Sighing, Becca initiated the call to the one friend who might understand what she was going through. And he might even be able to help, to boot. She chewed on her nails as she waited, her anxiety growing with each passing moment. Every ring was like rubbing a balloon. Sitting there in the car, staring at her small single-story ranch-style abode, Becca couldn’t help but feel small. And she didn’t like it.
“Hello,” Lawrence answered sleepily.
“What are you doing sleeping at…” Becca checked her watch. It was two in the afternoon. Already, she thought. “It’s two o’clock, Lawrence,” she said.
“I’ve been taking night shifts. We’ve been short-staffed at the jail,” Lawrence said. “Is someone dead? Because you only call me when you’ve got an emergency these days, it seems.”
Becca suppressed a chuckle. It felt weird, laughing at that particular moment. Especially since, yes, indeed, she was calling because someone was dead. “You should come over to my place. I can bake you some of those lemon-ginger cookies you love,” Becca said, putting on her most unctuous tone. She knew she needed to give the man a compelling reason to act.
Lawrence grunted. “I’m not sure how Sapphira will react to that,” he said. Sapphira was his moody cat.
“Pshaw, forget that angry kitty,” Becca said. “She’s so violent,” she said.
“Yeah, well, she’s my buddy. And she’s not angry. She’s just misunderstood. Isn’t that right, sweetums?” Lawrence asked, changing his voice to a comically cloying tone.
“How is THAT the universal pet and baby voice?” Becca said. She frowned when she noticed Denise pull apart the thin while curtains of the living room, staring out balefully. “Look, will you please come over? Immediately? I need to run some things by you,” she said. “And, yes, someone died.”
“Who? It wasn’t Denise, was it?” Lawrence asked, growing serious. The Sheriff’s deputy had grown particularly fond of Becca’s daughter. He’d lost his own to divorce, and he experienced a little bit of his own children vicariously through Denise.
“No, it wasn’t Denise. But it was someone in my store. Look, I need to get inside. I’m being summoned. Please come over,” she said.
“Okay. Let me throw on some clothes and I’ll be on my way. Is it okay if I iron my uniform over there?” he asked.
“If you don’t mind fighting Mousse and Catterina for the privilege,” Becca said. “Gotta go. See you, bye,” she said, hastily ending the call. She rushed out of the car, heading Denise off at the pass.
Holding up one hand, she motioned for her daughter to halt. “I’m coming right now,” she said. “Not one word.”
As Becca strode forward into the house, she ignored the muffled complaints and protests of her young daughter. She tried to recall if she’d ever acted like that when she’d been Denise’s age. The thought brought a smile to her lips; Becca envisioned her own mother trying in vain to tolerate such insolence. Impetuosity was not something the Baker family revered. Emboldened by her remembrances of her own maternal influences, she pivoted suddenly, turning to face her progeny. “You do realize that my mother used to make us go find a switch whenever we even THOUGHT of acting like you are right now?” she asked.
“What’s a switch?” Denise asked. “Like, the video game?” she asked.
Becca snorted. She shook her head. Pointing, she stamped one foot on the floor. “That right there. That’s where we went wrong,” she said.
“I’m so confused right now,” Denise said.
“Of course, you are,” Becca said. She debated internally whether she should explain the whole concept of a switch to her daughter. The proverbial angel on her right shoulder told her it wasn’t worth it. However, the demon won out, telling her that a little shock in Denise might be fun to watch. “A switch is a tree branch. You have to find just the right one. If it’s too big, it won’t swing fast enough. You have to have that nice, crisp ffft sound,” she said, mimicking the familiar noise. Somehow, she didn’t cringe. “Once you have the right one, you bend over and get smacked. Well, that is, if you’re lucky. Sometimes you just surrender the twig and the beating begins.”
“What?” Denise asked. She blushed, her blue eyes widening.
Becca nodded, smiling. She found herself enjoying her daughter’s temporary discomfort.
“No wonder you old people are so messed-up,” Denise said.
“Whatever. Look, I’m going to go have a private talk with David. Okay?” Becca asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Why can’t I go in there, too?” Denise asked, pouting.
“Because mommy’s had a rough day, kiddo. And I think he’ll appreciate you not breathing down his neck. You know, in a relationship, sometimes there is such a thing as TOO MUCH time together,” Becca said. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Lawrence is coming over soon. So, I won’t be in there long,” she said.
“Oooo,” Denise said. Then she frowned. “Is he coming over because of that body?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s precisely why. Now, will you help me out and go measure the stuff out for those lemon-ginger cookies he likes? Recipe is in the old wooden box. Second cabinet over from the fridge,” Becca said.
She walked down the narrow, carpeted hallway to Denise and Davids’ shared bedroom. Pausing just outside, Becca knocked softly. She listened to the rock music playing on the other side of the thin door. Finally, after what felt like a full minute, David could be heard getting out of bed and moving the short distance across the room. He opened the door without a word and then retreated back to the unmade bed.
Becca shut the door. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, looking at the skinny man. His facial hair had grown into an unkempt beard better suited for a vagrant. His complexion bore testimony to the many hours he spent indoors. With his red eyes and slouched demeanor, he appeared defeated. Inspecting the room, she noticed that the vaguely unpleasant odor of dirty laundry filled the space. Piles of shorts littered the dirty once-beige carpet. The dusty blinds had been drawn, filtering out all light. The small television monitor mounted atop the cheap wooden dresser sat next to a video game console. A muted organized crime show played on the screen.
“You have those oils?” David asked.
“May I sit down?” Becca asked.
“Uh, sure. Bed’s a little dirty, though,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Becca said. She proceeded to sit down on the bed next to her future son-in-law. “So, I actually got you some flower. And a pipe,” she said.
“Oh, man, I get real bad anxiety, Miss Baker. You have to take that back,” David said, suddenly growing frustrated. He wiped a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, but I can’t use that,” he said. He muttered some profanity under his breath. Then he cast an anxious glance over his shoulder. He apologized profusely for cursing.
“It’s okay, David,” Becca said. “And the budtender assured me this won’t cause you any anxiety. It’s a special strain, I guess. Very high CBD, with almost no THC. I really trust the woman, David. Okay? And this is all I have. Will you please try it?” she asked, making sure to keep her tone confidential. Intimate. The truth was, she needed to coddle David a bit. And that brought out her maternal instincts. Just seeing him, such a brave man, broken by a cruel world… it hurt something in her soul.
His hands trembled as he reached out to tentatively take the proffered pipe. David smiled reluctantly. “I hate having to rely on weed,” he said. He averted his gaze.
Reaching out with one tender hand, Becca brushed her future son-in-law’s arm. She sniffled. Brushing away a stray tear that had managed to escape, she tried to keep herself from losing her composure. She knew she needed to keep it together. If not for herself, then for all the people that depended on her. The weight and enormity of the burdens the world had seen fit to impose upon her hit her in the gut right then. She chuckled cynically and shook her head. “What a day,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong, Miss B? Do you need me to get someone for you?” David a
sked, tensing. Even in his weakened, emaciated state, he would never hesitate to defend the people he loved.
Smiling, Becca patted David’s arm. “No, but thank you, David. You’d just get yourself in trouble,” she said. “Plus, if you’re that brave, why don’t you go get your own weed?” she asked playfully.
“Well, fighting for you would be worth another stint,” he said.
“I tell you what,” Becca said, switching the subject. She needed to avoid thinking of David in jail again. “Let me pick your brain a bit. Seeing as you’ve had…” Becca looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words to express her thoughts. “Seeing as you’ve had more experience than me in certain areas, I don’t know, maybe you might have some unique insights. I could sure use any help I might be able to muster,” she said. She sighed, a fresh wave of exasperation flowing over her.
“Do you care if I smoke some of this right now?” David asked. He waited for Becca to nod her head in silent consent before lighting up. The lighter clicked and he held the thin, tall flame over the packed bowl. Inhaling heavily, he removed his thumb from the side as he continued to drag on the pipe. He coughed and a thick cloud of smoke escaped from his lips. “That’s good stuff,” he said. David smiled. Then he blushed, realizing belatedly that he was still talking with his girlfriend’s mom.
“So, you capable of following me? You’re not too high or whatever?” Becca asked, eyeing David skeptically.
“No, go ahead,” David said. “Stuff takes a minute to hit you, anyway.”
Shaking her head in mild disbelief at the situation she’d found herself thrust into, she couldn’t help but smile. “My life,” she muttered. Then she seized in a long breath, trying to conjure up the courage to return to the corpse in her bathroom. “Today, someone passed away in the bathroom at Three Sassters. A girl was there, crying and hysterical outside. When I got there, she was the one who actually told me that there was a dead body. Anyway, right after I peek in and see the deceased, the Italian guy- I assume he’s Italian, since he owns the restaurant across the street- comes up, somehow getting rid of the girl in a span of seconds, and he hits me with all sorts of smooth talk,” she said.
She held up one hand to keep David silent. “I’ll give you a chance here in a second. Let me finish, please,” Becca said. She took a breath. “So, anyway, he tells me that the District Attorney actually is the coroner or whatever it is,” she said. She snapped her fingers and smiled tightly. “Medical Examiner,” she said. Becca stood up and began pacing. “He tells me that he doesn’t want me to call the police. Said they’d just have to shut down the pastry bar while they collected evidence or whatever. Mentioned health inspectors, all that. And, I have to admit, the idea of having the shop closed down indefinitely scared me. A lot. The rent on that space is NOT cheap,” she said.
“But what really got me was, he asked me to investigate the death,” Becca said. “Can you believe that? Me?” she asked, her tone incredulous. She poked a hand into her chest.
“Sounds like some straight mafia stuff,” David said. However, he smiled. He seemed to think having Becca embroiled in a B-grade crime thriller was hilarious.
“THAT is exactly what the lady at the dispensary- Saffron- said,” Becca mentioned.
Chapter 4
“You don’t know the girl’s identity?” David asked.
Becca frowned. She waved a hand in front of her face, fanning away the thick, noxious cloud of smoke hovering in the air. Distracted by the weed, she bit her nails and tried to regain her focus. “No,” she said. “Can you not smoke anymore? At least while I’m in here,” she said. Then a thought struck her. “Lawrence is coming over. He’s not always the biggest fan of the stuff.”
“Yeah, but it’s legal,” David said. “And he and I get along,” he said. He chuckled cynically. “Oddly ironic, isn’t it?”
Becca nodded. Then she shook her head. “Yeah, I don’t know who the girl was. She didn’t look familiar. I mean, a lot of people come through the store. But I figured I’d recognize…” she frowned. A pang of guilt gnawed at her gut. I’d recognize someone who looked like that, she thought. And the fact that she could be so judgmental hurt her. She wished she could be above such pettiness. Yet, in this instance, the fact that the girl was so able to be spotted could have been Becca’s saving grace.
“I think she mentioned being his FRIEND. Not his GIRL friend,” she said, turning to look at David. She smiled expectantly. Her sudden deductive powers caused her a little thrill. Becca wanted recognition.
“That’s a good point,” David said. He smirked. “You’re too transparent,” he said. “If you want to investigate things, you have to get a good poker face,” he said.
“Me?” Becca said, pointing at herself again. She raised her eyebrows in mock amusement. Then she grew serious. “Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not an investigator. This is the sort of thing, I don’t know, I mean, wouldn’t you expect something like this in some movie or something? Who would ever expect someone who doesn’t have the first clue about,” she put a finger on her chin as she searched for the word. “Forensics? I don’t know. Either way, why me?” she asked rhetorically.
“Maybe he doesn’t want a trained investigator,” David said.
“What do you mean?” Becca asked. She stared at her interlocutor with intense interest.
“It’s obvious, Miss B. He doesn’t want the cops to find out what’s going on. And he doesn’t want you calling the cops. Why? Could it be because he’s a reptilian mafia lizardperson?” David asked, doing his best impression of an eccentric-yet- popular television personality.
“It’s his son, David,” Becca said.
“I’m not sure sociopaths care about anyone other than themselves,” David said. “It’s kind of the defining characteristic.”
“Maybe I should try some of that. What happened to the David I know? You smoked a bit of weed and suddenly you not only are talking, but you’re making sense. Is that all it takes to become an armchair philosopher?” Becca asked sardonically.
“You asked for my advice, Miss B,” David said, frowning.
“I think I just asked for you to listen. But whatever,” Becca said. However, she began the uncomfortable process of attempting to digest the full import of what her future son-in-law had said. In some respects, Becca didn’t want to believe that Mario was somehow responsible. And she desired to seek alternatives to this simply because fathoming a world in which soulless monsters could plot murder one second, then transform themselves into suave, charming creatures the next was too much to handle.
“You know, sometimes I can understand how you got to be so messed-up, emotionally,” Becca said.
“Thanks, I guess,” David said.
“It just sucks. I hate thinking that maybe the guy who runs the business across the street is some sort of cold-blooded murderer. I mean, if you’re right, then he sat down and really thought about killing his own son. Then he actually went through with it. AND THEN he stood right next to the crime scene he’d created and acted as if nothing had ever happened. How psychotic do you have to be, to find and exploit some obscure legal loophole, install a person into a spot as coroner or whatever, and only then off your own child?” Becca asked.
“Reptilians,” David said.
“What kind of stuff have you been watching?” Becca asked, shooting him a look.
“You have to admit, it’s not exactly normal. Like you said, who would do all that?” David asked.
Becca reluctantly nodded. She chewed her fingernails anxiously as she tapped one foot on the floor. Glancing around, she sought any distraction that might divert her attention from such haunting thoughts. “This room is a mess. I thought I raised Denise better,” she said. “That’s one good thing to come out of this. If I have a few days off, I’m going to evict you temporarily so I can clean this pigsty up,” she said.
She jumped when she heard a car pull into the driveway. “That must be Lawrence,” Becca said. “Let’s talk
about this later. Please go outside if you’re going to smoke any more,” she said before rushing out of the cluttered room.
“Mom, Lawrence,” Denise said, poking her head out of the kitchen.
“I heard,” Becca said. Her heart fluttered. She glanced toward the bathroom. Heading toward it in a mad dash, she stopped dead in her tracks as realization struck. Becca smiled at herself. She shook her head. “What am I doing?” she asked. Turning, she brushed a hand over the front of her pants. She’d just have to settle for that. If Lawrence expected a carefully coiffed woman right then, he’d be sorely disabused of the notion as soon as he entered the house.
Hearing a firm knock at the door, Becca took a deep breath and walked over to it. She paused, her hand hovering just above the knob. Then, chiding herself for being so petty, Becca allowed Lawrence in. “Hi,” she said, practically muttering the greeting under her breath. She averted her gaze as the Sheriff’s Deputy marched through the entryway. She could feel herself blushing. And she hated it. She didn’t like the idea that anyone- Lawrence especially- could cause such a reaction.
“It’s, uh, been a while,” Becca said. She briefly recalled their last meeting. And it didn’t do anything to help with the weakness in her knees. “I’m going to go check on the cookies,” she said, rushing to make her escape. However, as she fled, she noticed the wry, knowing smile playing on Lawrence’s thin lips.
“He’s in there. Right now,” Becca said. She punctuated her words by stabbing the air with one finger, pointing toward the living room. Realizing that she was speaking in a comically low whisper, she ran a hand through her frazzled hair and smiled. Looking at the floor, she fought to collect her thoughts. “Help!” she said, reaching out and grabbing a hold of her daughter’s thin shoulders.
“You’re freaking out about nothing,” Denise said. She snorted, her nostrils flaring. Laughter shone in her gentle eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” she said.
Slice of the Pie Page 4