by Nic Saint
“Miss Diffley is here as your mother’s insurance agent,” said Lorissa. “She’s trying to figure out what happened, the same way we all are.”
“Oh. So can you deny or confirm the rumor about the little black boxes?”
I gave Lorissa a hesitant look. “Um…”
Just then, the bell rang—and saved me from responding.
Lorissa uttered a groan of annoyance. “Who is it now?”
Moments later, Logan Munroe joined us in the living room. When he caught sight of me and Lucien, he looked surprised. He didn’t seem very pleased to see us. Or me. Then again, I felt exactly the same way about him.
“Mrs. Ballot,” he said, addressing the aunt. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“What’s going on?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping I could have a little chat with you and the kids,” he said.
The woman shook her head decidedly. It was obvious she’d reached the end of her tether. “You’re not talking to me or the kids without a warrant. And I want you out of here. Right now!”
“But—” His eyes swiveled to me and Lucien.
“They’re here because they’re friends of the family,” said the woman decidedly. “Now get out, Detective. And don’t come back without a warrant!”
Logan didn’t like it, but he was forced to accept the woman’s decision. After a final look at me, he stalked out of the room and out of the house.
Chapter 12
Galen’s room looked like any teenager’s room would. Every possible wall space was covered with posters of pop stars—all of them women, I noticed, and all of them blond. I saw Taylor Swift, Gwen Stefani, Iggy Azalea… A few sports stars were also thrown into the mix, and the kid obviously had a thing for Game of Thrones, as there was an entire maquette built on a large desk in a corner of the room, the fantasy world of George R. R. Martin spectacularly brought to life.
“Wow,” I said, moving over. “This is pretty cool. Did you do all this?”
“Yup, sure did,” he said with a proud grin. He’d bounced down on the bed and now bounced up again and joined me. He quickly showed me where all the key players were located, and then surprised me by showing me the well-thumbed copies of the books. It was obvious he’d read them more than once, and not simply watched the TV show.
“Do your mom and dad know that you watch that show?” I asked, remembering it was pretty graphic, not to mention pretty sexy for a teenager.
He shrugged, turning sullen all of a sudden. “They don’t care. Mom is never home—always busy with her vlogging empire—and Dad is always at some client’s house doing something with numbers.”
“So you didn’t see your mom a whole lot, huh?”
“Nope. I guess we see Aunt Lorissa and Uncle Luke more than our own parents.” He gave me a quick look, then looked away again. “I was kinda hoping they would adopt me, but I guess that’s not gonna happen, is it?”
“No, I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like that.”
He rolled his eyes. “Like, what does he care where I live?” He plunked down on the bed again and stared up at the ceiling.
“So… what do you know about Blas Storer?”
“He’s mom’s lover? I mean, that’s what I keep hearing.”
“How did you find out?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“My friends. Mom and this guy were always spending time together, so some kids saw them in some restaurant, kissing and hugging and stuff. They even took pictures and showed me. So I know it’s not bullshit, it’s true.”
“Did you… Did you show those pictures to your dad?”
“I showed them to Aunt Lorissa.”
“And what did she tell you?”
“She said not to mention anything to my sister.”
I nodded. Poor kids. “That must have been a terrible discovery for you.”
“Nah,” he said, playing it cool. “I just hoped she would get on with it and get a divorce. That way we wouldn’t have to see her around the house again.”
Oh, God. “Is that how you felt about your mother?”
He nodded, then gestured at a poster of a woman with a black and blond wig. “Do you like Sia? I think she’s way cool. You know you look like her?”
I stared at the poster. “How do you know? You can’t even see her face.”
“No, I know. But trust me, she looks exactly like you. Very hot.”
I grimaced. “Thanks—I guess.”
He gave me a smile. “So are you going to solve Mom’s murder?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, not feeling the same compunction I would have felt discussing the case with a grownup. The kid had an endearingly direct way about him, just like his little sister.
“Cool.”
“Do you think Blas Storer might have had something to do with it?”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “I mean, maybe she found another guy and wanted to kick this Blas guy to the curb and he didn’t like it. So he killed her.”
I nodded. “You didn’t like him?”
He shrugged. “I only met him a couple of times. He seemed nice enough. Always lugging a camera around, filming everything Mom did. He filmed us a couple times, too, but then Dad told him to stop. He said he wanted to protect us and didn’t want our likeness to be out there—whatever that means.”
“Well, he was right.”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I would like to be famous like that. Like the Kardashians? We could be rolling in money right now, living in Calabasas.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t be able to show your face anywhere.”
“I don’t care. All the hot girls would be after me. And I could do like Sia and walk around with a wig on my head. Be the coolest dude in school.”
I had to smile. “And now? You’re not the coolest dude in school?”
“Oh, no. I’m, like, one of the lamest. Nobody understands this geocaching thing. Stuffing a bunch of boxes into the ground and then filming everything? Nobody gets it. I don’t even get it. I don’t get what’s so cool about it.”
I had to confess I didn’t see the appeal either. “I guess it’s like a big Easter egg hunt?” I suggested. “Only for grownups?”
“Yeah, but it’s not as if you really find Easter eggs, is it? I mean, most of the stuff in those boxes is pretty lame. Mom took me on one of her scavenger hunts once and it was just boring. Not like what I would have thought.”
“Did you tell her that?”
He nodded. “She didn’t take me along after that. Said I cramped her style.”
Jesus. It sounded as if Kandace Slaker hadn’t exactly been Mom of the Year.
Chapter 13
We were back in the car, Lucien and I, having assured Lorissa that we would do everything in our power to find her sister’s killer and assuring Odalis that we would be back to sing more songs from Trolls. Well, me, at least, since I was Poppy. Lucien, she had decided, was actually King Gristle, and since the Bergens can’t sing or have fun, she wasn’t all that interested in his return. She did ask me to bring Branch next time and do a duet.
“So? How did it go with the kid?” asked Lucien.
“Pretty well,” I said. “He’s a great kid, actually. Really into Game of Thrones and oddly cool singers with wigs who may or may not look like me.”
“Cool,” he said with understated cynicism. “I meant, what did you find out about the murder?”
“Not much. Apparently the mother was so absorbed with her work that she hardly paid attention to the kids, and the same went for the dad. In fact Galen had asked to be adopted by his aunt and uncle, who he seems to like a lot more than his own parents. He even asked me if now that his mother was dead there was a chance he might be able to go and live with Lorissa.”
“God,” said Lucien. “Those poor kids.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. He also told me he knew all about this affair with Blas Storer. One of his friends had even shot a video of Kandace and Storer kissing and
hugging and shared it with all of his friends from school.”
“What? That’s terrible!”
“Isn’t it?” I thought for a moment. “Maybe you could spend some time with him? Galen seems awfully interested in movies and stuff. Just like you.”
Lucien gave me a look of such abject horror I couldn’t resist a smile.
“Me? Spend time with that kid? No way!”
“Why? He’s a teenager—not a serial killer.”
“Do you know how long I had to work to erase every high school memory from my mind? I’m not going back to revisit the past, Saffron. No way.”
“You can teach him something!”
“My answer is an unequivocal no. No way, no how, am I ever going to spend time with a teenager.”
He made it sound as if teenagers were some kind of monsters. Then again, maybe Lucien wasn’t exactly the kind of role model a young man needed. He might be my brother—and I loved him dearly—but I wasn’t blind to the fact that he was beyond weird. And perhaps even a little scary.
“So where are we going next?” he asked, putting an end to the discussion.
“I want to drop by the police station. I want to settle this Logan Munroe thing once and for all.”
“Good for you, girl. You go get that big, scary cop and tell him what’s what.” He placed a hand on my arm. “I’ll back you up one hundred percent.”
Lucien slid the trusty old Volvo into a spot directly across from the police station, which was a squat nondescript building in the heart of town.
“Oh, and before I forget, while you were talking to Galen, Lorissa told me that we should look into a woman called Carmina Parra,” said Lucien, giving the handbrake an appropriate yank.
“Carmina Parra? Who’s she?”
“Only Kandace’s biggest rival, apparently.”
We walked to the entrance of the police station. “Kandace had a rival?”
“It appears so. Carmina is a vlogger and a geocacher, just like Kandace, only more successful than she was, or at least that’s what Lorissa claims.”
“Let’s save Carmina for later,” I suggested. “First we must find Blas Storer. I have a hunch he might know more about what happened to Kandace.”
We waltzed into the police station, which was buzzing like a beehive—police officers talking with members of the public, taking calls and typing reports and generally making sure Happy Baysians were happy and safe.
I decided to ignore the officer at the reception desk and set foot for the police chief’s sanctum, located at the end of a short hallway leading off the main office. I was dying to know why all of a sudden, and seemingly out of the blue, Chief Whitehouse had developed an animosity towards my family.
Lucien hurried after me. “I thought you were going to have a chat with Logan?”
“I am, but not before I talk to Chief Whitehouse first.”
Lucien didn’t seem impressed. “Weren’t we going to dispatch Grandma for that particular mission?”
“Let’s have a crack at the big man first. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll deploy Gran.”
“Um… What if he kicks us out?”
“Let him try.”
Before Lucien could stop me, I sailed straight into the office of the guy in charge. Chief Whitehouse is a sixty-something barrel-chested man with a white buzz cut and a seemingly perpetual scowl on his fleshy face. The scowl was firmly in place when he saw me barge into his office, Lucien in tow.
“What do you want?” he growled without preamble.
I placed both hands flat on his desk and fixed him with a determined look. “Is it true you told your officers not to share information with my family?”
His bushy brows worked feverishly. “And what if I did?”
“Then I would like to know why. Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because you’re not cops!” he cried, slapping his desk.
“I know we’re not cops.”
“But you behave like cops and I can’t have that!”
I didn’t give in. “I don’t get it, Chief. I thought we had an understanding.”
“If we did, I don’t remember,” he grunted, bringing his face within an inch of mine.
“Last time we were in here I distinctly remember you telling one of your detectives that he should grant us every courtesy. As generous donors to the Police Pension Fund, the Mayor’s Fund, the Firefighters’ Pension Fund, the Police Charity Ball, the least you can do is show us some leniency.”
“Watch your step, young lady. You’re way out of line. Way out of line!”
I could see the veins at the man’s temples pulsating furiously, and for a moment I thought he might swat me like a fly. But I was determined to stand my ground. “Did I mention that my grandfather Ansel Diffley received the Freedom of the City?” I asked. “So what happened, Chief? Huh?”
“Nothing happened! You might say reason returned to its throne is all.”
I gave him my best scowl. “You’ll have to do better than that, Chief. Nobody changes their mind on a whim like that. For no good reason at all.”
“Saffron,” Lucien bleated behind me. “Maybe we should go now.”
I ignored him. “Tell me, Chief. Why have you suddenly turned against us?”
“Saffron?” Lucien bleated again.
“What?!”
“There’s people…” He gulped. “… watching.”
I looked up, and saw that the entire police department stood following the altercation from behind the Chief’s window, Logan Munroe in the front row.
The Chief had also noticed, for he muttered an exasperated grunt, got up and let the blinds drop down with a resounding clank. When he returned to me, his face was working furiously. “Do you want to know what happened?”
“Yes, I do.”
He jabbed an angry finger at me. “Your grandmother told me she could make my chickens lay eggs. But instead they are dying! All of them!”
Chapter 14
I stared at the chief blankly. “That’s what this is all about? Your chickens?!”
“Didn’t you hear a word I said? They’re dying! My precious babies are dying!”
“Why don’t you call the vet?”
“I don’t want to call the vet. Your grandmother told me how to make my chickens lay eggs and instead they’re on the verge of collapse!”
“So they’re not dead yet?”
“They will be soon!”
“Look, I’ll talk to Grandma, okay? I’m sure this is just a, um, glitch.”
“It’s not a glitch. They’ve lost all of their feathers and they haven’t laid an egg in weeks!”
“They’re molting,” Lucien piped up. “That’s why they’re not laying.”
The Chief turned his ire on my brother. “What did you just say?”
Lucien cleared his throat. He had the air of a man who knows he’s spoken out of turn. For some reason Chief Whitehouse scared the bejesus out of him. Then again, the police chief had that effect on most people.
“When chickens are molting they stop laying, because they need all the protein to produce new feathers. It’s a normal process.”
The Chief goggled at my brother, his jaw dropping a few inches.
“Molting,” he repeated. “What’s molting?”
Lucien frowned. “It’s the process of losing one’s old feathers and creating new ones. Chickens do it all the time. Well, maybe not all the time. They do it from time to time. It can take a while before their new feathers come through and they start laying again. You should give them some extra protein.”
The chief was silent for a beat, then lowered his head, eyes fixed on Lucien from beneath beetling brows, and started to crawl from behind his desk, like a tiger approaching his prey.
Lucien stood frozen, whimpering a little, like a gazelle faced with a predator. Then the Chief pounced! Threw his arms around Lucien and hugged him! He then produced a sound that was a combination of a whoop and a holler and cried, “Molting! My boy�
�you just saved my life! Molting!”
“Molting,” Lucien repeated, awkwardly patting the Chief on the back. He might be all for male love but it was obvious Chief Whitehouse was not his dreamboat.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?!” the chief demanded.
Lucien produced a stupid grin. “Um…”
The Chief threw open the door to his office, and I saw that the entire cadre of officers still stood gathered outside, like spectators to a public execution, hoping to catch sight of some blood flowing or a few heads bashed in.
The chief hollered, “Why didn’t you tell me my chickens are molting?!”
The gathered police officers looked confused.
“Molting, Chief?” asked Virgil Scattering, a stringy policeman with rapidly receding hairline. “What’s molting?”
“When chickens lose their feathers and replace them with new ones, of course!” the Chief thundered. “And that’s why they’re not laying any eggs!”
“Oh,” said Virgil, and swallowed fervently, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a cork in a bottle. “That’s good to know, Chief.”
The Chief shook his head, then turned to me. “Anything you want, Saffron. Any cooperation you need. Anything at all. And when my chickens start laying again, you can have first pick! My chicken’s best eggs. All for you.”
My eyebrows rose. “Oh. That’s great news, Chief. Fresh eggs. Yummy.”
“You better believe it!” he yelled, then trudged towards the coffee machine and picked up a big slice of cake someone had left there and used it to point at his gathered troops. “You will treat the Diffley family with the deference they deserve. Anything they want—you’re to give it to them. Is that understood?”
There were loud murmurs of ‘Yes, Chief,’ and I watched Logan Munroe as he shook his head. The vicissitudes of a small town police force were obviously baffling to the detective.
When the Chief was finally back in his office, his officers distributed amongst their respective desks, I approached Logan. It was time to bury the hatchet and start cooperating rather than competing with the burly detective.