by Nic Saint
“He’s not a kid, Dad,” I said. “He’s Detective Jamison.”
“That may be so, but he’s also a kid, honey.”
“A hot kid,” Maya added, glancing through the curtains. “I call dibs!” she yelled suddenly.
“You can’t call dibs,” Dad growled. “Mia has dibs.”
“I do not!” I protested, though for some reason I didn’t like Maya calling dibs either.
“Mia doesn’t even want dibs,” Maya said. “For her he’s just a boring colleague. I’ll bet he’s very muscular. I’ll bet he’s got arms like Channing Tatum or Chris Hemsworth.”
“Mia has first dibs,” Dad insisted. “Even if she doesn’t want them.”
He gave me a penetrating look, and I rolled my eyes. “Oh, fine,” I said. “I have first dibs, but only because you keep bugging me.”
“That’s not fair!” Maya cried, stomping that foot again. “I called dibs first, and Mia doesn’t want him. That’s just a waste of a perfectly good man hunk!”
“Man hunk?” Mom asked. “I thought his name was Blane Jamison?” She gave me a wink.
“He is very cute,” Marisa agreed. “For a cop, I mean. Not that cops aren’t cute. A lot of them are. Though not all of them. Just some of them, I guess. But Blane Jamison is definitely one of them. Not that I call dibs. I don’t. Because I don’t fancy him. I’ve never met him. Why haven’t you introduced him, Mia?”
“Because you weren’t at the house when we arrived—and why would I have to introduce him to the whole family? He’s a cop. He’s here to handle a case, not join us for dinner.”
“Hey, that’s a good idea,” said Mom. “Why don’t you invite him for dinner?”
“That’s a horrible idea,” I said.
“Why? The guy has to eat,” she said.
“Yeah, even cops have to eat,” Marisa said. “Like other humans. Not that they’re not human. They are. Just…” She frowned and pushed her glasses up her nose, confused by her own statement.
“We had lunch together,” I said.
“You went out on a date?” Maya cried. “Well, that’s a first.”
“We just had lunch. It wasn’t a date. We grabbed a sub from the Happy Grill and ate it as we discussed the case. It was a working lunch.”
“I’m so jealous right now,” Maya said, her face falling.
Blane walked off the stage, ignoring the dozens of questions being fired at him. “Phew,” he said when he saw us all huddled together. “That went pretty well.”
“You did great, son,” said Dad, clapping him on the back.
“Where is Charlene?” Mom asked again. “I better go fetch her.”
“Relax,” said Dad. “She’ll come when she’s good and ready. Like she always does. Has she ever missed a show? No, she hasn’t. So she’s not going to miss this one.”
“Do you want to have dinner with us, Blane?” Marisa asked. “Mom was going to ask you but she forgot. I mean, cops have dinner, don’t they? Unless you’ve got other plans, of course, in which case just forget I asked. And I’m not asking, since I don’t have dibs. Mia has, though Maya fought her on it. And lost.”
Blane stared at her, not used to the stream of words that habitually rolled from Marisa’s tongue when she was nervous. “Um… did you just invite me to dinner?”
“I didn’t invite you,” Marisa said with a laugh. “I don’t have dibs. Which doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re cute. Or hot. Cause I do. Think you’re cute. And hot. But since nobody else is inviting you, I figured I’d do the honors.”
Mom placed a hand on Blane’s arm. “Don’t listen to her. Marisa tends to babble when she’s nervous. It’s her thing. Are you hungry, Blane? Cause if you are, and you don’t mind sitting down with my crazy family, you’re welcome to have dinner with us.”
“Oh, all right,” said Blane, his face clearing. “Sure. I’d love that.”
He gave me a tentative look, and I nodded. If, after this, he still didn’t run away screaming, he just might be a keeper after all.
In the arena, the audience had begun chanting, “Charlene! Charlene! Charlene!” They knew nothing draws out a diva like a nice chant.
As if on cue, Charlene finally made it out of her dressing room. She was dressed in a little black dress—presumably her idea of honoring the drama that had taken place at the park today—and had an even larger feather boa slung around her neck than usual. Her hair looked like it had been outfitted with thousands of tiny diamonds and even her décolletage was glittering provocatively. She looked absolutely fabulous. Like she always did.
“Let’s do this,” she breathed as she swept past us.
“Break a leg, Charlene!” Dad yelled, and she acknowledged him by holding up her hand and giving him a finger wave.
The moment she strode out onto the stage, the room seemed to sizzle with electricity, and the crowd went wild. I was reminded once again of what it means to be a star.
She held up her arms, and a hush descended on the room.
“A terrible tragedy happened today at my beloved Charleneland. A tragedy that defies words. Doctor Anny Reckitt died when she was flung from the Haunted Ride. As you heard from Detective Blane Jamison from the Sapsucker Police Department, police are investigating the circumstances of this horrible incident, and as soon as we know more, we’ll let you all know.”
She pressed her hands to her bosom, and a single tear stole down her face, glittering in the bright lights that set the stage ablaze.
“At this time, our hearts go out to the family of Doctor Reckitt. Of course the Haunted Ride is closed until further notice. Until we find out what caused the incident. My son-in-law Clive Rugg assures me that his crew is working tirelessly to ensure that all the rides and attractions in Charleneland meet every possible safety requirement. This has never happened before, and we are adamant to make sure it will never happen again. Your safety is our greatest concern.”
The lights in the hall were doused, with a lone spot on Charlene, and she launched into a haunting rendition of We Will Go On, one of her greatest hits.
There was a pin-drop silence in the room, and when the final note faded away, the audience broke into a raucous applause, and I could see there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, not even with the ladies and gentlemen of the press.
“I think Charleneland will go on for at least another day,” I said.
“Hear, hear,” said Dad softly.
“She did well,” Mom said. “I think she saved us.”
Just then, a shout rang out in the audience. “You’re a murderer, Charlene! You killed my doctor and you’re going to pay for what you did!”
“Oh, God, no,” I said.
“Phoenix?” Blane asked.
I nodded.
“You killed my doctor because you’re jealous of my success! You did this! You murdered Doctor Reckitt in cold blood! You and your family!”
All the cameras swung to Phoenix, who was dressed in black from head to toe, her face a waxen mask of fury.
“How dare you!” Charlene riposted, quivering with rage. “How dare you come in here and ruin my show?!”
“We better get Charlene out of there,” Mom said.
My family all rushed out onto the stage, while Charlene engaged—once again—in a mudslinging match with her greatest rival.
“How did she get in this time?” Blane asked.
“She’s smart,” I said.
“Well, I think you should simply kick her out,” Blane said, and before I could stop him, he mounted the stage, then descended the few steps and walked into the hall to join the melee.
He made a beeline for Phoenix, and I could see a pair of handcuffs appearing out of his pocket and then he was arresting the diva! Right in front of the cameras of the entire nation. And as Phoenix protested vehemently, he simply walked her off, the audience parting before him like the Red Sea. Luckily Luitpold was there, and so were a small contingent of guards. They took over custody of Phoenix and marched her out of the
building.
And that was the end of the disturbance. My heart was beating a little quickly, and it wasn’t just because of all the shouting and the brawling. It was because I was starting to think that maybe having dibs on Blane Jamison wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At least tonight, the man was my absolute hero.
Chapter 15
That night, all we could talk about was Blane’s performance at the concert. Whatever reservations Charlene might have had about the cop were gone now, melted away when she watched him arrest her arch-rival.
“You were wonderful, Detective Blane!” she shouted once again, holding up her glass in a toast. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”
“And you’ll see it over and over again for the next news cycle,” I said.
“Yes, it’s all over the news,” Marisa said. “It’s even pushed the president’s latest tweet from the headlines.”
“I think you’re just marvelous, Detective Blane,” said Maya, elbows on the table and her face in her hands as she stared at Blane as if he were Harry Styles.
“Just Blane,” said Blane. “And I did what any police officer worth his salt would have done. This woman was clearly disturbing the peace, preventing hundreds of people from enjoying the concert they’d paid to attend. And she hurled a lot of baseless accusations at Charlene.”
“Baseless accusations,” Charlene said, glugging down some more champagne. “That’s the main point right there. I didn’t kill anybody. Never would. Though if the law would permit me, I’d love to take a crack at Phoenix. With a baseball bat.”
“The law won’t allow it,” Blane said, as if it even needed saying.
“Too bad,” said Charlene. “One good whack and all of my problems would be solved.”
“Well, not all of them,” Dad said, slicing up the roast beef and doling out the slices. “We still have to figure out what happened to Anny Reckitt. And the more I look at it, the more I’m convinced there was foul play involved. No way that mechanism malfunctioned. Someone disabled the safety, pushed that button and ejected that woman from her seat. Someone who knew what they were doing.”
The return to the topic of the murdered woman put a damper on the celebratory mood as quickly and efficiently as Phoenix’s intervention had ruined Charlene’s concert.
“First thing tomorrow we’re going to continue our investigation,” I promised Dad.
“Yes, we have several more suspects to interview,” Blane chimed in. “We would have talked to them today if not for this entire Phoenix mess.”
The lady hadn’t taken kindly to being arrested. She promised she’d make Charlene’s life a living hell—though she neglected to mention how she would do that without being allowed to set foot inside Charleneland.
“So tell me, Detective Blane,” said Maya, leaning forward and fluttering her eyelashes seductively. “Have you ever watched me perform?”
“Um, no, I don’t think I’ve had that pleasure,” he said.
She fluttered some more, and pushed up her boobs in the process. Very subtle. “Would you like to?”
Blane darted a look in my direction. “Um, I guess so,” he said.
“I could give you a private show in my room,” Maya said, her voice taking on a sultry tone. “Join me after dinner, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I think Detective Jamison needs to get back to Sapsucker,” I said. “He has a report to write and the files of six suspects to look into. Don’t you, Blane?”
He gave me a grateful smile. “Yes, I’m afraid I have to leave straight after dinner. We only have a very small window of opportunity to solve this case. We can’t keep these people here forever, and then they’ll all be returning to their respective parts of the country, making it almost impossible to find out what happened.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Blane was right, of course. The fleeting nature of a visit to an amusement park made it a lot harder to solve any crime. It wasn’t as if these people all lived in Sapsucker. These seven strangers had sat on that ride, their fates momentarily intertwined for the one minute and forty seconds the ride lasted, and then they were destined to go home again, never to meet again. Except for the killer, who for some reason had a connection to the victim. And that’s what we needed to figure out.
“Has Anny Reckitt’s sister arrived yet?” Blane asked.
“She has,” Mom replied. “We put her in a suite for now. When will she be able to see the body of her sister?”
“I’ll organize a trip to the morgue tomorrow,” Blane promised.
“The body has been released?” I asked.
“Not yet, but it will be tomorrow, the coroner has promised me. He’s doing the autopsy as we speak.”
“Why don’t we talk about something else for now?” Mom suggested, very wisely. “Mia and Blane can discuss the case when Blane returns tomorrow, but for now let’s enjoy each other’s company and this good food that’s been given us. And thank God that we’re all safe and together.”
We all held hands and I bowed my head as we said grace. Mom was right. We were blessed, and perhaps just for tonight we should simply be grateful. The least we could do was to honor Anny Reckitt by keeping her in our prayers.
Tomorrow the search for her killer continued. And as I whispered a prayer, I vowed that I’d do right by Anny, and catch her killer, no matter what.
Chapter 16
I was in my living room, surfing the web and checking some things on the voice doctor. In the background, the TV was tuned to WHS3, our local channel, which was still rehashing the whole Charlene versus Phoenix disaster.
I was studying Doctor Reckitt’s website. Luitpold was right. She was pretty famous. She’d treated a lot of celebrities and artists and her site featured plenty of endorsements. For many she’d been a career saver, and had helped them through a rough spot where they thought they’d never sing again.
And it was also true that Phoenix had been going through some voice issues and had consulted the doctor. On her Facebook Phoenix claimed she’d scheduled an appointment with the doctor for the next day, and when she heard she’d been killed at Charleneland had immediately suspected foul play on the part of her eternal rival.
It was all very troubling, and I wondered who would want to wish a woman who was such an obvious angel in many people’s lives any harm.
There was a commotion outside my door and I groaned. Not again.
My door was flung open—my family doesn’t believe in knocking, or the concept of privacy—and my two sisters stormed in.
“Maya just posted a picture of the hot cop on her Instagram,” said Marisa.
“So? I have an obligation to my fans to show what’s going on with me,” Maya said. “And what’s going on with me right now is Hot Cop.”
“Hot Cop is not what’s going with you. Hot Cop is what’s going on with Mia.”
They both plunked down on my brown leather couch—a hand-me-down from Charlene, like most of my stuff. I pushed my chair away from my desk and folded my arms across my chest. “Can’t you fight in one of your rooms? Why do you always have to fight in my room?”
“Because this is neutral territory,” Marisa said.
“Yeah, your room is like Switzerland,” Maya chimed in. “And you’re like… the Queen of Switzerland or something.”
“Switzerland doesn’t have a queen,” said Marisa. “Switzerland is a federal republic. It’s got a federal chancellor.”
Maya gave me a beaming smile. “You’re a federal chancellor, sis. Rejoice.”
“Don’t confuse the issue,” Marisa said. “You posted a selfie with Hot Cop when you know damn well that Hot Cop is Mia’s. Not that you’re dating Hot Cop,” she quickly added as an aside to me. “But you’re thinking about dating Hot Cop, which pretty much makes him off limits to the rest of us, and when I say the rest of us, I mean Maya. If you know what I mean.”
“I think I do,” I said. “But first of all, he’s got a name and it’s not Hot Cop. His
name is Blane Jamison. And secondly, I’m not dating Blane, or even thinking about dating Blane. I’m collaborating with him on a police investigation, which is a different thing altogether.”
“There’s no kissing involved?” Maya asked.
“No kissing whatsoever,” I confirmed.
She frowned. “So explain to me again why I can’t go after him?”
“You can’t go after him because Mia called dibs,” Marisa said helpfully.
“I didn’t!” I cried.
“No, technically you didn’t,” Marisa agreed. “Dad called dibs on Mia’s behalf.”
“That’s not even a thing,” Maya scoffed.
“It is a thing,” Marisa said. “It’s totally a thing. Dad called dibs and Mia accepted it. So you can’t go taking pictures with Hot Cop—”
“Blane.”
“—and posting them on your Instagram. It’s wrong.”
“Dad calling dibs doesn’t count. He’s a guy and he’s obviously not interested in Hot Cop—”
“Blane!”
“—so I’m calling open season on Blane and I’m calling dibs.”
“Mia!” Marisa said plaintively. “You can’t let her do this. It’s wrong!”
“Oh, she’s welcome to Blane if she wants him,” I said, already getting tired of this conversation.
“No!” Marisa cried. “Not fair! I wanted to call dibs.”
“Look, you can both have him if you want,” I said. Though I very much doubted whether Blane was interested in either one of my sisters. Or even me, for that matter. Not that I wanted him to be interested in me. I didn’t. Although…
Maya jumped up from the couch and yipped. Then she did a victory dance that looked totally ridiculous.
“Mia!” Marisa cried again. “This is not fair!”
“Life isn’t fair,” I grumbled. “Get used to it.”
“So did you get rid of the porny pictures like Dad told you to?” I asked Maya.
She halted in the middle of her victory dance. “Um, I’m going to,” she said.