by Vicki Batman
I continued to sob and sob with great release.
He tied his hanky over the cut on my arm.
My blood.
Opal’s blood.
Her brains.
I took in the distinctive metallic scent of blood. My head began to swim. Pinpricks dotted my vision.
A. Wellborn pulled me firmly into his body. “Are you okay?”
The room went round and round. “She was trying to k-kill me.”
He rocked me back and forth. “I know.”
“I’m bl-bleeding.”
“You’ll be okay. A few stitches and good as new.”
My words slurred. “Opal...said...June found out... Lester...skimmed checks. Said...I wouldn’t...leave...Buy Rite.” My legs felt like rubber. The room faded to black. The whole situation overtook me, and I collapsed to the floor, taking A. Wellborn with me. “I...hate...Buy Rite.”
“I know,” he said.
Turned out, he really did know.
Chapter Eighteen
The police responded to A. Wellborn’s call. They took one look at the god-awful mess and notified the paramedics and the crime scene investigators. The coroner took Opal’s body away while the ambulance rushed me to the hospital.
Opal had sliced my arm and my neck with her sharp letter opener which meant significant blood loss. Right before I’d passed out, I remembered seeing stars and feeling thirsty. The trauma of the overpowering episode could be why as well.
Later, Jenny told me while the emergency crew had loaded me in the ambulance, A. Wellborn phoned and filled her in on what had transpired. She had called my parents and all our friends who rushed to the hospital. She said Mom paced the hallways and wrung her hands, and Dad looked like he wanted to cry.
The hospital staff took first-rate care of me. They gave me stitches and a tetanus shot because Mom didn’t remember my last inoculation. Otherwise, I checked out okay. A nurse sponged my outfit to a passable clean while I waited. A big bandage covered my arm and a smaller one had been placed on my neck with my hair mostly hiding it.
Later in the evening, Jenny took me to the apartment with instructions to stay quiet and rest for several days. The hospital provided pain pills and antibiotics. Mom wanted me to go home with her, but I knew she would overdo with her hovering concern.
Mom wasn’t who I wanted anyway.
Jenny and I were a little confused about what went on behind the scenes. She said she didn’t know much. From our other discussions about working at Buy Rite, she’d wondered if Lester could have been June’s murderer because of the check scam I’d uncovered.
“Why did A. Wellborn turn up at the office?” I asked.
“He phoned not long after you left. We talked, and he disconnected the moment he heard you were working there.” She stroked my hair.
Guess I blew the cops’ number one rule: Not careful enough.
I asked, “Where is he right now?”
“Wrapping up?” She shrugged. “He said he would stop by the apartment later and explain everything.”
Allan? I need you. A lot.
At home, I shuffled my way to the bathroom. Jenny had offered to prepare a bath, but I turned her down. I wanted to be alone for a while to reflect. I sat on the vanity chair, not moving. Just sat. And thought.
And finally…wept.
After my watery barrage had subsided, I cleaned myself with a soapy wash cloth. I rubbed my face close to dirt free and brushed my teeth. With slight difficulty, I pulled on my favorite pair of pink pajamas. A barrette clipped my hair on back of my head. The bit of clean up exhausted me and hurt my injured arm, despite the anesthetic numbing the area. I slipped on my crimson-framed glasses and ignored my reflection.
I inched to the couch. After propping myself on the comfortable pillows Jenny provided, I relaxed my body into the softness.
Jenny sat nearby in the club chair with our cell phones placed on the coffee table so she could answer the multitude of calls.
Thank God for my friend.
The shooting incident, the subsequent discovery of June’s murder, and the stolen car thefts made the six o’clock news. Afterward, Mom and Dad called. The Funsisters called. Seemed like everyone I knew called, demanding more gruesome details than the news had reported. Jenny was too exhausted to answer and turned off the phones. The whole apartment went dead quiet.
I sucked soda through a straw. The painkillers I popped took effect, and I fell asleep. My dreams were funny. Feeling dopey sucked.
A. Wellborn stopped by our apartment around ten. In my comatose state, I didn’t hear the front door open at his soft knock. Jenny told me later A. Wellborn and she had talked quietly for a moment. He insisted on seeing me.
My body flinched at the light touch of his finger stroking my hair. Opening my eyes, I found him sitting on the coffee table by my side.
Soothingly, he stroked his hand on my arm, caressing me in a comforting manner.
Unbounded love for him more than filled my heart.
He said, “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m sure you need to rest.”
My mouth felt clogged, like cotton balls had invaded. I fluttered my fingers at my soda, and he passed it to me. After a sip, I said, “It’s okay. G-glad you came.”
He handed me a familiar paper bag with my name scribbled in black marker, fastened with a Get Well balloon shaped like a flower pot. I looked at him and couldn’t generate any words. Too tired to care about the restorative and curative powers of chocolate, I let the gift bag slip onto the cushion by my side. The balloon came undone and floated above me, playfully bouncing against the ceiling.
Please love me, Allan.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Funny.” Removing my glasses, I rubbed the corners of my eyes. I shoved them back on and studied him. His face, creased and gray with the heaviness of exhaustion, looked as ghastly as mine. “You don’t look so good, either.”
“It’s been a long day. I need a shower. Sleep.”
Knowing the feeling all too well, I nodded. I’d give anything if he’d hold me all night.
“The funny’s from the pain pills. It’ll fade soon.” He pointed to my arm. “Big bandage.”
“Yeah.” But I didn’t want to talk about owies. I really wanted more hold-yous.
“Your arm bled a lot. You have stitches?”
Remembering, I suddenly teared.
He took my hand. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s all over.” His thumb rubbed a circle pattern over my palm. “I guess you might be wondering why I showed up at Buy Rite today.”
I’d wondered. Little did I know, the true nightmare had just begun. Adjusting my glasses again, I said, “Jenny told you I was at the office. You came because of June Short’s murder.”
“Yes. And other reasons.”
What does that mean? Opal had tossed the same remarks at me. Somehow, somewhere, I was not able to piece together the entire puzzle ’cause I’d missed critical information. With the way my head worked, I doubted I could figure it out. “O-other reasons?”
Releasing my hand, he stood and walked toward the front window. Fatigue slowed his steps and slumped his shoulders. His hand mussed his dark brown hair as he gazed out the window. Both hands fell to his hips. He nodded to himself as if needing confirmation, and turned. “By telling me what was going on.”
The painkillers caused focusing issues. I sat straighter to better comprehend exactly what he’d said. I stared, trying to take everything in. What exactly did he mean by “telling him what was going on?”
I remembered the silly conversations A. Wellborn and I’d had about my job, including Lester and Opal, the missing car parts, and the stolen automobiles, and the computer breakdowns.
Then...click.
After peeling away the pebbly outer skin from the proverbial orange, I discovered the truth. I had indeed told him what was going on, thereby providing him everything, absolutely everything he needed to solve the case.
I’d given hi
m the report which contained the information on stolen claims with Buy Rite.
I’d given him copies of the settlement check discrepancies.
And Detective Allan C. Wellborn figured out the whole enchilada, tying together Lester’s scam of stealing money off the settlement checks and subsequently, June’s murder to cover up his enterprise. I considered this information. “You knew Opal killed June Short, and Lester stole money from the settlement checks.”
He didn’t answer for a while. “Yes.”
“Opal confessed everything to me.”
No comment, merely a sharp glance in my direction.
“I gave you the files which noted the claim checks’ discrepancies and the appraisal estimates.”
“Yes.”
While something unsettling began to churn in my tummy, I said evenly, “I gave you the report which contained the information on stolen Jeeps.”
“Yes.”
“Both of those reports were the key to the skimming operation.”
I waited, but no answer came. My heart missed a beat. “I think you used me.”
Nothing.
Empowered with the truth, I sat up and pointed my finger accusingly in his direction. “Yes, you did. You used me.”
“Sorta.”
My uncharacteristic shouting caused Jenny to open her bedroom door. Her stare went from me to him before she asked, “Hattie, is everything okay?”
I ignored her. Outraged, the fire of anger increased within me. My pulse accelerated. “Sorta!?”
The ache in my head exploded. Pressing hard, I kneaded tight circles on my temples. A. Wellborn’s revelation injured me almost as much as the wounds Opal had inflicted. My arm and neck throbbed. Tears dribbled down my face. I wasn’t aware I possessed so many tears. “Whadayamean sorta? How do you sorta use somebody? Either you do or you don’t. No ‘sorta’ in it.” I took a deep breath.
“No way you could have solved June’s death without the information I gave you.” Roughly, I brushed the drops away. “You better tell me everything, and I don’t want any of your upright, uptight policeman crap.”
“It wasn’t deliberate. More...coincidental.” He jammed his fists in his pants’ front pockets.
I rolled my hand to speed him along.
“The police were conducting a major investigation into a stolen parts ring. We patrolled Sommerville and searched for cars which had parts stolen off them. I pulled you over because you had missing,” he made a pitiful laugh, “taillights and bumper.”
“In other words, you lied.”
“No.”
“You lied to me when you said you were doing a buddy a favor.”
“No. Yes. No. It was a cover.”
I went dead calm and said with a sarcasm Mom would have chastised me for, “Oh, I feel so much better.”
His hands hit his hips again. “In another case, we had a woman, June Short, whom we’d found murdered in her apartment. Her wrists had been cut, which at first, led us to believe she’d committed suicide. But forensic evidence proved someone else did it. The cuts didn’t match the paring knife found by her body.
“As you know, June was an older woman who lived alone with her dog, just doing her job as a longtime employee of Buy Rite Automobile Insurance where, coincidentally, you worked. She, too, did claims data entry.”
He itemized the facts on his fingers. “When we went to dinner, you told me about the woman’s death and your temping job at Buy Rite. You told me about Lester and Opal. You told me about the unusual number of SUV claims. You gave me a copy of the special report you ran. You told me about the customers calling about the checks. You gave me copies of the mismatched appraisals and settlement checks. You told me you asked Lester about Buy Rite’s internal fraud squad. With all of this information, and what we discovered in our own investigation, everything pieced together.”
“Thanks for putting me in the picture,” I said.
Nothing.
“Why did you come to the office today?”
He sighed. “After the second puncture, I was worried. Something didn’t feel right. Sure, those things can happen. Everything seemed correlated. Why would both of your tires be damaged in Buy Rite’s parking lot on a Saturday?”
He lifted his shoulder. “It bothered me. Like I said I would, I obtained a report from the property management’s security service. Every Saturday you worked at Buy Rite, Opal’s plate had been written down as well. The security officer said someone matching her description walked toward your car and bent by the tire.
“I had a nagging hunch and called your cell. You didn’t answer. I called Jenny. She said you were at the office working. When I arrived, I located Opal’s sedan in the lot.” He shook his finger at me. “I warned you Buy Rite could be dangerous. I suggested you quit.”
Narrowing my eyes, I said with new-found viciousness, “Don’t think your so-called damn advice covers your ass.”
His body drew back. His eyes widened. “I drove so fast. I was so scared. If anything had happen—”
“It did.”
Nothing.
“Opal said I was naïve. Very. But I’d never felt like such a dummy…until now.” Pushing my finger his way, I said, “You used me.”
No comment.
“Allan, you used me,” I cried. My voice grew hoarse. “I feel betrayed. You could’ve told me all of this. I asked you to tell me, but you were too concerned with doing the right thing.”
“I—”
“I trusted you.” My heart sank, knowing the primary building block for a heart to heart relationship was trust, but one he hadn’t honored with me.
“I didn’t use you. Not really. This is a big coincidence. We—I,” he said, with a shake of his head, “the police don’t discuss on-going investigations. I didn’t deliberately send you to Buy Rite to uncover information. You taking a job with them was totally unplanned.” He paced several feet and then turned.
“Maybe I underestimated the amount of danger. Without a doubt, I underestimated Opal. I thought Lester might have had something to do with June’s murder. Because nothing pointed to her, I had no idea little chubby, bad-dressing Opal who swished, swished when she walked could be June’s killer or she’d try to kill you. She seemed harmless. I didn’t know she was the one who punctured your tires. The paperwork pointed to Lester and as a result, the possibility he’d murdered June Short.
His hand cupped the back of his neck for a moment. Then he flung it off and said, “Opal’s letter opener linked her to the crime. Crime scene investigators found your blood and June’s on it. And tonight, after we searched Opal’s car, forensics determined a letter opener found in her glove box and identical to the one she used in the office had been used to puncture your tires. We had nothing, ab-so-lute-ly nothing on Opal.”
Our conversation was not going well. Not at all.
“We did pick up Lester to question him about the checks and cars. Turns out, Opal was our missing piece. You said she acted so prim and proper. You said she seemed so helpful.”
“Some great detective you are. Aren’t you perfect? That’s what everyone believes, but you aren’t really, are you?”
He made no effort to refute my comment.
My hands coursed over my overlapped arms, but it wasn’t that soothing. “And you were around me just so I could help you figure things out.”
He raised his hand. “No.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry, too,” I interrupted. “You’re a big mistake. Because of your underestimation, and your extreme dedication to your j-job, you nearly got me k-killed.”
His hand rubbed a fast swipe across his face. “Oh, God, Hattie, I’m so sorry. To some degree, my hands were tied.”
But this apology wasn’t enough.
“Quit using such a pathetic excuse,” I said, strength and anger expressed in my voice. “Imagine how I feel right now, knowing you wanted to be with me for any information I could give you.”
“I never said that. It’s not tru
e.” He shook his head. “This was my first big case, and it affected you inadvertently.”
His words held conviction, but the tone wasn’t comforting. “That’s not what I’m hearing. I thought I meant more to you than what you’re saying.”
“You do! I want to be with you. Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted to be with you.” His mouth softened.
Abruptly, our heated exchange halted. Had he said what I thought he had? I stared. I’d had enough. My voice rose to a decibel I didn’t know I possessed. “You used me, Allan. You let me go there. Opal was crazy. She tried to k-kill me.” I coughed, choking on tears. My hands covered my face as I endeavored to conceal the misery consuming my heart. “How could you? How could you let me go?” I shook a finger his way. “I never-never, ever-ever want to see you again.
A. Wellborn stood by the coffee table with his head bent, being a guy who didn’t know what to do with a sobbing female. He took a step closer. “Hattie, I don’t want to go. I want to be with you.”
Tears pooled in my eyes. I shook my head.
“Please let me stay. I want to take care of you.”
“I don’t want you.” I struggled to my feet and pushed myself past him, dragging my sore and aching body to the door. This time, vengeance was mine. I flung open the door. Ow! My hands clinched my head to capture the pain from the headache. “Get. Out.”
Jenny took a step in my direction. “Hattie.”
He moved reluctantly, slowly to the door. “Hattie, you’re hurt and upset. You don’t mean this.”
“I mean this: Get out. Now,” I shouted and shoved his body across the threshold.
I slammed the door shut behind him. My body scraped the hallway walls as I ran to my bedroom. I lay face down on my bed where I sobbed through the whole event again.
Jenny came in and sat beside me, lightly massaging my back. Her teardrop landed on my arm.
Opal attacked me. Opal was shot.
Opal attacked me. Opal was shot.
A. Wellborn knew. He used me. He didn’t tell me anything.
I meant nothing to him. I meant nothing to him.
Opal attacked me. Opal was shot.
Opal attacked me. Opal was shot.
I meant nothing to him. I meant nothing to him. I meant...