by Demaree Iles
He didn’t know why, but Charlie felt as if he was in the presence of someone who could grant him exactly that.
“So, you approve of what I’ve…what I’m doing?” Charlie said.
Isabelle nodded, and Charlie could’ve sworn the cat did, too.
“With what our kind has been through,” she said, “I’m often amazed that we don’t spend all of our time wreaking vengeance upon the world. Only the Jews have been persecuted more.”
Charlie understood, or thought he did. History was full of people being singled out and mistreated by others just for being different. The Inquisition, the Salem witch trials, many military conquests—to him, they all served as venues for decent people to be shown no mercy by intolerable men. He had some experience in that.
He leaned toward her and lowered his voice, but there was tension in his tone. “I’m about to murder people…my own daughter. How can that be right?”
“Balancing the scales is up to the universe, Charlie, not us.”
“You keep saying ‘our kind’. You and the cat?”
“We all have a purpose,” Isabelle continued, “and mine is to provide what a person needs when appropriate…like the jewelry wire I sold you.”
Charlie’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“What you do with the item,” she said, “is always up to you.” She glanced to her lap. “Sebastian is merely a guide.”
The cat gave her a reproachful look. “A very good guide,” she added as she scratched him between his ears.
“Wait a minute,” Charlie said. “You knew I was going to come into your store. And you knew what I might do with it?”
“Right on both counts.”
“But you helped me.”
“Like I said before, Charlie, you’re a good man.”
“A good man wouldn’t try to take out a room full of people.”
“Yes, a good man would,” she said, “when he’s been pushed enough. And you’ve been pushed more than any man should be, especially by those who were supposed to love you. You have a gift of your own, Charlie.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re one of us.”
He polished off the drink in another big gulp and thought I’m gonna need another. He blinked, and in that instant the empty glass was full again. Charlie’s pulse quickened and he stared into the liquid as Isabelle’s words entered his mind with a softness to rival the liquor.
“Your gift is in giving,” she said. “It’s in the kindness you have offered to people all your life, in the heart you carry that has always tried to find the best in others when there’s often so little to salvage. It’s in the punishment you have taken from darker souls than your own, and for so very long—the strength to endure so much when others would fail.”
Her eyes shined. “Like every true champion of light ever to walk on this earth, you have sacrificed so much of your own happiness for others. Don’t you see, Charlie? In this world, there is nothing better.”
She came close then and kissed him lightly on the lips. Her breath was a cool burst of air, her scent earthy and sweet as wild honeysuckle. “Your gift, quite simply, is love.”
Isabelle retreated into her own chair and it took a moment for Charlie to regain his composure. He forced himself to sit up straighter, as if waking from a dream, and struggled to understand. Yes, he’d loved, held the deepest respect for such strong-felt emotions, but always to no avail.
He’d loved his parents and they died when he was still a kid. Heʼd looked up to his father only to be ignored, criticized, and never praised. Heʼd adored his son only to have him snatched away by death, and his own wife and daughter cared only for themselves. Given the circumstances, why should he care about anyone? A tear gathered at the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek.
He gestured to the cake. “So love is my gift.”
“Dear Charlie,” she said, “mankind is not so black and white. We all have our inner demons. No one is immune to them and sometimes they get the better of us.” She wagged a finger at him. “But they never take our gifts from us.”
He pointed again to the mountain of sweet pink poison a few feet away. “But—”
“But nothing,” Isabelle said. She leaned toward him again, only this time her face was filled with energy, with some untold power that expressed truth with the force of a sledgehammer. Her lips never moved, but he heard her inside his head just the same; her words reverberating through his mind like a church bell through a sleeping village.
Fate is fickle, Charlie. It can turn either way on a dime. These people have stomped on you all of your life, but they never took away your vast capacity for love. Love translates into positive power, and wherever there’s a strong positive power, Fate will bend. Believe in your power. Don’t give up on it and Fate will bend for you. It will, Charlie. CHARLIE…
“Charlie!” Susan Bailey suddenly shouted over the music, “what are you doing over here all by yourself?”
She came up wobbling on her three-inch stilettos, the effect of several martinis evident in her stride. She treated Isabelle and the cat as if they weren’t even there, but as drunk as she was it was really no surprise. Charlie was stunned to see Susan actually giggle.
“Time for the cut-caking…cake-cutting,” she stammered. “I’ll gather everyone around. You won’t mind serving, right?”
“Oh, of course not,” Charlie replied.
Susan spun on shaky legs and walked away with Isabelle’s gaze following. “Nice dress.”
“So you’re telling me that if I just believe in love and kindness,” Charlie said, “then everything will be okay again?”
Isabelle turned back. “In a manner of speaking. Everything will work out the way it was meant to.”
“Why would you care how things turn out for me?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Take my soul or something like that, I suppose.”
A warm smile crossed her face then and her eyes twinkled with the most beautiful luster, but Isabelle said nothing. It was a face, he thought, that he could easily get used to looking at.
He had to force himself to stand, and with all of the liquor and no food in him, he was amazed that he could move at all. Surprisingly, he felt rather strong as he made it to his feet…and good thing, too, for he would need all of his strength to shove the cake to the floor. It was the only way and he knew it. It was what his heart commanded.
It was right.
The guests would talk about it for years to come: how Ruby LaRue’s psycho dad had baked the most beautiful wedding cake only to destroy it right in front of her. Those who had treated him as an enemy all his life would feel justified in their opinions and snub him even more than they already did. Ruby would never speak to him again.
Charlie suddenly chuckled. As long as no one tasted the cake, where was the downside?
“Show time,” he said, and Isabelle nodded.
Before he could take a step, however, a microphone suddenly squealed again and Susan Bailey’s voice came through the Country Club’s surround-sound.
“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” she said. “Will everyone please gaver…gather near the cake? It’s time for the big moment.”
Some couples were just leaving the dance floor while others were rising from their tables. All began to move in the direction of the wedding cake.
Problem. He had hoped to trash the thing before anyone could get close enough to stop him. Now, as he looked to Isabelle for some guidance, ranks of admirers were already gathering in a semi-circle in front of the pink monster.
Isabelle winked at him. “That’s your cue.”
What do I do? he wanted to ask. Before the words would come, Isabelle was out of her chair with her hand on the back of his neck, her face inches from his. “You’re a wonderful man, Charlie,” she said. “I’m glad I found you.”
With that, she kissed him full on the lips; a soft, unhurried, passionate one—the best kiss of his life. She touched his face and smiled as she pulled
back. Then she smoothed the front of her gown and gave him a sexy glance before turning away.
“Come, Sebastian,” she said, and the gray winked at Charlie before following along behind her.
Charlie watched her go; her form soon swallowed by the mass of wedding guests gathering around to see the big event. Whether it was all of the people milling about or the influence of the wonderful cognac swimming through his bloodstream, he didn’t know. Either way, Isabelle and the cat disappeared right in front of his eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
That was when he saw the police.
First one, then two…
Looking for me?
Maybe they were providing security for the reception.
Like hell.
At least two more were working their way through the throng of guests, clearly looking for someone.
But…but…how did they know?
What do you mean ‘How did they know’? You’re not exactly the poster boy for good luck, Charlie.
Shut up, Dad.
Then stop asking stupid questions. I’m not the one talking to a dead man.
Leave me alone.
Leave you alone? Why?
You haven’t been there for me all these years. Even when you were alive, you weren’t there for me. So, yeah. Leave me alone.
Silence followed that last thought. Grateful, Charlie tried to remain calm and figure out what to do as the officers closed in. It didn’t matter how theyʼd found out. They knew.
Everything he ever worked for was about to end, and he could just envision the stress and humiliation of an arrest and trial. He could also see the hellish prison that awaited him. Gray walls and guard towers had never seemed more real.
The guests gathered near and he blended with them, easing over to the side and allowing Randall and Ruby to take center stage. Maybe the cops wouldn’t stop him before he did what he had to do, but if they knew the cake was poisoned they’d be headed straight for it. Not good.
Maybe he should run. Everyone was crowded so close that he might be able to fade into the mass of faces, slip through the searching officers, and disappear. Wouldn’t be that hard, he thought. They wouldn’t be guarding the exits—not for a soon-to-be seventy year-old. He could make it to the Chrysler and be gone.
Think that matters? You’d still be a criminal.
Quiet, Dad.
Murder, genius. Look it up.
Charlie shook his head hard enough to hurt his neck. If you’re not going to help, Dad, he thought, please…please shut the hell up. Excited guests jostled him from the left, right, even from behind as they produced their own cameras, phones—anything to get a shot of the happy couple next to the spectacular red cake.
Where you gonna go?
Good question. He could swing by the ATM and get a few hundred out, point the car west, and drive until he ran out of money. But that wouldn’t work for long.
How hard would it be for them to track down a short, white bread old man in a beat-up old Chrysler who didn’t know squat about dropping off the grid? He hated to admit it, but he was not up to living on the run.
A little to his right, one of the uniforms emerged from the crowd. His head on a swivel, the man scanned all the faces until his eyes met Charlie’s. The officer nodded and smiled.
It was Bill Reynolds; Captain of the department and second only to the Chief himself. He was a good guy and a damn good officer, but had also once been a Navy SEAL. If anyone could bring him in without a hitch, it was Bill.
Charlie tried to think of any way out, but the analyst in him said he only had one other option: die right here. He really wasn’t ready for death—especially when he felt he’d never really lived—and didn’t think he had the guts to take his own life. But there were men with guns here, and the idea of it all being over with in a split-second was still preferable to the humiliation of being prosecuted and the living hell of the penitentiary.
Suicide by police, anyone?
Yeah, right. What police officer was going to shoot an unarmed senior citizen in front of his daughter and a bunch of guests at the country club? He could arm himself, but with what? Charge them with a cake knife? Sling serving plates at them like Chinese throwing stars? Besides, he liked the boys in blue. They were all pretty good guys.
Charlie sighed. He had to act soon or they’d decide for him.
****
Since the first day of baking school so many years ago, Charlie had been a stickler for ingredients; the exactness of each detail, the precise amounts. The process was as appealing to him as it had been when first working with chemicals as an engineer. He learned how certain elements of foods came into play in a recipe and how flavors revealed themselves, combining science with art.
It was no different with a cake that had been poisoned.
Common sense suggested that poisoning one person was easy. Doing it to many was not. An amateur might shovel enough deadly toxin into a mix and hope for the best, but a dose large enough to be lethal for a group of people could only be successful if it was slow-acting—just long enough for everyone to get a bite before the first person showed any symptoms.
Twisted logic to be sure, but he’d once been a scientist. His analytical mind had worked out the details of how to pull it off successfully without him even remembering doing so. Even in a blackout state, Charlie’s mind had done its homework.
All but the part about not getting caught. His unconscious mind didn’t seem to care that he might be discovered and punished for the crime. To Charlie, it seemed that whatever took over when he was out of his head was more concerned with vengeance regardless of the price.
Now he might be too late to stop it from happening.
He wondered why Bill hadn’t stepped forward to apprehend him. For that matter, why hadn’t the captain rushed over to the cake yet to stop anyone from getting a slice?
“Excuse me, Mister LaRue,” a male voice said to his left. Charlie almost came out of his shoes as the young officer touched his arm. “Can you come with me for a minute?”
“W-why?”
“Just for a moment,” the officer said, indicating somewhere away from the crowd with a jerk of his head. “It’s important.”
Something wasn’t right. Charlie couldn’t figure out if the kid was embarrassed or just inexperienced, but his face didn’t reflect the visage of a cop bent on making an arrest. Only one way to find out, he thought.
“If you don’t mind, officer,” Charlie said, leaning his own head toward the cake. “That’s my daughter…and I don’t want to miss this.”
The cop looked past Charlie and the expression on his face signaled that Bill had given his approval. “Okay, sir. But just a moment or two, please.”
Nice kid, Charlie thought as the officer stepped away. Reynolds and the Chief could be proud of their next generation of law enforcement professionals, but he was still confused as to why they weren’t stopping this. Maybe they didn’t know.
Nah, he thought. What else could it be? Before he could consider this, Ruby suddenly appeared beside him holding her new husband’s hand.
“C’mon, Dad,” she said. “Where’s the cake knife? Oh, please don’t tell me you didn’t bring it—it was engraved. I specifically said not to forget—”
Charlie held up the silver cake knife that had been lying beside the stack of small plates, practically right in front of her. He handed it over, handle-first, and was met by a look of impatience and her trademark rolling eyes.
“Fine, whatever,” she said, snatching it from his hand. “Come on, Randall, let’s do this.”
Quintessential Ruby.
Charlie glanced over at Bill Reynolds as the photographer got into position and the bride and groom took their places. The good Captain again nodded and smiled, giving no indication of trying to stop mass murder.
Charlie turned back and noted the plastic expression of happiness on Ruby’s face. Beneath the smile, he thought—under the lipstick, foundation, and mascara live
d something real that the cameras always missed. It was something ignorant, something violent; a malevolence just below the skin that radiated from her eyes and was reflected in the faces of her wedding guests. He hated to say that about his own child, but there was a blackness inside her that only he could see.
He gazed at the crowd one last time. Celebratory faces crowded around and he was torn by the duality of what he needed to do. To save himself, he realized, he had to save people he loathed. Maybe he’d pay for his sins in the gas chamber or with a lengthy prison term, but he’d be damned if he was going to have the deaths of all these people on his conscience.
One big shove and it would be done. He would do his best to brave the abuse to follow, but once he was behind bars it wouldn’t matter anyway.
First things first.
All eyes were on Ruby and Randall as Charlie eased forward. I can do this. No matter what happens after, I can get to the cake before they get to me. A well-placed push between the second and third layers, he figured, should bring the whole thing thundering down and ruin the entire cake. He gathered his strength as his hands came up.
He was just a couple of quick steps away and the happy couple was just figuring out how to hold the cake knife for the camera when another knife—an invisible one this time—suddenly pierced Charlie’s left armpit and penetrated deep. The pain was indescribable and he clutched at his left shoulder; fighting hard not to scream as the unseen dagger dove deeper. The fingers on his left hand tingled, the arm went numb, and his mouth worked soundlessly to suck in air.
No one noticed.
“Are you ready?” Ruby asked the photographer.
She and Randall held the knife hovering above the smaller top tier of Charlie’s last creation—the copy of Tommy’s little cake. They were just about to make the first cut when Charlie’s invisible dagger morphed into a sledgehammer. It swung hard and crushed his heart in one powerful blow.
He heard shouts of alarm as he flew backward into the table. Someone screamed as he collided with the stack of plates, sending them crashing to the floor. At the same time, he careened off, spun around, and vaulted backward; his shoulder striking the giant cake dead center. Ruby and Randall jumped back in surprise and Charlie’s momentum carried him through the six lower layers of vanilla and raspberry like a wrecking ball through a condemned building. He left his feet and the table buckled and shattered under his weight. What remained of the large cake layers hit the floor and splattered like a bomb dropped from a warplane.