Flyer

by J. L. Wilson

  “They taught me to believe in myself. George showed me that I had skills and talent. I wasn’t just a nobody. I had a chance to make my mark in the world if I would only work at it. Mary taught me how to be, well, how to be human, I guess you could say. She showed me that it wasn’t weakness to be kind to people. She taught me that it was safe to love someone because even if the love isn’t returned, it isn’t wasted.” Bell’s gaze settled on me then moved away. Jane took my hand and squeezed it once, then released it and patted my arm in consolation.

  “In later years, I often visited Mary and it was like coming home for me. I’ve spent a lot of time in big cities and working on big projects, but when I came back to Kensington, I was just Tom Bell, the same kid who ran in and out of her house with the other boys. I was still important, but in a different way. I was important because Mary loved me, not because I was rich or famous.” He looked down at the podium for a long moment, obviously struggling to control his voice. “That’s the best kind of important to be and they shared that with me. I will be forever grateful to them for that.”

  He looked around the crowd, his gaze moving slowly from one side to the other then settling on me. “Mary’s life is truly a celebration of everything she believed in. We’ll miss her but she left us something precious and rare. She gave us unconditional love. It’s a gift I’ll always cherish.”

  Bell stepped back from the podium and nodded to the minister, then walked to his seat next to me. I reached for his hand. “Thank you,” I whispered. “You said what I couldn’t.”

  He raised my hand and kissed it, then nodded. “I know.”

  Two simple words. I know. Once again, I had that wild epiphany, that feeling of rightness which had been warring with my common sense since Bell reappeared in my life. He did know how I felt. He did understand without me telling him.

  The minister said a prayer and gave a benediction then it was over. The pianist started to play and as Jane, Bell, and I left, the soloist began singing Bird on a Wire, the Leonard Cohen song my mother loved. I smiled through my tears at the lyrics. It was such a fitting end to her leave-taking.

  I walked out into a world bright with sunlight, feeling like a new page was turning in my life. My mother would always be a part of me, but now I truly did need to decide for myself what direction my life would take.

  I felt Bell’s arm around my shoulders and I turned to smile at him. That’s when I saw Peter, leaning against a car across the street.

  Chapter 16

  The sight of him reminded me of my dilemma, which I had successfully forgotten during the memorial service. I needed ‘proof’ of some kind that Peter would believe. Peter smiled when he saw me and ducked into his car.

  I had to come up with something. The thought nagged at me as Bell opened the door for me and I sat in the passenger seat. He slid behind the driver’s wheel and started the engine. “Country Club, right? For the luncheon?”

  I nodded, hoping he’d take my silence for grief instead of confusion. There wasn’t any hearse because Mom was cremated, so the funeral director led the way in his sedan with Aunt Jane and some of the cousins. Bell pulled into line behind them and other cars followed us out of the parking lot.

  Peter said he wanted proof or else—or else what? I turned toward my window and closed my eyes, letting the filtered sunlight cause starbursts to go off behind my eyelids. It was a checkmate, wasn’t it? Peter wanted proof or else he’d go to the police. But he couldn’t go to the police without confessing to insurance fraud.

  Did he really think I wouldn’t come to that conclusion? I rubbed my forehead, trying to find logic behind what was probably the empty threats of a petty criminal.

  “Headache?” Bell asked, glancing my way.

  “I just don’t know what to believe anymore.” I rested my head back on the seat. “Blackmail, murder, lies. What’s true and what isn’t?”

  We drove for a minute in silence then Bell asked, “Who said anything about blackmail?”

  My eyes flew open. “I don’t know. I guess I just―” I stammered to a halt. “I don’t know.”

  “Has something happened you haven’t told me about?” His voice was mild but I thought I heard underlying irritation.

  “Has anything happened that you haven’t told me about?” I countered. “What did you find in Dad’s notes? Was there any concrete proof that Peter is alive? Or was there just the program, the pseudo-code?”

  “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

  “For who? It may be enough for you and me, but it won’t be enough for the police.” I tried to think of some subtle way to ask him about how he got his starting money in business. I gave up when everything I considered sounded too obvious. “We have no proof that anyone did anything to harm Mom and we have no proof that Sylvia and Peter conspired to defraud the insurance company. This has all been a waste of time.”

  “All of it?” Bell glanced at me before turning into the long drive leading to the Country Club, an unpretentious establishment on the northeast side of town. “Do you mean that you and me are a waste of time?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You’ve been acting like we’re not important, acting like what’s between us is temporary and unimportant. Is that how you really feel?”

  I blew out an exasperated sigh. “Would you give it a break? I can barely think straight much less make emotional decisions that may affect the rest of my life. Give me some time to figure out how I feel.”

  He parked next to the funeral sedan. “You shouldn’t have to figure it out, Wendy. You should just know.” Bell stared ahead through the windshield, his mouth set in a tight, angry line. “If you need to think about it, then I guess I have my answer.”

  He threw open his door before I could reply. I didn’t wait for him to come around the car. Instead, I opened my door and went to join Aunt Jane, who stood next to the funeral sedan. She put an arm around my shoulders in a brief hug. “Troubles, dear?” she asked softly, looking from me to Bell, who waited near the entrance to the clubhouse, his head down and shoulders hunched.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s not important.”

  “It’s important. It’s just not timely, that’s all.” She tucked her arm through mine and we went into the clubhouse, with Bell and my cousins following us.

  The Kensington Country Club was a club located in the country, but it was a far cry from the elegant country clubs in bigger towns. The clubhouse was just a two-story wooden building with locker rooms and a scarred and battered bar downstairs and a large banquet room upstairs. It was often used for funeral lunches because it the only place in town large enough to host more than thirty people.

  I got Aunt Jane settled at the main table near the doorway and I went to check on the catering arrangements. The church ladies had everything well in hand, so I rejoined Jane and Bell. He sat next to her and they were talking so earnestly I was certain I was the topic of their conversation, a thought confirmed when they hushed up as soon as I neared.

  “Go ahead,” I said, taking a seat on Jane’s other side. “You know you want to tell me how to run my life, so just go ahead and do it.”

  “I was just saying that I wondered what your mother would think of all this fuss,” Jane said placidly. “She never cared to be the center of attention.”

  “Hmm. I could have sworn you’d be talking about me.”

  Jane patted my arm. “There’s nothing to discuss, dear. You’re very predictable.” She turned to talk to someone behind us.

  I was glad she couldn’t see my face. If one more person told me I was predictable, I’d stand up and scream. I was sick to death of that being thrown in my face like it was a vice. What if I was cautious? What if I was careful? I fumed for a minute or two then forced myself to be polite to the well-wishers who stopped by the table to chat.

  Maintaining a polite facade got me through lunch, and with Jane between me and Bell, I didn’t have to worry about saying something wrong or hurting his
feelings. I felt like a fraud, chatting with mourners while another part of my mind was trying to figure out a way to handle Peter.

  Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe I just needed to meet with him and call his bluff. The more I thought about it, the better that idea sounded. Peter really had no threat to hold over me. If I didn’t cooperate, he wasn’t going to go to the police. Doing so would reveal his fraud.

  In fact, I thought, maybe I should call the police. They could come to the cemetery and arrest him. I considered that idea in between bites of casserole and Jell-O salad. Then I remembered. Peter said Bell was blackmailing him. What if that came out? Of course, what if Peter was lying? My head hurt. I couldn’t keep fact, innuendo, and accusations straight any more.

  “Are you okay?”

  I snapped out of my reverie. Lightly had taken an empty seat beside me and was looking at me, worry apparent on his handsome face.

  “I’m just tired.” I rubbed my forehead. “I have a headache and this day feels like it’s lasting forever.” I wasn’t sure if he knew about our accident, so I didn’t mention the bruising and overall achiness I was also feeling.

  “I know. It can be wearing. You’re almost done, though. Most of the people are leaving.”

  I looked around the room. He was right. The crowd was thinning out. A few older ladies were grouped around Aunt Jane, who had moved to another table. When she saw me, she waved me to her. “I’m being paged,” I said. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.”

  Lightly squeezed my hand. “Your parents always made us feel welcome. It’s the least I could do, to come here and share some memories.” He smiled and moved off.

  I went to Aunt Jane and helped her to her feet. “I’m going back to lie down,” she said. “I talked to Reverend Roberts. He said he’d drive me to the cemetery. You’ll meet me there at five o’clock?”

  “Are you sure?” I looked at Bell, who was talking to the Lost Boys near the door. “We can drive you out. You don’t need to go with the minister.”

  She gave me a brisk hug. “I think you and Tom could use some time alone. Besides, I want to come back right after the service and visit with some of the family. I think you’ll probably want to be there longer than me. Why don’t you and Tom come over to my apartment when you’re ready to relax tonight?”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.” I kissed her cheek and watched her leave with one of my cousins providing her with a strong arm for support. Jane may have looked and acted younger than her age, but she was almost eighty and this day had taken a toll on her.

  Bell rejoined me. “Are you ready to go?”

  I nodded. “I’m beat. I think I’d like to lie down, too.”

  “I’ll drop you at the house. I have some things to do. Bob is still there, but he’ll stay out of your way. I’ll come back and get you a little before five so we can go to the cemetery.”

  “You don’t have to go with me,” I said. “I can ride out with Aunt Jane.”

  “I’d like to go, unless you’d rather I didn’t.” He sounded formal, distant.

  “No, that’s fine.” I was too tired to argue about it. I had no idea how I would get rid of Bell and Aunt Jane so I could talk to Peter. I’d just have to figure out something. I made my thanks to the ladies from the church who arranged the lunch, then chatted with the funeral director and some guests who remained. It was two-thirty by the time Bell and I left.

  “Are you sure it’s okay if I come with you to the cemetery?” he asked while we drove to the house.

  “I’m not trying to exclude you, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m just not sure that you’d want to be there. It will be a very short service.”

  We drove past a small park and I glimpsed a couple of adults watching children play on swing sets. School was still in session so they must have been preschoolers. They all looked so carefree and happy. I felt as though I’d been carrying a weight for days on end. Peter, Bell, my mother’s death, the money from the app—my life was turned upside down in four days and I wasn’t sure what shape it would be in when it finally righted itself.

  “I get the feeling there’s something going on you’re not telling me about.” Bell’s voice was soft and politely accusatory, as though he was probing for more information.

  “If I’m not telling you about it, then there’s probably a reason,” I shot back. “You treat me like I’m an idiot child sometimes, Bell. Can’t I have a life?”

  His mouth thinned into an imperceptible line. “That’s offensive.”

  “What is?”

  “That crack about an idiot child.”

  I stared at him, puzzled. Then I remembered the child he adopted. “I’m sorry. I forgot about your—your past.”

  “She’s my daughter. I adopted her. Why is that so hard for you to remember?”

  “I’ve had a bit of stress in the last few days. Why is it so hard for you to remember that?” His accusation stung, partly because he was right. I should have remembered about his daughter, but I had completely forgotten. It was obviously important to him and it should have been important to me.

  We drove in silence to the house. Bell pulled in behind my car, sitting in the drive. “I’ll pick you up at four-forty-five,” he said.

  I nodded and opened the door.

  “Wendy, I’m sorry. I know you’re under a lot of stress. I am, too. I’m just not used to sharing with someone. I guess I’m out of practice.” He looked and sounded honestly contrite.

  I recognized a gesture of peace when I saw it. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but it’s been a long time since I had to report in to someone.”

  “You don’t have to report to me. I was just hoping you’d share with me, that’s all.”

  “I have, Bell. As much as I can right now.”

  He smiled tentatively. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay.” I slipped out of the car before he could interrogate me further. I was never any good at keeping secrets from him and I had no reason to think that had changed.

  Bob opened the door for me when I neared it. “All quiet here,” he said when I passed by him into the dining room.

  “Good. I’m going to lie down for a while. Don’t interrupt me unless the house catches fire, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  I felt his eyes on me while I crossed through the living room and climbed the stairs. I went into my room and dropped onto the bed, my purse sliding to the floor next to me. I stared at the ceiling for a minute then closed my eyes, trying to will away the insistent headache pounding through my brain. All I wanted was oblivion. Just a short hour or so of relaxation and forgetfulness. I wanted to put all anxiety, all worry behind me.

  As soon as I thought that, I realized how futile a hope it was. I put my arm over my eyes and for the first time I wept completely, big hot tears that burned while they rolled down my face. I was alone. Mom had always been there, just a phone call away, a constant presence in my life. She was the person I could always visit, that voice at the end of the phone. Now there was nothing.

  True, I had Bell. But it wasn’t the same. This was a loss of my past, my childhood, and my adolescence. If I wasn’t careful, this would push me toward Bell even more. I had to be careful. I had to be objective. The things I felt now were a residual of my loss of my mother. I just had to let him know this wasn’t a permanent thing.

  And Peter—what to do about Peter?

  “The hell with it and the hell with him,” I muttered. I was tired of thinking about it. I’d worry about it later.

  ****

  Now it was later. I woke after a fitful ninety-minute nap and washed my face and changed clothes into black jeans and flats, more appropriate for the cemetery. I replaced my handkerchief in my bag and verified the gun was still there then I slung the purse over my shoulder and went to the window.

  The previous blue skies and puffy white clouds were replaced by blue-gray skies with low-hanging bruised-looking clouds. I considered grabbing an umbre
lla, then decided I was at the end of a long, horrible day. What did it matter if I got wet?

  I went downstairs. Bob sat in the living room near Athos on the couch. Both looked up when I entered. “Did you get a nap?” Bob asked.

  I nodded. “I feel better now. This must be pretty boring for you, just sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

  “That’s a lot of what security is. Hours of boredom interrupted by moments of terror. You get used to it.” He held up a computer tablet, which looked as small as a smartphone in his big hand. “I always have a bunch of books loaded and ready to go, so I’m never really bored.”

  “I’m going to make some coffee. Want some?”

  “I already have a pot going.” He got to his feet and followed me, pausing in the dining room when I went into the kitchen. I poured myself a mug of coffee and joined him at a seat at the table.

  “How long have you guys worked for Bell?” I asked between sips.

  “About ten years now. We’re not full-time for him. We’re just on call for when he needs us. You know, for special events or when there’s a threat.”

  “A threat?”

  “He’s gotten a few threats over the years. Usually some crackpot who has a grudge or something. It doesn’t happen too much now that those crazy people in Europe got taken care of.” He looked bemused, like crazy people threatening software executives was out of the ordinary, which I suppose it was.

  “You helped with that? He mentioned something to me about it.”

  “We did some legwork in France for that one. It was tricky because of the legal differences in the two countries. This last one was pretty easy, though.”

  “Last one?” I regarded him over the rim of the mug.

  “Yeah, digging up dirt on that guy who supposedly died. It took a while but we finally got a lead on him. He did a good job covering his tracks, but he disappeared so long ago almost all records were gone.”

  I nodded automatically, my thoughts whirling. Bell had been investigating Peter all along? He had proof that Peter was alive? Then what was this whole charade about? What was all this about finding proof from my father?