Hair...cut...Princess...Princess Diana...Lady Di.
Within moments, as if struck by a slap across the face, a sudden revelation occurred over the name of Elliot’s cat, Princess, and recollection of a remark one of them made several months before as they looked at the photo of Merissa and him in the front room. Overhearing their discussion from the kitchen, he caught a reference to a comparison with Princess Diana, remembering how nonsensical that comment seemed because the oft-photographed Diana had short hair and Merissa’s descended beyond her shoulders.
Until the day of her murder.
Perhaps his imagination overtook rationality, but why would anyone liken Merissa’s looks, with her long, wavy locks, to someone whose neck-length hairstyle defined so much of her facial appearance?
Unless that person knew how Merissa looked with short hair.
Attempting to quell his nervousness, Sean devised a plan as he felt their eyes upon him. “I know I need new lighting in this house,” he said, “but you’re right, maybe another day is best.” Glancing back and forth at them, his eyes settled on Martin. “Sorry if I screwed you up, but right now the thought of getting out of the house for a burger and beer down the street seems very appealing.”
Martin nodded in several small, rapid motions. “I understand,” he replied. “We’ll just do it another time.” Reaching for the booklet, he turned the pages to the lighting section. “These are the various light fixtures we offer,” he said. “When you get a chance, look through them and see if there’s something you like.” He turned the brochure over and flipped back to the second to last page. “And here’s the ceiling fans.”
Sean feigned attention as his heartbeat accelerated, realizing the critical importance of remaining believable.
“Before you guys go, I want to ask a favor of you. It’ll just take a few minutes of your time.”
The two men glanced at each other before looking back. “Of course,” Elliot told him. “Sure,” Martin replied.
“Well...other than the music lessons I give Kayleigh, and that one fundraiser for you, Elliot, I haven’t played my guitar since Merissa died. My old band mate, Rocco, owns a place where I used to perform, and the other day he asked me if I’d like to start again. I’m thinking that the time may finally be right.”
The two men both clapped, nodding in agreement.
“That’s wonderful news,” Elliot replied.
“Absolutely,” Martin added. “But if you’re asking us to be your backup singers, that’s one favor I refuse to do.”
Elliot laughed, offering a thumb up gesture as Sean smiled and rose from the couch.
“I’ll be right back.” Returning to the room with his guitar, he brought the chair from the corner table and placed it about ten feet away. Observing their curious smiles, he prepared himself to be alert for any sudden change in their expressions, knowing those initial seconds might make or break everything. No sold out performance ever matched the nervousness he felt facing these two men. “What better way to mark my return,” he said, “then to play Merissa’s favorite Beatles’ song for two friends here in my home.” Glancing at the two of them, the only noticeable change in their demeanor showed an elicitation of delightful surprise.
“Oh, my,” Elliot remarked, smiling. “This is the favor? To hear you play a Beatles’ song for us?”
Sean waited for his heart to slow, but the pounding continued. Realizing he couldn’t delay any longer, he sang the opening words to “Hello, Goodbye,” strumming the first chord as his eyes shifted back and forth. Observing nothing more than two big smiles, he continued.
No change.
The next line.
No change.
The next two lines.
No change.
The next three lines.
Now both men nodded along, moving their lips to the words. They seemed as content as ever, and as Sean’s disappointment mushroomed, making him feel like a complete fool, the torment of the song threatened to overwhelm him. The performance ended in mid-strum, along with any hope for a breakthrough.
***
When both men said their goodbyes and walked outside, Sean lifted Hendrix into his arms, staring in shame at the untouched Jack of Hearts before approaching the open doorway. He felt disgusted with himself for his overreaction, and as he watched the two men stroll toward their cars in a slow, affectionate manner, their arms around each other with heads tilted and touching, the scene playing out before his eyes exacerbated his embarrassment.
What the hell was I thinking? I may as well have been singing “Mary Had a God-damn Little Lamb,” for all it mattered. They’re gay and I’m an idiot.
Directing his attention toward Elliot, it occurred to him that he didn’t get a chance to ask him about his whereabouts after leaving the party early that night. His obvious innocence aside, Sean still wanted to know why Elliot omitted that fact, making it seem that he spent the whole time at the event. Maldonado told him he claimed illness as the reason, so going home seemed the logical assumption. But why didn’t he just say that? Sean decided he needed an answer now, even if Martin remained and heard the question.
After a brief kiss on the lips, the two men entered their respective cars. Increasing the pace and waving his arm, Sean battled to suppress his sudden nervousness as he drew near, realizing the delicate nature over how to best phrase the question. Standing by the open driver side window, he looked down at the inquisitive face of Elliot.
“What’s up?” Elliot asked, stealing a glance at his watch.
“Do you need me for anything,” Martin called out, grasping the top of his open door to support his half in-half-out position.
Still clutching Hendrix, Sean reflexively threw out his free hand as he shook his head back and forth. “No thanks, Martin,” he answered, conscious of the rush to his reply. “I just want to ask Elliot something about...the Directional Center.”
“Okay, see you later,” Martin replied, nodding his head. Dropping into his car, he shut the door and started the engine. Sean resituated Hendrix, moving him in a methodical manner from his right arm to his left until Martin drove away. Swiping his tongue across the inside of his mouth, Sean paused before speaking.
“I didn’t tell him the truth,” he admitted. “I don’t want to talk about the Directional Center.”
Elliot angled his head, his brows furrowing in sudden inquisitiveness.
“What, then?”
Sean took a breath, inhaled some courage, and proceeded.
“You’re aware that Merissa’s killer hasn’t been caught yet, right?”
Elliot stared at Sean for a few silent moments before replying. “I always figured when that time came, you’d tell me,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”
“To be honest, Elliot, in the eyes of the police, everyone who knew her is still a suspect. To them, it doesn’t matter if you’re straight or gay.”
“What?” Elliot bellowed. His eyes widened into an incomprehensive look of shock before boomeranging back into narrow slits of what appeared to be outrage. “That’s...that’s ridiculous!” His jawbone tightened into a hardened visage. “What do you think, Sean?” he asked, anger coating his tone. “Is this gay man, who loved Merissa like a sister, also a suspect in your eyes?”
Sean stared at Elliot. “No,” he answered, shaking his head for emphasis. “Personally, I don’t think you should be a suspect in any way, shape, or form. But you need to own up to something that you brought entirely on yourself.”
Elliot’s expression softened, his facial lines dissolving into emotionless curiosity. “Please continue,” he told him.
“When I asked you where you were the night Merissa was killed there’s something you didn’t tell me.” His determination strengthened as his trepidation subsided. “You remember that day, don’t you, Elliot? In the Von’s parking lot? You said that you had Lakers tickets but couldn’t go because of some party you had to attend?”
Elliot stared back at Sean, his eyes unwaver
ing. “And that’s where I was,” he said. “At a party thrown by William Alexander, one of my biggest contributors.” He leaned his head back. “You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you,” he said, offering a small nod of his head. “The police verified it anyway.”
As Elliot’s expression changed into a brazen look of satisfaction, Sean bristled at the obvious lack of forthrightness. Bringing his face closer to the window, his glare intensified. “But you didn’t stay for the whole thing, did you? You told them you weren’t feeling well and left early.”
Elliot’s eyes widened for a moment--something that didn’t escape Sean’s notice.
“So what I want to know, and what Detective Maldonado wants me to ask you, is why didn’t you fucking tell me that?” Sean’s eyes burrowed in on Elliot’s. “If you had gone home that would have been the logical answer, but because you didn’t tell me that, it makes me wonder why. And because you’re still on Maldonado’s suspect shit list, if you went somewhere else, he’ll eventually find out.” He leaned in and stared. “That’ll just make things worse for you if you don’t want anybody to know.”
Elliot squinted and pursed his lips, as if the question somehow pained him. Turning his head to gaze through the windshield, he held that position for several moments before dropping his head. Bringing his hand to his forehead, he closed his eyes and moved his fingers back and forth across the closed lids. Sean held Hendrix in a firm grip, using him as a canine life preserver for his sudden anxiety. Feeling confused about everybody at this point, his ability to remain calm seemed impossible. Sean believed in Elliot’s innocence, but no longer trusted his own judgment to believe anybody’s story anymore. Elliot raised his head, advancing a slight smile before responding.
“I was having an affair,” he said, his tone wistful. “It was mad and delicious, but not meant to last. A lusty, sports car kind of affair that went zero to seventy in a flash before crashing and burning.” He shook his head, wiping his hand across his mouth. “All I can say is thank God Martin never found out.” Elliot looked away, emitting a deep sigh as his shoulders raised then dropped. He looked into Sean’s eyes and smiled again. “So now you know where I went that night and why I didn’t tell you. It was a sinfully guilty pleasure for me, but for you, and Detective Maldonado, it’s my proof of innocence.”
Sean couldn’t tell if he felt a greater sense of happiness or disappointment. Had he really wanted a confession from Elliot? Did he want to hear him say he raped and killed Merissa, putting an end to the search for The Beatles’ Song Murderer? Or was it a relief to know that another of Merissa’s friends didn’t belong on Maldonado’s list?
“I’ll tell Detective Maldonado what you told me,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I believe you.”
Elliot nodded one time. “I only ask that if the detective ever wants to confirm my story, I’ll arrange a meeting with the man I was with, but Martin can’t ever find out.” Elliot reached out and grasped Sean’s elbow, his large hands squeezing tight. “Please, Sean. Make sure Detective Maldonado understands that.”
“I will,” he answered.
As the engine started, Sean backed up a step and waited for the car to drive away, but Elliot shut the motor off. “Sorry, Sean, but I need to use your bathroom. I think I had something with milk in it and my stomach’s acting up. I don’t want to drive like this.”
Waving him out of the car, Sean watched as Elliot rushed away and hurried toward the partially opened front door without waiting for him. Arriving at the doorway about fifteen seconds later, he released Hendrix and headed for the closet to change into a warmer jacket before taking his cell phone with him to the entrance area to wait. After reviewing his calendar for the upcoming week, he started reading a group email from Tom Claiborne when Elliot reappeared, looking embarrassed and shaking his head.
“What can I say?” he asked. “Mother Nature can be a naughty lady sometimes.”
Sean shrugged. “We’ve all been there.”
Elliot started heading outside but stopped.
“Hey, I almost forgot to tell you. Your old work buddy, Roger, came to the Center to say hello.”
Sean’s stomach tightened. “Roger?” he said, his voice rising in surprise. “I thought he left town.”
“He did, but his divorce is getting messy and his lawyer needed him here.”
“I didn’t know you two were friends.”
“More friendly than friends. But he’s close with Stan, and he used to be part of our magic class that he teaches. Adam was there, too, just like always.”
Sean leaned against the side of the door and watched Elliot enter his car, start the engine, and drive away. As the branding iron of his speculation burned the images of Roger, Stan, and Adam deeper into his consciousness, a realization he fought to deny continued to taunt him, leaving his spirit a shredded mess. A suffocating galaxy of suspicion now engulfed his thoughts, filled with the poisonous atmosphere of each man who remained a suspect. From his initial meeting with Ray Maldonado, this was the mindset expected of him; but suspicion is a part of a detective’s mentality, not regular guys like him.
Although the jacket kept his body warm, and one hand remained buried in his pocket, the exposed hand gripping the door felt like ice. Staring at the gray, spiritless sky above, he had a change of heart about leaving the house. Heating up a can of tomato soup, grilling a ham and cheese sandwich, and lying on the couch watching TV seemed like a more comforting idea. Needing to get one errand out of the way first, however, he retrieved his wallet and car keys from the kitchen table.
“Time for a quick ATM run, Hendrix,” he said, looking down at his little friend. “I’ll be right back.”
Hendrix tilted his head and looked at him, his shiny, dark button eyes focused through the furry black forest of his face. His tail moved, but in a hesitant, unsure motion. Sean stared back, smiled, and scooped up his dog as he headed toward the garage. “You win,” he told him. “Can’t have you suffering through an uneventful fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 37
Sean glanced at the car clock as he turned into his driveway. “Fifteen minutes exactly,” he said, looking at Hendrix. “Just like I told you.” As he entered the kitchen from the garage, the doorbell rang. Hendrix barked as he always did, and when Sean peered through the peephole without seeing another face, he glanced down and spotted the recognizable semi-bald head of Kayleigh, motionless as a boulder.
Opening the door, Sean squatted to her height, opened his arms wide, and shouted, “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s the birthday girl!”
Kayleigh’s zero-shaped face condensed into an immediate freeway system of fleshy wrinkles as she smiled and threw herself at Sean. Releasing her from his hug, he looked toward the walkway to see if anyone accompanied her--Jenny, perhaps--but discarding that quick moment of disappointment, invited her in and closed the door. Hendrix wasted no time dropping his body at her feet and rolling on his back for a belly rub. Kayleigh obliged in an instant, dropping on her knees to perform the task.
“Mommy wanted me to call first,” she told him, still hunching over Hendrix, “but I had to show you what I got for my birthday!” Kayleigh looked up with her hands remaining on Hendrix’s belly. “She hopes I’m not bothering you. Am I bothering you?”
“Of course not,” he answered. “So what’d you get?”
Kayleigh pushed herself off the floor to stand, wobbling a bit as she straightened before shifting her weight back and forth from heel to toe as if standing on a rocking chair.
“Guess!” she shouted.
“A pony, and you’re going to name him Coby?”
Kayleigh’s eyes widened, the left one more than the right, as always. “What?” she exclaimed, giggling. “No, silly! Not a pony named Coby! Guess again.”
“Mind if I take my jacket off first,” he asked, winking as he hurried through the buttons. Turning toward the corner table near the door, he started draping it across the back of the chair but stopped and st
ared, bewildered by what he saw; or, more to the point, what he didn’t see. No Jack of Hearts.
Sean looked on the floor behind the table, but seeing nothing there, stared at the empty space in a daze, replaying everything in his mind from the moment Martin asked him about it.
“Come on, Mr. Music, guess what I got for my birthday.”
“Hold on, Kayleigh,” he said, his back remaining turned. “I’m missing something important, and I don’t know where it is.”
Hendrix barked once from the other room. Then he barked again.
“Quiet, Hendrix!” Sean shouted.
He barked again. And again.
“What’s the matter, Hendrix?” Kayleigh asked, marching toward the dog.
Sean spun to his left, heading in the same direction until stopped, midstride, by a revelation that left him light-headed. After all the long, cruel months of uncertainty over Merissa’s killer, the answer appeared like a flashing neon light, revealing the identity of The Beatles’ Song Murderer. Maldonado had been right all along: Things aren’t always as they appear. Elliot only pretended to need the bathroom, emphasizing the supposed urgency by rushing in ahead of Sean to steal the card. The sudden awareness also validated his hunch about the Lady Diana comment, and offered a prime example of Elliot’s devious ability to lie straight faced, manufacturing an alibi about an affair a mere few seconds after Sean confronted him.
Knowing the importance of Maldonado identifying the caller ID, Sean used his cell phone rather than his unlisted home phone, but the sound of the Detective’s recorded voice forced him to leave a message.
You Say Goodbye Page 25