by J. D. Griffo
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m starving,” Jinx declared, peeking into the living room. “I’m going to cut a piece of Gram’s lasagna.”
“I set out plates and you can heat it up in the microwave,” Kip said.
Again, Kip’s instructions came as a tangential thought as his focus remained on the scene they were rehearsing. Just as Jinx retreated into the back of the condo, Alberta caught her eye and Jinx shook her head back and forth, indicating that, so far, she hadn’t found anything.
While the lasagna was spinning around in the microwave, Jinx went to open what she hoped was the door to Kip’s office, but the doorknob wouldn’t turn. Discovering that the door was locked made Jinx’s heart start to race again. Kip lived alone; there was no reason for him to keep a door locked, so he must have locked it once he knew he was having company.
Ever since Jinx and her family embarked on careers as amateur detectives, she’d found herself carrying items that would be useful for investigations. She never went anywhere without latex gloves, plastic Ziploc bags, and, thankfully, safety pins. She took one out of the back pocket of her jeans, opened it up, and started to jimmy the lock. It took a few minutes, but just as the microwave oven beeped, the doorknob twisted, and Jinx gained entry into the room.
She knew that she was supposed to be quiet, she knew that she needed to prevent Kip from finding out what she was doing, which was immoral if not borderline illegal, but she couldn’t help herself. The scream fled from her mouth and echoed down the hall before she even realized she had made a sound. And no one would blame her for screaming after what she saw.
Standing in the middle of the room was like being in a Missy Michaels museum. Kip had created a shrine to the star, and everywhere she looked there was memorabilia of the former child actress. A bookshelf filled with videos, DVDs, a Daisy Greenfield lunch box, two hanging shelves filled with Missy Michaels dolls in various shapes and sizes, and, most disturbing, a whole wall covered in her eight-by-ten glossies and newspaper clippings.
On the small table underneath the one window in the room, there was a framed article from The Ellsworth American. Jinx didn’t recognize the name of the newspaper or the little boy in the photo, but the headline was undeniable: Is KIP FLANIGAN THE NEXT MISSY MICHAELS?
Jinx was so mesmerized by what she saw that she only heard Kip the third time he yelled her name.
“Jinx! What the hell are you doing in here?”
She stared into Kip’s eyes and was terrified because all she saw was rage. The only thought racing in her mind was that this must have been the last image Missy saw right before Kip killed her. And Jinx had no doubt that he was ready, willing, and able to kill again.
CHAPTER 18
Amor di madre, amore senza limiti.
“I said, what are you doing in this room?”
Jinx didn’t hear Kip’s words, she only saw his fury, which frightened her into silence. She looked at her grandmother and aunt, standing in the doorway behind Kip, and all she could think was that she’d single-handedly lured them all into a death trap.
“I asked you a question and I don’t want to repeat myself again,” Kip said. “What are you doing in this room?”
Swallowing hard, Jinx inhaled deeply and then let the breath flow out of her. Somehow words followed. “The door was open, and I was curious what the rest of the condo looked like because I’m thinking of buying a place of my own.”
“That door was locked,” Kip stated. “I made sure of it before you three came over.”
“Why?”
Kip turned around to face Alberta, and although Jinx knew that he was staring at her and Helen with the same frightening expression, she was thankful she was given a reprieve and didn’t have to look into his eyes any longer. She then realized his movement was an opportunity for her to change her position.
With his back to her, Jinx walked clockwise until she was once again facing Kip, but at least this time she had Alberta and Helen behind her. There was strength in numbers and if Kip lunged forward, he would attack her first, giving them a chance to run out of the condo.
“Why did I lock the door?” Kip asked. “Because it’s my door and I have every right to lock it if I want. On the other hand, you don’t have the right to break into a room because you feel like it.”
“You’re right, Kip, we don’t,” Alberta said, her voice, if not, her heart rate, calm. “But we’re here now, so why don’t you explain why this room is a shrine to Missy?”
“Because she’s the greatest star who ever lived, that’s why,” he replied.
“That’s true, she was the greatest,” Alberta said. “But you told us you didn’t even know about her before you started rehearsal. Why did you lie to us?”
The rage that had gripped Kip’s body seemed to seep out of his body and was replaced with sadness. A few seconds ago he looked like he could rip the women limb from limb and now he looked like he needed their limbs wrapped around him in comfort.
“I knew what people would think, it’s what they always think,” Kip said. “That I’m this obsessed fan, some kind of fool.”
“We don’t think you’re a fool, Kip,” Helen said.
The kindness in her voice, whether real or manufactured, convinced Kip that she was telling the truth. It gave him the strength to explain why he had turned this room into a sanctuary where one could bathe in the glory and the spirit of the former child star. It was because he couldn’t let go of the child within him. A child with a lot of wounds.
“Then you’re a better person than the rest of my family,” Kip said.
He looked at the swarm of photos decorating the room and was lost in memory. The women weren’t sure if that memory starred him or Missy, but for a few moments he was far away from them. They sensed the crisis was over and Kip no longer posed a physical threat, so they waited quietly for him to return to them.
Kip walked toward the window and picked up the framed article and asked the question out loud. “‘Is Kip Flanigan the next Missy Michaels?’ That was the question on everyone’s lips when I was seven years old.” He stared at the photo and looked confused, and the women weren’t sure if he recognized the little boy or if he was trying to remember who he was. He placed the photo back on the table, and when he turned around, they saw pain in his eyes, they understood he not only remembered exactly who that little boy was, but he was feeling the same emotions from all those years ago.
“I got the lead role in our community theatre’s production of Oliver! and for the first time in my life I felt like I belonged somewhere,” Kip explained. “My older brothers and even my younger sister were all athletes; I didn’t know the difference between a hockey puck and a football, so I wasn’t exactly the apple of my father’s eye. But when I stepped on that stage for the first time, I felt like I found my home.”
Alberta was fascinated. Just as Nola had done previously, Kip was comparing the theatre to home. It never occurred to her that the stage could give its inhabitants such comfort.
“I was very young, but for the first time I understood what peace felt like,” Kip admitted. “I was surrounded by people who shared my interests and didn’t make fun of me. Do you have any idea what kind of a revelation that is for a seven-year-old?”
Alberta thought back to when she first moved to Tranquility and looked out her window to the sprawling Memory Lake in her backyard. It was the first time in her life that she was an independent woman. The feeling Kip had described came to her much later in life, but still, she knew the power of change.
“I have an inkling,” Alberta said.
“Some talent agent from New York saw our show and told my parents that with the right management, I could be a star,” he recalled. “I had no idea what he was talking about, but if it meant that I could stay on that stage and feel as good as it felt to be up there with all those people, I was all for it.”
“The agent wanted to do to you what that producer did to Missy all those years ago,” Jinx
said.
“Exactly,” Kip confirmed. “But my parents weren’t as accommodating as Missy’s.”
“They wouldn’t let some strange man take their son away from them,” Alberta said.
“Like they would have even missed me!” Kip cried. “All they did was point out how different I was from every other boy in town. My mother would say that the nurses must have switched babies at birth because she didn’t know where I came from.”
Kip turned away from them so he could cry without an audience, and the women bowed their heads in both pity and shame. They ached for Kip because no child should be made to feel that he doesn’t belong in his own family and prayed that his mother asked for forgiveness for making such a hateful comment.
Alberta remembered a phrase she heard the older women in her family repeat frequently, Amor di madre, amore senza limiti. A mother’s love knows no limits. It was always a comforting thought until now. A mother’s love, like all other emotions, could get twisted, and the things she said out of love for her child could tear at their heart instead of heal it. Alberta shuddered because she had done the same thing to her own daughter.
When Kip was finally in control and had shed enough tears for the boy he used to be, he wiped his eyes and turned back to face the women. It was like they were looking at a different person. He was smiling and his eyes were welcoming instead of threatening. He looked like the Kip they all thought they knew.
“Ultimately, my parents relented and let me go on a few auditions in New York,” Kip said. “My mother came with me and we spent the best two weeks of our lives.” He paused and then corrected his comment. “Well, it was the best two weeks of my life, my mother never stopped complaining about how much she hated the city and wanted to return to Maine.”
“I take it your mother didn’t travel much,” Helen said.
“That was the one and only time she ever stepped across the Maine state line,” Kip declared. “For me, it was the first time I realized there was a life for me outside Deer Isle. None of the auditions panned out and the agent’s interest in me fizzled, but I will always consider that trip to be a turning point in my life.” Kip once again stared at the photos on the wall. “And it’s how I was introduced to Missy Michaels.”
“You met the woman?” Alberta asked.
“No, I was never that lucky, but before I left for New York, our local paper ran that article on me,” Kip replied, pointing at the framed photo on the table. “I didn’t know who Missy was, of course, but once they made the comparison and set the stage, so to speak, that I could be as famous as Missy, I was hooked. I guess you could say I became obsessed.”
“I think you could safely say that,” Helen said, looking around the room.
Unexpectedly, Kip laughed. It wasn’t just a nervous chuckle, it was a full-on release of all the energy that had been stored up inside him. The feelings Jinx sensed might be exhibited with a burst of violence were transformed into an outpouring of laughter.
“Thank you, Helen,” Kip said, still laughing. “Everything they say about you is true.”
“And what exactly do they say about me?” Helen asked.
“That you tell it like it is and have no filter,” Kip replied.
Helen shrugged. “I can’t really argue with that.”
“I keep this room locked because I’m embarrassed by what I’ve created. Not because I don’t truly admire and love everything Missy Michaels did with her life and her legacy, but because I know people aren’t going to understand that in some really weird, tangential way, it’s my legacy too.”
“How so?” Jinx asked.
“Missy and I are connected,” Kip explained. “I almost had the same life she did. Who knows? Maybe in some parallel universe I’m a bigger star than she is. The truth is that this room reminds me of what my life could’ve been like.”
“I know how you feel, but trust me, Kip, it isn’t always smart to hold so tightly to the past,” Alberta said.
“Many a therapist has told me that before, Mrs. Scaglione,” Kip said. “I’m just not ready to let go. Especially now.”
“Because of the murder, you mean?” Jinx asked.
“Yes,” Kip replied. “Which is why I made sure the room was locked before you came over here. I know what this looks like and I know that you’re all thinking that I killed Missy, but I swear to you, I wanted to work with Missy, I wanted to celebrate our time together, I would never have killed her.”
“Even though she had the life you always wanted?” Alberta asked.
“That wasn’t her fault,” Kip said. “If I was going to kill anyone, it would’ve been my parents. After we got back from New York, they refused to entertain any more thoughts of my being an actor, they wouldn’t even let me try out for any more shows in town. It wasn’t until I went to college that I got to perform again. I was hoping this play would finally bring Missy and me together, not sever our relationship before it even started.”
All three women stared at Kip, pondering whether he was telling them the truth or thinking quickly on his feet to get out of the jam he had been caught in. They were all wearing their best poker faces, even Jinx, who had a tendency to allow her emotions to creep to the surface, so Kip had no idea what they were thinking. Naturally, he thought the worst.
“You still think I killed Missy, don’t you?” Kip asked.
Alberta spoke for the trio. “No, but you’re going to help us find out who did.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later after they had devoured Alberta’s lasagna, Kip poured coffee into an assortment of cups and placed them in front of the women sitting around the kitchen table. When he placed a box of Entenmann’s Chocolate Chip Cookies—original recipe—next to the coffee pot, the woman knew Kip was friend and not foe. Once again, food proved to be the common denominator that brought people together.
“I don’t know how I can help you find out who murdered Missy,” Kip said.
“You’re arguably her biggest fan,” Alberta said.
“Even bigger than Father Sal,” Helen said.
“Which means you may know more about her than anyone else,” Jinx added.
“That’s true,” Kip said. “I have been compiling data on her since I was a kid. I have journals, newspaper clippings, a whole video library of her talk show appearances. I even created a family tree.”
“About the real Missy or Daisy?” Alberta asked.
“Missy, of course,” Kip replied. “Would you like to see it?”
“Does the pope enter the world in a puff of smoke?” Helen asked rhetorically.
Kip retreated to the now-unlocked room and returned with a rolled-up poster. Familiar with how to turn a kitchen table into an evidence desk, Jinx took away the box of cookies and Alberta and Helen each grabbed two coffee cups so Kip could unfurl the poster and spread it out on the surface. After he did, they placed a coffee cup on each corner of the poster so it would remain flat and they could examine Kip’s artwork. Even though they were only interested in the information contained in the poster, they couldn’t help but be impressed by the artistic talent that was also on display. Kip clearly was a renaissance man: actor, lawyer, and now artist.
The family tree was impressive. It was an illustration in black ink that was then filled in with watercolor paint. But the intricate and well-executed details were what transformed it from a simple drawing created to preserve history into a piece of art that would transcend time.
The trunk of the huge oak was thick, its bark creviced and rough. It stood on a patch of uneven ground that was also a home to wildflowers, rocks, and twigs. To the right of the tree, a cardinal had successfully plucked a worm from the ground, and to the left, a fox with a long, fluffy, white-tipped tail was scurrying off the page. Kip had even drawn the roots of the tree underneath the ground that burrowed into the earth. Some of the roots twisted around one another for strength and company, while others ventured off alone into their own private space, just like a real family.
“Kip, this is a work of art,” Alberta said.
“Thank you. I took a few art classes in college, but ultimately took a more practical route,” Kip replied.
“You’re like my sister-in-law, Joyce,” Helen said. “You do a little bit of this and a little bit of that.”
“Helen, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you just gave Joyce a compliment,” Alberta said.
“And if you repeat what I said, I will not be responsible for my actions,” Helen warned.
“What’s most fascinating and pertinent are all the names of Missy’s relatives,” Jinx reminded everyone. “Could you talk us through how they’re all related?”
Kip’s eyes lit up. “It would be my pleasure.”
Missy, of course, was in the center of the tree because she was the epicenter of her family as far as Kip was concerned. Above her were the names of her parents, Alfredo and Carlotta Miccalizzo, with dates underneath indicating their births and deaths. They died within two weeks of each other, and Alberta thought that must have been comforting for the two of them but devastating to the rest of their family. There was another row of names above them for their parents, and then the names of their siblings were written on the branches on their same level.
On either side of Missy were the names of her siblings: Alfredo, Jr., or “Fredo,” Benno, and Angela. According to the tree, Fredo and Benno died without getting married or having any children. Angela married Enrico Petrocelli and had twin boys, Tony and Santino. Tony died a bachelor, but Santino married Elsa Horvalt, and together they had one child, Adrienne. The date under Angela’s name showed that she outlived most of her immediate family and died less than ten years ago. Almost every name on the tree had two sets of dates underneath their names, all except one.