Fixing Perfect

by Therese M. Travis

  She nodded. “Does her family know?” She stumbled over her words. “Both families. They’ll all have to hear. I can’t imagine how Becca’s parents will feel.”

  “By now, probably everyone has been told, yes. We got her out of there a couple hours ago.” He finally managed to swallow bread sucked dry by sorrow. “Look, let’s talk about something else, or we won’t be able to eat.”

  She nodded again, her eyes distant and shadowed. “I hope you don’t have nightmares.”

  So much for changing the subject. “I’ll be all right. It’s been months.”

  “I know, but when I first saw you just now I thought—” She didn’t tell him what was on her mind, didn’t really have to.

  The first few months after Henry’s death, his murder had been all Sam talked about to her—the murder, the nightmares, his fears. And she’d listened. Over and over, to the same—or what probably sounded the same to her—details and guilt. And now he hadn’t mentioned Henry or guns or dreams in a couple months. No wonder she worried.

  “I’ll be OK. It was ugly, really ugly, but I’ve seen stuff like it before.” Not exactly like it, not even close. But he couldn’t tell her that yet. “I’ll be OK,” he repeated.

  “If you say so.” Her wide blue eyes fastened on him, full of doubt.

  “I do.” He nudged her sandwich. “Come on, finish eating. I’ve got to walk you home pretty soon, and then get to bed. Two AM comes a little too early these days.”

  Her smile wavered and then strengthened. Good. Like all the other locals would be, she had to be devastated over Lehanie’s death, but he didn’t want it to bring her down. Didn’t she have enough to worry about?

  2

  Late Friday afternoon Robin again sat behind the co-op gift shop counter, swinging one foot while she watched a few customers wander through the store. She tried hard to be glad any time anything sold, but she couldn’t help the little thrill when it was something she’d made that someone picked up and, after deliberation, brought to the sales counter. The profit was nice; the satisfaction of having created something joyful was priceless.

  Today, that thrill would be hard to come by, though not for lack of sales.

  The store was made to entice women and children. Toys, hand-dyed blouses, hand-stitched purses, painted wood, and beaded ornaments crowded the shelves. A display of orange and purple Halloween items filled the narrow walkway leading from the front door to the belly of the shop, just begging kids to pop in and explore the offerings.

  A couple with three little girls strolled inside.

  Robin smiled at the woman and grinned outright when the oldest child went straight to the display of brightly dressed mermaids. She’d been making those dolls for more than a year, tweaking the design each time she put one together, and they were always a big seller.

  “I’ve got matching paper dolls, too, right beside those.”

  The two older girls squealed while the youngest hugged a mermaid with a pink and orange tail.

  The man stepped farther into the shop, glancing at the items for sale, but the mother hovered near the girls. When she saw Robin watching, she grimaced. “We just heard about that poor little girl and her babysitter. I mean, how they didn’t find the little one.” Her fist clenched over the youngest child’s arm. “I’m not letting any of mine more than a foot away from me.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Robin half rose from the stool, but settled back down. “It doesn’t make for a very relaxing vacation, though, I’ll bet.”

  “It sure doesn’t. You get so scared that some monster’s gonna nab your baby. And don’t even ask me about getting a babysitter.”

  The way the woman growled the words sent chills along Robin’s neck. She didn’t have kids, but she understood the fear.

  The woman moved a step closer and lowered her voice. “They were locals, though, weren’t they?”

  Robin opened her mouth, at first resenting this woman’s implication. But understanding took over. If those were her three little girls, wouldn’t she grasp any hint of hope, no matter how small or how much it might hurt someone else, that they’d be just a little bit safer, because they didn’t live on the island?

  “They were. They are, I mean.” She couldn’t consign Becca to death without hope putting up a frantic fight, even if it was only over words. She rang up the family’s sales and gave them a huge smile. “Stay safe.”

  “You bet.”

  A customer she’d been only marginally aware of before wandered closer and leaned on the counter. She looked up into clear, pale blue eyes and started. Not a customer, then, but the photographer. She remembered the name from his paperwork. “Donovan, right?”

  “You got it. You always here?”

  “Me? No. Everyone does their share. I’m only here two days a week for three hours. If you get your photographs in, you’ll have to do your time, too.”

  He grinned and nodded toward her display of dolls. “Those are yours?”

  “The mermaids are, yes.”

  “They’re cute. No wonder those kids couldn’t leave without them.”

  “Oh, did you see that? The littlest one was so sweet.” She let out a tiny breath.

  He turned to stare out the door, his upper lip curling. “The mom was a little paranoid, though.”

  “I don’t think so. She’s a mother—and anyway, no one wants any little girls getting hurt. Much less what that—that thing did to the babysitter.” She shuddered, remembering the few details Sam had been able to tell her. And even without specifics, dead was dead. No one wanted murder and kidnapping on the island. Lehanie had just gotten married and was probably planning her own family. “And who knows what he’s doing to Becca.”

  He glanced at her, his eyes wide, at first, and then narrowed. “Right, yeah. Because she’s still missing. I hadn’t thought of that.” Donovan scratched the back of his head. “But the way she acted, like they’d get snatched here in the store or even just because they’re on the island. Overprotective.”

  Robin pinched her lips together. This guy just didn’t get it. “But she might save her children’s lives, and that’s all that matters.”

  Donovan frowned. “But I was here. She saw me. It’s not like I’d let anything happen to her kids and not do something.”

  She held out her hands. “People worry. It’s not logical all the time.”

  “I getcha.” He glanced around and leaned closer. “This is a really nice place. Did you give all my stuff to Missy yet?”

  “Last night. She said she’d get back to you sometime today.” She smiled, enjoying his movie-star perfection looks. “I really don’t think it’s going to be a problem. She’s always looking for new talent.”

  “Great, thanks.” He winked at her and strolled out.

  She turned to the next customer, glad enough to make another sale, even if it wasn’t one of her creations. But her heart was full of thoughts of Becca—five years old and who knew where.

  

  Alan Bricker stopped on the other side of the table from Sam, slapping his food onto the laminate as if it were responsible for the sickness of the murder. He yanked a leg over the bench and plopped down, running one hand over his haggard face, trying to disguise his horror with a show of bonhomie. “Sammy, boy, how you doing?”

  “I’m all right. You?” Sam studied his friend. The older man, going gray and often complaining about the grim nature of police work, had become Sam’s mentor the day he’d started working for the tiny Catalina Island ambulance service. He wasn’t a paramedic, but he’d seen something in Sam that needed a father figure.

  Bricker shrugged. “They put me on the dead girl’s case. I like Macias, but…”

  “Should I congratulate you or sympathize?”

  Because it would be a great coup for the detective if he helped to solve it but a tremendous emotional drain, whether he did or not.

  Bricker shook his head. “Who can tell? It’s not gonna be good, no matter what happens.” Ag
ain, he rubbed his face and stomach before glaring at the food. “I gotta get an easier job, but first I’ve got to take care of this pervert. You were one of the first responders, weren’t you?”

  Blinking at the change of subject, Sam said, “Yeah.”

  “What did you notice? Anything odd?”

  “What? Like the fact that the killer dyed her hair? Painted eyes a different color from hers on her eyelids? Or the fact that he’d posed her and tied her down to keep her that way—like he thought she could still move?”

  “Eh.” Bricker leaned over his meal. “You saw all that?”

  “Kind of hard to miss.”

  “We’re dealing with a real sicko.”

  “I think the whole town knows that.”

  “Except the sicko.”

  “Yeah, maybe he hasn’t figured it out yet.” Sam dug into his burrito. “What creeps me out the most is the way he dyed her hair. What was the point? She wasn’t pretty enough the way God made her?”

  “Who knows why these guys do what they do? It’s not our job to analyze him, just catch him. Heck, it’s not even your job. You just get to transport the bodies.”

  Sam shook his head. Lehanie’s hair still bothered him. Thick, dead black, and straightened. In her pictures, he’d always noticed Lehanie’s bright red curls first.

  

  They didn’t get it. They were all average. They had to be not to understand—not the message, not the beauty, nothing. His artistry was brilliant, beyond the scope of the average mind. Of course, he’d expected some resistance at first, expected a few people to fight his unique use of art materials. Wasn’t that a sign of artistic genius—that most of the world didn’t understand him or his art? No one appreciated the living artist.

  But these people—they complained. They cried. They didn’t see.

  He’d just have to do his best to make them see.

  

  Saturday morning at the park meant the city bus dropping off team members, mostly children, young people confined to wheelchairs, or chained to crutches, like Robin, trapped in bodies that didn’t conform or minds that didn’t measure up to a lot of society’s strict standards. It meant a chance for a lot of people to do their best, show their stuff, and be just like everyone else.

  It meant Extreme Baseball.

  Robin shrugged her bag over her shoulder and checked her laces one last time. The week before one had gone loose and tripped her. Today, she’d double knotted them, just like a kindergartener. But she’d long given up cringing at what she had to do in order to live a full life. Once she was sure her shoes wouldn’t betray her, she shuffled to the front of the bus and let the driver hand her off the lift.

  “Perfect day for a game, isn’t it?” He stuck a wad of gum into his mouth and walked beside her. “Does me some good to watch you guys play.”

  “Why’s that?” Robin paused to pull her hair off her face.

  “No competition. Everyone cheers everyone else on. Gives a real definition to the word community, you know?” He glanced at her, his eyes slitted. “Something we all need to remember right now.”

  She nodded. The tension since Lehanie’s murder had ratcheted up exponentially the last week.

  Kerry, a developmentally delayed teen, lumbered up next to them. His bright white uniform hung on his scrawny frame, and his eyes vied with the sky for brilliance. One arm and hand curled into his side and the same-side leg was shorter than the other, setting his walk a little jagged, as if he were off balance. “Hey, Robin, I get to bat first today. Coach Danny says so. He says I earned it. He says—he says—yeah. He says I get to bat first.”

  “That’s awesome. No waiting.” Robin let one crutch fall against her hip so she could give Kerry a high five. He returned it with his good hand.

  “Yeah, no waiting. It’s awesome.” He turned to the coach. “It’s awesome, Coach Danny. I get to bat first. It’s awesome.”

  The coach ruffled Kerry’s hair and sent the young man to practice a few swings before he turned to Robin. “I haven’t seen your runner yet.”

  “He’ll be here. He called this morning and said he might be a few minutes late. He had a meeting at work.”

  Danny nodded. “I’ll put you a ways down on the hit list so it gives him time.”

  “That’s fine with me. I don’t mind waiting. Maybe you should just put me last.” She glanced at Kerry, who had dropped the bat and was shouting his up-first news to another arrival. “I love that guy, you know?”

  “He’s one of the best.” Danny tucked his clipboard under his arm and put his whistle to his lips. The shrill summons gathered enough of the team around him that the others noticed. The din faded, and he handed out assignments. Kerry and his runner, a teenager with wrestler’s muscles and football cleats, named Aaron, got into position.

  Danny strode to the pitcher’s mound. “Batter up?”

  “I’m here! I get to bat first!” Kerry gripped the bat close to his ear with his one good arm, and Aaron’s help. He crouched, waiting for the pitch. It came slow. Kerry swung and missed.

  “Not bad, Kerry.” Robin called from behind the fence. “Keep swinging, you’re gonna get a hit soon.” She let go of one crutch and leaned hard into the chain link, letting it bounce her gently while she shouted encouragement.

  He finally connected on his seventh pitch. His runner helped him drop the bat to the dirt and ambled next to him as Kerry shuffled to first base. Only when he reached the base, high fived the baseman, and got a drink from the bottle his runner held out, did the next batter grab a bat and hunch over home base.

  Robin scanned the park. No Sam. Danny would make sure she had someone else for a runner if she needed one, but she was more worried about Sam than her place in the game. He’d sounded so down on the phone, and the meeting was about Lehanie. The case had him wound as tight as his old partner’s murder always did, and she couldn’t fix it for him. Yet. She’d get him to talk eventually, but he was resisting. The sooner she did, the better.

  Her gaze meandered from the lineup across the park. The usual number of families dotted the grass and the playground was almost as full as any other Saturday. Robin noticed more adults, and an atmosphere of heavy vigilance. They’d keep the kids safe, keep each other safe. If they could.

  Donovan stood, feet planted wide, a few yards beyond third base. A camera hung around his neck, and he grinned as the second batter swung and connected. He joined in the cheers, caught Robin’s eye, and wound his way through parents and siblings to her side.

  “Robin, how you doing?” He followed the runners with his camera. His shutter clicked every half second as he captured the play.

  “Just ducky. You taking pictures to sell at the co-op?”

  “Not of this game.”

  She turned away, her jaw clenched. Maybe the players weren’t the showcase of cuteness, but they were people, deserving of dignity, and why was he standing here watching, taking shots, if he didn’t think they were worth his time?

  “Gotta get all kinds of parental permissions and stuff. But I thought I’d offer to do team pictures. Then, I can make sure people know I’m OK to hang around, and no one will mind.” He nodded to where Kerry had just trundled across second base. “He’s a cute kid. He’s got something special.”

  “He does, but he’s not a kid. He’s almost twenty.”

  “Really? He’s pretty small.”

  “Comes with the territory. A lot of the team have growth issues in one way or another.”

  “Yeah?” He looked over the field, his right hand stroking the camera. “You play? I mean, do you get out there on the field and bat and everything?”

  She shifted one crutch to angle her body away from him. “Of course. Why else would I be wearing a uniform?”

  His gaze roved her white shirt and pants. “OK. You got a runner like everyone else?”

  “Yup. Regulation rules and all.”

  “Who is it?” He lifted the camera to his eyes again and adjusted the
focus.

  “A friend of mine.” Though why she was so unwilling to share Sam’s name, she couldn’t explain, not even to herself.

  “Yeah? Where is she?”

  Robin lifted her chin. “Not here yet. It’s OK, though, if he doesn’t get here in time, Danny’ll find someone else for me. No one ever loses a turn because of a runner not showing up.”

  Donovan’s eyes lit up. “I’ll be your runner.”

  “Mmm, I don’t know. Danny likes to use people he’s already cleared, you know? Especially these days.”

  “Oh, yeah, I see that. Can’t be too careful. I just figured since you’re not a kid it would be all right.”

  “It would be, if it weren’t for the actual kids. I’ve got to set a good example, you know.”

  “Right. Got it.” Again, Donovan looked over the field. He lifted his camera again, using it like a pair of binoculars. “This is a great game. I don’t know why I’ve never run across it before. You guys meet every Saturday morning?”

  “Yup.”

  She leaned against the chain link again and gathered her hair in one fist. Strands whipped across her face, so she let go of the whole lot and started over.

  Donovan turned, his eyes narrowed against the wind. “Hey, want me to help you with that?”

  “No, it’s OK. It won’t take me but a minute.”

  “It’s OK. I can fix you right up.”

  Robin wrapped the hair band around the ponytail, tightened it with a few twists and gave him a wide smile that probably showed too many teeth. “All done. No problem. I have bad legs, not hands.”

  He blinked. “Oh, that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” Even though she didn’t. But manners dictated she relieve his embarrassment. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Yeah, but if you ever want me to fix something for you, just let me know.”

  “Sure thing.” He was trying hard, at least, which was better than some people she’d run into.

  “I’m really good at fixing things. You should—“

  Behind her, Sam said, “Where are you in the line-up?”