by Elise Sax
In the aftermath of the murder and the seagull attacks, the witnesses were too traumatized to give statements to John. I was going to spend tomorrow with him, making the rounds to grill them.
“I wish I could have seen those seagulls go berserk in town,” Auntie Ida said, taking the pecan pie out of the oven. “I’d like to make a detour into animal studies.”
“As long as you don’t set them on fire,” Auntie Tilly grumbled.
“I’m going to ignore that,” Auntie Ida told her, waving a kitchen towel in her direction.
“There was something weird about these seagulls. They were angry,” I said.
Auntie Ida put the pie on the table. “Maybe they watch cable news. I hear that makes plenty of folks angry.”
“Perfect. Everyone has a television except for us. Even birds,” I complained.
“Animals acting strangely means bad news,” Auntie Tilly said, cutting a large slice of pie for herself. “Like something’s wrong in town.”
“You mean like a dead guy running around in a live guy’s body?” I asked. “Or maybe a maniac with a bow and arrow stalking the town?”
Auntie Tilly shrugged. “Or something worse,” she said with her mouth full.
The next morning was Sunday, and I slept in until six. I took a long bath with lavender oil and washed my hair. My bald spot was gone, a gift I assumed, from the house. It wasn’t a big fan of changes. I dressed in a long blue skirt and a peasant blouse tied at the waist with a wide, braided leather belt. I put my hair up in a tight braid, in case another seagull got any ideas.
After making my bed, I went downstairs. Auntie Tilly was just finishing her nightly lighthouse duties, and she was making a large pile of pancakes. I filled a plate with some and poured a cup of coffee.
“No bacon?” I asked.
“You could make some, you know. I’m not your servant.”
“No way. I’m not cooking a thing on Sundays. Either you make the bacon, or I’ll do without.”
I brought my food to the table and sat down. Auntie Tilly sat across from me and dug into her pancakes.
“What’s your plan for today, besides not cooking?” she asked.
“John and I are going to seek justice for Danny Avocado.”
Auntie Tilly harrumphed. “You’d do well to put Remington on the deep freeze until we get this straightened out.”
“Maybe we won’t get this straightened out,” I said.
Auntie Tilly arched a disapproving eyebrow. “I’m hearing a hopeful tone in your voice, girl. Like you’re picturing playing house with John.”
“No, I’m not,” I lied. I had thought about just that for two weeks, and it was making me crazy with guilt. The temptation for John and I to have a happy ending was too strong for me, no matter how much I was sad for Remington and had moral compunctions about using his body without his permission.
“Don’t get too used to this situation, Agatha. One way or another, we’re going to fix it. John has royally screwed this family. Again.”
“What do you mean? Are we in some kind of trouble that I don’t know about?” I asked, but she didn’t answer. The front door opened, and as if we had summoned him, John walked in. Auntie Tilly and I sucked in air at the sight of him.
“These are called jeans,” he said, pointing happily at his crotch. “Genius invention.”
“You fill them out very nicely,” Auntie Tilly said.
“The t-shirt is tight, but according to my Netflix viewing, that’s desirable,” he said.
“You look very twenty-first century,” I said and drank down my coffee. “You want pancakes?”
“Sure! I haven’t eaten them, yet. Can’t wait to taste them.”
Auntie Tilly made three more batches, and Auntie Ida joined us. She was wearing a long lab coat, which was singed on the sleeves. John ate a dozen pancakes, and I ate a couple more. When we were all fed and happy, John and I left to make the interviewing rounds.
He held my hand as we walked down the road from the house. “Your hair looks nice,” he said. “Not that I minded the bald look. You’re always beautiful to me, but I do love your hair. You worked quick. Complete hair regrowth overnight is complicated stuff, especially for the Bright women, who’ve been in retirement for centuries.”
“We’re not in retirement,” I said, but of course we were. Yes, we weren’t like the rest of the residents of Sea Breeze and we lived in an enchanted house and owned an enchanted business, but we were careful not to draw attention to ourselves. So, we kept quiet.
That is, except for Auntie Ida’s experiments and for putting a dead guy in a live guy’s body.
Besides all that, we were pretty normal, as far as I was concerned.
“What’s the schedule for today?” John asked.
“I thought I was just helping you. Am I in charge?”
“My instincts are that the crazy killer is long gone and all of this is a grand waste of time. In my time, one of the villagers would simply tell the authorities who the killer was. In a small village, there are no secrets.” He looked at me a second. “Well, few secrets.”
“I guess that’s what we’re doing,” I said. “We’re going to ask the villagers. The villagers and the village’s guests. Let’s start with the star guest. That movie star Chris.”
John pulled a piece of paper out of his front jeans pocket. “I got a list of names and addresses. The Chris is staying with the others at the Sea Breeze Inn a block from my apartment. I mean, Remington’s apartment.”
We turned onto Sea Breeze Avenue. A man ran by us with his hands over his head.
“Be careful! They’re everywhere!” he shouted as he passed.
“The seagulls are still in town,” John explained to me. “The authorities are deciding whether to shoot them or not, but the reporters are still here, and the leaders don’t want bad press.”
The usually busy pier and park were more or less deserted. The doughnut shop was doing bang-up business, however. The soup shop was closed on Sundays, and I saw a few of my regulars through the doughnut shop window.
“There’s Eddie Acid,” I said, pointing.
“We could stop in and talk to him. I’ll order us some bear claws. That’ll make me look like a real police officer.”
John opened the door for me, and I walked in. The place was packed. It looked like Sundays were their busiest business day. John headed to the line to order the bear claws. Eddie Acid was sitting alone at a table in the corner, reading a copy of Atlas Shrugged. He didn’t look up from his book when I approached his table and said hello.
“I’m not talking to others,” he said. “I’m only focused on the most important person in the room.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
He tapped his book. “Me. From now on, I’m the most important person in the world, and the only person in the world. You got me?”
“If everyone felt like that, there would be no such thing as society,” John said, bringing me a bear claw. He handed it to me, and I took a bite. “All of humanity are our brothers and sisters.”
John took a large bite of his bear claw and made an appreciative moan. Eddie looked up slowly from his book.
“Oh, yeah?” Eddie said, ominously. “You can look at my injured ass if you want a lesson in humanity. And now someone shot an arrow at me!”
“Someone shot an arrow at Danny Avocado,” I corrected.
“Semantics,” Eddie countered. “My point is no good deed goes unpunished.”
I wondered if that was true. My mother had been a healer in Salem. She had helped a huge number of women through their pregnancies and labors. Yet, she was persecuted and executed.
“That’s not true,” I said, deciding to be positive and upbeat. “Did you see anything from your vantage point on the bandstand? Did you see the guy with the bow and arrow?”
“Nope. I was focused on my tacos. I was focused on the good deed I was doing. I was focused on not getting almost murdered again.”
“So, you didn’t see anything?” John asked, interrupting Eddie’s tirade.
“Bubkes,” Eddie said. “I didn’t even see the arrow until it was lodged in Danny’s chest.”
“Have you heard anything, though?” I asked. “Maybe afterward? Did anyone say anything to you?”
Eddie shook his head. “I remember a lot of screaming, and then I was just focused on turning full Ayn Rand. By the way, Agatha, you need to up your inventory. I had to buy this book in San Diego.”
Eddie went back to his reading, and John bought two more bear claws.
When we stepped outside, a seagull dive-bombed John and stole the bear claw out of his hand. John swatted at the bird, but he was seconds too late. The seagull was in flight, cawing in victory with the bear claw in his claws.
“Hey! He took my doughnut!” John exclaimed, shaking his fist at the sky.
I touched my head. “Phew. It left my hair alone this time.”
Two lifeguards walked up to us, carrying large umbrellas. It was a smart accessory, considering the seagull situation. “Hey, man,” Captain Steve said while poking John in the chest. “We want our money back.”
“Are you insinuating, kind sir, that I am a thief?” John asked. Remington’s voice boomed in a deep bass, but it was all John behind it.
The two lifeguards took a step backward, and Ace flinched.
“Not you, but the police, yes,” Captain Steve said. “The police confiscated all of the taco-eating contest’s proceeds. That money is supposed to go to rebuilding the lifeguard tower.”
“We need that tower, man,” Ace said. “We’ve spent hours getting attacked by seagulls. We need a roof. Umbrellas aren’t enough.”
Captain Steve nodded. “Umbrellas aren’t a tower.”
“I’ll talk to my chief about it,” John said. “You’ll get your money sooner or later.”
“It better be sooner, man,” Captain Steve said.
John arched an eyebrow high, and his mouth set in a tight line. He seemed to grow taller in front of my eyes, and I could have been imagining it, but I could have sworn that he growled.
“Or whenever is convenient for you,” Captain Steve added quickly. “You two have a nice day,” he said, and we walked around them.
I tore my bear claw in half and gave one part to John.
“Do you like when I’m scary?” John asked me as we walked toward the Sea Breeze Inn.
“You’re not scary to me.”
“Oh, right. With these muscles?” He flexed a bicep, and his shirtsleeve nearly ripped from the pressure. “I’m crazy scary. I could have beaten the hell out of those two men without breaking a sweat. That’s scary.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Maybe a little bit scared at my awesome power.”
“Not scared at all.”
“Remember that I’ve got a gun.”
“Nope. Not scared.”
John finished his bear claw and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “How about aroused? A little aroused?”
“John, we’re investigating a senseless murder. There are crazy seagulls attacking innocents. Scooters are mowing down pedestrians.”
“So, is that a yes?” John asked hopefully.
“No. It’s a hundred percent no,” I lied.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
The sidewalk in front of the Inn was packed with press. When John and I arrived, they ran toward us and shoved a microphone in John’s face.
“Any clues about Danny Avocado’s murder?” Mary Lee from Channel 8 asked John.
“Why are you keeping Chris Trist in town?” Burke Sinclair from Channel 10 asked.
“Locals are insisting that there’s a connection between the new dispensary in town and the murder. What do you say about that?” Miguel Sanchez, the eighteen-year-old intern at the Sea Breeze Voice asked.
“Uh,” John said.
I saw Amy behind the reporters, and I walked around them to speak to her.
“I tried to get in to see Chris and comfort him, but they won’t let anyone inside except for the witnesses. I told them I’m a witness, but I don’t count because I live here,” she said.
“How were you going to comfort him?”
Amy patted her shoulder. “I was going to let him cry on my shoulder, of course. Chris is a deep thinker. He’s sensitive. Did you see him in Blood Soaker III? He cried real tears in that one. I can tell the difference.”
“You’re not cat walking today?”
“Nah. Not with the seagull and scooter situation. I don’t want them injured. Besides, business is down after the thing a couple weeks ago.”
The thing a couple weeks ago was that a few cats ate a dead guy’s eyes, but I didn’t want to bring that up because Amy believed they were defamed and that cats would never eat an eyeball.
“I’m sorry. Can I help?”
Amy shrugged. “I might need a career change. I’m weighing my options. Actually,” she said, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “I’m hoping to become Chris’s personal assistant. I would be great at that job. I mean, look how I am with cats, and Chris is really just a two-legged cat, if you think about it at all.”
I thought about it, but I couldn’t picture Chris Trist as a cat.
“I’m not allowed to talk about an ongoing investigation,” I heard John say to the reporters behind me.
“Does that mean that you’re investigating Chris Trist?” Mary Lee asked.
“Uh…” John said.
“Gotta go,” I told Amy and grabbed John’s arm and tugged him toward the door to the Inn.
“Thank you,” he said, once we were in the lobby. “I felt like shark bait.”
“This murder is drawing a lot of attention. We’re going to have to solve it quick before they get curious about you. And me.”
“Right behind you, Aggie,” John said.
We took the elevator to the top floor and walked to the end of the hallway. “Are you ready?” John asked me, as we stood outside the door of Chris’s room.
“I guess so. Worst case scenario is that I put in a good word for Amy with Chris.”
John knocked on the door, and Chris answered a few seconds later. Standing next to Remington’s large frame, I was once again surprised by Chris’s small stature. He was wearing fresh clothes—jeans and a sweater—that someone must have brought him.
He smiled wide at us, as if he was pleased to see us. “Oh, good. I’m happy to get this taken care of so I can get back to L.A. I’ve got a role to prepare for. I’m doing a biopic on Kennedy. I’ve got to get my accent down.”
Chris stepped aside, and we walked in. He was staying in a suite with a view of the beach and the sewage warning signs. There was a large balcony with a table and two chairs on it. Three seagulls were sitting on the balcony railing, and I could have sworn they were watching and listening to us. It made me nervous.
“Maybe you should close the sliding glass door,” I suggested to Chris.
“Are you kidding? It’s a gorgeous day. I love fresh air. It’s good to bring the outside in. Humans were born to be outside, you know.”
“How do you figure?” John asked. “Even cavemen lived in caves.”
I elbowed John hard. “Detective Cumberbatch just wanted to ask you a few questions about yesterday,” I interrupted.
“Shoot,” Chris said and plopped onto the sofa. He swung his feet up on the coffee table and rested his arm on the back of the sofa. Easy. Relaxed. “I didn’t see anything. Even when he was clutching at his chest, I didn’t notice. I was trying not to choke on my last taco. I took too big of bites. Rookie mistake.”
“You didn’t notice anyone in the crowd? Anyone with a bow? Anyone carrying a large bag, maybe?” I asked.
He blinked at me, as if he was surprised that I was asking a question, but he was amiable and didn’t seem to mind answering me. I imagined that he was peppered with questions by many people.
“Nope. After the taco guy fell face forward, I was p
retty much focused on that. Then, there was the hysteria and the stampede, so I hightailed it out of there.”
Damn. Witness number two, and two times nothing. We weren’t getting anywhere, and I had no idea how to move this investigation forward.
“What about before?” John asked, surprising me. “Was there something out of the ordinary? Was anyone acting strangely?”
Chris smiled slightly. “Yesterday was a weird day, man. First of all, it was a taco-eating contest. But I go to a lot of events. My manager tells me what direction to walk, and I walk.”
“Nothing that stuck out to you? Something that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up?” I asked.
Chris narrowed his eyes, as if he was thinking about it. “You know what? Those other competitive eaters were intense. It was like there was bad blood between them. That hot dog guy. I don’t know why he was there, but he was giving the stink eye to Danny. Hey, do you think he killed him?”
Shlomo Fineman, the best hot dog eater in the world, hadn’t participated in the taco-eating contest, so he was free to leave, but for some reason, he had decided to stay in town. It turned out that he was staying in a regular room two floors below Chris.
John pushed the elevator button, and when it arrived, we stepped inside. “Technology sure beats art in the twenty-first century,” he noted. “The wonders and miracles are endless. I could go up and down all day and not tire of it. An elevator is some kind of cool shit, babe.”
We got to Shlomo’s door, and John knocked. There was a lot of noise from inside the hotel room, but nobody answered. John knocked, again, more loudly this time.
Shlomo finally answered. “What?” he demanded looking from John to me and back again.
John flashed him his badge. “Sea Breeze police, sir. We’re here to question witnesses about yesterday’s murder. May we come in?”
“What if I say no?” he asked.
“Then, I take you to interrogation room number two at the police station and grill you for the rest of the day.” John sounded plenty threatening, but he winked at me after, as if he was delighted about sounding like Remington.