Act it Out (A Hailey Webb Mystery, Volume 2)

by Deany Ray

  Hmm. I was no longer anxious to rush home to my TV series and toffee caramel ice cream, even with chocolate bits to sprinkle on the top. This was way better than any crime show on TV. This was real-life stuff, the ending yet to be determined.

  The captain moved to stand by a window that faced the noisy street. He looked outside, then turned toward me. “We rode hard on the driver of that truck to find out what he knew.” He chuckled to himself. “I swear he almost pissed his pants when Graywell got into his face. We’re pretty sure he’s told us all he knows.” He frowned again. “Which is hardly anything.”

  What was I supposed to say?

  “Oh. I’m…very, very…sorry?” I fiddled with my chunky aqua necklace. I wasn’t used to commenting on cocaine investigations.

  “This driver doesn’t know much. He doesn’t know faces; he doesn’t know names. He just gets instructions on a cell phone when it’s drop-off time. Obviously, we didn’t catch a big fish. He’s just a guy who’s out to make an extra buck or two.” The captain moved back to the desk and settled his huge body back into the chair. “So. Analytics got to work to see if the cell yields up any gold but we’re dealing with some smart crooks. They pretty much kept the calls to less than fifteen seconds, under twenty at the very most. We couldn’t get a trace.”

  My curiosity was peaked. What did the captain want from me?

  “That stinks big time,” I piped in. “Like a fly in your Cheerios.” Before I even finished speaking, I knew enough to wince. I sounded like my granny, not like an inner-circle confidante to the precinct captain.

  He nodded in agreement. “We got lucky, though. There was one call that was different. It went on a little while and we got a trace on it.”

  “Cool beans,” I said, sounding less geeky than before but still pretty lame.

  Lame, and also so confused. I was a secretary. Nobody ever conferred with me on how to solve a crime. I was the girl in the cubicle taking messages and writing up reports. I didn’t rush out to crime scenes and look for fingerprints. I didn’t comb the area for clues to examine by microscope. I didn’t run in to shout that it must have been the wife who’d stabbed her husband with a knife. Although wouldn’t that be cool?

  Did the captain think that I could help bust the crooks somehow? Was I getting a promotion? Was I about to get a life? Did I still—please tell me no—have chocolate on my face?

  “Cooper, you still here?” My boss’s words snapped me back into the present.

  “Sorry. Yes!” I straightened my back against the chair and pushed my glasses off my nose.

  “Good. Because, Cooper, here’s the thing. The one call that we could trace, that call came from Springston.”

  My chest tightened at the very name and I opened my eyes so wide, they almost hurt.

  “I see you’re pretty shocked about hearing this.” The captain looked calmly at me.

  “What do you mean, you traced back the call to Springston?” I asked him. “Are you sure?”

  He looked impatient with the question. “Our people know what they’re doing, Cooper. So yes, of course, we’re sure.”

  I twisted my long hair into a knot, then slowly untwisted it again. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  He leaned forward and clasped his hands neatly in front of him. “Now, we don't know who it was who made the call. And it could have been a one-time thing. It could have been the only time the driver got a call that came from Springston. Maybe it’s a resident. Or maybe just some transient, somebody passing through. As you can see, we don't know much. And I need that to change.”

  “Yes, sir.” Did he want me to change it? Bust some major cocaine dealer…with my degree from junior college in medieval studies?

  I didn’t ask out loud, but he answered anyway. “And we think we might have a secret weapon. And that’s you, Charlotte Cooper.”

  For once, I couldn’t speak.

  “Me?” I finally asked.

  “Yes. We need you on this one, Cooper. I’ve read through your file. You were born and raised in Springston and your family and friends still live there,” the captain said.

  What file and what friends?

  “I’m thinking you can go home and poke around a bit, see if you hear about anything new going on in town. Hang out with your friends, see what they might know.”

  Again, what friends? At twenty-nine, I had no friends. No friends, no man, no hobbies. I’d had interesting relationships with men, but they never seemed to move past date number four or five. I’d failed at a string of hobbies like knitting and softball. I didn’t even have a cat. The one I adopted from the pound had one day just decided to move in with my neighbor. Can you say loser three times fast?

  “We're not counting on striking gold here, but it's the only lead we have.” The captain leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak with the pressure of his weight. “And we need to move on this one. The DEA is up our butt and we need some results and fast. Graywell is going to be there too. He’s going to be there undercover.” He gave me a stare. “Undercover, Cooper. Do you understand?”

  I bit my nails. “Yes, sir. I know what undercover means.” I was far from an ace detective, but I was not a moron, either.

  “Graywell is pretty good. We’re counting on him too. But you’re the one with tie-ins to the people in that town. And you’ll have the perfect cover. Say you’re on vacation. We need you to snoop around. We need you to ask some questions, see what’s going on. See if there’s anything that doesn’t seem quite right.”

  An undercover spy. Kind of thrilling, really. But Springston was a place I avoided at all costs, except for Christmas and Thanksgiving. That’s why I’d moved to Boston five years ago last spring: to put some distance between me and the blue cape cod house on Arden Way where my family lived. I loved them. I really did. But they were kind of bonkers.

  I pictured my homecoming. My mom would be in the den, waving scarves above her head to chase away some energy that she felt in the air. Or was she past that phase? She went through lots of phases. Maybe I’d find her sitting cross-legged on the floor chanting to herself. I never really knew.

  In high school, I’d been embarrassed by my aging hippie mom. Now I just wanted to avoid being pulled into her latest craze. I’d already had my colors done (Voilà! I was spring!) and been to a psychic reading (I should watch out for someone wearing purple, but all would be okay. I was being watched over by the spirit of—get this—Joan of Arc.) But Joan was sleeping on the job, it seemed, because my life was kind of crappy.

  The captain cleared his throat. “And of course, your extra help wouldn’t go unnoticed. I’m sure we can arrange a little raise.”

  And that sealed the deal. Rent was going up in Brookside Apartments West where I was the proud inhabitant of the most minuscule living space you’ve ever seen. The “master suite” was so tiny that I could brush my teeth, get my clothes out of the dresser drawer, and turn on the hallway light without getting out of bed.

  Oh, and I could save for a new car too. Each morning started with a game as I turned the coffee maker on. It was a guessing game. How many tries until the ignition finally caught on the old Corolla?

  “Undercover Agent Cooper reporting for duty, sir. What day do I start?”

  “Thank you, Cooper. Thank you.” The captain rewarded me with a smile. “I’d like you to drive to Springston first thing Monday morning.” He stood to shake my hand.

  I got up from my seat and almost tripped over…well, I almost tripped over an expanse of empty space. I’m talented that way. I recovered my balance and shook his hand.

  At the door, I thought of a question. “Where is Graywell going to be? What’s his cover?”

  “He’s working in a barber shop in the main section of the town. Do you know the one I mean?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “It wasn’t much trouble at all to get him set up with a job. We made up some great references.” The captain chuckled to himself. “I hope he knows a thing or two about cutting people’s hair
.” He ran his hand across his bald head. “I’d let him practice on me a little, but, well, that wasn’t an option, you see. I think he’s in a good shop that gets a lot of traffic.” He leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak again. “And people talk in barber shops. There’s a diner across the street from him. It’s supposed to be a hot spot, busy all the time. You should spend some time there. Pretend to read a book but keep your ears wide open.”

  I had a feeling I knew just the place he meant. I felt my stomach clench. “Are you talking about Jack's Diner?”

  The captain put his reading glasses on and glanced down at some papers. “That’s the one.” He looked up. “That’s good. It’s good you know the place.”

  I’d had a million meals there, practically grew up behind the counter. “My dad owns the diner. That’s my father’s place.”

  “Well.” He looked surprised. “That wasn’t in my file. That could work for us.” He paused. “I hear they make a real mean omelet.”

  “Thanks. And also a good burger. With a secret sauce. And the chicken fried steak is just amazing. And also the pork chops.” I tended to babble when the situation did not require it. I tried to get out the door before I recited the whole menu or tripped over more empty air. Then I headed home to pack.

  Chapter Two

  Just the sign made my heart seize up with dread. Springston, Population: 42,022 and Growing. We’re So Glad You’re Here.

  I wished I could say the same.

  I passed my elementary school, which hadn’t changed in twenty years. The monkey bars were still there, the same ones I held onto when Bobby Baker grabbed my sandals and hid them in the bushes. I had to go barefoot the rest of the day. After that, the kids called me Barefoot Charlie, even after we’d all moved on to junior high. I think that sealed my reputation as somewhat of a mess. A well-loved mess, but still…

  Not that it was my fault Bobby Baker grabbed my shoes. But nobody cared back then.

  Later I passed the big oak tree where eight years later Bobby kissed me. By then he’d gone from chubby bully to the hottest boy in school. And for three weeks, two days and six hours, he thought I was the hottest girl. Which did wonders for my high school cred. Although that, too, was short-lived.

  That kiss. I could still remember it. I put that on my list of things to do before I hit thirty-five: I wanted oh so badly to get kissed like that again.

  The Corolla stalled at the next stop sign, and I cranked it up again. Springston, here comes Charlie at age twenty-nine! With a teenager’s beat-up clunker and Bobby Baker still the star of her most romantic night. Sheesh. How pitiful was I?

  I pulled into the driveway of the blue house where I’d grown up. My mother flew out the door before I’d turned the engine off. When it came to her, everything was huge: her smile, her graying curls and her flowing red and yellow dress.

  “Charlotte, welcome home!” She pulled me into a hug, then ran her hands through my hair while she studied me intently. “Charlotte Christina, are you well? I’m sensing something dark.”

  “Oh Mom, I’m fine. I told you: I just had some time off, and I thought I’d visit you and Dad.”

  Very gently, she rubbed my arm as she stared at me some more. “But I’m sensing danger, sweets. I am!” She looked suddenly alert as if someone had just delivered awful news. “Oh no! Oh my goodness. Something’s just not right.”

  I opened my car door and pulled out my small blue duffle and my tote bag with my books, my iPad, and my makeup. “Mom, it’s cool. I promise.”

  She took the tote bag and pulled the straps over her shoulder, walked towards the door then stopped halfway up the steps and turned back to look at me. “Sweetheart, I have to tell you that as soon as my fingers touched this bag, I picked up a kind of vibe. It’s making me uneasy.” She reached out to grab my hand. “You may be about to step into a precarious situation. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I promise, Mom. I will. I’ll be absolutely careful.” I’d learned to humor her.

  “I know you think I’m silly. But the spirits put their trust in me. And what kind of mother would I be if I didn’t pass along a warning to my only daughter?”

  As we walked into the house, I ran straight into a marble stand that held a potted plant. Startled, I worked to get my balance back. Where had that come from? And what an awkward placement: two feet from the front door, guaranteed to cause collisions with unsuspecting guests.

  “Mom! What in the world? Can’t you move this over to the corner?”

  She looked alarmed. “Oh no! That wouldn’t do.”

  “Of course it would.” I paused. “Why not?” Welcome to the crazy house.

  “Because of the chi! The chi!” Her eyes grew wide. “We can’t let the chi escape.”

  The chi? I looked around the foyer. Had she gotten a new pet? What exactly was a chi? And why would a potted plant keep something called a chi from running out the door? Was this new pet kind of dumb? As always with my mother, I was absolutely baffled.

  She looked at me as if I were an imbecile. “Honey, if I moved this to a corner, there would be a clear path to the back door from the entrance of the house.”

  Sometimes her explanations left me even more confused.

  “Oh, but I think I’ve done it wrong.” All of a sudden she looked distressed. She moved the plant to a side table and pushed it against the stand. “I’ve changed my mind. We can’t leave this here. Because you should always leave an easy path for the chi to come into the home. But your dad will have to move this. It’s just way too heavy.”

  “Mom! What is a chi?” I hoped it didn’t bite.

  My mother stared at me as if I’d asked for the definition of a tree.

  “Chi is energy. Relationships. And health. Chi is everything.”

  All righty, then. I put down my duffle bag.

  “Ta da!” My mother happily twirled and threw out her arm to indicate the dining room. That’s when I noticed the room had a brand-new coat of paint.

  “Very nice,” I said.

  “Red is the Feng Shui color of the year,” she cried. Then she whispered knowingly, “It’s the year of the fire monkey.”

  “Hmm. Not the most pleasant sounding animal. But the dining room looks nice.” I kind of knew about Feng Shui. Arranging your furniture to bring good luck or something like that.

  “I’ve got your room all fixed up. Your dad’s still at the diner. But run in and say hello to Brad. He’s in there on the couch.”

  “You don’t say. I’m so surprised.” I rolled my eyes. My brother never left the couch except for meals and bathroom breaks.

  “Oh, you hush,” my mother said. “Why, just last week he called out to the car wash, asked about a job.”

  “All of that in one week? He must have been exhausted.”

  “Positive thoughts,” she said with a note of reproach in her voice. She put a gentle hand up to my forehead. “Always think pretty thoughts, my love.”

  Pretty thoughts were not what came to mind when I peeked in to greet my brother who was sprawled across the couch. “Hey, Brad. How’s it going?”

  “Charlie! Yo!” His eyes stayed on the big screen. Some sports announcer was screaming about how someone had thrown to third. Brad watched intently as if it really mattered whether someone caught a ball. If he paid that much attention to his work, maybe he could stay employed longer than a week. My brother’s jobs were even shorter lived than my few and brief romances.

  My mother came running in with a jar that had a smoky smell. She handed it to me. “Take this to your room. White sage. It might fix your problem.”

  “What problem would that be?”

  She looked at me quizzically. “Well, honey, I don’t know.”

  “You’re the one who said…,” I decided to give up. “Never mind.”

  “The sage will bring good energy,” she said as she walked out of the room. “Hey, come on in the kitchen. I made those cookies that you like.”

  That got my a
ttention. My mother might be nuts, but her chocolate chip cookies were the best: the perfect mix of crunch and a melt-in-your mouth kind of sweetness. I headed toward the kitchen after glancing back at my brother, whose eyes were still glued to the screen although a commercial for toilet cleanser had replaced the announcer’s screams.

  I set the pot of sage beside him. Not that I believed it could change someone’s “energy.” But on the off chance that it could, it belonged right beside my brother.

  In the kitchen, my mother pulled the wrapping off a plate that was piled high with cookies. “Oh, and I cleaned your room,” she said merrily.

  “Thank thuu tho muth,” I said through a mouthful of chocolate sweetness. Cleaned my room? Really? I was twenty-nine. Oh, well. What did it matter? I took another cookie.

  My mother clasped her hands together in delight. “My Pilates class will be here soon. We’d love for you to join us.” She took great pleasure in teaching yoga and Pilates. Some of her clients looked too old to walk, let alone go through my mother’s rigorous routines.

  The very idea of the oldsters in leotards made me reach for three more cookies. “Maybe next time, Mom. I think I’ll settle in, then maybe head to the diner, say hello to Dad.” Plus, I had orders to check in with the police chief here in Springston.

  “Your dad would love to see you,” she said, looking only a bit disappointed that I wouldn’t be exercising with her group outside.

  Upstairs, I put my clothes into the drawers and closets that still held bits and pieces of my teenage wardrobe: t-shirts from old concerts, the jeans I’d broken in just right. My mother had put fresh flowers on the dresser. Buttercups and pink carnations spilled out from a vase beside a picture from my high school graduation. My mother had dusted the dresser and shined the mirror; she’d lined up some old lotions and shampoos I’d left behind on other visits.

  She was so happy when I came home. I knew I should make an effort to come here more often. It was a guaranteed migraine, though. Every single time.

  ***

  Kingsley had told me to report at noon for a meeting with Chief Patrick Snow who lead the police in Springston. I knew just where the office was. It used to be a tire store before they redeveloped the downtown and made all the buildings more upscale. My boss had filled Snow in on what was going on, and the chief thought it would be good for us to meet in person. Graywell would be there too.