Liquid Lies

by Lois Lavrisa

  Taking a deep breath I took in the comforting aroma of incense and polished wood. I gazed at the multi-colored stain glass windows, and cavernous ceiling. After lighting a candle, I knelt and said a prayer for Francesca’s soul. Knowing that I was in deep trouble, I asked God for a sign, something to tell me what to do next.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the hairless pudgy Father O’Doul waddle into the confessional. Considering it had been years since I went to confession, probably since before Francesca’s eighteenth birthday, I took that as a sign. Feeling the weight of a thousand emotions pulling down on my soul, I thought confession might offer some relief.

  Entering the confessional, I knelt. “Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been about four years since my last confession. My sins are…” I stopped.

  What am I doing in here? Could I really tell him I committed murder? Priests are a link to God. But they are also human. Would he be obligated to tell authorities of any mortal crimes? I wanted to get all the facts in order before I went to the police. Maybe Francesca’s death had nothing to do with the blackmailer from the trucker incident. If it did, and I knew it did for sure, then I would go to the police so they could solve Francesca’s death.

  “Yes, my child. What are your sins?” Father O’Doul asked from behind the screen. His voice was smooth and low.

  Mixing up the order of saying mortal sins first, then venial sins, I began, “I’ve told some white lies. Not wanting to hurt anyone, but trying to help them. But a lie is a lie, right? Also, I’ve not always been as patient and understanding with some people as I could be. Oh, and I’ve not made my share of weekly masses and holy days, that’s a commandment right? Or maybe that’s just Sister Lisa’s rule. And, I haven’t been great about going to confession either.” Halting, I knew that next I needed to confess the murder.

  Silence hung in the air like fog.

  Father O’Doul cleared his throat, and said, “Is that all?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Go on,” he said.

  His voice was so gentle and kind. As though in a womb, cradled in the secure quiet dark confines of the confessional, I poured out the whole story of the truck stop. My heart was racing. My palms were sweaty, as I unfolded my sins.

  “My child. What a load you’ve carried all these years. Keep in mind 2 Corinthians 5:19 ‘In other words, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting people’s trespasses against them, and he has given us the message of reconciliation.’ I strongly encourage you to go to the authorities. You only answer to God, but I do believe that you will do the right thing here on earth. Fill your heart with prayer, and you will know what to do and when the time is right. Please say one Our Father, and two Hail Mary’s. May I also suggest that weekly mass, daily rosaries, and prayer may ease the pain in your soul?”

  I doubted that anything could ease the pain in my soul.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maybe there was something to prayer, because I felt a little lighter in my soul as I left the Cathedral. I prayed and lit several candles for Francesca. I said my penance, and made a mental note to pray and attend mass more often. The priest had also suggested that I say a daily rosary because it would help my soul although I know no amount of prayers would erase the trucker’s death.

  While heading to the pavilion, my thoughts returned to what Father O’Doul said. Yes, I agreed that sooner or later I needed to go to the authorities and tell them everything that happened. Just not quite yet.

  When I arrived at the pavilion, I noticed a few police officers milling about. Among them was Wurkowski.

  While Mark and I chatted, Detective Wurkowski approached us.

  “Ms. Coe, there are some things that you said that aren’t making sense to me. I need your help trying to sort through them,” Detective Wurkowski said.

  Mark looked at me with his eyebrows raised. I nodded to give him the okay to go.

  “Catch you later CiCi,” Mark said and then jogged away.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you had a fight with the victim, and that she left H&K’s restaurant with you? It’s strange that it was last time anyone, besides you, saw the victim alive,” Detective Wurkowski said as he moved closer to me.

  I felt his hot breath on my face. A queasy feeling overtook me as I stepped back. “I believe I’ve already told you that part. I had gone outside to get fresh air. I sat on a bench.”

  Detective Wurkowski adjusted his dark sunglasses, and scowled. He flipped open his notebook. “You said you were alone and that you saw no one. Yet, according to eye witnesses, you went outside with the victim.”

  “Yes, but then she left and I was alone. So actually I saw her and then I saw no one,” I said.

  “Humph.” He shook his head and twisted his mouth. “Why did she leave?”

  She was in a hurry to meet someone after she gave me the money for the blackmailer. “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Did you talk to her when you went outside?” he asked.

  Not talk, she gave me an ultimatum. I shook my head.

  His eyes opened wider. “So you both went outside, but said nothing to each other?”

  “Not really.” Except that she convinced me that I had to pay off the blackmail because I owed her.

  He scrunched his thick eyebrows. “Really? Nothing at all? No small talk? No catching up? No ‘how’s the weather?’”

  I weakly shook my head no as I began to feel lightheaded.

  “You do realize we are in the middle of a murder investigation? We need to get everyone’s full and honest cooperation to solve this,” he said as he tapped his pen on his notepad.

  “Yes, sir, I do,” I said.

  “Then I’ll ask you again. Did she say anything during the time you were outside together?” He scowled.

  It appeared that he was losing patience with me. I said, “Well, she did say she had to meet someone.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “She didn’t say,” I said.

  He let out a deep audible breath. “How long was she outside with you?”

  We argued about our blackmailer. But I can’t tell him that. “A few minutes. Long enough to say goodbye and that she was leaving to meet someone.”

  He rubbed his temples. “Ms. Coe, it seems that you’re leaving out parts of your story. You tell me just enough. Then I find out through other sources that there’s more. Then you give me just a little more.”

  Silence.

  “What was the fight about?” Detective Wurkowski asked.

  “What fight?” I asked.

  “Witnesses said that you were at a table with Ms. Pike, you had drinks. Then a glass broke. There were screams, and you both exited H&K’s. It caused quite a stir. Witnesses said that it looked like you had a fight.”

  “It wasn’t. I dropped a glass. Clumsy. Like yesterday morning when I slipped off the boat and fell in the lake,” I said.

  “That’s not the witnesses’ impression. They said you screamed,” he said.

  “It was loud in there. Everyone was screaming,” I said.

  He tightened his lips in a flat line. “Ms. Coe, I have to tell you right now, this isn’t looking good for you. You fought with Ms. Pike in a public place. Then you left with her. Later on you found her head. In our investigation so far, you were the last person known to have seen her alive. And the first to find her dead.”

  Bad luck. “Coincidence?” I said as I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Right.” He chuckled, and took off his sunglasses, and stared me down. “In law enforcement, there isn’t happenstance.”

  “But, I’m not a suspect, right?” My heart sprinted.

  His slit eyes looked intently at me. He didn’t say anything.

  Remembering my earlier conversation with Doug, I asked, “Have you talked to her neighbor, Doug?” I relayed the brief conversation I had with him about seeing her on the dock that night.

  “I’ll look into that.” Detective Wurkowski jotted more notes
, donned his sunglasses and warned me, “Don’t leave town. And you may want to get your personal affairs in order.”

  ***

  As I made my way to Estelle’s house, I saw a neon orange sheet of paper stapled to a light pole. The sign read ‘SOS. Save our Streets. Don’t let them plow down your home. Fight back. Unite. Meeting tonight at 7 pm at 414 Elm Avenue.’

  “Did you see the signs?” Estelle said as I walked into the kitchen. The odor from this morning’s burnt lasagna mingled with a scent of cinnamon.

  “I like the name of your group. SOS. Clever. Do you think you can win against the hospital? Get them to leave your homes alone?”

  “Hazel thinks so. She’s got a lot of legal experience. You know, because of her late husband and all,” Estelle said.

  “But as I remember he was a patent lawyer,” I said.

  “Yeah, I think so. But the law is the law. It’s all the same.”

  “Just because Ken is a heart specialist doesn’t mean he can do brain surgery. Lawyers also specialize.”

  “I know, I know. But Hazel’s a smart cookie. She’s on the internet studying up on all our rights.”

  Shaking my head, I realized that my reasoning was of no use. It was like Lucy and Ethel against corporate giants. It would be a bloodbath unless they got some legal support. Furthermore, I knew that I would need some legal help, too, if they tried to pin Francesca’s murder on me. But I knew I was innocent, and would prove it soon. So I pushed away the idea of seeking an attorney.

  “You know all of this is keeping my mind off of what happened to Francesca. God rest her soul. Otherwise I would just sit in a corner and cry all day.” Estelle paused as she looked away from me and then back again. Clearing her throat, “Anyway, I have so much to get ready for. I’m making cinnamon buns for tonight’s SOS meeting. We don’t want the crowd to get ugly, so if their stomachs are full that’ll help. I hope we’ll get a good turnout. Hazel is standing at the street corner right now handing out flyers to all the neighbors.”

  “Can I help?” I asked.

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes, didn’t you say you met a reporter from TV4? We want to get media attention. Maybe have a reporter show up here at the meeting.”

  “I can give the television station a call. But I’m afraid I won’t be at the meeting.”

  “What a shame. Where are you going?”

  Here I go again, racking up another venial sin, a white lie, on my now clean plate of a soul. I wanted to tell her the truth. I needed to keep a low profile, because they may have thought that I was a suspect in Francesca’s murder. Not only that, I wasn’t ready to share with authorities the trucker murder and its potential connection to Francesca’s murder. Not until I had some solid facts connecting the two events. I needed time to find proof.

  “I have to write the eulogy so I need to find some quiet place to sit and think,” I said. I also planned on talking to Mayor Pike. Surely he could help me out with the eulogy. I wanted to do right by Francesca. While I was there maybe Doug would be home and I could ask him more questions about what he saw the last night of Francesca’s life.

  “Good. You better get on it. I found out the memorial at the Cathedral is tomorrow evening at six. They’re expecting a huge turnout.” Estelle turned off the ringing timer, and then opened the oven door. “Did you hear? The latest hub bub is that the police may have a suspect.”

  Yes. It’s me. “Is that so?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  As I left the house, I made a quick call to the television station, giving them details about the S.O.S. meeting at Estelle’s house. Along the way, I ran into Hazel. She had a stack of posters in one hand, and a bullhorn in the other. Hazel was dressed in full red, white and blue. Sort of a short chubby female version of Uncle Sam.

  “It’s just un-American for people to take other people’s homes. Don’t you think? It’s downright criminal!” Hazel said.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed.

  “You’re coming to the meeting?” Hazel asked.

  “Sorry, I can’t. I have other plans. But I called Paul at the television station. And I also called my friend Lucas who works at the newspaper. They’ll both be there.”

  Hazel jumped up and down, her American flag colored cardboard top hat teetering on the peak of her blonde beehive. “That’s exactly what we need. Media Coverage! Let the public know what those scoundrels are doing to good taxpaying, homeowning American citizens. We’ll get them. We won’t let them destroy our homes.”

  “Good for you.” I kissed her rosy cheek. Then as I waved goodbye and walked away, my cell rang. I answered the call.

  “CiCi, that Detective is looking for you again,” Mark said.

  “Where is he now?” I asked.

  “At the pavilion. He’s already talked to me a few times, asking the same questions he as before.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know about you and Francesca, your relationship. The same things I already told you about this morning.”

  Great. I bet he tried to catch Mark in a lie. I said, “Just tell him the truth. That’s all that matters.”

  “What I don’t understand is why he’s so focused on you. I mean you had nothing to do with Francesca’s death, did you?” Mark’s voice rose a little.

  I sensed his doubt. “Mark! Of course not.”

  His voice lowered. “I know. I know. Listen, do you have time for a late lunch? H&K’s in an hour or so?”

  “Sure. That’ll give me time to make one stop first.”

  I made a quick call to Mayor Pike. He agreed to meet in the next half hour. He said he would be waiting for me on his back patio.

  ***

  Doug came bounding up to me as I rounded the lake front footpath.

  “Hi CiCi with two letters. How are you?” he beamed.

  “Hi Doug.”

  “What are you doing here? Do you want to play with me? Barbie plays with me.” He giggled and hopped up and down like he had springs on the pads of his feet. Like a human Tigger.

  “Those are fun games.” I smiled.

  “My mom is making grilled cheese and tomato soup for my lunch. It’s my favorite.” He giggled again and clapped his hands.

  “Listen, can I ask you something about last night, when you saw Francesca?”

  “Barbie? You know my mom fixed her head,” he said.

  The doll. “I’m glad she’s fixed. By the way, do you remember us talking about your neighbor Barbie, who lives over there?” I waved my hand at the Pike mansion.

  “Yes. I haven’t seen her today. Have you?”

  It was apparent that no one had told him yet about her death. “No. I haven’t.”

  “Why are there so many police cars at her house?” he asked.

  I didn’t feel it was my place to tell him his friend was dead. Needing to get some answers from him, I continued, “Do you remember last night when you were watching Blue’s Clues?”

  “My favorite show,” he said.

  “Yes. The mail song is great. You sang it to me this morning. Anyway, what time did the show come on?” I asked.

  “Silly. It’s not on at night.”

  “But you said you were watching it last night?”

  “On the machine,” he said.

  “It was a DVD?” I asked.

  “Yes. After my dinner and bath my parents let me watch one show before bedtime.”

  “What time do you think that was?”

  Doug chuckled. “I have to be in bed at nine-thirty. Sometimes my parents let me stay up ‘til ten on weekends.”

  Last night was Friday. I asked, “So you saw Francesca, I mean, your neighbor Barbie on her dock, sometime between nine-thirty and ten?”

  “You ask a lot of silly questions CiCi with two letters,” Doug said.

  “I know. I’m sorry. But I need to know some things.”

  “Why don’t you ask Barbie yourself?”

  If he only knew how I’d wished that I could ask her. Doug gave me as much as he cou
ld for now, and I couldn’t continue without telling him that his neighbor was dead. I asked, “Did you say your mom was making you lunch?’

  “Yes. I have to go. Will you play a game with me later?” Doug offered.

  “I’ll try. Thanks for your time.”

  An oversized smile spread across his small face. He turned and skipped up the hill to his house neighboring the Pike Mansion.

  Taking the cut through path to the Pike’s mansion, my thoughts were consumed with solving Francesca’s death. So far, I knew that the blackmailer wanted twenty thousand for hush money. Whoever it was knew Francesca was involved in the trucker’s death, and because of this they blackmailed her. Fearing the ruin of her father’s political career, Francesca took the money out of her trust fund to pay off the blackmailer so that they wouldn’t go to the police. Then I ran into her at H&K’s, and since I was involved too, she insisted I make the drop. Also, she was in a hurry to meet someone during the time the blackmailer wanted the drop.

  Around ten last night, Doug may have seen her, which was after the time she met with me. That’s all I had. But what happened to her in the hour and a half or two leading up to when Ken and I found her head floating in the lake? How did it fit together? Who was she meeting? Could the blackmailer have grabbed the money, and made it to the lake, killing Francesca in that time frame? Or was it another person she was meeting? And did that person ultimately cause her death?

  After I met with Mayor Pike, I needed to talk to Mark. I had to talk to someone I could trust who might be able to make sense of all of this. So I was going to dump it all on him. I had no choice if I wanted to solve the murder and get the killer behind bars.

  ***

  “Hi CiCi,” Mayor Pike called to me, holding a phone against his chest.

  The back of the Pike mansion had a sweeping panoramic view of the lake. There was a cement patio, bedecked with outdoor furniture and potted flowers. A large grill set in decorative stone was adjacent to the kidney shaped built in pool.