by Deany Ray
“How do you do it?” he asked, but I could see by his expression that he was amused.
“You mean how do I attract disaster?”
“Yeah. It’s really fascinating if you think about it,” he said.
“Great. I’ll write that in my resumé under ‘hobbies,’” I said.
“Don’t worry about the mirror,” Mike said. “That’s why I have insurance.”
I glanced across the yard at Joan, who shook her head in disgust.
Okay, part of it was my fault. I’m the one who slammed into the table. But why the hell was there an arrow primed to launch at a yard sale full of people? What was that about? That was like a loaded gun left out on a table of fifty-cent doodads for strangers to pick over.
I glanced at the shattered mirror. Funnily enough, I had a history with that mirror. I was checking out my makeup in that mirror the first time I met Mike.
As strangers stared at us, the two of us worked quickly to pick up some of the items that had fallen off the table during all the chaos. Mike kicked the skateboard underneath the table, far away from my feet. “Let’s get you out of here,” he teased, “before you cause another mess.”
He dropped me off at the Gazette and held a hand up in goodbye. “Always an adventure,” he said with a grin.
“At least it’s not boring,” I retorted. Sheesh. It was always something.
Mike laughed and drove off.
I climbed into my Jeep and took a deep breath. I finally called my mom, who answered on the first ring.
“Oh my God, where the hell have you been?” she cried.
“I have a job, remember?”
“Why weren’t you answering your cell? I found out my only child found another dead body?” Her words dissolved into incoherent blubbering. “A dead boy! Again!”
“Mom, I’m—”
“I think I called you a thousand times!” she gasped.
“Mom—”
But the Sheryl panic train had pulled out of the station and was full steam ahead; there was no stopping her. My mother howled into the phone, and I held it away from my ear.
“I had to find out from one of my employees. Who didn’t tell me until today. Today! My event, my daughter, and they didn’t think to tell me right away! I should fire them. Every single one. A murdered person in the restroom—at a Sheryl Selway function! I’ll never recover. And my daughter found the body! What kind of world are we living in?”
She went on like that for what must have been five minutes, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t pause to take a breath during the tirade. I sighed, knowing I wouldn’t get a word in until the storm died down. So I just made myself comfortable in my car seat and waited my mother out. It was really kind of nice to know she cared that much, but she also loved hysterics. I was sure that was the reason my parents’ marriage had imploded. It was also reason number one that I was super glad we didn’t live together now.
“I spent all morning doing damage control at the firm,” she said, “and I plan to have a sit-down with some of the staff and talk about their future but that’s entirely their fault.” She paused for a whole second, and I sighed in relief at the sudden silence.
“I’m sorry you found out that way,” I told her. “I should have known you’d be worried. I should have called you.”
“Yes, you should have.” She took a deep breath. “Well, now that I know you’re okay and I have handled everything that can be handled now, I need to get myself to the spa. All of this stress is giving me wrinkles around my brows.” I could no longer hear rage in her voice. She sounded tired now, like a deflated balloon with a hole in it.
“Then you should take a spa day, Mom. You certainly deserve it.”
“I do. So meet me at Carnation’s. In thirty minutes, Hailey. We have an appointment. You can tell me everything.” With a few kissy sounds into the phone, she disconnected.
I stared down at my cell. One of these days, I would get used to being hung up on by my mother. Maybe.
I started the car and turned toward the spa instead of my apartment. This could work out well, I thought. After the kind of days that I’d lived through, I deserved a nice massage and perhaps a manicure. I felt more relaxed already.
I was thinking of the soothing aroma of massage oils when my phone began to buzz. Kat’s name popped up on the ID. I put her on speaker mode, something that I never did when talking to my mother. I loved having an excuse not to talk too long. No cell phone use allowed while behind the wheel, you know.
But I loved to talk to Kat. “Hello, girl,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Heya. You feeling better?”
“I am,” I said, as I stopped at a light. “I’m grateful I have a job. A job can take your mind off things.”
“True true,” Kat chuckled. “Then again, you’re in this situation because you have a job.”
I laughed. “You’re right about that.”
“So I talked to Pete,” Kat said.
“Did you find out anything useful?” I asked.
“Not much. He didn’t know a lot, considering the boy is right there in the office every single day.”
“So nothing, huh?”
“He did remember one thing that I thought was odd.”
“Okay?”
Kat paused. “It was just part of a conversation, but he thought it was weird. He heard some bigwigs talking when he passed a conference room. He thought the CEO was in there along with some investors. He can’t remember the exact words, but someone basically told the group, ‘It gets split between us, and nobody will find out.’ Doesn’t that sound like a line you’d hear in some movie, Hailey?”
“Yeah, and this would be the part where they cue the music.” I thought about it some while swerving to the right. “It could mean someone was up to no good. You can tell that much for sure. I think Pete is onto something. I don’t know if it has anything to do with our murders, but it could be useful.”
“He said they were talking in hushed voices too, and that’s also super suspicious. Unfortunately, though, he didn’t pick up any more of what was being said. I think he kind of walked past real slow.”
“When exactly was this?”
“About two months ago, he said.”
In my mind, I filed that away in my “Could Be Helpful Later” folder.
“So, you and Pete. Is this getting serious?” I teased. “More than just a fling?”
“Possibly,” she said, and I could hear a note of hope creep into her voice.
“You do know you’ve known each other for two days?” I laughed.
“I know,” Kat said. “And that’s what’s so surreal. But I think I like him.”
“What’s his story?” I asked, happy for my friend.
She told me that his mom had passed away two years before and that his dad had left long ago. He’d only been in Palm Shores for about five months, moving from Ridgewood, a town near Seattle to take the internship.
“He tells me his dream is a career in marine exploration,” Kat continued. “Before I came along, he hadn’t met a lot of people here, so I’ve had a good time showing him the town. You know, for two days.”
“Lucky, lucky him. You seem to know the man’s whole biography. You really do like him.”
“And it’s mutual.” She giggled. “What are you up to now?”
“Mom has been wigging out since she found out about last night. So the two of us are going to the spa, so they can massage away our worries.”
“Can you handle it, a big night out with Sheryl?”
“You know, the shopping trip was fine, and this could be fine as well.” Hopefully, the hysterics were out of her system, and it was kind of my fault too. I should have checked in with her sooner after everything that happened at the auction.
“Well, I need to run,” Kat said. “Potential roomie coming over! Tell Sheryl hi from me.”
“Will do, and thanks for the info on Pearlrover. If Intern Boy . . . er . . . I mean if Pete hears an
ything else, report please.”
It was almost six when I pulled into Carnation’s Day Spa and Salon. The place was way beyond my price point and even pricey for my mother. But being Sheryl Selway, she preferred to spend her time in a primo spa even if it meant she visited less often. It was a bonus for her when she ran into clients and potential clients there; it made her look even more successful than she already was.
It was a free-standing building surrounded on three sides by trees and gardens. The proprietors even grew their own herbs right there on the property for treatments. And they loved to tout the benefits of “healing powers fresh from our own soil”—or some kind of nonsense.
The scent of lavender filled the entrance hall as I made my way through the door. The room was softly lit with soothing music in the background. A few plush chairs were scattered near an ornate check-in counter. Behind it, I could see long hallways branching off into the main section of the building, where all the magic happened. The woman standing at the desk was young and pretty, dressed in a designer suit.
She looked over my casual attire and quickly turned her look of judgment into a fake smile. “Can I help you?” she asked. I could tell she suspected that she couldn’t and that I’d come in by mistake, having no idea of the crazy prices they charged.
“My mother is meeting me here. Her name is Sheryl Selway,” I said with a fake smile of my own.
The receptionist’s demeanor changed immediately. “Oh, we were expecting you, Ms. Webb. Ms. Selway is waiting in room four. Your treatments have been paid for, so you can go right back.”
My grin grew even wider—and a bit more wicked. “Thanks.”
I followed a long corridor lined with watercolors of peaceful garden scenes. It stung a little that my mother had to pay for something I couldn’t afford, but I tried to calm myself and breathe in the tranquility the place was dripping with. This was, after all, my mother’s way of showing her affection. For her, plunking down a chunk of cash was a way to show she cared. My dad had never understood that, and for a long time, I hadn’t either.
Still thinking soothing thoughts, I knocked on door number four, wondering what prize I’d find behind it.
A half hour later, I was sipping cucumber water, and citrus-scented oil was seeping into my skin, lulling me further into a state of total bliss. As the masseuse very gently worked the kinks out of my shoulders, I was so relaxed I could almost melt into the table.
“So what else happened last night, darling?” Mom asked in a muffled voice.
I sighed, feeling like my bones had turned to jelly. “I already told you everything that happened. It was super creepy, Mom.”
“You have the worst job, darling, snooping around like you do. It could get you killed.”
I was about to tell her that my mission, in fact, had been to pee, not snoop. But I was too relaxed to argue with my mother. Besides, I had been kind of snooping—at Pearlrover, at Joan’s house, on O’Connell’s boat. Snooping was my job. Or my hobby.
“You need to find a normal job,” she said, “spend time with your friends and do normal things. Like maybe take a cruise.”
I sighed. My mother didn’t get that some things took the kind of money not everybody had.
“How is Kat these days?” she asked. “Such a lovely girl, although she should see a lawyer and change that name of hers. If you plan to be respected in the world of business, you can’t hand someone a card that has ‘Katherine Winkydinkle’ inscribed across the front. Someone of importance would never call you back, unless they were in the market for a circus clown.”
“Rexwinkle,” I corrected.
“Marginally better, but still, it doesn’t suit.”
My mind went back to the auction. “Did your staff see anything last night that was kind of . . . odd?” I asked.
My mother made a humming sound. “Not that I know of. They were so incompetent last night, a snake could have slithered over their Jimmy Choos and not a single one of them would have paid attention. Oh, what a mess that was. My people weren’t on their game, and then there was that nightmare guy from Pearlrover.”
I perked up. “What guy from Pearlrover?”
“He does PR there,” my mom said. “The liaison between us and them.”
“What was his name?” I asked. Although I already guessed who she meant.
“Willard Manchester. What a mouthful,” my mother huffed. “Why do you ask?”
“I . . . uh . . . thought I met him yesterday at the auction. But I think it was someone else.” I didn’t volunteer that I’d been “snooping” for information by visiting his office.
“The man should be ashamed, slipping out of the party early like he did. He’s the PR manager, for heaven’s sake, and was supposed to be there to assist my staff!” My mother let out a sigh. “Family emergency, my behind.”
I sat up, startling the massage therapist, who had moved to my calves. “He left the party early? How early did he leave?” I remembered catching a glimpse of him briefly, before I found the body but not after. Then again, I wasn’t that observant at the end of the night. You know, dead body and all that.
The therapist frowned, and I lay back down, feeling sheepish.
“Oh, who knows?” My mother said. “I can’t rely on any information I got about last night.”
“What kind of emergency?” I asked.
“Something about his kid if he is to be believed. In my opinion, he is not.”
“So you think he was lying?” My heart was beating faster. “Why would you say that?”
“He just gave me that impression when I met with him to talk about the auction, that he places more value on his own needs than he does his obligations on the job. I see his type a lot.”
My mother continued to talk about her staff and Manchester. I made sympathetic noises, but I really didn’t hear a word she was saying.
My thoughts were tangled up with Willard Manchester’s early exit from the party. Was it a coincidence that this buffoon of a man had slipped out of the party on the night a murder was committed? If he was involved, it would have made more sense for him to stick around and not draw attention to himself. Perhaps the man was none too bright. Or perhaps he really had a kid . . . and an emergency.
What motivation could he have for killing the two divers? Eliminating witnesses? Embezzlement, perhaps? Or selling relics on the side, smuggling, drug trafficking? Each crime I imagined seemed less plausible than the one before.
“Oh, goody.” My mother’s voice cut through my thoughts. “It’s time for our mud treatments.”
Chapter Sixteen
I woke up the next day refreshed and energized. Dressing to fit my mood, I paired my favorite dark skinny jeans with a top that sparkled just a bit. With pale pink sandals and a leather bag in a creamy caramel, I was set for the day.
Stepping into the Gazette, I smiled and waved to Sandra, as now was my routine. She responded with a grimace; she had her routine as well. The morning dragged on, uneventful. I pulled some statistics for the education writer and found a great deal on red roses. The editor in sports needed some fresh flowers for his sixteenth anniversary, and I knew a place whose blooms were always fresh. Since roses were no longer in my budget, I was glad to have a chance to use my shopping prowess to bring a little beauty into someone else’s life.
With that task completed, I logged back on and noticed he’d added one more task. Dinner reservations for tonight, somewhere special please. 8 p.m. for two. I got on that right away and made a reservation for them at an Asian fusion place I knew my mother loved. Well, he didn’t think ahead, but at least he thought at all, and sixteen years was something.
Cecil passed my desk and glanced down at my screen to see what had made me shake my head.
“Last year he forgot all about his anniversary,” Cecil told me with a smile, “so this year he’s trying extra hard.”
“Well, if they could handle all their stuff, we’d be out of a job,” I told him with a shrug.
>
Cecil turned around and gave me a thumbs-up, already halfway down the hall. That’s how conversations went around the newsroom: over-the-shoulder, rushed, everybody’s mind already on the next thing on their list.
Next, I called some movers for one of the reporters who was moving to a bigger place. Twins on the way, he’d told me, and his apartment was already crammed with stuff. Anniversaries, new babies . . . and I was a tiny part of these grand occasions.
As I compared prices and ratings for the movers, I saw Mike step into Jerry’s office. I’d caught quick glances of him throughout the morning as he moved back and forth from his cubicle to speak with Jerry. I sensed a new energy in him, as if things would be breaking on a story. My curiosity was up. My spot in the office afforded me a clear view toward Jerry’s office, and I could see Mike looked focused. Gone was the sense of fun that was so much a part of his normal interactions.
As it got close to lunchtime, I called an order in to Banyon’s and then swung by the florist before picking up the food. In the midst of these routine tasks, my mind drifted to the murders. I was at such a loss to connect the pieces: the PR dude’s early exit, the things Intern Boy overheard. And what connection, if there was one, did Connor have to all of this?
I stepped on the brakes as traffic around me slowed to a stop. As I waited for it to pick back up, I continued to float theories in my mind. Part of me longed to solve the thing. Another part of me was glad about these easy tasks: get the flowers, grab the lunch. This was not my case to solve. I’d done the traumatic part, stepping into gruesome crime scenes and discovering those bodies. The rest would be up to the cops—and Mike probably.
Back at the office with the lunches, I set them on my desk and watched the hungry pack of writers rush to get their sandwiches. Man, these people liked their food. It was a mystery to me. Writing, after all, was not some athletic feat that should cause a person to work up an appetite. But I did admit that the warm smells from within the Styrofoam seemed to call to me. I grabbed my roast beef on rye, glad I had remembered to get something for myself.
There was only one box left; that one belonged to Mike. I could see that Jerry’s door was closed. Perhaps Mike was still in there. I headed to his cubicle to drop off his lunch, passing Jerry’s office on the way. Through the glass door, I could see him and Mike. Both of them looked intent. Perhaps that was just the normal way the two of them interacted. I was too new to know for sure, but I still had the vibe there was something going on.