by Alexie Aaron
Kiki didn’t really have a home, but she did own a condo in San Francisco. This was where she kept things that she didn’t need on the job. She saw it as more of an investment than a nest. The walls were blank canvases, the extra rooms filled with broken antiques she had rescued but had not yet mended. She would save them for her retirement years.
Her family was used to her inattention. Her twin was the only one who tried to counsel Kiki on the wonderfulness of having real relationships. Mimi’s addiction was teaching, but she did make time for falling in and out of love. Kiki just couldn’t spare the time.
Jesse saw his boss emerge from her trailer. Was it too late to turn around? He calculated that their paths would cross, his to inspect the sublayer of Cabin 8’s roof prep, and hers to grill him on his progress of said cabin.
“Scrub,” Kiki called over, “I can’t get the roofers you want. Espinas are willing to camp out and wait on you. I’m going with them.”
“I bet you didn’t even try,” Jesse said under his breath.
“What? You’ll have to speak up. I’m not Cid,” she said, walking closer.
“Nothing. I’m surprised they’ll work on something this new. Their specialty is prewar buildings.”
“I’m very aware of that,” Kiki said between her clenched teeth.
“Also, I doubt they’re going to wait around while we deal with Luminosa. I’d advise you to have another crew lined up.”
“They’ll wait.”
“Winter is creeping up. They’ll want to be heading down to warmer climates. I doubt they’ll stick around too long. A northern group like Chuck Minelli’s would have been a better choice.”
Kiki frowned. She didn’t like her decisions second-guessed. “They weren’t available.”
“Did you even check?” Jesse asked.
“No, but last I heard, they were working on some northern Michigan project. An asylum turned into a shopping mall, if memory serves me.”
Jesse felt a chill and rubbed his arms. “Glad you didn’t get that project. Luminosa is crazy enough for me; can you imagine what they are dealing with at an asylum?”
“I wouldn’t know, that’s Cid’s thing,” Kiki said. “Espinas in one week.”
“I’ll be ready. All except the reception building. Can’t even inspect the roof without raising the dead.”
“I’m aware of the problem,” Kiki said and turned on her heel.
Jesse glared at her back. She was stubborn, but there was no one else he’d rather work for. Kiki was impatient, but she did bring out the best in every worker. He would deal with the taunts of the former girl gang members. It’s one of the reasons he didn’t expand on the small amount of Spanish he knew. The less he understood, the less humiliated he felt when they started in on him.
Dita and Belinda Espina had a good crew of hardworking women. It was probably the only all-female group of roofers operating. Dita recruited her workers from gang outreach programs, and she was one of the few individuals who didn’t let a heavy jacket of gang crime deter her from her selection of workers. She knew, all too well, how many of her girls were convinced to take the heat for others. Still, she and her sister Belinda managed them with an iron hand. She taught them the trade, keeping them close and out of trouble, until being in trouble was but a distant memory and not a choice they would make willingly.
Cid walked past the reception building, stopped at the edge of the pavement, and looked out into the field on the eastern border of the property. It was full of brambles and looked like it had lain fallow for half a century. He wondered who owned the property and what had been farmed when the Bautistas ran the motel. Was this the field that the spirit brought to the attention of Faye? The lass in the field. Was she a witness or one of the killers? Did corn hide her? Wheat would have been poor camouflage. Why didn’t she come forward? Was it fear?
“Too many questions, not enough answers,” Cid announced. “Time for me to visit Stepner and see what information I can gather. That and some groceries.”
Luminosa looked over at the man as he made his way by her. She sensed he was there for more than pounding nails into wood. The way he looked at her, without seeing her, intrigued the ghost. That and his friendship with the snoopy little wisp of smoke who arrived with one of the workers. Could she use them to get justice for her family? If not, she would wipe them from the face of the earth, just like she had the others. No more waiting, no more pleading with faceless gods and demons. She wanted action, and she wanted it now.
Chapter Six
Cid’s grocery cart collided, yet again, with another customer.
“I’m sorry,” he said and explained, “I’m not used to these narrow aisles.”
The latest victim was a woman in her early thirties. She wore her mid-length brunette hair pulled back by a thick blue headband which matched the blouse she wore. Her brown eyes took a quick scan of Cid, and an amused smile twitched at her lips, lighting up her brown eyes. “The market isn’t used to the quick pace you’re wheeling that basket.”
“I keep going around in circles trying to find these items on my list.”
“Hand it over,” ordered the smartly-dressed female.
He placed it in her hand, noticing the pads of her fingers were slightly stained black, although her nails were well manicured.
“I tried to reason my way through. Cheese should be near the lunchmeats or possibly gourmet...”
“Ah, but you’re not thinking the way the proprietor thinks. Fred places things we normally forget, or just need to run in for, at the end of all the aisles, near the cash registers. Once you get the layout of the market down, you only have to venture into this maze if you need a full grocery shop. And I can see by your list that’s what you’re doing. Follow me, I’ve got a similar list.”
“Thank you. My name is Cid Garrett.”
“Macy Eggleston. So, did your wife send you?”
“No, I’m not married. I’m living in an Airstream - with a very small kitchen - while working on the motel project just outside of town.”
“The artist studios,” Macy confirmed. “The Ambitious Undertaking by Billionaire Calvin Franks.”
“That sounds like a headline,” Cid remarked.
Macy laughed. “I suppose it does. You see, I think in headlines. A byproduct of my childhood and present occupation. I’m the managing editor of the Stepner Gazette.”
“A real live newsperson. I’m impressed. You’re a vanishing breed.”
Macy stopped her basket and looked back at Cid. “You’re right. Not too many independent newspapers still functioning at a profit,” she said proudly.
“What’s your secret?”
“It’s the place in which we exist. Too far from the big cities, no malls, just thriving small businesses needing ads. Plus, a summer trade who pay all our bills in the scant three months in which we are overrun by them. Them as in vacationers and summer homeowners. Fred has to double his employees to just keep something on the shelves. His only competition is the co-op market, and they shut down after Halloween. This is the only one-stop shop. Also in Stepner, we have a butcher a baker and a…”
“Candlestick maker?” Cid asked.
Macy smiled. “I was going to say a greengrocer, but we do have Firelight Candles. They bought the old tannery and… Well, let’s not get into that now or your ice cream will melt.”
“I’d love to continue this conversation sometime.” Cid dug a card out of his wallet. “Here’s my cell number. Call me.”
Macy looked at the card a moment. “I’ll think about it. How long are you here?”
“A month, maybe more. I’m the finishing carpenter. It’s a big project,” he added.
Macy nodded. “Maybe we could trade information?”
Cid’s face clouded. “I’m not sure what information I have that would interest the managing editor of the Stepner Gazette.”
“I get the feeling you signed a nondisclosure agreement.”
Cid smiled.
“Off the record would be fine,” he said.
Faye loaded the microfiche with the correct film cassette and started her search. She read through all the reports, taking mental notes of the main players in the Bautista investigation: the sheriff William Grady, the state police detective Silvester Dodd, and the two names reporting on the investigation for the Stepner Gazette: Jeff Conroy and Maury Eggleston.
“Huh,” she voiced as she finished. “I don’t know anything more than I did before. Maybe a trip to the Sheriff’s Department…”
The microfiche cassette whirled as it was being rewound. It stopped a few months before Faye’s search. She tapped her forehead with her hand. “Of course, look backwards. See if there is anything suspicious in town prior to the murders. Thanks,” she said and restarted her investigation.
Macy loaded her bags into her hybrid SUV. It was a foreign car that had caused quite a stir with her reader base, until she posted in the paper that the vehicle was put together in Georgia, and the automaker was responsible for saving the town in which they opened the assembly plant. “Editor Meets Sexy Carpenter,” she said as she watched the automatic rear hatch close. “Will love follow?” she asked herself. “Probably not, but perhaps a dinner or two.”
Macy wasn’t lost for dinner date invites, but she was bored of the askers. Stepner’s available male population was a dying breed. Jobs were passed down through families, but until the parents retired, the ambitious of her age bracket moved to cities and other towns to find work. They did this to be able to survive their crushing student loan debts. The town needed to work on a way of bringing in new blood, and not just for her perusal. “Stepner cannot depend on hospitality jobs for its survival,” was the lead statement of quite a few of her editorials. Commenters were quick to reply, “What about Hawaii and Florida?” She answered, “We don’t have a year-round warm climate, nor an ocean to dip our toes in. We need to attract more industry.” Still, the populace wasn’t interested in any industry that would bring strangers into Stepner, except in the summer - then come, all ye rich bastards, and spend your savings here.
Firelight Candles had been a pet project of Macy’s. They were a growing internet concern who were looking for another factory without building new. Macy spearheaded the project, using the paper to pressure the town council to allow some tax concessions until Firelight was up and running.
Calvin Franks’s gallery came as a surprise. He just arrived and bought the building that would be the gallery and the old motel. Quietly, he started renovation. He didn’t ask for any tax concessions or special treatment. Fact was that his project was employing over a dozen laid-off tradesmen who would normally have to be on unemployment until there was new construction of summer homes. Macy was informed that the contractor overseeing the refit of the motel was a woman whose specialty was turning old mansions into restored hideaways for the rich. Kiki Pickles was very familiar with nondisclosure contracts and made sure all the people employed by her were too. Macy would love to get her alone and ply her with enough wine to loosen those closed lips. Kiki had to know where all the skeletons she found in the closets were reburied.
“Will Cid Garrett Speak?” Macy asked aloud as she got into her KIA and slammed the door.
Cid, who had just finished rolling his cart to his truck, heard her. He didn’t mean to. It was just so quiet. Most of the late evening shoppers had left the lot. He supposed that Macy was just acting in accordance with her newsperson nature. After all, he was going to use her to learn about the town, so he didn’t really have a lot of moral ground to stand on. He hoped for an evening of sharing information, and yes, he was attracted to her. Could his quid pro quo be tempered with his quick mind? What could he talk about? PEEPs would normally be his icebreaker, or his inventing with Ted. But discussion of PEEPs would lead her to why was he there, when available finishing carpenters were plentiful this time of year? And he couldn’t talk about what Ted was doing now. Hell, he didn’t even know.
He would seek out Kiki for advice. After all, she was the queen of closed lips. He pushed the tailgate into place and secured the back of the cap. He walked around to get into his truck when he heard his picture being taken. It wasn’t the click whirl of a film-holding camera; it was a smart phone of some kind. He concentrated and confirmed it that the built-in sound that could not be easily silenced. A pro could do it, but he had a feeling that it wasn’t a pro taking his picture. He turned in the direction of the sound and saw the dark tinted window of an expensive sedan raise quickly before the car moved on.
Cid knew that he wouldn’t be able to get the license plate number without acknowledging that he knew that he was being watched. So, he just followed the sedan with his eyes until it was out of sight. Who was watching him and why? He pulled out his phone and dialed PEEPs.
Ted reached for the phone absentmindedly. “PEEPs, we’re here to help,” he droned into the receiver.
“Real friendly way to greet your bestie,” Cid said. “Dude, have you forgotten me already?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to the caller ID. How was your trip?”
“Long.”
“Very descriptive. Let me sign you up for the creative writing course.”
“Sorry, I know you’re just asking to be nice. You’re in the process of working something out, so I’ll be brief. Have Jake go to the easy photo recon sites and see if my picture pops up, and then have him find the asshole who just took it without my permission.”
“Will do. I’m typing commands as we speak. But really, how are you? You sound stressed.”
“Just did a grocery shop at a place more suited for lab rats than people.”
“Is the food that bad… Oh, a maze,” Ted answered his own question.
“I ran into what I thought was a friendly, who showed me the ropes, but now I’m not so sure about the friendly part.”
“Tell, Papa,” Ted insisted.
Cid did and added all the things that made him uneasy about High Court.
“If you didn’t just have your picture taken and been seduced by Lois Lane, then I’d have said that you just have to find out who killed the Bautistas and you’d be home by Thanksgiving. But I fear that you have at least two other concerns to deal with: the one that wants to root out the problem and another that wants to cover it up.”
“Exactly the way I was thinking. Oh, there is more than one Lois Lane to deal with. Faye is convinced she was an investigative reporter when she was killed.”
“What’s her basis for proof?”
“Microfiche.”
Ted laughed.
“Go ahead and laugh, but it does make sense. What person under the age of fifty knows how to use a microfiche viewer, let alone what it is?”
“Reporters, title searchers, law assistants, university students… Need I go on?” Ted asked.
“I’m not going to dissuade her. Faye may just figure this out for us, or perhaps the newswoman,” Cid said.
“Okay, I’ll have Jake work on the human element. You seduce Lois, Clark, and I’ll get back to work.”
“What are you working on?”
“Dude, you ask me this over the phone? Shame on you,” Ted said and hung up.
Cid shook his head, started the truck, and drove off in the direction of High Court.
Jesse and Wayne, who had already downed two beers apiece, were waiting for Cid, sitting on the old picnic table Wayne had unearthed under a pile of broken furniture in the utility building of the motel. He had abused the top of the table and bench seats with a belt sander until they were smooth. He left the wood underneath dry, cracked, and lethal, and he nicknamed it Smokey for no apparent reason.
“Tell me again why didn’t you finish this thing?” Jesse asked.
“Someone would steal it, and we wouldn’t have a place to sit that wasn’t locked down.”
“Y
our faith in humankind is amazing. This is the last place I’d expect to have a crime spree of nabbing old picnic tables.”
“Tell it to the National Parks. I read that they lose ten percent of their tables a season. A season!”
Jesse listened to Wayne’s outraged voice echo through the silent cabins.
“All I know is, no one would be able to carry this thing without it slicing their hands to ribbons. Smokey’s got teeth,” Wayne said proudly.
“I’m sorry I asked,” Jesse said. “Better warn Cid. His hands are soft.”
“And how would you know that?” Wayne asked, his voice dripping with innuendo.
“He spends his off-time ghost hunting. Can’t build up this marvelous callus that way,” Jesse said, rubbing his work-worn hands together.
“Makes sense, but personally, I’m glad the guy has a handle on this ghost thing. I’ve seen some freaky things before Cid signed on, but nothing compared to High Court.”
“Come on, you played hockey with a house demon. That has to be the king of freaky,” Jesse argued.
“He wasn’t going to kill me, just warned me not to destroy his house,” Wayne reasoned. “This Bautista woman is out for blood.”
They watched as Cid drove past them on the way to his trailer.
“Speaking of the devil, I wonder where he’s been?” Wayne asked.
“Cid loves to eat well and is an excellent cook. My money is on the grocery store.”
“I could eat again,” Wayne said.
Both men got up and followed the truck.
Cid was coming back for a second load of bags when he spotted the two vultures. “Get away from my stuff,” he warned. He was secretly pleased he had already taken most of the ready-to-eat things into the trailer and had refrigerated his perishables.
“We were just going to help you out,” Wayne said, hefting a bag out of the capped bed of the truck.