My Wicked Valentine

by Lotta Smith

  Sophie looked at me. “Daddy!”

  “Oh, yes. That’s your Daddy talking,” Jackie informed her. “He’s in the next room, talking with the detective. Can you believe that? He used to be a super-duper FBI agent.”

  “Eff beeeee?” Sophie tilted her head.

  Wow, she was sooo adorable! “Yes, F-B-I agent.” I uttered each syllable more slowly so that the new words stuck with her. Sophie was a fast learner, but after all, at the age of fourteen months, she didn’t recall the words and phrases she’d uttered the day before. Unlike other terms such as the ones related to murders and deaths, I liked it if she’d learn to say “FBI agent,” as that was totally going to make Rick happy and excited.

  For three generations, starting from Rick’s granddad Nathan Rowling—who was the founder of USCAB—the Rowling kids had a tradition of working with the FBI for a few years before joining the family company. Sophie was the first girl born to the Rowlings in the past hundred years. So far, we hadn’t excluded the option of our daughter following in her dad’s and granddad’s footsteps, but both Rick and I had agreed to take her opinion as the priority—when Sophie was old and mature enough to determine what she’d want to do with her life.

  “Look at all those footprints,” Rick went on.

  “Foo-pree.” Sophie looked at me with wide eyes.

  “Yes, footprints,” Jackie agreed. “The crime scene had so many footprints.”

  “Oh.” Sophie nodded thoughtfully.

  “Sometimes, a part of me wants to suspect Sophie knows everything going on around her,” Jackie told me.

  “I know.” I chuckled, glancing at Sophie earnestly nodding to each of Daddy’s words coming out of the speaker, occasionally interjecting, “Bahm” and “Ooh.” Her attention to the case discussion seemed almost like a mini crime investigator. “Maybe she’ll voluntarily join the FBI, turn into a kickass agent, and then take over USCAB as the first female CEO.”

  “Cee-eee-oh!” Sophie declared, swinging her arms. In one hand, she was still clutching her favorite bunny, and as Sophie rocked, the bunny swayed like it was dancing.

  “Wow.” Jackie and I exchanged a glance.

  “And, this is the photo of the victim,” Detective Rogers said, prompting Brian to let out a deep sigh.

  “What was that?” Rick asked.

  “Hell, I can’t believe she’s dead,” Brian mumbled. “Look at this. She’s so happy, radiant, and so full of life in this, and the next thing, she’s dead with her head cracked open. Holy hell. Like is a bit—”

  “Hold your cussing, Brian, okay?” Rick butted in midsentence. “We have an innocent, beautiful, and very young lady listening in the next room. I don’t want her virgin ears to be violated.”

  “Fine.” Brian let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Thanks.” Rick beamed. Not that we had a video footage of what was happening in the interrogation room, but I could visualize him smiling. “What’s this? This white thingy looking like a dumbbell? Well, not necessarily a dumbbell, but it has a plug-in cord with buttons and switches. Hmm, this is way larger than a typical dumbbell, isn’t it? It’s as large as a toaster.”

  “Oh, I’ve just realized a toaster could be a lethal weapon—though I’ve never heard of anyone killing off somebody with this kitchen appliance. Still, you can always try a new M.O.,” Jackie commented.

  “That’s a facial massager,” Brian informed. “Can you see the probe connected to the machine? They used to cover it with clear gel, and by turning it on with electricity, the ionized cosmetic ingredients get in the deeper part of the skin.”

  “Oh, really?” Rick sounded unsure. “Hmm, is that blood? The brownish stain at the right corner?”

  “Yes, it is,” Detective Rogers agreed. “It was type AB blood, the same blood type as the victim. In addition, there’s a trace of fingerprints wiped out. I can’t be sure until the DNA results come back, but this blood is most likely to be the victim’s.”

  “Okay. How much does this machine weigh?” Rick asked.

  “Twelve pounds. Light enough to be lifted up by anyone, and heavy enough to kill with it,” the detective answered.

  “I see. Just a quick question, but are there any possibilities this could be a freak accident?” Rick interjected. “Suppose this machine fell off from, say, the top of the locker, whacked the vic in the head—that could have resulted in the death.”

  “My people have already asked about that, and all the salon workers had denied that possibility.”

  “Right,” Brian said. “Kevin Richards, the owner of the spa, is really fussy when it comes to tidying up. I suspect he’s slightly OCD. Anyway, I appreciated his passion to keep the whole place spotless.”

  “Uh-huh. Brian, did you have a chance to read this potential murder weapon?” Rick asked.

  “What are you talking about, Mr. Rowling?” the detective interjected, sounding skeptical.

  “As you may have seen on TV, Brian is a psychic and exorcist,” Rick explained. “I guarantee he’s a real one. Unlike many other self-proclaimed TV psychics, he actually sees and talks to dead people.”

  “You mean, like Mrs. Rowling?” Detective Rogers muttered.

  “Right,” Rick said. “Also, Brian is capable of doing psychometry—meaning he can feel the residual thoughts as well. And if we get lucky, he could probably go inside the killer’s mind.”

  “Okay. The concept itself is interesting; however, I’m afraid this method won’t work when the psychometrician happens to be a suspect,” Detective Rogers commented.

  “I didn’t kill her!” protested Brian, but that didn’t bother Rick.

  “Hmm, you have a point, Detective,” he said matter-of-factly. “Oh, right. What was I thinking? After all, he was at the spa when the murder occurred, and we don’t have solid evidence to check his name off the suspects list.”

  “Exactly. I’m glad that we reached a mutual understanding of the situation.”

  “Ooh, I can feel the sarcasm in her tone.” Jackie did a full-body shiver. “That’s quite something, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes. Poor Detective Rogers,” I agreed, and I meant it. I liked her. She was in her mid-forties. A little bit too square and serious, but she was a good detective. Even though she didn’t seem to fully fathom the concept of talking to dead people—potentially asking for their help in order to solve crimes—at least she tried really hard not to immediately dismiss my interpretation.

  “Mrs. Rowling, could I ask you to try reading the residual memory of the machine?”

  Surprised, I replied via the intercom, “Detective, I can try.”

  “Are you sure?” Jackie furrowed her eyebrows. “What if you felt a really horrific scene by doing that?”

  “In that case, I’d be able to finger-point the killer,” I said.

  “Mommy?” Sophie extended her arms, offering her favorite bunny to me.

  “Oh, Sophie, darling! You’re such a sweet girl!” Jackie exclaimed, air-kissing Sophie and then turning to me. “She says you can hug her bunny when things get rough.”

  “Wow. Thank you so much, darling! Mommy loves you sooo much!” I hugged my daughter, kissing the top of her head.

  “Mandy,” Jackie whispered in my ear. “Sophie’s got something to tell you, so you wanna listen to her really well.”

  “Okay.” I nodded at her, and then I smiled at my daughter expectantly.

  “Mommy!” Sophie clasped my hand. “Potty!”

  “Oh, you wanna go to the potty?” My eyes widened. In the beginning, Jackie had informed me whenever Sophie’s diaper got dirty, but it didn’t take long before the ghostly nanny told me when the diaper was about to get dirty. As a result, Sophie soon grew to detest having a dirty diaper, and it didn’t take long, with Jackie’s help, for her to start using the bathroom. Even though she’d been using the bathroom for months, she usually informed me about her needs via Jackie’s interpretation. And, here we were! For the first time, Sophie had managed to tell me about her need.<
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  “Yes, that’s what she’s saying.” Jackie fluttered her arms with a proud grin on her face.

  “Brilliant, Sophie! Let’s go to the potty.” Picking her up, I scurried to the bathroom.

  After the potty break, Rick was no longer in the interrogation room and was waiting in the observation room. He would stay in the observation room with Sophie so that I could try reading the facial machine in the interrogation room.

  “Dad-dy!” Sophie was all smiles when she caught Rick approaching us.

  “Hey, Sophie!” He beamed. “I just heard you told Mommy that you wanted to go to the potty. Guess what? I’m so proud of you.”

  As he gently rocked her in his arms, Sophie stroked his head, nodding—seeming like she appreciated his work in keeping her comfortable. Her small hand reached his tie, gripped it, and then started pulling it.

  “Ow…” Rick gasped. “Wow, you’re a tough chick, aren’t you, darling? I’m impressed. Now I know your strength, why don’t you let me go…” He tried to pull his tie out of her fingers, but she was strong. For a moment, she’d completely lost interest in the pink bunny.

  “Waah! Sophie’s not playing with me!” I said, shaking the bunny in front of my face and prompting her to look in my direction.

  Her face lit up. “Bunny!” She extended her arm toward the toy, letting go of Rick’s tie.

  “Thanks, Mandy.” Rick winked at me.

  “Hurry up and undo the tie,” I advised him. “She won’t be distracted for long.”

  “That’s a good point.” Chuckling, he undid the tie with his nimble fingers and put the tie in his suit pocket.

  “Wow, Sophie! Bunny says she’s so happy that you play with her.” Jackie was flying around her.

  “Whee!” Laughing hysterically, Sophie swung the bunny.

  “You love the bunny? This is so fun. Yeah!” Rick joined her, occasionally moving the bunny as our daughter chased it on his lap.

  “I’ll try to get it done as quickly as possible, so both of you be good, okay?” I waved at them.

  “Sure,” Rick said perkily. “We’re gonna be really good. Aren’t we, Sophie?”

  “Dad-dy!” She nuzzled on his chest.

  When I walked into the interrogation room, Brian waved at me. “Thank God, Mandy, you’re finally here!”

  “Sophie needed a potty break, and then she decided choking Rick by pulling his tie with full force was a fun way to spend her time,” I informed him as I took a seat. I looked at Detective Rogers. “May I start?”

  “Yes, please.” She nodded, indicating the machine on the desk.

  I took a seat at the desk. Putting on a thin plastic glove, I reached for the probe of the machine. I was meaning to touch it for some time, in hopes of diving into the residual memories and thoughts attached to it, but I pulled my hands away immediately.

  “What was that? Did you see the killer?” Brian asked with a serious face.

  “No… I don’t think so,” I replied.

  “If that’s the case, why are you so out of breath?”

  “Well, what I saw was gross.” I let out a deep sigh. “The thick, yellowish-white layers of body fat…the cloudy sweat running down the flabby tummy…And should I describe the countless pores on their skin? Also, I know I’d touched the machine for just a moment, but it felt like hours! Eww. If only I could un-see all the gross images! And the relentless screaming of things like ‘I wanna be thin and slim!’ ‘I wanna be young and beautiful!’ and ‘Ooh, if only I could get rid of those big pores on my skin.’ With those sound effects, if they’d created a VR game or cinema out of what I’d just witnessed, it’s gonna sicken the whole world.”

  “Oh?” Detective Rogers raised an eyebrow. “So, basically, what you saw were the images of the salon’s clients going through the procedure and their residual obsession—am I correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.” I massaged my temples.

  “Aha.” Brian nodded again and again. “I can imagine that. Kevin Richards, the owner of the salon, has once mentioned the extremely aggressive take on the pursuit of beauty.”

  “Oh, yes. Sometimes, spa clientele tends to be extra-aggressive,” Jackie chimed in, popping up by my side from out of nowhere. “Then again, looks are super important for some people.”

  “Oh, Jackie!” I gasped.

  “Hey.” Brian raised his hand. “What’s up?” Then he informed the detective about our ghostly friend visiting us.

  “Is everything okay with Sophie?” I stood up, worried.

  “Sophie’s doing good as she’s sleeping in her daddy’s arms. Rick’s jittery to join you guys while she’s sleeping, but he’s afraid he may end up waking her up. He’d considered using the intercom to call you, but you know how hopelessly he’s smitten by little Sophie. When it comes to her, he simply can’t stop worrying.”

  “That’s interesting,” Brian commented thoughtfully. “I have a hunch I’d have something to make fun of him, at least. Still, who could have imagined him fussing over his daughter so much? In my opinion, Sophie is the mightiest one-year-old in this world—for freaking him out by just falling asleep.” He chuckled, looking like a cat licking cream.

  “That’s a good point, Brian,” Jackie said. “But all in all, Rick’s been a great daddy.”

  “Okay.” He flashed a cocky grin.

  “Is Sophie asleep?” Detective Rogers asked.

  “That’s what Jackie says,” Brian replied.

  “Okay. In that case, Mr. Rowling can join us, right?” She perked up. “Let me clear the desk so that your lovely daughter wouldn’t find traumatic photos of the bloody victim. I know how it is. I have three daughters myself.”

  “Oh, is that so? I didn’t know that.” My eyes widened. “How old are they?”

  “The eldest is fifteen, and the twins are thirteen.” She wiggled her fingers. “When they were little, I tried to keep as much distance between my little princesses and the cold, hard reality of being a cop and dealing with murderers.”

  “I can only imagine.” I made some sympathetic noises.

  “Of course, you have no idea,” she said matter-of-factly, prompting me to freeze with my mouth open like an idiot. “In spite of all the efforts on my side, they’ve been peppering me with a smorgasbord of questions about the corpses and murders du jour. Can you believe that?” She threw her arms up in the air.

  “Oh…wow.” I snorted laughing. “Detective, your daughters must be super proud of your career. They have huge respect for you. Otherwise, they wouldn’t ask you about the dead bodies and murderers. I guarantee.”

  “You think so?” She tilted her head, the corners of her lips quirking up into a smile.

  “You’re right, Mandy,” Jackie chimed in. “Imagine Sophie growing up into a lovely teenager and wanting to know all the murders and ghosts we’d encountered for the day. How cool would that be?” She danced around, full of excitement.

  “Oh, yes, I like that.” I giggled. “All right. Let me get Rick and Sophie.”

  CHAPTER 3

  When I went to the observation room, Rick was dozing off along with Sophie. Honestly, I’d never wished so strongly that I had talents in painting or that I could have channeled one of those world-famous painters. If only I could channel the spirit of Rubens, I could have totally created a new masterpiece titled Sleeping Angel and her Father. With the galleries and museums like MoMA just around the corner, I suspected it could have been possible to channel one of those late top painters, but I didn’t attempt séances. After all, if I’d ended up channeling an artist like Pablo Picasso or Jackson Pollock, Sophie would grow up hating me no matter how many millions the painting of her and her daddy resulted in.

  “So, did the killer bring this facial machine to the crime scene?” Rick asked in a sotto voce so as not to wake up Sophie.

  “Oh, yes. I was going to ask that,” I said. I’d never been a cop or FBI agent myself, but sometimes, I wanted to pretend to be a super-duper detective.

  Det
ective Rogers eyed Brian. “Well, according to the salon staff, it’s usually stored in the facial treatment room. At the time of the murder, Mr. Powers and his esthetician, Robin Clement, were in that particular room.”

  Before I had a chance to react to her answer, Brian exclaimed, “What?”

  “Psst!” Rick hissed at him. “Hey, be quiet. In case you haven’t noticed, Sophie’s asleep.”

  “It’s okay.” I raised my hand. “If she naps for too long, she’ll have trouble falling asleep at night.”

  “Bah!” As if on cue, Sophie woke up.

  “Hi, darling. You’re up.” Rick cooed at her, stroking her silky blonde hair.

  “Maa…” She reached for my diaper bag, putting her cute little hand in it—a sign that she was thirsty.

  “Here you go, baby.” I took out a bottle of decaf tea for babies with a straw, and she drank it with a smile.

  “Yummy?” Rick asked, prompting her to nod. He looked around at us. “Did you see that? She just nodded yes to my question.”

  Brian cleared his throat, rolling his eyes. “I know, I know. By the way, about the facial machine being moved from the facial treatment room to the locker room—that proves my innocent. I was in the facial treatment room all the time. Look, I even have a witness. Robin had been working on me the whole time.”

  “Then again, what if this Robin guy’s in cahoots with you?” Rick said playfully.

  “Ha. Stop kidding with me. That’s not even funny.” Brian snorted.

  “The problem is, this particular facial treatment room is the closest place to the locker room.” Detective Rogers shrugged.

  “Aha. That makes it easier to whack the victim and come back to the treatment room in a short period of time,” Jackie commented.

  “Haven’t you ever heard about a robbery turned murder?” Brian protested. “I said Cordelia Spa took their clients’ privacy seriously, and I liked that, but it wasn’t like they were some kind of a secret club. During their business hours, the salon door was always open, so someone could have snuck in, whacked Shannon, and come out stealthily.”