With that, he turned and left her standing in the open doorway, wondering exactly what that was supposed to mean. If she’d thought solving the serial killer case would reduce the number of things she could obsess about, she was gravely mistaken. It was almost like Joe knew exactly what to say to push the buttons on her curiosity reflex.
As she walked back into her apartment, she smiled and promised herself, “That’s fine, Mr. Phillips. You go ahead and be as cryptic as you’d like. But one day, you’ll have to admit that I always get to the bottom of a mystery.” With that pledge, she moved to her computer to see what was involved in getting a registered blueprint for the building she lived in.
When you weren’t sure what to do, breaking it down into little pieces and accomplishing each one in order kept you making progress in the right direction. The last week had proven that she could cover vast distances simply by moving one step at the time.
If her first assignment in the field in the last five years had proven nothing else, it was good enough for her—that, and the fact that those steps certainly went smoother if they were accompanied by a killer cup of coffee.
Epilogue
It was the perfect afternoon for the singer-songwriter showcase. The sky was a crystal blue with only faint wisps of clouds. Despite it being fall, it was warm enough that Ellie didn’t need a jacket but she brought a wrap anyway. It had been squeezed into her bag between a journal and a pound of coffee beans Joe had given her. “Private roast,” he’d said, and encouraged her to try and make a pot now and then, to which she rolled her eyes. She remembered Luka’s explanation in California of why she didn’t make good coffee. It seemed so long ago.
After arriving at the park early enough to claim a lawn seat in front of a small tree providing shade and something to lean against as she listened, she made some notes about her father’s case files. Her mind was always churning.
The second singer tuned her guitar and looked nervous as she stepped slowly up to the mic. The audience gave her encouraging applause when she was introduced by the emcee. After a quick sip of water, she tucked her long brown hair behind her ears and strummed a few minor chords.
Where have the endless miles taken you
on such a lonely westwind spur
The days we spent wandering for grace
As the birch leaves began to turn
Ellie closed her eyes as the music and smooth alto voice wrapped around her like the smell of gardenias in summer. Most people didn’t understand the attraction to folk music these days, thinking it was for hippies and tree huggers. It wasn’t mainstream, which was part of the attraction because Ellie was anything but ordinary.
The past is such a mysterious rune
You wear it like a cloak
Lovers we’ve lost still drift in the ether
As we follow our own road
Ellie jumped as her cell phone rang. She cursed under her breath for not turning the volume down before the show.
“Hey Ellie, it’s Mack.”
“Mack?”
“Your favorite California techie.”
“Oh, hey. Sorry,” she answered, trying to hide the irritation in her voice. “What can I do for you?”
“I don’t usually put my nose in other people’s business, but I couldn’t help but overhear your last conversation with Bobby.”
“Is everything okay?” she tried to replay the last chat she’d had with Agent Peters the day before.
“He tends to paint the best possible picture of anything he’s involved with, and usually that’s cool because he manages to deliver.” Mack seemed to be choosing his words carefully to not sound like he was insulting a fellow agent. “But when the team went to the doctor’s house on Monday, they didn’t get him.”
“What do you mean they didn’t get him?” Ellie resented the fact that Agent Peters hadn’t told her personally. She’d been led to believe the case was closed.
“They went through his office and house, and he wasn’t there. They found the same drug compounds in his home that were discovered in his office at the retreat center. The team is focused on picking him up, and like I said, Bobby usually delivers, but so far they don’t have a clue.”
“Thanks for telling me,” she replied, hotly.
“You don’t need to worry,” Mack said, attempting to soften the news. “I felt like since you broke this case wide open you had the right to know.”
Twilight is a beggar’s bridge
Between the days of light, darkness cries
A harvest moon is the only witness
Of the love you’ve left behind
The love we must all leave behind
Ellie put the phone on her knee and looked across the crowd. Her mind was at full throttle. Should she be worried? Why hadn’t Agent Peters called to give her this information? Her cell phone vibrated. What now?
“Where are you?” Phil demanded.
“I’m at a concert in the park,” she replied, uncertain why he was being so gruff.
“Don’t move,” he ordered. “Phillips will be there in eight minutes.”
“Wait,” she interrupted. “Why is Phillips coming to a songwriter showcase? If I’d wanted a date, I wouldn’t have asked him.” Her mind brought up an image of Joe and she wished she had gathered up the courage to invite him to join her. It would have been fun to have someone to talk to about the music, and she could only imagine how much more enjoyable it would be to drink a thermos of his coffee while they stretched out on her quilt.
“The team out west can’t get a location on the doctor,” Phil began.
“Why does that concern me?” she asked, getting a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Because I’ve been putting my own pieces to this case together.”
“And?”
“Dr. Evans changed his name thirty years ago,” Phil explained. “Up until the lawsuits against him a few years back, his history had been too perfect to suit me. It took a lot of digging, but I finally discovered that when he was born, his given name was Evans Langston Garrison, Jr.”
“Garrison?” Ellie asked, swallowing hard to combat the thick acid forming in her mouth. “Any relation to the family that owns Yoga for Life?”
“Damn right, he’s related,” he confirmed her fear. “Evans was Lydia’s older brother.”
Silence stretched between them. The woman who had tried to kill her over the weekend had a brother who was unaccounted for. She drew her knees up closer against her chest as though making herself smaller would prevent anyone from finding her.
“I know you want your independence,” the sudden tone of Phil’s voice bore a striking resemblance to her father’s. “But our agreement was that a team would support you until this case was completely closed. Until we find her brother, you need to accept the idea of having a shadow.”
Normally she would have argued the point, but the sunlight around her faded into an opaque still-shot of the concert as a large cloud passed overhead. The brightness of the day was hidden and Ellie found herself wishing for something warm to cover up with as a chill passed through her body.
“Is Phillips there yet?”
“No,” Ellie answered. “It’s just me.”
“Stay put and wait for him to arrive,” Phil ordered. “We don’t know where the doctor is, and until we figure that out, we have to assume he could be anywhere—even Richmond.”
When Ellie didn’t respond, Phil spoke louder, “Are you listening to me?”
His commanding voice broke Ellie from the trance she’d been in. “Yes, I heard you…He could be here,” she repeated hurriedly before hanging up the phone.
Looking around the crowd everyone appeared to be enjoying the music. The songwriter she had been enjoying finished and a young couple took the stage. The sky that had been such a peaceful shade of blue when she arrived was now a menacing gray. Somehow the sounds around her were not as melodious and Ellie was struck with the need to get away from the crowd—now. There were
too many people here…too many faces she couldn’t see.
She stood up and quickly folded the quilt, picked up her bag and jogged to the car. The silk wrap she’d brought in case it became too cool in the evening fell from her bag, but she didn’t notice.
As she shut the door and put the key in the ignition Ellie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, allowing the safety of the enclosed space to help her calm down.
Distracted, she missed the older gentleman who stopped to pick up the silk fabric from the grass under the tree where she’d been sitting. He held it to his nose and inhaled slowly…
“Coffee.”
About the Author
Jennifer Templeman has dedicated her career to working in the non-profit field in financial management. When not analyzing the minute details of a financial statement, she resides in the Boston area, and shares her life with her husband, three sons, a giant Newfoundland, a cat rescued from a shelter and an acrobatic betta fish. A Killer Cup of Joe is her first novel.
The author would love to hear from readers and can be reached at: [email protected].
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