Something about that last question sent David into a fit of frenzied laughter. He leaned against the wall, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh, Lordy,” he said, fighting for air.
“What?” Becca asked, raising one eyebrow.
David snorted and regained some semblance of seriousness. “I guess I could ask what is normal,” he said.
“You know what I meant,” Becca said.
“Miss B, no offense, but I’m not a huge fan of people. I have little faith in humanity. I’m just not the social butterfly type,” David said.
“Well, what about the other questions? I mean, doesn’t that get boring? And I really do worry that playing those types of games just makes your PTSD worse.”
“I think it makes it better, mom,” David said, that last word laced with sarcasm. “Honestly. I get annoyed with how inaccurate things are sometimes. And I hate how there are so many little teenage kids. They just get on there and say dumb stuff. Drama, drama, drama. Other than that, no, it’s not really boring, I guess. Something to keep me occupied.”
“If you need something to keep you occupied, you could always just show up to that job I keep paying you for,” Becca said. Then she had a thought. “You know, right now, I could probably use some security. Nothing overt. I wouldn’t want to spook the guests. Sometimes seeing a scary person in a uniform or whatever makes people scared. But would that help you get out of the house? Is that something that would fit you more? I mean, are you just avoiding work because you don’t like the idea of spending time in the kitchen?”
David’s eyes lit up. He became instantly more alert. A thin smile spread slowly over his face. Nodding slightly, he rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger, pretending to ponder the offer. After several seconds passed, he finally spoke, breaking the tension he’d created. “You know me too well, Miss B,” he said.
“That’s a cryptic response,” she said.
“Indeed, it is. But, yes, I think something like that might be more in my wheelhouse. I just… honestly, I feel inadequate trying to act like a baker. You know? It’s nothing against you. I know what you do is really hard. And it’s important. It’s not meant disrespectfully at all, Miss B. It’s just that I have no clue what I’m doing in there. Plus, all the loud noises and everything, people walking around behind you with knives and stuff, it just makes me really nervous,” he said.
“Well, you know, if you’d tell me these things, I could try and work with you, David. Look, I love you like you’re my own son. You practically are. Okay? I would do anything in my power to help you. But you have to help me do that. Does that make sense? I can’t give you what you need if you don’t tell me what it is you need,” Becca said, fighting tears. She really didn’t want to cry right then. Her emotions were already on hyperdrive. Adding another wave wouldn’t do anyone any good.
“Let me think about it. But I think it’s a good idea, Miss B,” David said. And, with that, he retreated back to his cell.
Standing there, surrounded by silence, Becca wondered about her life. She tried to remember how Denise had even come to meet such an oddly loveable character. It wasn’t like Becca or anyone around her had ever been particularly drawn to the military lifestyle. If anything, Denise should have been adamantly opposed to getting emotionally involved with someone from such a background. Independent, smart, with a strong creative streak, Denise harbored so many qualities anathema to a martial personality that she seemed the perfect candidate for NOT dating a veteran. The poor girl didn’t even like cleaning up her own messes.
Shaking her head, Becca turned and tried to remember what it was she’d been doing before the interruption. Seeing the flour on the counter, she smiled. “Pancakes,” she said.
Busying herself with prep work, Becca scurried through the kitchen, moving back and forth as she sought the various ingredients and measuring cups she’d need to make her impromptu breakfast dish. Finally, when ready, she put the flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt into a big brown plastic bowl. She left a well in the middle for the next ingredients. Adding one and a quarter cups of milk, 3 tablespoons of melted butter, she was nearly finished. Humming as she grabbed the nearby egg, she cracked it on the edge of the counter before depositing the creamy contents into the dish. “Oh, the mixer,” she said, realizing she’d forgotten to grab that essential item.
Bending down, she scoured through a cabinet, shoving various utensils aside as she searched for the mixer. “Grr,” she said through gritted teeth, annoyed by her inability to find such a commonplace item. “Has Denise been going through here? Is this what happens when I leave home?” she asked herself out loud, speaking idly as she went about her treasure hunt.
Finally, she saw it, wedged way in the back. “Aha!” Grabbing, she pulled it from the shadows. Blowing on it to get the thin coat of dust off of it, Becca made a sour face. “Ew,” she said. Taking the mixer over to the sink, she ran cold water over the attached metal pieces, holding them there until she felt confident she’d gotten all of the grime off. Thus satisfied, she plugged the thing in.
And, of course, the cord wasn’t long enough.
Becca grunted. She suppressed a scream. “Can anything go right in my life?” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands and storming away from the counter. She went to the doorway, leaning against the wall. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths, waiting for the anger to subside.
When she’d calmed down enough to return to her task, Becca wondered what had happened to her. It didn’t seem like seeing a dead body would have caused such dramatic changes in her personality. She’d sought the kitchen out as a refuge. Cooking was one of the banal acts that had always helped her get through before. After her then-husband announced his intention to file for divorce, Becca had spent almost a week making food. She’d ended up making so much that her only option had been to donate most of it to a local shelter. Which, oddly enough, hadn’t actually been able to serve it to those in need, since it’d been prepared at home.
Hearing a sound behind her, Becca jumped. She emitted a small, shrill squeal. When she whirled around, her face pale and contorted into a mask of horrified rage, Becca gripped a wooden spatula in one hand, ready to use it on her assailant. However, she widened her eyes when it dawned on her that the intruder was none other than her own daughter. Holding a hand to her chest, Becca shook her head. “Gosh, you scared me,” she said.
“Uh, sorry. Nervous much?” Denise asked.
“Actually, yes. What with the mafia threatening to murder me and our killer neighbor next door,” Becca said.
“I guess when you put it that way…”
“Exactly. Say, want pancakes?” Becca asked.
“Sure. Do we have any blueberries? Strawberries?” Denise asked. “You know what would be soooo good right now? Some of that huckleberry honey from that one place. Where is it?” she touched a hand to her chin as she looked at the ceiling. Then she shrugged. “Whatever. Anyway, what’s your deal today? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so jumpy,” she said.
Exiting the kitchen, she quickly returned scraping a wooden chair across the tile floor. Plopping down, she stared at her mom.
“You’re not even going to help, are you?” Becca asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Wasn’t planning on it. Although, you might say that drawing whatever it is out of you is my way of helping. Seriously, though, what’s up? Something new pop up?” Denise asked.
“Oh, I don’t know, honey. D, I tell you, I’m just so overwhelmed. I’ve got Lawrence coming back into my life. That alone is enough to make me go crazy. But it’s NOW, of all times. And, well, you know, there is the whole fact of the corpse in my pastry bar. Not sure I want to be confronted with my own mortality. You know what’s going on. Why even ask?” Becca said. She turned around and resumed her pancake-making. Running the mixer, she took a minute to make sure the batter reached the right consistency. Then she oiled a pan and put it over medium-high heat.
“You just seem much more ten
se today,” Denise said.
Becca made a small sound of derision. She plopped a small dollop of batter into the pan, smiling as she listened to the satisfying crackling sound. Waiting until she saw the whiteish mix bubbling in the middle to flip it, she hummed quietly to herself. She avoided her daughter’s question on purpose. Part of her felt plagued by it. She didn’t know the answer. Not really. And it was that uncertainty that caused her such concern.
Finally, flipping the pancake, she frowned and answered Denise. “You know, I think it’s David. He came in here earlier. We were talking. I was just a little upset by the fact that he just, well, spends all day in your room, playing video games. VIDEO GAMES,” she said. “How can you stand that? Because it’s not like you leave all that often, either. Do you just sit there and watch him?” Becca asked, even more disturbed by the new train of thought.
“Mom, it’s our life. Let us live it, okay? We’re trying to ease into the whole adulting thing,” Denise said.
“Well, how long have we lived here? How long have you been away from your dad? I mean, weren’t you doing this in Dallas?” Becca asked.
“Okay, but what’s that got to do with the price of chiles in Mexico?” Denise asked.
“What’s with everyone and their unusual phrases or whatever they are?” Becca asked, shaking her head. She deposited the first pancake on a plate and started the next one. “Look, I don’t really know what’s going on in my head right now, sweetie. Okay? I mean, is that okay? Do I have to constantly hold things together for everyone else? I’ve had some things going on lately. And I’m doing my best,” she said.
Then Becca started crying suddenly. She braced herself against the stove, leaning over the pan dangerously, and sobbed quietly. She waved her daughter away when she sensed her moving to comfort her. “It’s okay,” she said.
“No, it’s not, mom. Here. Let me finish the pancakes. Sit,” Denise said. “SIT,” she repeated, making it an order.
Reluctantly, Becca sat down in the freshly vacated chair. “I just feel so small. And cooking doesn’t he… he… help anymore,” she said, sniffing. She wiped a hand across her face. “It’s that Mario. Ugh. I think he corrupted me forever,” she said.
“What do you mean, mom?” Denise asked.
“Oh, I told you about the drone, right? I was hiking and he just… he violated my privacy in the worst way. I know he’s been keeping tabs on me. Watching me. And, I don’t know. I think that’s a big part of why I’m so upset,” Becca said. She took a deep breath. “I came down here to retreat into one of my most-familiar activities. Then I just felt so… blah. You know? It just didn’t seem fun anymore. And that really bothered me,” she said.
Denise nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. I just didn’t think it was in-character for you to just, you know, start freaking out because some thug threatened you. My mom- the one I know, anyway- is NOT going to be bothered by some mean guy’s words. She’s just too tough and independent,” she said.
Becca sniffed. “Well, thank you, sweetie,” she said.
“Say, do you have any plans tonight? Maybe we could go out. Go stay in a cabin or a, what do they call them? Yurts? Anyway, we could go rent one of those guys. Hang out in the woods, commune with nature. All that hippie stuff,” Denise said.
Smiling wryly, Becca shook her head. “Unfortunately, I can’t. Sounds great, though. Even if my mind probably wouldn’t allow me to actually enjoy it. I swear, I just can’t rest right now,” she said.
“Why can’t you?” Denise asked.
“I have to meet with Lawrence,” Becca said, sighing. She dreaded the exchange, even if she knew it needed to happen. “We had a little, oh, I don’t know how to characterize it. A spat? A tiff? It was too lame to call a fight, really. Anyway, yeah, we need to sit down and collaborate. And I think you two should be here. In fact, you both should probably sit in on the meeting. Might be good to have a referee,” Becca said, laughing derisively. “In all seriousness, though, you guys already know all the dirty details. And we’re going to be discussing how to go about extracting a confession from Ben, the neighbor. Any input you might have on that, or keeping us safe in the process, would probably be welcome,” she said.
Just then, while Becca awaited her daughter’s response, her phone rang.
Chapter 19
Sitting in Mario’s office, Becca stared in frank awe. The mess she’d witnessed being created had vanished without a trace, replaced by a bevy of brand-new office furniture and other accouterments. With her trembling legs locked together and her hands rigidly fixed in her lap, Becca waited quietly for the criminal underlord to address her. Having been summoned into his dark and menacing presence, she’d been forced to spend minutes in agonized silence, expectantly awaiting the reason for the surprise meeting. The only thing that kept her from blathering nervously and getting herself in more trouble with the madman- who also happened to be her employer- was the remarkable job his staff had done in cleaning up any and all evidence of his previous tirade.
Finally, Mario hung up his new business phone. Clearing his throat, he sat forward in his expensive-looking executive chair, the leather creaking as he moved. Steepling his fat fingers atop the clean, shiny surface of his wooden desk, he stared at her in an appraising manner. He smiled. His pudgy, purplish lips possessed a sinister quality as his gesture transmogrified itself into a sort of sneer. He continued to leverage the power only silence could bring, watching his prey as he allowed time to continue its slow slog forward.
Becca endured it. She forced herself to play his game. By his rules. She knew she needed to stall for time. With the man’s killer in her grasp, it wouldn’t do her any good to start new fights with Mario. Not only that, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to handle another big incident. Nor could she remain confident that David would sit idly by if she came home with another sob story.
When Mario spoke, he did so in an oddly hushed tone. He was so quiet, in fact, that Becca needed to lean forward to hear him.
“Would you like to look at the financials?” he asked.
Blinking, Becca tried to think. She wasn’t sure she’d heard the man correctly. Shifting in her seat, she glanced back toward the door. “Uh, would I like to look at the financials?” she asked. She raised one hand to her mouth and began chewing on her fingernails.
“Yes, that is what I asked. You’re a partner in the business, right? 5%, that’s part of what we agreed on? Do you remember? I mean, I’d prefer not to surrender a portion of my life’s work. But you made a big show of telling me how you needed some reassurance, some show that I was serious,” Mario said.
Becca nodded. Getting over her initial wave of shocked disbelief, she quickly grew eager to see the details of the man’s internal operations. However, she needed to remember to disguise her true intent and interest in accessing the information. For, since being afforded a glimpse into the reality behind the man’s charismatic persona, she’d abandoned her earlier position. Rather than needing something to show that Mario was serious or diversifying her assets, Becca now wanted nothing less than bringing the thug down. And the best way to do that would be through his financial records.
“I would love to see what I’m getting. I’m sure you understand I still want reasonable compensation for the investigation, though,” Becca said. She smiled. Inwardly, she congratulated herself for the great performance she’d just put on. You deserve an Oscar, she thought. Lying seemed to come naturally, now that bodies had started turning up in the Three Sassters.
“Of course, of course. Speaking of which, how is that coming along?” Mario asked.
“You know, I think we’re making progress. But I did want to ask you about that girl. What was her name again? I think she could be a key witness. A very good source of information,” Becca said, once again lying through her teeth. However, this time, she watched the man closely, trying to gauge his reaction. She figured he’d engage in dishonesty. Mario had no reason to suspect she’d actually discovere
d the girl’s full identity and probably whereabouts.
“Emma, I think. I’m not really sure. But I told you I don’t know where she is,” Mario said.
“Okay. Well, that’s fine. I got a promising lead. I saw, uh,” Becca glanced toward the door again. She began chewing on her lower lip. Shifting in her chair, she searched for a good lie. “Well, I’ll just say it. I saw someone suspicious in the pastry bar around the time of the uh, event. I went back and searched the surveillance video. Uh, so, I checked the guy’s face against newspaper reports and discovered it was a suspected mafia hitman,” she said.
“You have surveillance video? I need this,” Mario said. “And what was this hitman’s name?” he asked, his voice rising. He sat forward, breathing heavily. His eyes thinned to slits as he awaited her answers.
“I don’t actually have the video right now. I, uh, gave it to my lawyer in a sealed envelope. Asked them to stash it in a safe deposit box somewhere. You know, insurance. In case something happened to me,” she said. Becca felt a shiver of excitement ripple through her. She didn’t know how she’d managed to become such a clever liar in so short a time. But she felt proud of herself, nonetheless. The fact that she was conning a professional con only added to the sense of accomplishment and adventure.
“That was a very smart move. I wouldn’t expect that from someone like you,” Mario said. “You’re sure you didn’t mention anything to… this lawyer?” he asked.
Becca nodded. She cleared her throat. Beginning to really get into the whole game, she leaned forward and looked the man directly in the eyes. “I didn’t mention anything. But, I can tell you, that hitman… I don’t remember his name. But I’ll never forget his face. He looked REAL mean. A nasty, jagged scar on his clean-shaven face. Bald head. Sunglasses to hide his eyes. A rather large nose. But it was the tattoo on the neck that gave him away,” she said.
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