Barbecue and Bad News

by Nancy Naigle

  “Is it still there?” Savannah wished she could take back the words.

  Both girls looked at each other, then shrugged. “Don’t know,” Jenn said.

  “Probably.” Brooke looked to Savannah. “We could see.”

  Jenn shook her head. “No. We need to leave that place in the past.”

  Savannah tilted her head. “This is beautiful, but there is something unsettling about it. They say there’s a fine line between good and evil. Maybe he had multiple personalities.”

  Brooke agreed. “It takes a sociopath to convince a parole board that he’s changed after what he did. Even then, it’s amazing he got paroled. Scott’s been running that down. Someone did something wrong in that chain of events.”

  Jenn folded her arms tighter across her chest. “I think that guy wasn’t straddling the good and evil lines; I think he was saddled right up on the crazy evil-genius side. Not a speck of good in that one.”

  “Genius?” Brooke laughed. “If he’d been a genius, I doubt they’d have caught him.”

  Jenn stared at the painting. “Or maybe . . . he really . . . is . . . two people?”

  “Are you okay?” Brooke’s voice rose.

  Savannah felt the concern in Brooke’s question. Jenn’s focus seemed to go right through the painting. Had she just crossed the crazy line too?

  “Holy . . .” Jenn’s mouth hung open.

  “What is it?”

  “Two people,” Jenn said.

  “You really think it was two different people? Like he had a twin?” Savannah asked.

  “No.” Jenn’s hand rose to about shoulder height and then she reached. “No. He was definitely just one person. There are two people in this painting. Come look at this. I wasn’t going to say anything before, because I thought I’d imagined it. You know, like some post-traumatic something or other, but no . . . This is real. I can see it perfectly clear now.” Her gaze never shifted.

  Savannah said, “You’re kind of freaking me out, Jenn.”

  Brooke rushed to Jenn’s side and stooped to try to get level with where Jenn was staring. “What?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why?” Brooke wrapped an arm around Jenn’s shoulders. “It’s okay.”

  “Because if you don’t see it . . . you’re going to pretend you do just to make me feel okay. Plus you’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “I’m your best friend, Jenn. I know you’re crazy.”

  “Brooke. I’m not kidding.”

  Savannah wished like heck she’d listened to Scott and kept her nose out of that stupid police blotter comment. Maybe Jenn was the one spreading that rumor. She wished now she’d just stayed home. Being bored waiting for the time to pass seemed a lot better than what she was feeling right now. Because what she was feeling right now . . . she couldn’t explain. But she couldn’t very well just up and leave now either. She sucked in a breath and walked over to where the girls huddled at the end of the bench.

  Brooke spoke softly, trying to soothe her friend’s panic. “Fine. I’m looking. It looks the same from here to me. Are you looking at the—”

  “No!” Savannah spit the word out like a bitter pill. “It’s not the same, Brooke. Jenn, I see two people; it’s like there are ghost images in that picture!”

  Jenn’s face was an odd combination of fear and relief. “Yes! You do see it?”

  “I do. Jenn, I see something else.” Savannah couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it straight off, because it seemed so clear once you saw it.

  “Me too,” Jenn said.

  “A tombstone with amazingly detailed wreaths around it. Lots of them. Like three deep.”

  Jenn sucked in an audible gasp and reached her hand toward Savannah without shifting her gaze.

  The two girls held hands.

  Brooke shifted positions. “I don’t see anything. If y’all are playing a trick on me, this isn’t funny.”

  Savannah spoke slowly. “Can you make out the name? I can’t make out the name on the headstone. The first letter might be a B.”

  “It better not be my name.” Brooke’s voice shook. “Please tell me it’s not my name on that grave.”

  “No. The B is not a B. I think it’s an S. It’s not you,” Jenn said as she turned to Savannah with a look of relief. “Thank God it’s not just me seeing it.”

  Brooke looked aggravated. “I don’t know what you two are seeing, but Jenn, how did you even figure this out?”

  “I was changing the air diffuser in here. If I change the scents each day, they seem to keep the place smelling fresh instead of like an air freshener. These stinky men exhaust this sucker fast. The first time I only saw the image of the flowers. I thought it was nice. Then, when I saw it again, I saw the rest and I thought maybe it was my imagination because I was tired and I’d been worried about everything we’d been through. Plus when I tried to see it again, I couldn’t.”

  “You can’t see it all the time?” Brooke took a step back. “Now you’re kind of freaking me out. Are we talking like a real ghost here?”

  “No. It’s not like that. It’s in the painting. I’m sure of it. I can see it all the time now that I know what’s there. Even from different angles.”

  Brooke’s brows pulled together. “Like those 3-D pictures where you can see two things?”

  “Kind of, but not really. It’s hard to explain.”

  Brooke looked determined to rationalize it. “Was it painted underneath the other painting? Like maybe he started painting something different and painted over it? Why am I the only one who can’t see anything?”

  “I don’t know, but what I do know is that the room was a blank canvas when he got started. I had scrubbed the walls down myself. There was nothing there. I don’t think this was an accident. Plus, it seems more like it’s on top of the other painting, not underneath it.”

  “Amazing. Almost scary-talented to be able to do that on purpose.” Savannah chewed on her lip. “I remember some artist out near Mount Airy in North Carolina who used to do ghost images in his paintings. Not as subtle as this, but it’s been done.” Savannah knew exactly what that police blotter message was referring to now. This was it. No question about it. “Jenn, has anyone else noticed this that you know of?”

  “Only one person made mention of it, but I thought he was crazy,” Jenn said.

  “Who?” Brooke asked. “And why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  Savannah reached for Jenn’s hand. “Who saw it?”

  “He’s this guy that lives down on the creek. Old man. They call him Jelly. I let him shower here.”

  “Girl, you need to be more careful,” Savannah said. “You’re just asking for trouble letting strange men into your space . . . alone!”

  “No. He’s harmless. Really. He’s got to be like seventy years old. I saw him when I was walking the jogging path in the park. It was so hot. I wanted him to be able to clean up or cool off, get warm, whatever. It was a small thing I could do for him. He showered here for weeks. Then all of a sudden the day after all that happened, he freaked out on me. Said the place was evil. That it was telling him things he couldn’t understand.”

  “Holy mother of . . .” Brooke had tears in her eyes. “Jenn, you should have told me.”

  “I didn’t want to get the speech. I was just trying to do something nice.” Jenn shrugged. “He hasn’t been back since. I thought he was talking about the building. Now I think he meant the painting. It makes more sense now.”

  “Maybe Goto was leaving a message for us of some kind,” Jenn said. “I hate to say this out loud, but even though he was a little quiet and odd, he was very nice to me. It’s still hard to connect him to all that happened in my mind.”

  “We should ask him about it,” Savannah said.

  “You gonna drag out an old Ouija board? Goto died that night,” Br
ooke said.

  “Not Goto. I meant I’d ask Jelly what he saw in the painting.” Savannah walked to the right corner of the wall. “Did Gotorow sign it?”

  “Nope. Didn’t sign the one in the other room either.”

  “Hmm.” Savannah turned and faced them. “So no one will know unless you tell them.”

  “The only other person that knows that Goto painted them is the sheriff. He asked me to not do anything until he had the whole case wrapped up and paperwork done. I asked him to keep it a secret.” Jenn wrapped her arms around herself and moved back from the mural. “Savannah, do you see something in the very far left corner?”

  Savannah moved next to Jenn and studied the wall. “Do you see random numbers and letters everywhere? Do you see them?” She held a finger up.

  Jenn and Brooke stood silent as Savannah looked at the painting. After a long, quiet moment, she turned to Jenn and said, “There’s a child. She’s huddled in the corner crying.”

  “Yes.” Jenn looked at Brooke. “I really think there’s a story behind all of this.”

  Savannah felt her chest grow tight. “Do you think it’s him as a child?”

  “No. I think it’s a little girl. The curls. And look at the wrist. There’s a little bracelet. It’s definitely a little girl.”

  “I see it now. Yes. You’re right.” Savannah sucked in a breath. “Wow.”

  “What are you thinking?” Jenn asked Savannah.

  “That we need to figure this out. It’s like it was left for us.”

  “He didn’t leave it for me. I can’t see a thing.” Brooke looked at Savannah and then back to Jenn. “This is between you two. Should we call in Mike and Scott?”

  Both Jenn and Savannah answered, “No!”

  “Okay, well I don’t know what this is, but I’m in it with the two of you. But if it seems the least bit dangerous . . . we’re telling Scott and Mike.”

  “Fine.” Jenn added, “And Rick. But until then, this is just between the three of us.”

  Savannah’s wheels were spinning like a race car’s. Her thoughts practically smoked. This would be one hell of a story to write about.

  The beautiful side of a madman.

  Maybe she would write this story someday. Momma’s voice echoed in her mind. You never know what doors will open up in front of you if you open yourself up to new opportunities and change.

  Of course, that would mean she’d have to be open to opening up. Until now she’d never allowed herself to even think about opening up. Not once since Momma and Dad died. The day of their funeral, it was like her whole life had been zipped up into a hazmat bag. Maybe it was more like a body bag.

  Keeping things static in her life, safe, wasn’t an accident. It was intentional. She thought she was protecting herself in her predictable and planned life.

  Had that been a mistake? Maybe being safe was keeping her from living the life she’d been meant to live.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the familiar drive north on I-95, Savannah couldn’t stop thinking about the images in that mural. A painting in a painting—it had to mean something. She wished she had the talent to sketch out what she was seeing, but stick people weren’t going to cut it, and she wasn’t even good at drawing them.

  As she recalled the specific images, she used the voice recorder on her iPhone to take note of even the smallest details she’d noticed. It was a staggering amount of information. Especially just going on memory. She couldn’t wait to get back and really study it, and then compare it to what Jenn saw.

  She stopped by the Hilton Arlington to check in before heading to her apartment to change and then drop off the letters to Evelyn.

  As soon as she swung into the parking lot of the hotel, she spotted Scott’s baby-blue Thunderbird. It was parked out on the second row, next to the curb, and there was no mistaking it with the vanity tag GR8SCOT.

  Nerves raced in her tummy, making her wish she hadn’t stopped and gotten those French fries on the way. If she bumped into Scott now, she’d have some explaining to do. He’d probably think she was following him, or worse . . . interested. She sat there debating with herself over what to do.

  The front door of the hotel opened, and out walked Scott Calvin.

  She dropped down in her seat like she’d just dodged a bullet. Peeking over the steering wheel, she prayed he wouldn’t look in her direction. Her blue Mini Cooper stood out less here than it did in Adams Grove, but it wasn’t that inconspicuous. She prayed he wouldn’t even look in her direction.

  He didn’t.

  She watched until he cleared the parking lot, then let out the breath she’d been holding. She grabbed her purse and jogged inside. With one eye on the front door, she registered and got her room key.

  The young man behind the counter was eager to please. “Here you go, Ms. Dey. We have free Internet and complimentary coffee in the morning until nine. The gym—”

  “Thank you so much.” She snagged the key from his hand and practically ran out the door. Her heart was still pounding when she got to her car. She slung open the door and dropped into the seat in hysterics. That desk clerk probably thought she was a real nut job, or on the run. Nervous, sweating, eyes darting . . . yeah, it couldn’t have looked good. If they pulled that security tape for any reason, she’d be at the head of the suspicious character list for sure.

  Something about that little race against the clock to avoid Scott had lifted her spirits. She couldn’t wipe the smile from her face, nor did she want to. She started her car and headed for the interstate.

  She didn’t even mind getting stuck in DC traffic, for a change. Instead, she cranked up the radio and sang along. If she was late, she was late. No big deal.

  By the time she got to the office, Evelyn had already left for the day. Savannah grabbed a sticky note and wrote a hello and good luck and clipped it to the stack of letters. She had her doubts that Andrew Jones would make it as her replacement, but she was going to stay out of it. If she criticized the poor guy every step of the way, she’d surely never get to leave Advice from Van behind.

  The short distance from the office to her apartment took nearly thirty minutes. It was why she usually walked to work. It just wasn’t worth the headache of the slow-moving snarl, and she had things to do. Plus she could pick up what she needed from the store each evening. It made for easy shopping that way.

  There was nowhere to park on the whole block this afternoon. Ever since the new day spa had opened up around the corner, daytime parking had been a nightmare. She parked the next block over and walked.

  The apartment was stuffy from being closed up for the last few days. She cranked the AC down to sixty-eight to get it cooling down and then went to her bedroom and dropped her purse on the bed.

  Her closet was jammed with clothes, some still with the tags and others still in the dry cleaner bags. She pushed the hangers to the far left and started whipping through the outfits to find some possibilities.

  She laid three dresses out on the bed to choose from for tonight and then tugged a few shirts and jeans from their hangers to pack. Once she’d filled her suitcase with enough to keep her in casual wear for the next few days, she jumped in the shower to get ready.

  With her hair in a towel, she tried on all three dresses. The first one was her favorite, but it was bright red and there wasn’t one thing subtle about it. If she thought for a second she might get through the night without being noticed, this was not the dress to wear.

  The green dress made her eyes light up, but it had gotten wrinkled in the closet and she didn’t have time to press it before she left, so she slipped on the simple navy-blue dress. It fit fine and it was understated. A small row of blue-on-blue gemstones dressed it up without looking too fancy.

  Her time was running short. If she was going to make it back to Arlington and to the event on time, she was going to have to
hurry. Rather than fuss with her hair, she blew it to a damp-dry and then pulled it into a loose chignon. Lipstick and one tissue blot and she was nearly ready to go.

  She slipped on a pair of navy-blue pumps and then stood in front of the full-length mirror that had once been her mother’s. Sometimes when she looked at herself it was like looking straight at the memory of her mother. Tonight was one of those times. “Miss you, Momma.”

  Twisting to the side, and satisfied with the look, she gathered her things to leave.

  Part of her wished Scott might get to see her looking like this tonight, but then there was that Cinderella dream that always tested her sensibilities.

  Stick to the plan, Van.

  Scott hadn’t been in the ballroom more than fifteen minutes when someone had scooped him up and shuffled him over to meet some of the guests. If somebody had told him a week ago that he’d be standing here talking to the governor he never would have believed it, but here he was.

  It was no secret that there was quite a buzz about how Frank Gotorow had even made parole, and the governor’s office was just one of the offices under scrutiny following what had happened in Adams Grove. Although it hadn’t been the intent to kill Frank Gotorow in the process, Scott had to wonder just how relieved some of these high-ranking officials were about how the whole thing went down. At least this way they could pretty much make up whatever story they needed to cover the scandal without worry that Frank Gotorow would leak what had really happened, especially if any special favors had been thrown around as speculated.

  It was hard to stand there and take praise for just doing his job. There wasn’t an officer or sheriff in the country who wouldn’t have done what he’d done to protect his community, or they shouldn’t be in the job. Truth was, the crazies tripping into your territory was just a crapshoot. No town, big or small, was safe from that. He’d just gotten the lucky, or not so lucky, draw of Frank Gotorow following Mike Hartman to Adams Grove.