Pick up the Pieces

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  We concentrated on drinking and eating for the next few moments. He still hadn’t told me what he and Saffron were doing meeting every other night and I couldn’t get images of Nic with Saffron out of my head any more than I’d been able to banish images of Nic and Marigold. I also kept wondering if his father’s disapproval had dissipated in ten years. I doubted it had. Adrian Jericho had been adamant about my role in his son’s life. He wanted me off stage forever. So, could we start over? Was it all too late?

  I took a deep breath. “Nic. Junie and I believe Marigold’s music played a huge role in why she disappeared, which could be why someone stole my bag last night. Someone who understands what she was trying to convey. Someone who doesn’t want those words heard. It could even explain why someone ran me off the road. They could have killed me last night, but I kept feeling the intent was to scare. Someone is pressuring me to go home. Head back to Jersey and not come back. Leave before I can put a name to a faceless presence.”

  “Wait. Slow down. How can we patch together a puzzle without the missing lyrics?”

  “Ah, but they’re not actually missing. I’ve spent the last couple of days working on melodies to fit those lyrics and each line is stamped indelibly in my brain.”

  He smiled. “The marvelous Bebe photographic memory.”

  “You got it. Let’s hope it comes in handy today because before I left Junie’s this morning I wrote those lyrics down and brought my notebook here. Maybe between the two of us we can decipher their meaning. Find Ariana. Stop a fourth girl from vanishing.”

  Chapter 27

  The bag containing my wallet and the lyrics to Chasm was lying on the floor between my feet. I reached down to grab it, intending to ask for Nic’s help in determining what Marigold might have been trying to convey in her lyrics when we a man I never expected to see in Freddy’s in the proverbial million years came marching up to our table. Judge Adrian Jericho. Nic’s father. Perhaps mentioning his name to Junie this morning had summoned him to appear like some omnipresent evil genie, swooping in to cause mischief.

  An astonished Nic glanced up at his father. “Dad. What are you doing here?

  “Looking for you.” Mr. Jericho ignored me. “Juniper Blume told me you’d be here.”

  “Why not call?” Nic asked.

  “I’ve been trying for the last hour. I’m not sure this dump is close enough to a cell tower to pick up anything.”

  “Hey, no casting aspersions casting on Freddy’s.” Nic winked at me, then smiled at his father. “I swear it’s the best steakhouse in five counties.” Nic pulled his phone from his belt clip. “Ah ha. This explains the dropped calls. I didn’t recharge last night. So, what’s so important it can’t wait?”

  “The biggest case to hit Texas in fifteen years. You win this one and you become one of the youngest district attorneys in Dallas County’s history. You need to give your office a call and tell them you’re on your way back today and don’t dare hand it off to anyone else.”

  Nic’s jaw tightened. “I’m on vacation. Remember? I’ll call and tell them if they want to handle the prelim but leave the case for me that’s great, but I’m not in the office or even working online until a week from Monday.”

  Adrian Jericho pulled up a chair from a vacant table and sat down at the end of our booth. He had yet to acknowledge my presence. He glared at his son. “Nic. Are you just not hearing me? The D.A.’s office is not going to wait another week or so for you to hang out in Georgetown and play drums like you’re some kind of high school kid cranking out tunes in a garage. This is a career launcher.”

  Nic grimaced. “I get it. I get it, all right?”

  “Then take my phone and give Hank a call. Tell him you’re still on top of things even if you’re not currently in town. Persuade him to hold off on assigning the case if you’re bound and determined to stay here for some ridiculous dance.”

  Nic crammed another bite of a now-cold potato into his mouth, chewed, rose and then took the phone from his father. He mumbled, “Back in a second, Bebe. I’ll go outside to avoid talking business while country music plays in the background. Not a good mix even in Texas.”

  I glanced down at my food. My appetite was gone. I glanced at Adrian and prayed ten years had erased all memories of Bebe Becerra from his mind.

  My family might be considered nothing but trash by Adrian Jericho, but even my ‘jailbird’ mother had taught me to be polite. So I smiled as best I could and asked, “How are you, Judge Jericho?”

  It wasn’t the most creative question in the world. But it wasn’t rude and his reaction was totally uncalled for.

  “Not well, Ms. Becerra. Having to track my son down only to find him in a sleazy dive with his . . . ex . . . is not my idea of a good day. Do I need to remind you of our last discussion?” He paused while I sat, momentarily stupefied and speechless, then continued with, “My son is brilliant. Sadly, he lacks taste in women and he hasn’t learned to be adult enough not to be more interested in pounding drumsticks. He’s too easily distracted from finding his place in the law and politics.”

  Obviously, ten years of distance hadn’t lessened his antipathy for me or his determination to control his son’s career.

  But it wasn’t ten years past and I wasn’t eighteen. I’d gone on with my life, graduated from college, earned my master’s degree and been rewarded with a teaching job, even if it was an adjunct position. Most people would consider those achievements some kind of triumph considering my early adverse circumstances. Admittedly, I’d shied away from any serious relationships because Adrian Jericho’s words had echoed in my brain and I had no desire to be hurt again. But, while I hadn’t gone around announcing to the world my parents weren’t model citizens, I hadn’t hid from it. I wasn’t my mother and I wouldn’t make her same mistakes. Maybe Adrian Jericho needed to understand Nic wasn’t his clone and Nic might want to forge his own way in this world.

  I took a long swig of my tea, carefully placed it back on the table and looked directly at Adrian. “Your son is brilliant. I can’t comment on his taste in women since it’s been many years since I’ve seen him. As to being an adult, it seems to me you’re the one who doesn’t understand Nic has a responsibility to his old friends in fulfilling an obligation.”

  Adrian’s eyes narrowed to slits. If he’d been a teakettle the top would have blown to the opposite end of the room. “Don’t tell me what I do and do not understand about my son. And don’t imagine you’ll worm your way back into his life. His plans will not include someone like you.”

  “Someone like me? Sorry, but is it exactly about me you don’t like? Do you prefer sopranos to altos? Blondes to redheads? Is it because I’m three-quarters Mexican? It seems a bit ironic for someone who’s supposedly the big liberal judge in Austin to hold my Latina heritage against me.”

  His tone became lethal. “I don’t give a damn about your last name, Ms. Becerra, apart from the fact it comes from a low-life gangbanger the state of Texas was smart enough to deport before you were born. I’m more concerned about your thieving, drug-addicted mother who has spent half of her life in jail. I don’t want my son associated with trash. I don’t want his career derailed over a woman.”

  I quietly removed my wallet from my bag, pulled out enough cash to cover my meal and a tip, plopped the money on the table and put my wallet and notebook back inside my bag. I stood, straightened my shoulders and crisply spat out what I hoped would be the last word on the subject. “You know what? I don’t believe you. It doesn’t make sense given how strongly you were pushing Marigold Blume at Nic ten years ago. I remember you talking about how terrific she was while you warned me away from your son and how much you wanted the two of them back together and were so worried because she’d vanished the night before. I loved Marigold, but I’ll tell you this, sir. She had a reputation for discarding men like rotten fruit. She was high the day I met her and she was high the day she disappeared and I never heard the word ‘rehab’ exit her lips. Perhaps you sho
uld learn to look beyond appearances, admit you have some issues with Hispanics, at least pretend to be an impartial jurist and quit trying to run your son’s life and everyone involved in it.”

  I headed for the nearest exit, furious with Adrian Jericho who still acted like some feudal lord from a distant century and upset because he’d kept me from finishing a good dinner and polishing off Fred’s coconut cream pie.

  I crashed into Nic the second I made it outside.

  “Whoa! What’s up? I thought we were going to try to decipher Marigold’s lyrics and solve the mystery of her disappearance?”

  “Maybe later,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

  “Bebe?” Nic reached out and grabbed my arm. “What’s wrong?”

  I inhaled, shifted my bag to a more comfortable position diagonally across my chest and looked up into Nic’s beautiful eyes, currently filled with concern. “Ask your father.”

  Chapter 28

  I raced to the borrowed Chevy, started the car and narrowly missed the diner’s mailbox at the front of what passed for the steakhouse parking lot. I glanced in the rear view mirror and couldn’t help but notice Nic staring after me. He appeared stunned. Good. Maybe his father would finally tell him what he’d said to me ten years ago. What was done was done, but Nic needed to hear it from the source. Not from me.

  There was a Dairy Barn about a mile straight down the road. I made a sharp left turn into the graveled lot, parked and then sat for a moment or two trying to calm down before I started shrieking and scared any one.

  The place was moderately filled with customers but I found a small table near the back meant for two people and placed an order for a chocolate sundae (always good for healing the wounds of broken romances or settling churning stomachs after confrontations) to replace the uneaten coconut pie.

  I pulled out my notebook, determined to focus solely on the lyrics of Chasm and forget anyone with the last name of Jericho. I had to get into Marigold’s mind and soul and figure out whator whomshe’d been referring to. Time was running out for finishing a recording and time could be running out for Arianna. I softly read the words aloud to myself.

  Chasm by Marigold Blume.

  Green Dragons breathe golden spice nightmares; hollow eyes smother light.

  Hear the quarry song scream granite lies to cover flight.

  Rock hard, rock away.

  Flavor of the flame burns . . . thru a lost chasm.

  Nightmare battles day. Love required love yearns Down a lost chasm.

  Temptation. Frustration. Traitorous rivalry turns to high lust. Possession. Obsession.

  Stolen seasons ravage trust. Names buried in a lost chasm.

  Marigold had always been keen on metaphors and similes. If I could recall precisely how her mind worked when it came to lyrics, perhaps I could uncover hidden meanings as I poured through each word, phrase or line.

  A waitress deposited my sundae then silently drifted off. She reminded me of Honey the waitress at Freddy’s, with her Sixties beehive hairdo balanced on top of strong squared shoulders. “Honey” had suited her. Honey. Bees. Hives. Beehive. Perfect.

  I scooped a spoonful of ice cream and stared at Chasm again. “I’m so stupid. It’s names.”

  Just like Marigold’s old song, Nana Banana. The clues had to be in names and their meanings. It was right there in the last line.

  I jotted down a short list of names. Names of the other members of Pieces followed by any studio musicians or even engineers who’d been around the band more than could be considered normal. Names of guys who’d dated Marigold and been at the Beta Zeta dance ten years ago. I dismissed the last category, which had only consisted of three names. The lyrics hadn’t made any references to a James, Ted or a Rafael and none of those guys had been anywhere near rehearsals or Junie’s house or even the studio these past few days. They probably weren’t even in Central Texas anymore.

  I peered down at the list and didn’t notice Nic striding into the Dairy Barn until he was seated across from me.

  “Bebe, I have just spent ten minutes in a heated battle with my father. I don’t want to talk about it here. I don’t want to get into what the future holds apart from saying I have no plans to return to Dallas until a week from Monday, as originally planned, and Adrian Jericho and the entire prosecutorial staff in Dallas know it, and to be honest, I’m not sure how long I’ll stay there once I’m back. But Bebe, my father’s feelings are not mine and never have been. I had no idea he’d been horrible to you and I will apologize for his ignorance and nastiness until the day I leave this earth. I also want to state you and I need to have a very long and intense conversation, preferably before this day is out. However, since you’re obviously intent on devouring a disgustingly rich dessert, which is how I knew you’d be here, and there may be a time element in deciphering these lyrics before any other girls go missing, I’m willing to table any other personal discussion for the moment and see if we can get to the bottom of Chasm. Pun intended.”

  Nodding seemed to be the only response. I tried not to go into shock. He was right. We needed to focus on the song. It was insane but it might be the only answer to finding Arianna before it was too late. I told Nic I’d figured out Marigold had to be using names as metaphors and I’d made a list but unfortunately, it mainly consisted of our friends and I hated labeling someone we knew as a kidnapper or worse. I shoved the paper at Nic along with the lyrics so he could do a quick read.

  He quietly said, “Look, I have no wish to even consider the notion one of these guys is so evil he could dispose of three young girls. But we both need to put aside sentimentalityor even loyalty or trust. We owe it to Marigold and to Daria. We owe it now to Arianna. Bebe, if we can discover who was involved, we might be in time to save Arianna’s life and I believe a person’s life is worth any hurt feelings and breaks in friendship which could well be the inevitable result of this quest.”

  “You’re reading my mind.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. Pushing hurt feelings aside. Let’s look at the lyrics for name synonyms. Flavor the flame that burns. Burns?’

  Nic quietly said, “Burns is a synonym for sears.”

  Dusty Sears. Marigold had dumped him for Cam during the first month I’d been with the band. He’d seemed to bounce back fairly fast but Marigold been teasing him in those weeks before she disappeared and while Dusty appeared very laid back, he could also be intense.

  “Could Dusty have been jealous of Cam and decided if he couldn’t have Marigold, no one could?” I asked.

  “It’s possible, although I have an extremely hard time imagining Dusty either that crazy or being in love with anyone but Jenny. What about Cam?”

  “Well, the only thing pounding inside my way too classically trained brain from years of German opera is that ‘Felsen’ means rock in German. Nic, I’m tellin’ ya, rock is all over this song. ‘Rock hard, rock away. Granite lies.’ Cam was furious with Marigold for so many things. Her bizarre behavior those last weeks. Her failure to set a date for their wedding. Her slips back into drug use. Cam was adamant that he was not going to be marrying what he called a junkie and he’d been furious about her flirting. He felt so hurt.”

  Nic grimaced.” Ouch. Great reasons to break up, but are those good motives for doing away with one’s fiancée? If so, then what about Daria and now Arianna? How do they fit into jealousy over Marigold? Are they what is horribly referred to as ‘collateral damage’? Is someone trying to make us think a serial lunatic going after a specific type?”

  “Nic, ‘rock’ can also refer to stones and granite and maybe even quarry. Unless Marigold was referring to quarry like ‘prey ‘as in the hunted. But what motive could there be for Stone? Wanting a bigger part of the inheritance one day?”

  “Doubtful. From my understanding of the disposal of the Blume fortuneand I didn’t draw up Junie’s will but she talked to me about itboth kids were—well taken of. But people can be amazingly greedy, so we can’t rule it out as motive.”r />
  The next name on the list was Glenn Iverson.

  “He may have had a fling with Marigold sometime in the spring. Operative word being may.” I stated. “But if it were true, could he have been worried she’d blackmail him? Marigold wasn’t the type to be sneaky or vindictive but Glenn might have freaked out anyway. I honestly have no idea if they did have an affair. Marigold was all hints and no substance. But the word ‘chasm’ could mean a ‘glen.’ So could ‘hollow.’” My frustration grew. “We’re getting nowhere. Or too many ‘wheres’.”

  “Who’s next?”

  “Clifford Black. I almost didn’t include him because he was one of my favorite professors and I respected him and besides I can’t imagine why he’d want to dispose of Marigold, then his niece, and now Arianna and if he’s not genuine in how broken up he’s been about Daria and Arianna, then he should win next year’s Oscar for best actor. Any ideas?”

  “Opportunity is there. But opportunity is the same for everyone. Let’s see. Cliff was intent on producing the second Pieces album. Maybe he harbored a twisted side no one knew about except Marigold, who also claimed to have had an intimate relationship with him. But then, Clifford wasn’t married and Marigold was of age and she wasn’t his student; she was a T.A. at another university so the college administration wouldn’t have been horribly upset even if the truth about their relationship had been revealed. Not much of a motive. Perhaps if Cliff wanted her too much and she still wanted Cam, could he have become so incensed he killed her? But then I think about Daria and Arianna and where they fit in and I’m completely stumped.”

  “Do you see anything in Chasm connecting him?”

  “Uh . . . ‘smother light’ which could refer to ‘black’ which could be reaching more than a yoga guru in full lotus.” He smiled.