Death Opens a Window

by Mikel J. Wilson

  Chapter 27

  Emory had no sooner exited the backseat of his father’s pickup, when he heard a delighted squeal from his mother. Lula Mae pointed to a Mourning Dove Investigations ad plastered on the side of a bus stopped at a traffic light. “Look! It’s Emory! Quick, Nick, take a picture!” She grabbed a blushing Emory’s upper arm with both hands. “Were you surprised?”

  Emory feigned delight. “I definitely was.”

  “I just fell in love with the idea when Jeff called me.” By the time Sheriff Rome pulled the phone from his pocket, the bus started moving. “Hurry, Nick! You’re gonna miss it!”

  The sheriff trotted along the sidewalk with his phone in front of his face. When he walked back to them a moment later, he was scrolling through the few pictures he’d captured. “I think they’re all blurry, Lula Mae.”

  Her shoulders dropped at the news. “Oh no. I hope we see another one.”

  Emory led them to a diner with a pseudo-shanty exterior and the name Dolly’s painted on a sign. He held open the front door for his parents. “After you.”

  Once inside the restaurant, his mother’s demeanor recovered. “Emory, what a nice place.” Her eyes roved around the Dolly memorabilia adorning every wall. To upbeat country music, a handful of waitresses shimmied among at least two dozen tables and booths, dressed as different versions of Dolly Parton – from her television days in the 1960s and 70s to her movie characters of the 1980s. Costumed as Porter Wagoner, the host greeted the trio of newcomers and led them to a table for four.

  “Jeff introduced me to it.”

  “He’s such a nice man. I really like him.”

  “I do too, Mom.”

  After they were seated and had ordered, Lula Mae wasted no time in steering the conversation. “Emory, we have a confession to make. The reason we’re here is to talk to you. Well, for Nick to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  Sheriff Rome took a sip of his coffee and winced as he clinked the cup back onto the saucer. “Son, we were a little worried after our last phone call. You don’t seem to be happy with your new job, so we were thinking you might consider working for me.”

  “You want me to be a deputy in Barter Ridge?”

  Lula Mae answered for him. “You could live at home as long as you want.”

  The sheriff ripped open a packet of sugar and dumped it into his coffee. “We could definitely use someone with your expertise. You already know we couldn’t have caught that murderer last month without you.”

  Emory glanced at Lula Mae’s hopeful face before turning to his father. “I appreciate it, Dad, but I’m happy here. In Knoxville.”

  Lula Mae sank into her seat. “Emory this is about your birth father, isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “That hateful man is gone now.” She grew more passionate as she spoke, ending at the point of trembling. “I’m sorry to be blunt, but he’s dead. You two saw him die. Everything that happened, it’s over. There’s nothing keeping you from coming home.” She waited a few seconds for a response. “Unless you just don’t want to be around us.”

  “Oh my god, that’s not it at all.” Emory hesitated before giving a reason. “I just don’t need another job offer.”

  His father removed the coffee cup from his lips, forgoing a sip for a question. “Another one?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything because I’m still debating it, but Anderson Alexander came to see me.”

  Sheriff Rome perked up at the name. “Hey, I’ve met him. He’s the head of the TBI.”

  “He offered to override my former boss’ decision and reinstate me.”

  Lula Mae’s elation returned. “Emory, that’s wonderful!”

  “Congratulations Son!”

  “Thanks, but I don’t know if I want to go back.”

  The sheriff added another packet of sugar to the coffee. “But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

  “It is. I’ve always had a straightforward plan. I knew exactly how my career was going to go. Now I do feel… adrift. I took the PI job because it was offered to me on a silver platter, but I don’t like the disrespect that comes with it. Karmic retribution I suppose. I can say that it hasn’t been boring, and it’s kind of freeing to be my own boss and not have to deal with the politics of the reporting structure. I do like being around Jeff.” Do I tell them I’m gay and have feelings for Jeff? “I mean we argue all the time. Constantly, but…” I can’t. “Still, it would be nice to be back on a course where I know the destination.” Emory shook his head. “Being fired just left such a bad taste in my mouth.”

  A surprising expression of anger leapt out of the shadows to slap the sympathy from Lula Mae’s face. “Honey, get some Scope and rinse it out. You belong in the TBI. Isn’t it better than what you’re doing now? Jeff is very nice, but you’ve always had higher ambitions.”

  “There’s something else.” Emory pulled the listening device from his pocket and placed it on the table. “I found it in my apartment this morning.”

  Lula Mae reached out to touch it but then recoiled as if it intended to bite her. “What is it?”

  The sheriff took it from Emory. “It’s a bug.”

  Lula Mae covered her mouth to ask, “Can they hear us now?”

  “It’s not a lip-reading machine, Lula Mae.”

  “And I’ve disabled it.”

  The sheriff retrieved his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and gave the device a closer look. “Who put this in your apartment?”

  “I encountered an intruder earlier in the week—”

  His wide-eyed mother talked over him. “An intruder? In your apartment?”

  Emory nodded. “My first thought was that I had interrupted a burglar, but now I think he might’ve been working with the TBI. There’s an Aesir logo on the side of the bug. It’s the company that supplies the TBI with surveillance equipment.”

  Lula Mae gasped. “Why would they have you under surveillance?”

  “I was about to sue them for wrongful termination.”

  Sheriff Rome handed the bug back to Emory. “So you think they’re trying to find something to discredit you? That’s not a legal reason to bug you.”

  “What if they came up with another reason? Eve Bachman, my old boss, has had this chip on her shoulder where I’m concerned. I wouldn’t put it past her to fabricate an internal corruption investigation as a reason to surveil me.”

  “What if you’re wrong? Surely the TBI isn’t that Aesir company’s only customer.” The sheriff tested his coffee again and then sipped away.

  “It’s possible, but I don’t know why anyone else would break into my apartment to plant a bug. I never really have guests, and my conversations with myself just aren’t that interesting.” Emory briefly flashed on his sexual encounter with Jeff, and his face reddened. They must’ve heard all of that!

  Lula Mae shifted in her seat and pinched her face into a fretful expression. “Burglars, surveillance. That settles it. You need to come home and work with your father.”

  “Mom, I’m not running.”

  “Fine. Where’s the ladies’ room?”

  Emory pointed it out. “Over there.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  As his mother walked away, Emory told his father, “Actually, I could use your professional help with something.”

  “Hang on. I need to tell you something before Lula Mae gets back. Someone broke into the house yesterday while we were at work.”

  “Oh my god!”

  “I didn’t know why until now. I think I need to check our house for bugs.”

  Emory frowned at him. “I can’t believe the TBI would tap your place too.”

  “Maybe they’re covering all their bases to find something on you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So what did you need my help with?”

  Emory handed him two plastic baggies – one containing a blank, used envelope and the other a photograph of Emory as a teenager at the fo
rmer Crescent Lake. “This picture was slipped under my apartment door in that envelope about a month ago. By the same person who broke in the other night – at least he was wearing a similar mask.”

  “I’ve never seen this picture before.”

  “That’s because it was taken before I met you, and it burned in my granny’s house – along with all my other pictures. Or that’s what I thought.”

  “How did this picture survive, and who had it?”

  “The only other person at her house then, besides me and her, was my father.”

  “So he took it.”

  “That’s what I figure, and then the TBI must’ve confiscated it along with everything else after he died. Read the back.”

  The other side of the picture was black with silver writing that read, “Who bears the iniquity of the son?”

  The sheriff trained his eyes on Emory. “What does it mean?”

  “I’m not sure, but it looks like someone is using my past to get to me today. Can you look into it for me? You have access to fingerprint records, and I think you can be more objective about it.”

  “Of course.” The sheriff pocketed the baggies just as his wife returned to the table.

  Lula Mae slid into the booth. “Did I miss anything?”

  The sheriff put an arm around her. “I was just telling Emory he should take the direct approach. Go talk to Anderson Alexander. Make him lay all his cards on the table, and ask about the surveillance.”

  “I agree.” Lula Mae tapped the table with her index finger. “Honesty’s best. Get all this behind you, and get back to work.”

  “You’re both right. I’ll get this straightened out.”

  When Jeff returned to Mourning Dove Investigations after driving Ms. Mary Belle home, he was surprised to find the office still empty. “It’s 10 o’clock. Where the hell are they?”

  He continued on to his office, removing his grey pea coat as he walked. While hanging it on his coatrack, his face jerked upwards. “What was that noise?”

  He heard Bobbie’s muffled growling through the ceiling and scuffling. Jeff opened the bookcase door to the secret space behind the wall and pounded up the spiral staircase to his apartment. He shoved open the door and spotted someone in his living room. The ski mask with circle eyes and jagged red smile flashed his mind to the night of his car accident a month earlier. It’s him!

  The intruder tried to slip out the window, but the bobcat clung to his calf with her front paws and sharp teeth.

  Jeff lunged for the man, grabbed the waist of his black pants and hurled him to the apartment floor. He jumped onto the intruder, straddling his torso, and punched him twice before reaching for the ski mask. “Who the hell are you?!”

  The man uttered nothing but grabbed Jeff’s wrists before he could pull off the mask. He bucked the PI up and slid from underneath him in one fluid motion. The man dropped his weight onto his palms and twirled his body to deliver a kick to Jeff’s jaw, flooring him.

  Bobbie, who had been waiting to pounce again, did just that. She leapt onto his left shoulder, but the intruder spun his body around, flinging her before she could dig in her claws.

  Shaking the stars out of his head, Jeff took advantage of the distraction his bobcat provided and kicked the man’s knee pits. The intruder’s legs buckled, and he fell to prayer position.

  Jeff scurried behind him and locked him into a sleeper hold. The masked man seized Jeff’s right hand and bent it at the wrist, forcing it back enough for him to escape the hold. He dropped again to his hands and donkey-kicked the now-standing PI back onto the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room, knocking the wind out of him.

  The man yanked the electric cord from the lamp by the couch. As the lamp crashed to the floor, he vaulted over Jeff’s head with legs in near-perfect splits, wrapping the cord around the PI’s neck as he did. Now on the opposite side of the bar, the man clutched the ends of the cord and forced the back of Jeff’s head to the top of the bar so that his feet almost couldn’t touch the floor.

  Jeff grasped at the cord, trying to free himself before he could be strangled to death, but the man’s grip and leverage were too much to overcome.

  Perhaps sensing a call for help, Bobbie jumped onto the bar and attacked the man’s arms. The intruder yelped and released his grip on the cord.

  Coughing, Jeff threw the cord to the floor and turned to his attacker.

  The man had backed away from Bobbie and was searching the kitchen drawers. A second later, he brandished a chef’s knife and lunged toward the bobcat.

  Jeff dove onto the bar to push Bobbie away. The blade missed her but sliced through his right cuff, grazing his wrist. “Son of a bitch!”

  The man withdrew the knife, and Jeff hurried off the bar. The intruder whisked the knife in an arc before him, aiming for Jeff’s chest, but the PI jerked back just in time to avoid it.

  The man leapt over the bar, stamping his feet into Jeff’s ribs. Although he stumbled back, Jeff didn’t fall. The masked intruder tried to cut him again and again. Whisk! Whisk! Whisk! With each effort, Jeff dodged or deflected the blade with whatever was handy – couch cushion, coffee table book, picture frames. After a close swing, Jeff grabbed his wrist and jammed it into his knee.

  As the knife clinked to the floor, the masked man shot toward the window. Before Jeff could catch him, he was gone. By the time he poked his head out the window, the man was already darting down the alley.

  Jeff dashed down the stairs and out of the office to street. He started running to get around the building to the alley, but when he turned the corner, he tripped over something that sent him flying to pavement.

  “Dude, are you okay?” a voice from behind him asked.

  Jeff grunted as he pushed himself up. He turned around to see Phineas sitting there with his legs stretched before him and his guitar leaned on the wall at his side. “I’m fine. Did I hurt you?”

  The homeless young man chuckled. “Man, I’m feeling no pain right now.”

  “Phineas, did you see someone running by here?”

  “You mean besides you?”

  “Yes!” Jeff clenched his impatient fists. “Wearing a white a ski mask.”

  “What? A ski mask?” Phineas exhaled to check the air. “You can’t even see your breath.”

  Jeff exhaled, but in exasperation. “He wasn’t worried about the temperature.” He ran down to the alley and looked both ways before returning to Phineas. “He’s gone.” He took ten dollars from his pocket and handed it to the homeless musician. “For lunch.”

  “Thanks dude.” He reached for his guitar. “You want me to play you a song?”

  “That’s fine.” Jeff waved and headed back to the office.

  Once he was alone, Phineas smirked and reached two fingers inside his guitar. From beneath the strings, he pulled out a white ski mask with a jagged red smile.

  Chapter 28

  “Quit flinching!” Flustered, Emory again waited for Jeff to extend his arm.

  Seated at his desk, Jeff opened his scrunched eyes. “Can’t you use some antibiotic ointment? I hate alcohol.”

  Emory smirked at the comment. “It didn’t look that way last night.”

  “Very funny. It’s going to sting like a mother.”

  “Look, this is the only disinfectant in the first aid kit. Now hold still so we can get this over with.”

  Jeff squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as he held out his arm again. He grunted when Emory touched the alcohol pad to the shallow knife wound on his wrist. “Do I need stitches? I feel like I need stitches.”

  “It’s not that deep. Are you sure he meant to hurt you?”

  Jeff held his wrist up to Emory’s face. “You tell me!”

  Emory clenched the left corner of his lips. “It’s just that I was thinking he might be working with the TBI.”

  Jeff laughed. “This guy seriously tried to kill me. He’s not law enforcement.”

  “I don’t get it then. Who is he?
He’s now broken into our apartments, and he’s bugged mine.”

  “Caused my accident last month.”

  “In all fairness – playing devil’s advocate – you were pursuing him, and he was just trying to get away, so even that could be explained away.”

  “Tell that to the four tires I had to replace, thanks to his homemade spike strip. Did you say bug?”

  As he bandaged Jeff’s arm, Emory filled him in on the listening device and almost everything he had discussed with his dad. He debated telling him about the picture that had been slipped under his door because he knew that would lead to more questions about his past – a place he was not prepared to revisit just yet.

  Once he was done, Jeff reiterated, “Whoever he is, he’s not in law enforcement.”

  “Then who is he?”

  Jeff rolled his sleeve down and nodded toward the adjacent wall. “Go over to that painting.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.” As Emory complied, Jeff inspected the gash in his cuff. “This shirt is ruined now.”

  Emory stared at the painting and remembered that he had meant to ask Jeff about it before now. Within the frame a hooded woman held a lantern before her as she navigated a seaside clifftop under the watchful gaze of a raven perched on the ruins of a church. “Why this painting?”

  “Not that one.” Jeff pointed to another painting. “On the other side of the bookshelf.”

  Emory looked at the correct painting but stayed put until he got an explanation. “To get from my office to yours, you chose A Separate Peace because it’s your favorite book. To get to your apartment upstairs, you pull on The Secret in the Attic, which is obvious. What’s the significance of this painting to get out of your office?”

  Jeff shrugged off the question. “I just like it.” He walked past Emory to the painting to which he had pointed. “Come to this one. It’s a forgery. The real one is hanging in the Yale Center for British Art.”

  Emory inspected the painting, which he had never had the opportunity to notice before. It was of a nude woman sleeping in a bed, on the side of which sat a clothed man with clasped hands and a look of contemplation or regret. “It’s haunting.”