by Mary Malcolm
“You hungry?” I asked, rocking on my heels, a little nervous about what I was going to share.
“Yeah, always.”
“Let’s go get waffles. I have some things to tell you.”
****
Even though smoking was no longer allowed in there, years of leftover smoke permanently coated Waffle Hut. The stale smell of decades of cigarettes wasn’t exactly appetizing, but it didn’t stop John from downing food as if he’d been starved for weeks. And it definitely made me crave a cigarette. I’d started smoking in college but quit about a month before I started at HGR. With everything happening, it was hard enough not to smoke. Being in a place like this made it brutal.
I nibbled on my banana walnut waffle telling John about the investigation. He made it halfway through his second all you can eat breakfast before I finished talking.
“You’re consulting with the police?” he asked through a mouthful of hash browns.
“Ever since that night you brought me to HGR after Mr. Winters died. I had a unique perspective on the case, and they brought me in.”
“They’re going to pay you?”
“Yes.”
He wiped his mouth and leaned back, foot bumping mine under the table. “Man, that’s like categorically cool.”
I grinned. It was. And talking about the case took my mind off all the craziness of the day. I liked telling John about this, made me feel so much closer to him.
He sipped his orange juice and worked on his second stack of pancakes.
“So I don’t think Natalie did it. I mean, I know her. I know I’m new to this police business, but she’s not the one.”
He shook hair from his eyes, and I grinned. John resembled how I wished I could be: carefree, relaxed, comfortable. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought those thoughts, but it certainly cemented them further.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked, this time not stuffing a bite of food into his mouth before talking.
“She’s not the one. I know it in my gut.”
I pulled the paper out of my pocket and a second piece came out with it. The doodle from the day before. I shoved it back in and unfolded the transcript Eli gave me.
“This is the information from Bonnie Kent’s interview yesterday. She was the receptionist having an affair with Simon Winters.”
John came to my side of the table, and his thigh brushed against mine. Everything inside warmed simply by having him next to me.
I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the information. The affair lasted about eight months; she hadn’t thought anyone knew; they always met in private at a small restaurant south of Fort Worth. “Says she never saw anyone familiar when they were together, never took trips or rode in the same car.”
“How can anyone have an affair?” John asked, interrupting my reading.
“People cheat. I never have, but I see how it can happen.”
John visibly deflated at my words. I regretted saying them the second they came out of my mouth. It didn’t take any special ability to tell his father had cheated on his mother.
I backtracked as fast as possible. “I mean, not that it is ever a good thing, but people are human, they make mistakes. They throw themselves into bad situations and then feelings get involved.”
“I know.” He pushed his plate forward. “I don’t believe you could ever do that to someone you love.”
“Maybe he didn’t love his wife,” I said.
John repositioned his thigh and sat up a little straighter. “Well, he should have dealt with that, then.”
“I’m not saying it’s a good thing,” I said again, silently cursing my blabbermouth.
“I get it. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Good.” So much for our deep connection.
He sat silently, then pulled his orange juice over. I reread the documents hoping something would pop out.
“Always the same restaurant,” I said. “Why do you think that was?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What if they knew someone, maybe believed they were safe there? Why else would they always go to the same place? You’d think if you’re hiding a relationship you’d want to move around a bit, keep things mixed up.”
“Huh. Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’m guessing they knew the owner. What do you think?”
I jostled his leg with my knee. “Want to investigate further, Watson?”
He grinned. “C’mon, Holmes. Let’s hit the road.”
****
It took twenty minutes to get from the Waffle Hut to The Slotted Spoon. Outside was lit by a bright blue sign with the restaurant’s name and, of course, the neon OPEN sign in the window. Otherwise the place looked desolate. Not a single patron sat inside the restaurant, which didn’t bode well for a Friday night.
A girl about my age sat in one of the booths reading a magazine. She stood when we came in. “Two?” She looked as if she wished we’d stayed away so she could finish her article.
I stepped forward. “Actually, I have some questions.”
“Yeah, two,” John said, interrupting me to answer her.
She showed us to a booth, then brought us some waters and two menus. “We just ate,” I said, not even bothering to open my menu.
“Yeah,” he said. “But how likely are you going to get information before knowing what this place is?”
“What do you mean?”
“The feel,” he said. “The waitress. Is she here every night? Is she here to fill in? Is she the owner’s kid? These are all important things. Look around.”
I did and tried to see what he saw. Up front silver tubs billowed steam, apparently filled with soup. A few pictures hung on the walls, but nothing stood out. It was a fairly plain-looking restaurant. To be honest, I wondered how a place like this would stay open.
“Do you get it?” he asked, still seeing something I didn’t.
“No.”
“Why here?” he asked. “What made this restaurant so special?”
Suddenly, it clicked. I’d seen the diploma on the wall in Mr. Winters’s office; he went to Ohio State. Buckeye memorabilia hung all around the restaurant. Everything that was anything here came from Ohio State. “He does know the owner.”
John touched his nose. His adorable, boyish nose. I shook my head to clear the ever-present John-webs out of my brain. He always seemed to find a way in, wrapping around my every thought like a spider.
The waitress returned. “Are you ready to order?” she asked, not even bothering to pull out her order pad.
“I’ll try the potato,” John said. “She’d like a salad.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he raised his eyebrows at me, cutting me off.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m a Buckeye; this place is awesome. Who owns it? I’m wondering if I might have heard of them.”
That perked her up a bit. “Well, two people, but one of the owners died recently.” She dug the toe of her shoe into the tile floor. “Now it’s only Mr. Smith. He’s usually here in the mornings.”
“Awesome. I don’t think I know him, but my dad might. Smith is a pretty common name; does he have a first one?” John asked with a flirty wink and a smile.
I rolled my eyes. Of course he had a first one. Still, the waitress seemed to eat up his flirting.
“Ulysses, actually.” She smiled back. It was an uncommon name, if John really did have a dad who knew him, that name would be one he couldn’t forget.
“Yeah, I think I’ve heard that name before,” John said, playing along. “Do you know what year he graduated?”
“Sometime in the eighties, I think?” Her cheeks shined.
“Awesome,” he said again, with a smile but no wink. “I’ll have to ask him. You’ve been a doll.
She smiled, but it wasn’t as big now that the conversation seemed over. “Well, I guess I’ll take your order to the kitchen.” She turned to walk away.
“Okay, Watson,” I said. “What do we do with that?”
“We know his business partner was probably complicit in the affair,” John said. “So if this place is always this dead, where do you think the money to run it came from?”
“HGR.”
“Exactly.”
I leaned over the table and kissed him square on the lips, only it wasn’t enough. I held the sides of his face and ran my thumbs along his cheekbones. My lips pressed until his mouth opened. My tongue tasted, delving deeper. Heat radiated through my body as I tried to remember we were sitting in the middle of a restaurant. I pulled back with a grin. “You’re pretty brilliant, Mr. Poole.”
“Yeah, I know.” He drank some of his water. “I hope she hurries up, I’m kinda hungry.”
****
Because John lived with his mom, it didn’t feel right spending the night there so instead I stayed in a motel. Not something I told John, I hadn’t even told him I’d been kidnapped. And since there was no way could I face Dee yet, I had nowhere else to go. I’d talked to Ana earlier to let her know I was okay but not yet ready to come home. Unfortunately, the people in the room next to mine sounded like they were having an orgy, or possibly were killing chickens, plus my bed had obvious stains from the previous sleepers, so I spent the night sitting in the chair and flipping through the ten available channels.
I was desperate to see Natalie, to know she was okay, so I started out the day with a trek back to the Fort Worth jail.
“Oh, it’s been so awful,” she moaned from her side of the glass. “I didn’t do it. I haven’t done anything. I’m in a cell with a woman who killed her husband. There’s this metal toilet, no seat. It’s dirty.” She sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. I’d always assumed her black bobbed hair to be straight, but now that she’d been away from styling products it was easy to see she actually had naturally curly hair. Her cheeks, usually plump, had also hollowed out a bit. It made me sad thinking of what only a day had done.
I sympathized with her deeply, but I also needed to trust her innocence. “Tell me what happened?”
“They said I logged in during times I couldn’t have. I was with Clive the night Mr. Winters got killed, yet they said I logged in then too.”
“What proof do you have that you were with Clive?”
“Only him. But of course, I was with him. Don’t you believe me?”
I sighed. “I do, but the police want proof of innocence.”
She frowned, her light green eyes completely devoid of their usual sparkle. “I don’t have any. We watched TV, wanted to watch that reality show Twists, but it kept getting interrupted by weather warnings.”
I thought back to that night. The storm I got caught in on the way home. She could have guessed, but I didn’t think she did. I believed her. “Natalie, I know you are innocent, and I know the police will discover the same soon enough.”
She sniffled again. “I sure hope so. My mom is bailing me out, but I miss Clive.”
I placed my hand on the glass. “It will work out. I promise.”
****
By the time I left Natalie, Eli still hadn’t called so I tried his phone again. The rat bastard didn’t answer. I searched the Fort Worth PD directory and decided to hunt him down. He’d been using me to help with his investigation; it was time for him to help me. I couldn’t allow my friend, whom I believed to be innocent, to be accused of something she did not do.
Inside the police department, I asked for him at the front desk and was directed to the third floor. Once there, I asked the first person I found, who pointed to an office in the corner. The name on the door said Captain Matheson. I knocked.
“Come in.”
Awards and trophies filled the office. File cabinets overflowed with folders, and on the desk was a smattering of mug shots. This must be the man in charge, no doubt in my mind, though I certainly hadn’t expected to be sent here. After all, I’d asked for Eli.
“May I help you?” The man’s gruff voice came out more as a demand than a request. Dressed in a plain navy suit, he wore a scowl like a badge. “Well?” he demanded again.
I didn’t want to step in any farther. “I’m looking for Detective Reyes?”
“He’s not here today. He’s working down in evidence.”
“What do you mean?”
“In English?” he asked, slowly. “Detective Reyes is down in evidence. What is this regarding?”
I didn’t want to say, but I didn’t think it would be wise not to tell this guy, either. “I was consulting on a case with him.”
“Really.” He leaned back, and the little paunch of his belly pushed the button of his coat slightly open. It made it look even more haphazard and unfitted. I imagined that button flying off and pinging someone in the eye. Maybe me.
“Um, yes. The Winters’ murder.”
“First, we didn’t hire any consultants on that case. Second, we made an arrest, and while this is still an active investigation, we are closing in on our primary suspect.” Matheson rolled his chair back and stood up. “Want to tell me why you’re really here, young lady?”
This man had the power to toss me in jail, just like Natalie, and throw away the key. It didn’t seem he’d be as likely as Eli to believe what I could do, either, so I wanted out of there as fast as possible. Like five minutes ago fast.
Still, I asked, “Why is Detective Reyes in evidence?”
Matheson walked around his desk and held the door. “That is something you will have to ask him yourself. Is there anything else?”
“No, I mean, no, sir. Um, thank you.”
He ushered me out and shut the door with an emphatic bang.
“Wow,” I said to myself as I walked away. “Just wow.”
Evidence was in the basement. It was like time-out for cops. I knew that much from television. Mess up a bust? Evidence. Get your partner shot because you’re being stupid? Evidence. Screw up by inviting some crazy chick with an eidetic memory to help with your investigation? Evidence.
I hadn’t talked to or heard from Eli since the Friday before so I wasn’t sure what to expect. “Hey, I was told I could find you down here,” I said as lightheartedly as possible. “Doghouse?”
“You could say that.” He barely looked at me when he spoke. He took a call and went back into a room to retrieve an item. “I have about five minutes, what do you want?”
“Natalie didn’t do it.”
“I’m not on that case anymore,” he said, giving his best impression of a cold shoulder. “Anything else?”
I frowned. This wasn’t Eli. And if it was, he certainly fooled me over the past few weeks. “You’re not concerned that the wrong person is being railroaded?”
“Again, not my case.”
What a jerk! I took the notes out of my pocket and tossed them at him. “The Slotted Spoon. Winters was part owner. He was paying for a dead restaurant to keep his mistress a secret. Where did he get the money, Eli?”
“We checked that out.”
“Check it out again.”
Someone came up behind me, probably whomever had called. “Look,” I said, not quite ready to leave. “I don’t know what happened, but when you get ready to tell me, I’ll be around.”
“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What is your problem?”
He answered another call as the person behind me signed something out. Walking to the back he retrieved yet another item and brought it to the front. “Look, Lucy. You’re a good kid, but I was wrong to get mixed up with you. It was completely my fault. I’m in a position of authority and you were vulnerable. So it’s been great, but I can’t see or talk to you anymore.”
Good kid my ass! “I’m telling you,” I insisted, poking my finger at the paper. “There is something here.”
“Not my problem,” he said again, taking another call. “And even if it was, I’ve involved you too much.”
“You said you would pay me,” I said, not willing to let all this go yet. “You made me a part of this.” I didn’t care ab
out the money, but his cold shoulder hurt.
“I shouldn’t have. I was wrong. You weren’t authorized to work through the department, and bringing you in the way I did broke a whole lot of regulations. I could have lost my job. I’m lucky to be down here instead of out of the department completely. My captain confronted me when your name came up too much. You’re off limits to me now.”
“So you’re giving up?”
“This isn’t giving up, Lucy. This is knowing where my place is, and knowing when I’ve done something wrong. Can you understand that?”
“I can understand you don’t care as much about the truth as I thought.” My heart raced. I clenched and unclenched my hands, searching his face. I needed some acknowledgement that he was on my side. Something to show he’d have my back.
Nothing.
After everything else that happened, I didn’t know what to do with that. “So look,” I said. “When you’re done licking whatever wounds you think you have, come see me. I have information for you, and I’d like to make sure my friend doesn’t rot in jail for something she didn’t do.”
I turned to leave and ran into another officer. “Miss, you dropped this.”
I turned to take the paper from his hand. My doodle. I was exhausted and hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I went to shove it back into my pocket but opened it instead.
The white room. Voeller Institute. Down to the last detail, every bit of what I’d remembered.
Shaking, I shoved it back into my pocket and tried to walk away but found my legs no longer worked. It was all too much. Leaning against the wall, I finally crumpled.
Chapter Eleven
“You still hadn’t seen your Aunt Dolores at this point?” Len asked.
“No. I hadn’t gone home yet. I was still wearing the same clothes. I hadn’t showered, slept. Nothing.”
“Officer Reyes took you home?”
“No. To his place.”
****
“I don’t need your help,” I reiterated in what became my mantra, though I proved myself wrong more and more frequently. Honestly, I did need him, and it made me sad. I’d never needed anyone before. Why him? Why now?
He knelt on the floor next to me. “You might not, but I’ll seem like a bad cop if I leave you on the floor crying like that. You’re a mess. You need to get home.”