Pick up the Pieces

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  Nic finally broke the silence. “Okay. It’s time. I was sworn to secrecy at the risk of bodily harm and blackmail, but I need to tell y’all since nothing else turned up tonight. Saffron will probably blast me into the next county and threaten to cut off vital parts of my anatomy but you need to know what’s been going on and tell the cops in case she’s traveling.”

  “Go on,” Cam stated tersely.

  “Saffron was offered a contract in Nashville. It’s for a gig due to start next month. But now I think it’s possible if she went a little loony and took off early. She’s been nervous about it, which is one reason she’s been all over the map in terms of focusing on Pieces.”

  Dusty, Cam and I stared at Nic in shock.

  Dusty scowled. “What kind of contract?”

  Nic said, “A lucrative deal for her own show which will feature Ms. Baker singing . . . wait for it . . . old-style county n’ western. As in Tammy Wynette, Loretta Lynn, and Patsy Cline.”

  There was a long silence followed by howls of laughter.

  I wiped mirth-filled tears from my eyes. “Our wild-child, hippie, soprano, once classical diva rocker has gone classic country? There are no words to express the staggering import of this to the entire musical community.”

  “Exactly. Which is one reason she kept silent. She didn’t want to be ridiculed, although she’s had this desire to follow in the footsteps of Dolly Parton since she was about ten. She also didn’t want to jinx any deals. She’s been terrified if she said anything to anyone other than me, somehow the heavens would frown and the producers would tell her to go back to Texas forever. And she was waiting for me to make a decision as to whether I’d join her and be her uh . . . drummer.”

  “Wow,” was all Cam could say.

  I couldn’t help noting, “Drummer. Right. So, Mr. Jericho, what precisely were you doing with Ms. Baker those times she left rehearsal and you followed?”

  He winked at me, “Jealous?”

  “No comment.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, sure. Okay, fessing up here, we’d been discussing changes in several numbers for her and were working on which of those would be best. We also spent a lot of time hunting down folks she was determined to us as possible back up, assuming the folks in Nashville allow it. But believe me, no lurid nights of passion were involved, unless you want to label shouting matches as passionate.”

  I kept silent.

  “Look, we need to find out if she’s made it all the way to Nashville. I’ll call Reece.”

  The detective answered his cell on the first ring. Nic told him about Nashville but added we were all still worried.

  Nic hung up. “Reece said he’d get on it and track down her whereabouts if she was already in Tennessee. Given her nearly identical looks to Marigold, Daria and Arianna, he told me he shared our fears and the sooner we found her, the better.”

  Cam, Dusty, Nic and I stood in the parking lot staring at each other.

  Cam had started pacing. “Well, this is just terrific for Saffron if it’s true she’s happily touring Nashville finding a cool place to stay, but it leaves Pieces like a truck in the desert with a flat tire and no spare.”

  Dusty shrugged. “It leaves us back where we were first rehearsal. As in, Bebe taking lead with male back up who can do a few tunes on their own to give our alto a rest.”

  I waved my hand in the air. “Which means, gentleman, the alto needs to get some sleep. Let’s call it a night. This has just been . . . too much. I don’t know who to be angry at for keeping quiet up until just now,” I glared at Nic, “or who to be scared of, or what I’m even thinking any more, and I’m not making much sense.”

  “It’s been one major waste of time, though, hasn’t it? Tonight’s excursion through the backwoods, I mean,” moaned Cam.

  Nic nudged him. “Except for the incredibly awesome biscuits, sausages and gravy feast at Granny Baker’s, I agree. I noticed you managed to snarf down your share, Felsen.”

  Cam grinned, then winked at me. “I had to. Bebe kept slipping more than a few sausages to the vicious guard dog employed by Granny.”

  “Just making a puppy happy,” I responded. “He was a sweetie, wasn’t he? Especially for a giant beast who weighs more than I do.” I paused before adding, “ I miss my dog.”

  “Well, you’ll see him soon,” Cam said. “The dance is in two nights, and we only have another two songs to complete the album, then you can go winging back to Jersey and reunite with your mutt.”

  Nic frowned. “Cam, don’t you need to hop back in the van and go home? Get some sleep?”

  Cam glanced at him. “I was going to give Bebe a ride home since she didn’t bring a car earlier.”

  “I’ll take her home. The ancient Blazer is still good to drive, even if it’s knocking. You take off and rest and we’ll see you here tomorrow evening for the last rehearsal.”

  “But it’s out of your way, isn’t it? Junie’s place? “ Cam’s voice trailed off. “Oh? Oh. Uh, yeah, sure. Never mind.” He hugged me and then hopped back into Illusions. “Later, Ms. Becerra. Get some rest too. You’re gonna need it. If Saffron doesn’t make it back for the dance you’re going to have do some major vocalizing.”

  There were “Good night’s” all around. Nic and I began walking toward his old Blazer so he could drive me back to Junie’s. He opened the passenger side and I was about to climb in when I remembered I’d left my bag inside the theatre. It had the notebook with the lyrics to Chasm in it and I didn’t want it lying around the old ballroom the rest of the night.

  “I’ll just be a second,” I told him.

  “I should go with you,” Nic said.

  “Nic, it’s fine. There are still kids in there working on decorations. Now what’s not fine is your front tire.”

  He leaned down and checked. "Shit. I must have picked up a nail on the way here tonight. Okay. Grab your bag and hurry back and help me jack up this puppy.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I’ll hang out inside and help tack up some more posters for awhile?”

  “I’m not sure your delicate sensibilities are up to viewing more giant vampire teeth on posters for the next thirty minutes. I promise no heavy jacking. You can hand me lug nuts when asked, if you like. Sing funky old songs about tires and trucks so I’ll be inspired.” He grinned at me.

  “I can manage that. No problem. Okay, I’ll be back in five.” I whirled around and trotted back to the ballroom.

  I waved at five college kids who were more interested in devouring a pile of convenience store snacks, and headed up the stairs to the stage where I’d left my bag.

  It wasn’t there. I recalled very clearly depositing the bag on top of a stack of sheet music underneath my music stand. The stack of music was still there.

  The bag wasn’t.

  Chapter 34

  “Damn.” Had Junie’s prowler and thief snatched my second bag as well? There wasn’t much in it. Some cash, a little make-up and tissuesand of course the notebook with the lyrics to Chasm, plus the scribblings of various theories regarding the identity of anyone who might have had a reason to harm Marigold ten years ago.

  I took a few moments to search the stage in case someone had inadvertently kicked the bag to a different area. The search proved useless. Time to head back out and help Nic with the tire.

  My bag was plopped up against the passenger side of Nic’s SUV. I felt no relief seeing it. Somehow I knew this wasn’t a good thing.

  “Nic? Did someone bring my bag out?”

  There was no answer.

  “Nic?” I tossed the bag across my shoulders and headed around to the driver’s side, which had been jacked up and the old tire removed. The spare lay on the ground. So did a very silent Nic.

  I screamed his name as I bent down to find a pulse. I didn’t get the chance to even lift his wrist or place a finger over his carotid artery. I felt a soft, wet cloth press against my face seconds, and smelled an unfamiliar, oddly-sweet odor before I lapsed into darkness.

  I
awoke in darkness as well. Not surprising given my watch read four a.m. and I’d been dumped somewhere away from street lamps. Dizziness and nausea were my immediate reactions upon regaining consciousness. I’ve read enough mysteries and watched enough TV to reach the quick and easy conclusion I’d been doped by something. Thankfully, I hadn’t eaten since the sausage fest around midnight before being drugged so I wasn’t quite as violently ill as I might have been.

  My first thoughts were for Nic. Had he also been drugged? Or worse? Hit over the head? Or . . . my mind stopped the train from jumping the rails. He was okay. He had to be.

  I slowly eased into a sitting position and surveyed my surroundings. If I was to get back to Nic and safety, I needed to figure out where I was. A thin sliver of light made the ground visible around me. Ironically I was back at the exact spot in Blue Hole Park where I’d seen the message spelled out with sunflower seedshad that been only yesterday? The seeds were still there, along with the shopping bag from Ozzie’s. The message was gone but in its place were piles and piles of seeds. Dizziness overwhelmed me and was quickly joined by stark terror when I glanced down at my ankles, which were bound together by a rope. My wrists were also tied, but very loosely, as though the person who’d done this had been in a hurry.

  For a moment or two I sat, trying to breathe and forcing myself not to cry. Finally, I was able to use my hands and crawl to the closest tree so I could at least lean my head against it and try to stop the world from spinning. I was sure I resembled a worm inching its way across a lawn since my movement was hands pull, stomach follow, feet ooch last. Doubtless if a video of my performance appeared on the Internet it would be seen as pretty hilarious. I’d gratefully deal with any and all humiliation if I could only get far enough from those seeds and close enough to the road to find a way out.

  I wasted a few minutes allowing myself to be sick. The strap of my bag was digging into my chest so I took another few seconds to maneuver the bag to a more comfortable position and was struck by the hope my cell was still inside. I managed to untie the ropes around my wrists by wriggling them against the tree and quickly reached inside the bag. I was rewarded for my efforts when my right hand found the square shape of the phone. I brought it out and discovered it was dead. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d charged it.

  Tears sailed down my face. I wanted to yell for help but was afraid I’d only end up calling attention to the fact I was currently awake and if the perpetrator was nearby he’d hurry back, retie my wrists and gag me. I put the cell back in the bag and felt around for anything else that might help get me out of this mess, barely even noticing the notebook with the Chasm lyrics was gone. Luck had disappeared in the form of a phone but luck returned when I discovered one of the heavy-duty box cutters I’d carelessly left on Marigold’s dresser the other day. It must have fallen inside when I’d been sweeping cosmetics, cards and cash into the bag.

  I quickly began to work on the rope around my ankles, gnawing as hard as I could but only making a small dent in the knots. I was terrified my abductor would be back any minute and I’d still be casually sitting under a tree. So I continued my creep and crawl toward what I knew was the edge of Blue Hole Park, spending the next ten minutes or so alternately ooching, rolling on the ground and trying a two footed unbalanced hop.

  The sound of branches snapping in the direction of where I’d regained consciousness warned me I wasn’t alone. This was bad. I could hear someone running and I knew it wasn’t some rabid fitness buff out for a jog at four in the morning. I managed to ease into a ditch, grab the box cutter out of my bag and start working on the ropes again. Finally, after about two minutes, I was successful. I was free.

  I managed to climb out of the ditch without making any noise and headed for the park exit, keeping my head down and thanking my guardian angel for adding the box cutter to my bag alongside the blusher and gloss. I was also grateful for the fashion choice I’d made before rehearsal—black jeans and a black long-sleeved lightweight knit tunic. Most of my skin was covered, which helped keep branches from scratching me and also blocked any glimpse of fair skin shining under the moonlight.

  Once I hit the road I broke into a hunched over run. I still felt sick but I needed to put as much distance between him and—myself. I’d made it about half a mile when I saw a car slowly cruising without lights. Terrified, I quickly ducked back into the trees at the edge of the road and stayed down until the car passed. I tried to read the license plate but no digits were visible. I continued to trek down the road but kept close to the edge of the park.

  About fifteen minutes later I stumbled inside a convenience store. The clerk gasped and swallowed when he saw me, with my wrists slightly bloody, dirt caked over every inch of me and my hair tangled and matted. Any trace of the make-up I’d applied before heading to rehearsal had disappeared.

  The clerk left his spot behind the counter and hurried to my side. He guided me back around the counter and gently helped me sit on the one chair behind the cash register. “I won’t ask if you’re okay because you’re clearly not, but who do you need to call? Police? Family? A friend?”

  “Nic,” I gasped. “I need to call Nic. I need to know if Nic is all right. If he’s . . .” I started to sob . . .”if he’s still alive.”

  Chapter 35

  Nic answered on the first ring. His voice sounded frantic as he demanded, “Who the hell is this?”

  “Nic, it’s Bebe. Thank God, you’re okay!”

  “Bebe. Where are you? Whose phone is this?”

  “I’m at the Quik Stop on North Second Street.”

  Nic didn’t waste time asking me how I’d ended up there. “Reece is with me. We’ll be there in ten.”

  Nic, Reece Harrison and a couple of cops arrived closer to five, sirens blaring and tires burning. After being engulfed in a rib-crushing but very welcome hug from Nic, I told my story. We all thanked the clerk for his help and bought a few snacks and some very large beverages for the road since we were both dehydrated. Then I led everyone back to the spot where I’d awakened and chucked the rope, which had bound my wrists. The seeds were still in piles but the rope was gone, and the cloth laced with whatever had knocked me out plus the Ozzie’s bag had disappeared.

  “I’d show you where I dumped the rope but I haven’t a clue where it could have gone.” I explained I’d managed to find a ditch to hide in for a few minutes by alternately crawling and belly flopping, hopping and rolling. “I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to which direction. I was also feeling pretty dizzy and my main priority was not being found.”

  Reece said, “We’ll do a thorough search of the area in an hour or so, when it’s light. Meantime, you and Nic both need to go to the hospital and get checked.”

  Nic grimaced. “I’m fine. Thankfully whoever drugged me didn’t use the tire iron on my head, so I only have residual effects from whatever was used and no concussion or worse.”

  “Me too. I have no desire to to spend what’s left of this night in an emergency room and . . . not to be gross but I’ve long since lost the effects of whatever it was.”

  Reece was unsympathetic. “Tough. Ask me if I care. Emergency room. Even if you two kids are crazy enough not to get checked out we might be able to figure out what was used to drug you, which just might lead us to the person who did this.”

  So Nic and I spent the next two hours at St. David’s Health Care in Georgetown. At the end of those two hours, we’d been declared good to go and been provided with remedies primarily consisting of a lot of water to flush out toxins and advice consisting of “a ton of rest”. The doctors hadn’t been exactly forthcoming as to what had been used (they couldn’t without major forensic testing) but cautiously told us it appeared to be a compound of chloral hydrate and ecstasy and something else unspecified based on the effects. Whoever brewed this particular cocktail knew his drugs and precisely how much to administer to knock someone out for awhile but not kill them or send them into a coma.

  Onc
e we were released we headed for the hospital parking lot and Nic’s SUV which now had a new tire. It had been my transportation from the convenience store to the hospital.

  Nic sighed. “About damned time. We’re never alone, have you noticed? We get two minutes and something or someone plows into our conversation. Like a lunatic kidnapper with amazing knowledge of pharmaceuticals.”

  “Which might be a good thing, Nic. Not the drugs, but not being alone. We have enough stress without adding to it.”

  He took a deep breath. “No. It’s not a good thing. And while it’s been an extremely stress filled night, this might be the only chance we have for who knows how long where we don’t have to make nice with fifty other people.”

  He gently pushed me against the passenger side of the Blazer. “Bebe, I’m going to take my moment and hopefully use it wisely and finish clearing the air. It’s time to be honest with one another. It’s time for you to stop hiding. We came close a few times today, which is actually now yesterday, but there’s much more to be saidand done.”

  Nic was right. We were long overdue getting past old feelings and hurts and moving on. I needed to shut out the small voice that kept asking, “How do you move on without him? Ten years and you’re still the eighteen-year-old praying he’ll take you in his arms and make it all better.”

  “I can’t make it all better, Bebe.”

  My breath caught as Nic demonstrated his prowess with his “Bebe” mindreading.

  He gently said, “I can’t bring Marigold or Daria back. I have no idea where Arianna is. I can’t figure out who’s causing all this misery. I can’t erase all the hurt and the silence, much as I want to. And I can’t change your parents or mine.” He leaned down and wrapped his arms around me. “What I can do . . .” He inhaled, then finished, “what I can do is try to make the future better. But we have to start with understanding the past.”