Hot, Shot, and Bothered

by Nora McFarland

  I gestured to the row of checkout stands. Only half of them were open, despite long lines. “We should ask for the owner.”

  Rod didn’t move. “Before we do that, let’s make a game plan for how we’re going to handle the interview.”

  “Okay. What would you like me to do?”

  “Don’t accuse anyone of murder.”

  I gave him a dirty look. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “This is outrageous,” a woman screamed at a nearby clerk. “You knew there was a fire. Why didn’t you stock more decaf vanilla roast?”

  Rod looked back at me. “I’m going to ease into the interview and only come around to the drowning at the end. He’ll be less likely to throw us out that way.”

  “I promise not to accuse anyone of murder, but you should know going in, I don’t particularly care if this ends with us getting thrown out. All I want is to find out what really happened to Jessica. If we run out of time, I’m going to get aggressive.”

  He sighed. “What do you want me to do while you’re getting aggressive?”

  “Watch for lying. You’re much better at reading people than I am.”

  He agreed, so we approached a salesclerk and asked for the owner. The manager came to speak with us instead. I shot while Rod asked questions about the high demand for essentials such as bottled water and canned goods. There’d also been a run on garden hoses and batteries.

  After the brief interview I shot B-roll of the store. Rod stood nearby with the manager. I heard him casually ask, “How much longer will you be open?”

  “I’m not sure. About half our employees have already called out, so we may have to close after tonight.”

  “Are the owners around? Maybe we can speak to them directly.”

  “You can try, but Mr. Fitzgerald’s not a big talker.” The manager pointed to the man outside nailing plywood to the windows. “And he’s trying to get the windows covered in case there’s looting tomorrow.”

  We went outside. Fitzgerald wore the same outfit as his employees, but his green dress shirt had sweat stains under the armpits.

  “Hi. We’re from KJAY,” Rod said. “I understand you’re Mr. Fitzgerald. Can I ask you a few questions about your plans for the store?”

  Our interruption didn’t distract him from hammering the next nail. “Mr. Fitzgerald was my dad.”

  I set down my sticks. “Fitz, then?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and looked at us for the first time. I couldn’t see his mouth under the handkerchief, but his eyes crinkled as if he was smiling. “That was my dad too. My name’s Lee.” He placed another nail on the plywood and hammered it in.

  Rod waited for him to finish, then said, “Can we ask you some questions, Lee?”

  Fitzgerald tested the piece of wood with the palm of his hand, then got down from the ladder. He was probably about forty pounds overweight. “You should come back later and talk to my wife. She’s good with public speaking and stuff like that.”

  Rod wasn’t deterred. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”

  “Sorry, but I have to get more plywood.” He began walking down the front of the store past the still uncovered windows.

  Rod glanced at his watch. “We don’t mind waiting.”

  Fitzgerald stopped. His back was to us, but after a pause he turned. “I don’t want to talk about the drowning.”

  NINE

  Friday, 12:52 a.m.

  Light poured out the store windows and covered Fitzgerald, but the handkerchief hid most of his facial expressions. “It’s a sad thing. We were all in school together. My wife is very upset. Neither of us wants a bunch of publicity.”

  I spoke first. “Did the police warn you we were asking questions?”

  “An officer called my wife and said you’d been trying to get our name.” He actually sounded a little embarrassed. “I think he was giving us the VIP treatment. It’s probably not ethical, but we’re a small town.”

  I hadn’t expected a blunt admission and was momentarily thrown.

  In contrast, Rod knew exactly what to say. “You must see how suspicious that kind of deference looks, even if you didn’t ask for it. And refusing to answer a few of our simple questions only makes it look worse.”

  Fitzgerald shook his head. “I told you, I don’t want to go on camera about Jessica.”

  “We won’t record you.” Rod glanced back at me and I reluctantly nodded. “And it won’t take long. There’s a one-thirty briefing with the governor. We need to leave soon if we’re going to make it.” Rod walked to Fitzgerald, passed him, and continued down the front of the store. “Come on. We can help you with the plywood while we talk.”

  Fitzgerald hesitated, but then joined him. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt, just to talk.”

  I grabbed my gear, but stayed a step or two behind. I wasn’t happy about Fitzgerald not being on camera, but at least he’d agreed to answer questions.

  “It’s bad luck I guess.” Fitzgerald had a slow, almost shuffly way of walking that made him look short even though he was fairly tall. “You know, bad luck that it happened at all, and at a time like this.”

  In contrast, Rod looked lean and fit. “Why was Jessica Egan staying with you? It does seem like an odd time for a visit.”

  “She came to check on her father, but by the time she arrived, he’d already evacuated.”

  “Has she stayed with you before?”

  We passed the last of the windows and the light abruptly fell off.

  Fitzgerald continued in front of the dark garden center. “No. Jessica left home after high school and we didn’t see her again until last fall. She came into the store one day out of the blue. She and Byrdie got to talking—that’s my wife. It was sort of like old times.”

  He stopped before a padlocked iron gate and pulled a set of keys off his belt. “I’ve seen her in the store four or five more times since then, but we haven’t talked much.”

  I tried to sound easygoing, like Rod, but wasn’t very successful. “Her brother said she’d only visited once this past year.”

  Fitzgerald glanced back at me. Between the darkness and the handkerchief, I had no idea how to read him. “I guess she didn’t tell her family she was here.” He unlocked the gate and we all entered.

  This part of the store was enclosed by mesh and open to the air and smoke. The space was dark except for light coming through the open doorway of a room in the back. Fitzgerald led us past long displays of plants and flowers covered in plastic tarps. Everything had ash and soot on it. I could feel the fine sandy substance in the slide of my boots as they hit the ground.

  We reached the room at the back. “Sorry for the walk.” Fitzgerald pulled the handkerchief down so it hung around his neck. He had a pleasant face, but a roll of neck fat was threatening to swallow his chin. “My office is separate from the others. I prefer it back here.”

  A desk was in the corner, but a long table in the center was clearly the heart of the room. The only lights hung above it. Someone had been potting seedlings, but had abandoned the job.

  “I’d prefer it here too,” Rod said as he looked around. “This is much nicer than a cramped office with fluorescent lights.”

  The air smelled like soil and reminded me of my early childhood on the farm. A muted flat-screen TV hung on the wall playing a cable news channel. It looked out of place in what was basically a really big garden shed.

  Fitzgerald knelt at a large stack of plywood sheets. “The Garden Center has always been my baby.” He gestured back to a framed photo on his desk. “My wife, Byrdie, is the one with business sense. I just like playing in the dirt.”

  I thought I recognized the smiling woman kneeling in front of a flower bed. Jessica hadn’t had any friends the summer I knew her, so it was unlikely I’d met her then. The same woman was in several more pictures with two young boys.

  Fitzgerald passed a waist-high stack of plywood sheets, then unlocked a set of double doors onto a rear alley. “My truck’s out here. I
f you don’t mind helping me load the wood, I can drive it around front.”

  “Of course.” Rod took off his suit jacket and laid it on Fitzgerald’s desk. His vest, like everything else, was tailored perfectly to his body.

  As Fitzgerald opened the doors, a shower of built-up ash fell. He coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. He turned toward the alley and began to raise the handkerchief again.

  “Hold on.” I set down my gear. “We’re happy to help, but before you go out there, I’d like to hear an account of what happened yesterday.”

  He shrugged. “Jessica called Byrdie and asked if we could put her up for the night. Her dad’s place was locked up and there weren’t any motel rooms to be had. Byrdie ran home to let Jessica in, but only stayed a few minutes before she had to get back to work.”

  He reached for the handkerchief again. “I figure Jessica got bored there by herself and decided to visit Road’s End. You add alcohol to the equation and you get a sad ending.” He pulled the fabric up over his face and stepped into the alley.

  Rod knelt by the stack of wood and made several attempts to pick up the plywood in a way that wouldn’t damage his clothes. “Where were your children?”

  Fitzgerald lowered the back on a flatbed truck. “We sent them to stay with relatives in Merced last week.”

  Rod carefully picked up several pieces of plywood.

  Fitzgerald pointed. “That’s heavy. Maybe you shouldn’t . . .” He trailed off as Rod easily carried the load.

  I’d made the same mistake when we first met. Just because Rod was dapper and not especially big didn’t mean the man wasn’t packing muscle under his hand-sewn Italian shirtsleeves.

  Rod offered the sheets. “Was it your boat that Jessica Egan took out last night?”

  Fitzgerald took the plywood, but had to quickly drop the weight in the truck. “Our house is on the lake and we’ve got a tiny dock. Nothing fancy, but I like taking our boys out fishing like my dad took me.”

  I followed Rod with another sheet and handed it to Fitzgerald. “Why would Jessica go to Road’s End?”

  “The summer before she left town, Jessica got in with a wild crowd that liked to party out there.”

  Truthfully, I was the one who liked to party out there, not Jessica, but for obvious reasons I didn’t say so. Instead, I waited for him to turn back around and face me. “How did a woman with a bad shoulder start an old two-stroke motor?”

  He stared at me for a moment. The fabric covering his open mouth moved in and out with his breath. “You’re right. I do remember something being wrong with her shoulder, but it’s been so long. She must have had therapy or surgery or something.”

  I stepped back so Rod could bring more wood. After the hand-off, Rod stopped and waited for Fitzgerald’s attention. What he said next surprised me.

  “I don’t mean to be offensive, Mr. Fitzgerald, but I sense that perhaps there’s something you’re holding back?” Leave it to Rod to call someone a liar while still sounding polite and respectful. “Maybe there’s something on your mind that you’re not sharing?”

  Fitzgerald looked Rod straight in the eye and pulled down the handkerchief. “I didn’t like Jessica. That’s probably what you’re picking up on. It seems wrong to speak badly of her now, but I feel like a hypocrite.”

  Rod nodded. “That’s very understandable.”

  “When we were kids, we were all friends because our parents were all friends. It was easy. We loved this place. The lake and mountain were our playground. Then in middle school, Byrdie and I fell in love and Jessica went steady with my best friend, so the four of us were always double-dating.”

  “What happened to change things?”

  “After her mom died, Jessica got into radical environmental stuff and lost her way. She picked up bad habits. Stuff Byrdie and I didn’t want any part of. By our senior year of high school, we’d completely cut ties with her.”

  “What kind of bad habits?” Rod asked.

  “I suspected drugs. It’s very possible she was doing more than drinking last night.” He tilted his head down. His chin disappeared completely into the roll of fat. “And monogamy definitely wasn’t her thing. She always had a different guy around.”

  I felt my anger start to simmer.

  “I don’t mean to be indelicate,” Rod said, “but could she have been meeting a man last night? Maybe out at this island?”

  “Byrdie might know better than me, but, yes, it’s possible.” Fitzgerald hesitated. “And earlier, when you mentioned her visiting without telling her family, I didn’t like to say . . .”

  “It’s okay,” Rod said. “I know you don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but you can tell us the truth.”

  “Back in high school, Jessica didn’t join up with those protesters because she believed in their cause. She did it because they had easy access to drugs and they liked to party. Poor Jessica was a lost soul.” Fitzgerald shrugged. “If she’s been visiting this past year without her family knowing, she was probably doing more of the same.”

  “That’s it.” My hands shot to my hips. “I’m not going to stand here while you slander a dead woman.”

  Fitzgerald stared back at me. “I’m not slandering anyone. How would you know what Jessica was like?”

  “Because I knew her.”

  Rod’s mouth opened in surprise.

  Fitzgerald just looked confused. “Is this some kind of bad joke?”

  “I used to live here and I knew Jessica before she moved to L.A.” I walked toward him. “She was smart and principled. She fought for the environment and animal rights because she believed in it. She was not some drug-addict party girl.”

  I stopped directly in front of him. “So why are you lying? What really happened last night, Lee? Did you come on to her? Or maybe you two were having an affair?”

  Rod tried to intervene. “Hold on, Lilly.”

  “I would never cheat on Byrdie.” Fitzgerald didn’t sound especially upset or emotional. “And definitely not with Jessica.”

  “Prove it,” I said. “Where were you last night when Jessica died?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Right here. There are plenty of people who can vouch for me.” He looked at Rod. “And my wife has plenty of people who can vouch for her. She was only home long enough to let Jessica in before she had to go back to work.”

  “Of course.” Rod stepped between us. “I’m very sorry for my colleague’s offensive tone. She’s been working for seventeen hours straight.”

  Lee walked to his desk where a box of Chips Ahoy! sat next to his computer. “It’s okay. I don’t mind answering questions about our alibis. I’m relieved, actually.” He took a cookie from the box. “I was worried you were doing a story about Byrdie pressuring the police and Forest Service to look for Jessica’s body.”

  He reached for the TV remote with his free hand. “If you really think there’s something suspicious about Jessica’s death, you should try talking to her current friends.” He gestured to the monitor. “I saw her in the store with this group a couple different times this past year.” He raised the volume. “I think they all live together in a house on the other side of the mountain.”

  The clip of the mad scientist I’d seen Slim feeding back to L.A. was on. He gestured wildly as he spoke in his Bond-villain accent. “They are not lizards. They’re salamanders and evacuating would be morally reprehensible.” A group of college students stood behind him like minions. Among them was the young man with the glasses and ponytail and the blond girl in the tank top whose sound bite was going viral.

  Fitzgerald pointed at the mad scientist. “This guy is notorious in the store. Hits on all the female employees. He actually pinched a salesclerk’s behind.”

  “Who is he?” I said.

  Fitzgerald muted the TV again. “I don’t know, but the young man with the ponytail and glasses—I think he said his name was Farris—he was in the store earlier tonight asking about Jessica. She was supposed to meet him toda
y, but never showed.” Fitzgerald’s voice dropped. “I had to explain why.” He reached for another cookie.

  Rod looked at me. “I think it’s time we left.”

  “Hold on.” I turned to Fitzgerald. “I want to talk to your wife.” Fitzgerald laughed. “Be my guest. She’s over at the school in Elizabeth.”

  “What? You mean Incident Command Headquarters?”

  He nodded. “You’ll see her at the briefing. She’ll be the one standing next to the governor.” He gestured to one of the photos on his desk. “Byrdie is our mayor.”

  I took a closer look at the woman in the photos. I pictured her with a lot more makeup and high-heel shoes. I’d met her in the briefing tent.

  “You promised not to accuse anyone of murder.”

  I glanced around the parking lot to make sure no one could hear us. “I didn’t accuse him of murder. I accused him of adultery. I only implied that he killed her.”

  Rod pulled me into the relative privacy of the live truck. “Have you lost your mind? You’re on assignment. You represent the station.”

  I began putting away equipment. “I’m sorry, but this is more important than the station’s reputation.”

  He paused. When he next spoke, his voice was softer. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew her? We’re a team. That’s a huge piece of information to hide.”

  There was no chance I was going to tell him the truth. Saying that I was ashamed of the girl I used to be would be like introducing him to the girl I used to be. “I knew you’d think it was unethical for me to work on the story, and I can’t stop. I owe Jessica.”

  “It is unethical.” He tried to get me to look at him, but I knelt and secured the Velcro straps over my sticks. “But I don’t think that’s why you kept it from me.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  I heard him take a deep breath. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  I suddenly felt like a woman who’d been working for seventeen hours. I sat down on the floor of the truck and leaned my back against the wall. “She wasn’t my friend.”

  Rod sat down too. He didn’t even try to protect his clothes from the accumulation of dirt and grime on the floor. “Even if it’s been a long time since you knew her, that doesn’t mean she wasn’t your friend.”