Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial)

by Leigh Ellwood

  “Thanks, I’m fine,” Willie reiterated firmly with a hiccup. “Great. Now I’m going to need some water.” She eyed her coffee with disgust and hiccupped again, louder this time.

  “I’ll get you some—” Jason began to offer, but stopped as he noticed Detectives Simons and Gross stride purposefully through the emergency ward’s sliding doors and flash badges in the face of the nearest doctor.

  Jason fell back into his seat. “Huh?” He watched with the others as the detectives were led away to a curtained area at the far end of the emergency room. “How did they know to come?”

  “Well, the police are usually called when somebody’s been attacked,” Caitlin said. “Do you know those guys?”

  Dan nodded. “I had the front desk call them.” He produced Detective Simons’ business card from his wallet and waved it in the air to catch their attention from across the crowded area. Eventually Simons raised his head and left to his partner the task of collecting details of Bailey’s case from the attending doctor.

  “Mr. Greevey, Mr. Greevey.” Simons nodded to father and son, his tone warm. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  “Is Miss Stone going to be okay?” This from Caitlin, her arms now inside the tuxedo coat’s sleeves and wrapped around her bodice, her only armor from the chill and the tragedy that brought her there.

  Simons looked down at the girl. “You found Miss Stone?” he asked, pointing to her and Jason. Jason nodded, a bit upset that the detective did not answer Caitlin immediately. Stalling usually precluded bad news.

  “When you found Miss Stone—”

  “Actually, Miss Stone found us,” Jason broke in. “We were walking to the Blue Hippo by way of the Waterside when she practically leapt on top of us.”

  The humorless look in the detective’s eyes told Jason that he was hardly in the mood for being interrupted and/or fielding smart-alecky comments. Jason pursed his lips tightly and surrendered the floor back to Simons.

  “As I was saying,” he began again, more pointedly, “did either of you notice any unusual objects in the vicinity of where Miss Stone collapsed?”

  “You mean like bullet casings?” Caitlin asked. “I didn’t think to look. We just wanted to get Miss Stone to the hospital.”

  Detective Simons shook his head. “I’m thinking more unusual than that, Miss, uh...”

  “Stevens.”

  Simons scribbled Caitlin’s name in his notepad. “I’m thinking something like a card. From a trivia game, to be more precise.”

  Jason’s jaw dropped. Trivia game card. A calling card? A calling card from a killer?

  “I’m sorry,” Caitlin answered meekly. “I must sound like a lousy witness. I only saw Miss Stone bleeding, and you can ask Jason...I was screaming my head off. I figured the police would show up afterward and find all the evidence.”

  “The killer’s been leaving them on his victims?” Jason finished his thought aloud, searching the detective’s face for any hint of reaction that would confirm this. “You found cards on Bart and Gordon?”

  Detective Simons sighed quietly. “Tucked in their shirt pockets in both cases. We thought at first Jillian’s had been giving out the cards during the contest, which would have explained Bart. When the Hampton police found the card on Gordon Petersen we began to suspect a connection.”

  “Why leave cards?” Willie asked. “Why not make the murders look different to throw you off track?”

  Simons shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe our guy wants credit. Why did the Zodiac Killer send letters to the media? The Unabomber, too.”

  “Just enough to turn death into a big joke,” Dan snapped.

  “Maybe the guy got scared this time,” Caitlin posed, “and ran off before he could leave anything behind.”

  “Or maybe the person who attacked Bailey isn’t the same person who killed the others,” Dan countered.

  “Give that man a cigar.”

  Detective Gross sauntered up behind the group, looking more irritated than his partner. He twirled a pen in his left hand and glanced at everyone accusingly, as if weighing suspicion on them for the attack. “The doctor told me it took a few minutes to get Miss Stone sedated and restrained, before they could begin to even look at her wounds.”

  Willie cringed. “She didn’t make it.”

  “Oh, your friend is fine,” Gross replied, spitting out ‘fine’ like a profanity. “She’s a helluva an actress, so the doctor says. They were fooled just as easily as you guys and the EMTs.”

  He chuckled at the five perplexed faces around him. “There are no wounds, and there was no attack. She faked the whole thing.”

  Jason felt the bile in his stomach churn. Caitlin was shaking her head. “No, that can’t be. She was bleeding,” she protested. “She was clutching her stomach and blood was oozing between her fingers. I saw it!”

  “Stage blood.” Detective Gross held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “You can get it at any novelty shop for a couple of bucks a tube. Snap it in the right way and it looks like you’ve been shot.”

  “Mother of God,” Dan muttered.

  “The EMTs didn’t catch it, either. Don’t feel so bad.” Gross tried to sound sympathetic. “For all the thrashing and screaming in the ambulance, they said they were more than happy to let the doctors handle the actual hands-on care.” He crooked his head toward the far curtain. “They got her in a bed now, awaiting a psych consult. Biggest injury was the red welt on her stomach from clutching it too tightly.”

  Dan appeared to be listening to a voice in his head, what with the way he continued to mutter to himself, Jason noticed. He distinctly heard his father say aloud, “I’ll kill her.”

  “Dad,” Jason hissed. “There are cops here.”

  The cops in question, however, did not appear to take the oath seriously.

  “I don’t care!” Dan exploded. “I’ve had it with her! I’ve had it with her lies and her delusions...” He paced a small stretch of linoleum and banged his fist against the wall. “I dated her nearly a year ago and she continues to act like we’re together. Like we’re engaged!”

  Simons looked at Dan in disbelief. “Was she given a reason to believe you and she were engaged?”

  “Not a reason, not a ring. Nothing!”

  “Why would Miss Stone do such a thing?” Caitlin wondered aloud.

  The detectives theorized the act was a sympathy move, perhaps to be won back into somebody’s good graces. Who that somebody was need not have been addressed; everybody looked at Dan now. “We’ll learn more from the psych consult, hopefully,” Gross added.

  “In fact,” Simons flipped back a few pages of his notebook, “before I forget, I suppose I should mention we received the forensic report on that photo sent to your house.”

  Caitlin, knowing nothing of the photograph, looked quizzically at Jason. “I’ll tell you later,” he said to her.

  “Well?” Dan demanded impatiently, then his face fell slack as both detectives glanced momentarily to the curtained area. “Bailey did that?”

  “We ran what we found through our system and found zilch,” Gross explained. “So, as an afterthought we checked the partials through the prints on file with the school district. They matched Miss Stone’s right thumb and forefinger.”

  Dan emitted a squeaking sound that could only be interpreted as shock. “Again, I ask why,” he said finally.

  In the distance a doctor clutching a clipboard to his chest scurried around the back curtain. He wore dark, wire-rimmed glasses and his white coat flapped as he sped-walk, revealing a blue-green plaid shirt. The psychiatrist had arrived to consult, Jason guessed.

  Gross took a step backward, as did Simons. “We should head over and get some statements,” the latter detective said. To Dan he asked, “Are you considering pressing charges? You, Miss Pratt?”

  Dan and Willie looked at each other, then slowly shook their heads in unison. “No,” Dan said. “Bailey needs help, not jail.” He took Willie’s hand and eased
her out of her seat. “Are we needed for anything more?”

  “Not now, but we know where to find you.”

  “Fine.” With one glance Dan had Jason and Caitlin following behind him to the exit.

  * * * *

  Dan tossed his son the keys the second he killed the engine in front of the house. Nobody spoke a word during the ride, nor did Dan give any last-minute instruction vis-a-vis the car or curfew before he led Willie—sequins shimmering in the lamppost light—to her car, only a look that could be interpreted as Don’t screw up, kiddo.

  As if this night isn’t already screwed up, Jason thought, grateful that he, his father, and his friends survived it. So far.

  Caitlin slumped into the front passenger seat, warming quickly to the suggestion of skipping dinner for crepe desserts at Baker’s Crust. Between bites of bananas foster crepes, sticky with caramel and melting ice cream, they rehashed everything from the quality of the music played at the prom to what everybody wore.

  “Miss Pratt had such a pretty dress.” Caitlin scraped a puddle of chocolate sauce onto a bite of banana. “It’s a shame what happened...”

  “It may sound funny, but I really feel bad for Miss Stone.” Jason cut a crepe triangle on his own plate and pushed it with his fork in a circular motion to soak up the sticky sweetness. “Let me finish,” he added hastily when Caitlin’s mouth gaped open. “She may actually be mentally ill, and we’re just now finding out. How long do you suppose she’s needed professional help?”

  Caitlin pondered the thought. “Yeah. Even though Miss Pratt’s dress got messed up, I’m glad it wasn’t worse. At least Miss Stone didn’t try to stab her or something.” She lowered her eyes. “Or your father, or you.”

  “I guess one good thing comes out of this. I nearly went the entire night without thinking of those murders.”

  “Nearly?”

  Jason smiled sadly. “I’m thinking about them now, apparently.”

  “Hey, what did you do with that folder?”

  Jason summarized the contents of the Bascock folder as Caitlin scooped dissolving clumps of whipped cream into her mouth. “Ugh.” He made a face. “Why don’t you eat the sugar straight out of the packets instead?”

  “Oh, and like you’re not getting high washing down your crepe with that soda,” Caitlin countered. “It’s a miracle your teeth haven’t dissolved.”

  “You think Mitch and Gooch are having this much fun?”

  “Doubt it,” Caitlin winked, and Jason’s heart stopped. What was he feeling, he asked himself. Caitlin was just a friend. A buddy, a pal, an amiga. Why did he now suddenly feel uncomfortable?

  “S-so,” he faltered, “you, uh, ever hear of Bascock?”

  Caitlin wiped a droplet of syrup from her lower lip with a cloth napkin. “Nope. Sounds like a bank or some kind of snooty auction firm. You think any of that’s related to that guy’s death?”

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. He did not bother to mention Bailey’s voice on Bascock’s answering machine. Maybe it really wasn’t her. What did he know, anyway?

  Prom-wise, the night was still early. Caitlin showed no signs of wanting to go home, and he could not begin to guess where their friends had gone after their dinner. Norfolk offered very little in the way of entertainment for the under-eighteen set after ten o’clock, save for movies and miniature golf. Jason doubted Mimi and Jenny would have allowed Mitch and Gooch to drag them to Putt-Putt for eighteen holes wearing their fancy gowns and high heels.

  “We have some time, we could drive down to the beach,” Jason suggested as they walked to the car.

  Caitlin undid her bun and shook down her blonde tresses. “Too crowded,” she complained, “and even if we stayed on the boardwalk, there’s still all that sand everywhere.”

  “Well, I can’t think of anything else, unless you want to go to Miss Pratt’s and watch History Channel with her and my dad.”

  Caitlin giggled. “Ooh, you think we could sit in between them?”

  “Hey,” Jason warned, “you think she was mad at Miss Stone...” He was laughing harder with her now, and innocently her hand brushed against his as she leaned forward to buckle her safety belt. A shiver shot straight up his arm, prickling his skin.

  God, help me, he prayed, gunning the engine. “Well, why don’t you pick then?”

  “Okay,” Caitlin grinned and plucked a ten dollar bill from her clutch purse. “Drive.”

  * * * *

  They ended up, of all places, at the fishing pier at the travel plaza of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. Caitlin gladly paid the toll and relished the look of surprise on Jason’s face. “Hey, it’s a beautiful drive, anyway,” she said in defense of her choice, “and the view of the shore is awesome at night.”

  Jason agreed. Speeding along the first length of bridge provided a panoramic view of the Chesapeake Beach area; the ocean glittered under the moonlight, as did the bright lights coming from shoreline restaurants and bars, all strung together like Christmas lights. Jason might have appreciated the sights more if he did not have to concentrate on the road and the cars gliding past him toward the first tunnel.

  The gift shop had not yet closed, so they slipped inside to cut through to the other exit leading to the pier, but not before Caitlin made a beeline for a pressed penny machine.

  “Wait a sec,” she said eagerly. “I love these things.” She inserted two quarters and a penny into the machine’s slots; a heavy metal die flattened the cent and pressed into it a design of the bridge then spat it into a retrieval cubbyhole. “I’m going to put this in my scrapbook with all my other prom stuff.”

  Jason felt more relaxed as he escorted Caitlin outside, nodding to the few fishermen leaning against the pier railing, in for hopefully a good session of night fishing. They struck an unusual pair—he in his tuxedo, no tie, top button undone, she in her Titanic vintage wear, her heels clomping loudly against the concrete. Salty sea breezes rustled their hair and felt cool against their faces. Caitlin involuntarily shivered and moved closer to Jason, who draped an arm around her and pressed her close.

  Just like a friend would, he reasoned. Buddies, pals, amigos.

  Ay, ay, ay. Dios mio, ayudame.

  “You cold? That flimsy wrap doesn’t seem to be working, you want me to go back and get my jacket?”

  Caitlin shook her head, biting her lip. The liar, he thought, smiling. Taking the jacket would have eliminated the need to be practically conjoined. He was not that dense, thank goodness. He opened his mouth to say something but a flash of white in the distance caught his eye. “Look at that!” he pointed toward the ocean.

  Faint, twinkling lights outlined a cruise ship chugging in the distance. “Probably left Newport News for one of those weekend Bahamas trips,” Jason guessed.

  “That would be so cool to do, those ships have everything.” Caitlin eyed a large binoculars post and dug into her purse for change. “How about a closer look?”

  “Why not?”

  A click and a crank later and Caitlin was staring into the eyeholes, aiming for the ship as the contraption whirred like a loud egg timer. She studied the view for a few seconds then poked her head back upward, still gripping the knob.

  “Okay.” She gestured for Jason to dip his head down for a look. “Check it out.”

  Jason complied, squinting through the eyeholes of the bulky contraption. He blinked at the magnified view of the cruise ship, alive with reveling passengers. “Cool,” he breathed. “Amazing how many people have vacation time this early in the year to go do something like that.”

  He tried to ignore the brushing against his cheek, thinking a fly had arrived to irritate him. He twitched, and the light scratch turned into a kiss.

  “What the—”

  He turned head-on into Caitlin, who affixed her lips to his and braced against his shoulders to prolong it. Stunned by the bold maneuver, Jason slowly lifted his hands to her shoulders in a less enthusiastic, albeit reciprocal gesture, his lips mashed and unmoving agains
t hers, his eyes open and view focused upon her closed left eye smeared with eye shadow and mascara.

  “Caitlin,” he muttered, but against the force of her kiss it sounded more like Caywim, and she was not listening. So there he remained, moving his body so he no longer stood awkwardly, unmatched to the rhythm of her breathing, feeling quite like a fool who had never been kissed.

  Which, in fact, was the truth.

  Gently Caitlin pulled back with a loud, unintentional smack and looked intently into Jason’s eyes, well aware of his bafflement. “You are so clueless,” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  Caitlin huffed, gathered her wrap around her shoulders and straightened. “Why is it you can be perceptive of some things, like those serial killings, but you have no clue when a girl likes you. I mean, really likes you?”