04 Cold Case and Cupcakes

by Harper Lin

  “Why are you so interested?” Sandra took a deep drag, and the smoke poured out of her nostrils as if she were a mad bull.

  “Because my little boy was the same age as Preston when he died. Because I have a daughter two years younger. Because I think it is terribly unfair, and if nothing else, I wanted someone to know that people do care.”

  Amelia felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She didn’t know where they were coming from and felt foolish sitting there like that in front of a woman who obviously looked rode hard and put away wet, as a workhorse would.

  Sandra rolled her eyes.

  “It was that no-good SOB Kyle Spoon who did it.” Sandra acted as if the name just coming from her mouth were bitter poison on her tongue. “As sure as I’m sitting here, he killed that little boy.”

  Kyle Spoon was in the newspaper report about the killing. He was Preston’s biological father, although he and Starla-Ann had never married.

  “But those papers you talk about getting the story from had my sister tried and convicted before the baby’s body was even cold.” Sandra reached over to a TV tray and grabbed what looked like a beer in one of those keep-it-cool gloves. It could have been a Pepsi, but Amelia kind of doubted it. “Don’t get me wrong. Starla-Ann wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box, but she loved Preston. She’d have died a thousand times over if that would bring him back.” She took a swig from the can then followed it with a drag on her cigarette. “They said that because of where she came from. Needless to say since the Kennedys moved out, the neighborhood has sort of gone downhill.”

  Amelia couldn’t help but chuckle at Sandra’s sarcasm.

  “But my sister was just one of those good kids. Not the ‘good kids’ you read about now.” She made air quotes as she continued, “Who get shot in drug deals or drive-bys and their mothers weep about them being ‘good kids’ who supposedly were always laughing, always ready to help. Bull.”

  Sandra laughed at her own comment.

  “No. Starla-Ann was a real good kid. As soon as she found out she was pregnant, she got on them baby vitamins and made me go outside to smoke. I still feel a little funny doing it in the house now.” She clicked her tongue.

  “How old was Starla-Ann when she had Preston?”

  “She was eighteen. Old enough. Kyle Spoon was twenty-two.” She pinched her lips. Amelia couldn’t tell if Sandra was going to cry or scream. She did neither.

  “Starla-Ann couldn’t wait to have that baby. And when he arrived, screaming and wailing, Starla-Ann laughed out loud. He sounds like me, Sandra, she said in the delivery room. I remember her smiling so proud.” Shaking her head, Sandra finally let a small grin through. “She did everything she could for that baby. When he died, she did, too. Every day he was gone, she died a little bit more, till finally there wasn’t nothing left.”

  “Who took care of him?” Amelia asked.

  “Are you kidding? Starla-Ann took care of that baby. She worked at the Hardee’s over on Plaza Drive. Like a storm, she marched in there and told them she needed a job to support her baby and could work every day but no later than five. Wouldn’t you know, she got that job. Was assistant manager within two years and hoping to start managing the place just before…”

  Amelia felt the pain Sandra was holding back.

  “They wanted to make her out to be average white trash. Like she was sitting around collecting welfare. You know why they thought that? Because of Kyle Spoon, that’s why.”

  Her demeanor changed instantly when she spoke about Preston’s father.

  “There wasn’t a scam or dirty deal that man wasn’t involved in. In and out of prison, and not even for a crime that might give a man bragging rights. He couldn’t even do that right.”

  “How did they meet?” Amelia noticed pictures of Starla-Ann and Preston in a prominent place just above the television.

  “He was pretty well known around town. If he looked at a girl like Starla-Ann, well... it was all over.”

  Amelia’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Starla-Ann was smitten.” Sandra took another drag. “That was the only thing Kyle had going for him. He was good looking. Could have done a lot with that face and body, but too stupid to figure that out. Instead he neglected his brain and thought with his you-know-what.”

  “Was it just a one-time thing?”

  “Oh, no. Unfortunately, they thought they’d play house and make a go of things. Starla-Ann would have been better off to cut him loose as soon as she realized he wasn’t planning on getting a job. But she thought he was watching Preston while she worked.”

  “Was Preston with Kyle when they first realized he was missing?”

  Sandra took another long swig while nodding her head.

  “By this time, Preston was six, and Kyle had been in and out of the house, getting thrown out for coming home drunk then talking his way back in. He was the only man Preston called Daddy. But he was gone most of the time. He usually found his way back when Starla-Ann had a new man.”

  “Did she date a lot?”

  “Not really. I think she was always hoping for Kyle to fix himself up and get serious. I think she dated some of these guys just to get Kyle jealous and coming around.”

  Sandra went on to describe a few of her sister’s boyfriends. They were all the same. Blue-collar guys with muscles and tattoos but no real future. Except for Timothy Casey.

  “Tim was a good guy. He was a plumber’s apprentice. As soon as he completed the hours he needed, he had plans to go into business for himself. Toilets always need to flush, right? He’s got his own business now, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Well, that sounds pretty stable. What happened with him?”

  “Preston disappeared. Those couple of hours he was gone felt like a lifetime, not just for Starla-Ann, but for the rest of us, too. Kyle was at the house. Starla came home to no baby and went on a terror like you never saw. Once the police arrived and took their statement, putting out the Amber Alert and all that, Tim showed up, and all hell broke loose. Like two male gorillas facing off for the prize of leading the pack. Kyle and Tim got into a fist fight in the front lawn. Starla-Ann was screaming and crying, neighbors were in the yards watching, laughing. Things didn’t calm down until both men were cuffed and in the backs of separate squad cars.”

  “Did they question Kyle then when they brought him to the station?”

  “I guess. They cuffed those two idiots in a couple of chairs. I’m sure they sat there like two boys in a pissing contest giving each other dirty looks but neither one making a move. They were asked what all the hubbub was about, and then the cops turned them loose. Meanwhile, my sister is going crazy with grief and worry, and Preston, that beautiful little boy, he was still out there.”

  “I don’t understand. How did Kyle explain Preston not being in the house?”

  “Kyle said he fell asleep,” Sandra spat. “The boy used to go outside sometimes looking for his mom right before she would get home from work.” Sandra smiled. “My sister had a ritual with him that when she got home from work she’d grab him and kiss all over his face like she hadn’t seen him in weeks instead of just a few hours. He loved it. You should have heard him giggle.”

  Sandra explained how the police said that was the most logical explanation. Preston wandered outside. A stranger picked him up then dropped him in the park when it was dark.

  “But I know it was Kyle. He hid that boy’s body then dumped it as soon as he got a chance.” Sandra smoked her cigarette then stomped out the smoldering end in an ashtray that was home to half a dozen other butts.

  “Why do you think the police didn’t make any arrests?”

  “Do you really not know the answer to that? Did you have on blinders when you drove here? We don’t count. Let the community decide who did it, and maybe they’ll chase the riffraff from town and save them the paperwork.”

  Amelia sighed. What could she say? Even though she no longer lived in the upscale neighborhood she had before the divorce,
she was still living in a pleasant area where she wasn’t afraid of her neighbors and the grass was green and the streets were paved.

  “I’m not some bleeding heart, Miss Harley. I’m not looking for something for nothing. I’m just tired of there being a big hole where my sister used to be. Where my nephew used to be. And I’m sick of knowing that SOB is still walking the streets.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Yeah.” Sandra tapped another cigarette from the pack and placed it in her mouth. “He spends just about every waking minute at the Sovereign Tap.”

  “That’s over on Halstead, right?”

  Sandra nodded as she lit the cigarette.

  “But don’t be surprised if you don’t get anything from him. His brain is so pickled now I don’t even think he remembers. A guilty conscience will do that to a man, you know—prevent him from facing what he’s done.”

  Amelia nodded then stood from her seat.

  “Thank you for talking to me, Sandra.” Sticking her hand out, Amelia watched as Sandra stood from her La-Z-Boy and wiped her hand on her T-shirt before shaking.

  “If you’re going to talk to that piece of filth, tell him I hope his liver is good and rotten and causing him a great deal of pain.”

  Amelia nodded.

  “If I learn anything, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know, Sandra. I promise.”

  Sandra nodded, but the expression on her face told Amelia she was used to hearing that. Without another word, she turned and walked toward the door, letting herself out.

  Once in her car, she let out a deep breath and sank back into the seat, letting her muscles relax for the first time since she arrived.

  She drove past the same bare-armed hillbilly on the way out of Brookhaven.

  Once on the main road, Amelia hit the gas and headed toward Halstead and the Sovereign Tap. The clock on her dashboard said it was almost seven o’clock. Meg called, and she accepted it, happy to hear her voice.

  “Hi, Mom. Can Katherine stay for supper?”

  “If she wants. What are you making?”

  “I thought you were bringing home burritos or something.”

  “Yeah, I was going to do that, but I’m running behind on my errands. Can you get with your brother and order some kind of delivery? There is money in the cookie jar.”

  “Can we get Wing Ho Chinese?”

  “Only if your brother agrees. I don’t want a bunch of drama over what to get for dinner.”

  “Okay. When do you think you’ll be home?” Amelia could hear Meg telling Katherine they were getting Chinese food just as she pulled up to the blazing sign that read Sovereign Tap.

  The letters on the marquee in the window informed customers that they cashed checks and a six-pack of Miller Light was $7.99.

  “I’ll be home as soon as I can. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  Amelia hung up and climbed out of the car.

  The Sovereign Tap was a liquor store in the front and a bar in the back. She walked through the blinding fluorescent lighting, past the gray-looking cashier on his cell phone, and approached the black doorway with the word B-A-R over the top in neon red.

  She wished she had worn just jeans and a T-shirt. She felt terribly overdressed in her black pants and gray sweater. Even her earrings made her feel like Princess Grace stepping onto an oil rig.

  Blinking madly, she let her eyes adjust to the dark and her ears adjust to the noise from the jukebox.

  This place smelled the same as Sandra’s house but with a hint of stale beer added to the mix. The lighting was exceptionally low, making it look a thousand times more elegant than it was in reality. It also helped the patrons look less haggard.

  Sitting dangerously close in the very back booth by the jukebox was a couple talking quietly into each other’s faces. There were a couple of glasses in front of them. The woman sipped a beer, licking her lips afterward. Her companion was balding, and his pinky ring winked in Amelia’s direction.

  At the bar, two fellows stared up at a television that had some kind of ballgame on. Once in a while, they made remarks to the bartender and each other about what they were watching.

  Then there was a large man sitting by himself with a bottle of beer and an empty shot glass in front of him. Amelia took a deep breath, trying not to cringe at the smell of smoke, and walked over to where he was and sat down one barstool over.

  The bartender gave Amelia a double take, making her reach up protectively to smooth the nape of her neck.

  “What can I get you?”

  Amelia quickly realized she had to order. Of course. How could she forget such a ritual to the bar-going experience?

  “Can I just get a Coke for starters?”

  Without a word or another look, the bartender nodded and grabbed a thick tumbler, loading it with ice. He took the hose that provided the drink to fill the glass and dropped a straw in the concoction.

  When he was done with Amelia’s order, he went back to the other side of the bar with the guys to watch the game.

  Amelia took a sip. It tasted like any other Coke, to her relief.

  How would she know if Kyle Spoon showed up? She didn’t know what the guy looked like except that he was big and good-looking, and that wasn’t even a guarantee. Ten years and the grief of a child’s death could greatly age a person.

  She could ask the bartender, but she had seen enough movies to know that that probably wasn’t a good idea. People who hung out in bars like this usually didn’t want people coming around asking about them. Bartenders knew that.

  She looked in her purse, briefly considering the idea of a bribe. What was the going rate of bribes these days? Was twenty dollars enough? Fifty? She didn’t have either and was pretty sure her six dollars and forty-two cents would get her shown the door. At least that was enough to pay for her Coke.

  A few minutes later, the bartender made the rounds, coming back to ask the man next to Amelia if he wanted another.

  The man nodded without saying a word, took the bottleneck, and tossed the last bit of it down his throat. The bartender pulled out a bottle of something that looked brown and poured it in the shot glass. With another swift move, he slid open the cooler, pulled out another beer, popped the top, and placed it in front of the man.

  “Get hers, too.”

  The man jerked his head in Amelia’s direction.

  “Thanks.” Amelia smiled.

  The man at the bar chuckled, his broad shoulders shaking slightly.

  “I’m Amelia.” She dove in headfirst. There was no way she was going to get any information just sitting there.

  “Kyle,” the man grumbled, smiling pleasantly and reaching out his hand to shake.

  Amelia’s heart jumped. Could her luck be that good today?

  Leaning forward, she took his hand and looked at his face in the dim light. He was handsome, but she wished she had a little more information to go on.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  He nodded, and Amelia could tell he was trying to think of something to say but was obviously out of practice as much as Amelia was. She didn’t have time to play coy either if she was going to get information.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be Kyle Spoon, would you?” Amelia held her eyes to his even as his square jaw set tightly.

  “Amelia. Do I know you?”

  “No. You don’t.”

  “What can I do for you?” He took the shot glass, tossed it back, then grabbed the beer and took a sip.

  When he looked at her full on, she realized he was handsome. But the past few years hadn’t been kind. Amelia wasn’t captivated by his spell, but she could tell why a girl like Starla-Ann might fall for him.

  He looked like Superman with dark hair, huge broad shoulders, and big hands that could be protective or menacing depending on his mood. He was in jeans and a flannel shirt with work boots that had to be size fourteens if not bigger.

  She saw the telltale sign of a beer gut beneath that f
lannel. His nails were chewed to the quick. His teeth were straight but stained yellow from tobacco, and he hadn’t shaved.

  “I wanted to ask you about Preston.”

  A shadow fell over him, his face freezing into stone.

  He signaled to the bartender then tapped the shot glass in front of him. Like a trained monkey, the bartender came over, poured another three fingers’ worth in the tiny glass, and then left again.

  “Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?” Amelia scooted over to the empty barstool that was between them, closing the gap. It was a risky move. She had no idea what Kyle’s temperament was like. Aside from yelling loudly, Sandra never said he struck Starla-Ann or Preston. But there was a first time for everything.

  After tossing back the shot and chasing it with a long swig of beer again, Kyle hunched over the bar.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  Swallowing hard, Amelia cleared her throat.

  “Sandra Dwight told me.”

  He laughed bitterly.

  “I’ll bet she told you it was all my fault, too. I bet she told you I killed my own son. Didn’t she? Did she tell you that I went out with her before Starla?”

  Amelia froze.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Kyle reached into the breast pocket for his cigarettes. He banged a fresh pack against the heel of his palm while he smiled at Amelia. He pulled off the cellophane and silver top and offered a smoke to Amelia, who shook her head no. “Are you a cop?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  He leaned in so close to Amelia that she could feel his breath against her cheek.

  “Then what are you doing in a place like this, nosing around in business that is none of yours?”

  She didn’t move or flinch but turned to face him squarely.

  “When a child is murdered in the town I live in and no one is ever caught, it becomes my business.” She didn’t blink and let out a deep breath as if she were waiting for him to finally say something worth listening to.

  Leaning back, Kyle lit his cigarette and, as Sandra had half a dozen times, took a long drag off it. For a second, the tip of his nose and his chin glowed an eerie red from the burning tobacco then faded away.