The Plane and the Parade (Veronica Barry Book 3)

by Sophia Martin

  “I’m really glad it’s working out,” Veronica said with a smile.

  They headed out of the door, and Veronica spotted Allie up ahead at the curb. A car was parked, and a man got out, hurrying around to help Allie in. It was on the tip of her tongue to remark on how sweet that was, when her brain caught up with her eyes, and she recognized the man.

  Melanie must have as well at the same moment, because she stopped in her tracks, bringing Veronica to a standstill beside her since she still held her arm.

  “It can’t be,” Veronica murmured.

  Melanie let go of Veronica’s arm, raising both hands to her cheeks. “No.”

  The man put his hand on Allie’s arm, leaned in, and kissed her on the mouth, erasing any doubt that he was, in fact, the boyfriend she had mentioned.

  “Chris,” Melanie said. “I’m gonna be sick.” She bolted back inside the yoga studio.

  ~~~

  The evening was cooler than any in the several days, for which Veronica was grateful. She made Melanie a cup of chamomile and sat with her on the couch, listening.

  “I can’t believe that—that subhuman swine! I can’t believe he did that,” Melanie said, tears streaking her cheeks.

  Veronica said nothing. Melanie didn’t want to listen to empty, comforting words, and nothing Veronica could think of would make the situation any better.

  “Do you know why that woman was at my yoga class, V? Do you?”

  Veronica shook her head.

  “Because I told Chris that going to that first class was like magic. I mean, I gushed to him. So he must have thought, ‘Gee, I bet my other pregnant girlfriend would really get a lot out of it, too.’”

  “You think he sent her to your class on purpose?”

  “No, that’s the really stupid thing. I told him about the class I was going to take on Thursday. I mean, like I told him where that one was and all. I didn’t give him any details about this one, when we talked. He must have assumed I was only going to the Thursday class. He must have thought sending her to this one would be safe.”

  Melanie’s tears gushed at that, and she sobbed for a moment uncontrollably. Veronica took her hand and squeezed it, then hurried to the bathroom and returned with the toilet paper roll, pressing it into Melanie’s hands.

  Melanie’s sobs hitched, and then morphed into painful laughter. Frowning, Veronica waited for Melanie to look at her—Melanie rocked forward, making strange choking noises Veronica took for more laughter. When at last her friend made eye contact, it sent Melanie into more peals of tortured mirth, and Veronica resigned herself to wait it out.

  At last Melanie said, “I just—I just thought of how very prolific Chris has been. Two pregnant girlfriends. He must be going out of his mind.”

  “Yeah,” Veronica agreed. “I bet this was not something he planned.”

  “What an asshole,” Melanie said, her tone evening out. “What a total shit. You know this means he wasn’t using protection with either of us.”

  “I’m kind of surprised you weren’t,” Veronica said.

  Melanie shrugged, shaking her head. “You’d think a woman on the verge of turning forty would know better, right? I guess I just thought, we were doing it so rarely—I mean between our schedules and working around Angie—you know how it’s been.”

  Veronica nodded, unwilling to push it.

  “We’d both gotten tested last April. I mean, I guess I should get tested again, I mean, he’s been with her this whole time. This is just too awful! God, V. It’s like I was sleeping with this whole other person I didn’t even know about! It’s so… gross.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mellie.”

  Melanie waved a hand as if she could dismiss the whole situation. Her face fell again, all humor gone. “What am I going to do now?” she said.

  “Nothing’s all that different than it was before Chris went to your appointment with you,” Veronica pointed out. “You thought he was going to flake then. You thought you might have to do this without him.”

  “I was afraid I would have to do this without him. And now, what choice do I have? This is so crazy, Veronica. I can’t even demand that he leave her because she’s pregnant too.”

  “Would you forgive him if he agreed to leave her for you?” Veronica asked, biting back the words she wanted to say—he’s been lying to you for at least eight months.

  Melanie considered this, motionless for a while. Finally she shook her head. She looked exhausted. “No,” she said. “No. It’s over. God. I really am going to have to do this without him. A single mom all over again.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m never going to sleep again. I’ll never have another shower once this baby comes.”

  With a pat on Melanie’s knee, Veronica said, “Mellie, I’ve said it before, and I’m serious. You are not going to be doing this alone. I am going to be here for you every step of the way. I will spend nights. I will change diapers and give bottles. You will sleep. You will take showers. Okay?”

  Melanie threw her arms around Veronica’s neck and hugged her tight, her body shuddering with sobs. Veronica hugged her back, stroking her between the shoulders and rocking slightly. They kept talking for two more hours, Veronica trying to soothe Melanie’s fears about the future, and Melanie going around and around about how she should have seen what was going on.

  “Okay,” Veronica said at last, “Mellie, you need to go to bed, you’re exhausted. I know this sucks, but you’re going to feel better about having to deal with it after a night’s sleep.”

  It took many more minutes of cajoling, but eventually Veronica convinced Melanie to go to bed. She considered staying on the couch, but Melanie gazed at her from her pillows and waved a hand at her. “Go home, V. I bet the cats are about to destroy every square inch of upholstery in your place. Go home and we’ll meet up tomorrow.”

  Veronica leaned over and gave Melanie a kiss on the forehead. “Okay, Mel. I’ll come over after you’re off work, if you want. We can talk about nurseries.”

  Melanie frowned at her. “There isn’t any room.”

  “That’s what we’re going to talk about. We’re going to make some drawings, and think about walls that can be knocked out, and how we can make the linen closet about five square feet larger, and whether that would be big enough…”

  Melanie sighed and closed her eyes. “Okay,” she said. “I see what you’re up to, giving me something else to think about.”

  “I hope it works,” Veronica said, and smiled as she left.

  ~~~

  Feeling pretty wiped herself, Veronica found it hard to believe her car’s clock, which claimed it was only just before nine. She drove home, her mind jumping from concern over Melanie to uneasiness over the case. She’d intended to get a lot more done today, but what had happened couldn’t be helped.

  When she arrived at her duplex and walked through the gate to her side door, she almost stepped on a bouquet of flowers on the stoop. Reaching down, she lifted the bouquet up into the porch light. Little cascades of white bell-shaped flowers—lilies of the valley. Their sweet, lemony smell tickled her nose. She looked for a note but found none. Veronica took them inside and found a blue glass vase in a cupboard.

  Were they from Daniel? Or had Eric had them delivered? Wouldn’t there be a note if they’d been delivered?

  Veronica admired the bouquet as she fed the animals and had a piece of toast with peanut butter, standing in the kitchen. Her feet ached and she felt like she couldn’t find the energy to refill the water dishes, much less do any more investigating, although she had considered making a few calls as she drove home. Instead, she pushed herself just enough to locate her phone charger and plug in the cell before going to bed.

  ~~~

  The first thing she noticed was the clouds in the sky, visible through the high windows that made up the entire wall across from her. Then, her gaze traveled away from them, taking in her surroundings. She was in an airport.

  A tinny voice came over the PA.
“Bienvenue à l’aéroport de Bruxelles. Votre attention, s’il vous plaît. Est interdit de stationner le long de la bordure jaune. La bordure jaune est uniquement pour le chargement et le déchargement des passagers.”

  A moment later, it repeated: “Welcome to Brussels Airport. Your attention, please. Parking along the yellow curb is prohibited. The yellow curb is for loading and unloading passengers only.”

  People walked, some fast, some slow, carrying luggage, dressed in suits, or sweats, or in the case of one small group, in colorful African buba dresses.

  Veronica’s host picked up a briefcase and a suitcase and made his way behind the group of African women, turning when he reached United Airlines. A short line of people waited at each of four counters and he got in the second line. A dark-skinned man in uniform was questioning each passenger as they approached the check-in.

  “Français ou en anglais? Très bien, Madame…”

  The man finished with the person in front of Veronica’s host, and approached him next.

  “Français ou en anglais?”

  “Français,” her host answered, handing the officer his passport and ticket.

  The security officer then asked her host whether he had packed his own suitcase, whether he had packed anything for someone else, and whether anyone had asked him to take anything onto the plane for him, to which her host answered no. The security officer returned his passport and ticket with a sticker on the back, and moved on.

  After a short wait, he reached the front, putting his suitcase on the scale and his briefcase on the counter to open it. He retrieved a passport and a ticket, closed the case, and placed it at his feet, before handing the passport and ticket to the blonde behind the counter.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Jossey,” the blonde said. She asked if it would be his only check-in bag, and he nodded. “Très bien. Voici votre carte d’embarquement pour la première étape du voyage, d’ici à Chicago,” she said, handing him a boarding pass that said “Antoine Jossey” in the slot of the name, United Airlines, flight 5322, and listed the date and time European style, as 02/07/13 and 17h15—July 2nd, at five fifteen in the afternoon. “Voici votre carte d’embarquement de Chicago à Sacramento.” The second boarding pass was for United Airlines flight 329. “Veuillez les présenter aux portes d’embarquement et prévoir au moins une heure pour passer les contrôles de sécurité. Nous vous remercions d’avoir choisi United Airlines.”

  So Antoine Jossey was the man from Veronica’s airplane dreams, she mused as he walked briskly to the escalators, taking them up and then heading for the wing of the airport that matched his gate. When he reached the security screening, however, he diverted his course to the men’s restroom, went into a stall and closed the door. He hunched over the seat of the toilet as if he was going to be sick, the briefcase under him. He made retching noises as he unlocked the case, opening it just enough to slip out a piece of cardstock very much like the boarding passes the woman had just given him, as well as a second passport.

  He left the stall and walked to a sink, where he ran the water and lightly splashed his face. Veronica studied his reflection: Close cropped, almost white hair, parted in the middle, over a low brow that was fairly devoid of wrinkles. His deep set brown eyes had pouches under them, however, revealing his age. His straight, somewhat long nose led to a trim gray mustache and beard. He wore a dark green sweater vest over a blue and white striped button down shirt. Jossey dried his face and beard with paper towel and, clutching the second passport and piece of card stock, exited the restroom.

  As Jossey waited in line to go through the metal detectors, he put his briefcase onto the rolling strip that took it through the x-ray. One uniformed security officer checked the second boarding pass against the second passport, scrutinizing the passport much more closely than the first security officer by the check-in counter had. These documents listed Veronica’s host as Leopold Victor.

  The security officer waved him along, and Jossey/Victor tore up the second pass, pocketed the second passport, and took the pass the airline staff member had printed out for him and the first passport and headed for his gate.

  Veronica considered the implications. He was traveling under a false identity, but at the security checkpoint, he’d used a different passport. Probably a real passport, one that would hold up better under scrutiny. So probably he was really Leopold Victor, not Antoine Jossey. Why go to the trouble of booking a ticket as Antoine Jossey, if he didn’t mind the security officers at the checkpoint knowing his real name?

  The dream shifted, and then Victor heard the flight attendants call his row. He joined the line of passengers who were already boarding, passed through the tunnel that led to the flight, then walked down the aisle of the airplane, looking for his seat. Up ahead, Veronica recognized the chubby middle-aged woman who would be sitting next to Victor when the plane went down. Now she knew. It was United Airlines, flight number 5322. She could stop the crash.

  ~~~

  Veronica awoke in an easy, slow way, especially compared to how some of her dreams had shaken her to waking lately. She stretched out, careful to avoid hitting Binky, who snoozed on the pillow beside her, as usual.

  Well, for once she couldn’t complain that the dream had failed to give her crucial information. Her earlier assumption that the dream had to do with Eric was wrong. Who was this Leopold Victor? Why had he used a fake name?

  Was he connected in some way to Robert Murphy, the murders, and her visions of the parade? He was coming to Sacramento, leaving Brussels on July 2nd. His plane from Brussels to Chicago was doomed to crash, unless she found a way to convince United Airlines or perhaps Brussels Airport to ground it. She definitely had to talk to Daniel today. There was Melanie to check on, too.

  But first, Veronica wanted to finish what she started the day before. She wanted a name for the young man with dark-rimmed glasses, and maybe his address, or at least a sense of the street that Ivy had returned to so frequently, according to her foster mother. Veronica would make some calls, maybe visit one or two of Ivy’s friends, and have a look at Alcott Street between 25th and 27th. Maybe she’d even spot him.

  Veronica pulled on a denim skirt and a pastel flowered cotton blouse, then tugged a brush through her hair, snapping it back into a clip. She nuked a cup of green tea, poured a bowl of raisin bran, and added vanilla soy milk. Then she retrieved her cell, now fully charged, and noted two missed calls. Both from Daniel. Her stomach did a little flip. Maybe the flowers were from him.

  She found the sticky note with all the numbers and contemplated it as she ate the cereal. Call Daniel first? Or call one of the numbers first?

  Of course, speaking to people face to face tended to work better than calling. That was true of boyfriends as much as witnesses, she believed. Witnesses often hung up on you if you asked the right questions, and boyfriends were easier to appease if you could give them a kiss or a hug.

  If she could just convince one of the kids to meet with her, she would have a better chance of getting the answers she needed. She might even pick up a vision from them.

  She punched in the first number on the list: Emily Porter.

  It went to voicemail.

  “Hi Emily,” Veronica said in her best I’m-a-friendly-adult voice. “My name is Veronica Barry. I’m helping investigate the death of your friend, Ivy. I’m hoping to meet with you. Call me back, please.” She left her number, hung up, and moved on to the next number.

  “Yah,” a girl answered.

  “Sammie Willis?” Veronica said.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “My name is Veronica Barry. I’m helping with the investigation into your friend’s death—”

  A click ended the call.

  Next time I lead with “I’m not a police officer,” Veronica thought.

  She punched in Jessica Aguila’s number next. Voicemail. She left the same message as before, and tried the next three numbers, with the same result. When she dialed Chris Chavez’s number, he answered
.

  “Is this Chris Chavez?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hi Chris. My name is Veronica Barry. I am a teacher at ERHS,” she said. “I’m trying to help with the investigation into Ivy’s death.”

  Chris didn’t say anything. Was he the boy with the dark-rimmed glasses?

  “I’d like to meet with you, if you have a little time today.”

  Chris sighed. “I already talked to the cops.”

  “I’m not the cops,” Veronica said quickly. “I just have a couple of questions. It won’t take long. You want breakfast? I’ll come pick you up.”

  “No,” he said. “Meet me at the Pancake Circus on Broadway. I’ll wait until nine. Then I’m out.”

  “I’ll be there,” Veronica said.

  It was already eight forty-five, no time to lose. Veronica hurried, gathering purse, keys, phone, and letting Harry out back. She jogged to her car and pulled out as quickly as she dared.

  ~~~

  The Pancake Circus had a brown and white striped sign across the front that had been new in the late 1960s. A few cars sat in the lot, and Veronica pulled up next to a white station wagon. A skinny kid with near-black bangs that all but hid his eyes leaned against the wall next to the double doors leading in. He wore black jeans and a red tee.

  “Chris?” Veronica asked as she approached.

  He gave her a nod. She tried to smile at him but he wasn’t looking at her. They entered the restaurant together and the brown-clad hostess, who looked like she doubled as a server, led them immediately to an open booth.

  “Coffee?” she chirped.

  Chris nodded and Veronica shook her head.

  The server left, and Chris picked up a menu and hid himself behind it.

  “I’m really sorry she died,” Veronica said, and decided to take a risk. “I know you two were very close.”

  “How would you know that?” he asked, the menu falling to the table. Veronica could hear the strain in his voice.