by Alexie Aaron
The question stopped his progression. He turned and smiled viciously. “He was in the way, and then all of a sudden I could picture the scene. Detective Curtis was convinced Miles was guilty. I thought we would have a police lynching.”
“Clever. I would have to give you points there if you didn’t reuse the poisons. What did you do to Tony?”
“Valium. Two to control him and, later after I kill you, seven to kill him.”
“Come on, why not opium?”
“Not reliable.”
“So let me guess. Do indulge me a little. Tony and I are found in a murder suicide. Lovers entwined, sharing a bottle of wine, spotlight instead of candles. How romantic. Do tell me, something in the wine?” I walked real close to him and tapped his cheek. “Arsenic again. How boring.”
He turned red and his fists clenched. “Who do you think you are? You’re just a little alto clarinet player pretending to be a detective. ”
“True, dressing the part doesn’t make me a detective. But I’ve never claimed to be a detective.”
“England...”
“Their assumption, not mine. I’ve always had other attributes that are far more valuable than ‘gum shoe.” I laughed pointing to my feet. My “gum shoes” were three hundred dollar stiletto heels covered in eighty-nine cent duct tape. “You asked me who do I think I am? I know who I am. How about me asking you? Who do you think I am?” I circled around him.
“Cowering little slut.”
“Hardly.” I laughed at him, standing so close he could feel my breath on the back of his neck. “Think, you worm. How do I know about poison?” I turned him around with my hand and the cold edge of the knife. I reached over and pulled the glasses off his face. I backed up and smiled. “You chose to mess with the high priestess of Celtic Iron.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out the atomizer. I pumped it a few times and sprayed him from his face down to his feet. “Ever hear of wolfbane, aconitum napellus?”
Manfred began to shudder and rubbed wildly at his eyes. He kept rubbing them as if to rid himself of the poison.
“Feel the burning? Maybe you know it as monkshood?”
Manfred’s fear got the better of him, and he started running. Unfortunately, in his frenetic state his navigation was poor. The big man ran right into the wall. He fell with a thud. I walked over and kicked him real hard to insure that he was unconscious. Not a peep out of him. I reached down and unwound some duct tape from my shoe. With it I secured his hands and feet, and, since I was sick of hearing his voice, I taped his mouth shut. I walked over and turned off the tape recorder. I played it back and found that I had succeeded in recording everything, the whole confession.
“Ahem.”
I turned and was startled to see a winded Harry standing there smiling.
“Been here long?”
“Long enough.”
“Did you hear all that?”
“Loud and clear high priestess of the Celtic...”
“Iron, Celtic Iron. Where were you guys?”
“At the library. Alex and I decided to hang out in the parking lot after showing Dave the tunnel. I was surprised to see Tobias leaving the library. Alex and I got into the car and followed him to the Queen Palm. Before I got there, I stopped the car and turned around, I was puzzled as to why he was at the library in the first place, and then it came to me. He knew about the tunnel! We raced back to the library. The doors were locked and the place dark. All the guys’ cars were still there. We tried to call Dave to find out if he was in position. No answer, Alex figured that the tunnel was a no cell zone. We called dispatch who treated us like pranksters.
“Alex was concerned about you so I gave him the car, and he headed over to the restaurant while I tried to get in the library. I couldn’t budge the doors. Alex called me and said that when he got to the restaurant he found your car still there. He went inside and there was a crowd of people at the bar. Evidently, a couple was found drugged and tied up in the cloakroom. He ran through the place, and you were nowhere to be found. By this time I had run across the street and spied two vehicles parked in the loading area.”
“Manfred’s car and the white van...” I started to fill in.
“I had a copy of the back door keys on me, and that didn’t get me anywhere as they were all chained on the inside. I remembered that the glass doors at the front of the theater didn’t meet, so chaining them would be near impossible. I ran around the building and got in a few minutes ago. I followed the voices, and here I am.”
“Ta da!” I sang.
“Don’t be childish, you were in danger.” Harry reddened.
“Come on, you want to say it or how about voilà?” I teased.
“You aren’t making any sense.” He looked at me and gasped. “What did you do to those shoes? You realize they are Kenneth Cole!”
“Oh, yes, and after this, he and I are going to have a talk,” I said. “Where is Dave?”
“I guess still in the tunnel.”
“Maybe we should rescue them. And hand me the phone, I better call Alex.” I held out my hand and called Alex while following Harry.
Harry directed me into the box office area to a janitorial closet. Manfred and Tobias had put a microphone stand through the doors on this side. He pulled it out and opened the door.
A very sweaty group of men gazed back at us, one with his gun drawn.
“Hello, Dave, that for me?” I asked, lowering my voice. I heard Harry choke down some laughter.
Dave lowered his gun and glared. “You mind telling me what the eff is going on? We’ve been trapped down here. The cells don’t work and...”
“Harry, tell the man,” I said and stepped aside.
Harry explained his end of it to Dave as I took Pete to his very confused groggy boss. The other policemen fanned out and collected evidence and called the EMTs for Tobias who was busy holding his guts in.
I looked down at him. “No offence.”
He looked up at me. “None taken.”
~
I handed Dave the tape recorder. He listened to it once and looked at me strangely. “ Some actress you are, Ms. Fin-Lathen.”
“Classically trained.”
“Really?”
I shook my head and said, “No.”
We all heard when Alex arrived. He called “Mom” over and over again until we were face to face. He enveloped me in the hardest hug I have ever gotten from my son. “Don’t you ever do this to me again!”
“Oh, alright,” I said, prying his arms from me so I could breath.
The EMTs arrived. They had their hands full with a still silent Tobias and with Tony who would need to be watched. There was a lot of valium in his system.
Manfred was still out cold. Ed and Bill got to him after they loaded a stabilized Tobias into the ambulance. Ed asked “Wolfbane?”
“Probably water. Singers use it to moisten their vocal cords.”
“No kidding. Water? Dave said you told him it was wolfbane.”
“Ed, you’re missing it. All he had to do was think it was wolfbane,” I said.
Dave walked over and put his hand out. I handed over the atomizer. He shook his head. “Come on, Rambo.”
“Oh.” I turned for modesty’s sake and reached for the knife. I held it in both hands for mere seconds. Whether it was the fact that I didn’t kill anyone this time or that I defended myself against these psychopaths with it, but I was hesitant to release it into evidence.
“Cin.” I could tell he was losing his patience.
“Okay, here.” I handed him the knife, closed and blade down. “I need the knife back.”
Ed looked me over. “Why?”
“It’s a loaner.”
Chapter Twenty-five
The back of my neck ached. “This is torture, you sadist!”
“Come on, you just have a few more lines and you have both articles done.” Harry stood over me. “Then we email them to Noelle, and she edits them.” He looked over my shoulder. “No, you
have too many loose ends.”
“I can’t read your notes anyway. Give me the tape recorder!”
I pressed play: “Too bad. Those chicks, when they cross forty are great in bed!”
I pressed stop and looked around me. Good, Luke was outside in the mother in-law apartment. “You big goof. What did you get me into?”
“It got us in the door. And I need this project finished to pass English. I’m supposed to be your intern.”
“Then you finish it.” I got up and Harry sat down.
He sat for a while staring at the paper. “I see your point. This is torture. I know, let’s conclude it with something like… Billy Sands, the new face of south Florida gardening.”
I started laughing. “Yes, that will be perfect.” I looked at my watch. “I have to get to practice.”
“Are they really going to do the concert over?” Harry asked.
“The ticket holders caused quite a stink. Half a concert and they never got to see the dead body. Email that to Noelle and remind her we need it back by Wednesday.” I hugged Harry and went in search of my ex-husband.
I found him packing his suitcase. He had been here for two weeks and was starting a new job. I tried to look at his being here as a temporary thing instead of the first ring of hell. “You still here?”
He turned around. “Boy, time sure flies when you’re in and out of depositions.”
“I appreciate you coming along.”
“So what do you have planned while I’m away? More murders, terrorists or a good kidnapping? Speaking of kids, how long is Harry going to be here?”
“He and I had to work on those articles for Palm and Garden. After he sends them to Noelle, he should be heading back to the beach.”
“Do you think he might want to hang around here and go get something to eat? It gets a bit lonely when you’re at practice,” he complained.
“He would be more receptive if you would stop calling him ‘Horrible Harry,’” I cautioned.
“He calls me Luke Skywalker.”
I stopped him with a look. “Hey, wanna help me load my stuff in the car?”
He nodded, grabbed my alto and followed me out to the car. As we passed the den, he told Harry they were going to eat, so hang around.
~
Pulling out of the neighborhood, I turned on the CD player, and put in the new CD that Alex had given me. It was by Barely a Bass Player. “How am I going to keep him in college when his CD goes platinum?” I sang loud and off key. I was so into the music that, before I knew it, I was approaching Coconut Palm High School. I was early, so parking was easy. I grabbed my stuff and headed inside.
I got to the door and for the life of me I couldn’t open it. I just stood there. The smokers were outside as usual, and the sound that escaped every time the door opened was as bad as ever. Still there was an emptiness that I was trying to block. I took a deep breath and walked in. The lights were bright, but now that I had these dark contacts my pupils didn’t hurt so much. But my ears. What was that awful sound? I scanned the room. Bernice was waving me over. I found my chair, put my music on the stand, dropped my stuff, and reached over and hugged her.
“What is that horrible racket?” I asked.
“The interim conductor is auditioning some new saxophone players.” I almost left at that point, but the word “audition” popped back into my head.
“You said audition.”
“Yes, new band policy is that we audition new players. If they aren’t good enough, we don’t have to take them.”
“Halleluiah!” I began to dance Alex’s dance. The look Bernice gave me stopped me pretty quickly. I sat down and put together my instrument. The playlist was on the board, and our interim conductor, borrowed from the local orchestra, was getting ready to start the practice. I looked around the band and saw Billy take Carl’s chair. He caught me looking at him, and he winked at me. I better make sure I avoid him on break. Mark was sitting solo oboe. He briefly glanced at the space that Cheryl had left and looked back at his music. There were no bassoons to start off Ballet Parisian, but we were going to be fine.
I thought about Manfred and Tobias and wondered, does music really sooth the savage beast? Or can it instead bring out the beast? Incite the beast? Could those little black dots, carefully placed, call out the demons within us, within me?
How much does music affect our lives? I would love to have John Williams underscore my days and Andrew Lloyd Webber my dream-filled nights. But who can truly capture the symphony that is my soul? Dvořák? Mussorgsky? Or is the composer not yet recognized. Are we our own composers? And, if so, could I deal with the newly recognized dark streak I felt as I tormented Manfred? Would it be just a passing melody or would it reprise again and again?
I pushed these thoughts away as the conductor’s baton was up, and it was time to play. And as the beautiful healing music flowed through me, I answered my own questions.
* * *
Discord
A mystery novel by Alexie Aaron
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
~
Copyright 2012 – Diane L. Fitch writing as Alexie Aaron
To: Jim my eyes in the sky.
Michael for the Manhattan lunches and introducing me to the Redlands Christian Migrant Association.
My family and friends who inspire me daily.
South Florida
It wasn't the poverty of the area that took Father Michael Williams by surprise, it was the people. These were people that still had hope behind fatigued eyelids, who laughed at old jokes that survived the English/Spanish translation and back again, and migrant workers that saw greener pastures along with the strawberries they picked. Someday was a constant subject discussed across the rows of fruits and vegetables to harvest, up and down ladders of citrus to be picked, and someday always held sunshine and bounty.
The workers were wary of the tall good-looking priest approaching them, not perceiving him as a worldly threat but as a divine one, a source of guilt due to the number of days since their last confession.
Carlos, just having confessed last Saturday, bravely approached the priest. “Is that your car, Father? Someday, I’m going to have a car like that, only cleaner."
Father Michael smiled at the worker and glanced back at the rental car and its accumulation of road dust. "It's a rental car, but if it were my own, I think I would have chosen a red one."
"Someday, Father, I’m going to have a red one."
"Someday, I'm sure you will."
"Why are you here, Father? Has someone died? Is there trouble?" Carlos said as he twisted his hat with his hands.
Michael raised his hand. "No..."
"Carlos," the concerned man supplied.
"Carlos, I’m looking for someone. I’m worried about him."
"His mortal soul, Father?" he asked.
"That I couldn't tell you, but you know that already, don't you?" He smiled and placed his hand on Carlos's shoulder, ignoring the accumulation of dust. "I’m looking for a man named Manuel Perez. I heard he sometimes drives buses."
"Bus driver? Manuel, ah, Manny. He used to drive for Metts Farms, but now I think he drives for the charity school on the east side of the big lake."
"Thank you, Carlos, I will look for him there." Michael started to leave, but Carlos grabbed his arm, letting it go immediately, after realizing he had touched a man of the cloth.
"Father, forgive me, but I must be bold and give you some advice."
"Please."
"On the other side of the lake there is danger. Stay away from those who will not talk to you. They look like us but they’re not."
"Not Catholic?"
"Not men of Mexico or Guatemala. Same but different. Be careful, they’re bad news."
"If they’re the same how will I
tell those that will not talk to me?"
"Father, their eyes. They have no someday in their eyes."
"Thank you, I’ll be careful." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "Carlos, when you get your red car, come and visit me."
Carlos took the card and carefully placed it behind the picture of his family in the worn brown wallet that he returned to his pocket. "I will visit you in my red car, Father, someday."
~
Manuel Perez was a difficult man to find. After arranging a visit to the preschool under the guise of Williams Foundation business, Father Michael arrived to find that Manny hadn't been to work in several days. No one knew where he lived as he moved around a lot. One of the children mentioned that Manny liked to smoke cigarettes across the road at the old mill. Having no other leads, he drove his rental car across to the old mill, parked it and got out to have a look around. This would be his last stop. He had spent a considerable amount of time on this problem of Father Peter's, and it was looking like a failed mission.
Maybe he would drop in on his friend Cin Fin-Lathen before returning. He couldn't break silence on why he was in Palm Beach County, but he could stay a while and enjoy her company. Cin was forbidden fruit according to his aunt. She was a divorced woman with whom he had spent a great deal of time while searching for his lost uncle in Cornwall, England. They had their moments of chemistry but had been able to just be friends.
Still though, in the haunted hours, he did think of her. He wanted to be around to torment her, pull her pigtails, kick her in the shins and run away. Just like a childhood crush. It nagged him that a forty-some Jesuit priest could have these thoughts. Was this why his aunt was so concerned about him having anything to do with Cin? Did she see things in himself that he couldn't acknowledge? That would be scary, giving Aunt Diane that much power. He filed away this new problem and proceeded to work on the one at hand.