Charlotte's Revenge

by Barbara Howard

  “Sure. What’s going on over there?” He checked the oil and added a quart.

  “Milo’s learning plan for school this fall is ready.”

  “How much is that gonna cost?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “What do you mean? Of course, it makes a difference. Things cost and depending on how much ...”

  “Well, it's not going to cost you anything, if that's what you mean.”

  “I didn't mean ... it was just a question.” He slammed the car hood. “Just a question, Traci.”

  “It was the first thing you said, though. You didn't ask anything about the plan or what it could mean for him, for his future ...”

  “It was just a question, Tracinda. Don't make this into another argument ...”

  Randall’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

  “Answer it.” Traci looked at him as if to dare him to do it.

  It buzzed again.

  “Go ahead, we know who it is. Answer it.” Traci turned to walk away. She was right, of course.

  “Stop.” Randall grabbed her by the arm, tight. She winced, and he loosened his grip. He looked at the phone, it was one of the officers handling crowd control for a pee-wee football scrimmage. He closed his eyes and assessed the moment. Then he threw the phone onto the car seat and pulled her close by both shoulders. She turned her face away. This “punch and run” reflex was like a grizzly bear ready to pounce when he struck a certain nerve. And, anything connected to Milo rested on that nerve. He was fed up. It was time to face that bear.

  “Tracinda, look at me.” He was already in the red zone. Fierceness flared in her eyes. “I'm going to have dinner with my love,” he said calmly. “I'm going to find out what it will take for Milo to get on the right path. And then, we are going to decide what is the best way to handle it ... together.”

  Traci met his eyes and melted into his arms. She tucked her face under his chin and wrapped her arms around him so sweetly. “Oh, thank you.”

  “Slay the bear, get the honey,” he thought while his muscles relaxed. “I tell you what, let’s take care of that business right now. Then, after dinner we can just ...”

  She kissed him.

  THEY MADE THE TRIP over to Madison, and the Chevelle sounded perfect. Traci went inside the learning center to retrieve Milo and whatever paperwork was needed to help with fall enrollment. While she took care of that, Randall made a burger run to Red Roasters for the three of them. It was shaping up to be a nice start to the weekend even with Milo tagging along. Traci hopped in the car and started dividing up the orders. She tossed a pouch of hot wings and napkins to Milo in the back seat.

  “Oh, babe,” she sighed. “They messed up our order. I wanted the vegan “Beef-less Burger” with mushroom sauce.”

  “No worries,” Randall said and pulled up in front of the house on Spring Street. “You guys hop out and I’ll go back and get it sorted out.”

  Traci gave him a quick kiss, gathered up the rest of the food and met Milo at the front door. He considered calling a KMP officer to roll by while he was across town, but it would only be twenty minutes or so. Plus, Milo would be home with her until he got picked up after dinner. He cranked up the radio to a local FM station with decent reception and headed back to get the fake meat and mushroom sandwich for Traci.

  The young lady at the drive through window replaced the sandwich with a bubbly apology and coupon for extra fries. Randall felt his phone buzzing in his pants pocket. He grabbed the earbuds from the dash and plugged them in his ears, pulled out his phone and opened the screen. It was a message from Traci. Before he could tap the screen to respond an alert came across the KMP scanner.

  Cars were dispatched to 220 Spring Street. Woman in distress. No further information. Caller not responding. Randall turned onto Parkgate Circle and cut through the high school parking lot and across the practice field. He could hear the dispatcher trying to reach Traci without success. “Why doesn’t she answer? Where’s Milo? If she can’t answer, he should pick up.”

  He ran through the stop sign at Primrose just as he heard, “Possible active shooter. Cannot verify. Proceed with caution.” More cars were on the way. He swerved through a driveway and down the back alley. He eased along the abandoned house and parked. He unlatched his holster, checked the clip and flipped his badge onto his belt. Slowly, he crept into the shadows of the overgrown rhododendrons and Sweetbay magnolias. As he reached an opening between the branches, he heard gunfire and spotted the long barrel of a gun about ten yards away.

  “Police. Stop.”

  More gunfire. Several bullets hit the tree next to Randall. He returned fire and dropped to the ground. And waited. “Where was KMP?” He reached for his phone and held it pressed against his chest to block the light and proceeded cautiously forward.

  “Good God ...”

  Randall heard another car rumbling up the alley and within moments Officer Andrews was by his side. EMT workers were hovered over the body lying on the ground in front of him. He could hear the kitchen door at Traci's house slamming shut and a mixture of chatter and screams. Horrible screams. He rushed to her. At the back porch, he found several KMP officers updating dispatch and coordinating the response, and Milo. He tried to brush past him and get in the house, to the awful screaming. But Milo blocked the door.

  “Stand down, son.” He holstered his weapon and took a step toward him.

  Traci appeared behind Milo and tapped him on the shoulder. Her eyes were wide and blank.

  “Tracinda ...”

  She pulled Milo back toward her and stared at Randall. She took in a long slow breath, trembling. Then she slammed the door in his face. Randall pushed the door open and this time he was met by Lieutenant Hayden. He squared his shoulders and stepped inside toward the sound of her sobbing. “Let me pass ...”

  “One of our team is with her. They’re trained to handle that.”

  Officer Andrews stepped inside and joined them. “He's dead. Homicide investigator is on the way. I pulled the ID. St. John, Joshua Barnett. Forty-two year old male, carrying a Browning Long Range with scope, and ... Hey, isn’t this the guy from Wyman’s?”

  “Captain, we need you to step outside,” Lieutenant Hayden said, “and surrender your weapon.”

  Chapter Ten

  Traci

  TRACI STOOD NEXT TO the northern wall of her bedroom and spread out the yoga mat on the hardwood floor. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She counted to ten and tried to reign in her imagination that had drifted to a memory of her last day at Jay’s fitness center with Randall. His arms wrapped tightly around her while she tried to squeeze out of his embrace, embarrassed at his amorous displays in front of the crowd of sweaty athletes. And, still she had thought, “Never let me go.”

  She opened the “Better & Brighter” yoga app on her phone and started with the first position.

  Chime. Mountain.

  “Today is Tuesday, and I'm okay. Tomorrow is Wednesday, and I will be okay.”

  She missed Randall's strength around her, the weight of his body making her feel grounded and safe. Now she felt adrift. She felt angry, sad, lonely, all the toxic emotions that she needed to exhale and release. Another deep breath.

  “My feelings are real. My feelings are valid. They are mine to keep or let go.”

  Yes, her feelings were valid. “I just wish I didn't have so many of them,” she mused, trying to arrange her memories in a neat row so her mind could respond without the whirlwind of emotions.

  “Today I choose to let go of ...” The app chimed again.

  Change position. Downward Facing Dog.

  She stretched down and forward and held the position. Her world had become smaller, a life locked into a state of inertia inside Casa de Tracinda. A parade of familiar faces coming and going throughout the day like clockwork. The voices of strangers set her off. She didn't remember how they set her off. She just remembered waking up with a migraine and an unexpected groggy feeling. Sh
e wasn't sure if they had given her a shot or not that night. Maybe she asked if they did and forgot. Maybe she remembered and decided it didn't matter either way. Now each morning she would sit on the edge of her bed and stare at her feet waiting for a phone alert to remind her the day and time, to put on slippers, to make an effort to be present. Even her monthly cycle was off now.

  Anyway, familiar faces only. Reverend Mac would call before noon. Milo would be downstairs with the Family Alliance counselor doing schoolwork preparing for fall enrollment, stacking up the mail, and paying the most urgent bills. Moe would be dropping off food and checking on her welfare without mentioning how short-staffed he was now that Milo was her de facto care giver.

  She didn’t understand how a person could see something so brutal and traumatic one minute and totally forget that they saw it the next. But here she was with this hole of time that she couldn’t measure in minutes, hours or days. Survival instinct, they say. Her mind decided she needed to survive. So, she did. Some emotional defense mechanism with a fancy name, according to the KMP grief counselor whose questions she refused to answer other than a simple, “fine” or “okay.” She knew he would only go back and report to Randall everything she said and whatever he saw. He promised her that he did no such thing, but she didn't trust him. Why not? Why should she? It didn't matter why not, she just didn't.

  Her old friend Warren from Dependable Flyers would drop by with documents and work assignments from his Dewey Station route that Mr. Kinsey required. Always with a little note attached. “Take your time and heal. You're doing wonderfully well considering the circumstances.” She wondered if Donna was watering the plants in her little utility closet office or just letting them die.

  Chime. Change position. Warrior.

  It had been . . . how many weeks since Josh had died? The vets at Wyman's Campground had buried his remains in the woods in Elbon Valley near Bear Falls. Only they knew where. And Milo. Traci didn't want to know. She didn't want to think about anything except one thing, getting back on her feet for Milo's sake. Time was running out to get him settled in school. How could they get an instructional plan approved in time? Was the Wyman’s Campground considered a legitimate address for the Faucier County school district? Or would Milo have to move in with her? Everything was so complicated, but she would figure it out. “Deep belly breaths,” she said and closed the yoga app.

  She went in the bathroom and took out one small yellow and red capsule, opened it, dumped the powder down the drain and turned on the tap, then splashed cold water on her face. She knew Milo counted the pills each day and she wanted him to feel confident that she was staying on schedule. No more pills. She picked up her phone and restarted the next yoga position.

  Chime. Change position. Tree.

  The phone still worked in spite of the cracked screen from when she threw it across the room after opening the local news app and reading the headlines:

  Police Captain Caught in Love Triangle.

  Community Calls for Captain Wells’ Resignation after Apparent Homicide in Magnolia Grove.

  Love Nest Among the Magnolias Ends in Death of Local Man.

  Should Gundry Step Down Before Election?

  The WME local news had pushed through every day since “that night” with alerts of a growing league of citizens demanding that Randall resign his position, Chief Dorsett fire him, or that Mayor Gundry force him to resign, or all of the above. People in Keeferton liked pretty politics, cordial and orderly, no controversy or lingering ill will. Milo had secured the pieces of the broken phone with a thin plastic film and clear epoxy made it almost good as new. She deleted the app.

  “Deep belly breath.”

  She would go downstairs in eight mins. Breakfast would be an egg white substitute omelet with peppers, toast and blueberry ginger jam, oolong tea, orange juice, and four slices of cantaloupe. No variation. She would take twenty minutes to eat, then go outside and feed the cats. After that, she would pull weeds from the flower beds along the side of the house, read through her work assignments, and mark them up with her suggestions.

  Chime. Change position. Triangle.

  At noon, Milo would pick up their lunch order from Margo’s Healthy Takeout. She would have the micro green salad, tea, with a choice of protein. Today’s selection would be tuna. She would opt for chickpea falafel. Warren would pick up her Dewey Station work pouch. Moe would drop by with dinner. He and Milo would watch T.V. and fall asleep on the living room sofa. Traci would skip dinner and go upstairs to lie in bed, sleepless. To sleep would invite dreams and there could be no more dreams for her now. No more. She glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of the KMP squad car behind the tall brown ferns in the alley next door.

  “Every step better, every day brighter.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Randall

  RANDALL FINISHED TAKING Milo on a quick tour of the police headquarters and pulled out a chair in his office. “Here sit down and don’t touch anything. I’ve got to make some calls.” This day was a waste. He had nothing but paperwork piling up and the time he had spent with Milo was painfully awkward. But he had promised Traci he would do this. So, here they were. Milo glanced around the room but mostly plucked at the lint balls on his sweater. That reminded him to follow up with the local school superintendent about the two buses that had been vandalized. The graffiti would be removed, and a couple of cameras mounted over the parking lot. It was an easy conversation, thankfully.

  “Well, how about this,” Randall said looking up at Milo. “Let’s go grab something to eat and beat the lunch crowd.” He cleared his desk and escorted Milo out of the room.

  Randall saw Father Kearn leaving the KMP chapel. He was acting Chaplain while Brother Drake attended the Odyssey Ministers Conference back East. He was sitting on the edge of a short pew. Randall didn’t know what could possibly make a volunteer chaplain look so tired. Perhaps it was boredom from listening to other people’s troubles all day. Regardless, he had some things rumbling around and needed to get them off his chest. This priest was the only person on-site that he could trust right now. He decided to join him.

  “Wait here,” he said to Milo and pointed to the wall next to the Times Daily newspaper stand.

  “I’m not a very religious man, Father. Do we go inside a little closet to talk or something?” Randall said.

  “No, not necessary.” Father Kearn removed his eyeglasses and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.

  “I see. I guess I should be brief. I’m involved with this woman. You probably already know about it. She’s in a bad way right now, mentally. Her emotional state, I think there’s been some serious damage.”

  “We’ve all been damaged son. As soon as we leave our mother’s womb, the evils of this world start their attack. No one is without damage.”

  “I mean, I don’t know if I can ever reach her again. She’s shut me out, totally. None of it was my fault ... I know you probably hear that a lot.”

  “Yes, quite a lot.”

  “Well, in my case it’s true.”

  “I see. Why does that matter?”

  “Excuse me. What?”

  “Whose fault it is, why does that matter?”

  “Well, if it was my fault, I could fix it. Or, at least I would try to fix it.”

  “And, if it’s not your fault, you wouldn’t bother. Is that it?”

  “I guess, maybe. No, that’s not it. What I mean is ... I don’t know what I’m saying. Or why I’m bothering you. Or why I’m even trying to figure this out. She clearly isn’t trying ...”

  “Let’s start over. This is about a woman.”

  “Yes.”

  “You love her.”

  “Well ... I feel ... I think ...”

  “Have you ever said ‘I love you’?”

  “I think she knows how I ...”

  “Ah, there we are. You’re not sure that you love her. She’s currently in some kind of trouble. Doesn’t want to talk to you. It’s weighing you down.
Right?”

  “Right. Something like that.”

  “I’d say it’s probably a good time to just cut your losses and move on, son. I mean, it sounds like she’s not interested in you.”

  “Well, I think she might be ... we’ve been ...”

  “Well, maybe she is or maybe she’s not.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Sounds confusing. Lots of maybes between you two.” Father Kearn stood up and wiped his face again, then shoved his handkerchief into his back pocket. “Yes, I’d say just stop wasting your time and move on to someone that’s not so messy and let her figure things out on her own. You’re young. Plenty of fish in the sea. I wouldn’t bother with her anymore if I were you.”

  “Is that your advice? Seriously? Just walk away from someone when things get tough. Throw everything away and give up? Is that what you would do?”

  “Probably.”

  “Well, Father, I’m not like you, I guess. I don’t give up on people.” Randall stood up and looked over this priest.

  “Ah, then you have your answer don’t you.” He winked. “And, by the way, the Friendship Hall at St. Andrew’s is available for rental. You know, for special occasions like weddings. Just keep that in mind.” He walked away.

  “Captain,” Officer Harrison approached him, holding Milo by the arm.

  “Again?” Randall sighed and grasped his forehead.

  “Yeah, we found him near the evidence room, and hanging around outside the Chief’s office this time. We can’t have him wandering around unescorted, sir.”

  “Right, I know,” he shook his head. “C’mon, Milo, let’s go.”

  RANDALL AND MILO TOOK their seats in a booth near the entrance of Red Roasters.

  “There are no pictures,” Milo said flipping through the menu.

  “No, you have to read the menu here, son.”

  “I'm not your son.”

  “Right, it's just an expression ... never mind. What do you want to eat?” Randall said, and took a sip of ice water. “Pick anything you want. Traci won’t know if you don't eat your vegetables today.” He smiled.