by Lois Lavrisa
Mark chimed in, “Why not ask Ken? He works there. Wouldn’t he know about the hospital’s plans and give you an idea of what’s going on? ”
I finished my beer and set the mug on the bar. “You’d think.”
A much older woman in a too-short denim skirt and knee high red cowboy boots pulled Lucas to the dance floor and began kissing him as they swayed to the music. The music from the band grew louder as the night wore on.
Glancing at my cell phone, I saw it was after ten o’clock. Shoot. “I have to go.”
“I’m waiting here in case Francesca shows up again. Catch you tomorrow,” Mark said.
I hugged him. The blackmailer could’ve followed me here, and be waiting to kill me. “I love you. Just know that if anything happens that I had no choice. Okay?”
Mark furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about? You know you’ve been acting really bizarre today.”
“I can’t tell you. I had to do it. There were no other options.” No choice years ago at the truck stop, and no choice now paying off a blackmailer.
My cell rang. Ken’s number shone in the screen. I punched a button and held it close to my ear. “Hello?”
“Babe, are you okay? I’ve been here ten minutes. Where are you?” Ken asked.
“I’m so sorry. I’m on my way.” I clicked off.
Maybe I needed to let Ken know there was a blackmailer, because of a death I’d caused four years ago. Wouldn’t he be able to help me out of this mess? But then again, the ‘for better or worse’ part didn’t apply when I was only engaged, did it? But I also was pissed that he may have already known about the eminent domain, and failed to tell me that my home was going to be destroyed.
Once outside, I buttoned up my sweater against the nippy night air. The fresh smell of the air was a relief from the beer stench in the bar. I jogged over to the pavilion to meet Ken. He wanted to ride in his new boat, but now I had more pressing issues for tonight.
I was so over my head it felt like I was drowning again.
Chapter Eight
“I don’t know if this is such a great idea,” I said to Ken as he idled his speedboat, readying it to leave the pavilion’s dock. “We have to talk. First you need to tell me what you know about phase two. Second, my life may change soon and you need to know some things. About what’s going on in my life. Some bad things.”
He shook his head. “CiCi, I can’t hear you too well. Can we do this later? After my twelve hour shift, I just want to unwind and have some fun.”
Ken had ordered his custom boat six months ago. Maybe I shouldn’t spoil his night. Under my breath I said, “I don’t want Estelle to lose her house. And Francesca is back and I really don’t mean to hurt anyone, but we had to do what we did and…”
He stood over the steering wheel, “What did you say, hurt who? Are you okay? How much did you drink?”
I wrapped my arms around myself, and plopped into the seat next to him. “I’m not drunk. I’m in trouble. Francesca is in trouble too. I have to come clean.”
He revved the engine put his hand to his ear and shook his head. “Babe, I’m sorry but I still can’t hear you very well. Can we talk more later?”
I strained to hear what he said. But he was right, between hum of the engine and the crash of the waves, it was difficult to have a decent conversation.
It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. I rubbed my temples, my headache was starting to return.
Ken pointed at the stern of the boat. He reduced the throttle, perhaps in an attempt to be heard. “Let’s enjoy the maiden run of my new toy. Can you undo the line, so I can navigate us out of here?”
After untying the mooring line then pushing off from the dock, I sat back down in the captain seat next to Ken.
He steered the boat out from the dock. His short blonde hair was blown back in the wind. His navy Hilfiger windbreaker rustled in the breeze. “She’s a beauty. Do you like her name?” he shouted as he advanced the throttle.
Earlier in the day, I had seen the name painted in gold on the back, I Sea You. “Good double meaning. Acronymic for Intensive Care Unit too.”
“I knew you’d get it.” He smiled. “What do you say we see how fast she can go?”
I grimaced. “I really don’t think we should. It’s late and maybe just a short slow cruise around the lake would be better.”
The roar of the engine was deafening as it rang in my ears. I gave up trying to talk to him. At least I’d tried. But I was sure that when I was in jail, it would be solid grounds for him to dump me as a fiancé. How did my life get so messed up? It was fine until Francesca showed up again. My motto was: keep the past in the past. Stirring it up, like Francesca had done, was completely messing up my motto.
Ken headed for the middle of the lake. “Hold on!” He kicked the engine to full throttle.
My head snapped back as I gripped the dashboard. “Hey, don’t you think we should slow down?” I asked.
He shouted over the roar of the engine, “Please, relax. Let’s do a lap or two.”
I held onto the dashboard. My hair came out of the ponytail and flipped around my face. My head felt leaden with worry as we rode around the lake. Looking over at the shoreline, I saw the Pike’s mansion. Someone was standing on the dock. It was too far away to get a good look as Ken whooshed by.
An hour went by, I was done and wanted Ken to turn around and head back. I yelled over the engine’s clatter. “You know, now that you’ve tried it out, what do you say we head back? Take it for a longer ride another time?”
“Sure Babe.” He stood over the steering wheel. “Just after one more lap. Okay?”
I nodded. I had to let him have his thrill with his new boat. At least he could remember me as being agreeable. The moon shone down creating silver glitters, which sparkled on the dark water. The boat plowed huge wakes as Ken zipped across the lake. I surveyed the area. We were about a mile from the pavilion’s dock. Holding onto the side of the boat to steady myself, I bounced up and down in the seat with each wave.
A thud jolted me out of my seat. The boat had struck something. I grabbed Ken’s jacket. “Stop!” I darted my eyes scanning the water. “What did we hit?”
Ken spun the boat around. He slowed it to an idle, and motioned for me to stand next to him and hold onto the steering wheel. I grabbed it, holding on so tight my knuckles turned white.
Ken went to the stern and looked over one edge, then another. “I don’t see anything.”
“But we did hit something!” I shouted.
“Driftwood?” Ken added.
“It sounded big,” I said. The pounding in my heart was almost audible.
“Probably just a log,” Ken said.
“No. It was— I don’t know. Heavier sounding. Sort of solid and big like a thick log,” I said. My eyes darted around the boat.
“Maybe a buoy? They come loose and float out into the middle of the lake.” He walked around, looking over the sides of his boat. “I don’t see anything. Whatever it was, it didn’t damage my boat.”
“Is that all you’re worried about? Your damned boat? My God, people are losing their houses, some people are going to jail for murder. Really? Your freaking boat?” I shrieked. Yes. I had lost control.
Ken said as he held me, “I should’ve given you a Prozac and forced you to rest today. You’re really going off the deep end.”
I twirled out of his hug. “Yes I am. You have no idea.”
There was a loud bump. We both stopped.
I looked over the side of the boat. Spotting something that looked like a large floating clump of string attached to a ball, I leaned over the side to take a closer look. “Ken, I see something.”
He stood next to me, and asked, “Where?”
“Over there.” I motioned toward a shadowy dark area in the water.
The waves were knocking whatever it was up against the boat.
Thud.
Splash.
Thud.
<
br /> Splash.
Leaning, I bent over and pointed at the floating object. “Can you tell what it is?”
“Let me reposition the boat so that I can shine the headlights on it.”
When Ken pulled around, and the headlight shone on the water, I saw what it was as the beam of light reached the floating object.
I gasped for air.
In the water, its tangled hair wrapped around a log, Francesca’s decapitated head bobbed up and down.
Her lifeless eyes stared into the sky.
Chapter Nine
“CiCi, let’s keep moving,” Ken said as he assisted me out of the boat. “I want to help you get your bearings. Reorient you. It’s Friday, eleven forty five at night. You were on a boat with me, your fiancé Ken Wilson. We’re back at Round Lake’s pavilion dock. I need you to take slow deliberate breaths.”
A small groan escaped as I tried to hold my wobbly legs steady. I knew where I was, I just didn’t want to think about what I’d seen.
Ken had his arm under mine, guiding me along as we walked onto the dock. I remembered that he’d called the police before we got off the boat. Sirens in the distance punctuated the cool, quiet night.
My head throbbed. “What happened?” I whispered as I stared into space. Ken pulled me along to a bench near the pavilion. My whole body felt light, as if it floated.
“You fainted,” Ken said as he helped me sit.
An image materialized in my mind. Francesca’s head bobbing in the lake. Jerking forward, I dry heaved onto the grassy area next to the bench.
“You’ll feel better soon,” Ken rubbed my back.
I shivered as I sat up. Just a while ago, Francesca was fighting with me, and now she was dead. What happened, was it an accident? Murder? In a soft raspy voice I asked, “What about Francesca?”
“The police will handle that now. Try not to think about it. Really, I’m so sorry. I know you were once best friends.” Ken touched my shoulder and shook his head. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”
I closed my eyes as tears streamed down. I feared my hell had only begun.
***
“I’m Detective Wurkowski.” He stood over me, hand stretched out for a shake.
Resting my head in my hands, my elbows propped in my lap. “Hi.” I shook his hand.
“Do you need an ambulance?” Detective Wurkowski asked.
“I’ve already called them and they’re on the way. She’s in shock,” Ken said. He introduced himself and shook Detective Wurkowski’s hand.
Detective Wurkowski said, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m fine.” I slowly straightened my back upright. A wave of sickness overcame me and I put my head between my knees. That didn’t help my queasy stomach, so I hunched over again.
“I think I need to go home. Get a good night’s sleep.” However, I knew I’d never be able to sleep. The image of Francesca’s severed head and the reality of her death would forever revisit me.
When in trauma, fight or flee. I wanted to sprint.
“After EMS takes a look at you, I need to speak to you.” Detective Wurkowski pulled out a small pocket size notepad from his shirt pocket and looked at Ken. “Dr. Wilson, an officer told me you were the one who pulled the victim’s head from the water.”
“You have her head?” I shrieked. After we saw Francesca, I must have fainted while Ken took care of her remains.
Ken’s eyes flickered toward the dock where I saw a body bag, with only a small bump in the middle, being carted away. I tasted sour bile in my mouth as my stomach lurched.
“Please call me Ken. I’d already given the location of discovery to the first officer on the scene. If you need any more information, I’d be glad to help.”
EMS arrived. I sat on a stretcher in the ambulance as they began their evaluation. They hooked a monitor to the tip of my index finger and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around the top of my right arm. An EMT explained to me that they would also do a blood sugar punch. One of them flashed a pen light in my eyes and then checked my heart rate.
A few feet away from the ambulance, Ken was talking and Detective Wurkowski had his notepad flipped open and his pen was moving across the paper. He was just as tall as Ken, but much stockier. Detective Wurkowski looked like a GI Joe action figure dressed in plain clothes with a badge hooked to his belt. I wondered what Ken was saying about what happened.
I knew that, sooner or later, I would be next for questioning. What would I tell them? Of course I would tell them the truth, as long as I stayed away from anything that could lead to the truck stop incident four years ago.
Francesca. My God. Poor Francesca.
Then I dry heaved again. An EMT gave me a sick bag to hold onto.
Half paying attention, I didn’t give more than one word answers to the EMT as they asked how I felt. Just past me, a knot of police officers, were chatting. I only heard a cluster of voices. I couldn’t make out any words. Did they know what happened to Francesca?
There was a flurry of activity. Police cruisers were parked with lights flashing in the parking lot adjacent to the pavilion and a smattering of people gathered outside the yellow crime scene tape that sectioned off the pavilion and dock area. The media arrived. A white van with TV4 on the side, parked and camera operators and reporters scrambled out.
“She seems stable, but we should take her to the hospital. What do you think Dr. Wilson?” An EMT asked Ken as he approached the ambulance. Detective Wurkowski was at his heels.
“Yes,” Ken stated.
I felt irritated. “Please excuse me, but I can speak for myself. No. I don’t need to go to the hospital,” I said as they undid the monitors. I slung my legs over the side of the stretcher and hopped off. I hiked away from the ambulance calling back, “Ken, can you take me home?”
“I’m sorry Ms. Coe, but I can’t let you go quite yet. Dr. Wilson told us his story and now I need to talk to you,” Detective Wurkowski said as he followed me. “It shouldn’t take too long. Can I get you some coffee? We just got some from the all night diner.”
No. I just wanted to get the hell away from here and pretend the whole day never happened. That Francesca was still alive. That there was no blackmailer. That life was safe, normal and predictable again.
Nevertheless, I knew I had to cooperate. “You can call me CiCi, and I like mine black.” Maybe the sooner I talked to them the quicker I could get away from this whole nightmare.
“Are you up to it?” Ken asked me.
Hell no. “Sure.” I said.
“If you don’t mind, I need to talk to Ms. Coe alone.” Detective Wurkowski adjusted the phone on his belt.
“I’ll be over by my boat. Holler when you’re done.” Ken kissed my cheek then proceeded to the dock.
Detective Wurkowski handed me a cup of coffee and guided me to a bench next to the pavilion’s park area. We chatted as he jotted down my demographics and pertinent information.
“I need to establish some details about your discovery,” Detective Wurkowski said.
“You mean Francesca’s head?” I shifted on the bench, crossing my legs.
His eyes squinted, “You knew the victim?”
“Yes,” I said. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed me. I put my hand up to signal stop. It took a few moments to compose myself. As soon as I took a deep breath he continued.
“How well did you know her?” he asked.
I turned the paper coffee cup in my hands. I didn’t think it mattered that we were best friends years ago, or together we killed a trucker. I figured I’d just provide current information. “I mean, I used to know her years ago. I wish I could help you more. Really I do. But I haven’t seen her in four years.”
“But you knew her, from where?”
How could I say enough without saying too much? “We went to Saint Francis from elementary through high school. But I have no idea what she’s been up to since graduation.”
“Were you friends?” he asked
&nb
sp; “I guess you could say so,” I said.
“Would you say that you were good friends?” He raised an eyebrow.
“At one time, yes.” I said. And those times were the best of my life.
The dock lights cast a ghostly glow on him as he continued, “Good enough friends to know her family? Boyfriends? Likes and dislikes?”
For years we were merged as tightly as blood relatives, as twin sisters. We knew every freckle on each other. “Again, at one time yes. But I hardly know her now. Like I said, it’s been four years since I’ve seen her.”
“So you hadn’t seen her at all in these past four years?” he asked and took notes.
“Correct,” I said.
“So, when did you last see Francesca alive?” he inquired.
All right. Now I was feeling restless as my leg swung back and forth. I knew that officers were trained in body language. I steadied my leg, and sat up straight and still. “I ran into her at H&K’s tonight.”
“Wait a minute,” he flipped though his notes. “You just told me that you had not seen her in four years. But now you say you saw her tonight.”
“Well. Yes. Before I saw her tonight, I hadn’t seen her in four years,” I responded.
He shook his head. “Let’s move on. When you saw her tonight at H&K’s, was she alone?”
“As far as I could tell she was.” But she was meeting someone. Who was it, and did they kill her? My thoughts felt like an anchor stuck in mud.
“Did it look like she was having any problems?” Detective Wurkowski asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Did she seem upset?” he asked. “For example, did it look like something was bothering her?”
She was scared shitless and pissed off. We had a blackmailer after us for a murder we committed. I answered, “No. She seemed okay I guess.”
“I see.” Detective Wurkowski took a sip of coffee.
I watched him jot down notes. I thought it best to keep quiet because I had a tendency to babble when I felt stressed or excited. This was not the time to babble.
He cleared his throat. “When you saw her at H&K’s, did you talk to Francesca?”