Flipped Out

by Jennie Bentley

  “OK.” Josh went back to painting the wall, but not without another look through the door and into the hallway.

  As I went back to the kitchen, I could hear their voices from the small laundry room in the back: Shannon’s a little teary, Kate’s calm and comforting.

  I left them alone and got back to my painting. After a few minutes, they came out, and I asked if everything was all right.

  “Sure,” Shannon said. Kate shrugged. So I gave them their assignments: Take the cabinet doors and get going on those while I finished painting the cabinet boxes.

  “Where should we go?” Shannon asked. Her hair looked like she’d been yanking at it, but she was composed and seemed rather determined to remain so.

  “I laid some sheets of plastic on the dining room floor.”

  “Isn’t someone going to paint the dining room? We’re painting the whole inside of the house today, right?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” I said. “You know, you’re right. Maybe it would be better for you to go outside. After the bedrooms, Derek will probably tell Josh to get going on the dining room, and it would be just as well if you weren’t there.”

  Shannon nodded.

  She stacked four or five cabinet doors on top of one another and headed out, while Kate gathered the plastic from the dining room and brought it outside, as well. After picking up the rest of the kitchen cabinet doors and carting them into the front yard, they got to work.

  The next few hours were quiet. Adam made it through the brief conversation with Cora, once he got it through his head that her name wasn’t Laura, and then he and the rest of the team moved into the front yard, where they spent some time filming Kate and Shannon and the new landscaping.

  Josh took a break for that, and so did I. I hung out on the porch, watching from a distance. Josh went out on the lawn, but he didn’t join Fae, who was hanging out next to Wilson. Instead, he waited for Wilson to finish filming Shannon before he wandered over to her. I don’t know what he said, or what she answered, but I saw her nod and saw him put his hand on her shoulder for a second before he headed back into the house. Shannon watched him go, and then she shot a guilty look at Fae, who didn’t seem to have noticed. Shannon went back to painting.

  The sound of footsteps caught my attention, and I looked out to the street and saw the mailman come up the sidewalk. He stopped at the mailbox, and I thought I might as well grab what mail had arrived, since Tony wouldn’t be around to do it.

  The mailbox held the usual, which I sifted through on my way back to the house. A couple of circulars, one from the hardware store below Derek’s loft and one a coupon flyer from a local pizza parlor. Not Guido’s, one of the chains. A couple of bills: one from the electric company—the name on it was Julia Green, not Tony Micelli, so the former tenant had probably skipped out on the final bill—and one for property taxes. A request for money from the March of Dimes. And a small, square, ecru envelope with Tony’s name and the Cabot Street address typed in a faded, old-fashioned script on an old, manual typewriter. The e was out of alignment.

  I changed course and headed for Kate. Making sure I stood between her and Nina, I got her attention, my voice low. “Hey. Take a look at this.”

  Kate looked up from her painting and shaded her eyes. “What?”

  “This just came in the mail for Tony. Look familiar?”

  Shannon had caught on now, too, and came to stand next to me. “It looks just like the letters that came for Nina.”

  “That’s what I thought. I didn’t get a good look at them, so I figured I’d ask you, since you’ve seen them better than I have. You sure?”

  “Positive,” Shannon nodded. “Same shade of dirty yellow envelope, same faded typewriting. What does the postmark say?”

  I peered at it. It was faded, too. “Missouri.”

  Kate nodded. “Same place. Same envelope, same writing. Probably the same person.”

  “I think we should call Wayne,” I said. “I’d take it to him, but I don’t have time to leave the house today.”

  “I’ll call him.” Kate was already reaching for her phone.

  “I’d better get back to work. I’ll take the mail inside with me and put it somewhere out of the way. Just in case there’s something going on—something to do with the murder—I don’t want Nina to see the envelope and catch on. Don’t mention it, either. Just tell him to stop by. And when he comes, tell him to come inside and find me.”

  Kate nodded. As I turned away, I heard her begin to speak. “Hey, Wayne. It’s me. Are you busy?”

  No one else seemed to have noticed what was going on, although when I walked past her, Fae looked up from her clipboard and sent me a smile. “Everything OK?”

  I smiled back. “Sure. Why?”

  “No reason. Shannon seems upset.”

  “Oh.” I glanced over my shoulder. Shannon had gone back to work on the cabinet doors, swinging her brush with a vengeance, and she did perhaps look like she was taking out some aggression.

  “She’s not talking to me today,” Fae added, her voice low. “I thought we were becoming friends, and now she won’t talk to me. I know she said it’d be OK, but I guess she really didn’t like me going out with Josh yesterday, did she?”

  I lowered my voice, too. “I think maybe she didn’t expect it to bother her as much as it did. They’ve been best friends for a long time. She worries about him.”

  “I’m not doing anything to him,” Fae protested. “I like him. He’s a nice guy.”

  “I guess maybe she’s afraid he’ll get his heart broken when you leave on Saturday.”

  Fae shrugged, and I added, “He told me you have a lot in common. I didn’t realize this wasn’t your full-time job.”

  She shook her head. “I study information technology. At Kansas City University. This is just a summer job.”

  “Nice that you could land such a cushy summer job. Most college students wait tables or work as lifeguards or camp counselors.”

  “Wilson’s my uncle,” Fae said.

  I glanced over at Wilson, who was talking to Ted, their heads together. “So how do you think things are going today? Is he getting enough footage to put together an episode, do you think?”

  Fae shrugged. “He’s getting plenty of footage. It all hinges on whether the house will be ready by Friday night, doesn’t it?”

  On that note, I excused myself and headed back to the kitchen and my painting.

  Wayne showed up about an hour later. By then, I’d had what felt like every member of the crew through the kitchen once or twice. Fae had come in to get a water bottle for Nina from the fridge. Then Nina herself had come in to check the progress. Wilson had come in to film the progress. Adam had accompanied him to comment on the progress; he was still calling me Ivy. Derek had popped his head in long enough to ask me to hand him a water bottle, too—I had taken the opportunity to brief him on the appearance of the letter, but he didn’t seem to think it was as exciting as I did; I think he was preoccupied with the tiling—and then Fae had come back, this time for a water bottle for Ted. Then Wilson came back to apologize for Adam not being able to remember my name.

  “Probably be looking for another gig soon,” he confided, while he twisted the lid on his own water bottle. “Nina’s getting tense, and who can blame her? I mean, how hard can it be to remember a couple names? Stu didn’t seem to have any problems.” He lifted the bottle and drank half of it.

  “How long was Stuart with the show?”

  Wilson glanced around the kitchen. “Three years, give or take. When the show started, we had a different host. Lasted about a year. Guy named Grant. Looked a little like that Micelli guy. The audience didn’t seem to like him. Too slick, if you know what I mean. More suited for anchoring the news than giving renovation tips. Didn’t look like he enjoyed getting his hands dirty.”

  I nodded. Looking like you enjoy getting your hands dirty is a must in that kind of job. Tony had been slick, and perfectly well suited for t
he news, but I had a hard time imagining him, or someone like him, as the host of a show like Flipped Out! I didn’t think Adam was quite right, either, to tell the truth, or that he would be even if he were able to remember his lines. This gig required someone more like Derek: a little more casual, even a little scruffy, with easy charm and good looks, but not so much polish. Not that my boyfriend’s unpolished, but he’s direct and honest and not too concerned with appearances. And gorgeous in spite—or perhaps because—of it. Stuart had been like that. Easygoing and charming, with crinkles at the corners of his eyes and an aw-shucks kind of demeanor that was instantly endearing. I’d enjoyed watching him. To enough of a degree that Derek accused me of having had a celebrity crush.

  “Horrible what happened to him. Nina told me he got electrocuted.”

  Wilson nodded. “Happened just a few weeks ago. House much like this one. Little Victorian in some small town in Kentucky. The electric shoulda been off, but something musta gone wrong, because when Stuart stepped on this wire, it shot electricity through his body. Thought for a second the top of his head was gonna blow off. His hair stood straight up and everything.” He took another swig of water.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Yeah. He got lucky. Shoulda been dead, most likely.”

  “So what went wrong?”

  He shrugged. “No idea. The renovators swore they’d turned off the electric, that they hadn’t turned it on again. Probably they were lying—both of ’em thought the other one’d taken care of it, but no one actually had, and when this happened, they closed ranks—but there’s no way of proving it. And it won’t make no difference anyway. He’ll still be in the hospital.”

  “How did Adam come to get the gig when Stuart was hurt?”

  “Oh, he was hanging around the place,” Wilson said with a shrug. “Rubbing up on Nina. Schmoozing. When this happened, she suggested he could step in. Probably his idea to begin with. He used to want to be an actor, I think—can’t blame him, with those looks—but he can’t remember lines to save his life. If he can’t remember your name’s Avery, and not Ivory or Ivy, he don’t stand a chance of making it in films.”

  Clearly.

  “Guess I’d better be getting back to work.” Wilson cast another glance around the kitchen.

  I stepped back to appreciate my own handiwork. “Looks good, doesn’t it?” All bright and sunny, with the yellow paint.

  Wilson nodded. “Sure does. You’re doing a good job.”

  “I think it’s going to turn out nice. I just hope we can get it all done in time for you to film the finished product before you leave. I’d hate for you to have wasted a whole week.”

  “Oh,” Wilson said with a grin, “we’ll still film the place on Friday before we leave. If it ain’t finished, we’ll hang you out on TV as not being able to get the job done.”

  “Great.” I made a face. Wilson chuckled and left the kitchen. Just outside the door, I heard him greet someone, and a second later, Wayne’s salt-and-pepper curls popped through the opening. “Avery?”

  “Hey, Wayne. How are things going?”

  “Fine.” He looked around the kitchen. “This looks good.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” I laid the brush down on top of the paint can, angled so it wouldn’t fall off and make a mess, and wiped my hands on one of the wet paper towels I had sitting everywhere. “How are things with you? Did you have a chance to talk to the kids across the street?”

  Wayne nodded. “Last night.”

  “And?”

  “They said Tony’s car was here when they left around eleven thirty. And so was Melissa’s.”

  “So that’s why you arrested her.” And why Derek’s story about their time spent together hadn’t made a difference. Melissa had been here earlier in the evening. Tony might already have been dead when she ran into Derek in his parking lot.

  “I didn’t actually arrest her,” Wayne said. “Just brought her in for questioning. I can hold her for forty-eight hours without charging her, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “What did she say happened?”

  “Nothing,” Wayne said. “He was alive and well when she left him.”

  Just what I’d expect her to say. “Any news on the murder weapon? Or the rest of our tools?”

  Wayne shook his head. “Whoever killed him probably dropped them in the ocean. Or tucked them away in his garage or something.”

  “Melissa doesn’t have a garage.”

  “I know that,” Wayne said. “I had Brandon go through her apartment, but there was nothing there. No tools, no murder weapon, no blood. Same thing with the car.”

  I nodded. “Let’s go out in the backyard for a minute. I could use some air. Lots of paint fumes in here.” And I didn’t want to talk about the letter inside the house. There were too many people wandering around to make conversations convenient.

  “Sure,” Wayne said and headed for the utility room door. I snagged the stack of mail from where I’d stashed it, out of sight of everyone who’d come through the kitchen, in the bottom of a bank of drawers next to the stove, and followed.

  There was some shade in the backyard under a couple of big trees, and we stopped there.

  “This came for Tony today.” I handed over the mail. The important stuff, anyway; I’d left the circulars inside. “I don’t know who else to give it to. Tony won’t be able to take care of it, and Derek and I don’t own the place. I guess the taxes will become part of the estate, a lien or something, but I’m not sure about the rest.”

  “Tony had a lawyer,” Wayne said. “A guy in Portland. I’ll pass this on to him.”

  “I don’t know if Kate’s mentioned it to you, but ever since she got here, Nina has been getting letters.”

  Wayne looked nonplussed. “Lots of people get letters. Even when they’re on vacation. Or away from home.”

  “Not like these. They’re small envelopes, sent from Missouri. One every day so far. Kate brought one over for her just this morning that she said arrived just as she was leaving the B and B.”

  “So?” Wayne said.

  “So if you look at what you have in your hand, you’ll see that Tony got a small envelope from Missouri today, too. Kate says it looks exactly like the ones Nina’s been getting.”

  Wayne looked down. “This?”

  I nodded. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  He cut his eyes to me. “It’s illegal to open someone else’s mail, Avery.”

  “But you’re the police. And he’s been killed. Don’t you think it might be a clue?”

  Wayne kept turning the envelope in his hands.

  “I could have opened it myself, you know,” I said. “I didn’t have to give it to you.”

  “You’d interfere with the mail?”

  “It’s not like anyone would ever know. Tony won’t miss his letter. And if I’m right, it’s not like anyone’s expecting a response.”

  Wayne gave me a long look.

  “C’mon,” I pestered. “Open it. I want to see what it says.”

  Wayne sighed, but he pulled a pocket knife off his belt and slit the envelope. I leaned forward and craned my neck as he pulled out a sheet of notepaper, the same thick ecru as the envelope, and unfolded it.

  There was only one sentence marching across the page, typed in the same faded uneven font as the address.

  I saw what you did.

  So that was one question answered. Yes, it was a poison-pen letter, sort of. But now I had another question. “What does it mean?” I said.

  Wayne glanced at me. “I would think that, at some point, Tony did something that someone else knows about, and that Tony probably would have wished they didn’t.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thank you, Sherlock. Beside that?”

  “I have no idea. There isn’t anything like that in Tony’s past. Not that I know about. No big secrets or anything. He’s lived around here practically his entire life. Waterfield and then Portland. Grew up right in this house, went to W
aterfield Elementary and High School.”

  “Did you know him growing up?”

  Wayne shook his head. “He was younger than me by five or six years, so I wouldn’t say I knew him. Not well, anyway. I knew who he was, and after he went into broadcasting in Portland and I moved up in the Waterfield PD, we ran into one another from time to time. He’d call and ask me for information about cases once in a while, and I’d call him if I needed a description or a missing person’s report to get on the air.”

  “You got along well?”

  “As well as could be expected,” Wayne said. “He was a local boy, even if he liked to pretend he wasn’t. Got out of Dodge just as quickly as he could after high school. We all figured we’d seen the last of him and he’d make a career for himself someplace like New York or LA. He always was ambitious.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  Wayne shook his head. “He went to college for a few years and then started working at some small station in the Midwest. Stepping stone to bigger and better, I guess. His mother told everyone in town that he was on his way; it was just a matter of time before we’d see him on 20/20 or Dateline . First of the Micellis to ever get a college degree.”

  “That’s nice that his mother was proud of him.”

  “She was a bit of a stage mother,” Wayne said, “from what I understand. And very controlling. I remember old lady Micelli. But yeah, I guess it is nice. She was fit to be tied when he came back, anyway, after just a few months of working out there.”

  “Any idea what happened?”

  But Wayne didn’t. “I can’t imagine it matters,” he said, “since it’s so long ago.”

  “That’s where he met Nina. They worked together for a few months on their first job.”

  “She told me.”

  “And Nina’s been getting these letters, too.”

  Wayne hesitated, and I could almost hear the gears clicking in his head. After a minute, he turned his head to look at the house. “Is she around?”

  “She was. She came with the others this morning, and she hasn’t told me she’s leaving, so I assume she’s still here.”