Flyer

by J. L. Wilson

  “We couldn’t prove it was murder, though. That really pissed off T.K.”

  I jerked my mind back to the conversation. “What? I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  “That girl in California. Her death was odd but we couldn’t dig up any proof that the missing guy had anything to do with it.”

  “Girl in California?”

  “The girlfriend.” Bob got to his feet and headed for the back door. “Somebody’s here.”

  I hadn’t even heard the car pull in the drive, but Bob was at the back door, his hand hovering near the gun in the holster at the small of his back—a holster I hadn’t even seen until now. I gaped at him when he opened the door, looked out quickly then held the door wider for Bell to enter. Like me, he wore black jeans and he’d swapped his suit for a dark blue shirt under a light gray sports jacket.

  “I’m glad you changed, too,” he said when he saw me. “I wasn’t sure if I needed the suit or not.”

  “Mom wouldn’t care what we wore,” I said, picking up my bag from the table. “She’d want us to be comfortable.” I smiled at Bob. “I’m glad to see I’m leaving Mom’s cat in capable hands.”

  “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. You guys take care of yourselves.” Bob watched us leave then closed the door. I heard the lock snick shut behind us.

  Bell was still driving the big sedan. “Thanks for doing all the chauffeur duty today,” I said after slipping into the car.

  “Thank you for including me.” He drove south to Stuart Street then east, taking a route around the south edge of town rather than through the main streets.

  I tried to think of a roundabout way to talk about what Bob told me then I decided to just be blunt. Hell, what did I have to lose? I was tired of secrets and tired of dancing around the truth, whatever that may be. “Bob told me that you had your security group investigate Peter. He said they found him for you.”

  Bell’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I knew the truth would get out sooner or later. I was hoping it would be later.”

  “Why? Why all of this?” I raised my hands to encompass the last four days. “You knew Peter was alive. Why go through this whole game to pretend to look for proof?”

  “This isn’t a good time to tell you the whole thing.” Bell slowed the car, easy to do because we were nearing a school and the speed limit changed anyway. “I’ll tell you what I can and you’ll just have to trust me for the rest.”

  “Trust you? After you’ve lied to me? I don’t think so, Bell.”

  “Look. I had to flush Peter out into the open. We don’t have any proof about the murder. That’s what I want the proof for.” He was speaking fast, words tumbling over each other.

  “Is that the royal ‘we’?” I demanded. “What murder? When?”

  “Tina Lilly’s murder. Jamie Lim’s murder. Your mother.”

  “What?” I leaned back against the car door as though putting distance between us would make his talk more intelligible. “Jamie Lim? My mother?”

  “I don’t have time to give you all the details. Peter tried to blackmail me. My legal team contacted the police in California. During their investigation, they started to suspect—”

  “He tried to blackmail you? He told me you were blackmailing him!”

  “You talked to him? When? Is he here?” Bell shot me anxious glances, slowing the car more. A car behind us honked and he pulled to the curb, putting the car into park and turning to me. “When did you talk to him?”

  “He called me yesterday and I saw him this morning, outside the house. He’s going to be at the cemetery. He told me to bring all the proof we had about him. He said he’d expose you as a blackmailer if I didn’t.”

  “You don’t have any proof,” Bell said flatly. “There really isn’t any, nothing admissible in a court of law, at least.”

  “I know that. He said he was sure that Dad had proof. That’s why he went through the house. I mean, I assume it was him.”

  Bell sighed heavily. “Your parents took money from Sylvia, years ago. Your mother felt guilty and wanted to make amends so she contacted Sylvia. I don’t know how she got the address, but—”

  “The Christmas card,” I said. “Lightly showed her the Christmas card, remember?”

  Bell nodded slowly. “That must be it. Anyway, your mother wanted to repay the money. It was tearing her up that they took illegal money. I tracked down Peter and that’s when Peter tried to blackmail me.” Bell’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “After all, I’m worth millions, right?”

  “But what could he blackmail you about?”

  Bell looked down at the steering wheel, struggling with some inner decision then he said, “I knew that Peter was still alive. Your mother loaned me money to get started in business. When I asked her where she got it, she told me. It was what remained after your father’s medical expenses.” He looked at me, his pale green eyes unflinching. “So technically I was an accessory to his fraud. And so was your mother.”

  “Holy crapola,” I breathed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Peter?” Bell said. “Damn it, Wendy, didn’t it occur to you that I can hire the best legal minds in the world to handle him? Why did you pay attention to anything he said? No matter what he does, I can have it handled.”

  “I didn’t think about it. I just wanted to protect you.” I frowned, perplexed. “Why wouldn’t you tell me what was going on?”

  “Hold on.” Bell pulled back the right lapel of his sports coat and spoke into it. “Hey. We have a problem.” He saw my astonished face and opened his jacket even wider, so I could see the small electronic gadget barely visible in the hem of the lining.

  I stared at him, my mouth open. I’d seen enough movies to know he was wearing a wire.

  Chapter 17

  “What the hell is that?” I demanded. “Are you—?”

  Bell held up a hand, his eyes narrowed in concentration. I fumed in silence, alternately glaring at him and at the innocent world outside the car.

  “Okay, but I don’t like it,” he finally snapped. “Get them in place now. I’ll do what I can to stall. This had better not get fucked up.” He looked at me. “I’m working with the L.A. police, who are also working with the local police. There isn’t time to explain everything. Your parents took money from Peter and Sylvia. Your mom wanted to pay it back, but she didn’t know how to. She asked me to find Peter for her. In digging up Peter, I dug up Tina’s death and Jamie Lim’s death. He died six years after Peter disappeared, killed by a hit-and-run driver.”

  “Lim knew Peter was alive?” I murmured.

  Bell nodded. “I think Sylvia and Peter paid him to keep his mouth shut but he asked for more money. Instead of paying him, they killed him.”

  “And Tina? Why her?”

  “I’m not sure.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I think Sylvia got wind about what I was doing and she or Peter visited your mother. When your mother got sick—” He drew in a deep breath. “I wondered if I somehow led Peter to her.”

  “They visited…” My words faded when I realized what he was implying. “You’re saying one of them killed her?”

  He nodded. “I’m guessing, but I think they found out that your mother didn’t have definitive proof. All she could do was tell the authorities what she knew. And I think that’s why they tried to kill her.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’ve been wondering if I somehow led them to her. I’ve wondered if it’s because of me that she—”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t go down that road.” I remembered Jason’s voice. It’s personal for him. If Bell thought he caused my mother any harm, he’d never forgive himself. “If anyone is to blame, it’s Peter.”

  Bell nodded. “I know. I just hope we have a chance to make him pay for it.” He glanced at the dashboard clock. “We have to get out there. Just follow my lead, okay? The police are going to get in place. Don’t get far from me. If Peter shows up, stay away from him. They need a clear shot.”

&n
bsp; “What? Are you kidding? Aunt Jane is out there. This is a public place. You can’t have a gunfight in Kensington Gardens!” I was breathless with outrage. This was insane. “Wait a minute. How can outside police be in town? They’d be spotted in a minute.”

  Bell put the car into gear and resumed driving. “It sure was useful that two reporters were on hand to rescue us from that car accident.”

  I gaped at him, again. “What?”

  He smiled. “You’re so trusting. That’s why I was sure you could flush Peter out of the woodwork. He would never suspect you.”

  “Me flush Peter out…” I leaned against the car door again, this time from shock. When I could finally speak again, I whispered, “Why you? Why did you get involved?”

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Peter made your mother’s life miserable and if my suspicions are correct, he caused her stroke. It was time for payback.”

  “What do you mean? She never said anything to me about it.”

  “She wouldn’t. She didn’t want you to know. All these years she kept it a secret that she took money. She was ashamed they had to do it.”

  “But—but—”

  “I can’t explain it all now.” Bell took my hand without removing his eyes from the road. “Just trust me, Wendy. Please.”

  “You just told me I was too trusting. Which is it?”

  Bell smiled briefly. “I’ve never deliberately hurt you. I won’t start now.” He drove to the gates of the cemetery and we slowed again, this time to accommodate the narrow, twisting road winding through the place. “Try to act normally and stay close to me.”

  “Act normally? There are police coming, my mother might have been murdered, you’re sure Peter is a murderer, and my mother’s inurnment ceremony is about to begin. There’s nothing normal about this!”

  He squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to get involved, at least not like this.”

  I tore my hand away from his. “You know, if one more person tries to protect poor little me I’m going to haul off and hit him. I can take care of myself, Bell.”

  He ignored my tantrum, staring ahead. “I’m sure nothing will happen until the service is over. Just stay close to me.”

  I took in a deep breath, trying to calm the boiling excitement percolating in the pit of my stomach. My hands trembled when I picked up my purse from the floor where I had set it. I felt the reassuring weight of Dad’s gun, and my nervousness immediately ceased. It was a reminder of him and my mother and their strength and courage all those years. If they could face illness and death with such dignity, the least I could do was try to emulate them.

  Bell pulled in behind the funeral sedan, which was parked on the verge of the narrow drive. This part of the cemetery had mostly headstones denoting graves rather than in-ground markers. Two large rectangular mausoleums were about thirty feet away on my left, important looking structures on top of a gentle hill. Big trees shaded them on the small knoll.

  My parents would bring us to the cemetery to visit David’s grave and the graves of my grandparents, all clustered in this area. We kids used to wander around and I remember peering at the mausoleums, which housed a husband who was a key figure in the settling of the town and his second wife.

  Not far from them was a headstone of the man’s first wife, almost as imposing as the granite mini-buildings. It had an enormous black angel poised on top of it, peering down at the second wife’s mausoleum. When we were kids, we used to joke that it was really the first wife keeping an eye on the second one. Aunt Jane had told us the man’s family disapproved of the second marriage, so this was his children’s way of making sure the second wife knew.

  A fanciful story and one that flitted through my head while I emerged from the car. Bell held out his arm and I slipped my hand through it while we walked through the warm grass to the tent. The day had turned humid and still, so quiet I could hear the faint buzz of farm equipment in the distance.

  The funeral people had erected a small tent over our family headstones. It was just big enough for the minister, Jane, Bell, and me, providing welcome shade as well as shelter from the misty rain that was starting. The minister stood near the small spot of cleared earth where Mom’s remains were already placed.

  I took a seat next to Aunt Jane, sitting on a wooden folding chair which rested on a thick carpet spread on the grass near the headstone. Bell sat next to me, his gaze sweeping around the area before settling on the minister.

  Mom and Dad shared a headstone. On the right were smaller ones for Mike, David, and John. The boys’ headstones were simple, with just their birth and death dates. I think, at the time, it was all my parents could do. The grief at losing a child precluded any sentiments on their markers. Mom and Dad had chosen phrases for theirs.

  George Llewellyn Davis. “He is not dead, he is just away.”

  Mary Ansell Davis. “I return to the dream from which I was born.”

  I blinked back tears. When Dad died, Mom had her inscription engraved at the same time his was done. All that was needed to make it complete was her death date. My whole family was here, gathered around me. I took Aunt Jane’s hand when the enormity of that sank in. Everyone I grew up with, everyone who knew me from childhood, was here.

  Bell took my other hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it then releasing it. His touch reminded me that I wasn’t right. I’d known him since I was a small child and although we were separated for more years than we’d been together, I still had someone close to me who was a part of my past. It was reassuring and strengthening.

  The minister spoke for a few minutes, quoting scripture then saying a little homily about two souls reunited in heaven, two spirits who would never be separated again. It was perfectly true of my parents. They were two people attuned to each other, truly happy together. I felt a spark of happiness at the thought my mother would finally be with Dad after all that time apart, and my brothers would be with them. Now she’d be whole again.

  “I visited Mary in the hospital several times,” the minister said, closing his Bible and looking first at the headstone then at me. “Once you understood her method of communication, it was amazing how much talking we really did.” He smiled at me, his eyes full of compassion. “She was so proud of her Wendy Darling and all she accomplished in her life. Mary was thankful for the many visits she had with her daughter and she grieved to think that Wendy would be sad at her death.”

  “I know that having her sister nearby was a comfort to Mary,” he said to Jane, who nodded sadly, her hand still clasped with mine. “She felt she was always surrounded by love and she knew her daughter would have that love and support later, when she most needed it.”

  His gaze shifted to Bell. “Mary knew Tom would also do all he could to help Wendy if she needed it. Tom was a good friend to Mary, not just out of gratitude for all that Mary and George did for him, but out of love for them. A true friend is a rare and wondrous gift, and Mary knew it.”

  The minister put his hand on the gravestone, giving it a final, gentle caress. “We say good-bye today, but you will always have them in your hearts to guide you and support you in the days ahead. Try not to be sad but understand that sometimes death can be a gift. It was that for your mother, Wendy. It was a release from her pain and a chance to be with her beloved husband once again.” He nodded and stepped away from us, moving to the car parked in front of Bell’s.

  We three sat silently for a long moment then Aunt Jane stood and went to the grave, touching the headstone. “I always envied your mother. She had such a full life with all the kids and she loved George so much. I didn’t have that kind of relationship with my husband. Your parents did have a one-of-a-kind marriage, I think.”

  I went to her side. “I never realized it, I suppose. I think I thought that’s how all marriages worked. It wasn’t until I was older that I knew how special it was.”

  “I think I’ll go back now.” Jane dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, lace-edged
and feminine like her pale blue dress and shoes. “I need to be alone for a while. How about you? Do you want to come with me?”

  I wanted to go. God knows I did, but I had to face Peter. I hugged her. “I need some time with Mom and Dad.” I walked with her to the car and the minister, who stood nearby.

  Jane paused before she got into the passenger seat. “Don’t let your grief interfere with your judgment, dear.”

  I glanced back at the grave. Bell was there, staring into the distance. “I won’t. I know this is all just temporary. I know it isn’t real.”

  Jane shook her head, white hair as tidy as ever in a braided bun. “Nonsense. That’s exactly what I meant. You’re over-thinking this, Wendy. For once in your life, let your emotions rule the day.”

  “That’s crazy, Aunt Jane.”

  “What’s crazy is your blindness to what you feel. I’ve known you all our life, Wendy Davis, and I’ve never known you to act unless you’ve carefully thought through all possible consequences. Sometimes you think so long you miss an opportunity.”

  “Nonsense,” I mimicked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You lost out on a scholarship to UCLA because you were worried about moving away. You didn’t take that job in Atlanta because it wasn’t quite right. All your life you’ve taken the safe path.” She looked past me. “He’s known and he’s unknown, so you’re taking the safe path and you’re pushing him away.”

  Jane slid into the passenger seat with the agility of a woman half her age. “You’re over-thinking this, Wendy. Go with your gut. I’ll see you later. Take your time.” She pulled the door closed, leaving me standing in the mist.

  I watched the car leave then I walked slowly through the wet grass, the cool blades tickling my ankles. Bell turned to me, his eyes darting here and there. I was so exhausted it took a minute before I remembered why he was so anxious. I watched the minister’s car make a turn at the junction in the road then I continued walking to the gravestone, my mind in a spin.

  I touched the damp, cool granite. This day was a series of flips and dips, culminating in Bell’s story about working with the police. On the one hand, I was happy to have something to divert me from my grief, but paradoxically, I wished I could just have my grief and embrace it. I was tired of being distracted.