by Tonya Kappes
The musky smelling office is one part of the building where Bradley hasn’t used any of the fix-up fund. He says the animals don’t use it and he can do paper work in the kennels if he needs to. But it’s a place to get away from the barking. I can rest my eyes, regroup, go back and finish letting the dogs out. Then I can go home and get some real rest before my cleaning job.
When I switch the lights on, they flicker and buzz. I grab the broom that’s leaning in the corner and jab the light like Bradley told me to do. It makes one big long buzz followed by a wave of light.
My body melts in the heavily padded black desk chair and I close my eyes. I recall all the dreams I have had so far concerning Dabi; the initials, the hand-written file, lipstick, and her break-up using Splitsville.com. Nothing is coming to me, only darkness.
I must have fallen asleep because I jump when a kennel door slams and the chains rattle. I open my eyes and gaze at the desk drawer. I pause. I don’t want to think anymore. I close my eyes and visualize a drawer. A steel drawer and a black tube with faint writing. Writing that is almost rubbed off.
I open my eyes and hunt around for a piece of paper. My journal is at home and the visual of this drawer opening and closing with this black tube rolling around in it keeps playing in my mind. It must be important. I’ll forget if I don’t write it down.
Just like a kid, I open the old long metal drawer to Bradley’s desk and sort through the junk to find a pen. I root through the usual items, stray paper clips, chewed pen tops with no pens attached, pencil with broken lead, a couple rubber bands, box of tissues, a tube of…
I pick up the black tube.
“Lipstick?” It has to belong to Bree. She’s the only girl who works here. Most of the time she is so gloomy. I can’t imagine her wearing lipstick especially as the shelter’s in-house pooper-scooper. “Hmmm, does Bree have a girly side?” I laugh while taking the top off the tube.
I laugh picturing pale, meek Bree in red-hot lipstick, slowly pulling her hair out of her little pony tail holder as she begins to wave it around.
Streaks of pink line the shaft of the tube. “Ha.” I roll the lipstick up revealing the full color. “I don’t figure her for pink.” I continue to talk to myself and swipe a little on my finger to apply to my lips.
I put the tube back in the drawer and continue to look around for something to write with. Of course there’s nothing in here, but maybe the front desk will have something.
I grab a tissue from the box and rub the lipstick off. No matter how pretty pink is, it’s never been my color. I fold the tissue and rub harder. The pink is staring me right in the face. The pink is…
I pause. Only one image comes to me. Coffee. Mug. As my eyebrows narrow, I purse my lips together. I fling the drawer back open and the tube rolls up to the front of the drawer, just like my dream. I grab it and rush down the hall in the direction of Bradley’s voice talking to the dogs.
“Bradley!” I scream and run faster. “Oh my god, who’s lipstick is this?” I plant my hands on my knees and bend over to gain my breath. I really need to exercise, but right now isn’t the time to start. I guess that’s one thing I can do in jail-exercise.
All the dogs bounce around and wait for Bradley to throw the balls. At least the rain has stopped.
He throws one ball and looks at the tube in my hand. “Bree’s. Why?” The dogs scatter after it. He takes the tube from my fingers. He rolls it up then down. “You aren’t a pink girl, are you?”
I take it back. I straighten up. “No, but the person sending the emails is.” “That’s the exact same color on the coffee cup. The cup from the coffee shop where the email threat was sent from! I’d know it from anywhere. I need to see her file.” I jab the lipstick in his face. “Somehow Bree is connected to all this.”
Bradley throws the last ball and we hurry to the office. He walks over to the old filing cabinet in the corner. While he thumbs through the files, I continue to inspect the lipstick and figure out how Bree is associated with Splitsville.com. I’ve had hundreds of clients plus their dumpees and I can’t recall one named Bree.
I see the file in his hands. I can’t wait to get my hands on it.
Bradley sits at his desk and opens the file. He starts to look through it. “Nothing unusual.” He pauses as he reads. “Good background check and her day job is at…” I watch as his finger stops. He looks up with fear in his eyes, “Macro Hard!”
I swing the file around on the desk to face me. I start from the beginning and read everything.
“Brittany.” I point to the name at the top of the application. I shudder when her name leaves my lips.
“Okay?” Bradley doesn’t put two and two together. “So her real name is Brittany.”
Hello? Brittany. “Bree for short.” I want to shake him, but I will take my time and explain all the ideas whirling around in my head.
“Kent, Terry Kent Goodwin, dumped Brittany, Bree, using Splitsville.com.” I recall the poor meek OCD Brittany’s picture. “She doesn’t look the same. Similar, but she’s let her hair grow and she’s colored it. And her working here really throws me for a loop.”
I clearly remember her short red-haired bob and she was neatly wrapped up in a cardigan.
“Really?” Bradley straightens himself up. “OCD? Isn’t that the neat freak thing?”
My eyebrows lift and I nod. “Yes.”
“And she picks up poop here?” He rubs his chin. “That sure doesn’t add up.”
“Only one way to find out.” I grab the file and try to dart out the door.
Bradley steps in front of me. “No!” he says. “You’re not going over there?”
I dare him to try and stop me. “Oh yes I am.” I confirm. I may have uncovered my ticket to freedom and the murderer. “Me and my pepper spray.” I tap the pink canister dangling from my keys and head for the Toyota.
***
According to my GPS, her apartment is only ten minutes from both the SPCA and Macro Hard. I imagine her in a board meeting sitting all prim next to Dabi. I picture the perfectly put together Brittany jumping up and strangling Dabi, but that would be too easy.
What did Brittany do at Macro Hard? Is that where she met Kent? I wonder if Brittany was the reason for his divorce.
Oh. My. God. Did Brittany pose as Kent to break up with Erin? I need to check the email address and see. At a stop light, I reach over for my dream notebook and jot down my dream of the lipstick and add a note to look up the Erin dump from Kent. I need to see the email and find out where it came from. Kent might have been a snake, but maybe he didn’t break up with Erin after all.
The cloud cover remains low and rain drops slowly dot my windshield as I drive down the tree-lined residential area. Although I wish it hadn’t started raining, it will create a distraction for any comings and goings on the street. People will definitely be running to their cars from their homes or paying more attention to the rain than to a spy.
As I make my way in front of Brittany’s house, I notice the neighborhood-watch sign along the edge of the curb. I notice her car in the drive. The car I’ve seen her pull in and out of the SPCA. A car that’s too cheap to be executive material. As a matter of fact, knowing what I know about her, the Ford Thunderbird is the last thing I think Brittany would drive. Bree I can see driving it, but knowing Bree is Brittany, no way.
I don’t recognize the BMW behind the Thunderbird, so I pull down the street and turn around in a driveway a few house down from Brittany’s and park. I have to strain to see through the rain to get a good view.
I look at my watch. I have a few hours to kill before work. I can sit here and wait. I have no idea what I want from sitting here, but I figure it will come to me. I turn the engine off. I formulate a new list. Reasons Bree is the murderer. I reach for all my files on the passenger seat. I want to read through them and see if anything jumps out at me.
When I open it, her perfect picture Kent had sent is almost unbelievable. She does a great job cleaning up aft
er the dogs, but it’s not a job I’d picture someone with OCD having.
I begin my comparison list.
1. Dyed hair—something a murderer would do. (Or at least they do in the movies.)
2. Longer hair—something a murderer would do.
3. She works at Macro Hard where she has to see Kent’s ex-wife (Dabi) on a daily basis. A motive for murder. Jealousy.
4. Kent uses Splitsville.com to break up with her and she’s hurt, and angry. More motives for a murder.
5. She kills Dabi first and Kent figures it out. So now she has to kill him too. A reason for another murder.
6. I bet she used Splitsville.com to break up with Erin so Erin can look like a possible suspect. Need to check on that.
7. She begins to threaten Splitsville.com because she’s angry, but she doesn’t know Jenn’s true identity.
8. Is Brittany the girl that smacked Kent? Did Erin see her at the SPCA that day? Was Brittany the woman in the coffee shop?
I read slowly over my list a couple of times and make a couple notes on each item, creating more and more reasons why Brittany is the murderer. All evidence points to her. I know I can’t confront her—yet. With one more night at Macro Hard, I may be able to dig deeper and find out what her job was there.
A car door slamming catches my attention. I look up to see Brittany in the baseball hat with a guy also in a baseball hat. I skew my vision, but the rain makes it too hard to read her aura. They are running to the car. They look like they are exchanging a few unpleasantries and the mystery guy stomps in a puddle.
I grab my camera and snap pictures of them.
I zoom in to get a better picture. I pull the camera back and look at the photo. “White. Puma. Shoes.” If I were under oath, I’d swear those are the same shoes the intruder at Macro Hard had on last night.
9. The mystery guy with Brittany is the same guy who took the file at Macro Hard.
I jot down the last item on my list before the mystery guy pulls out and Brittany runs back in her house. I wait a second before I make a u turn and follow the BMW onto Main Street. Unfortunately, with the rain, traffic is a mess and the BMW slips in and out making it hard for me to follow.
I take the next right and wind my way around the streets, straight for Erin’s house. Erin might not want to see me, but she has no choice.
The complex looks completely different since the last time I was there. The cops have long since gone. The rain makes the building drabber than it really is, if that’s possible. I dodge the puddles going up the steps by tip toeing over them. Icky drops of something are falling on top of my head from the stairs above. God knows what’s dripping off them.
I knock.
I see the light from the peep hole disappear into black.
“Erin, I know you’re looking at me.” I jam the files back up under my sweatshirt so they won’t get wet. “I need to talk to you.”
“Go away.” My happy-go-lucky friend is not going to open the door just because I say so.
I pull the files out from under my arm pit and sweatshirt. “I don’t have time for these high school games.” Okay, so that most certainly won’t entice her to open the door. I hold the file up next to my face so she can see it, “I think I know who did it.”
I don’t dare say who murdered Kent, because I am sure her nosy neighbors are listening.
My heart beats a little faster when I hear the click of the door lock and the slide of the chain. Erin is standing there in her Dartmouth sweatshirt and cut off sweats. I’m taken off guard. It’s not an outfit you see Erin in too often. Me? Yes. I wear sweats daily. Erin, not so much.
She opens the door to let me in. I don’t say a word or at least I don’t tell her she looks like crap. I can’t help but look at the big hole of carpet missing from the floor where a once dead Kent was found.
I’m concerned. I can’t imagine her wanting to stay here. “Where have you been living?”
“In my car.” Her voice is monotone like the color on her face. I try not to stare. Her aura is grey with a red overlay. The grey tells me she is sad or sick and the red overlay tells me she is trying to protect herself. Is she protecting herself from me or the police?
I can’t believe I let her stay by herself. But with my news, I have high hopes her aura is about to change. I’m not such a good friend. “Oh, I’m sorry for fighting.”
She lifts her head with the tiniest hint of a smile. “Me too,” she says. We hug for a brief moment and she cuts to the chase. “So who did it?”
I take the camera strap off my shoulder and click through the pictures. I get to the ones of Brittany. “Is this the girl you saw fighting with Kent at the bar the night before his death?”
Erin takes the camera out of my hands and hits the zoom button to get a closer look. I peek over her shoulder to inspect Brittany up close.
Erin’s face begins to shows some sign of color other than blah. “Yes. That’s her.” A little pink creeps into her cheeks.
“Is this the girl you saw at the SPCA?”
“Yes!” Her voice escalates, “And she’s the girl I saw leaving the coffee shop the day you got the lead.”
That’s all I needed to hear. “She dated Kent and he used Splitsville.com to break up with her.” I hand Erin the file. She walks over to the couch and sits down. She begins to read the dump out loud.
“What?” Erin begins to pace. “Girlfriend? Splitsville.com?” She stops and shakes her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about her. I knew something was funny when I told Kent about your company. He turned white like he’d seen a ghost.”
I take out Dabi’s file and hand it to her. “Kent knew about Splitsville.com because Dabi used it. Actually Dabi and Kent are divorced.”
The little bit of pink in Erin’s cheek completely melts away. “I’m going to be sick.” Erin runs down the hall to her bathroom. I go into the kitchen and retrieve a glass of water.
“Here.” I hand the glass to her and she takes it. “I’m so sorry, but I have to tell you the details in order to exonerate you, me and Splitsville.com.” I begin gently and tell her how I found out everything I know.
The sound of her laughter lifts my heart. “I can’t believe you of all people is cleaning. And a building at that.” She can hardly contain her composure. I laugh with her and it all turns out into a full outcry. We sob like babies.
“I’m so glad I have you.” I hug her. “Let’s get your stuff. Herbie misses you.”
I gather all the files and wait for her to get some things together.
“I have to make a stop before we go home.” We buckle our seat belts and drive off to Michael’s to get a few of my questions answered.
I want to know if he knows Brittany and her capacity with the company.
Erin and I think of questions I can ask Harold during my night shift. I really need to find Brittany’s file from Macro Hard. I want to know how long she’s been there. If she knew Kent and Dabi when they were married. Everything, before I go to the police.
Michael and Belle are running across the street as if on cue. I smile because he looks so funny dragging a dog who obviously doesn’t want to be in the rain. I beep the horn to grab his attention.
He runs back towards us and hops in the car.
“Michael, Erin,” I make a quick introduction and gesture between the two. “Erin, Michael. We are all suspects in these messy murders I’m trying to solve.” I check my watch to see how much time I’ve got left. If I hurry, I can make it home in time to rest my eyes for a couple hours before I have to put on my jumpsuit for another exciting night of scrubbing toilets and taking out tampons.
Michael nods at Erin who nods back. “Hey, what’s going on?” He turns his attention to me.
“I want to know if you know this girl.” I take Brittany’s picture out of her file and pull the digital camera photo up from today. I hand them to him to look over.
His eyes wander back and forth from the camera to the photo. There doesn’t see
m to an ounce of knowing who she is. He hands the picture back to me and the camera to Erin. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Brittany and she dated Kent.” He takes the picture back out of my hand and takes another look.
“This is Brittany?” He holds the picture closer to his face. “I knew he dated a girl named Brittany because people gave him crap about her. She doesn’t look so bad.”
I pluck the picture from fingers. “Well she may be the answer to our prayers. I’ll keep you posted.”
Michael looks out the window to make sure no one is around. He picks up Belle and he bolts to his apartment building trying to dodge all the puddles in his…white pumas!
“Do you see his shoes?” I fling my body across the seat and plaster my hands on Erin’s passenger window. “Freakin’ white Pumas.”
My stomach curls. Everything Michael and I had talked about, all the sneaking around Dabi’s apartment, having keys to her office, me getting a job there-everything! What if he did do it? What if he’s collecting evidence for the police to use against me?
“What?” Erin pushes me back in my seat. “You don’t like Pumas?”
Ay, ay, ay. “Michael, you have some ‘splaining to do.” I do my best Ricky Ricardo accent. On our way home, I tell Erin everything I know about white Pumas and how they have made my life a living hell.
Twenty-Three
I don’t get any sleep before it’s time to start my night shift at Macro Hard. I don’t think I can sleep if I try. Thinking about Brittany—and now Michael—is a shot of adrenaline I don’t need.
Aunt Matilda listens to every word I’m telling her about all the clues I have put together.
“You need to tell Carl.” She holds the phone up for me to take.
I come to the conclusion that she’s talking nonsense now. “I don’t see how that’s going to help. I won’t know for sure until I check more out tonight.” There is no way I’m telling Carl or Ian about anything I found out. “They spent all that money to go to college to be a cop. They should already know all of this stuff.”
Aunt Matilda crosses the floor of my office as graceful as a ballerina. There is just something wonderful and soft about her. The way she moves like a butterfly is one trait I didn’t get from her. “Carl may have Brittany linked somehow. He might be able to trace them all.”