My appetite was nonexistent, so once I arrived at the cafeteria, I grabbed a soda and bag of chips. I caught Maddie up to speed on the meeting between Detective Chase and myself. We set the agenda for the evening club meeting. I also told her about Wolfe’s disappearance and the fact that he hadn’t answered my text message. She had not seen him, but she had seen Camber Johnson in the halls. This gave me some relief—at least they were not skipping school together like my vivid imagination had already shown me. I asked her to go with the detective and me on the ride along. He had said I could bring one other club member; she was the obvious choice.
When the final bell rang, I rushed out to the parking lot and he was waiting. Maddie was already in the backseat. Haley was also waiting in the parking lot and as a red Mercedes convertible drove up, she hopped in the passenger’s seat. The driver was Camber Johnson. I rolled my eyes as they sped away.
Agent Bronson, still assigned to watch over me, climbed into his car and followed as the detective pulled the Impala out of the parking lot. My throat burned, on fire, and my fever crept back, no longer warded off by Tylenol. I asked the detective nonchalantly to stop at a convenience store so I could pick up my own bottle. He obliged and after I had rushed in to make my purchase, I sprinted back to the car.
“Where are we headed off to first, Detective?” I said, popping two pills into my mouth.
The water cooled my fiery throat, so I took a few more long sips, swallowing as slowly as possible.
“I have narrowed down the restaurants for the victim to have dined previously to her death. I’m almost certain she was at the Jade Palace, a Chinese place over on Copper Street.”
“That place is a dump!” Maddie shouted from the backseat.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten there,” I exclaimed, taking another long gulp of my icy cold water.
“Well, I spoke to Melanie Newsted again this morning. I figured she might be willing to speak while Dimitri wasn’t sitting next to her.”
“Melanie is Victoria’s mom right?”
“Yes, you’re right. Well, she said she was at a craft fair two hours away in Houston. Her story checks out because she had a gas receipt for the afternoon prior to the murder when she filled up the tank of her car on her way out of town. She also has multiple receipts for various things she purchased during the two days she attended this festival. Seems as though she has a hobby of making jewelry out of garbage items like cans, straws, and things like that and sells them at these fairs.”
“That’s kind of awesome,” Maddie added.
“Victoria, still in jail, backed up her mother’s story. She said her mom frequently attends out of town craft festivals to supplement her income. Victoria stated her mother left late afternoon or early evening and did not come home until after the craft festival—two days later. This corroborates Melanie’s story,” he said, making a wide turn.
“Where else does Melanie work?” I asked, chugging down another gulp of water, gazing at the hazy sky.
“The prison. She’s a guard for the women’s unit and reports directly to the warden.”
“Is she a member of the vampire cult?” I asked abruptly, finishing the last half gulp of water in my bottle, trying to hold it as long as I could in my throat before I swallowed.
“No, she’s not a member. She has many piercings, but other than that, she is quite normal looking. Good shape, tall woman with short brown hair, wears glasses. Looks like a regular mom on most accounts. Definitely doesn’t look as though she’d live with Dimitri LeMorte, if you ask me,” he said, pulling the Impala to a stop sign and putting on the turn signal.
“I can’t believe those guys are still in jail. I mean, what if they didn’t do it, and they are being held like that. Just because they can’t make the bail because they are poor. And then someone like Camber Johnson, who is one of them, is out about town, having fun,” I scoffed, turning around to capture Maddie’s reaction to my snarky comments.
She gave me a coy smirk. I remembered I still needed to tell her about Carden Doyle and Haley going out on Friday but figured this was not the right time.
“Here we are, folks,” he sang as he pulled the Impala into a parking space in front of the restaurant.
A rectangular vinyl sign hung in the front by a shredded rope that read Jade Palace, Open 24 Hours, in large, red block letters with one corner folded down. We stepped out of the car and a refreshing gust of wind brushed against my face, cooling my pathologically heated skin. Through the murky window, I saw plastic vines draped over empty ornamental pots and vases.
“Tacky décor, huh?” I whispered to Maddie as we entered the restaurant, a strong aroma of hard-boiled eggs took over my senses.
We crept quietly on the worn-out red carpet towards the back counter. The owner was waiting for us. Not another soul in the place, but I figured it was a tad early for dinner. On the chalkboard next to the register was a hand-scrawled special of pumpkin drink and fermented tofu noodles. It sounded anything but appetizing, but the special was running for $2.95. Someone on a tight budget might find it to be an attractive meal. I pointed at the board and the detective cracked a smile, nodding.
The elderly Asian man behind the counter, lucky to hit 5’3”, had weathered cheeks and a salt-and-peppered hairline, albeit diminishing. His oversized glasses were smeared with fingerprints around the edges. He patiently waited for Detective Chase to speak, his thin hands perched awkwardly on the counter as if he were holding an imaginary tube.
“Sir, I’m Detective Chase, the one that you spoke to on the phone this morning. I understand you have run this pumpkin drink and fermented tofu noodle special all week, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” the demure man responded, nodding exceedingly slowly as he spoke.
“Can I please see the dining receipts for last Thursday between the hours of midnight and 2 AM?”
He turned around and scurried to a desk to the side of the open kitchen where a portly Hispanic chef was diligently cutting vegetables. The owner pulled slips of paper from a bank bag and headed back towards us.
“Yes, sir. Here you go, sir,” the man said with a thick accent as he handed the receipts over with a bony hand.
The detective thumbed through the receipts until he stopped on one that caught his attention. It was paid by credit card—and the card belonged to Jody James, the victim. It listed two specials. This placed her with another person an hour before she was murdered, as it would be highly unlikely she would come alone and eat two specials by herself—she was a tiny woman.
“Well, this is exactly what we thought. Can I please have this receipt or at least a copy of it?”
“You can have it, sir, I have copies,” he nodded slowly, raising his chin to view the detective through the clean midsection of his glasses.
Detective Chase slipped the receipt into a slot in his leather notebook holder.
“One last thing. Can I show you some pictures and will you tell me who you saw with this customer that night?”
“I will try to remember,” the owner said softly.
He grabbed pictures from his notepad holder and lined them on the counter.
“Now, do you see Jody James? The one that paid for the meal?”
“Yes, it is her,” the Asian man said as he pointed a bony finger to the photograph of the victim.
“Perfect. Now do you remember who was with her, and is that person in any of these pictures?”
The man hesitated, staring at the pictures for a long moment before pointing to the picture of Emily Vance. He raised his head.
“It was her. I am sure,” he said softly, nodding confidently.
“Thank you. We will be in touch if we need anything further. You’ve been a lot of help,” the detective bellowed as he gestured for us to leave the restaurant.
On the way back to the high school for Maddie to pick up her car, he updated us on what was happening with Gerald Smith per his report from the document specialist in Silver Spri
ngs. It seemed as though Gerald was receiving letters while he was in prison, and the envelopes were left behind in his prison cell, but the letters were missing. He handed me his phone open to a picture of the envelopes. A pastel pink, the handwriting on the front was feminine. Strange that anybody would write to a prisoner, but the pastel envelopes did signify a romantic relationship in a sense. At least, we were taking it that way until we proved otherwise. It could have been letters from his mother, but a heart had been drawn on the back of some of the envelopes.
He divulged the plan to comb the neighborhood stores for the source of the envelopes, as the letters all had a Godley Grove postmark. If he found the source of the envelopes, the store could pull receipts like at the Jade Palace—and once he had the buyer, he could find Gerald Smith.
Detective Chase pulled up behind Maddie’s car and we climbed out. The Tylenol wasn’t doing the job, and I was quickly being overcome by my illness. I scooted over and told Agent Bronson I’d ride with Maddie to my house since it was such a short drive, and he agreed to follow. We climbed into her Mini Cooper and drove to Nikale Street, Agent Bronson following closely behind and Maddie’s eyes glued to the road. I admitted to her I was sick with a fever and sore throat and received an instant lecture about how I can’t get better without rest. She was like my second Janice, always looking out for my best interests. As she turned the corner onto our street, a strange man scrambled across the street and dodged in between two houses. Bizarre.
She slowed the car, trying to determine where he went. Agent Bronson darted his Lincoln towards the passenger’s side of her car. He signaled for us to go straight home before raising a CB radio to his mouth. Without delay, she whizzed the car down the street and pulled next to the curb between our houses.
“Fiona! I bet it was Gerald Smith! I recognize him from the news! He was going on the side of Sydney Sergeant’s house!”
“Are you sure that was him?”
“I am positive. I watch the news, Fiona. I’ve seen that man’s ugly face a hundred times! Get in the house!”
We rushed into my house, followed by my black suit who was reporting the sighting to his superiors. We settled into my living room and soon after, more agents arrived. Within ten minutes, Gerald Smith’s sighting was blasted on the local news. I was amazed at how quickly things could hit the media.
By the time the club meeting began, I had succumbed to my sickness and all I wanted to do was throw myself in bed. I was too sick to care that Wolfe and Carden didn’t show up, but I hurried through the evidence, nonetheless. The group compared notes, and Maddie took over, leading the discussion of the data analysis on the case—but only after she forced everybody to eat three Airborne immune defense gummies. She was a germaphobe when it came to being around sick people. Being a starter on the varsity soccer team was likely her reason—she couldn’t afford to be sick and miss a game.
The inseparable duo showed deep dissatisfaction of the laboratory’s shut down. Lauren threatened to write a letter to the grant administrator about how outraged she was the school district would take it out on us because of what happened at our lab. I talked her out of doing it and assured it was being handled—we would get back into the lab soon enough. We had enough data to work through from the previous Friday night to keep us busy, and Detective Chase had handed over tons of data reports from his lab for us to sift through.
Nausea washed through my body at the thought Wolfe had ignored my text message about the meeting. It wasn’t like him to behave like that. Nobody knew his whereabouts.
I checked Haley’s room; she wasn’t there. I assumed she was still with Camber Johnson. It fit together like pieces of a puzzle where Carden and Wolfe must have been.
As soon as the club members left, I threw on my pajamas, popped more Tylenol, and climbed on top of my bed covers. Within seconds, I was in a deep sleep.
8 AWAKENING
My phone alarm must have been blaring for a spell as my mother rushed into my room, grabbed my phone, turning it off. She inspected me as I awoke, putting her hand on my sweltering forehead. The foggy, dark morning enticed me to stay in bed.
“Oh, Fiona. You’re sick. You have a fever. Let’s go.”
A microbial eighteen-wheeler had run over me and my body had been cooked in the hot sun—or at least that’s how I felt. My throat was a blazing desert.
“What do you mean, let’s go?”
It hurt to speak.
“We’re going to the doctor—no delay. You could have the same thing that landed Janice in the hospital, dear.”
“How is she?” I asked feebly.
“On the upswing. I’ve got my fingers crossed. Let’s go, Fiona,” she ordered.
Without an argument, I crawled out of bed like a meager ninety-year-old, threw on a set of my nicest pajamas, and stumbled out to my mother’s Town Car, license plate Frost 1. I despised having to visit the doctor, feared medical exams—especially blood tests. The older agent assigned to my mother tailed us on every turn.
She broke a few speed limits along the way as if getting me there a couple of minutes faster would speed my recovery. She pulled into the circle drive, demanding I get out of the car and wait for her in the foyer—as if walking from a parking lot a few more steps would prevent me from getting worse.
After a few minutes, we were in the waiting area. A couple of kids, mucus streams flowing from their noses, were busy playing with a germ-infested toy, pushing buttons, making various plastic things pop up. I missed how uncomplicated life used to be when toys could hold my attention.
There was entertainment value, however, in the 3D animated movie playing on the television. Engrossed in the story line of colorful monsters, it seemed as though time sped up before we were called to the examination room. My mother inspected every inch of my face, my neck and interrogated me before the doctor entered the room as if she were going to assist in the diagnosis. She was a doctor, but not medical—a college professor, chemist. She knew enough about the body to know I wasn’t well.
“Good morning, Fiona. I see you are under the weather today,” the chubby doctor boomed as he entered the room, grabbing my chart from the clear plastic tray on the wall.
My mother listed my symptoms and explained to the doctor about Janice. He examined me and decided on a throat swab. We were instructed to wait ten minutes for the results, and he gave me a fever-reducing pill, covering me with a blanket as I waited on the examination table. I drifted off to sleep, feeling a tick more than dreadful.
“I knew it!” the doctor exclaimed as he sauntered back in the room with my discharge papers and a few prescriptions in his thick hands. “Strep throat. It’s going around, and nearly half of the schools’ kids have it. We’ve been real busy with this outbreak.”
I opened my eyes in a confused daze, allowing the artificial lights of the exam room to penetrate my retinas as I focused on the animated doctor’s round face. It was creepy that he was gleaming over a diagnosis of strep throat. How would he react to something more serious, like Ebola? Would he throw a party right here in the exam room with all the nurses and patients in the waiting room?
“So you’re certain it is not meningitis?” my mother questioned abruptly, hands on her hips as she raised her chin to soak in his answer.
“I am pretty certain. She has the symptoms and tested positive for strep—it is highly unlikely that she has meningitis as well, but please, bring her back in if anything changes, or if she doesn’t see improvements from the antibiotics,” he ordered as he shoved the paperwork into her hands.
We gathered our things and checked out at the front desk, stopping at the adjacent pharmacy connected to the clinic through the foyer. We strolled back to the car, discussing how my diagnosis was the best-case scenario.
On the way back to the house, my mother received a call from Janice, still in the hospital. She reportedly sounded like her chipper self and was dying to get home immediately to take care of our family. She told my mom the doctor said she
would be released on Sunday if she continued her hasty road to recovery.
As soon as we got home, I took my medicine and jumped back into bed. I glanced over at the corner of my room. Luminal’s bed was still there. Taking it out of my room would have been something Janice would have taken care of for me. I was far too sad to touch it—somewhere in the recess of my mind I believed he’d come trotting back into my room. Sorrow took control of me and tears flooded my fevered cheeks. Within minutes, I was asleep.
Hours passed before my phone rang and woke me from a deep, healing sleep. I grabbed the phone from my nightstand. My father.
“Hi, Daddy!” I mumbled as I struggled to sit up in my bed.
“Fiona, I have some great news for you. Oh, and I’m sorry you are sick. I didn’t get to see you before I left for work because you were at the doctor’s office, but I’m glad it is only strep and not what Janice was stricken with.”
“Yeah, I feel absolutely horrid. However, I can tell that I already feel a little bit better now.”
“Great news. I heard back from your grant administrator. You not only got your lab immediately reinstated, but your renewal has officially been approved —in writing—for four more years at one hundred thousand per year. The packet with all the documents is being overnight shipped to the house. Now, you’ll need to search for replacements to run the program next year while you’re off to college. Get busy doing some recruiting, Fiona!”
“Oh my gosh, Dad. That is the best news. Thanks for making a bad day turn awesome.”
“Love you, Fiona. Go back to sleep and get rest. See you later.”
A healing burst flew through my veins, probably due to the adrenaline rush upon receiving the excellent news. I popped out of bed and rushed to the kitchen with a huge grin on my fevered face. I took my next dose of medicine, pouring a tall glass of water and tossing in a few ice cubes. I ambled into the living room, the feeble sunrays shined in the adjacent vestibule. My house was eerily quiet. No Janice hums, Luminal barks. It’s funny how you miss things that annoy you after they are gone.
Fiona Frost: Order of the Black Moon Page 9