by Kathy Krevat
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Aren’t they here to help you?”
“Welcome to high school,” Blue Haired Girl said. She looked at her watch. “If I don’t get into AP Bio, I’m screwed.”
I joined the line and waited to see the process. A woman opened the door at two thirty, and not one minute before. She was about my age, with curly brown hair pulled back with a headband. She scowled at the line and propped the door open. “Sign in.”
Walking behind the counter, she stood in the hallway leading to the offices of the school counselors, her stance wide like a bouncer. “Incoming!” she yelled.
One of the counselors came out of her office. “Thank you Opal,” she said, sounding annoyed. I wasn’t sure if it was directed at Opal or the students, but she called the first name on the list. Two other counselors stepped out and called the next students, all carefully crossing off the name they’d called.
Once the students moved by, I walked to the counter. Before I could even ask a question, Opal bellowed, “Sign in!”
“But I was hoping to talk to you, not the counselors,” I said.
She looked confused. “Why?”
“Um.” I looked around. “It’s kind of personal.”
She huffed and said, “This is a counseling office for students, not parents.”
“No, I mean it’s personal to you,” I explained.
She gave me a look like she didn’t believe me, but stepped closer, triangulating her position in the room so she could keep an eye on the path to the offices. “What is it?”
“I heard that you dated Benson Tadworth,” I said in a low tone.
Her face froze and she hissed, “Not. Here.”
“It’s the only way I could think of to get in touch with you,” I said.
“What do you want?”
“I’m just trying to figure out why someone would do something like that,” I asked. “Do you have any ideas?”
“No,” she said. “Get out now.”
When I tried to protest, she repeated in an Exorcist voice, “Now.”
A couple of the students were looking at me over their phones, so I decided to retreat. “Here’s my card,” I said and held it out to her.
She just glared at me and I left it on the counter.
Chapter 7
I was on my way home from the unsuccessful trip when I got a call from my dad. “There’s a woman here.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, wondering what the problem could be.
“She said she’s inspecting the puppets.” He seemed agitated.
“Oh sorry,” I said. “I meant to tell you about her. But I thought she was coming tomorrow.”
“She’s in the dining room,” he said. “She has purple hair!”
“From what I know, puppeteers are about the nicest people on the planet,” I said. “I’ll be there soon.”
Lani had told me that the local puppetry guild members were very dedicated to teaching the students how to properly control their puppets. They were insistent that the puppets be safe for both the actors and the audience, especially the ones that would be paraded through the aisles. They had a gentle way of convincing the students to fix any issues.
Lani’s costume motto was that if a mistake couldn’t be seen from the front row, then it was fine, but that didn’t work for the guild. They’d fixed some of the puppets and helped make them into works of art.
My dad must have heard me drive up because he opened the front door for me, looking a little upset. “She closed the door.”
“Dad, she’s a puppeteer, not a serial killer,” I said, but I humored him and went directly to meet her. “Hi, I’m Colbie.”
“Hello. I’m Tuesday.” A middle-aged woman with pink and purple streaks in her hair placed a papier-mâché head of a hyena over her head, then turned back and forth, and tilted it in all directions, as if testing how an actor would move in it. She took off the head and made some notes on a clipboard.
“What an unusual name,” I said. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No,” she said. “I got it.” She picked up a shirt of a hyena costume and put it on as well. It had gloves attached that looked like giant hyena paws. She hummed happily while gesturing wildly with the paws. “Good,” she said, and took it off to make more notes.
“My son is so happy with his Zazu puppet,” I said. “He’s been practicing all over the house.”
She smiled. “He’s doing such a nice job. He’s a natural at puppetry.”
Just what any mother wants to hear. “Thank you.” I think.
When she moved on to an antelope puppet and frowned at a dent in the nose, I decided I wasn’t needed. I couldn’t imagine this nice lady absconding with the family silver. Not that there was any. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.” She turned the antelope head toward me and expertly made its mouth move to her words. “Thanks for letting me check out the puppets before we move everything to the school for dress rehearsal.”
I had a hard time looking at her and not the puppet, and I had to smile. “You’re welcome.” I couldn’t believe it, but I might actually miss all of the creative mess in my dining room.
“Your group is so lucky,” she said.
“We are?”
“Hmm.” She checked out the bottom of a cheetah mask. “The anonymous donation helped so much.”
“Donation?”
She pursed her lips, as if wondering how I didn’t know about it. “Someone made an anonymous donation for the puppets—the rentals, the materials, the building, and our training time.”
“Oh right,” I said. “I didn’t realize it was that significant.”
She smiled brilliantly. “Oh it was. It made our work so much easier. Your group has a guardian angel.”
I had a hunch I knew who the “guardian angel” was, but I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
* * * *
Pico’s was my family’s favorite restaurant, and had become our home away from home. The owner was relentlessly friendly, winning the hearts of all of his customers, from the businessmen who jammed in at his counter for a quick lunch, to the families who sat around the linoleum tables for hours.
Only new customers noticed the odd décor. Pico had bought a diner and slapped a cheap Pico’s Restaurant sign over the diner sign. He ran the restaurant with his family, serving traditional Mexican food in a super casual, welcoming environment.
He gave me a big hug when I arrived, towering over me and smelling like tomatoes, onions and spice. “I saved your favorite table for you and your girls,” he said. Lani, Norma, and I had set aside Wednesday evenings for Margarita Night, and we all tried hard to make it regularly, every week we could.
Lani and I liked to say that Norma was the flakiest of the group, despite being the least flaky person I’d ever met. She got called away to work at the last minute quite often, so we never knew if we were going to see her until she showed up.
She shared custody of her daughter with her ex-husband who was also a cop, and he sometimes had to bail on his night with his daughter. Not that she ever talked about him, or her current dating life, no matter how much we dished about ourselves and hinted to her that it was her turn.
Perhaps it was the way we met—when she suspected me of murder—which dictated we’d never be the kind of BFFs who shared stuff like dating or our deepest darkest secrets.
That wasn’t going to stop me from asking questions about her investigation into my friend.
Pico delivered our margaritas, frowning. He had started blending fresh mangoes in and I loved the sweetness playing against the tangy citrus of his own special blend. The tequila that he imported specially from Mexico helped too.
“Yo,” he said. “You see that guy at the counter?”
I moved my head and c
ould see only a group of men who had taken off their suit jackets and rolled up their sleeves. “Who?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Shoot. He ain’t there.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“He was asking about you,” he said, straining to look out the window to see where the man had gone. “Asking if you come here a lot.”
“Ooh,” Lani said. “Joss has some competition.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “What did he look like?”
“I didn’t get a good look,” he said. “My son talked to him.” He gave an exasperated sniff. “Let me get him.” He expertly made his way through the tables in spite of his bulk, and we watched him having an arm-waving conversation with his son who was half his size.
“I don’t understand what the fuss is,” Lani said.
“Me neither.” I turned back to her. “I got nothing out of Opal Volker,” I started, but then Pico appeared beside me.
“I apologize in advance for my son’s lack of paying attention to important details like what the guy freakin’ looked like.” Pico yelled the last few words toward his son, who waved his towel at him in disgust.
“What’s the big deal?” I asked.
“It’s just plain weird,” he said. “My idiot son said the guy gave him the creeps but he doesn’t even remember what he looks like. Just average, like, everything.”
Pico’s agitation was contagious and I tried to look out the window, but the way the light from the setting sun hit the glass made it impossible. “Well, let me know if he comes back,” I said.
Then Norma came in and Pico left to get her margarita and to refill the chips. She held up two hands in an I surrender position, “No questions until I eat,” she said.
Lani rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get her liquored up and interrogate her.”
Norma looked tired but I knew better than to say anything about it. Instead, I talked about Joss’s goats and Elliott deciding to narrate my dad’s football game using his Zazu voice and puppet.
I told them about my conversation with Tuesday, the puppet inspector. “So now I have to talk to Richard and see if he’s the so-called guardian angel of the middle school drama club.”
“Why?” Lani asked. “Let him help them out.”
“Someone is going to spill the beans or figure out it’s Elliott’s dad, and then any time he gets a good role, they’ll say it’s because of the money.”
“Oh.” Lani sipped her margarita through the straw. “Maybe you should ask Elliott how he feels about it and let him talk to Richard.”
Darn. She was right. “At least she approved all of the puppets, and took half of them to the theater at the school.”
Finally Norma seemed fed and relaxed enough that I could ask her a question. “So, anything you can tell us?” I held my breath, not knowing if Norma would help or not.
She gave a heavy sigh. “Why don’t you go first? What have you learned so far?”
I told her about Lani’s list of suspects, but didn’t have much else to report.
“Steven is supposed to ask around and find out if any students or their parents were mad at Benson,” Lani added. “But he’s busy preparing for his audition. What can you tell us?”
“Well,” she said. “The only thing I can say is that Quincy isn’t our only suspect.”
“Is he still your primary one?” I asked.
She frowned and didn’t answer. “I wonder if you can help me with something. Steven said that the victim received a phone call on Saturday morning.”
I nodded. “I saw him on the phone.”
“His records don’t show a call,” Norma said.
“Whoa,” Lani said.
“That’s weird,” I said. “Unless he has more than one phone.”
Norma grew thoughtful. “I have to go.”
Lani and I called it an early night and I texted Zoey once I got home. I started and deleted several messages before sending I’m here if you want to talk.
Three dots appeared, indicating that she was responding.
Then they disappeared.
* * * *
Zoey was at work the next day and I cornered her in the dry storage room. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
She sank down on a step stool, looking like she hadn’t slept much.
“I’m too tired to argue with my boss,” she said.
“What do you mean argue?” I said. “And right now I’m not your boss. I’m your friend, and I want to help you.”
“I don’t think anyone can do anything to help.” She sounded like she’d lost all hope.
“Just start at the beginning,” I said. “All I know is that you had an abusive boyfriend who stalked you at the restaurant you worked at before here.”
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s Zeke’s dad and he’s like a freakin’ anchor on my life.” The last word came out loud and so distraught my throat ached for her.
“He was gone for a while,” I said. “Why is he back?”
“His girlfriend kicked him out and now he’s living at home with his mother. I guess that means he has the time and energy to come after me,” she said.
“Why isn’t he going after that girlfriend?” I asked.
“He was harassing her, and she sent some biker friends to set him straight,” she said. “So now he’s back to me.”
Someone came in for a twenty pound bag of whole wheat flour. I waited for them to leave to ask, “What happened to make you not come in yesterday?”
She shook her head. “That—” she stopped herself from calling him a nasty name. “He went to Zeke’s school. My poor kid is in kindergarten, and Red went to his school demanding to see him.”
“What happened?” I asked, holding my breath.
“Thank God the secretary checked the list and saw that Red’s not allowed to see him. So he caused a scene. Throwing things around the office and yelling. He refused to leave until the security guard arrived and threatened to throw him out.”
“What’d you do?” I asked. “Where’s Zeke today?”
“I pulled him out of school,” she said. “He’s at a friend’s house, someone that Red doesn’t know. He’s staying there until Red moves on.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid, Colbie,” she whispered. “I hate being afraid.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling helpless.
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who got involved with him, and then had a baby with him, when I knew he had that crazy temper. Why did I do that? Now I’m chained to him through my son.”
“Maybe you thought he could be better,” I said. “A better man.”
She nodded. “I was fooling myself. He’s never going to change.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked. “Maybe I should talk to Norma and see what she recommends.”
Zoey looked defeated. “I tried the police so many times…it never works.”
“Norma is different,” I said. “She would take action.”
“Oh yeah? Then why hasn’t Quincy been cleared yet?” she demanded. “The press is still all over him.”
“You know, it’s only been like four days,” I reminded her.
“It feels longer,” she said. “You should get your hacker friend to see what he can find out.”
Lani had recommended the same thing and I’d dropped the ball. “He’s not a hacker.”
Zoey stood up. “Let’s get to work. At least that’s something I can do.”
We went back to the kitchen area and planned the products to finish that day. Zoey went to collect the ingredients from the freezer.
“I have to make a call,” I told her and went outside to phone Tod.
“Hi Colbie,” he said. “You want me to look into that Benson guy?”
�
�How did you know that’s why I was calling you?”
“You always want me to help,” he said. “I’ll let you know what I dig up.”
As soon as I made it back to my station in the kitchen, Yollie called. “Norma just texted me. She wants Steven to identify Benson’s phone. What’s that about?”
Whoa. “She must have found a second phone.” I debated calling Norma to find out. “Why would he need that?”
“I have no idea,” Yollie said.
“Can you let me know what Norma tells you?” I asked.
“Hold on. I’ll be right there,” she called out to someone, her voice muffled. “I told her not to bother Steven. His big audition with Tabitha is this morning. Norma’s going to stop by tonight when we’re both home.”
“Ask her anything you can think of,” I suggested. “And let me know everything she says.”
Yollie agreed. “You can call Tabitha this afternoon,” she added. “But don’t use either of our names.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course not.”
Zoey was watching me with interest. “What’s going on?”
“Just doing what you said,” I told her. “And going wherever it takes me.”
Chapter 8
At exactly five minutes after noon, I emailed Tabitha Higgins, asking if she had time to meet. She responded right away, saying she had availability from three to four p.m. on Monday, or two to three p.m. on Thursday. Whoa. She was certainly tight with her schedule. I grabbed the Monday slot and she emailed back that we could meet at Honey’s Bistro in Encinitas, near her home.
Okay, again, that was very specific.
Then I saw that I’d received an email from Natural-LA Grocers! My stomach fluttered and I clicked on it. All it said was they were taking my proposal under advisement and would let me know when a decision was made.
Well that was disappointing. Trying not to feel totally deflated, I called Quincy to see if he had heard anything more.
“I got the same email,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “They just haven’t made a decision yet.”