by Emmy Grace
“You can check with the airline to see what time my flight landed. From there, the car I ordered brought me to the theater. You can verify that as well.”
I nod, still wandering aimlessly around the room. Or so they’ll think. I’m really looking for evidence in anything and everything I pass. Anything suspicious, or even overt. I mean, Petey took their clothes, but we know they had her blood on them. They both (conveniently) touched the body, but no one thinks of everything. And there’s still a weapon out there somewhere. It’s likely a knife, so my eyes are checking every lump and surface for the shape of one hiding underneath the mess. It’s not easy, though. With this amount of chaos, Jimmy Hoffa could be hiding in here and we’d never know.
Cruz might be this messy in real life.
Or this could be by design. To muddy the waters.
“Trenton, did you see anyone coming or going from her room while you were in the green room?”
“Not a soul.”
“And did everyone enter the building and Serena’s room the same way?”
That’s the best way I can think of not to tip them off about the hidden door.
“You mean the doors?” he asks with a dry laugh. “Yes. I didn’t see anyone climbing in windows.”
“Ah, right.” I keep my lips curved. Dumb blonde all the way. “And what about this stalker? You said the only pictures of the letters and figures were on Serena’s phone, right?”
They look at each other and shrug, then both turn back to me. “As far as we know,” Cruz says.
“They’re the only ones I know of,” Trenton agrees. “Never thought there would be a reason for me to have any evidence. She had photos. The rest she either sent to the cops or trashed.”
“That’s understandable. And had this stalker ever shown up where Serena was in person? I mean, not just watching her?”
“Not that we know of. I mean, we’d have done something about it if he had, ya know?”
“Of course. I was just checking.” I stop in front of Cruz and lace my fingers together behind my back, the most non-threatening pose I can strike and still be standing. “You both got a lot of notoriety after the stalker came on the scene, didn’t you, Mr. DiSpirito?”
“Believe me, no one wants that kind of publicity.”
I nod, but make no comment.
I address Trenton Gibb next. “I’m sure the troupe shared in some of that hoopla, too, didn’t it, Mr. Gibb? What is it they say? ‘There’s no such thing as bad publicity’?”
“Cruz is right. No one in their right mind would want this sort of thing to happen. Serena was terrified. And fear is contagious. We were all on edge.”
“So taking her and her stalker out of the equation might’ve improved things. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not at all. I’m just saying that we wouldn’t have willingly put everyone through that. I think the answers you’re looking for are in the identity of her stalker. She told me once that one of the letters said he’d rather she be dead if he couldn’t be with her.”
“Strong words.”
“Crazy words. From a crazy person. But it makes sense. Crazy people commit murder. Artists don’t.”
“I’ve heard love makes people crazy, though.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There were some rumors that you and Serena were an item at one point. That it even caused one of the breakups between Cruz and Serena. Any truth to that, Mr. Gibb?”
From the corner of my eye, I see Cruz’s head snap toward Trenton. That tells me all that I need to know. That’s why I let Gibb off the hook. I don’t need his lies when I already have the truth.
“Never mind.” I wave my hand dismissively. “I’m sure that’s just gossip. No truth to it whatsoever.”
“No, none,” he reaffirms.
Of course.
Good thing we’re not still in church or there would definitely be an appearance by a big lightning bolt.
I turn to Liam. “I can’t think of anything else. Can you?”
Liam is standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes beaded on the men. He shakes his head negatively.
I clap my hands together as I head for the exit. “I hate that your plans have been interrupted, but I hope you gentlemen enjoy your stay in Salty Springs. Try the crab apple pie at Ann-n-Ann’s Diner. It’s to die for.”
With that, I make my leave and Liam slams the door shut behind us. We don’t speak until we get into the truck.
“You didn’t ask a single question,” I say when I turn to him.
“I didn’t have to. You asked all the right ones. I just wanted to see their reactions.”
“And?”
“They’re both hiding something. Just don’t know what. Yet.”
I grin and reach over to grab my seatbelt and stretch it across me. “‘Yet’. I like that.”
He fires up the engine and pulls easily out of his parallel parking spot. Show off, I think again as we go roaring off down the street.
8
By the time the sun appears on the horizon ushering in Monday morning, I’m up and at ’em. I’ve fed and watered the animals, had scrambled eggs and four cups of coffee, and typed up the last report that was overdue to Regina. All in all, I’m feeling very good about the day. Now I’m free to devote my brain space to all things Serena Flowers.
At eight o’clock on the nose, I dial Clive’s office number. I have no idea if he keeps actual office hours, but something tells me he does. The Salty Springs law enforcement isn’t exactly traditional in any other aspect. Why should this be different?
He answers on the third ring. “Hi, Clive, this is Lucky.”
“How ya doin’, Lucky lady?” If I had an adopted grandfather like Beebee my adopted grandmother, I have to think he’d be something like Clive. No matter what is going on, he always makes me feel welcome and appreciated, not like I’m a bother.
“I was wondering if I could get your help with something.”
“Shoot.”
“The NYPD has some photos of the letters and figurines that Serena’s stalker sent to her. Since you’re law enforcement, can you request copies of those records?”
“Well, I could, but seeing as how we’re trying to keep this hush-hush, I don’t know how I could explain wantin’ them.”
Oh.
Bah.
“Good point. I didn’t think of that. I just thought of all that power and authority you have as Chief Sheriff.”
I’m also a shameless flatterer, although in this case it’s sort of true. Law enforcement officials do have power and authority, and rightly so, but there are checks and balances to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. Things like only giving information when it’s actually necessary.
“Wish I could help, Lucky, but you’ll be on your own for this one, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t you worry a thing about it, Clive. That’s just the way I like it.”
I’ve never had the benefit of assistance from legit legal entities before. Why start now? It’s never stopped me from getting to the bottom of the mystery, and this case will be no different.
“How’s it coming?” I hear the creak of Clive’s ancient desk chair as he leans back. That or it’s his joints. I can’t be sure which. I picture him kicked back, maybe scratching his scruffy chin, nursing a gob of snuff in his lower lip.
I shudder.
My imaginings stop right there.
“It’s coming. Got a few leads we’re chasing down.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
“Will do, Clive.”
We hang up and I cross that off my mental to-do list. The shards of glass and sticker that I took pictures of will have to do. Maybe the glass person Liam is taking me to meet will be a definitive match for one or both of those.
There’s an alarming knock at my door. It’s so loud and so fast that I jump and nearly fall out of my swivel chair. My arms flail and I yelp as I try to right myself, which
scares Mr. Jingles, my ninja French bulldog, and thus awakens the sleeping jungle.
From where he’s resting in the doorway, Gumbo raises his head and oinks right when Lucy-fur, the black devil cat, lets out her feral meow. She leaps onto the higher ground of Gator’s cage, startling him into his wheel, where he runs for dear life. When that thing starts squeaking, Squishy my road kill rescue parrot, starts repeating “Pirouette, pirouette, pirouette!” No doubt he got that from the interviews I watched involving Serena Flowers last night. He must’ve heard them say it.
He has to be the smartest bird in the South. Maybe even the world. Maybe I should look into the Guinness Book of World Records. Surely someone has tried to claim their critters as the most brilliant in the land.
I snatch Lucy from the towel on Gator’s cage and haul her to the door. I swing it open to find an angry-looking Regina standing there. I let her in as I put the cat out. All the others are still in full chorus when she comes in.
“You need a doorbell, and it needs to play music.”
“A doorbell would completely freak them out.”
“No more so than breathing. Or life. It could be a theme song for your insane household.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Dare I ask what song you think this theoretical doorbell needs to play?”
“That’s easy. ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’. It’s the perfect preparation for what people can expect to find when they step through your front door.”
After a short pause, we swing our arms and do our deepest a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh.
When we’ve laughed about our uncanny ability to sync up with the other’s train of thought despite the early hour, I ask Regina why she’s here.
“Two reasons. One, Alex.” She goes straight to the couch and flops down. That’s when I notice her attire. She’s wearing jeans and a peasant shirt.
Regina only wears jeans if she’s going to a sporting event or out in the wilderness. She’s doing neither today that I know of. The only other rare occasions are in times of distress, when she doesn’t feel like getting dolled up.
This must be serious.
I go perch beside her, laying my hand on her knee. “What happened?”
“Men are all the same,” she bemoans, her anger dissolving into disappointment that turns her big brown eyes into pools of sad melted chocolate. Not that there’s any such thing as sad chocolate. That’s an oxymoron.
Emphasis on the moron.
“Tell Lucky all about it,” I croon, which causes her to roll her eyes. We both grin.
“I went out with Alex again.” She sighs heavily. “He just wanted one thing.”
“Steak?”
“No.”
“Money?”
“God, no.”
“Your car?”
“No, but he was definitely trying to take me for a ride. And not the fun kind. He’s a perv.”
“Do you want me to go teach him a lesson?”
“I’m being serious, Lucky,” she pouts.
“So am I. I’ll go show his balls who’s boss if you want me to. Just say the word.”
“I don’t want you to go beat him up. Or touch his balls in any way. I just want you to be my friend. Commiserate with me.”
I stare into her eyes. “Want me to get the ice cream?”
“It’s not even nine AM.”
“So just one bowl?”
“Yeah. Just one.”
By the time we’ve downed a bowl of ice cream and verbally torn apart every man who has ever hurt us, Regina is acting more like herself.
“I’m not sure if this is the worst timing, or if I’m just a very considerate genius, but I met a guy yesterday that you might find interesting. I can find out more about him if you want. Unearth all his skeletons so you can decide in advance if he’s worthy.”
“A worthy male? Where can such a mythical creature be found?”
“Quite possibly at the Spring Water Inn.”
“Or on a farm on the outskirts of town.” She looks pointedly at me.
“Hey, if you think Tasty Cakes is such a dream, you can have him.”
“That wouldn’t bother you at all?”
“Of course not. Why would it?”
But even as the words are leaving my lips, I realize that it actually would bother me if my best friend started dating Liam. I’m not at all prepared to ask the important questions like WHY, so I just put it out of my head.
“There’s something between you two. You might not see it, but it’s there.”
I’m ready to abandon this conversation. Like, yesterday. “Whatever you say, Sigmund Fraud.”
Emphasis on the “fraud”.
She shakes her head in exasperation. “As much fun as this has been, and as much as I love to needle you when you’re in denial, that’s not the only reason I’m here.”
Regina reaches for her purse. It’s big enough to fit a small child in. I should’ve known it contained something for me. Something there’s a good chance I will live to regret.
She pulls out a thin, narrow box and hands it to me. “What’s this?”
“Your next product.”
“Is it a pen? To stab myself in the eye with?”
“If you don’t read the instructions, then yes, possibly.”
I’ve never been one to start with the directions unless I get to the end and something isn’t working right. But most of the time, I can figure things out on my own.
Well, except for these products. A lot of them have fine print that’s turning out to be fairly important.
I take the box from her. “What is it?”
“An automatic eyebrow trimmer.”
“Automatic?”
“Yeah. It automatically adjusts to the length of the hairs and trims them down to a certain size.”
“Huh. That sounds innocent enough.” I open the box and slide out the tube-like thing that’s about the size and shape of a magic marker. “Looks innocent enough, too.”
“Read the instructions. Please. We can’t keep negatively reviewing products that fail only because you didn’t read the instructions.”
“Fine. I’ll read the instructions.”
“Do this for me today, okay?”
“Fine. Today.”
“I’ve got one coming in later this week or early next that will be more what you’re used to.”
“Which means a risk to life and limb?”
“Pretty much.”
“Sign me up.”
This is the conversation of crazy people.
Regina gets up and makes her way to the door. She turns to me before she leaves. “Find out about the inn guy.”
I smile. “There’s my girl. If you ever give up on love, I’ll expect the sky to fall that afternoon.”
Even though I don’t share her desperation to find a soul mate and spend the rest of my life making googly eyes at each other across a plate of pasta, I appreciate her commitment to doing exactly that. It’s one of those comforting truths in life—the sky is blue, the grass is green, and Regina is a true romantic. That means all is right with the world.
“Read the instructions.”
“I will. Now go.”
“I’m going. I need to go back home and change.” She glances down at her outfit like she just now realized what she’s wearing. An ensemble that constitutes a fashion abomination in Regina’s universe. “I can’t believe I left the house in this.”
“I’m a little surprised myself.” She starts off toward her car. “But if it’s any consolation, your butt looks really good in jeans.”
She smacks it and gives me a sassy grin over her shoulder. “That’s almost thirty years of shrimp and grits.”
“That should be the advertisement on the box.”
She’s still shaking her head when she gets into her car and I shut the front door.
I glance down at the cool, short wand in my hand before I go to retrieve the box. As much as it pains me, I slide out the folded set of instructions an
d sit down to read through them.
As suspected, I learn absolutely nothing that I couldn’t intuit. It’s an eyebrow trimmer. An automatic one. How complicated could it possibly be?
After finding a AA battery to put into the little device, I head to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I stare down at the product. “Here’s your one chance, Fancy. Don’t let me down.”
I hit the on switch and press the tiny moving jaws of the wand to my left eyebrow.
9
After showering and applying some makeup necessities, I texted Liam about going to the glassmaker he’d mentioned. He told me he’d pick me up in twenty minutes.
Nineteen minutes later, I’m standing on the front porch, waiting. He pulls his truck to a stop in the driveway and I make my way over to it. When I open the door, I glare up at the seat.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to invent something to help me mount this stupid truck of yours, and I’ll make millions.”
I grip the inside of the doorframe with my left hand and the oh-crap handle on the door with my right, and I lean back like a human slingshot before launching myself forward at the seat. In theory, it’s a sound process, but in reality, I smack the edge of the passenger seat with my face and have to wiggle and squirm my way into it like a toddler climbing into his high chair.
By the time I’m upright, seated and belted in, I feel Liam’s eyes on me. I turn to find him staring at me with a semi-alarmed expression on his face. “What?” I ask.
“What’s up with your face?”
I flip my hair with one hand. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your eyebrows… You look like the long-lost child of Groucho Marx.”
I huff. “I tested a new product this morning. It’s supposed to automatically trim your eyebrows. I even read the directions so Regina wouldn’t fuss. I did exactly what it said to do, and the first one went off without a hitch.” I turn to face him, pointing to my left eyebrow. “See? This one still has hair. It’s just short. Neat. But this one…” I point to my right brow, which is completely bald. “It shaved this one off, so I had to pencil it in. I got it too dark, though, which meant I had to shade the left one in a little, too. But then they were uneven, so I had to shape them to match. It went bad fast.”