Beast of a Feast

by Melanie Jackson

  “Because Officer Gordon is heading up the investigation.”

  I opted to keep my mouth shut and not tell him what I thought of his decision to put Gordon in charge of the case. Especially since he put the extra emphasis on the officer label. I was about to leave his office when he called me back.

  “Hey, Boston. Step in here for a minute. I’d like to have a talk with you.”

  Uh oh, I thought. I closed the door and took a seat.

  “What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

  “I’m having friends and family over to my place for dinner,” I replied suspiciously.

  “I thought that might be the case. Look, there’s this new girl I’ve been dating. I wonder if you’d mind if I brought her over after dinner. I’d like you to meet her and maybe tell me what you think.”

  A woman? My interest perked up. However, this was the first time the Chief had ever asked me to check out a woman for him. Usually he wanted betting tips. I proceeded tentatively.

  “Yeah sure, that would be fine,” I began. “What exactly are you looking for here, Chief? Do you want me to perform an investigation on her?”

  “Oh no,” he quickly replied. “Nothing like that.” I’ve already done that myself, his attitude implied. “Look, Boston. Things are starting to get serious with this woman. Before things get too involved, I’d like to have another woman’s perspective. You know, from someone whose opinion I trust.”

  “What is this woman’s name?”

  “Barbara,” he purred, and almost had to wipe the drool from his chin. “She’s wonderful.”

  “Then what do you need me for?”

  “I just want to make sure, that’s all.” He sounded stubborn and I began to wonder if his gut was tipping him off that something was wrong.

  “Look, Chief, if it’s that important to you, why don’t you bring Barbara by for dinner?” I asked before I could pinch my lips shut.

  “Thanks, Chloe. I think I’ll do that,” he replied before I could change my mind.

  That made sixteen. Now I could serve two full tables. That is if I could borrow an extra dining room table from Mr. Jackman.

  “You know, Chloe. I happen to know that Officer Larry Bryce doesn’t have any plans for Thanksgiving. It’s sad to be alone on Thanksgiving.”

  Make that seventeen.

  “Sure, bring him along.”

  “Thanks. I just know you’re going to love Barbara. She’s got a great…” he began before remembering who he was talking to. “Mind,” he completed awkwardly.

  “I’m sure she does,” I assured him.

  I was about to rise and leave his office when he began talking again.

  “Boy, I’m glad you offered to have us over for dinner. I cooked Thanksgiving dinner, turkey and all, for a girlfriend once and it was a disaster.”

  And before I knew what was happening, ready or not, he told me the story…

  The Story of the Thanksgiving Toilet Brush

  I was dating this girl, when I was in my early twenties. Her name was Helen. Anyway, I really liked this girl a lot, so I did everything I could think of to impress her. I took her to fancy parties and out dancing. I took her to expensive restaurants and to plays. I even took her to the opera once, and since they were singing in Italian, you couldn’t tell what was going on. After a few months of dating, we were getting close. You know, things were getting serious between the two of us.

  Then Thanksgiving came rolling around, and I decided I was going to really impress this girl by offering to cook Thanksgiving dinner, just for the two of us and a couple of friends. She took me up on the offer right away. The only problem was, I didn’t know how to cook. So, I went to the bookstore to buy an armload of cookbooks and started reading.

  As it turned out, it was a lot easier to read about cooking than it was to actually do it. I could peel the potatoes alright, but when it came to the turkey, I was thoroughly intimidated. So, I called Helen on the phone to ask for instructions. She told me how to thaw the turkey, how many hours I needed to cook it, and that I needed to baste the bird while it was cooking. Then she told me to be sure to remove the packet of innards from the chest cavity and to scrub out the inside with a brush. All this time, I was frantically taking notes. Somewhat better prepared, but still ill at ease, I hung up the phone and got to work.

  When Helen arrived for dinner, my apartment smelled incredible. I offered her a glass of wine and had her sit at the card table that I’d set with candles and the matching Star Wars glasses I’d gotten at the gas station. You know, all my nicest things. Then I went back to my bedroom to change. Next, our guests arrived and I got to impress them as well. Everything is going great. Helen helped me to finish with the cooking. It took a while for everything to arrive at the table, but everyone was having fun and no one seemed upset. Then, out came the bird. It was a perfect golden brown. During the meal, everyone kept complementing me on the incredible job I’d done. I couldn’t help but smile even though the turkey was a little dry. I followed everything up with an apple pie I’d bought from a local bakery. The dinner was a huge success; I knew this because Helen told me so before giving me a big kiss.

  Afterward, Helen and our guests offered to clean up. I sat at the table, full to bursting, enjoying the last of the wine and basking in the glow of my success. Then I heard Helen call me from the kitchen.

  “Randy, what’s this doing in the dishwasher?”

  I stepped into the kitchen to see what she was pointing at.

  “It’s the toilet brush I used to scrub out the inside of the turkey,” I explained.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing. Our friends’ mouths dropped open. Helen turned green and looked like she was going to throw up in the sink.

  “What? I cleaned it before using it,” I said in my own defense.

  What followed could be best described as a mass exodus from my apartment. I didn’t even get a chance to explain that it was a new brush. My friends said they were going to rush straight to the hospital and have their stomachs pumped. Helen slapped me hard across the face before leaving.

  Helen stopped answering or returning my calls after that meal. I never saw her again even though no one actually got sick.

  * * *

  “Oh, Chief. A toilet brush?” I said in disgust.

  “But it was brand new,” he insisted.

  “But still,” I scolded.

  “Anyway, you can see why I’m glad you’ll be cooking Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t want to mess up again and lose this girl.”

  “She really means that much to you?”

  “She may be the one.”

  We sat and considered his story for a moment. I started to chuckle and soon we were both laughing. Eventually, we stopped, each having to wipe tears from our eyes.

  “Is there anything I can bring?” the Chief asked.

  “Maybe you ought to stick to a bottle of wine,” I suggested.

  He didn’t argue with me.

  “Oh, and Boston,” the Chief said as I was about to leave his office.

  “Yes?”

  “Try not to piss off Gordon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is his first big case, and I know you two don’t get along. Just go easy on him.”

  “You know it,” I said, flashing my perky smile.

  Stepping from the Chief’s office, I literally ran into none other than Officer Gordon himself.

  “Just remember, Boston,” he said smugly, “don’t piss me off.”

  “Where you listening at the door again?”

  “Maybe. What of it?”

  I just shook my head in response.

  “What were you talking about with the Chief?”

  “He was just telling me a story. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

  “You want to hear a story? I’ll tell you a story.”

  “No, I don’t especially want to hear a story.”

  Gordon ignored me.

  “Two idi
ots are building a house. The first idiot notices the second idiot is going through a box of nails throwing away every other nail. ‘What are you doing?’ the first idiot asks. The second idiot answers, ‘Every other nail has the head on the wrong end.’ Then the first idiot says, ‘You idiot, those are for the other side of the house.’”

  Gordon started laughing. Then he bent over double and started laughing even harder. Soon he was slapping his knee and gasping for breath. I was afraid he might be having a bout of apoplexy.

  “That’s not a story, Gordon. That’s a joke. And an old joke at that.”

  “Better than scrubbing food with a toilet brush,” he gasped.

  “You were listening in.”

  He stood upright and beamed a grotesquely broad smile at me.

  “It really irks me when you do that.”

  “What?”

  “Listening in on conversations in the Chief’s office.”

  “Remember, Boston, you’re not supposed to piss me off,” he reminded me, stuffing his fat finger in my face. “Anyway, what do you want that might piss me off?”

  “I want to take a look at the Daniel Evans case file,” I said, already exasperated with him.

  “What for?”

  I released a long sigh and managed to count to three before he annoyed me yet again.

  “Speak up. I don’t have all day.”

  “I wanted to see if I can get an idea of where Daniel might be from the police report,” I explained, slowly and calmly.

  “It’s on my desk.”

  “Thank you,” I said, turning away.

  “I didn’t say you could look at it though.”

  I turned back.

  “Alright, Gordon. What is it going to cost me to get a look at that report?”

  “First, you have to smile and say please.”

  “Please,” I said, displaying more of a grimace than a smile.

  “Then, you owe me a favor.”

  “What favor?”

  “I’ll let you know when the time comes.”

  “As long as it isn’t something gross, immoral, or illegal.”

  “Good enough. The report is on my desk.”

  I turned to walk to his office somehow knowing that the humiliation wasn’t over yet.

  “Just try not to get any nail polish or lipstick on it, sweetheart,” he called after me.

  I froze for a second. I almost went back and let him have it. Then I forced myself to continue walking stiffly to his office. The report was spread all over his desk. I gathered it up and took it to my own desk in the hope that I wouldn’t have to see his ugly mug again. Then I sat and began reading.

  The story wasn’t a happy one. The father, Nathaniel Evans, was currently out of work, having recently been laid off by a software company based in the city. He was estranged from his wife, Nancy Evans, having become separated from her soon after losing his job. The wife left Mr. Evans and moved into an apartment on Maple Avenue. The house was foreclosed upon and father and son moved out of their house on Granite Court into an apartment on Bay Street. The parents were currently engaged in a custody battle over their son. Interviews with neighbors turned up no sign of Daniel at the mother’s apartment other than those few times attributed to brief visits accompanied by the husband.

  Mr. Evans had taken Daniel to the park at the Falls to play on the swings. He left his son to visit a nearby restroom. When he returned to the swings, his son was gone. There were few people in the area. Those he talked with had seen nothing. After searching the park and its surroundings, Mr. Evans called the police. Officer Gordon was dispatched to the scene where he began interviewing potential witnesses. He turned up no leads.

  Daniel Evans, age eight, has blond hair and blue eyes. He was last seen wearing blue denim jeans and a yellow T-shirt displaying a smiley face with a bullet hole in the forehead. He had now been missing four days.

  The police investigation thus far had turned up nothing. The parents and their neighbors had all been interviewed. Officers had performed a thorough search of the park and the surrounding area. The suspicion was that Daniel had been kidnapped though there had as yet been no ransom demand.

  I didn’t think there ever would be.

  I closed the file and sat at my desk analyzing the facts. I had to hurry up and go do my rounds but was determined that starting tomorrow, I would begin my own investigation. I slipped the report back onto Gordon’s desk, thankful to find that he wasn’t in his office, and stepped outside into a blustery autumn day.

  * * *

  That evening, back at home, I sat at the kitchen table staring off into space. In reality, I couldn’t get the Daniel Evans case out of my head. I ran the facts through my mind over and over again and kept coming up with the same conclusion; namely, there weren’t enough facts to go on. Of course, Alex was no help, sitting at the other end of the table with his nose buried in the same old technical manual. I was almost relieved when the phone rang, interrupting my train of thought.

  “Hello, Chloe?” a familiar voice asked the moment I picked up the phone.

  “Oh, hello, Althea.”

  Alex looked up from his manual to smile at me. I stuck my finger in my mouth and made gagging motions.

  “I hear that you’re having the family over for Thanksgiving dinner,” she continued.

  Oh shoot, I thought. Now what was I going to say?

  “Yes. The house is going to be full,” I tried.

  “Well, surely there’s enough room for Dale and me, and of course, sweet little Reginald.”

  “There’s always room for Reginald,” I blurted. Of course, I then wanted to add that there weren’t many houses large enough to accommodate her and Dale’s asses.

  “Good, then what time should we be over?” she persisted.

  “I didn’t say you could come yet,” I resisted.

  “Dale said I should mention that you owe him a favor,” she replied coyly.

  That’s low, I thought. I considered suggesting she stop by at 8:00 knowing full well that dinner would be over by 7:00. We could even turn the lights out and pretend not to be at home. Instead, I relented.

  “Everyone else is stopping by around 5:00.”

  “I’ll see you then,” she replied. “And, Chloe, of course I’ll bring my lime Jell-O and carrot salad mold.”

  Oh yuck, I thought, but did not say it aloud.

  “I feel like having something bad for me,” I said as I forced myself to gently set the phone back into its cradle. “How about you?” I asked Alex.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “A chocolate and peanut butter shake.”

  “Sure, I’ll join you in that.”

  Chocolate and peanut butter shakes had recently become my go-to comfort food ever since I’d experienced one at our local malt shop. And they’re easy to make. I simply placed several scoops of vanilla ice cream into the blender, squirted in a generous amount of Hershey’s chocolate syrup, and followed it all with a few dollops of peanut butter, the creamy kind. After that, all I had to do was press blend and pour to experience bliss.

  It irritated me when I soon found that not even nirvana in a fountain glass could ward off thoughts of Daniel Evans and his whereabouts.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, I arranged my rounds so that I would be outside Mrs. Evans’ apartment at the end of my first pass. Parking my patrol cart at the curb outside the address indicated in the police report, I took a moment to observe the neighborhood. Although this section of town was far from affluent, it looked peaceful and homey enough; and besides, I knew from experience that it was not one of the high crime areas. People were outside watering their lawns, gardening, and gathering their mail. This signified to me that there were plenty of opportunities to spot the missing Daniel Evans should he make an appearance outside Mrs. Evans’ apartment. I told Blue to stay in the cart and made my way to Mrs. Evans’ front door. The door opened soon after my first knock.

  “Hello, can I hel
p you?” a pretty but sad looking middle-aged woman asked.

  I noticed that she was wearing a light blue waitressing uniform.

  “Nancy Evans?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Chloe Boston. I’m with the Hope Falls police department. I was hoping to talk with you about your missing son, Daniel.”

  “Have you found him?” she asked eagerly.

  “No, not yet. I wanted to ask a few questions to clear up one or two points in the police report. May I come in?”

  She hesitated, but not in a way that indicated to me that she was hiding anything.

  “I suppose,” she eventually answered. “But it will have to be quick. I have to be at work soon down at Mel’s Diner.”

  “I understand.”

  She stepped aside and let me into her apartment. The place was sparsely furnished. There were still unopened cardboard boxes sitting beside the sofa. I took a seat and Mrs. Evans sat beside me.

  “I’d offer you coffee,” she said, “but I don’t have much time.”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  I took a moment to allow my instincts to develop a gut reaction to this woman. She seemed nervous, but who wouldn’t be given the situation? I decided that I liked her, and more importantly, that I trusted her.

  “Mrs. Evans, I came here to ask about your relationship with your husband.”

  “Please, call me Nancy.”

  “And I’m Chloe.”

  “What did you want to know?” she asked tentatively.

  “When you left him, why didn’t you take your son with you?”

  Normally I would have been subtler in my interview technique, working slowly up to the bigger questions. But I didn’t have time, so I’d pulled a whopper out of my hat. Nancy seemed pained by the question.

  “I knew that if I were to take Daniel with me, it would have crushed Nathan. You see, Nathan was quite despondent about losing his job.”

  “And yet, you left your son with him?”

  Again, Nancy winced at the question.

  “Nathan is a great father, and he loves his son. I knew that he would never harm Daniel or do anything to allow him to be harmed. He is a great father.”