***
“So, about our date tonight… The Spray might actually be a good idea. I’ve got some info—major info.” Grace tried to keep her voice down as she walked back to her car at the station.
“Interesting. Shall we meet there or shall I pick you up, make it look like a classy night on the town?”
“How about you meet me at Renzo’s beforehand, we grab a bite to eat, and then we walk over to the fine establishment together?” Grace knew the menu at The Spray was extremely limited, so it was best to fill up before they made their appearance.
“I’ll tell you everything at Renzo’s. Quietly, of course.”
“Sounds good. How is 6:00?”
“Perfect.” Grace didn’t want to arrive at The Spray too late in case Jayson’s mom left before getting drunk, but from what he told her, Marty typically had to drive her home at the end of the night and drop her off at her apartment on Talvern Street. At least Grace knew where she lived now.
Before Grace did anything else, she called Dr. Wexford to make an appointment for Ellen. Considering it was Saturday, she wasn’t expecting to reach him, but just as she was about to leave a voicemail, a calm, male voice picked up. “Wexford.”
“Hi, um…sorry to bug you on a Saturday, but my boyfriend, Mark Connolly…”
“Ahhh, Mark, my favorite personal trainer…and torture device, as I like to call him. You must be Grace, the lovely detective.”
“I am. I’m so sorry to bother you on a Saturday, I was expecting to leave a message…”
“Oh, please, don’t be sorry, I don’t ever really close up shop. Some would say I’m passionate about my career, but my wife would say I’m a workaholic. To each his own, I suppose.” He let out a gentle laugh but got right down to business. “So, what can I do you for? I believe Mark mentioned something about your mom, trouble with memory, possibly beginning signs of…”
“Alzheimer’s, I think…I’m guessing.” Grace finally said the word and diagnosis she’d been most dreading these days.
“Well, based on her age, which Mark shared with me, she’s just approaching her mid-60s, so…”
“She’s too young for Alzheimer’s, right?”
“Not necessarily. There is such a thing as early onset, which makes up about five percent of Alzheimer patients. So, it’s not out of the question. And there is such a varying degree of progression from the disease that your mom could be in her current stage for quite some time before she really experiences major memory loss. Every case is different; it’s why I love my job and why I work on Saturdays.”
“So, what should we do? Should I bring her in to see you and set up an appointment?” Grace had so many questions, but they were all mashing together, having trouble surfacing. The thought that she was on the phone with a Geriatric Psychiatrist was enough to overcome her with fear and sadness, but part of her wanted to pick this doctor’s brain about the many facets of the memory. She thought about McNeil and how he only remembered bits and chunks of Annabelle. Perhaps Dr. Wexford would serve two purposes in her life. He could help her mother and maybe give her advice into tapping into an old memory.
“How about Monday? Do you think you could get your mom in here, say, around 10:00? I’m in the old professional building on Everly Drive.”
“That works great for me. Not sure how it will work for her, she tends to be a bit stubborn.”
“They usually are.” Dr. Wexford said with ease that instilled major confidence in Grace. “Now, you go tell that boyfriend of yours I’ll see him at the gym first thing Monday morning.”
“Will do. Thanks, Dr. Wexford.”
Grace stopped at the Bridegton Coffee Depot for a late coffee before meeting Mark at Renzo’s. As the doors swung open, she was greeted by the scent of coffee grounds blended with everything bagels and blueberry muffins. Grace heard Michael’s voice before she saw him, coming from a private nook in an area that extended beyond the regular tables. Sitting at the table for two surrounded by shelves of books Michael and Amy were engaged in what seemed to be a peaceful conversation. Grace couldn’t help becoming emotional at the sight. Just as she was getting ready to quietly order her coffee and sneak out before they could see her, Amy looked up, catching Grace’s stare.
“Grace!” She waved her over with a hand decorated with several rings and a dark pink polish.
“I’ll have the usual.” Grace tossed the words across the counter as she headed back to where Michael and Amy sat.
“Sure thing,” Suzanne went to work prepping her Vermont Maple Nut iced coffee while exchanging the occasional banter with her mom, Anna, who was also her employee. Watching Suzanne and Anna run a coffee shop together was like watching a reality show in real life; their opposing personalities alone could keep a viewer’s attention for hours.
Anna, wildly outgoing, had no trouble keeping up with local gossip, while Suzanne stayed as far away from gossip as possible, constantly lecturing her mother on the need to mind her own business. Suzanne had an edge that eased the more you got to know her. Once you chipped away at her quiet exterior, you could find a heart full of love and laughter, exposing the many layers to her personality.
Anna, on the other hand, was more of an open book, laughing wildly at things and sharing her sense of humor with the many customers who lined up before her every day. It wasn’t rare to see Suzanne reprimanding Anna for lacking political correctness or opening her mouth too soon or too loudly. Together, the two were a perfect match, which was why locals of all ages loved the Bridgeton Book Depot.
When Grace got to Michael and Amy’s table, the couple greeted her with relaxed smiles. “Grace, your hair still looks fab. You need a texturizing cream, though. Stop by the shop and pick one up. It’s on the house.” Amy dove right into the conversation.
“I will.” Grace picked at the tips of her hair, feeling like a child being lectured for not brushing her teeth. Amy knew best, though, when it came to appearance. “Michael, how are you doing?” Grace asked.
“I couldn’t be better.” Michael reached across the table and grabbed one of Amy’s hands as if it was his last chance to mend his relationship with his daughter.
“You look great.” The words came out honestly, as Grace looked in his blue eyes, free of the tiny red veins so prominent when he drank. Grace could tell Amy and Michael were on the way to rekindling their relationship.
“Thank you. I hope I look this good when I take my date to the annual sailing gala next week,” Michael said as he looked over at Amy like a giddy school girl.
“Well, well, sounds fancy,” Grace said.
“The yacht club makes quite a big deal about the event, but it would probably be considered small if you asked any of the other surrounding cities. You know how the townies get with their annual events around here.” Amy rolled her eyes. “It is a fun night, though. You should go. Surely you could get a ticket, being the police and all. Can’t you, like, just tell them you are coming?”
Just as Grace was about to admit that big fancy events weren’t her cup of tea, a memory penetrated her mind. Miriam was in the newspaper for being a board member on the event; surely, she still attended. Grace had to find a way in the door. Maybe she could somehow shed some light on the visions of the boat floor and Stephen Cassidy’s appearance in her mind, assuming the main star in her visions was even him.
“Maybe I will make an appearance…”
“Detective! You’re up!” Suzanne’s words pierced the air, quickly changing up their conversation.
“Well, I better head out, so good to see you two…doing so well,” Grace left them in what appeared to be a cloud of pure happiness. Michael really was a different person when he was sober.
“See ya later, ladies,”Grace waved to the girls behind the counter, interrupting their debate about how many shots of flavor should go in a seasonal latte.
She wrapped her hand around the cup and slipped out of the Depot. This day was turning out to be a lot busier than she had intended. Ju
st as she started to take a few moments to herself to breathe in the summer air and wander aimlessly through the town center on her way to Renzo’s, Grace’s phone let out a ding, alerting her of a new text message.
Should I take the minivan in case we need to make a quick getaway tonight?
Mark’s text message came through in a joking tone but based on their past partnership of solving secret crimes, having the minivan as a backup wasn’t a bad idea. And, of course, it was always entertaining to see Mark, all muscles and masculinity, driving a car marketed for middle-aged moms. He had gotten so comfortable driving the van with its excess space and sliding doors that Grace wondered if he would ever opt for a different vehicle.
She went back to taking deep breaths, forcing herself to take a little time. The town center bustled with activity. A huddle of men and women in business attire stood outside an abandoned building that was once a Dollar Tree. It was one of the many talked-about storefronts that had major potential if anyone could actually agree on what to put there. Developers had tried to expand the residential footprint of the area for years, but the old townies were relentless about not opening town doors to newcomers and associated a lack of parking with incoming outsiders. Grace knew all this simply because the police department constantly received complaints and phone calls, as if they had any say about what ended up in these storefronts.
The clinking of glasses and comforting laughter spilled out of the main door of The BBQ Shop, the most popular restaurant in town. Colorfully painted quotes encouraging inclusion and love decorated the windows, much like at Amy’s salon, and Grace saw a group of women lined along the bar. Some sat with crossed legs exposed from the first days of wearing summer dresses, strappy sandals molded to their feet with freshly painted toe nails.
By the time Grace pulled open the door to Renzo’s, the line was long with the Saturday night crowd and the stanchions were being used to keep the customers in some type of orderly fashion. Grace pressed herself between the ATM machine and the last person in line, who appeared to be losing his patience by the second.
“Jeepers creepers, this line takes longer every time I come here. They don’t run it like they used to… I used to be in and out in less than five minutes back then, and now the staff, they are all too busy checking their phones to pay any attention to the customers. The customers are the ones who make this business what it is.” The man was talking to anyone who would listen.
A woman in front of him with two kids tried hard to keep her teenage son in another conversation, shielding him from the man’s negativity. The teen kept turning to look behind him, which only motivated the man to talk more, knowing he had an audience.
“I’ll get us a table.” The whisper came from behind Grace just as she felt a pair of hands grasp her hips. “Get me the usual.”
Grace turned to see Mark walking toward the row of tables. He turned and gave her a wink before slipping into the only available booth.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” The teenage boy behind the counter interrupted Grace’s thoughts.
Moments when Grace was caught off-guard were rare, but this was one of them. Time stopped as she stared at Mark, taking in all that she loved about him: his upbeat personality, his incredible energy, and his desire to help others, including her.
“Yeah, I’ll take the vegetarian sub with extra pickles and the steak and cheese.”
The teen slid a plastic number sign to Grace, before she walked to the table where Mark was already engaged in conversation with a toddler in a nearby booth. The tot’s hands, coated in ketchup, smeared the back of the seat as he slid down into the chair and popped back up in a game of peek-a-boo with Mark, who was leaning over and ducking beneath the table before coming back up to greet the tot with an animated grin.
“Should I come back later?”
“I met a new friend.” Mark chuckled as he waved to the boy, signaling that it was time to end their fun.
“That doesn’t surprise me one bit.” Grace gave Mark a genuine smile instead of tainting it with the sarcasm she normally used when giving him a hard time about his affectionate personality. She always teased him about making them late for everything because Mark had to stop and talk with strangers on the way.
“Soooo….”
“Okay, crazy stuff, so…there is another piece to this Miriam puzzle, and it’s a big one.” Grace dove in and told Mark all about McNeil and his sporadic memories of a little girl with long dark hair.
“And he is certain that the little girl was picked up by his mom at the aquarium?”
“No, he’s not certain, all he knows is he went to the aquarium with his mom one day when he was about six, and the little girl went home with them. He doesn’t seem to recall much of how the girl came about in the first place.”
“So, who is this guy anyway? Does he live in town?”
“Yeah, gosh, you might even know him… Jayson McNeil ring a bell? He’s about our age, I’d say, married with a one-year-old.”
“Jayson McNeil.” Mark went through his mental Rolodex. “Wait a minute, I think he’s the guy who runs the baseball clinic. He was like an insane baseball player in college, almost made it to the pros. I know I’ve heard the story but I forget why he didn’t go pro. He certainly had the talent. So, are you saying that his mom kidnapped Annabelle?”
“Yep.”
“So… Miriam and the vision of the guy with long hair on the boat or in front of the turtle tank… Wait, the turtle tank! Aquarium.”
“Do I need to say more or are you figuring this all out on your own?”
“I see the coincidence, but if this woman, McNeil’s mom, kidnapped Annabelle, then who is the guy in the visions?”
“No freaking idea, but we are gonna figure that out, and it will start tonight at The Spray. Let’s find out everything we can about McNeil’s mom. Hopefully she will be there. If not, we will need to ask around nonchalantly. And we gotta approach this with tender fingers. The people who frequent The Spray are well protected by whatever connections Marty has with the law. Still trying to figure that one out, but that’s a whole other case.”
“Don’t you think we will stand out just a tad in that bar?”
“Not necessarily. I saw a young couple in there today playing darts. They certainly stood out, but it’s not a rare thing to see nowadays. Hipsters love visiting places that aren’t ‘the norm,’” Grace threw up a pair of finger quotes.
“So, we are hipsters now?”
“We are whatever you want us to be, as long as we get to the bottom of this.”
“Deal.” Mark ended the conversation just in time as a teenage girl gently dropped a tray on their table. She treated the two sandwiches like they were part of a three-course meal, bending just enough to set the tray on the table and slowly standing back up.
“Can I get you anything else?” She looked directly at Mark, and Grace knew exactly why the girl treated their sandwiches with such care. She was a member of Mark’s fan club. He had always been that older heartthrob amongst the teen girls, but that pedestal elevated when he opened his gym and started wearing form-fitting shirts, showing off the gym’s logo everywhere he went around town.
“Thanks, Kyla, I think we are good.” Mark offered her his glowing smile, the same one that Grace had fallen for only six months ago. Kyla couldn’t hide her cheeks, which transformed from a pale tone to several different shades of red. When she turned, Grace was positive she added a little shake in her 17-year-old butt as she walked back toward the register, her strawberry blonde hair swinging effortlessly at the middle of her back.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“What!?” Mark threw up his hands, declaring his innocence.
“You are gonna let your ego bulge from a teen crush?”
“Hey, a guy needs to feel good about himself, ya know.”
“You are ridiculous.” Grace sunk her teeth into her steak and cheese, the filling spilling out onto the paper plate before her. “At le
ast use your power to get us some real plates,” she joked as she scooped up the fallen peppers and onions and dropped them into her mouth.
***
While most bars just started becoming active at 7:00 on a Saturday night, The Spray’s patrons were well on their way to passing out. When Mark and Grace walked into the establishment, a few sets of glassy eyes looked up from their bottles at them, assessing the couple that very well could’ve been them in their youth before alcohol got the best of them.
“Act normal,” Grace whispered in Mark’s ear as they made their way past the bar and settled on a high-top table by the dartboard and juke box.
“Really, you’re telling me to act normal right now?” Mark immediately started plucking the darts out of the board, gripping them in a fist like flowers. “You’ve literally tucked your hair behind your ear 18 times since we set foot in this bar. Relax, it’s not like anybody knows that you see dead people.”
“Jerk.” Grace couldn’t help but laugh. Mark had been trying to get her to lighten up about her gift since he found out, hoping to add some humor to it.
“You take a practice round while I get the drinks. What can I get you? I’m pretty sure they only have boxed wine, so let’s keep it simple. None of that red wine poured from a bottle.” Mark winked and turned on a heel toward the bar.
Grace went to work pretending to be interested in darts. She tossed each sticky dart at the board and eavesdropped on the conversations surrounding her. One couple, who appeared to be the most sober in the bar, seemed engaged in a pleasant conversation in a corner table just a few feet away. The woman, dressed several steps above the other patrons, wore khaki capris and a white button-down shirt. Grace noticed she smiled a lot with her eyes, making her appear friendly and easygoing. Her companion had a gentle smile framed by a grey moustache. He asked the woman questions, seeming genuinely interested through his dedicated eye contact.
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