Slice of the Pie

by Maxwell Miller

  “Betty, my dear, I think you are a brilliant woman. However, if I may say so, you really do have an eye for paintings. I mean, if I could ever afford it, I’d probably buy a few pieces from your gallery. My sister would LOVE some of your native American pieces,” Becca said. Then, suddenly, another epiphany struck. “Don’t you know it’s the darndest thing, but my sister is actually a renowned photographer. And she lives relatively close-by, up by the Idaho border. You two should meet up. I think you both would really get along,” Becca said.

  As she said it, she realized how untrue it was. Sure, the relationship might present a business opportunity to both sides. But her sister was the antithesis of civil. A wild one from the beginning, Beth lacked Becca’s capacity for self-restraint. The thought of Beth even entertaining the idea of reticence seemed laughable. Nonetheless, Becca refused to back down now that she’d stuck her foot in her mouth.

  “That sounds wonderful, dear. Now, if you don’t mind, will you call your gentleman over? If you won’t take my lagniappe, I’d venture to guess he’d cotton to it,” Betty said.

  “Cotton,” Becca said, emitting a thoughtful hmmph. She placed a finger on her chin and looked up at the ceiling pensively. “Second time I’ve heard that today,” she said.

  “It’s a Texas thing, darling. Don’t worry. Anyway, thank you so much,” Betty said, her tone making it obvious that the woman was trying to dismiss Becca as politely as possible. She waved one hand, summoning Tank from behind the counter.

  Becca laughed as she heard her right-hand man erupting in gleeful, effusive praise on the way out of the Three Sassters.

  Chapter 15

  Something nagged her.

  As Becca drove home, she couldn’t help but think that there was something she needed to do.

  Seeing a young woman wearing a dirty, frayed green beanie and holey gray sweatpants standing in front of a gas station’s fluorescent sign, waving a damp cardboard sign, Becca slowed, rolling down her window to toss a free McDouble coupon into the poor soul’s guitar case. The manager of a local fast-food joint had given her an abundance of the things, which she couldn’t have used even if she’d ever wanted to. Since she wanted to help but also didn’t want to enable anyone’s bad habits, Becca usually just offered them to those who seemed to be in need. It wasn’t the most nutritious of food, but it was something.

  As she drove away, it clicked. She’d been wanting to drop by Lawrence’s house to see if he might be able to provide any intel on the girl. Emma. The name lingered in the back of her head like a bad toothache. Taking a sharp right turn at the nearest intersection, Becca reversed course and redirected herself toward the deputy’s home.

  Tensing as she anticipated entering the man’s private space, she instantly had second thoughts. Becca seemed to almost be asking for trouble. Could she resist his charms? What if he offered her a drink? Shivering at the thought, she fought against the attractiveness of it. A decadent dram of expensive wine with a person whose company she enjoyed…

  Pulling up in front of Lawrence’s disheveled two-story residence, Becca remained in her car long after turned off the ignition. She sat, staring at the sorry excuse for a yard. A faded red, white, and blue sign for a controversial local political still rested at a slant in the overgrown grass, testifying to the man’s inveterate sense of optimism and defiance. He always thought that the little guy could win, if just given the right opportunities and conditions. It never mattered to Lawrence what the odds were or what the past revealed. What those above him desired was of little relevance to his overly idealistic mind.

  Which, Becca reflected, was probably a major reason the man had never really enjoyed the promotions he deserved. Rather than bucking up and playing the game, Lawrence stuck to his guns and pursued the career he wanted and thought he’d signed up for. When reality diverged from his expectations and principles, Lawrence continued on blithely, almost daring the world to come crashing down on him.

  Chuckling, she shook her head and got out of the car. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the rusty wire fence. Unlatching the gate, Becca felt reminded of the first time she’d ever been to Lawrence’s house. A shiver of pleasure cruised down her spine. Blushing, Becca had to rebuke the carnal urges swirling around inside of her before banishing them to the farthest reaches of her mind.

  Pressing the small glowing button beside the door, she belatedly realized that Lawrence’s bell didn’t work. Knocking hard enough that he could hear from the back of the house, Becca waited. However, she didn’t have to linger for too long. Within seconds, the freshly shaven face of the Sheriff’s deputy appeared.

  Smiling when he realized that it was Becca, Lawrence stepped back, welcoming her into his home. A scruffy gray terrier rushed across the wooden floor, its claws tapping a staccato melody as it moved forward. Yipping and hopping up and down, its long tongue flopping around, Denver greeted her blithely. He sniffed her hand eagerly as she held it out for him, then promptly fled, realizing Becca lacked treats.

  “Rude,” Becca said.

  “Yeah, he’s a pig. Say, I wasn’t expecting you. What’s the occasion?” he asked. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his long gray sweatpants, awkwardly swaying from side to side. He licked his lips and looked down at the floor. Clearing his throat after several seconds of silence passed, Lawrence smiled. “You want a beverage? I’d offer you a glass of wine, but I’m not sure that’s what you need right now,” he said.

  “Oh, it’s what I need,” Becca said. Then she smiled sadly. Reaching out, she touched Lawrence’s bare arm. She found it suddenly difficult to ignore the subtle scent of the man’s cologne. Vaguely cedary. There, close to him, she desperately desired a glass of wine. And something more.

  “I just can’t right now,” she said, the words stinging as the left her lips. An ache formed in her stomach as she saw the brief flash of hurt in her friend’s eyes. But Becca needed to remain focused. She was too exhausted and vulnerable right then to wade back into the swampy morass of complicated relationships.

  “I understand,” Lawrence said gruffly. He turned abruptly and disappeared around the corner.

  Becca seized the opportunity created by his absence to wander around Lawrence’s living room. Going to the fireplace, she checked the mantle, smiling at the thick coat of dust collected on top. Resisting the maternal urge to clean it, she picked up a framed photo of Lawrence’s son. A lean boy with an infectious smile, the kid was a natural athlete. In the picture, the beaming boy helped his team hoist a massive trophy.

  When he returned a few minutes later, he had a shirt on and possessed a steaming cup of coffee. “Joey won state. Can you believe it?” Lawrence asked. He shook his head. “I still can’t. And it’s been, what, two years? I mean, he’s in college now. Jeez, that makes me feel old,” he said. Sipping his brew, he inclined his head, aiming it toward the kitchen. “There’s more of the good stuff in the pot, if you want some. I didn’t know, so I just got some for myself,” he said.

  Replacing the picture, Becca shuffled and slumped down onto the couch. Sapphira the cat suddenly materialized, hopping directly into her lap and making muffins. Looking down, Becca didn’t know whether to be disgusted or shocked. The feline normally possessed the personality of a dictator. But she also shed like powdered doughnuts.

  “See, she’s not so bad,” Lawrence said, smirking as he sipped his coffee.

  Shrugging, Becca idly rubbed the gray cat’s back as she listened to it purr. She found the sound vaguely calming. Listening to it for several seconds, she gathered her thoughts. Becca knew she needed to get to the point and retreat before her desire overcame her.

  Thrusting herself right into it, she licked her lips and proceeded. “So, I need help finding the girl. Emma, I think her name is. She was the one who alerted us to the body,” Becca said.

  “You think?” Lawrence asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I think. All I have to go on is Mario’s word. And, right now, I’m not terri
bly impressed by the quality of his word. His veracity leaves something to be desired,” she said.

  Lawrence chuckled. Leaning forward, he shoved a stack of magazines off of the glass coffee table that rested in between them and sat his ceramic mug down. He cleared his throat. “Well, do you have anything else? I mean, you have to admit, that’s not a lot to go on. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not Superman. Nor am I even Philip Marlowe,” he said.

  Becca snorted. “Show me someone who’s ever accused you of being Superman. I’d bet we find Bigfoot first,” she said.

  Shaking his head, Lawrence settled back into his beige recliner. He stared thoughtfully into his coffee for several seconds, lapsing into a pensive silence. He fidgeted with his free hand and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Finally, he straightened up, seeming to have reached some distant conclusion during his reverie. “I could check the names in missing persons. Maybe go through NCIC. The jail database has some solid leads, too. If someone’s ever been in trouble here in Deschutes County, we have a pretty good profile on them. Usually better than even the Bend P.D., since we can monitor their phone calls, visits, take photos of their tattoos, listen in on the tiers, all that. I can’t say you’ve given me a whole lot, because you haven’t. Nonetheless, I have a serious hunch that Emma is a relatively new name. And we already don’t have nearly the same number of female offenders, so that helps, too,” he said.

  Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, looking directly into Becca’s eyes. “Now, I should probably remind you about what I’d said before. If I get caught with my nose where it doesn’t belong, I could get in some serious trouble. My job isn’t to be a snooper,” he said.

  “Snooper trooper,” Becca blurted out. She raised a hand to her mouth, blushing. However, seeing Lawrence smile at the inanity of the comment, she allowed herself to laugh.

  “Very nice. Maybe I’ll use that someday. But, right now, I have my serious face on. This does look like my serious face, right?” Lawrence asked, waving a hand in front of his mien. He nodded when Becca confirmed that it was, indeed, a professional demeanor that he’d adopted. Clearing his throat again, he scratched his head, turning to the side. Then Lawrence twitched a bit as if remembering his train of thought. He redirected his attention back to Becca.

  “Anyway, I am not a snooper trooper. Right now, I’m just another deputy at the jail. I can still access some of these files, but I need to figure out how to do it in such a way that it doesn’t call too much attention to myself,” he said.

  “Aren’t things slower at night?” Becca asked.

  “Yes, they are. But that just means it’s harder to get away with things. Fewer people means less distractions. The offenders are mostly asleep. So, other than our wellness checks and counts, all that, most people are dealing with writing reports or gearing up for the next day,” Lawrence said. He smiled, however, as a thought entered his mind. “That WOULD give me more of an excuse to be on the computers. But, anyway,” he said. He shook his head. “Is there ANYTHING else you can give me? I mean, I may dredge up fifty Emmas. Better than nothing, but if I could trim that number down, it would save us both a lot of hassles. It would certainly make your job that much easier. Have you ever tried chasing down that many possible leads? Even with a team of people working 8, maybe 12 hour days, it can be difficult,” he said.

  “Why would it be so difficult? I mean, if I have the last names and other contact information, couldn’t I just do a skip trace or whatever they’re called? Go to one of the credit agencies?” Becca asked.

  “They talk about skip tracing in those novels you read?” Lawrence asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Occasionally,” Becca said, getting a little defensive at the implied accusation. “But I also am a business owner. I’ve used skip tracing to run checks on potential properties, tenants, all of that stuff,” she said.

  “I actually forgot that you own rental properties,” Lawrence said.

  “Once again, thank my ex-husband. The jerk,” Becca said. “But they’re mostly Airbnbs right now. That trailer park I acquired, it actually wasn’t all that hot. Place needs some SERIOUS work. I’ve spent more time and money trying to collect what was owed and get the bad people out of there than anything,” she said.

  “Should’ve stuck to Three Sassters,” Lawrence remarked.

  “Oh, shush. The business books say to diversify. And, you know, there was a point in my own life where I was homeless. Right after Jake left me, you know? So, not only is having real, tangible assets capable of delivering consistent cash flow a sound business decision, but I’d really like to use what little I have to help improve others’ lives,” she said, her tone rising as she spoke.

  “That’s what I’ve always liked about you,” Lawrence said.

  “What?” Becca asked, blinking. She didn’t want to be doing that. She needed to remain focused. Yet, a part of her desperately wanted to hear what it was Lawrence liked. She craved that knowledge. Deep down, she wanted to settle down with him, even if he was an unstable wreck. She desired his approval, his affection. His everything.

  Lawrence sniffed. He turned his head as the dog started barking. “Denver, shut up!” he yelled. Smirking, he swiveled back to face Becca. “Dog always does that when he sees those commercials. The ones for the local pet food place? Grooming and all that?” he asked.

  Becca nodded, her eyes nearly watering. She wiped her face. Then, looking down, she realized Sapphira was hissing. Flinching as the cat dug its claws into her leg before darting off, she watched its form recede as it ran down the hall before disappearing around the corner.

  “Noodles for your poodle; rats for your cat,” Becca starting singing instantly, repeating the awful jingle used by the local pet store owner. The eccentric woman loved to appear, always wearing dark glasses, in her own crudely produced commercials. “Does Jill still air all of those dreadful things at, like, three in the morning?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Pretty much. Only other time I hear them is around this time. But only on the local ABC network, during the news,” Lawrence said. He smiled fondly as he shared a long, lingering look with Becca. Then, just as quickly, the passion in his eyes faded away. Clearing his throat once again, he stiffened up.

  “You okay? You’re sure clearing your throat a lot,” Becca said.

  “No, no. I’m fine. But, uh, I do need to get moving. So, yeah. See if maybe you have some surveillance footage. Try to get a picture of your Emma. Failing that, try to at least write out a really good physical description. Get your mind good and primed, then sit down and try to dredge up everything you can possibly remember about her. That could at least help really narrow things down. But it might even allow us to pinpoint one person, in particular,” Lawrence said. He held up one hand, urging caution. “Now, I don’t want to get your hopes up, either. I mean, even if we do somehow find the girl, people change their numbers. They move. The flee town. All sorts of stuff. So, your Emma may have never even been in the system. Or you could still have your work cut out for you. I don’t know,” he said.

  “Well, thank you. I need to get going, too. I should probably get home. Delilah and David are probably starving,” Becca said. But she didn’t immediately move to get up. She didn’t want to.

  “How do they even survive? Sheesh. Today’s generation,” Lawrence said, shaking his head. “Hey, another question? What’s this dirtbag paying you, anyway? Hopefully it’ll all be worth the effort,” he said.

  Chapter 16

  As Becca walked up to her house, she noticed a young man in the yard next door. Pausing, she squinted and raised a hand to shield her from the harsh light of the retreating sun. Seeing the thin, pallid young man kneeling in front of a row of brilliant blue flowers. Inspecting them closer as Becca moved toward the neighbor she didn’t know she had, she saw that the inflorescences each contained a small cluster of the beautiful flowers.

  The man, who didn’t seem to be much older than his middle-twenties, if he were even that old, didn�
�t pay much attention to Becca as she approached. He seemed to be intent on his task. He hummed a tune as he worked, probably from the music pumped into his mindscape through the small white wireless earbuds he wore. Clad in gray denim skinny jeans and a plaid shirt, the guy sported a bun and short beard. Thin white gloves covered his hands.

  Focusing on the gloves for a second, Becca couldn’t help but think it was a bit odd for someone to be using medical-style accouterments for casual gardening. Sure, she’d used the thick yellow ones when weeding, but that seemed far different from what she was witnessing her neighbor doing. She blinked and continued observing quietly for several seconds, vaguely curious to see if or even when the man might notice her presence.

  Finally, the guy stopped. Standing, he smiled as he stepped away from the flowers. Sweat fell down his forehead, but he refused to reach up and wipe it. Instead, he glanced toward a nearby green plastic trash bin. Going to it, he slowly, carefully removed both gloves. Only after he’d shut the waste container and squirted a liberal dollop of hand sanitizer from a small squeeze-y clipped to a carabiner on his jeans did he address Becca. “Hey,” he said, waving awkwardly.

  “Uh, hi,” Becca said. “I don’t know why, but I never even knew I had a neighbor. I mean, I thought that place was still for rent,” she said. “I’ve been pretty busy, though. So, I guess it’s time for introductions,” she said. “I’m Becca.” She took a few steps and thrust a hand forward, watching with fascination as the man cringed and backed up. The idea of personal contact seemed anathema to him.

  “I’m Ben,” he said.

  “Have a problem with shaking hands?” Becca asked.

  “No. What? I mean, no, I don’t have a problem,” he said. He glanced toward his open front door. Reaching up, he removed the earbuds from his ears, shoving them into a hip pocket. “Sorry. I, uh, wasn’t expecting company,” he said.