“Okay, Artie. You clearly want to blame me for this.”
He held out his palms. “Whoa, Mar, never said that. I’m just thinking out loud here and trying to solve the problem.”
She didn’t really want his help. So like Artie Ryan to come in and totally take over a situation. But she was at a loss.
“I don’t even know who to call,” Marlene said.
He winked at her. One of her biggest pet peeve moves. It was totally skeevy, the kind of gesture that dirty old men used before it became inappropriate back in the nineteen-sixties.
“Let me try her, just in case she is unreasonably upset with you.” Artie smiled. “Can you give me her number?”
Marlene read it off to him. Artie dialed.
“Voicemail,” he said.
They stood there in awkward silence for a moment. Then they began to speak at the same time. Artie laughed easily like they were old friends, but Marlene’s skin was crawling.
“Listen, Artie, I’m going back to my office. If this goes on for awhile … I think I’ll call the police.”
He bit his upper lip. “This has got me worried. Give me a call if you need anything.”
She didn’t know what she’d need from him, but Marlene said she would. Halfway across the street, Marlene’s vivid imagination came to life. In her mind appeared an image of Gwen sprawled on the pavement behind her office. The woman’s long, dirty-blonde hair was mostly covering her face. Around her, a dark liquid was spreading …
The truck horned her. Its mirror nearly clipped her as the driver sped past. The rush of air almost bowled her over. Marlene came back to her senses, realizing she was standing in the middle of the road. She hurried to the other side, getting clear of the oncoming traffic with plenty of time to spare.
Not able to shake the terrible image from her mind, Marlene walked alongside her building. With each step, her fear mounted. An indefinable bad feeling gripped her. She just knew that what she’d imagined would be waiting for her behind the corner of her office.
Marlene stopped at the edge to take a deep breath. Her shirt was clammy with sweat, and her breathing was shallow. Each heartbeat sent a shock wave of fear through her body.
Marlene stepped around the corner.
And saw Gwen O’Vear sprawled on the pavement, just like in her imagination…
Five
Fifteen years ago, the detective now questioning Marlene had picked her up for underage drinking at the lake. Of course, Marlene had literally had one sip and then had refused to drink anymore, because the malt liquor was disgusting. But that didn’t matter. She’d had a taste, and Officer Dan Bors enforced the law.
Dan Bors was now the number two man in the Medboro Police Department and was sure to let everybody know it. Marlene couldn’t stop staring at his mustache. Cops were notorious for bad mustaches, and Bors’s was no exception. She wondered if he wore it ironically.
“Why were you an hour late to work?” Bors asked skeptically.
“I told you, this owl came up out of the ground and surprised me. By the time I’d changed out of the dirty clothes and found something else to wear, and by the time I took that long detour, an hour had gone by.”
“Seems coincidental.” He chewed on his mustache, making it even harder to ignore it.
“What does?”
“That poor Gwen ends up here the same day you’re late for work.”
“Listen. Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job.” Marlene’s tongue was getting away from her again. “But I’ve got a bunch of people in the strip mall who will verify I didn’t get here until after ten o’clock. Now you should—”
He held up a palm. “What did you say you do again?”
“Life coach.”
“A life coach. Hmph. What about life are you coaching?”
Marlene put a hand on her hip. “Whatever part needs coaching. I’m flexible for my clients and avoid a one-size-fits-all approach. I doubt what would work for Gwen would work for—”
“How many clients do you have?”
“I’m sorry?”
“How many clients?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“That’s great.” He smiled without humor. “But I’m not asking you to see how it’s relevant.”
She rolled her eyes. “Around fifty. Maybe sixty.”
“Fifty whole clients?”
The line of questioning reminded her of losing Bob Balin as a client that morning. “Yes. Fifty or sixty whole clients.”
“Ever lose any?”
She was about to say again, I don’t see how that’s relevant. “Just this morning, actually.”
“And who was that?”
Marlene tried not to roll her eyes too many times while she answered Bors’s seemingly endless and definitely pointless questions for the next ten minutes. It got so bad she began to feel sorry for the guy. He had run out of things to ask and was swimming by the end, clearly having no idea what to ask her next.
“So how do you find clients?”
“The same way everybody else does. Marketing, word of mouth, blogging, you know. A lot of referrals.”
“Hmph. Marketing. Word of mouth.”
He wrote both things down like he’d never heard of them before. When he looked back up, his eyes had narrowed. “Now you listen, Marlene. There’s a statistic that all us cops know. The person that finds the body is most often the killer.”
“I’ve heard that before, but why would I kill Gwen? I haven’t seen her in a long time, talked to her once since she got back, and she expressed interest in becoming a client.”
“Right.” He said it like he didn’t believe her, even though by virtue of her owning her own business, it should have been self-evident.
“Listen, Bors, I want to give you some advice.” And before she knew it, her mouth was off to the races again. “The chief is political allies with the mayor, but things aren’t looking so good for the mayor in the next election. So what I’m saying is, if you play your cards right you could be the next chief. The trick is supporting your boss but also keeping your distance from him.”
Bors’s face twisted into something ugly. “Don’t you ever give me advice again. And Mayor Gant is doing just fine. Who’s got a shot at defeating him in an election?”
She nodded, wondering why she even bothered to be helpful to someone who was looking for any reason to arrest her. Bors hadn’t liked her since that night fifteen years ago when she’d taken one sip—just one sip—out of Fran Carmichael’s malt liquor bottle.
“Listen.” She knew he was growing tired of her, but she’d liked Gwen and wanted to make sure Detective Bors had all the information he needed. “Gelder had a strange-looking customer. He was wearing a black, hooded sweatshirt and he looked dangerous. I’d never seen him before.”
“Dangerous? Why do you say that?”
Why did she say that? “He kind of gave me this look.”
“What kind of look?”
This was exhausting. “Like he wanted to hurt me. He started coming across the street.”
“What stopped him?”
Marlene knew the more she told him, the crazier the story sounded. Her face felt hot. “This stray dog ran out of the woods and growled at him. He jumped in his car and drove off.”
He just looked at her.
“I know,” she said. “It sounds crazy.”
“Pretty much.” Bors’s frown got bigger. “Gelder didn’t mention anybody fitting that description.”
“Really? The guy stood out like—”
“Alright, enough, Marlene. Don’t you worry, I’ll be checking everybody out around here. You just focus on experience coaching, or whatever you call it.”
“Life coaching,” she said.
But Bors had already moved on. He started walking across the street, headed right for Artie Ryan’s office. The councilman stood outside, arms akimbo, the sun shining on him like he was some mythic hero.
As much a
s she hated to admit it, Artie was a very handsome man. His boyish good looks in high school had deepened into an adult XXXX.
Too bad he was so full of himself. That was such a turn-off.
Her phone buzzed.
Her sister, Ganny, texting:
Happy Birthday – Did you kill Gwen O’Vear?
Leave it to Ganny to cheer her up.
***
The police declared the exterior and surrounding lot a crime scene, so Marlene didn’t get a chance to even go into her office. There was a swarm of activity, with police tape and blockades and men in dull brown uniforms directing traffic. Spectators lined up in front of the strip, crowding the sidewalk and overflowing into the street which had been reduced to one lane of travel.
Rather than field questions from nosy people all day long, Marlene decided to head home. Contrary to what everybody seemed to think, she did have actual work to do. No appointments, but plenty of email and reminders and words of encouragement to send. Hopefully, that freaky, possibly rabid owl had found a new home elsewhere though if the morning was any indication, she was in for a run of bad luck.
Right before she got in her car, Artie called to her from across the street.
“Hold up, Mar!”
With the car door open, she turned to greet him. “What’s up, Artie?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
She frowned. Was he actually accusing her of withholding information from him, or even killing Gwen?
“Excuse me?”
He kept his voice low and his face serious, as befitting the occasion. “Your birthday, Mar.”
Mentioning her birthday to him had never crossed her mind. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Why don’t we get out of here? I think after what you’ve experienced, you could do with a nice lunch out somewhere.”
The last thing Marlene wanted to do on her birthday was go to lunch with Artie Ryan. “I have a lot of work to do. Rain check?”
He snapped his fingers like he was disappointed. “You know, Marlene, I was really hoping to pick your brain. You’ve always been good at giving people advice.”
She couldn’t help but feel proud and also embarrassed by the compliment. “You think so?”
He nodded. “I remember that time in eighth grade, when you told me to focus on playing inside with my back to the basket in the championship. It was just what I needed to hear.”
Marlene didn’t know what he was talking about. “I told you to do what with what now?”
“Before the basketball game … remember?”
She honestly did not.
He waved at her. “Oh you’re just being modest. It was just the advice I needed, I presented the idea to coach, and we won the big game.” He smiled even more broadly. “Come on. What do you say?” He winked again—ugh—and smiled. It was a shame he was so handsome. All those good looks were wasted on a man so clearly in love with himself.
But still, she needed to eat and he was trying to be nice. She very much doubted he wanted her advice about his political career.
What the heck? The day couldn’t get any worse.
Six
They drove separately to the old Camelo Diner. There was a space open right in front, and Marlene was surprised when Artie drove right by, leaving it for her.
One of Jersey’s trademarks was its diners. She’d read once that there were over five hundred of them in New Jersey. Most looked the same: big, airy things made of chrome. The menus were always fifteen pages long and you could get breakfast all day long. Marlene hadn’t been to the Camelo since her high school days. In fact, the last time she’d eaten there had probably been the night of Senior Prom. She and her friends and their dates had all made what seemed like the obligatory stop.
The Camelo sat at the intersection of two major highways. From here, you could get to Philadelphia or the shore inside of two hours.
Marlene waited for Artie to park and met him at the door. He made a big show of getting it for her.
“After you, birthday girl.”
She thanked him and stepped inside. It was like sitting down in a time machine. The Camelo hadn’t been redone, apparently, in the last dozen years. And she’d never understood the set-up either. They’d always had too many tables crowded into what used to be the Smoking section and too few on the other side. Nobody ever sat at the counter, either. It was just taking up real estate.
Artie followed her eyes. “Let’s get a table.”
“Sure.”
The hostess was on the phone, but her face lit up when she saw them.
She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Artie!”
He gave her his big, broad grin. The hostess practically fainted. Marlene was about to roll her eyes, when she took a longer look at the woman and realized it was Gwendolyn Hildebrand. She hadn’t seen the woman since …
Artie waited for her to hang up, then he gave her a big hug. Gwendolyn clung to him a little longer than was appropriate, but of course Artie didn’t mind.
“Hey,” Marlene said, because if she didn’t say anything she felt like they’d never stop hugging.
“Hi.” The other woman regarded her strangely. “Do I know you?”
Marlene thought Gwendolyn was joking. She even laughed.
But apparently it was no joke. A confused look on her face, Gwendolyn looked tentatively to Artie.
“Gwen, don’t you recognize Marlene Ambrosia?”
Gwen mouthed the name, like it was the first she’d heard it. Marlene didn’t think of herself as very memorable, but her name was pretty unique.
“Marlene … ohhhhh, Marlene.” She smiled and Marlene saw right through it. The woman didn’t remember her. “Hi! How have you been?”
“I’m great. Nice to see you again.”
“I didn’t recognize you,” Gwen quickly added. “You look so different.”
In her mind, Marlene went over just how different she looked from high school. She wore the same haircut. She hadn’t changed her casual style of dress. She hadn’t put on or lost any weight. Her hair was still the same auburn it had been back then.
“We had Chem together, right?” Gwen asked.
“Calculus,” Marlene said. “Close.”
“Right.” Gwen grabbed two menus off her stand. “Booth or table?”
“Booth,” Artie said.
“Table,” Marlene said at the same time.
They looked at each other awkwardly. Marlene thought a booth suggested a level of intimacy.
“Table,” Artie said.
“Table it is,” Gwen said. “Right this way.”
She sashayed into what used to be the Smoking section. Marlene thought her hip sway was a little exaggerated and obviously for Artie’s benefit. The politician, surprisingly, was on his best behavior and kept his eyes respectfully north of her equator.
Gwen showed them to a table in the far corner, away from everybody else.
“Thanks.” Artie smiled at Gwen, and their eyes met for a long moment. Had they ever dated? Marlene didn’t think so. But from the way they gazed longingly into each other’s eyes, it would have seemed like they were first loves.
***
“Go for the black-and-white shake,” Artie said.
Marlene laughed nervously as she looked over the menu. The image of Gwen O’Vear kept popping up in her mind. “You know what, Artie? I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“Go for the shake,” he said again. “Camelo’s makes the best shakes.”
Their waitress came to the table, an older woman that might have been working there the last time Marlene had been. She clicked gum while she took their order.
“You know what?” Artie patted his stomach, or lack thereof. He’d probably been born with a six-pack. “I’ve been eating salad and drinking smoothies non-stop since I got back. I’m going to cheat today. Diane, let’s make it a triple-decker grilled cheese with bacon and a Coke.”
The server smiled with only one side of her mouth. “You used to
order that all the time, Artie, back in high school.”
Artie grinned. “What can I say? I’m still a boy at heart.”
Marlene had this image of Artie doubled over a toilet, retching his guts out.
“Listen. You don’t want that sandwich.”
“What?” Artie’s smile wavered. “Are you joking?”
“I’m serious,” Marlene said. “You’ll get sick later.”
The waitress clicked her gum loudly. “There’s nothing wrong with our food, Marlene. Don’t start any trouble like you did last time.”
Marlene gave her a funny look. “Like last time?”
Diane nodded. “Last time you were in here, you made a stink because you thought there were rodents scurrying around.”
It suddenly came back to Marlene. After the Prom, they’d come here and Marlene had definitely seen something furry and small darting around in the corner.
“That was a long time ago,” Marlene said. “And I know what I saw.”
Diane shook her head. “You almost got us shut down for a week. Most of us in here live paycheck-to-paycheck and—”
“Know what?” Artie said. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ve been on a good streak with healthy eating recently, so I’ll just stick to the salad bar. Thanks, Diane.”
The waitress nodded at him, then slowly turned back to Marlene. “What would you like?”
What were the odds this woman would mess with Marlene’s food in some way? Pretty good. “Can I have a bottled water, please?”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“I’ll take a black-and-white shake,” Artie said suddenly.
Diane turned back to him. “I thought you were trying to be healthy.”
He shrugged apologetically. “I can’t help myself. I have to cheat a little bit, and Camelo’s always made the best shakes.”
Diane eyed him suspiciously but took the order without another word and left.
Artie waited till she was out of earshot, then leaned in. “Ohhhh, boy. Diane never liked us kids, did she?”
Marlene laughed. “Never did.”
“Sooooo tell me, Marlene. What have I missed in the last fourteen years?”
The Once and Future Scream Queen: Marlene Ambrosia Mysteries Page 3