by J. C. Kenney
“Did I hear the words dinner and Marinara’s?” The door opened a crack. A sliver of Calypso appeared in the opening.
“You did. As well as on me.” I glanced at my watch. “This exclusive offer expires in thirty seconds.”
She ran her fingers through her hair as she opened the door all the way. Her ever-present black eyeliner was missing, which was odd. The fact that there were natural dark circles under her eyes was cause for concern. The rumpled T-shirt and frayed sweatpants she had on had me flat-out worried.
“Are you feeling okay?”
The apartment was spartan in its furnishings. Even with the dearth of furniture, it looked like a tornado had just torn through. A load of unfolded laundry was piled up in one of the two director’s chairs. A stack of “Justice for Valerie” signs leaned against the other one. Papers of all sorts were strewn over a square metal coffee table and had spilled onto the hardwood floor.
The haphazard condition wasn’t like Calypso. While she was quite the enigma personality-wise, there was no doubt about one thing—she was organized and tidy.
“Sorry about the mess. I was up all night working on another protest. Guess I crashed and burned.” She scooped a blanket off the futon. “Take a load off while I get cleaned up.”
With the sound of Calypso’s shower in the background, I studied the documents. Page upon page featured Valerie’s senior class photo, along with a phone number people could call to report information about her.
It was a different number than the one the police had set up.
My shoulders drooped. It wasn’t surprising that Connie wouldn’t trust the hotline the police had set up. It was still heartbreaking, though. How much anger at and mistrust for the police must the woman have that she wanted people to send information to a source other than the authorities?
Enough for her to ask me instead of the police to solve Valerie’s murder.
I was studying the agenda for the upcoming protest when Calypso emerged from her bedroom. She was wearing a tank top featuring the logo of the seminal punk band Black Flag, black jeans, and her signature black boots.
“The Angel of Darkness returns.” Calypso gave me a mock curtsey, then grabbed a black canvas messenger bag. “Let’s do this thing. Now that I’m awake, I’m hangry.”
With the sun low on the western horizon, the sky had taken on the shade of rosé wine. A steady breeze had pushed out the heavy humidity from earlier in the day.
The conditions made for a pleasant stroll to the restaurant. They were also reflective of my mood.
I’d made a ton of progress on the case. Enough that I could plan on spending Sunday afternoon on work, then try to get together with Brent for dinner. Having a plan was empowering. Rachel liked to pull my chain by commenting that my dedication to planning was a sign of me acting like an adult even though I was the size of a middle schooler.
She wasn’t off base. On either point.
The heavenly aroma of garlic breadsticks greeted us as the restaurant came into view. My mouth started watering the same time Calypso’s stomach rumbled.
“My sentiments exactly.” I chuckled as my companion’s cheeks turned a pale shade of pink. “An order of sticks for each of us, I assume.”
“For an appetizer. I haven’t eaten a thing all day.” She power walked ahead of me and held the door open. “After you. I mean, you are part owner, so that means you can get us a good table, right?”
I peeked inside. Every table was occupied. Then I glanced to my right. A new deck had been installed in recent weeks. A two-seater table was unoccupied.
“Take that. I’ll get us menus.”
While Calypso secured our table, I took a moment to chat with the hostess. She told me business had been going nonstop all day and that the vegetarian calzone was the special.
Satisfied that my duty as a silent partner was finished for the day, I joined Calypso.
“Thanks, Boss.” She took the menu I offered her. “I don’t want to get all mushy, but I know how much you like the Pub. I appreciate you choosing someplace different.”
I looked up from my menu. Calypso’s eyes were watery. On top of that, her hand trembled as she picked up her glass of water. Something was off.
“When I first moved to New York, I waited tables to help make ends meet. I totally get not wanting to hang out where you work.” I closed the menu and leaned toward her. “You’re not yourself today. What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t think it was that obvious.” She let out a ragged sigh as she wiped a tear from her cheek.
“It’s this whole Valerie Briggs thing. I’m not that much older now than she was then. After I met Connie, I wanted to do something to help, you know? So I got involved with the group that’s been protesting. I feel like I’m making a difference, but being constantly reminded of her death is so draining.”
I was given a reprieve from responding by the arrival of our server. The timing couldn’t have been better, since I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. When we’d given our orders and were alone again, I leaned back in my chair. I sensed Calypso needed to hear encouraging, supportive words, something from the heart. Suck it up wasn’t the right message.
“Everyone processes death in their own way. Some get angry. Others are moved to tears. And there are those who choose to keep things inside. To me, the important thing is to understand it’s okay to have feelings and express them in our own way. It’s what makes us human.”
The server returned with our breadsticks. Calypso inhaled them like she was a human vacuum. When she was finished, she wiped her hands and threw the napkin down with a grunt.
“How do you do it without ending up in a padded room?” She took a long drink of her water. “I mean, it’s not like investigating murders is your job or anything.”
The distraught young woman across from me was nothing like the confident, sarcastic one I knew. The discovery of Valerie’s remains had shaken her to the core. The arbitrary nature of how a life could be cut short in the time it took to turn the page of a book was a bitter lesson to learn.
The easy response would have been to talk about being thankful that mental health was a common concern in the twenty-first century. That wasn’t what she needed, though.
She needed honesty. The ugly truth with no protective screens attached. This was a moment Nessie and I had recently spoken about. I needed to be honest. Not only for my own sake, but for Calypso’s, too.
“I do it because I want to see justice done in the world.” Calypso opened her mouth, as if to protest, so I put my hand up. “I know it sounds lame, but it’s true. When I first started down this path, it was a gut reaction to help a friend.”
“And now?”
“It’s like the line in The Lord of The Rings. We can’t choose the times we live in. We can only choose what to do with that time. Someone needs to speak for the dead. Sometimes, that someone’s me. When that happens, I choose to do so.”
Calypso scratched her head. “Then why not become a cop? You could fight for truth, justice, and the American way every day.”
“No, I couldn’t. Not day in and day out. Jeanette and I have talked about this.” I left it at that.
The details of what my cop friend and I had discussed one night over a bottle of Riesling would forever stay between the two of us. It would have to suffice to say I had all the respect in the world for cops and the job they did when they did it right.
Our dinner, a supreme pizza, arrived. We spent the rest of the meal gushing over the fabulous spices in the sauce and the incredible garlic brush on the crust. After I paid the bill, I asked Calypso if there was anything else on her mind.
“No. I think I’ll call my mom when I get home. I haven’t talked to her in a while.”
I smiled. It was no secret that Calypso’s relationship with her parents was almost nonexistent. For her to attempt to open a line of communication was a good sign. Whether it succeeded was an issue for another day. What mattered to me was that she
was making the effort.
She was trying to reach out before it was too late. If only Valerie had been given the chance to do the same.
Chapter Nineteen
The previous edition notwithstanding, Sunday morning was always a highlight of the week. It was just me and my mother. Brent wasn’t a churchgoer and Mom’s man friend—I couldn’t bring myself to call Pete her boyfriend—was a member of the local Lutheran congregation. We joked with him that he had the benefit of all the religion of us Catholics without the guilt.
Pete was a nice enough guy. After getting over some resentment that he wasn’t Dad, my sibs and I came around to welcome him with open arms. To be honest, I was the last to accept him. It was after a long, tearful heart-to-heart with Rachel.
She’d reminded me that Pete would never replace Dad. She also acknowledged how close Dad and I had been, both as family members and business colleagues. Everyone in the family understood his death had hit me harder than my sibs. But as harsh as it sounded, Rachel got me to accept that he was gone and nothing I did would bring him back. I owed it to Mom, and myself, to let him go. And to let Mom find happiness. It was her life, after all.
Our lives were too short to begrudge someone happiness when it arrived on their doorstep. I needed to remember that.
Father Edward’s homily had been about the power of forgiveness. He’d emphasized that, in the wake of Rushing Creek’s most recent tragedy, it was understandable that long-held anger and bitterness would surface. But holding on to those toxic feelings didn’t help anyone, especially Valerie.
He reminded us that forgiving Valerie’s murderer didn’t let the person off the hook. What it did do was allow us to let go of those negative emotions. It was an act of love we gave to ourselves.
They were comforting words. I had no doubt they would help a lot of the folks in the congregation. I wasn’t one of them.
Forgiveness would come after I brought Valerie’s killer to justice. For the time being, I would take solace in the belief that it would happen.
No, the knowledge that it would happen.
After Mass, we went to the Brown County Diner for brunch and our weekly catch-up. Between the time she spent with Pete, looking after the twins when needed, and her own job, Mom was busier than ever. I was looking forward to spending time talking about family and not thinking about the case.
“I heard you were at Marinara’s last night.” She stirred creamer into her coffee.
“Best breadsticks in town.” I told her about how pleased I was with the deck. “I’m confident it’ll pay dividends for years to come.”
“About that. I know you want to help, but when you go there, you should be there to enjoy yourself, not to check on the status of the operation. Rachel’s a smart businesswoman. That’s her job, not yours.”
“I know. I just want to be helpful. I want it to succeed.” Marinara’s previous owner had resorted to some illicit activities to keep the restaurant in business. My sister wouldn’t be doing that.
“Of course you do. The thing is, you’re getting a bit of a reputation among the staff there.”
“What kind of reputation?”
Mom suddenly found her breakfast potatoes fascinating. My scrambled eggs were suddenly unappetizing.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, okay? The staff’s gotten scared of you. The fact that you’re always questioning them about things makes them nervous, like you’re an undercover health inspector.”
For a second, I was stunned into silence. Then my cheeks began burning. “Holy cats. I thought I was being subtle. Merely trying to make conversation. I am such an idiot.”
“You are not an idiot. Well, maybe a little bit, in this case.” She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Rach can’t be at both places at once. I thought I was doing a good thing. Is that so wrong?” Lord, I sounded like such a whiner.
“Not at all. The thing is, your sister has her finger firmly on the pulse of the Rushing Creek restaurant scene. The deck you suggested? When she bought the place, she already had her eye on doing that. When you suggested it, she didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to rain on your parade.”
“So, she doesn’t want my help.” I stuck out my lower lip. It was the classic pouty move I went to ever since I was little.
“Let me put it this way. How would you feel if Rachel or Luke started offering suggestions about how to run your agency?”
“I’d appreciate the thought, but it’s not like they know much about being a literary agent.” It took a second, but then my cheeks got warm again as the implication hit home.
Mom tried to hide a smirk by wiping her mouth with a napkin. At least she was kind enough to try to hide her reaction, even if the effort failed.
“It’s not that she doesn’t want your help and isn’t appreciative that you have money invested in the restaurant. She thinks everybody will feel better if you let go of the Undercover Boss approach when you’re there and simply enjoy yourself. I agree with her.”
Undercover Boss? Ouch!
I took my time chewing a forkful of eggs. It was a fair point about leaving the business to Rachel since she was the expert. One thing was odd, though.
“Why did she go to you? She could have talked to me easily enough. Telling me off’s always been a favorite pastime of hers.”
“She went to me because she didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Mom let out a world-weary sigh. “She thought I’d do a better job of delivering the message than her. The two of you have come so far. She didn’t want to risk ruining that.” She took a drink of her coffee. “Did I?”
“I guess you did. Message received. I’ll dial back my snooping and leave everything to her.” I pointed a finger at Mom. “Unless I see something outrageous. Fair enough?”
We clinked coffee mugs and the conversation turned to Mom’s vacation plans. She wanted to go on a cruise but couldn’t decide between a Caribbean trip or a European river excursion. We were having a great time debating the pros and cons of each when Jeanette slipped into the space next to me.
“How are you this morning, Officer Wilkerson?” Mom asked our server for another coffee cup.
“Keeping busy.” She filled her cup to the brim and sook a sip. “Taking a little break, so I thought I’d drop in to say hi.”
We chatted for a bit before Mom addressed the elephant in the room.
“I heard you made an arrest in the Briggs case. Any truth to that?”
Jeanette stirred her coffee. “You know how it is with rumors, Janice. I can’t comment. Other than to say we do have a person of interest in the matter.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Mom straightened her shoulders and smiled. “I guess I’m hoping for a speedy resolution to this whole affair.”
“Completely understandable. The department wants that, too.” Jeanette kept her gaze focused on Mom, as if I wasn’t there. It was probably on purpose since I was on double secret probation with Matt.
“I can tell you one thing, though.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “Allie gave us a tip related to DNA testing. I’m not at liberty to share anything else but wanted you both to know we appreciate the tip.”
My friend turned to me and looked me in the eye. “Thank you for that, Allie. We appreciate it.”
“No problem.” I would have preferred to respond with a sage or profound comment, but my mind was busy getting its exercise by jumping to conclusions.
In fewer than twenty-four hours, Jeanette had managed to feed me two key pieces of information about the case without communicating anything directly to me. She had to be the one who leaked the circumstances of Ronald Spade’s visit to the police station.
This second piece was even more critical to the investigation. They’d gotten a hit on the bloody bandage found with Valerie. This was a huge breakthrough.
Jeanette’s police radio squawked. She finished her coffee and got to her feet. “Duty calls. Great seeing you, Dr. Cobb. Talk to you soon, Allie.”
When she was gone, Mom raised her eyebrows. “While I love seeing your friends, didn’t some of the conversation strike you as a little odd?”
Good. She’d telegraphed her message clearly enough for me to interpret it, but not enough for a member of the public to do the same. I needed to keep the info close to the vest so nothing came back to my dear friend. A fancy dinner on me was in Jeanette’s future as payback as soon as I brought Valerie’s killer to justice.
“I think it was her way of making sure there aren’t any hard feelings since she can’t help me with case information like in the past.”
“I see. Well, that was kind of her to make the gesture. I like her. I’m glad you’re friends.” Mom nodded like the issue was closed and turned her attention back to her brunch.
When we were finished, Mom asked if I wanted to do some window shopping. A new art gallery featuring hand-blown glass had opened and she wanted to check it out. I begged off, claiming I had work to do, which was true. I just didn’t tell her the work was case-related, not agency-related.
As soon as I got back to the apartment, I called Connie to let her know I had some updates. She was free, so I told her I’d be there in twenty minutes. On my way out the door, I tossed Ursi a kitty treat and promised her we’d go for a walk as soon as I returned.
I had to be mindful of my roommate’s waistline, after all. Too many treats without exercise wasn’t good for her.
My client was waiting in the doorway as I rolled to a stop in front of her home. Her hands were clasped together in front of her chest, as if she’d been praying. If that’s what she’d been doing, I said my own little prayer that my report would give her some much-needed comfort.
And hope that justice wasn’t far off.
She poured me a glass of iced tea while I gave her a quick rundown of recent developments.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand all this DNA stuff you’re telling me.” She took the seat across from me. The ever-present dark circles were still under her eyes, but they weren’t as pronounced. Hopefully, it was a sign that, for the first time in years, there was hope in her life.