Black Adagio

by Potocki, Wendy

  “Thanks,” Todd replied, his footsteps entrenched in the well-worn path to the room dubbed, “the observation deck.”

  They slipped in behind a row of agents who occupied front row seats. A few taking notes, Laurie balanced on the chair uncomfortably, her face reflecting a distancing from the perilous situation she was embroiled in. Mentally checking out, a lacquer of insolence hardened her features into someone prematurely aged beyond their years.

  Batting mascara-soaked lashes, they were caked with black spidery flakes. The activity relieved her from the duty of confronting the adversary that was fast mounting an attack. Not yet in full-flight, Cummings braced and hunkered down waiting to leap onto the back of the gazelle seeking refuge in the wooden chair. Her blond hair spiked and badly need of a combing, it had crossed the boundary of being on the wild side into an unkempt mess. Like a fragile doormat, it had been trampled on by the heels of those wanting to get inside her head and discover what secrets her psyche held. Before this, Todd would have bet they were limited to opening fake social media accounts.

  “Do you need us to reread what you wrote, Laurie? Or are you starting to understand that you need to tell us the truth?”

  “I did tell you the truth,” she dully stated as if forced to recite the Pledge of Allegiance for the umpteenth time.

  “Now we both know that you lied. We found that out through Jack Harris. It was a big mistake trying to finger him when it’s been you all along.”

  “What?” she responded as if being shaken out of a dream. Her eyes no longer blankly staring ahead into oblivion, she was reanimating by being shot with electricity through an unknown port. “You asked me who wrote the emails and I told you!”

  “Yes, but you stopped there, didn’t you? You didn’t tell us it was you that disposed of Larabee. What’d you do, Laurie? Lure him to that remote site and then bash him over the head?”

  “No!” she objected. “I most certainly did not lure that pervert anywhere! I didn’t want him anywhere near me!”

  “We got that much. And you solved that problem … permanently. Now where is he, Laurie? Where did you hide the body?”

  “Body? What are you talking about?”

  “Your confession,” Angela answered, springing the trap. A school notebook was in her hand. Fresh from Harris’ locker at Holybrook High, she slammed it down in front of the girl that was beginning to become alarmed. No longer the cool customer, there was a panic emerging in her eyes. Flitting over the lines written by a poison pen, she recognized the words as her own.

  “No!” she objected, grabbing at the pages. Angela snatched back the crucial evidence from a destructive pair of hands.

  “Now that we know it was you, you just need to tell us how,” Ace goaded.

  “You’re crazy! You’re all crazy! Why would Jack do this? Why?” she blurted, starting to cry.

  “You mean, tell us the truth? Maybe because he wants justice?” Angela theorized.

  “Or maybe he doesn’t like being blamed for crimes he didn’t commit,” Ace countered. “Especially since it was you! You, Laurie! You say so right here!”

  “But this isn’t what it looks! I wouldn’t hurt anyone! I don’t believe in hurting anyone! I let him hurt himself! That’s all I meant!”

  “So you’re saying that he ran headlong into a tree? Knocked himself out? And then maybe crawled away into a hole he dug for himself? Yeah, maybe that’s why we can’t find him?” Ace mocked.

  Leaping to her shackled feet, she began to scream.

  “Stop it! Stop making fun of me! That’s not what I’m saying at all!”

  “Then why don’t you have a seat and tell us all about it. It’s your chance. Maybe your only chance because we just got confirmation that the blood in the woods was Larabee’s. That means you’ll be going down for murder.”

  Letting out a scream of frustration, she fell back down like a deflating tire. Her shoulders pinching together, her hands went to her head, covering her face from prying eyes. Fetally seated, Ace and Angela gave her time to collect her thoughts. They could read the signs. She was broken and about to spill her guts. Poised, they silently waited for her to begin.

  One eye peeked out between her fingers, her hands sliding down over her face like melting ice. Pulling at her taut skin, these past few days had been hell and it showed. Like an animal that was stalked and cornered, she was defeated and submissive. It wasn’t easy to watch, but necessary.

  Swallowing, she began slowly, trying her best to explain what she’d done. Her fingers spread out before her, her head tilted to the side in a birdlike gesture.

  “I didn’t feel safe,” she admitted softly, almost gracefully. Reduced to subservience, she took on a childlike quality. “He was watching me. All the time,” she continued, her eyebrows knitting together. The dusky appearance of a few stray dark hairs beneath her severely plucked brows added a harshness to her appearance. She looked like a girl that had been around the block—way too many times.

  “I’d go in my room, and he’d follow me there. There was always some excuse for him knocking … or barging in. I started putting my chair against it … to try to keep him out. When he found out he couldn’t get in, he went ballistic. Told my mother it was a sign that I was up to no good, but it was him. Him, all the time.

  “My mom, she didn’t believe me at first, but one night I came home late. I went into the kitchen for a snack. I was eating at the counter, and he came up behind me. I didn’t hear him, and … he tried to kiss me,” she said in a ghostly whisper, a lonely tear running down her cheek.

  “I tried to move away, but he put his arms on either side of me. I was moving my face to try to avoid him. I should have screamed, but I didn’t even think to do it. I was just so confused, and … I just wanted to get away!” Searching Angela’s face for understanding, she thought she’d found it.

  “It must have been hard for you,” Angela soothed. Taking on the role of a sympathetic listener, no more aggression was needed. She was a young girl—one that had done something terribly wrong.

  “It was! But this time it worked out! My mom got up and found him gone. I’d told her how he’d tried to get into my room in the middle of the night and she decided to check. So she went to my bedroom, but found I wasn’t there. She was going to go back to bed, but heard something in the kitchen. She decided to see what it was and caught him! Saw him on top of me trying to kiss me! Don’t you see? He couldn’t explain himself out of that one!”

  “Yes, we see,” Angela confirmed. “What happened?”

  “She told him to leave. I was so happy! He started with some nonsense, about trying to smell alcohol on my breath, but she refused to believe him. She threw him out, threatening to make trouble for him. He left, but he kept calling and calling. I decided to do something.”

  Ace and Angela exchanged knowing glances. Her confession had a ring of truth. Their muscles tensed as they waited for the entire story to pour out of the troubled teen.

  “I wanted to help my mother out, so I … so I decided to cast a spell.”

  The words sounded as hollow as the squawk of a duck flying with sparrows. Like a rock crashing through a glass window, the sanctity of the structure Laurie had erected was demolished in one stroke. The dynamics of the room changed in the blink of one heavily coated, shadowed eye.

  “A spell?” Ace skeptically spat as if shooting a wad of rancid chewing tobacco out of his mouth.

  “Yes. Like my mother said, I’m a witch. I was initiated last year, but we’re sworn to doing no harm.”

  “Oh, like a doctor,” he mocked, Laurie not getting the brunt of his humor.

  “Yes, exactly,” she answered, believing the oath taken as sacred. “We’re bound by it. The thing is that any spell we cast comes back to us three-fold, but one night it hit me to only wish for his intentions to come back to him ten-fold. This way, if I were wrong, which I wasn’t, he would experience tremendous good fortune. But if he were the perv that I knew he was, he’d get p
unished—big-time.” She relaxed, folding her arms. “And look what happened,” she knowingly mused.

  “What did happen?” Ace asked, inquiring about the obvious.

  “Somebody got him good—that’s what happened! Probably another woman he was harassing. Oh, I don’t doubt for one moment that he pulled this shit before. Just picked the wrong one.”

  “You speaking about yourself?” Angela queried. Jumping into the deep end, she was angry at herself for feeling sympathy for this psychopath.

  “No!” Laurie blasted, getting agitated. “Didn’t you listen? I said I cast a spell! That’s all I was saying in these notes I wrote to Jack! I thought he’d get it because he’s into the same things as I am.”

  “Yeah, sure. A spell did him in,” Ace repeated. His saturation point reached, he rose to his feet, pushing his chair back. “And here, I thought you were getting smart! You’re going down! You’re being charged as an adult. It makes it a capital offense which means the death penalty! You really prepared to go there instead of telling us who helped you?”

  “Nobody helped me! And that’s all I did!” she protested with a howl.

  “Right! The Spell Fairies took care of him for you. Or was it karma?” he sneered. “All I know is that a spell isn’t going to get you out of this one!”

  “Laurie,” Angela pleaded, leaning across the table, “your only chance is to tell us the truth. Where is Larabee? Is he dead? And what about Christina? And Brandi? If they’re alive and being held somewhere, we can get your charge reduced, but you have to cooperate.”

  “I am cooperating!” she yelled in a last ditch defense.

  “No, you’re not,” she responded. “Just tell us who helped you! You had to have help. You’re not big enough to dispose of a body by yourself!”

  Fuck! They weren’t listening to her. If they wanted a name, she’d give them a name. She’d get that bastard back for doing this to her.

  “Jack Harris!” she spurted.

  Ace rubbed his forehead, his hand going to the waist flat from reverse abdominal curls.

  “Try again. Jack has an alibi for that entire evening. Besides, he has immunity.”

  “What! You gave that creepy bastard …”

  “So you’re lying just to get back at him? I think we’ve had enough. You don’t play ball with us, we don’t play ball with you.”

  Stomping his way to the door, he yelled at the agents in the hall.

  “Get her the hell out of here, and bring in Carol Hilliard! Now!”

  Like action figures, the agents sprang into motion. Laurie struggled against the hands leading her away.

  “You’re arresting my mother? Why?”

  “Obstruction of justice for starters. Maybe accessory after the fact.”

  “No! This is wrong! She didn’t do anything and neither did I!” she screamed, kicking at the legs of those escorting her back to her cell. “I only cast a spell!” she whined, her cry streaking down the hall and obliterating credulity with its false claim of persecution. “My only crime is that it worked! Don’t you see, the magic worked!”

  Todd watched, not knowing what to believe. Giving Foster a glance, he raced out of the room, his eyes perusing Harris’ words. Skimming through, there were a lot of unanswered questions. He had a burning desire to talk to Mulligan again. Leaving the report on his desk, he hurried out the door, anxious to have another word with the man left at the altar.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  A blast of wind made it difficult for him to open the car door. Waiting a moment, he gave another shove, shielding his face from the blustery assault. He tugged his cap over his ears, pulling the collar up until it covered his neck. Like a football linebacker, he fought his way to Room 112.

  The storm kicked up, the rumble of a tow truck capturing his attention. Through the intermittent flurries of snowflakes, he saw Mulligan’s old Chevy. The front wheels were being lifted off the ground by a thick chain wrapping around the chrome bumper.

  “Hey! Hey, excuse me!” he yelled, jogging over to the two workers dressed in green. “What’s going on here?”

  “Mrs. Marks called. Said to get this out of her lot,” the shorter one replied. His bulky body encased in layers of clothing to keep him warm, the three sets of long-sleeved thermal shirts showed under the cuff of his jacket.

  “Did she say why?”

  He shrugged. Squinting, he gave as best an answer as he could.

  “We don’t really ask questions, but you could I suppose.”

  His colleague nodded in agreement to his partner stating the obvious.

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself? There she is now,” the taller one suggested, bobbing his head in her direction.

  Pivoting, he saw a cart being towed behind a middle-aged woman entering 112.

  “Mrs. Marks!” he shouted. Running straight into the headwind, he made minimal progress., Regrouping and digging in, he tried again. “Mrs. Marks!” he screamed, the harsh winter’s wind subduing his voice.

  A harried older woman with dishwater blonde hair looked around, unsure whether she’d heard her name or imagined it.

  “Mrs. Marks, I’m Todd Cavanaugh and I’d like a word with you if I might,” he said, his credentials making an appearance. Scrutinizing the official ID, the woman put her hand up in objection to him taking them away before she made sure his face matched the one in the photo.

  “Sure, come on in,” she replied, not caring whether he came in or fell under the wheels of a bus. The only time cops came around was when there was trouble, and she didn’t like trouble. It was bad for business. Like the people that disappeared; when travelers thought about stopping for the night, it wasn’t in Holybrook. They drove the extra hundred miles to get safely to the next town where they were sure goblins wouldn’t carry them off in their sleep.

  Hauling in the cleaning wagon after her, it creaked in obedience, not cracking under the weight of green-friendly supplies.

  A bit of black mascara was smudged under one eye, the lines around her mouth harsh. Smoker’s lines, her raspy, baritone voice was a testament to the addiction. He hoped that she’d seen the light and given up the filthy habit, but the stench from her baggy woolen sweater told a different story. Tossing her parka on one of the chairs, she began the rigorous job of cleaning up so the room would be move-in ready.

  “Damn girl called in sick today,” she complained bitterly, spraying cleanser on a cloth. Rubbing the nightstand, she picked up the lamp and gave it a once-over for any dust. “She’s always calling in sick, that stupid, little bitch,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Mrs. Marks, you called to have Robert Mulligan’s car towed. I’d like to know why.”

  “You would, would you?” she countered, vigorously running the rag down the legs of the furniture. “How about he owes me a month’s back rent?”

  Unzipping his coat, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Why not just ask him?”

  “Oh, you’re the clever one, aren’t ya!” she snapped sarcastically. Pushing on the bed, she helped herself off her knees. Putting on an expression of someone wandering through a haunted house, she called out weakly. “Mr. Mulligan? Mr. Mulligan? Can you please write me a check? One that don’t bounce, please?” she queried to dead air. Cupping a chapped hand around the periphery of her ear, she craned her neck for an answer that wasn’t about to come. “Well, aint’ that something. He’s ignoring me,” she stated, pulling at a dresser drawer.

  Todd didn’t appreciate the floor show.

  “Mrs. Marks, I’m just doing my job.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is to find the whereabouts of Mr. Mulligan. He’s needed for questioning,” he replied, making up the answer on the fly.

  “Well, he ain’t here!” she sneered, starting to strip the covers off the bed.

  “Since when?”

  “How the hell do I know? I think I saw him yesterday, but I don’t keep tabs on these people!”

  “So you s
aw him yesterday and …”

  “Not today. Yes, that’s right. I came here at 8 AM for my money. There was no answer, so I let myself in. I waited for a couple of hours, but no more. It’s adios to Mr. Muliigan’s car. And these,” she said opening up the dresser drawers and dumping his clothes into black trash bags.

  He wasn’t here, but his car was? Looking in the corner, there was Mulligan’s guitar. Todd’s brain lined up the clues, catching up with what instinct told him the first time around.

  “Mrs. Marks, I’m going to have to ask you to stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “That,” he said taking possession of the black plastic.

  “Hey! What the hell you doing?” she squawked.

  “And I’ll remind you not to speak like that to an officer of the law.”

  Agitated, her head furiously wove as it soaked in the transfer of Mulligan’s property to police custody.

  “But what about all this?” she questioned, her arms flinging outward.

  “It’s all evidence. Consider this a crime scene. Just leave everything where it is. I’ll come back later with forensics, but you have to leave. Now!” he barked.

  Jumping, she grabbed her coat, throwing a hostile look at Todd that could have landed her in jail if he’d had a mind. Luckily, he didn’t—but he did have a tow truck to stop.

  Chapter Fifty

  Headphones on, Melissa was finishing her warm-up. Finally asking Madame Velofsky for permission to use the empty studio, it had already been culled for clues and returned to its formerly pristine state.

  The atmosphere in the studio was less than ideal, but in spite of the whirlpool of mystery sucking the town of Holybrook into it, she was having a good dancing day. Her mind wandering, a warm flush spread throughout her body as the tantalizing memory of Todd’s kisses became way too real. Wondering if he was the reason that she was able to keep from being dragged down into the mire, the smile on her face supplied the answer.