Last Call

by Libby Kirsch

  Ollie’s mother pulled a wadded-up tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Fair enough. We were both upset.”

  “At Ike?”

  Margaret agreed.

  “At the police?”

  Another grim nod.

  “At Larsa?”

  Margaret froze. “No. That poor girl is worse off than us. We, at least, had each other to lean on. She had no one. Nothing.”

  “How did she leave? Did she say anything?”

  “Well, that’s just it, that’s what got Dan so upset. Her visit was difficult enough—but then she . . . Well, she must have been drunk is all I can guess. A rambling apology turned rude and confusing and we finally asked her to leave. She grabbed a branch of the crepe myrtle on her way out the door and snapped it clear off. Dan spent the next two hours working on the shrub, pruning it, cutting it, cleaning it up.” Janet raised her eyebrows. “We planted it to memorialize Ollie. It’s a very special plant to us. The blooms remind us that Ollie’s love will live on through us, even if he’s not here physically.” She teared up again, and Janet looked down at her tea, unsure what to say. In the backyard, she saw two more flowering crepe myrtles. Mounds of dirt at their bases made her think they’d only been planted recently.

  After a few moments, Margaret seemed to compose herself. She sniffed, and the tissue came out of her sleeve again. She got up and threw it in the trash, tucking a clean one into her sleeve before leaning against the counter by the sink.

  “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Janet said. “Thanks for the tea.”

  “If you can apologize to your friend—tell him I just wasn’t in a space to chat earlier,” Margaret said absently as they walked to the front door.

  “What—what friend?”

  “Your friend with all the tattoos? He was here earlier, said the two of you were working on something and he had some questions. But I just—I was just a mess earlier,” Margaret said. “He said you’d be by later and it was no problem. Very nice gentleman. Very friendly for all those tattoos.”

  “Jason?” Janet asked, looking back at Margaret and then losing her footing on the last two steps down to the front walk. She managed to catch herself just before falling, face-first, onto the concrete.

  “Yes, that’s it!” Margaret said, tenderly touching a bloom on Ollie’s plant. She hadn’t noticed Janet flailing and turned back into the house before Janet’s mouth had closed from the surprise of Margaret’s last revelation.

  She climbed back into her car. What an eventful twenty minutes. Larsa was possibly off the wagon, making rambling, confusing statements to Ollie’s parents. Dan had been so upset with the police yesterday that he’d disappeared, mere hours before Detective Finch was murdered, and Jason was asking the same questions she was—had told Margaret they were “working together.”

  Funny, it didn’t feel that way.

  She took one last look at the crepe myrtle as she drove away, and a startling thought entered her mind. If they’d planted it after Ollie died, were they memorializing two other deaths with the new plants behind their house?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  At a red light, Janet drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel, thinking. A cruiser drove by, going the opposite direction, and she instinctively turned her face away. She hadn’t felt this on the run since she’d left Montana several years ago after her mother had died.

  A horn blared and she took her foot off the brake, easing through the intersection and giving a single-finger salute right back to the driver behind her.

  She needed to think about Benji, Ollie’s old college roommate turned bicycle-rights lawyer. She was headed toward his downtown condo, but she suspected that he’d be much harder to press for information than anyone else on her list. As a lawyer, he would likely be adept at keeping interesting things to himself.

  But instead of focusing on how she could get Benji to open up, all she could think about was Jason. What was he hiding? And was he trying to help Janet now or make her job more difficult?

  Her stomach growled. It was after five, and she realized with a pang that she hadn’t eaten anything all day.

  Benji’s brick building was an imposing structure—an old candy factory from the 1920s, with high windows and weathered brick. She drove slowly past, her eyes trained on the entrance. The main door was in an alcove, set back several feet from the street. It looked dark and dangerous. Despite the sun still shining down outside, Benji’s building resembled the opening scene from a movie where you’d yell at the stupid girl for going in anyway.

  She wanted to talk to Benji, but her gut was telling her to keep driving. So that’s what she did. She needed to get Elizabeth. She had to break the news about yet another homicide.

  Janet saw Ike’s car parked by the Dumpster at the church. She parked nearby and then headed up the stairs and pulled the door handle. It didn’t budge.

  She stepped back for a moment, unsure of the proper protocol. Should she knock at the house of the lord? Sounded like the title to a song you’d find in the hymnal. Before she could take action, though, the clunky lock turned over and Elizabeth pushed open the door.

  “We watched you pull in.” She stepped back to let Janet enter, then locked the door behind her and led Janet up the aisle, to the side of the altar, and through a door to a surprisingly normal-looking office space.

  “I thought churches were always unlocked,” Janet said once they were sitting at a small table by the door.

  “Strange times, huh?” Elizabeth’s eyes darted back to the exit. “Father Andrew thought we should be careful tonight.” Janet nodded, and Elizabeth turned her worried brown eyes to her. “What happened? Why aren’t we going through with the plan?”

  “There was an . . . an accident.” Janet looked down at her hands. “And I can’t open the Spot tonight while police investigate.”

  “Why are police investigating an accident?” Elizabeth’s focus on Janet was now razor sharp.

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly an accident. It was . . . ah, hell. Detective Finch is dead. Murdered, by the look of things.”

  “What? Killed at the bar?” Elizabeth fell back against her seat and all the color drained from her face.

  “Yes. I’m not sure how it happened, but I—I found his body. It was shoved into the Beerador.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Who is calling for God?”

  A young man walked into the room. By his dress, jeans and a T-shirt featuring some rock band she’d never heard of, she guessed he was an older altar server. “I’m sorry, sweetie, we’ll just need a few more minutes here, okay? Or did you need the phone to call your mom or something?”

  Elizabeth continued to stare blankly at Janet, but the altar server grinned and pointed to himself. “Me? Call my mom? She’d probably appreciate that, but we usually talk on Wednesday nights. I’m Father Andrew. You must be Elizabeth’s friend Janet.”

  “Father?” Janet stared at the boy in shock, and before she could stop herself she said, “You look like you’re fifteen!”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “I’m so sorry, I—I’ve never, I mean, I guess I’ve only ever seen old-man priests. Gray hair, potbelly, the whole bit. You look like you should still be in school—and I’m not talking about college. I mean high school or something.” Then she added under her breath, “Maybe even middle school!”

  “Long out, I’m afraid. Well, I graduated the seminary several years ago, but I guess in reality you never stop learning in the school of life, right?” She raised her eyebrows and he smiled again.

  He held out a hand and she looked at it like it was an alien.

  “You can touch me, you won’t burn in a fury of hellfire, I promise.”

  “I’m sorry—I just never . . . it’s strange to say it, but I’ve never actually talked to a priest before. I mean, except for confession, which is so painful, and you’re not actually looking at each other, you know?” She reached out her hand and they shook.
>
  “How was it?” he asked, dimples forming.

  Janet smiled back. “Just like anyone else.”

  “Well, good. Now that we’ve established that I’m human, and not fifteen, let’s check on Elizabeth.” He turned. “You don’t look so good.”

  Elizabeth shook her head and blinked a few times. “This is—it’s just what I was worried about. I don’t think it’s safe here. I should go, but I don’t know where . . .”

  “You’re coming home with me. That’s why I’m here. We’ll stay together and figure out what to do next. Come on.” She stood and nodded at Father Andrew. “Thanks for your help, Father.”

  “You don’t have to go, Elizabeth. This is a safe space, and we’ve made it even more so tonight for you, by locking the doors and keeping this monitor of the parking lot and entrances here for you to watch.” He motioned to a small TV set on the desk nearby. “And I don’t think you have to worry about visitors, anyway. Monday nights are very slow. Sometimes old Mr. Jones comes to light a candle for his wife, but that’s not every week.”

  They all looked at the monitor as he spoke, and Elizabeth let out a moan when a pair of headlights swept across the lot.

  A car pulled up to the main entrance and Janet moved closer to the TV, drawn to the monitor when she recognized the make of the car. “That’s a Crown Vic,” she breathed, wishing the screen was bigger. “Is that—” She bit down on her cheek to keep from gasping. She didn’t want to alarm Elizabeth, but she grabbed her arm and pulled her up. “It’s time to go. Let’s go.”

  “Oh,” Father Andrew said with a smile. “Well this is a nice surprise. It’s one of our Eucharistic ministers. This is an unusual time for a visit, but I’ll go let him in.”

  “Wait!” Janet blocked his path. “Patrick O’Dell can’t know that we’re here, okay, Father Andrew? Just keep him busy out front, and we’ll head out the back door.”

  “I think that’s a mistake. Patrick might actually be just what we need tonight. You know, he’s a very highly regarded detective with the Knoxville Police Department. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”

  “Or he’ll try to kill us,” Janet said, and Father Andrew snorted, then sobered quickly at her expression.

  “I just came from my bar, where I found his partner dead. Elizabeth knows that a cop was involved somehow in Ike Freeman’s death last week. I’m not saying Patrick is involved, but he’s coming down mighty hard on my boyfriend with no evidence, his partner’s dead, and now he shows up at the very church where the only woman who can tie a cop to Ike’s murder is hiding out?” Janet glared at Father Andrew. “I’m not taking any chances. Now, we need to get out of here, and you don’t have to help us, but you’d better get out of my way.”

  She grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and pushed her out the door in front of her.

  “Janet, Elizabeth, wait!” Father Andrew called. “You’re going the wrong way. I’ll hold O’Dell off by the sacristy. You head out the Epistle side and get directly into your car.” At her blank stare he pointed. “That way. Wait until you hear me unlock the door.” Janet nodded and he said, “Godspeed,” then disappeared.

  She would have laughed at the absurdity of the conversation if it didn’t feel like their lives were on the line.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Was he coming for us?” Elizabeth’s voice shook as they made their way through town. The heat was still oppressive, and the long summer days meant the sky was still bright at quarter to seven at night. “Should we have left Father Andrew alone with O’Dell? Oh my God, if anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself!”

  Janet felt shaky for another reason entirely. “I know this is bad timing, but I need to eat.” She pulled into a drive-through. “Do you want anything?”

  “N-n-no,” Elizabeth answered, “I can’t eat now! I can’t even think, to be honest.”

  Janet ordered a double cheeseburger, fries, a large soda, and a cookie. “You sure? I’m buying,” she clarified, remembering that Elizabeth might have been stealing from the till at the Spot because of money trouble. Her bartender shook her head again, and Janet shrugged. “Suit yourself.” When the drive-through employee handed over a bag of food, Janet dove straight into the bag of fries, shoving four into her mouth at once and reaching right away for more. Meanwhile, Elizabeth covered her face.

  “Erf gow be aw-ight,” Janet said around a mouthful of food. She glanced over and slowed her chewing. Elizabeth was more than pale. Her face had taken on a greenish hue.

  “Pull over! I think I’m gonna be—”

  The rest of her words were cut off by a screech of tires. Janet wrenched the wheel over, and Elizabeth just got the door open in time. After two more heaves, she sat up and wiped her sleeve across her mouth. “The smell of that food—it just turned my stomach.”

  “I know the feeling,” Janet said, chewing what now felt like a wad of wet concrete. She rolled the top of the full bag of food and tossed it into the backseat. Hard to keep your appetite with the smell of vomit in the air.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s go back to my house so you can clean up. It’s going to be okay, Elizabeth. We’re going to get through this.”

  “How can you say that? If that O’Dell guy is behind everything—he’s got a badge. He can do whatever he wants and we can’t stop him.” She crossed her arms over her stomach and slumped against the door frame.

  “I don’t—I don’t know who’s behind this, but no one has that kind of power, Elizabeth. And eventually, the killer’s going to screw up. Hell, they probably already did, we just don’t know about it yet. They need to start laying low. I mean, you can’t get away with too many crimes in a row. So at least we have that going for us.” Janet smiled, realizing her words were true. They were only a block from home now, and she relaxed her grip on the wheel. “You mark my words, Elizabeth. I think we’ve turned a corner, here, and everything’s going to be all right.”

  She pulled up to the curb, not realizing there was a problem until Elizabeth said, “Oh my God.”

  “Wha—” She saw it as soon as she turned toward the other woman. A message was spray-painted across the front of Janet’s house.

  Mind your business. Stay home.

  “Well how can I stay home if you’re targeting my house?” Janet asked, trying to break the increasing tension in the car, but Elizabeth didn’t smile.

  “This was the killer, Janet. They’re telling you that you’re next!”

  “I didn’t see anything,” Mel said. She frowned as she patted Hazel’s back and adjusted the baby’s head so it was squarely over a burp cloth lying across her shoulder. “I’ve been home all night. Kat’s asleep, so we’ve just been sitting on the floor, talking about life.” Janet shot a disbelieving look at her bouncer. “You have no idea what happens when you’re alone with a baby for too long. You really do start talking about life. It’s crazy.”

  “But didn’t you hear anything unusual?” Elizabeth pressed, looking past Mel to Janet’s front door.

  “Nothing. I mean, what would I have heard, though? Someone pressing the nozzle on a can of spray paint? Graffiti’s not exactly noisy, is it?”

  “Pretty brazen, wasn’t it? I mean, it’s not even dark yet. Anyone driving or walking by would have seen them do it.” Janet inspected the graffiti up close. Paint dripped down from each letter, as if the person was using spray paint for the first time that night and didn’t know how far away to hold the can from the house.

  “Do you think it was O’Dell?” Elizabeth asked. “He could have stopped by here on his way to the church.”

  Janet shook her head. “Graffiti seems pretty childish to me. Not something I’d expect from a cop.”

  “Then who?”

  “Could have been a random teen,” Janet said. Though she was still staring at the letters, she heard Elizabeth’s irritated sigh.

  “It’s not a coincidence. Who did you talk to today? Who’s angry?”

  Janet barked out a laugh. “
Who isn’t angry is probably the shorter list.” She turned to find Mel and Elizabeth staring at her. “Oh, okay, let’s see, I spoke to Abe’s wife, Vanessa; Ollie’s mother, Margaret; and then a bunch of cops at the Spot—”

  “Including O’Dell!” Elizabeth interjected.

  “Yes, including O’Dell.”

  “Anyone else?” Mel asked.

  “No, but I tried to talk to Benji.” She felt her face flush at the semi-lie. She’d driven right past his apartment without stopping, which wasn’t much of an effort if she was being honest. “He wasn’t, uh, he wasn’t home. And I need to talk to Larsa,” she hastily added, trying to cover her embarrassment. “Still no sign of Jason?” she asked, looking at her neighbor.

  Mel shook her head. “Sorry, Janet. I haven’t seen him, either.”

  Janet turned away to hide her frustration. She and Jason hadn’t spent more than a day apart since they’d met. This behavior was unusual and, if she thought too hard about it, worrisome.

  “Do you think he’s on the run from the police?” Elizabeth asked. “They sure are putting the screws on pretty tight.” Janet shrugged. “You don’t think . . . you don’t think he did anything, do you?”

  “Oh, please,” Janet said, glaring at Elizabeth and Mel. “There’s no way. Like I told the cops on day one, Jason and I were here the night Ike was killed.”

  “Kat and I were loading up the moving truck that night.” Mel eased into the lone chair on the porch. Hazel stirred sleepily, then fell quiet again. “Hard to believe how much life has changed, huh? New house, new job, new baby.”

  Janet tried to smile at Mel, but she felt the blood drain from her face at a sudden memory. She and Jason had been watching a new TV show the night before she’d found Ike’s body. It was a remake of the old show This Is Your Life. Janet had fallen asleep on the couch right after it started and hadn’t woken until the next morning. She’d slept for thirteen hours.