Pieces of January

by Ronald Paxton

  “Why do you think she left before completing the program?”

  “It happens,” the nurse replied. “I would estimate that about fifteen percent of the patients drop out for a variety of reasons. In Melissa’s case, she didn’t seem to be engaged at all in the therapeutic process. She probably figured it was time to get back to her life. If a patient wants to leave, nobody’s going to stop them. There would be no point in forcing them to stay.”

  “Hal Morris was supplying her with cocaine. Do you have any idea where he would have gotten it?”

  Hanes shook her head. “We have a drug supply closet, but no patient would be allowed near it. Cocaine isn’t something we carry, anyway. I imagine he bought it from the local coke dealer, whoever that is. This is an inpatient facility, but neither the building nor the grounds are locked down or gated. It wouldn’t be hard to make a drug connection if the person knew who to call.”

  Dodd nodded and closed his notebook. “Thanks for your time. One last question—what is your impression of Mr. Morris?”

  “I honestly think he needs to be castrated. Hal is hornier than a sixteen-year-old boy with a front row seat at a wet T-shirt contest. I’m not surprised he hooked up with Melissa. He even propositioned me.”

  “The therapy isn’t working for him?”

  The nurse laughed. “Most of the so-called therapy that goes on here is just smoke and mirrors. Passages has a great slogan, but there’s not much that actually gets changed or fixed. The standard therapeutic models and protocols are in place, but the staff doesn’t care about their work.”

  “Does that include you?” Dodd asked.

  “I used to care,” Hanes said, “But not anymore. I haven’t for a long time.”

  The FBI agent waited for her to say more.

  “Hal Morris is an intelligent man, Agent Dodd. I don’t know what he told you about discovering Melissa’s body, but I would take anything he said with a grain of salt.”

  * * * *

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Carson.”

  The two men were seated at the long dining table. The house was quiet. Krista was upstairs in her office, and the baby was down for a nap. Randi was in the upstairs classroom, giving Monday a reading and spelling lesson. Salem had taken Henry to work with him.

  Bo nodded and took a sip of water. The movement caused Diva to stir in his lap. “Well, at least I’ve found a new friend. Diva won’t let me out of her sight.” He placed the bottle of water back on the table and looked at Dodd. “I can’t say I’m surprised this happened. You warned us.”

  “Tell me about the night you were shot,” Dodd said.

  Bo recounted the events that led to his trip down the hall to Monday’s bedroom.

  “We were all in the safe room. I noticed Diva was missing, so I went to look for her in Monday’s room. That’s where she spends most of her time. I found her looking out the window and picked her up just as the shooter put a round in my upper back.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  “I saw the glint of a gun barrel, but nothing else. That probably saved my life. I managed to get Diva to the safe room and grabbed my shotgun and some shells. Then I went outside. I heard a second shot, so I knew Salem needed help. I don’t think he got a look at the guy either.”

  “He didn’t,” Dodd confirmed. “Listen, Mr. Carson, I need your help. I think Melissa’s murder is our best chance to catch this guy. If I can nail one member of the Committee, I believe their entire operation will unravel. I’ve collected a lot of information, but I still can’t figure out how to connect the dots. You knew Melissa better than anyone.”

  Bo glanced toward the kitchen. “How about grabbing us a box of sweet tarts, Dodd? I think better on a full stomach. They’re in an empty cereal box in the cabinet by the refrigerator. Krista has to hide them from Anderson.”

  The FBI agent found the box and returned to the table.

  “You have to understand that I practically had to drag Melissa to Passages. I was just trying to keep her alive. How’s that for irony? Melissa loved her job and her drugs. That was pretty much her entire life. I was just a small part of it.” He paused and bit into a tart. “Here’s a connection for you, Dodd. Melissa used to be one of Finn Watson’s girls, just like Donna Tice. Now they’re both dead.”

  Dodd scribbled something in his notebook. “When did that arrangement end?”

  “I guess it’s been about a year,” Bo said. “I put a stop to it when we started dating. Melissa started placing her own ads for her services. Even with that expense, she still cleared an extra twenty to twenty-five dollars for each client appointment since she didn’t have to give Finn his cut. She saved enough to buy a health insurance policy for the first time in her life.”

  “Do you know where she got her cocaine?” Dodd asked.

  Bo shrugged. “Finn supplied it when she was working for him. I expect she continued that part of their arrangement. It wasn’t something we talked about. Have you talked to Finn yet?”

  Dodd nodded. “I interviewed him about Donna Tice’s murder. I should have asked him if Donna was a drug customer, but he got me sidetracked with his tale of woe.”

  Bo laughed. “That sounds like Finn. He’ll tell his sob story to anyone willing to listen.”

  Dodd got to his feet. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Carson. I’ll follow up with Finn Watson.”

  Bo placed Diva on the floor and stood. “Did your people run a toxicology screen on Donna?”

  The FBI agent looked startled. “Damn! I didn’t think about that. I’ll have to check.”

  “Finn’s a smart guy, Dodd. For what it’s worth, I would advise you not to tip your hand. If the drug screen on Donna is positive, you should have enough to get a search warrant for Finn’s home and his workplace.”

  Dodd laughed. “Let me know if you ever want to join the FBI. That’s good advice. You’ve been a big help.”

  Bo walked the agent to the door. “Was the note you found on Melissa’s body from the same typewriter as the others?”

  “It looks like it,” Dodd said. “We’ll have our technicians check to make sure.”

  Bo watched the agent leave before returning to the table and opening a second sweet tart. Diva jumped into his lap and reclaimed her spot. Bo stroked the Siamese as he struggled to recall what had happened to his Adler J-Five typewriter from the store. It had been decades since he finally brought the store into the computer age. He remembered placing a handwritten For Sale sign for the typewriter in the store window. Someone had bought it; he was almost sure of that. They would probably have paid cash.

  He finished the second tart and deposited the wrapper in the kitchen trash. Bo swallowed the last of his water and placed the bottle in the recycling bin.

  The typewriter was the key. Of course, it was a long shot. It had probably been tossed in the trash or sold at a flea market years ago. Even if it were still around, what were the odds that it was the same typewriter being used by the Committee?

  Bo stared out the kitchen window as he searched the recesses of his mind for a name or face. The memory remained just out of reach.

  Chapter 21

  Callie yawned and stared through bloodshot eyes at the computer screen on her desk. It was nine o’clock in the morning, and she was already exhausted. A delivery truck was on the way to the store. Maybe the physical work of unloading the truck and stocking the shelves would give her a boost.

  She reached for the coffee pot and refilled her mug. Trying to make it through the day on caffeine and sugar was a recipe for disaster. At least she was still coming to work and doing her job despite the upheaval in her personal life.

  The night of the Skynyrd concert had been the worst night she had experienced since Jamie’s death. The loss of Olivia was almost more than she could bear. Her feelings for Jamie had been deeper, but losing Olivia had somehow magnified the pain that had never quite gone away after Jamie’s body had been found.

  They had talked into the early morn
ing hours. In the end, they had both agreed there was no way forward for their relationship. Callie loved her job and friends. She loved the lake and had no desire to become a traveling girlfriend or a financial burden to Olivia. For her part, Olivia could see no scenario where she would return to Shenandoah County. If she succeeded, the lake, Callie, Mama’s Biscuits, all of this would become just a distant memory. If she failed, Olivia would have even less reason to return to the lake. She could find a waitressing job and a bar band looking for a singer anywhere without having to come back to face the people at the Channel Marker who had cheered her news and sent her off to Nashville with high expectations.

  Callie swallowed some coffee and continued to work through her e-mails. Time and hard work were the best cures for a broken heart. The hurt would get better, and she would eventually resume her healthy eating and sleeping habits.

  Olivia was on her way to a bright future. She would be spending the next couple of months in a Nashville studio, recording an album. After that, she would begin touring as the opening act for one or more major recording artists. The record producer felt it would be a mistake to promote Olivia as a southern rock singer because the genre was too small and limited. The company executives were in discussions with Dave Matthews, Darius Rucker, and Bonnie Raitt. They had also tried to contact Reba McEntire. Callie loved music, but she couldn’t imagine life on the road, living in a series of hotel rooms, never having a place to call home. That realization made the breakup with Olivia a little easier to manage.

  Things could be a lot worse. Poor Bo. He’s dealing with a bullet in his back, a cancer scare, and Melissa’s death. That’s the third murder. Two prostitutes and a gay man—the Committee is going after sexual sinners. Lucky me. Maybe I’m in the clear since Olivia left. Yeah, right, look what happened to Bo. I’m still a lesbian, and whoever sent me that crazy note damn well knows it.

  Callie closed her e-mail program and headed for the loading dock. The truck was just pulling up as she raised the door. She signed the driver’s paperwork and grabbed the pallet jack from the storeroom. Her mind and body responded to the work as her muscles loosened and the endorphins began to work their magic. The frigid air cooled the sweat on her body as she moved the stacked pallets off the truck. The hard work was just beginning. She still needed to price the delivery items into the computer system and then begin stocking the shelves on the sales floor.

  Callie grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in her office and went out front. Jenna and Eileen were working today. The store was quiet.

  “How’s business?” Callie asked.

  “Slow,” Jenna said. “We’ve had a few customers, but no major sales so far.”

  Callie nodded. “Well, it’s still January. I just finished unloading the truck. Come back to the office in about fifteen minutes, and I’ll have some priced items you can start moving out to the floor.”

  She returned to her office and opened the store’s inventory page on her computer. Receiving and pricing was a mindless, labor-intensive task. It was just what she needed.

  Maybe it was time to start dating men again. She had dated men—well, actually, boys—when she was younger and still unsure about her sexual orientation. Callie didn’t consider herself bisexual, but she wasn’t repelled by the thought of intimate relations with a man. Her limited sexual encounters with the opposite sex had been mostly boring and unsatisfying, a reaction she knew she shared with a lot of heterosexual women.

  Callie finished pricing the soup and started on the beans. She actually enjoyed the company of men. Jay, Bo, Salem, and Anderson were four of her favorite people and closest friends in the world. Dating a man wouldn’t kill her. Dating a woman just might.

  * * * *

  Tommy sighed and tried to smile as the skinny, young singer with the blotchy complexion reached for a note she couldn’t hold. Her voice wavered and then died as the music drowned it out.

  The job of finding a replacement for Olivia was not going well. The owner of the Channel Marker had given him the morning to hold auditions. The club opened for business at noon. It was just ten o’clock, and the only employees present were the owner and the janitor.

  “Thank you,” Tommy said. “I’ll be making a decision in the next day or two.”

  The girl nodded and left the stage. Three more girls sat together at a table, waiting their turn. He was not optimistic that any of them would be what the band needed. The problem was that Olivia had set the bar so high. He had to stop comparing potential replacements to her.

  Don’t be stupid, Tommy. The people who come out to see Mama’s Biscuits are going to compare whoever you hire to Olivia, just like the guy who owns this place is doing right now.

  It was an impossible task. Olivia was three people in one: a great singer and performer, an excellent songwriter, and a strong rhythm guitar player. Tommy had already accepted the fact that Mama’s Biscuits would not be creating any more original music. He could come up with the lyrics for new material on his own, but he needed a collaborator who could write music and create melodies. None of the other guys in the band possessed that talent.

  The lack of a rhythm guitar player was an immediate problem. A great lead guitar player could probably cover both the lead and rhythm parts. Danny was good, but he wasn’t that good. If he couldn’t find someone, they would just have to crank up the volume and hope it would help cover the missing instrument. If he did manage to find someone, it would mean a pay cut of fifty dollars a week for everyone in the band since they would be splitting the fifteen hundred dollars six ways instead of five. It was a lose/lose situation.

  “Okay, who’s next?”

  The girls looked at each other but didn’t move. Tommy caught the eye of the tiny blonde named Traci who swore she was nineteen years old, but could have passed for twelve. He turned on the soundtrack and moved down front to watch. The voice was important, but stage presence was what really got the crowd going. Olivia was sexy as hell and knew how to move her body to the music as she sang. She was loose and practically French-kissed the microphone when she started rocking.

  Traci was better than the first girl, but her voice was nothing special. She had a distracting habit of licking her lips in a way that made her look nervous instead of sexy.

  The last two girls were disasters. The first one stood at attention and stared at the microphone as she sang. The last thing he needed was a singer with stage fright or zero personality. The final performer couldn’t stay in key and forgot some of the lyrics. Tommy killed the soundtrack halfway through her audition.

  Douglas was waiting for him when it was over. “That was certainly underwhelming, Tommy. What are you going to do?”

  “God, I don’t know, Douglas. I’ll probably offer Traci the job. She was the only one who wasn’t terrible.”

  The owner nodded. “That might work. She’s pretty hot, and her voice is decent. The lip licking is kind of annoying. Maybe you can teach her to flick her tongue out at the crowd instead.”

  Tommy shrugged. He wouldn’t mind jamming his own tongue down Traci’s throat. “I’ll try. I’ve still got to find someone to play rhythm. We’ll raise the volume until I can find another player to fill out our sound.”

  Douglas got up from his bar stool. “Listen, Tommy, I’ve always been straight with you and the band. I’ll give you the rest of the month to fix this, but if it’s not working by then, I’m either going to have to find another group or change our arrangement. I’ve got a feeling my Thursday through Sunday business is about to take a big hit. Mama’s Biscuits is a good band, but we both know Olivia was the one who brought out the people.”

  Tommy trudged out to the parking lot and got in his car. Douglas had only underscored what that record producer had already said and what Tommy had known, but tried to ignore, for a long time. Mama’s Biscuits had never been more than an ordinary bar band with an extraordinary lead singer. Olivia had carried them all the way to the Roanoke Coliseum, but that was all over now. It
didn’t matter if he hired Traci and found another guitar player. The sound would be inferior to what their fans were used to hearing. If Douglas kept them on, he was pretty sure Mama’s Biscuits would be reduced to playing for the cover charge at the door. That would probably amount to a couple hundred dollars a night if they were lucky. Instead of three hundred dollars a week, he would be lucky to earn a hundred and thirty. That was garage band money.

  He started the car and headed for home. The rest of the day, the rest of his life, lay ahead with nowhere to go and nothing to do. There was no reason now to work on promoting the band. Without Olivia, there would be no follow-up to Down Home Cookin’. The T-shirt and CD sales would evaporate. There would be no e-mails from Skynyrd or any other major act requesting the band’s services. The local radio stations would stop playing their music. Mama’s Biscuits, if it survived, would be nothing but a little weekend band playing for pocket change.

  Is this what I want to do for the next forty years? Is this all that’s left of my so-called music career?

  There was always school. He could go back and finish his degree, but there was nothing he was interested in doing other than playing music. A lot of people, maybe most people, worked at jobs they didn’t love. Tommy didn’t think he could do that. It sounded too much like a death sentence.

  I guess I could stick with the band and give drum lessons on the side. No, I can’t give lessons at the apartment, and I don’t want some dumb kid messing with my kit. I’d have to go to them.

  It was a lousy idea. He’d be lucky to find more than one or two students in Shenandoah County, and the cost of travel and advertising would take most of what he made.

  He turned into the apartment complex and parked in front of his unit. The thought of going inside and spending the rest of the day watching television was depressing.

  Tommy shuffled up the front walk and unlocked his door. The apartment was silent as a tomb. It was a lousy place to live. He needed to get out, just hit the road and leave Shenandoah County behind. Screw the band. Danny could take it over if he wanted to keep Mama’s Biscuits going. Drummers were a dime a dozen. Finding someone to replace him would be no problem.