by Jen Carter
It was a teeny bit funny this time since it wasn’t happening to me.
“Jared, don’t be absurd,” Lucy said. “You know what it’s like to work around the clock. Sometimes we have to take a power nap wherever we can. That’s just how it is. You, of all people, should know that.”
“I surely do, ma’am,” Fitts said. “But you’re in a red zone. In fact, I think you’ve found the one and only red zone in all of Otto Viti.” He handed the piece of paper to her. “Terribly sorry, ma’am. I hear the D’Angelo Winery has a wonderful curb out front that you can park by whenever your eyelids are feeling heavy. There’s no red at all.”
Lucy let out another guttural, monster-inspired “ugh!!” She swiped the ticket from Fitts’ hand and threw herself into the car. A second after slamming the door and revving the engine, she peeled out like a sixteen-year-old hothead. As she made a U-turn, I shone Fitts’ super light on her car. The light caught her just in time for us to see an arm thrust out the window. She sneered as she flashed a finger that no one ever wants to see.
Fitts sighed again. His shoulders dropped, and he turned to me. “Let me get that light back from you.”
I handed it to him, and he quickly adjusted the settings.
“I just don’t think she’s ever going to learn,” he said.
He held the flashlight toward Lucy’s car as the siren blared and the red light flashed. For a second, I didn’t know if she’d stop since she was already in a bad mood and a good twenty yards down the road, but she pulled over again and hopped out.
“What!?!” she yelled, throwing her arms in the air.
Fitts started walking up the street toward her. Under his breath, he said, “You two can come along if you want to see the end of the show.”
Nico and I looked at each other. I think Nico was as intrigued as I was. We followed Fitts toward Lucy’s car.
Over his shoulder, Fitts handed the flashlight back to me so that he could write her another ticket. He started filling it out as he walked toward her.
“Seriously, what!?!” she yelled.
“Ma’am, as you were driving away, you signaled a right turn with your arm pointed upward.” He demonstrated the signal, omitting the middle finger toward the sky. “Unfortunately, any right turn would have not only been illegal but also dangerous since there is no place to turn right on this road—not going the direction you were headed, at least.” He finished the ticket and held it toward her. “Of course, if you were planning to turn right, it might be more appropriate for us to discussed the intended destruction of private property. Would you like to have that conversation?”
Lucy snatched the ticket from him, scowling like I had never seen her scowl before, and then hopped back into her car without saying a word. She peeled out again—apparently her signature move—but this time she did not signal an illegal right turn with her middle finger.
I almost didn’t know what to say. I never imagined the hike back to Aldo’s could be so entertaining.
“So detectives can give tickets?” I said, handing the flashlight back to Fitts. “And they have sirens on their flashlights?”
He chuckled. “I have a buddy who likes to ‘improve’ gadgets for me.” He used air quotes when saying improve. “They’re mostly for fun, but every now and then they come in handy.” He pressed a button on the flashlight so that it went back to its extra-strength white light. “And detectives can do whatever police do, so you better watch it. If I ever catch you sleeping in a red zone, you know what’ll happen. Now let’s go get that notecard.”
He started back toward Aldo’s house. Nico and I followed behind with our pathetic phone flashlights.
“That was pretty funny,” Nico whispered.
“Hilarious,” I whispered back. “She was so mad.”
Generally, I didn’t like to see people get upset, but this was Lucy. And it was hilarious.
We trekked the rest of the way to Aldo’s house in silence. Memories of the day played on a loop in my mind. Lucy and I both getting creepy notes. Amy showing me her secret shop. Play practice dominated by lazy boys and overly-excited helpers. Jules getting her own obscure note after helping at play practice.
Having sipped my way through a glass of wine, I was feeling braver and smarter than normal. Vaguely I sensed that it wasn’t good to feel so brave and smart while memories of the day ran through my head. That could only lead to my imagination running away. And yet, the Cab Franc had convinced me that imagination was a good thing.
When we reach my hand-me-down BMW from Stella in the driveway, I unlocked the doors, grabbed the note from the center console, and made up my mind about what I wanted to say to Detective Fitts, primarily based on my Cab Franc-enhanced imagination.
I reemerged from the car and held up the card. “Before I give this to you,” I said, “I want to tell you about a concern I have.”
Fitts planted his hands on his hips. “Shouldn’t you be leaving the concerns to me, D’Angelo? Haven’t you learned anything?”
Nico touched my shoulder. “I’m going to say goodnight to Aldo,” he said. “Be right back.”
I nodded and watched him stride up the walkway to the front door. Uni pranced after him. Then I turned back to Fitts.
“Do you remember my boss, Dr. Stevens?” I asked.
“The one you were hiding from in the parking lot yesterday? Yeah, I remember him.”
“I found out today that he’s a collector of mid-nineteenth century rare books. Like, first editions of old books, things like that.”
“Okay.”
“And he’s about to buy a first edition of Edgar Allan Poe short stories.”
“So?”
“So, don’t you see that there might be a link between him and Fleming’s death? Stevens tried to fire Fleming a couple years ago. Stevens likes Edgar Allan Poe. Fleming died an Edgar Allan Poe-inspired death…” My voice trailed off as I waited for my brilliant theory to sink in.
“I really don’t know what you have against your boss, Jill,” Fitts said. “He’s a delightful man.”
What? Delightful? Now Fitts was messing with me, just like he had messed with Lucy.
I stared at him for a moment, trying to find appropriate words to respond. None came to me.
“What are you talking about?” I finally sputtered.
“He’s delightful,” Fitts repeated. “I had three or four conversations with him today, and he’s perfectly pleasant. Has it ever occurred to you that you might be the difficult one to work with?”
My mouth dropped open.
Wait. What?
The Temecula Hills High School moms liked Stevens. Amy liked Stevens. Now Detective Fitts liked Stevens. Really?
I didn’t know what to say. Was I the difficult one to work with?
Maybe.
No. I wasn’t the one who traipsed into a new school railing about test scores and putting people down. That wasn’t me. That was Dr. Stevens. How could he be a test score dictator and a perfectly pleasant person to work with? I didn’t get it.
Fitts held out his hand. “Are you going to give me that note or not?”
“I will,” I said. “But first you’ve got to explain to me why Dr. Stevens is perfectly pleasant. He’s been nothing but mean to his staff down in Carlsbad. What’s made him delightful to you? And why are you talking to him anyway?”
“If you don’t like him, why don’t you find a new job?” Fitts said.
“I’m working on it,” I said. “But that doesn’t answer my question. I’m truly confused. How can the staff at my school so drastically misunderstand him? Because I’d really like to think of him as pleasant and delightful. If you could give me a reason, that would make my professional life a lot easier.”
Fitts huffed and rolled his eyes. “He’s just a nice guy, okay? Maybe he’s doing the tough love thing at your school, but once he’s in his own world, he’s nice. Plus, he got one of those weird notes, too, and it shook him up some.”
He got a not
e, too?
Dang. That ruined my theory.
Oh, but wait. Another brilliant idea was coming to me.
“What if he faked the note to himself to divert attention?”
“Jill, seriously.”
“Hey, I don’t wish that he had anything to do with Fleming’s death. Let me be clear, I wish that Fleming hadn’t died at all. But I’m just saying Dr. Stevens shouldn’t be overlooked as a potential suspect.”
Fitts stared at me as though he had exceeded his daily recommended dose of Jill D’Angelo.
“Okay, just one more question,” I said hurriedly. My time was running out. “What did his note say?”
“I don’t know. It had to do with another thing written by that Poe guy. Something Annabel. Dr. Stevens was pretty upset about it.”
“‘Annabel Lee’?” I asked.
“Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”
“That’s a love poem.”
“So?”
The front door of Aldo’s house opened, and both Aldo and Nico walked out. As my attention turned to them, Fitts swiped the card from my hands.
“Thanks,” he said. And with that, he walked down the driveway, back toward the vineyard path. “Bye everyone,” he called over his shoulder. “Have a great night.”
I remembered something. “Oh, wait!” I pulled Jules’ note from my pocket and ran after Fitts to give it to him. “Another one of my friends got a note, too. Jules Carson.”
Fitts took the note and grimaced, shaking his head. “Jeez, another one? Okay. Thanks.”
He continued down the path, and I jogged back up the driveway toward Nico and my grandfather.
“Ah, Jill,” Aldo said. He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You and Nico are going home, and I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to say thank you for a fun afternoon. I know my friends and I got in the way at play practice. We were not helpful.” He chuckled. “But we had so much fun, and I’ll never forget it. So thank you for a wonderful afternoon.”
I hugged my grandfather. “Nonno, you’re always welcome at play practice. And you’re always welcome to come into my classroom at school to liven things up. When you have fun, we all have fun.”
He chuckled again. “Good night, Jill.” He waved to Nico. “Good night.”
He turned and disappeared into the house. A moment later, Uni pranced out carrying a pink and gray polka dot sock in her mouth.
Huh. I had been looking for that sock since winter. I guess it had been at Aldo’s all this time. Leave it to Uni to find it.
“I think you must have the best grandfather in the whole world,” Nico said as he opened the door to my car’s backseat and then took the sock from Uni’s mouth. He held it up. “Yours?”
I nodded as Uni jumped into the back. Yes, the sock was mine. And yes, Aldo was the best.
I should never underestimate Aldo, his own self awareness, or his awareness of others.
Speaking of that, tomorrow I needed to get his take on the whole Fleming case. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t talked to him about it yet. Aldo was pretty perceptive. And normally spot on.
What was wrong with me? I should have talked to him days ago.
TWENTY-ONE
There was no snarky article in the newspaper by Lucy Argyle the next morning. After she had gotten that note about Hell, I was sure she’d never write anything about OV again. She really seemed upset. But then after we found her on the side of the road last night, I wasn’t so sure. Clearly she hadn’t given up snooping. And after those two tickets, I wondered if she’d channel her anger into a mean article about OV.
Jules had said that she’d be doing tai chi with the Council of Elders in the morning for the foreseeable future, and Livy and I were welcome to come. Livy jumped at the opportunity, but I declined. I was glad that the Council of Elders wanted to continue with tai chi, but running was more my thing. After Uni and I took a couple laps around the neighborhood, I got ready for the day, grabbed my notebook, and took Uni with me to Aldo’s. It was early, but I could just hang out until Aldo got back from tai chi. I knew he liked to get coffee with his friends in the morning, but surely he would come home and change into street clothes before their morning coffee meet up. I wanted to catch him before he left again.
When I opened the front door, I heard the giggling of two little boys.
“Who’s there? Bisnonno, is that you?” Hudson called down the hallway.
I had forgotten that Hudson and Thatcher had spent the night.
Uni scrambled toward the living room.
“Uni!” my nephews squealed as I followed my sweet dog through the house.
When I reached the family room, I was slightly surprised by the scene. Holly sat on the carpet, her back against the couch, reading a textbook—probably something Art History-related. Her hair was frizzed out, bigger than I had ever seen it. She had green eye shadow painted all the way up to her eyebrows, and her lips were frighteningly purple. Next to her, my nephews were playing with Uni.
“Good morning,” I said. “I’m Jill. And who are you, scary-looking woman?”
Holly gave me an unappreciative smile. “Aldo left to do yoga or whatever, and the boys woke me up. This is how Aunt Holly entertains in the morning.”
“Makeup classes for boys?” I asked, sitting on the couch near her.
“No way!” Thatcher said. “Clown classes!”
“She’s going to teach us to juggle next,” Hudson added.
I stared at my sister. “Really? You juggle?”
“Crazy, right?” she said. “Chris taught me. It randomly came up in conversation, one thing led to another, and now I’m pretty much an expert. I think I could be a first-round draft pick on the professional juggling circuit, truth be told.”
Nothing about what she just said made sense. But far be it for me to point that out.
Holly put her book down. “Guys, are you done making me into a clown masterpiece? Because if you are, let’s get to juggling.”
The boys hopped to their feet.
“We’re done,” Thatcher said. He looked at Hudson. “Let’s go get some balls.” They ran down the hall toward their playroom. Uni scampered after them.
“Two things,” I said to Holly. “First, you are a way better aunt than I am. And second, where did you get green eye shadow and purple lipstick?”
“First, thank you, I know I’m better,” she said with a green eye shadowed wink. “And second, I have no idea where the makeup came from. Maybe a Halloween costume from high school? I’m probably going to wake up with pink eye tomorrow. But if the boys learn to juggle by the end of the day, the sacrifice will have been worth it.”
Okay.
The boys came running back into the family room, their arms laden with balls of all sizes and colors. Holly got to her feet.
“Let’s go in the backyard,” she said. “Want to come, Second Place Aunt Jill?”
I was about to say heck yeah when the front door opened. That had to be Aldo.
“I need to talk to Aldo,” I said. “But I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”
Holly opened the screen door to the backyard and the boys barreled through, dropping balls right and left, much to Uni’s delight. The little golden furball ran in circles, not sure which ball to chase first.
“Ah, Jill! What are you doing here?” Aldo stood in the entryway to the adjoining kitchen looking somewhat startled. I wasn’t sure why since I showed up unannounced at his house all the time. But I didn’t ask. It was probably nothing.
“Good morning, Nonno,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
“Oh sure, sure.” He glanced down the entryway toward the front door and then walked to the kitchen table. “Are the boys in the playroom with Holly?”
I crossed the room toward Aldo and sat next to him. “No, they’re out back. She’s teaching them how to juggle. Supposedly.”
Aldo’s eyebrows rose. “In the back?” He pointed to the patio door and then glanced over his sh
oulder toward the front of the house again.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes. Amazing,” Aldo mumbled, shaking his head. Then a little more loudly and looking directly at me, he said, “Now, how is everything, Jill? What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Fleming’s death. And all the weird stuff that’s happened since.” I placed my notebook on the table, opened it to the most recent list of observations, and slid it toward Aldo. “When all that crazy stuff happened a couple months ago at Chocolat, your gut reaction was right on. Do you have any gut feelings this time?”
Aldo flipped back a couple pages in my notebook and read everything that I had written. When he finished, he slid the notebook toward me.
“This is very troubling,” he sighed.
“No one else has gotten a note as far as you know, right?” I asked. “None of your friends?”
Aldo’s head bobbed from side to side a couple times as he considered whether to tell me what was on his mind. He was weighing his options. That couldn’t be good.
“Ah, well, Sandie got a note too,” he said. “I’m not so good with the books, you know, but the note—it was about a book.”
Sandie?
“Do you remember the name of the book?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I remember…” he trailed off, squinting out the kitchen window. “I remember the writer was a man. He had three names. And he wrote a poem about a girl. Anna? Alla? Alma?”
“‘Annabel Lee’ by Edgar Allan Poe?” I asked.
Aldo looked back at me, his eyes wide, and slapped the table. “Yes! That’s it. Oh Jill, you’re so smart.”
He had always overestimated his granddaughters’ talents and abilities, but I wasn’t going to correct him today when there were more important issues at hand.
So Dr. Stevens and Sandie got quotes from the same poem. About ten questions tried to formulate in my mind at once, all of them competing for attention, and none of them really coming together. I couldn’t even figure out how to prioritize my thoughts.
The front door opened, and Aldo let out a little gasp. His eyes widened for a split second before he turned to me and said very softly, “Jill, I have to confess. Please don’t think less of me.”