The Mussorgsky Riddle

by Darin Kennedy

  Jason and I lock gazes, the insistence in his stare wearing at my resolve until there’s not a doubt in my mind what I have to do.

  “All right. Rest here on the couch, like we did with Anthony before.” I help him get into position. “Be right back.” I pull a chair in from the dining room and take a seat at his head.

  “I believe you, you know.” I brush the hair from his eyes. “Not to mention I don’t know too many cold blooded killers who are eager to have a psychic around.”

  “You’re about the only one that does. The whole school is talking about me behind my back. Julianna’s friends, the guys on the team, everybody. I’ve even caught Mom watching me out of the corner of her eye sometimes.” He looks away. “What do you do when your own mother doesn’t believe in you anymore?”

  “She believes in you, Jason. I can feel it when she’s around you. She’s a bit preoccupied with Anthony and Rachel right now, but never doubt your mother loves you.”

  Jason rubs at his neck, nervous. “Can we just get on with this? I know it’s my idea, but the thought of having someone poke around in my head is freaking me out a little.”

  “As well it should, but don’t worry. I’m a trained professional.” I give him a quick wink. “Are you ready?”

  He stares up at me, his upside down face filled with anxiety. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Then just relax and let me do the driving.”

  Jason closes his eyes and tries to unwind but he still winces as I cup his head in my hands.

  “It’s okay, Jason. Just take some deep breaths and listen to the sound of my voice.”

  It takes a few minutes, but he eventually manages to let go of his anxiety and drifts into that halfway state between dream and wakefulness. Once he’s ready, I open the part of my mind I have to keep closed when I’m in a crowded room, the part that lets me truly listen. At first, the same storm of emotions from before hits me like an ocean wave, but as I simultaneously focus and let go, Jason’s thoughts come into focus. Unlike the mousetrap of Anthony’s mind, Jason’s is like most I’ve encountered over the years, an obstacle course punctuated by images that play across my mind’s eye like a thousand different movies at once. Some memories, no more than flashes, flit by like ghosts while others take center stage, demanding my full attention.

  Jason’s hands behind the wheel as he negotiates a busy freeway.

  A rainy football field, the score tied at ten on a dilapidated old scoreboard.

  The back of Anthony’s head and Rachel in profile in the front seat of a roller coaster. Their delighted squeals fill the air as they crest a rickety climb and fly down the scaffolded hill.

  Julianna Wagner’s face so close, I can almost feel her skin, her breaths coming faster and faster as the image leaves her eyes and goes to her bare neck.

  A much younger and much happier Caroline, walking with an ice cream cake topped with seven lit candles as a crowd of young children sing.

  A man sitting and laughing with Julianna. About my age. Reasonably good looking.

  Slate-gray eyes.

  Though dressed in clothes more befitting the modern day this time, I’d recognize the man’s face anywhere.

  It’s Hartmann the Cart Man.

  “Jason? Can you hear me?”

  The man in the vision holds a wineglass, as does Julianna. He offers Jason a glass filled with what I’m guessing isn’t Cheerwine, but Jason waves it off.

  “Talk to me. What are we seeing?”

  “How are you doing this, Ms. Tejedor?” Jason’s voice echoes through this recreated place. “I can hear you, and not just with my ears.”

  “A part of me is in inside your mind and communication is a bit more direct. Now, tell me. What are we seeing?”

  “A party. The one after Julianna’s recital last spring.”

  The man with Julianna tells a joke as she takes a sip of her drink, nearly causing her to snort it out her nose as she doubles over laughing. As his hand goes to her knee, anger rises in this Jason’s mind, his eyes growing cold and distant. The smell of alcohol grows in the space.

  “You don’t like him much, do you?”

  “Of course I do.” The bitterness in Jason’s every word is palpable. “Everybody does.”

  “Who is he?”

  The aroma of open wine bottles roiling across my consciousness grows sour.

  “Julianna’s music teacher. Tutors her in voice a couple nights a week.”

  The underlying anger in this place goes from a slow simmer to boiling.

  “You don’t like him being around Julianna.”

  “Would you?”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I’m sorry.” Jason’s voice in my mind grows pensive, distant. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Jason. His name. What is it?”

  A moment of silence stretches for what seems like hours as the man and Julianna get closer.

  His hand on her knee.

  Her hand on his arm.

  “You can tell me, Jason.” I bring my internal voice down to a whisper. “I understand.”

  “His name is Glenn,” Jason whispers into my mind. “Glenn Hartman.”

  hat the hell do you think you’re doing?” Caroline’s voice rips me from Jason’s mind as angry vinegar washes all other emotion from the room. Standing in the doorway to the foyer with a still woozy Rachel by her side, her stare could melt an iceberg. “I leave you alone for fifteen minutes and you go screwing with my son’s head?”

  “Stop it, Mom.” Too groggy to sit up, Jason turns his head in Caroline’s direction. “I asked Mira to help me―”

  “I’m not talking to you right now, Jason.”

  I shake my head from side to side, working to bring myself back to reality. “I’m sorry, Caroline. I was just trying to―”

  “You were trying to help. That’s what you’re going to say.” She rushes to Jason’s side and helps him sit up. “My family has had about all the help we can take. Anthony’s all but comatose and Rachel is still recovering from the backwash of your latest efforts. Did you really believe I would approve of this?”

  “It’s not like that. Please, let me explain.”

  “This has all been a big mistake.” Caroline shakes her head and pulls Rachel tight to her hip. “I’m sorry, but I think you should leave.”

  Heat rises in my cheeks. “You begged me to come here and now you’re sending me away, right when I’m starting to put the pieces together?”

  “Don’t worry, Mira. You’ll be paid.”

  I pull back as if I’ve been slapped. “That’s not what this is about. At least listen to―”

  “I asked you here to help Anthony. That’s it.”

  “Stop yelling at her, Mom,” Jason says. “Mira didn’t even want to do it. I begged her to help me find out what happened to Julianna.”

  “And those gorgeous eyes of hers had nothing to do with it.”

  Jason grabs a set of keys from the coffee table and heads for the door. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to this shit.”

  “Don’t you walk away when I’m talking to you,” Caroline shouts.

  Jason slams the front door behind him, leaving Caroline and me staring at each other. Rachel peers out at me from behind her mother.

  “Listen, Caroline. Jason is stressed out. He asked me to take a peek into his mind, try to find a clue that might help him refute all the accusations being leveled against him.”

  “With all due respect, Ms. Tejedor, this is my house and these are my children. You’ve overstepped our arrangement and I would appreciate it if you would leave. Now.”

  “What happened with Rachel isn’t my fault, you know. She and Anthony are very special. They’re going to need help with―”

  “You think I don’t know my children are special?” I choke on the vinegar and cayenne coming off Caroline.

  “No. Special. Like me. I’ll go for now, but understand I’m not leaving town till I’ve done what I came to do.”
>
  “You do what you have to do, and I’ll do the same.” She finally meets my gaze, her anger tempered with sadness and desperation. “I know you mean well, but it’s all too much.” She buries her face in her hands. “Too much.”

  “I’ll let myself out.” I gather my things and head for the door. “Give me a call when you’re ready to talk.”

  The sting of Caroline’s angry words is still present as the cab drops me back off at Archer’s office. I hop in my car and return to the Blake, waving weakly at the front desk clerk as I head for the elevators. No sooner do the doors open on my floor than my phone rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Mami?”

  “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Me and Nana are baking cookies.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “I miss you, Mami. When are you coming home?”

  “Soon.” The gnawing sensation in my belly climbs into my chest. “I’m not done here in Charlotte, but I’m getting there.”

  “Are we still going to go to the beach? You promised we’d go see the ocean one more time before it got too cold this year.”

  Girl’s got a memory like a hard drive. “Of course. When I get back, we’ll make plans to head down to Virginia Beach. We can check out the Navy ships just like we talked about.”

  “Nana wants to talk to you.”

  As I wait for Mom to pick up, I let myself into my room and fall back on the bed.

  “Hello, Mira,” comes my mother’s voice a few seconds later.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “How are things going with the Faircloth family?”

  “Um… they’re going fine.” I honestly don’t know how to respond to her question. For days, Mom has been irritated every time we’ve spoken and now she sounds almost jubilant. “I feel like I’m making some progress, though I hit a bit of a roadblock today.”

  “Do you need to talk about it?”

  “All right, who are you and what have you done with my mother?”

  “Just trying to be supportive. I didn’t like the way our last conversation went and I thought maybe if I cut you some slack―”

  A chuckle escapes my lips. “What’s his name, Mom?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Is it that Stavros guy from the supermarket? He finally asked you out, didn’t he?”

  She laughs. “Maybe.” Even a state away, I feel the heat of my mother’s blush. “Took him a few weeks to get up the nerve to talk to me about something other than cuts of salmon.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, Mira. I still miss your father terribly, but Stavros is sweet and it gets pretty lonely up here, especially when you’re out of town.”

  “I’ll be home soon. Just need to finish up here.”

  “And you think you’re getting close?”

  “Closer every day. I really stepped in it with Caroline earlier, but I think I can recover.”

  “Good luck. Call me if you need me, though Stavros might be coming by later for a visit.”

  “Hold on. How’s Isabella?” My jaw clenches. “What did her father buy her today?”

  “About that.” I sense my mother’s telltale sigh coming a good second before it comes. “There’s been a development.”

  My stomach does its best impersonation of a pretzel. “Go ahead.”

  “Dominic isn’t exactly here… alone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s not alone.”

  My mother’s words begin to sink in. Like toilet water into my favorite rug. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I wasn’t going to tell you till you got home, but Dominic asked today if it would be okay to introduce Autumn to Isabella.”

  “Let me get this straight.” I shoot out of the bed and go to the window. “He cheats on me for a year with this bitch and now he wants to bring her into my daughter’s life?”

  “She’s wearing a ring, Mira.”

  “He married her?”

  “Engaged. Dominic says they’re planning the wedding for New Year’s Eve.”

  The blood rushes from my head and I rest my hand on the windowsill to keep myself from falling. “Happy fucking holidays,” I mutter.

  “She flew in today. I just found out a few hours ago.” Mom’s voice grows quiet. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  Mom talks me down for the next few minutes, and by the end of the conversation, I’m no longer considering a ten-hour drive to kick a hole in Dominic’s skull. She hangs up so she can help Isabella with her bath and I flip on the television for background noise and crash on the gravity well the hotel staff calls a bed.

  As I cruise through channel after channel of uninspired reality show drivel, my subconscious does everything to keep from thinking about my daughter spending one moment with the woman who tore our family apart. Not surprisingly, my thoughts drift to Anthony Faircloth and as my mind continues to wander, the strange connections between the boy and me begin to pop up like dandelions in the front yard.

  The psychic thing notwithstanding, the parallels are compelling. Like me, he’s a middle child. We both lost our fathers early, both been through more than our fair share of tragedy, and neither of us seem likely to cut the cord to our mothers anytime soon.

  Another ring of my cell phone jolts me out of my misery and back to the present. It’s a local number, but not one I recognize. I click the answer button.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Tejedor? It’s Veronica Sayles.”

  “Ms. Sayles.” I don’t have to be psychic to pick up the urgency in her voice. “Good to hear from you. Is everything all right?”

  “You said to call with anything that might help Anthony.”

  “What have you got?”

  “Can you meet me? I’d rather not discuss it over the phone.”

  “Sure. Can you suggest a quiet bar not too far from Uptown? It’s been quite a night.”

  I pull in at Copland’s around seven. Storm clouds gather in the darkening sky to the west and as the first raindrops hit my windshield, I sprint inside and grab a seat at the bar.

  The management has gone to a great deal of trouble arranging the bottles along the wall according to the colors of the rainbow. Reminiscent of my initial fall into the Exhibition, my eyes keep finding their way back to the prismatic arrangement of liquor splayed before me. The “Promenade” theme echoes through my mind, louder with each passing second. Fortunately, I’m not kept waiting for long.

  “Ms. Tejedor.” Sayles sits next to me and rests her purse on the bar. “Thanks for meeting me. I hope I haven’t kept you long.”

  “I just arrived myself. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Allow me.” She signals the bartender, a tall, thin man with graying temples and a close-cropped goatee.

  “What’ll it be, ladies?”

  “I’ll have a cosmo, and my friend will have a…” Sayles glances over at me.

  “House red, please.”

  Sayles pivots in her stool as the bartender turns to the rainbow bar to prepare our drinks. “I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice.”

  “Of course. Anything to help Anthony.”

  The bartender hands us our drinks as the sky opens up overhead. We have to all but shout to hear each other above the pounding rain, neither of which does wonders for the pounding behind my eyes.

  “What brings you out on a night like this?” I ask.

  She glances around, as if she’s afraid she’ll be overheard. “It may not be anything, but do you remember when we talked about how Anthony’s problems all started around the time Julianna Wagner vanished?”

  “I do. In fact, I’ve already been in contact with the police.”

  “They’ve brought you in on the case?”

  “Not exactly. Just trying to determine if anything about Julianna’s disappearance could be contributing to Anthony’s condition.”

  “
In that case, I may have something you want to see.” Her gaze drops to her lap. “I found something and I’m not sure what to do with it.”

  I take a sip from my drink. “And that would be?”

  “Evidence that Julianna was involved with someone.”

  “The police are more than aware Julianna was seeing Anthony’s brother, Jason. They’ve already dragged him down to the station twice, and if it wasn’t for an ironclad alibi, he’d be in some pretty hot water.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” Her eyes take on a wistful cast. “From what I’ve heard, Jason and Julianna were that high school couple, right up to the minute she dumped him. Good-looking. Popular. First string varsity tackle and co-captain of the cheerleading squad. The stuff of rock ballads.”

  “Jason says she broke up with him because she thought they were getting too serious.”

  “But what if that’s not all there was to it?” She leans in close. “The media seems obsessed with pinning everything on the jilted ex-boyfriend, but if there was someone else…”

  I lean in close and lower my voice. “What did you find?”

  She rummages in her purse and pulls out a folded note. “Julianna’s history teacher keeps a drawer for all the cell phones, iPods, and notes confiscated from the students. I was filling in for her this afternoon during my planning period and caught a girl texting in class. I sent her to the office and opened the drawer to deposit the phone when I noticed this folded up piece of paper with Julianna’s initials written on the flap. Since we had been talking about the case, I got suspicious and took a look.” She hands me the carefully folded sheet of paper. “Read it.”

  I open the note. Scrawled on the back of a flier for the school play is a simple message.

  J–

  After school. Far end of the parking lot. Looks like rain, but as always, my car is warm and dry. Dinner tonight?

  –H

  My breath catches in my throat as a musky scent hits my senses like a runaway semi. Whoever scribbled this message had one thing on their mind.

  “You’re sure this is hers?”

  “No, but there are only so many JWs in the school. What do you think?” Sayles searches my eyes. As with our last conversation, a faint hint of chlorine colors her words. “What if the police are questioning the wrong guy?”