Jammed

by Deany Ray

  He didn’t ask me what I’d figured out since I’d been in town. He was arrogant enough, I was almost certain, to think there was no way I’d know something that he hadn’t figured out himself. So I didn’t fill him in on Hector Elkins or about the note I’d gotten at the festival.

  “So that’s how I know Graywell,” I said. “We both came from Boston.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. They filled me in on Graywell when I started on the case.” Hmm. Was I so unimportant that nobody mentioned me?

  Alex sighed. “Well, this stuff is getting dangerous. As I guess you’ve noticed.” Then he gave me a flirty smile. “You’re pretty easy on the eyes, girl, and I’d hate to see you go. But you can’t stay here. I don’t want you to get hurt. Let the experts handle this one. I’m sure your captain will agree once he hears about this murder.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got a case to solve.”

  He looked irritated. “They should have told me at the station. They should have told me about you.”

  “Well, they didn’t tell me about you either. But I don’t really care. You’re not that interesting. I’ll let you make your call.” With that, I turned to go and almost collided with Celeste who was coming out the back door.

  “What’s taking you so long?” she asked. “We were getting worried.” Then she saw Graywell’s leg and she frowned. I was expecting another reaction, like the one I had. But Celeste remained composed. She smacked her gum. “Is that somebody’s leg? Is he dead? Have you called 911? What are you standing here for?”

  “I just found the body,” Alex said. “I was just about to call. You two go inside where it’s safe.”

  Celeste looked at me and then at him as if she suspected that something else might be going on. But she didn’t want to stay out there. And I sure as heck was more than ready to get the hell away from the dead body. And the sooner he called the police, the sooner I could go home.

  They arrived ten minutes later with their sirens screaming. They marked the scene with crime tape and then they spread out across the thick woods that lay behind the diner. Two officers took photos. Another bent over the body, looking carefully for any hairs or other evidence they could link later to a suspect.

  Alex had waited outside for them and stood in a huddle with two men in blue. I recognized one of them as Chief Snow.

  As I watched the activity outside, Celeste opened the door for three officers who asked to come inside and take our statements. Marge had put on a pot of coffee and asked the officers if they took cream or sugar.

  They wanted to separate us for questioning. So I led my interviewer to the kitchen and pulled in two chairs from the dining room. Two men in uniform led Marge and Celeste to separate corners of the main room.

  The young woman across from me turned to a fresh page in her notebook. “So you took out the trash and saw Mr. Cole in the vicinity of the body? What time would that have been?”

  “I did. It was a little bit past nine.”

  “And you’re a waitress here at Jack’s?”

  “Unofficially I am. I live in Boston, really. I’m just here for a visit. This is my father’s place.”

  She nodded.

  And I felt weird, uncomfortable. I was leaving out some key stuff: that I’d seen the body first before I heard the sound of Alex moving behind the dumpster. I was leaving out the fact that I – and the victim too – were working undercover on a case. And that the drug case out of Boston was almost certainly the motive that she was hoping to nail down while she was at the scene.

  I worked for the police. And I was lying to them too. But the captain had told me not to say a word to anyone about why I was in town, not even to the local cops unless it was Patrick Snow. So I’d keep my little secret. If Chief Snow wanted this woman to know, then Chief Snow could tell her.

  I hoped she was almost finished. I smelled like some putrid liquid that had most likely been part of someone’s lunch hours and hours ago. The thought made me want to throw up. I might never eat again. No, I didn’t say that. I take that back.

  “There’s my girl!” I was startled by a booming voice and looked up to see my dad, who’d been summoned by the police. I knew that was the way it worked; they called the owner of a business anytime a crime occurred on the property.

  He pulled my hair and laughed. “What’s the matter, officer? Did my Charlie misbehave?” His jolly mood seemed quite at odds with the somber scene. But that had always been my father: a little too happy and much more boisterous that any others in a room.

  He turned even unhappy gatherings into something of a party. If the town showed up as an angry mob to protest at a rezoning hearing, he’d show up with a smile and pass a bag of candy down the aisles. He’d make a game of taking bets on how the votes would go.

  Or he’d burst into a sick room that had gone still with worry, and he’d start making jokes. His gift to the patient would be a Russell Stover box that wasn’t filled with candy but with some toy rat instead that was mounted on a spring to pop up in the patient’s face. Surprise! But people loved my father; he never failed to make the whole room smile a little.

  The girl asked me a few more questions and took down my cell phone number. Then it was my father’s turn. I gladly gave my chair to him, kissed him on the cheek, and headed for the house.

  I couldn’t wait for a long, hot shower to wash away the yuck. But it couldn’t wash away the growing fear that felt hard and icy cold like a knot inside my chest. Or the memory of the smug face that belonged to Alex Cole.

  Some of the yuck would stick to me for a while, I feared. I wanted to solve the case and I wanted to solve it soon.

  Chapter Six

  After the night I had, I thought I’d sleep at least until eleven.

  Wrong!

  The sound of heavy metal music woke me up. The speakers were booming just underneath my room. You shook me all night long, the singer wailed. I glanced over at the clock. It was only eight thirty.

  What in the world was going on? It couldn’t be my brother. He wouldn’t be up this early unless there was a fire. Suddenly I felt a jolt of panic. Could there be a fire? No way, I decided. Brad would have grabbed his precious phone and hightailed it out the door. Why would he bother turning on some music if the house was burning down?

  Still in my extra-large Celtics t-shirt, I crept warily down the stairs. My mother and four of her ancient students were waving their hands above their heads and shaking their hips to the song. Craptastic cookie crumbles! Go ahead and shoot me now.

  My mom cried out in delight when she spotted me. She pulled me into the room and swung me in a circle in a kind of do-si-do. “Welcome to our class!” she said.

  The women greeted me with heavily lipsticked smiles. They shook their hips a little harder. Had the music gotten louder?

  My mother was holding my arm so tightly that we spun three times around the room before I was able to loosen her grip. I smiled politely at the students and gave them a little wave. “Sorry. I think I’ll just get coffee. You all…carry on.”

  Since when did classes start at eight? It’s not like any of these women had busy days ahead of them filled with corporate meetings.

  “We thought we’d try something new this week,” my mother called out happily. “Early-morning movments to get our engines going.” Following her lead, the women held their hands up and swayed as if they were very wrinkled human trees in brightly colored leotards.

  “We’re challenging ourselves today.” My mother’s voice followed me as I left the room. “I’m working these ladies a little harder. We’re stepping up our old routine. But you can do it, ladies!”

  I got the coffee going and stared out the kitchen window as the events of the night before played out in my mind. The captain in Boston could have let me know that the police here in Springston had a detective on the case. Had the captain known that Alex would be working undercover? And in the very diner where I was hanging out?

  And had Graywell known? And n
ever even bothered to mention it to me?

  Graywell. My heart stopped in my chest. I pictured his still body, his bloody face. I had to steady myself, then sit down while the coffee finished making.

  My heart rate was almost back to normal when I heard my cell phone ringing in my purse up on the counter. I got up and checked and saw it was my boss. “Hi, Captain. How’s it going?”

  “How are you doing, Cooper? I hear things were rough last night.”

  “It was an eventful evening.”

  My mother picked that moment to crank the music even louder. Good grief. These women hardly seemed to be the rock music type.

  The captain paused. “Sounds like you’re at a party. Who has a party before breakfast?”

  My mother does, I thought. “My mom teaches exercise. She’s got a group working in the den.”

  He sighed. “Well, I’m glad we could get you home to have some time there with your parents. But I need you to come back now. I didn’t know that things would get as dangerous as this. And I can’t have you all mixed up in this kind of mess.”

  Well, that was a relief. I knew that as a detective I was supposed to just move on despite whatever horrors or dead bodies might complicate my day, but there was no denying that I was scared to death. Was I next in line to be corpse number three?

  But still, there was a part of me that didn’t want to leave. Something was holding me back from running home to Boston and the safety of my job behind a desk. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was more than cute. I wanted to solve the case before that jackass Alex could, to make my life into something more before my twenties slipped away.

  But none of that sounded like a thing a real detective might confide to his gruff, no-nonsense captain.

  So I said the only thing that I could think of. “See you tomorrow, sir.”

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and added a lot of cream. Then I spotted the plastic container with my mother’s cookies. I lined three cookies on a plate: one because of my traumatic night, one for my morning wakeup call, and one for the unwelcome summons back to Boston. And then I added one more just because they looked so good. After all, I told myself, I had just exercised.

  I settled at the table with my…breakfast? I chewed slowly, letting the sugar melt on my tongue, and stared up at the painting that I used to look at everyday while I did my homework or ate my meals. An abstract woman with leaves for hair seemed to float across the moon. Sometimes when I was young, I’d pretend that she was real. I’d tell her all my secrets and spill out the detailed plans I’d dreamed up for my future. The job where my phone would ring all day because I was needed – stat! The three adorable children. The husband who was tall with thick brown hair and the most fabulous eyes you’ve ever seen.

  Now the woman gazed back at me with an icy stare. Where’s the husband and the kids? She seemed to want to know. Where is the cool job?

  Then I heard something: quiet. Thank goodness! The music had stopped. I heard the students and my mother as they passed the kitchen, deep in conversation. As they caught my eye, I waved. “Take care!” I called out.

  My mother said her final goodbyes, then she burst into the kitchen, stopping short when she got closer. She put her hand across her chest, a stricken look plastered on her face. “Oh, honey, this is awful!”

  “Have a cookie, Mom. Don’t freak. I eat oatmeal for breakfast almost every day. And an apple too. This is not my norm.”

  “Oh, no, it’s not that. It’s your aura, sweetheart. Very, very dark.” She studied me a moment. “You know, I just bought a new book. And I have just the thing!” She turned to leave.

  “Mother, please. Just no.” I’d just seen a body. And elderly women shaking their booties in electric-colored leotards. That was enough trauma for the moment, thank you very much. I didn’t need my mother running around me in wild circles doing some kind of cleanse.

  She took a seat across from me. “But I can tell that something’s wrong. Tell your mama, sweetie.”

  I was so confused. How even to begin to ask the question that’s weighing on my mind? Do I stay here and try, for once, to make something of myself? Or do I pack my bags? Because, after all, a crappy life beats the heck out of a hole in the middle of your head. But, of course, I can’t tell her what it is that has me shaken up. I don’t have that luxury because I’m undercover. But maybe if I was vague…

  “What would you do,” I asked her, “if you had two choices and both of them seemed right?” I frowned. “But, in another way, both of them seem wrong.”

  She frowned. “It’s hard sometimes, I know – these questions that get thrown at us.” She took both my hands. “But it’s important to remember that you’re wiser than you think. Go with your gut, your heart. The answer is inside you.” She gave my hands a squeeze.

  I looked down at the table. “And sometimes the answer changes.” I kept going back and forth. One moment I was sure I’d stay; the next minute I was packing my suitcase in my head.

  My mother gave me a sympathetic look. “When the answers are important, that’s when it’s the hardest to decide.”

  I gave her a sad smile. “And that’s when you eat a cookie.” I took an extra-large bite, then slid the plate over to my mom.

  “But sweetie, whatever the question is, promise me that you’ll listen to yourself. And not to everybody else. It makes me think of high school, back in my senior year. All my friends were just so sure that I would be an idiot to go out with your dad. Because you see, the hottest guy in school had his sights set on your mother.” She smiled at the memory. “Captain of the football team. A smile to make you melt. He had it going on.” She took a cookie from the plate.

  “Did the two of you go out?” I hadn’t heard this story.

  “For a couple months we did. We made a striking couple if I do say so myself.”

  “And what was Dad like way back then?”

  She thought about the question. “Kind of like he is now. Short, a little loud. The joker in the back row who placed a plastic bug in the middle of your desk. But I don’t know…I just had a feeling about your father. He always made me smile. I could relax around your dad more than anybody else.” She took a bite of cookie.

  “Well, there you go,” I said. “And look how great it turned out.” My parents sometimes seemed to be as different from each other as anyone could be, but they still slow danced in the kitchen when their favorite songs came on, and I’d hear them whispering late into the night, my father’s loud guffaws mixed with my mother’s giggles.

  “So, what happened to the guy?”

  “Oh, he turned out to be a loser. Still lives with his parents. We see him at the movies every now and then. He sells tickets at the kiosk. Now, what kind of job is that, I ask you, for a full-grown man? But when he works at the concession stand, he lets me have free butter on my popcorn.” She winked. “Guess he’s thinking of those nights we parked out on the lake. We had some good times then.”

  I held up a hand to stop her. “Way too much information.”

  She was too caught up in her memories to hear a word I said. “Oh, and one time underneath the bleachers…”

  “Not another word.”

  She looked at me, surprised. “Honey, why shouldn’t I be able to share these things with you?” She smiled. “These were very special moments. And there’s nothing in the world more natural than…”

  “Mom! Oh my gosh. Just eww.”

  She stood and kissed the top of my head. “Well, just follow your heart, my girl. Your heart knows what to do.”

  After she left, I bit down on my nail since the cookies were all gone. Maybe my heart knew exactly what the answer was, but it wasn’t telling me.

  I poured myself another coffee, then decided to head off to the diner. Alex might be working, and I needed some answers from him. Maybe by now they had a lead on who Graywell’s killer was.

  I remembered how still he looked out behind the dumpster. The picture in my head sent a chill all throug
h my body. Once again, I felt full-fledged panic coming on. Most people would have taken long, deep breaths or perhaps gulped down some water. But me, I grabbed a muffin. Then I headed out the door.

  ***

  I found Alex alone in the kitchen. Great. Because I had lots of questions.

  He looked surprised to see me, and then a little angry. But he recovered quickly and gave me a flirty smile. “Well, look who’s graced us with her presence. You’re much too pretty for a place like this.” He lowered his voice and winked. “Do I need to hide the broom?”

  “Ha ha, very funny.”

  So many questions and so little time. Someone could walk in anytime. “Do they know yet what happened to Graywell?” I whispered. “Do they know anything? Did you know he was with the PD? And they never even told you that Boston sent me here?” I barely stopped to breathe. “Didn’t they brief you on the case? Shouldn’t your chief have filled you in? And why didn’t they tell me about you?”

  He held up both hands and laughed. “Whoa! Wait a minute, little lady. Take things a little slower. One question at a time.”

  “Okay, let’s start with Graywell. Do they know who shot him?”

  He shook his head. “Well, that’s official business. I’m afraid that I can’t say.”

  “I think we left the secretive part behind us. You know I’m also involved in this case so get over yourself and start talking.” Wow, was that really me?

  He turned away and began to chop an onion. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk. Not to a civilian.”

  I stared at him while he grabbed another onion and began dicing with vengeance. Who does this guy think he is? What part of ‘we’re both on the case’ doesn’t he understand? I was determined not to leave without some answers. I stomped my foot to the ground. “Spill it out. Spill it out now or I will…”