Upstaged

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  Mrs. Pierce tapped into the room wearing her Sunday best pumps. Like her sister, she wore a Thanksgiving apron decorated with pilgrims and turkeys. “I’ve opened the wine, Professor. The Chardonnay and the Riesling. Do you think four bottles will be enough?”

  Eloise looked up from the biscuits she was arranging on a baking tin. “Good Lord, Adelaide. Do you think we’re a bunch of drunks?”

  Both sisters burst out laughing, covering their mouths in school-girlish delight. It was a side of Mrs. Pierce I’d rarely seen.

  I sidled up to Eloise. “You need to come see us more often. You’re gonna be the life of the party.”

  Eloise lifted one hand to her blue-tinted hair and blushed. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

  The kitchen door opened and Lieutenant Joe Russell stuck his head in the room. “Hungry men coming in. Gang way.”

  “C’mon in, guys. It’s almost ready.” I waved them inside, glad they hadn’t been delayed by some cop emergency .

  Adam Knapp followed Joe into the kitchen. His eyes traveled around the room, and I assumed they were searching for Freddie.

  He shook my hand. “What can I do to help?”

  I drew him into a quick hug. He hugged me back with surprising enthusiasm.

  “Would you start a fire in the great room fireplace? Freddie’s trying to start it herself. Not a good idea, in her condition.”

  “Sure.” His expression brightened. “I’d be happy to help.” He disappeared in seconds.

  Joe hung his coat on a hook in the mudroom and joined me at the stove, freshly showered and smelling like Old Spice. “Got a job for me, Gus?”

  “You bet. I need four hands to get the bird on the platter so I can start the gravy.” I lifted the roaster out of the oven and heaved it onto the kitchen counter. “This is one big turkey.”

  Joe and I slid long forks under the bird and lifted it onto the platter next to the pan. The skin was brown and crispy, the juice ran clear, and the legs wiggled easily at the joints. Perfect. A half-inch of drippings remained in the bottom of the pan, ready for the gravy.

  Eloise put the rolls in the oven and I stirred the gravy, adding spices and a cornstarch paste to thicken the drippings.

  Joe blended the cooked giblets and we added them to the pan. He bent his head toward my ear. “Can I speak to you later? There have been some developments.”

  I looked sideways at him, my interest piqued. “Sure, Joe. After dessert?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Hot dishes covered the buffet. Maddy made place card holders out of white linen stationery. She’d carefully written everyone’s name with her newly learned calligraphy skills and drew a small turkey or pilgrim in the corner of each nametag. I noticed Joe’s name card sported the most elaborate and colorful drawing and that she had put him right beside her. I watched her curiously as she flounced about the room. She had toned down her usual wild colored outfits and wore a cranberry crepe dress with sterling silver jewelry.

  Very elegant , I mused, intrigued by this new turn of events.

  Oscar wheeled Millie to her place at the table and filled her plate with small portions of each dish. I carved and placed moist slabs of the turkey on everyone’s plates as they worked their way down the buffet. Freddie poured the wine, and Siegfried filled the goblets with ice water. Finally, everyone was seated, ready for me to give the blessing.

  “Dear Lord, thank you for the sumptuous feast that lies before us. We are blessed to be together with such loving friends and family. Most of all, thank you for providing us with a safe haven in which to celebrate this holiday and for Your gracious love.”

  I waited patiently while Freddie whispered to Johnny. He suddenly looked up from his folded hands and shouted, “Amen.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  I slouched in the leather chair before the hearth, the mock cherry pie and whipped cream sitting heavily in my stomach. In keeping with tradition, we had all eaten far too much. Freddie headed the cleanup crew, since she preferred washing dishes to cooking. Needless to say, I liked that arrangement, too.

  Although her baby belly kept her arms from barely reaching the sink, she insisted on washing the pots and pans. Adam and Camille offered to help and busied themselves clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. Siegfried and Maddy sat on the couch with Johnny, listening to Oscar’s familiar but always thrilling stories of his worldwide photographic adventures.

  Oscar perched on the edge of a small Hitchcock chair next to Millie’s wheelchair, his arm draped around her shoulders. A well-worn photo album lay on his lap. She beamed at him while he retold the favorites, appearing excited in the right places, in spite of the fact she’d heard them dozens of times. Oscar’s blue eyes flashed, his face grew animated, and he ran one hand through his silky white hair. While retelling his classic tales, he flipped through the album and pointed to each photograph. Johnny’s mouth dropped open frequently, and Siegfried and Maddy oohed and ahhed each time he flipped a page.

  Far enough from the family to preserve a bit of privacy, Joe sat next to me in a high-backed wing chair. We both pulled our seats up to the crackling hearth and propped our feet on the bricks.

  He took a sip of coffee. “We’ve been doing a lot of research. There are a couple of odd things that have come up that I’d like to run by you.”

  I settled deeper in my chair, feeling sleepy. Must be the tryptophan . “Good. I’d like to hear what you’ve got. ”

  “First of all, I checked out Camille’s ex-husband, Greg Robinson. He’s still in prison for assault and battery, up for parole in nine months. They say he’s had a few fistfights over the past years, but lately has seemed to settle down. Not many visitors.”

  He looked up at me as if to explain. “I thought we should look at revenge first. Even though he's not on the school grounds, he might have hired someone. Maybe a kid he met on the Internet who goes to the high school, or something like that. Since Camille had him arrested and put in prison, I thought he’d have the biggest grudge against her.

  Trouble is, he’s found religion and has organized all these prayer groups in his cellblock. According to the warden, he seems to have turned around. Might have become somewhat of a fanatic, but my instincts tell me he’s not involved.”

  The group across the room exploded into laughter. Oscar mimicked the orangutan who had stolen his backpack in Brazil.

  Joe continued. “I also checked out your son-in-law, Harold Delano.”

  “Ex-son-in-law.”

  “Right. Ex. According to my source in the prison, Harold is still bitter about being caught, but I think if he were going for retribution, he’d be attacking you or Freddie, not Camille. Again, he’s had no known visitors who have any relationship to the school.”

  Joe stretched his legs and laced his hands behind his neck. “That pretty much leaves people at the school, as we originally thought. Students, faculty, administrators, and other employees. We’ve started with the group directly involved with the show, and those who were cut from the auditions, of course.”

  He hesitated, appearing unsure of himself for one brief moment. “You know that I’m telling you this in the strictest confidence, right? But I’m doing it because if you’re forewarned, you and Camille will be more alert and ultimately safer. You understand? I could get in some pretty hot water if my boss knew I was sharing all this stuff with you.”

  “I understand.”

  He sat forward and clasped his hands in his lap. “Okay, well, let’s see. One of the boys who were cut at the auditions has a history of violence. I’m not going to give you his name, because he was supposedly in a swim meet at the time of the attempted murder. So his friends say, anyway. There’s a slight possibility he could have slipped out of the meet after his race and followed Cindi from the school, but getting access to a four-wheeler would have been tough. Two years ago he was accused of raping a sixteen-year-old girl in the last school he attended. He got out of the charges, and he’s in therapy and is be
ing monitored. Guess he was a pretty poor student, with troubles at home. You know the type. Known to have fixations on people. Reportedly, he was furious Camille didn't pick him for the show. Although he’s very troubled and fits the psychological profile, I don’t think he’s had the opportunity, so let’s put him aside for now.”

  “Okay. Who else is there?” I asked, draining my coffee cup.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  M addy got up from the couch to refill her coffee cup and brought the pot to us. She fluttered her eyes at Joe. “More coffee, Officer?”

  Joe’s cheeks reddened. He straightened and held out his cup. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled. “Thanks very much.”

  She sashayed back to the kitchen. He stared at her, caught himself, and turned back to me.

  I suppressed a smile. “You were saying, Joe?”

  “Yes. Um. Yes. Well, next, there are the kids in the show. You know the boy who plays the rock star character, Randy Sherman? We’ve busted him once or twice for possession of marijuana. Spent a night in jail the last time at his parents’ request. Nothing bigger, though. Typical teenage stuff. The rest of the kids seem okay, as far as we can tell from records and interviews with teachers and friends.”

  Joe pulled a small notebook from his back pocket and flipped it open.

  “Oh, yes. The parents of that girl, Lisa. The Bigelows. Had some problems over the years, that’s for sure. You knew about the mother being on medications for, um, mental problems, right?”

  “Mr. Bigelow told me about it when he apologized for her behavior the other day.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s had some doozies in the past, Gus. Stuff like turning in her daughter’s nursery school teachers for bogus crimes just because they didn’t pay the proper attention to her daughter. She’s definitely got some monster paranoia working there, coupled with obsession over her kid. She’s been in the psych unit at Rochester Memorial more than once. Most of it was over five years ago though, and her doctors say she’s been stable. There were no reports of sexual deviancy that could explain the stolen undergarments. That’s the main reason why I think she’s out of the picture, Gus.”

  “I know, Joe. That part bothered me, too. I could see her getting some hood to break in and steal the dog, though. Maybe he took the clothes?”

  “It’s possible. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Joe wrote the suggestion down in his book. “But she would have had to hire someone to chase and kill Cindi, too. That seems pretty far-fetched. Her husband could have been roped into the scheme, but somehow I really doubt that.”

  I pictured Mr. Bigelow with his cherubic face and honest eyes. Even though I’d forced myself to consider him, I’d dismissed him as a suspect in my own mind weeks ago. “No way. You’re right, Joe. Unless all of the activity up to the attack on Cindi was Agnes, and Cindi’s attempted murder was something else altogether. Maybe she knew something about some other crime, or someone had been after her for another reason.”

  I paused for a second and a bizarre thought occurred to me. “Or, maybe they weren’t after Cindi at all. Maybe they were aiming at me.”

  Joe looked at me. “I did consider that, Gus. That’s why I looked into your son-in-law. It could’ve been him. But it’s more likely that it’s still linked to Camille and the show.”

  “Okay. What else do you have in that notebook of yours?”

  “We’ve almost cleared Frank and Jonesy. Only thing is, Jonesy was in the military. He was a sharp shooter and a weapons specialist. He could have made the shot from the four-wheeler with his eyes closed. We’re still trying to get his school records. But the school has been closed for fifteen years.”

  I tented my fingers and leaned back in my chair. “Jonesy does have a funny way about him, Joe. He reminds me of a little weasel, the way he’s always sneaking around and watching us. I know it’s not fair to judge him by that, but a couple of times I’ve caught him sweeping up around the girls’ dressing room and I’ve had to ask him to leave to protect the girls’ privacy. He gives me the creeps. ”

  “Okay, I'll do a sexual deviancy search on him, just to be sure.” He stirred uncomfortably in his chair. “The last issue has to do with your superintendent, Mr. Marshall. This is the hardest one to believe.”

  I sat up. “Marshall?”

  “Yeah. Mr. Marshall is hiding something. Could be totally innocent, don’t get me wrong, but he underwent a name change twenty-five years ago. No records of a Louis Marshall exist prior to that. Nothing, nada. Not even a birth record.”

  “What if he’s in some kind of witness protection program?”

  “I asked him that. He got really defensive and flustered when I talked to him. I’d never seen him that way. Practically threw me out of his office, saying ‘How dare you question my integrity!' It shocked the hell out of me. We’ve requested a court order to open some sealed records in the County Clerk’s office, since there is a possibility that he could be involved in attempted murder.”

  I looked at Joe, dumbfounded. “Seriously?”

  “I know, Gus. But you didn’t see his face! He was transformed. I have to check him out. Camille did say he asked her out for coffee and that she refused, right?”

  I sat back heavily in the chair, suddenly feeling very tired. “I think he has a crush on her.”

  Joe looked at me with interest, sitting still. “Hmm. Well, having feelings for someone doesn’t convict them. We’ll keep prodding in that direction, as well as the others. We’re still working on it. We’ve got lots to do yet. Fingerprints from the railing came back with all the kids’ prints on it, and of course yours, Siegfried’s, and the janitors’. No surprises there. We analyzed the bullet that hit Cindi. It came from a pretty high-powered rifle. We’ll keep on digging. It may go on for a while though; there are so many damned possibilities.”

  We both sighed and looked into the fire for a while. Finally, Joe stood and stretched, massaging his lower back .

  Maddy approached us. “You gentlemen ready for another piece of pie? Joe, you didn’t try my pecan yet. Made from scratch, you know.”

  Although he’d already loosened his belt after the meal and said he was stuffed to the gills, Joe smiled. “Sure, Maddy. But just a sliver. I’m afraid my uniform won’t fit in the morning if I eat much more.”

  Maddy slipped her arm through Joe’s and tossed her head over her shoulder. “Sorry, Professor. I’m taking him over now.” She laughed a tinkling, girlish laugh and minced beside him.

  “It’s okay, Maddy. We’re all set, anyway,” I said to myself. She ignored me and chatted with Joe all the way to the kitchen.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  O n Thanksgiving night, after a long and delightfully overindulgent day, I slept heavily and tossed and turned through wild dreams. Although I wasn’t a downhill skier, in my dreams I had mastered the sport. I was skiing with great skill down a powdery hill when someone shook my shoulder.

  “Dad?”

  I rolled over and looked up at the shadow above my bed.

  “Dad, it’s time.”

  “Time? Wh—” The words made no sense. I didn’t have to get up for work for another three days. And it was still dark out.

  “Dad, the baby’s coming. It’s time .”

  “The baby?” I leapt out of bed, adrenaline spurting through my bloodstream. My eyes felt gritty and my mouth was dry, but my heart pumped like a metal street sign in a hurricane.

  Max woke, stretched and yawned, and then jumped off the bed. He trotted to Freddie and licked her hand.

  She ruffled his ears.

  I leaned on the bedpost, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance, or can I drive you?”

  “You can drive me. I called Dr. Patel and he said to wait until the contractions were five minutes apart. I’ve been timing them for the past two hours and the last few were five minutes apart. He said it would probably be hours before the baby comes, though. Don’t worry, Dad. I already asked Mrs. Pierce to watch Jo
hnny. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  Still nervous and not quite awake, I started to walk toward the stairs.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, honey?” I stopped and turned to find her smirking at me .

  She pointed to my pajamas. “We’ve got time. You can get dressed.”

  Max shook his head, jingling his license tags. His tail wagged in anticipation as he looked back and forth between us eagerly, pleased that the morning was starting so early.

  Chuckling, I shuffled toward the closet. “Okay. I’ll get changed. Where’s your hospital bag? I’ll bring it down in a sec.”

  “It’s in the van. I brought it out when I started to feel the contractions two hours ago.”

  I changed quickly and met Freddie in the kitchen by the back door with Max close behind. She leaned on the table, her face twisted in pain. I started toward her, but she waved me away. Max whined and licked her hand again. She doubled over and concentrated, breathing through the contraction.

  When it had passed, she let me help her up. “Should we leave a note for Sig?”

  “He came out when I put the bag in the van. I told him not to worry, just to hang tight until we called. You’d better let Max out, Dad. He’s really gotta go.”

  Max danced circles around me. I opened the door to let him out into the rain. He hesitated, and then rushed toward the mock orange bush which held the dubious pleasure of being his favorite. He sniffed a few times and raised his leg. The rainwater flowed over the gutters and splattered in the flower gardens around the porch.