Kiss and Make Up
Book 1- Silent Partner Series
Sheila Hudson
Copyright 2017 Sheila Hudson
Take Me Away Books, a division of Winged Publications
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the authors.
Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
1
“Mollie Irene McLachlan.”
I cringe every time I hear someone use my full name. The only person who ever used my full name was my mother when I was in trouble.
The clerk looked up as I made my way to the counter. My imagination is on overtime as I envision dozens of eyes boring into my back. The clientele here at the Department of Motor Vehicles look as uninterested as the clerk. The only reason I’m here at this mind-numbing facility is to apply for a chauffeur’s license.
My job at the Northeast Georgia Beacon has recently been expanded to include hosting celebs when they visit our little corner of the south. Armed with my journalism degree, I sought employment at the local newspaper as a stepping stone to my ultimate goal of becoming a best-selling novelist. And if I pick up a Pulitzer Prize on the way, so be it. So here I sit staring at gray walls at the DMV with a roomful of fellow Georgians. That is, until my name got called.
“Are you Ms. McLachlan?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered softly.
“Sign this. Initial this,” she said and thrust some papers at me.
I obeyed. She snapped my picture and gave me a temporary license. Cool! With this piece of paper I could drive a limo, a people mover, a bus, or just about anything with wheels. I was so enthused over my new credentials that I almost forgot the time.
I was commissioned to drive to the Hartsfield International Airport to pick up Rosalie Adams, a local musician who made good. The Beacon’s owner found out that Rosie of Rock with Rosie fame was returning home for a reunion with her former bandmates. He used some contacts and wangled an exclusive interview for the newspaper. I begged the owner to let me conduct the interview but picking her up at the airport was all he offered.
“You can chat on the way,” the old curmudgeon said.
As a consolation prize, Lincoln Travers, our ace reporter, agreed to let me to sit in. The Beacon didn’t actually own a limo yet but the powers that be were planning ahead. Hence, the special license. Meanwhile, I was in a borrowed Cadillac Deville which belonged to Finn Anderson, the curmudgeons’ son.
My fingers were crossed that I could ask a few questions of Ms. Adams on the hour and a half drive between the airport and the office. I thought of pitching her memoirs which I would ghost write. Even though she’s not more than thirty-five other young things have written memoirs, Paris Hilton for instance. Maybe we wouldn’t even call it a memoir but a travelogue, a look back at childhood, or a cookbook. I was desperate to link my name to someone famous.
My brain was full of ideas as I swung the Cady onto the freeway. Thank goodness it wasn’t crowded today. I popped in a CD of the latest Rosie Adams’ vocals. I wanted to get some idea of what made her so popular with the Gen Xers.
The trip to the airport went quickly. With help from a Sky Cap, Ms. Adams’ luggage was loaded and she was safely ensconced into my car. Ms. Adams wore dark shades and wasn’t overly friendly but the red eye from London could do that to you.
“Ms. Adams, my name is Mollie. Would you like a soft drink or perhaps a bottle of water?”
“No. Thank you. I’m not feeling well so I prefer to nap on the way to the interview,” she answered.
“Of course. The trip will take about an hour and a half depending on traffic,” I answered.
And that was that. No small talk. No conversation at all. Ms. Adams pulled out a bottle of nasal spray and used it, put on a sleep mask, and reclined. I waved ‘bye-bye’ to the scoop that would launch my career.
By the time we’d reached the city limits, I had put a better spin on the situation. With Ms. Adams properly rested from her jaunt across the pond, I would offer facilities for her to freshen up and even proffer refreshments. Then I’d have my chance at a pitch.
Delighted at my effort to be positive, I cranked up the volume of the CD. The volume didn’t seem to faze my passenger. I was happily traveling on the freeway oblivious to the situation I would face when we arrived at our destination.
2
The Beacon’s offices had recently moved to Central Avenue so the employees were still parking challenged. I found a parking space on the street directly across from the paper’s entrance and fed the parking meter.
Ms. Adams didn’t move a muscle when I opened the trunk and removed her briefcase. After her interview with Lincoln, I would escort her to the Hilton Gardens. The newspaper had reserved a suite for Ms. Adams and her entourage who were due to arrive tomorrow.
Gently I opened the passenger side door and tapped Ms. Adams’ on her sleeve.
“Ms. Adams, we’ve arrived,” I whispered. She didn’t stir so I tapped a bit harder and said in a louder tone, “Ms. Adams, we’re at the newspaper for your interview. You have to wake up now.”
But alas she didn’t wake up. When I touched her hand and it flopped beside her, I knew why.
~
When I opened my eyes there were lights and sirens everywhere. Finn Anderson glared at me.
“Are you okay, Mollie?” Finn looked worried. It wasn’t a good look for him. Normally Finn was unflappable, a guise which complimented his olive skin and pale grey eyes. I’ve had a crush on him ever since he came to our little burg last year. Apparently the curmudgeon was feeling his age and wanted to mentor junior to take over the family business.
“What happened? Did I faint?”
“Apparently.”
“Where’s Ms. Adams?” I asked as soon as I remembered my task.
“I’m sorry to tell you that Ms. Rosalie Adams is dead.” Finn barely got the words out when a police officer interceded.
“Ma’am. If you are up to it we need you to go to the station and answer a few questions,” he said in his matter-of-fact voice. He’d probably said that phrase a million times. I expected to hear the lyrics from “Dragnet”. Was he serious?
Finn helped me out of the ambulance. Someone handed me a bottle of water. I sipped the liquid gold.
“Want me to go with you?” he asked.
Another nod. Did I have a choice? Sure I’d go to the police station, but what could I tell them? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This death was as big of a mystery to me as it was to everyone else.
~
The interrogation seemed to take forever. When it was over, Finn was waiting for me. He informed me that Beacon’s lawyer would represent me. That’s when I got panicky. Why did I need a lawyer? Obviously Rosie died of something that didn’t concern me. All I did was drive the car.
I overheard the discussion between officers about Ms. Adams’ body being transported to the morgue. From other cases I’d read about I knew that in our burg only a minimum of testing could be done without sending the results to Atlanta. That alone would take a few extra days to get results. Ms. Adams’ next of kin had to be notified, but no funeral plans could be made because this case would be classified as a homicide investigation or something that reflected a suspicious cause of death. I had been in pre-law for a stint and knew a few things. One of which is t
hat a perfectly healthy person doesn’t get in the back seat and just die on the way to an interview. Something had to have happened. But what?
And there was her entourage who were scheduled to arrive tomorrow from London. Did they know Rosie was dead or was her unusual demise being kept under wraps? Who wanted Rosie Adams dead? Who would benefit the most from her death? Was it suicide? Not likely since she was on her way to a reunion and a sold out crowd who worshipped her. Was it an accidental death of some kind?
My mind felt like a tilt-a-whirl at the fair. Perhaps Rosie had a seizure. If so, it was a quiet one. I’d read about people developing seizures in their adult life. What did we know about Rosie’s health issues? I knew she didn’t encounter anything on our journey from the airport. What could account for her death? She didn’t call out, struggle, foam at the mouth, or do anything obvious. I was stumped and I wasn’t the only one.
Finn graciously took me home and saw that all was as it should be before he left. I was too keyed up to sleep so I pulled my sister’s journal from the top shelf of my closet.
The cover had a picture of me and my twin, Maggie Inez McLachlan. Her words had become my chief coping mechanism. Our mother selected names which would give us the same initials M.I.M. I suppose that she didn’t think being identical was confusing enough. Her cute trick made monogramming as identification out of the question.
Maggie and I were born three minutes apart with me being the senior twin. I never let my sister forget that. Maggie was smaller at birth and always a little more delicate. Maggie was the quiet one, the studious one, the serious one. She was the Voice of Reason who kept me in line even when I didn’t appreciate it.
Our mother dressed us alike as children like every other mother of twins. But when we reached an age of fashionista rebellion, Maggie and I developed completely different tastes in almost everything.
Maggie wore glasses and I preferred contact lens. Maggie favored fuss free short hairstyles while I wanted pony tails, beehives, and shoulder length tresses. Even as a young child, Maggie was the one who played happily with her toys while I stuck things into electrical outlets and ate out of the dog’s food bowl. I climbed the trees and went to the emergency room; Maggie took care of me until the cast came off.
As different as our personalities were, we adored each other. If you looked up ‘inseparable’ in the dictionary, you’d find Maggie and Mollie McLachlan. Like every other set of twins in the universe, we tried fooling others but it only took a few moments for them to identify who was who.
When Maggie and I were juniors at Piedmont Southern College, an epidemic of bacterial pneumonia plagued our state. This virulent strain resisted the vaccinations our school nurse had administered. It raged through the community and eventually our dorm. Maggie was too weak to fight off the disease. For days I stayed by her side praying that she would recover. Our mother hovered fearing that I would succumb to the pneumonia as well, but I was spared. Mother and I were devastated to lose Maggie. In reality she has never left my side. I don’t think of her as gone just not present all of the time.
Maggie and I had a language all our own. Since we shared cells and an environment for nearly a year, we’ve never really parted except on a physical plane. Maggie was a prolific writer. Reading her journals comforts me in troubled times.
My twin is still as real to me as my right hand, but when I’ve tried to explain that to another person it proves impossible. Once I attempted to describe our relationship to a guy I was dating. Roger’s eyes dilated and he never called me again. I’m sure he placed me in the “weirdest girl ever” column and headed for the hills. I vowed never to make that mistake again. No one could fully understand our relationship except another twin. I’ve read that Elvis Presley often talked to his twin. Could Maggie help me in this predicament with Rosie Adams? Only time could tell.
3
I fell asleep on the sofa reading Maggie’s journals and awoke to the sound of someone pounding on a door. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was MY door they were pounding on.
“Ms. McLachlan,” a voice called. “Open up. It’s the police.”
That shook me awake. I slipped on a robe and opened the door to a man in uniform. He flashed his credentials and asked,
“Are you Mollie McLachlan?”
I rubbed my eyes and nodded.
“I’m Officer Dade. I have orders to escort you back to the precinct as a person of interest in the death of Ms. Rosalie Adams.”
“But I just came from the precinct a few hours ago. I told them everything I knew which wasn’t much.”
“I understand,” he said. “But I have orders.”
I was stunned. How could this happen? I hadn’t even touched the woman. I knew nothing of the circumstances. It was a simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
At least the officer allowed me to change clothes and agreed not to handcuff me. Still my neighbors got an eyeful as a uniformed police officer marched me out of my apartment building and into a cruiser.
On the way downtown, I thought about Maggie’s entries in her journal. She sometimes included photographs to go along with her thoughts. This section of the journal was penned the summer before Maggie died. She and I had a crush on the same boy at camp where we were counselors. Mother scolded us like we were children and repeatedly reminded us to “kiss and make up.” That’s what she said when we were children and quarreled over something. Why did that phrase stick in my mind? I heard it so clearly. Maggie even repeated it while she taunted me about the boyfriend. Could my subconscious be telling me something? Or perhaps my brain was reminding me of a happier time in my life compared to the current chaos my life had become. There we were in our swimsuits staring at each other – all over a boy.
Finn was already at the precinct when I arrived. He patted my shoulder as Officer Dade and I entered the police station again.
“Don’t say anything. Your lawyer is on his way. I’ll take care of everything. This is a huge mistake,” Finn assured me.
I nodded. A female police officer privately searched me. She took my purse, my cell phone, and even a book I brought to pass the time. Were they afraid I’d place a weapon in the novel? This is so crazy that it’s beyond belief. I pray that I wake up and this is just one hell of a bad dream. I hope this is one of those times I’ll look back on and laugh.
One good thing was that my curmudgeon boss, the elder Anderson, will take them to task for arresting me without a motive, evidence, or any witnesses. I was thankful that Finn was in my corner. He wouldn’t let them get away with this mishandling of justice. As I was counting my blessings, another person entered the room. He stared at me and I at him. He looked familiar.
“Mollie?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember me? I’m Jonathan Olson. That is Detective Jonathan Olson.”
“So you became a policeman?”
“Yes. I’ve just become a detective with the county force. How are you involved with all this?”
And so I retold Detective Olson what little I knew about the entire incident which was almost nothing. He smiled a few times but was mostly deadpan. I think they teach that in the police academy. We went over my testimony line by line. Then he asked about my personal life since graduation and college.
When I got to the part about Maggie’s death and Mom’s breast cancer, I saw him get a little misty. He knew me and my twin in high school but after graduation we went in opposite pursuits.
I brought him up to speed about my job with the newspaper and Ms. Adams’ unfortunate demise in the back of my boss’ car. He apologized for bringing me back into the precinct, but he had just been assigned the case.
“Mollie, I want to thank you for your patience with us. I had to go through this formality so I could do my report,” Jonathan explained. “We have to be thorough in cases where foul play is suspected and until we get the lab results from Atlanta this case is a homicide.”
“A homicide. How ca
n that be? She just quietly died in the car. Wasn’t it a heart attack or a stroke or some kind of reaction?”
“We have to consider everything. Until we rule it out, foul play could be involved,” Detective Olson used his authoritative voice. “We don’t have very much to go on – just your testimony that she was okay when you picked her up and dead when she arrived here – with no stops in between.”
“Yes that’s correct. We didn’t stop on the way here. I offered her water but she said no and went to sleep,” I reiterated.
“Yes it’s right here in the records that Officer Dade turned in. I hope you understand that I must insist that you don’t leave the state until the case is closed. I apologize for the inconvenience of coming in twice, but I had to get your side of the story just in case you remembered something after the initial incident. In my experience shock does things to people and when they’ve had a little down time sometimes events become clearer.”
“Did Ms. Adams show any signs of nausea, vomiting, or difficulty speaking?” the detective inquired.
“No. But, come to think of Rosie – Ms. Adams - did mention that she wasn’t feeling well. She wore dark glasses and only took them off to put on a sleep mask. I offered her water but she declined. I noticed that she walked rather stiffly and seemed to be breathing hard. I laid it to the fact that the number of hours on an airplane from London to Atlanta would make anyone stiff,” I said. “As for the breathing, it was over 90 degrees and humid so anyone not used to it would breathe heavily.”
“Interesting,” Olson mused and made some notes. He punched the intercom and said to the officer who answered “Sargent, make a note to interview the pilot and flight attendants who were on the flight with Ms. Adams. We need to know everything that she ingested.”
“Yes sir,” the Sargent answered.
“Thank you, Mollie, your information has been most helpful since you and the Sky Cap were the last two people to see Ms. Rosalie Adams alive. You are free to go. Please take my card and let me know if you think of anything no matter how small that may help in this investigation. And as I’ve already mentioned, we must insist that you don’t leave town.”
Kiss and Make Up Page 1