The Lilac Code

by Becki Willis

  “She had to help her mom with something. Besides, I’m not sure Megan could pull this off. She’s too naturally perky.”

  “And you’re not?”

  Bethani pulled her face into a sullen scowl. It was a look she often wore in the days and months after their father passed away. Upon occasion, particularly around holidays and birthdays, the haunted look crept back into her face, hinting at the pain that still plagued her.

  “Okay, so you know where the girl is coming from,” Blake admitted. “But you’ve learned to live with the pain. Apparently, she hasn’t.”

  “So maybe we can help her, did you ever think of that? We, of all people, know what it’s like to lose a parent.”

  “Is that what this is all about? We’re out to save this girl? I thought we were just narcing on her.”

  Bethani wiggled uncomfortably in her seat, as if the soft leather chapped her skin. “Maybe we could do both,” she mumbled. It made her feel less guilty this way, imagining she could help the other teen.

  “How do we even know she’ll be there?”

  “She hangs out every evening in the parking lot. She and those loser friends of hers.”

  “What makes you think they’ll even talk to us?”

  “I kind of set it up already. Here. Trade the cap for this hoodie.”

  “You gotta be kidding me!”

  “Nope. Hold the wheel while I put mine on.” With her brother’s assistance, she stuffed the ends of her long, blond hair beneath a dark-purple knit cap.

  “You look like it’s a lot colder than fifty degrees out.” The temps were already trending upward.

  “Practicing for the ski trip.”

  He grunted and pulled a brown hoodie onto his own blond head. “I wore my best cap for nothing,” he grumbled. “It was autographed, too.”

  “And you have on your good shoes,” his sister criticized.

  “Yeah, so? They matched the cap.”

  “You should have worn something scruffier. I’m guessing these kids aren’t into baseball.”

  “It’s America’s past time!” Her brother was clearly offended.

  “Maybe.” A sliver of concern slipped into Bethani’s voice. “But I don’t think these are America’s kids.”

  Two hours later, they were cutting their curfew woefully close.

  “You sure you gotta go?” A dark-haired boy leaned onto the car window, leering down at Bethani as she slipped behind the wheel.

  “It’s our brother’s car,” she lied, “and we sort of borrowed it without asking. Gotta slip it back in the garage before he gets up. He works the late shift this week.”

  “Where’s he work?”

  “I dunno. Some lame job in Navasota or somewhere.” She shrugged as if it made no matter to her. She pulled the door shut, barely giving him time to move back.

  “Hey, I didn’t get your number!” he called through the glass.

  “Ask Tasha for it. We gotta blow.”

  She didn’t give Blake time to fasten his seatbelt. She peeled out of the parking lot with the tires squealing, her foot heavy on the gas.

  “Gag me!” Bethani said, spitting out her distaste for the boy. “What a total creep.”

  “Tell me about it. All he did was talk about blowing things up and burning things down, and some big bonfire they’re having. He invited us to come.”

  “I know. So did that other creep, Julio.”

  “I noticed you were quite a hit with all the guys.” It wasn’t a compliment.

  “Fresh meat,” his sister acknowledged. “I have no idea what Tasha sees in those losers.”

  “I know. She actually seemed pretty cool.”

  Bethani slid her twin a keen look. “It looked like she thought you were pretty cool, too.”

  To her surprise, a flush of red crept up his neck. “You like her!” she cried in astonishment.

  The normally confident teenager tried to sound indifferent. “She seemed cool. And she’d probably be pretty, if she’d take that black stuff off her face. I wasn’t too crazy about the purple hair, either.”

  “I saw an old picture of her, before she went dark. You’re right. She was really pretty.”

  “I was afraid they were going to recognize us from the show. That one girl kept going on and on about how familiar I looked.”

  “I think that was her way of flirting. She kept smacking her gum when she said it. I think to her, that was the equivalent of twirling her hair.”

  “She was just weird,” Blake said with a frown.

  “I don’t think we have to worry about them recognizing us. None of them are the type to watch HOME TV. The BOMB channel maybe, but not HOME TV.”

  “You know that one guy is gonna call you.”

  Right on cue, Bethani’s phone binged with a text. Blake did the honors and read it off to her.

  See you Friday at the bridge? Freddy

  “Freddy Krueger,” his sister muttered. “Where is this bridge, anyway?”

  “Bookerman’s Bridge, somewhere down a dirt road between here and home. I heard the guys talking about it. That’s where the bonfire is, apparently. Out near an abandoned warehouse.”

  “What kind of warehouse is on a dirt road?”

  “Oilfield, maybe?”

  “Probably. There’s a lot of those pumper things around here, like out on the deCordova Ranch.”

  “Speaking of deCordova, we need to tell Mr. de we’re running late.”

  “Let’s wait until we get back into Juliet. Maybe we can blame it on Derron. We have to take the car back, and we can say something about him yammering on and on about something.”

  “Which will probably happen.”

  “Exactly,” his sister beamed. “So why not use it to our advantage?”

  Chapter 15

  “Bethani? Blake?” Brash called from the kitchen, hearing the tattletale bing installed on all the doors at the Big House. “Is that y’all?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m in the kitchen.”

  The duo tromped into the large eat-in kitchen, hoodies stashed out of sight. Bethani’s dark makeup came off on the way home.

  “Hungry? I saved you some leftovers, even though you said you’d eaten.” With his hands in sudsy water, he could only nod toward the refrigerator. The kitchen was equipped with state-of-the-art appliances, all compliments from the sponsors of Home Again.

  “I could go for something,” Blake acknowledged, going straight to the over-sized built in. “I didn’t have much at the DQ.”

  “You had a Triple-Buster, an order of fries, a shake, and a large Blizzard!” his sister protested. “I know, because I was paying!”

  Her twin shrugged. “Like I said, I didn’t have much. You want some of this?” He held the plastic container her way.

  “I didn’t even finish my own burger. Oh, yeah, that’s right. You ate the rest of mine, too.”

  Blake didn’t bother heating the still-warm dish. “Not bad, Mr. de,” he said. “What is it? Lasagna?”

  “Spaghetti.”

  Blake considered the dish in his hands. “I could see that,” he said thoughtfully. “Lumpy noodles, but not bad.”

  “A man should always know how to cook,” Brash advised the teenager. “Remember that.”

  “Sorry we were a little late.” Bethani breezed her way to the cabinet and retrieved a glass. “You know Derron. Yack, yack, yack.” She did the thing with her hands, illustrating her point.

  The man put down the dishtowel and leaned against the counter, crossing his long legs in front of him. “I know you were late getting to his house, too.”

  “Told you,” Blake shot at his sister, stuffing the last bite of spaghetti into his mouth. “The man is a professional.”

  “I was afraid of driving too fast,” Bethani explained. “I was in an unfamiliar car, you know. A girl can’t be too safe.”

  “Come on, Beth. You can do better than that,” Brash drawled.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her
blue eyes wide and innocent.

  “Can’t you be a little more creative than that? You know, like it started to rain, and you couldn’t find the control for the windshield wipers. Or you got detained by a herd of wild hogs crossing the road. Or you stopped to help someone change a flat tire. All, by the way, are in your best friend’s little bag of tricks. Those are some of Megan’s favorite excuses.”

  “Come to think of it, the fog was mighty thick,” Blake joked.

  “I don’t do flat tires,” Bethani sniffed, as if the very thought was beneath her.

  “In that case, I’ll give you your first lesson, tomorrow after school.”

  Her blond head whipped around from the water spigot where she filled her glass. “Huh?”

  “Just like a man should know how to cook, a woman should know how to change a flat tire. I’ll be happy to teach you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No problem.” He flashed a saucy grin before turning serious. “There’s something I want to ask you two about. You were over in Riverton tonight, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Bethani said slowly, wondering what else he knew. She added the respectful, “sir,” as an afterthought.

  “You know many kids over there?”

  Blake was the one to answer. “A few. We met a couple more tonight.”

  “I hear a lot of the kids hang out in the DQ parking lot.”

  “It may be the county seat, but Riverton isn’t much bigger than Naomi or Juliet put together. That’s about all there is to do.”

  “I also hear there’s some kids over that way that have an affinity for starting fires. You happen to hear anything about that tonight?”

  “Man, he’s good!” Blake said, clearly in awe.

  Bethani jabbed her brother in the ribs and gave him a dirty look. “Real bright, Ajax,” she muttered beneath her breath. She pushed back her hair and looked her soon-to-be stepfather more or less in the eye. “Why do you ask?”

  His shrug was deceptively casual. “Just curious. I wouldn’t want you mixed up with that kind of crowd, of course, but I was hoping you might have heard something. Cutter mentioned it to me today, so I just wondered.”

  “You’re right, that’s not the kind of crowd we usually hang with. We did meet a pretty cool girl tonight, though.” She slid her brother a sly smile. “Didn’t we, Blake?”

  Her twin struggled to remain nonchalant, but a faint stain again crept into his cheeks. “She was okay.”

  “Oh? What was her name?” Brash cut the boy some slack, deliberately turning his back on him to save him further embarrassment.

  “Tasha Garrison. Her dad works for the county, I think. Works in road maintenance or something.”

  Brash nodded. “Sure, I know him. He used to be a Road Commissioner for Precinct 1. He stepped down when his wife died a couple of years ago. Still works for the department, but said it was too much responsibility for a single father. He seems like a good guy.”

  Whether it was a fair practice or not, in all small southern towns, people were judged by their families. Brash knew Royce Garrison to be a fair and honest man, so he had no real objections to a potential friendship between the teens and the other man’s daughter.

  “She wanted us to come back and hang out Friday night,” Bethani ventured to say, not at all certain she really wanted to go.

  Instead of shutting her down like she suspected he might do, Brash seemed open to the possibility. “You’d have to ask your mother.”

  “Don’t worry, I’d go along, too,” Blake was quick to add. “Maybe Megan could come with us.”

  “Ask your mom first, and we’ll see.”

  Bethani’s phone binged. “This is Tasha now,” she said, glancing down at the screen. “I think I’ll go on up and get ready for bed. Night, Mr. de.” She gave him a one-armed hug on her way out of the kitchen.

  “Night, Beth. Megan’s spending the night at her mom’s, by the way.”

  In a way, it was a relief, knowing she didn’t have to face her best friend. Megan would want all the details, and Bethani still hadn’t sorted them out in her head. She thought she could become friends with Tasha.

  It was the other kids that worried her.

  Chapter 16

  The next day, simply seeing the cameras, crews, and lighting equipment needed for the cooking competition gave Madison horrific flashbacks to her own time behind the spotlight. Never again, she vowed for the hundredth time.

  Genny scored her friends a table near the front of the action, to ensure a good line of sight and the best chance for samples. Granny Bert loved the attention, particularly when the celebrity chefs chatted with them during breaks. Madison enjoyed seeing her best friend in her element, not to mention learning a tip or two on baking. Taste testing the magnificent creations was a bonus.

  Although the actual competition was filmed live, some of the promotional spots and segments not affecting the outcome of the contest were taped. For those, re-takes were often required. Dirty dishes in the background, a flubbed line, or a poorly displayed sponsor’s product meant re-shooting the scene. During those tedious times, Madison doodled on her notepad. No cell phones were allowed in the great room during the competition.

  She found herself drawing random designs, most of them simple scrolls and loops. Lazy art, Blake called it, because most of the designs flowed into creation without lifting the pen. It was the same concept behind writing in cursive, which led her to make a series of lower case l’s, g’s, p’s and q’s.

  The fun ones with loops, she thought, scribbling lazily along. Granny Bert shot her a curious look, but Madison ignored her as she turned a g into the petal of a loosely formed flower. In fact, she discovered with amusement, if she adjusted the positions, she could turn four simple letters into a misshaped flower; g, l, an undotted j, and a p flowed together quite nicely to form the loops for petals. What was it Genny had called these last night? Loopty-doops?

  Only then did her pen stutter. Madison did a double take, looking at the simple flower she had just drawn. She had seen this pattern before. Hadn’t it been in the book, the one written in what they thought was Chinese?

  Maybe, she decided, it was a psychology book, studying the hidden messages behind doodling. What did her doodling say about her? That she expressed herself through art? That she remembered proper penmanship? She heard that many elementary schools no longer taught cursive, as it wasn’t ‘computer-friendly.’ Or did her doodling suggest that she was too lazy to lift her pen?

  Thoughts of pens brought her mind back to her grandmother’s poker buddies and the unique orange pens. Hidden mics or not, why did the same type pen appear in Barton’s pocket and the mistaken bag? When it came to investigation, Brash had taught her not to believe in coincidences.

  A private investigator based in Houston sometimes hired In a Pinch to do the menial grunt work when his cases ventured into Brazos Valley territory. It didn’t seem that much different from some of her other cases, when clients hired her to provide surveillance or gather information used in settling minor disagreements, divorce cases, and the like. It was the unglamorous side of private investigation, but it paid the bills. She could charge more as a certified detective, so Madison was tossing around the idea of getting her own license. Brash was helping hone her investigation skills. Even if she never pursued her license, it was a useful talent to have, particularly as the mother of teenagers.

  She thought about some of the lessons learned so far, rifling through tidbits of advice Brash offered during their tutoring sessions.

  Always question coincidence. Take nothing for granted.

  Follow the money.

  Greed is the root of all evil. Lust is a form of greed.

  Go back to the beginning.

  Pull a thread and see what it sews together.

  God, I love it when you do that.

  Madison’s face flushed with color as memories of their last ‘tutoring session’ flooded through her. Oh, the things that man had taught
her about kissing! More often than not, they got sidetracked during her private lessons. Sometimes those sessions became a bit intense, as it had the night before she left.

  As the parents of teenagers, they both agreed it was their responsibility to establish a strict moral code and to lead by example. If they couldn’t abstain from sex, how could they expect it of their hormone-ravaged teens? But good grief! If we don’t get married soon, we’re both going to spontaneously combust!

  Brash wanted to marry immediately, but Madison was determined not to steal the spotlight from her best friend. Even though she and Brash planned a small ceremony out at the ranch, she didn’t want any part of this, her second wedding, to infringe upon her best friend’s first wedding. After all the misery dear Genny had gone through—including an annulled twelve-hour justice of the peace marriage just out of high school and the path of destruction that followed—she deserved a special day of her own. Madison wanted to give that to her friend, even if it meant putting her own happily ever after on hold.

  Gathering her thoughts back together like spilled secrets, Madison glanced around. Had anyone witnessed the drift of her mind? Seen the resulting flame in her cheeks? She let out a relieved breath. No one seemed to pay her any mind, including Granny Bert, who was busy making googly eyes at the chef in the competition. Her grandmother had several of his cookbooks, and now she had not only the man’s autograph, but his cell phone number. Madison shook her head in wonder. The woman can charm diamonds off a rattlesnake!

  Thoughts of her fiancé had gotten her so flustered she couldn’t keep a coherent thought in her head. Where was she? Oh, yes, threads of evidence. So how did loopty-doop flowers, pens with secret recording devices, colorful notepaper, and Beady Eyes tie together? The man hardly seemed the type to appreciate artistic creations, particularly those that looked so childish.

  Childish art.

  The memory of the little girl at the airport flitted through Madison’s mind. The child had handed her a picture of a crudely drawn flower, much like the one Maddy had just doodled on the paper. A picture drawn on a colorful square of paper.