by A. J. Norris
“Yeah. I’m not sure what I read.”
“Me neither, but after reading it, I think someone else killed Chelsea Rand.”
“Yeah, and he let it happen.”
“Did more than let, he watched it, sounds like. Sick bastard.”
“Oh, he’s a sicko, huh? Thought you were best buddies now.” Harry winked.
Cedric laughed in a quick burst. Harry’s cell chirped with an incoming text. He read the message from Mikey:
Swing by later.
Harry put his phone in his pocket.
“Gotta go?” Cedric asked.
“It can wait.”
“How’s Natalie, haven’t seen her in a week and a half.”
“Fine. She hasn’t been feeling well.”
“So she’s not fine, then?”
“Just an upset stomach.”
“Probably an ulcer.”
“It’s not an ulcer.”
“You sure? She has you for a boyfriend.”
* * *
Harry left Cedric’s and headed over to Mikey and Grace’s house. Their garage door was open. Harry hated seeing that. Two murders less than a month ago called for a complete lockdown of his daughter, if it was up to him.
Harry parked in their driveway and entered the house through the kitchen door off the garage. Brayden sat at the table staring at a chessboard. Creases ran across his forehead. He had his phone next to the board.
“Hi, Harry,” he said without looking up.
“Does your dad always leave the garage door open like that?”
“It’s open?” Brayden scratched his head.
“I closed it.” Harry peeked into the living room. “Is anyone here with you?”
“Guess what I’m doing?” Brayden asked.
“I’d say playing chess, except you’re the only one—”
“I signed up through that website I was telling you about.”
“Website? Oh, you mean you’re playing through emails with someone?”
“Yeah, isn’t that cool? I told them I was old like you.”
“I’m not old…”
“Hate to break the news to you, 55 isn’t young, Harry.”
“I’m not old.”
“Not as old as Vlad, but still old.”
“Who the hell is Vlad?”
“The guy I’m crushing at chess.”
Harry went over to the coffeepot on the counter. There was some still left. He opened the cupboard, looking for a mug.
“You should probably make a fresh pot if you want coffee,” Grace said.
“Oh there you are.” Harry stopped searching the cupboard and put his hands on his hips. “I give up, where are the coffee cups?”
Grace smirked. “Go have a seat and I’ll make you some coffee.”
Harry sat across from Brayden. “Whose turn is it?”
“His.” Brayden leaned an elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his hand.
“Bray’s been waiting for two days now for Vlad’s next move.”
Harry already didn’t like this faceless idiot everyone seemed to be on a first name basis with, Vlad, the chess god. “Why don’t you and I just play a game?”
“Sure. Did you bring another board?”
Coffee aroma filled the room. “Can I try some?” Brayden asked Grace.
“You wouldn’t like it,” Harry told him.
“How do you know? Besides, you drink it.”
Grace poured Harry a cup of coffee and put a little bit into another mug and set both of them on the table.
Brayden sniffed then sipped his coffee. He made a disgusted face, yet swallowed the sip he’d taken. “I see why they say it’s an acquired taste.” He pushed the mug away on the table.
Harry chuckled. “Yeah, it’s a tad bitter, isn’t it?”
Mikey strode into the kitchen. He placed a quick kiss on Grace’s lips. “Hey, kid, staring at it won’t make him play sooner.”
Harry studied the board. “You have him in check.”
“I know.”
“Probably why he’s taking so long.” Harry sipped from the mug Grace gave him.
“Why don’t you find something else to do, kid?” Mikey said.
“Like what?”
“Go outside, read a book, do your homework.”
“It’s too cold and I finished it.”
His face lit up, like an idea popping into his head. “Can we go shopping for fishing stuff now?” he asked.
Don’t look at me like that, Harry thought. He smiled at Brayden. “If it’s okay with your dad.”
Brayden looked at Mikey expectantly.
“Go on. Anything to get you away from that board. Just don’t have him back too late. It’s a school night.”
“Of, course,” Harry agreed.
Brayden already had his shoes on and was standing by the door to the garage. After they got into his Buick, Brayden buckled himself into the front seat. Harry wanted to wait a few more weeks to take his future grandson shopping for fishing gear, except the excitement in the kid’s eyes changed his mind. He never wanted to disappoint him.
“You hungry?” Harry asked.
“I could eat.”
“Have you eaten dinner?”
“No.”
“All right then. Where would you like to grab some food?”
Please don’t say Cocoa.
“Hector’s. I haven’t been there since…”
Jennifer was killed. Harry finished Brayden’s thought to himself. The young blonde waitress had been a victim of Lance’s, discarded like trash in the ravine right outside of town.
“Let’s go then.”
Harry had been wanting a gyro and fries. On the drive there, he wondered if Mary worked there still or if she’d recognize him if she did. He parked directly in front of the door, under a lamppost. Jennifer was abducted in the darkest part of the lot by the dumpster pad at the rear of the building.
Brayden got out and slammed the car door shut. He waited by the restaurant entrance for Harry. They walked in and a waitress greeted them.
“Sit anywhere you like.”
Harry glanced around the restaurant. Mary stood with her back to him at the kitchen pass-through behind the lunch counter. The woman had been Lance’s girlfriend at the time of the murders. She’d been completely unaware of his extra-curricular activities. Poor girl had a tattoo on her inner wrist that Mikey had inked that said ‘Cody’, the killer’s alias. He must have been staring hard because Brayden tugged his coat sleeve.
“Come on, over here, Harry. Booths are this way.”
Harry ducked his head and slunk away like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. They settled in a booth in the back corner, where Harry could keep his eyes on everything.
Mary served an armful of dishes to a table across from them. The waitress did the usual spiel, asking if her customers needed anything else. She came over to Brayden and his booth. Her eyes widened for a second. Yeah, she recognized him.
Brayden studied the menu.
“Kid’s menu is on the back,” she said with a tiny quiver in her voice.
“How are you doing?” Harry asked.
“Fine. How are you, Mr. Hunter?”
Brayden glanced up when no one said anything. He looked at Mary’s face then Harry’s.
“I’m doin’ all right,” Harry finally said. Man, it hadn’t occurred to him that she would hold animosity toward him.
She reached over the table and slid a blue card in front of him. The week’s specials were listed on it. Mary pointed to the day’s bargain meal: open faced turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy and a side of coleslaw.
The tattoo on her wrist with its perfectly formed letters (damn, Mikey did good work) still made him queasy. The ink reminded him of the name ‘Jennifer’ Lance had tattooed on his arm. Mikey had done that one as well with the same style script.
“I’m going to get today’s special,” Brayden announced. “And a Pepsi.”
Mary wrote on her o
rder pad. “And what can I get—”
“Make that two. Thank you,” Harry blurted, hoping she would leave the table sooner. She left them alone. Two minutes later another waitress put two glasses of pop on the table.
“How often do you come in here?” Brayden asked.
“Not often. Why?”
“Then how does our waitress know you?”
Harry shrugged.
Brayden raised an eyebrow. “She said your name. How do you not remember?”
Harry dragged in a breath. “None of your business.”
The kid sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just so you know, I know you’re lying.”
Harry splayed his arms, palms up, on the table. “I’m not lying.” Why had he even tried? Brayden was the smartest person he knew, and was more aware, more observant, than himself.
Brayden turned his head and looked at Harry out the corner of his eye. “Natalie hasn’t been feeling good. Why?”
Here it comes, Harry thought. Brayden with his questions and keen observations was entirely too mature for an 11-year-old. Yet this was what Harry loved the most about him, his ability to have real conversations. Most kids his age only talked about video games and the latest viral YouTube video. Harry was certain he did this too, except with him they analyzed sports together, and discussed…feelings. Gah!
“I don’t think she’s still feeling crappy.”
“That’s not what Grace says. She told my dad she thinks Natalie should see a doctor.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“She’s your girlfriend, maybe you should ask her.”
“What exactly are you saying? I don’t pay enough attention to her?” Harry flagged a waitress.
“No,” Brayden answered innocently enough. It wasn’t at all, though; more sarcastic than anything.
The waitress asked what he needed.
“Can I get a—” Harry swallowed.
“Uh oh, he needs coffee,” Brayden muttered. “Can he have a cup of coffee?” He smirked.
“I see you’re enjoying yourself.”
Brayden chuckled. “You love her? Cuz, I love her.”
“Yes, I love her. Isn’t it obvious?”
Mary served their meals and the other waitress poured Harry a cup of coffee. He sat back, allowing them space to put stuff on the table.
Brayden picked up his utensils and stabbed a slab of turkey with his fork. He took a bite and then shook the hunk of meat onto the plate. He scooped a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“Is it good?” Harry asked, cutting his turkey in a checkerboard pattern.
“Uh hmm. This gravy is awesome!”
They ate in silence, except for the occasional clank of stainless steel forks and knives hitting their plates.
Harry loved Natalie so much. Perhaps it wasn’t obvious to anyone, especially her. She said she knew, but how would she? He only told her he wasn’t going anywhere, as if he were just too lazy. Harry had never said those words to anyone in a romantic way, apart from Annie. She was supposed to be his first, last, and only love. But life didn’t work out that way. It never did.
Brayden put his fork down. “Can I have dessert?”
“Does your dad usually let you?”
“If I finish and I ate everything.”
The kid’s plate was nearly clean except for a small glob of potatoes and half the coleslaw. “All right.”
Mary came over, and took their plates. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Hot fudge sundae,” Brayden said.
She smiled at him, and nodded curtly to Harry. He didn’t care she was upset about Lance. She was infinitely better off without him, even if she couldn’t see that.
Mary brought a tall ice cream dish out with a mound of vanilla piled high with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Brayden’s face lit up.
“Jeez, you think you can eat all that?”
“Watch me.”
And he did. The kid polished off the entire thing and belched in gratitude when he was done.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Grace
Natalie held her hand over her lower belly. Her color didn’t look so great either. Grace walked over and stood next to her in the concession line at the movie theater. “Your stomach’s still bothering you?”
She waved Grace off. “It’s probably just my period coming. I always get terrible cramps.”
Grace smiled. “I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t you a little old for—”
“You’d think, but my doctor doesn’t think I’m there yet. Late menopause, she called it.”
“Probably because you’re so young at heart.” Grace winked.
Natalie chuckled. “I don’t know about that.”
“When was the last time you had your period?” Grace took out her wallet as they neared the counter.
“Hell, I dunno, I’ve never been regular. Four months. Maybe.”
“Must be nice, you could set your calendar to mine.”
“Speak for yourself. It’s a pain when you don’t know when it’s coming.”
Grace ordered a medium popcorn and a diet pop. She looked at Natalie questioningly.
“No, none for me. Thanks.”
They wandered down the hallway toward theater number fifteen. Grace read the upcoming movie posters hung on the walls, mentally noting which she’d like to see.
Fifteen minutes into the movie, Natalie went to the restroom and hadn’t returned. Grace took out her cell. It had been twenty minutes since Natalie left. This business of Natalie’s, only having a sour stomach or menstrual cramps, concerned Grace. It had been over a month of this nonsense.
Grace trotted to the closest bathroom.
Natalie leaned her hands on the sink counter. She looked at Grace, her eyes red-rimmed. “Hi,” she whispered, faking a smile.
“I know I said this before, but you need to go to the doctor and get whatever this is checked out.”
Natalie’s breath hitched. “I know.”
Grace rubbed her back. “It’s all right, I’ll go with you.”
“Don’t tell Harry. He already lost a wife. I don’t want to tell him unless I know what this is.”
“You need to let him know what’s going on.”
“I will, just not until I know what.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Harry
Brayden had boundless energy. Or was it a sugar high from the hot fudge sundae? Harry wondered if that were ever true of himself.
The Outdoorsman Depot was the largest camping, hunting, and fishing supply store in three counties. And luckily for them, right here in Webster.
Brayden breezed past him and stopped in the middle of the main aisle. The place was so big it had turn stalls like an amusement park. “Which way is the fishing stuff?” Brayden called out louder than necessary.
Harry read the overhead sign with arrows pointing in every direction. “To the left.” However, everything looked like it was to the left according to the sign.
Brayden darted through the sea of heavy camo coats. “Ooooh, cool. Guns!” he shouted, whizzing past the racks mounted high on the wall.
Shaking his head, Harry mumbled, “Oh boy.” The kid’s lack of fear regarding firearms surprised him considering everything, although his mother hadn’t been shot, she’d been bludgeoned to death. Wonderful. What a happy memory. He ought to think of these things more often.
Brayden disappeared down the aisles of fishing poles. Harry caught up with him. The kid stared gap-mouthed at all the poles. “There are so many, how do I chose one?”
“First we can eliminate the ones that are for fly, deep sea fishing, or are too long.”
“How long should I get?”
“I think to start, nothing longer than six foot. Let’s pick out a tackle box and some other stuff you’ll need first.”
They walked to the next aisle. Brayden selected a gray and green box with six trays, and cup holde
rs on the lid. Harry grabbed a basket from the end of the row and threw in the essentials Brayden would need: crawler harness, spin bait, 6 lb. test line, lures, bobbers.
Brayden watched Harry until he spotted a colorful spinner that he had to have. Harry tossed it into the basket too.
“That’s a lot of stuff, Harry.”
“Yeah, but you need it, and I want you to have the best of everything.”
“Really? Thank you.” Brayden threw his arms around Harry.
“You’re welcome. Let’s go check out the rods.”
Brayden held a rod by its grip and practiced casting. The end tip grazed the rack behind him when he pulled back.
“Hey, watch it. Anything we break, we buy.”
“That’s not true, they can’t make you.” He casted again and this time nearly whipped Harry in the face.
“They can.”
“Whatever, that’s what insurance is for.”
“No, it’s not.” Harry caught the pole on another casting attempt from Brayden.
The kid let go and took another one from the rack.
“That’s a good one. I think you’ll like that one. It’s graphite and a little smaller.”
Brayden had an easier time casting, yet didn’t quite understand the art form of casting properly.
“Give it to me for a second, I want to show you how it’s done.”
Brayden handed Harry the rod.
“See, now, it requires a flick of the wrist so the line and lure swing away…out and…over…shit!” His demonstration resulted in the rod going too far out. The contents on the top shelf on the rack next to him clattered to the floor. An overstock of boxes of fishing lures dumped beside Harry. Brayden jumped out of the way.
The noise would bring several employees to the area, Harry imagined.
Brayden laughed. “What was that again about hurting someone?”
Harry picked up the basket of fishing gear and handed Brayden the tackle box. “Keep quiet and keep on walking.”
“Shouldn’t we pick up the boxes?”
“Yeah, keep walking, eyes straight ahead.”
Harry and Brayden speed-walked to the checkout counters, giggling the whole way. The sales clerk asked Harry if they found everything okay.