eyes, Maddy sauntered up the stairs without a word.

  Valerie turned to Parker and noted her expression of shock. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m your mother.”

  The doorbell rang, snapping Parker out of her stare. “Umm, that would be Bill.”

  “We’ll pick this up later,” declared Valerie. She snapped her fingers at the kids. “Drew, Ally, let’s head back into the kitchen and finish dinner.”

  Holy shit-balls, Mom, that was some serious parenting you just threw down!

  Still trembling, Parker took a deep breath in an effort clear herself and spun on her heel. She opened the door to reveal Bill’s smug smile.

  “You okay?” asked Bill.

  Parker nodded. “I think I’m still in shock.” She looked back to watch her mother disappear into the kitchen. “About a lot of things.”

  “You know, I’m half tempted to think you concocted this whole car chase story to get me to rearrange my schedule and come over.” Bill stepped into the entryway and took off his hat.

  “Ha, ha, not funny.” Parker gently shut the door.

  Bill sighed. “A guy can dream, right?”

  Parker looked at Bill awkwardly. Was he—attempting to flirt? Come on, Bill, let’s not do that now. “What did you find out?”

  “Without the license plate number, I can’t be sure. There was a report filed about a stolen blue Chevy Tahoe just outside of town a few days ago. Fits the profile of a Los Zetas gang that operates near the border. The same one that I think may have taken your car and returned it with Heller’s body. My guess is they were out joyriding when they found you on the open road and decided to have some fun.”

  Parker shook her head. “Nope. I’m not buying it. It happened just after I left Bernstein’s place.”

  “I will admit the timing
is suspicious, but—”

  “Oh, right, Saint Bernstein is above reproach,’” Parker was sure to use air quotes.

  “I never said that.”

  “You haven’t said anything. That’s the problem,” accused Parker. “Why are you so protective of Bernstein? What does he have on you?”

  Bill smirked. “It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like?”

  Bill looked toward the kitchen, as if sensing Valerie might be listening. “Can we go out back? Talk where there’s a little more privacy?”

  74.

  Bill and Parker stepped onto the freshly cut lawn behind Valerie’s house.

  It was a large sized plot, private just as Bill had hoped, and entirely fenced in. Bill placed his hat back onto his head and stared at the oak trees along the fence’s edge. “Before I was Sheriff,” he started. “Before I was even a deputy, I was a border patrol agent.”

  Parker examined the Sheriff closely as he sheepishly dug the tip of his boot into the grass. “Go on,” she prompted.

  “I didn’t last at it for more than a year. My duties mostly revolved around the border checkpoint. Inspecting vehicles. Making sure no contraband was entering the country. Guarding against gang members trying to sneak in. Coyotes. Drug trafficking. Illegal aliens. I inspected a lot of people during that time. Most of them I’d never see again. But there were a few regulars who’d come and go. One of them, was a guy named Gerome Bernstein. I saw him nearly every weekend.”

  “Why so many trips to Mexico?” asked Parker.

  Bill smiled. “He loved the culture. The people. The music. He even volunteered to teach music down there. I don’t know how it all started, but every weekend Gerome would drive his car, jam packed with all sorts of musical instruments, and he’d work with kids and adults at various churches in poor towns. He usually travelled alone. Eventually this young woman joined him, Imelda. He told me she was a parishioner at one of the churches. They fell in love. Got married. From that point on, she accompanied him on every trip. I visited with them whenever I inspected their car. They were nice people. Friendly, and a welcome break from those I had to pull aside for a closer look.”