M Sellars - Perfect Trust

“What if you just start with anything that you can remember,” Felicity ventured. “Maybe we can piece it together.”

“Well…” I thought hard for a moment, trying to pick out something of consequence and settling for whatever I could grasp. “A lot of darkness, and a cheerleader with an attitude for starters.”

“Whaddaya mean ‘attitude’?” Ben asked.

“Exactly that.” I shrugged. “She seemed really cocky… And incredibly demanding. But she kept bouncing around, and she was kind of hard to keep track of.”

“What makes you say she was cocky though?” he pressed.

“Well, she kept calling some guy a moron, I remember that pretty clearly. I seem to recall her referring to him as an idiot too.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the guy that killed her.”

“Yeah, no shit. I kinda figured that part out myself. I wanna know who he is. Did’ya’ see ‘im?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t really remember seeing anyone other than her…” I thought hard for a moment. “Although there was this shadowy movement here and there and I heard a male voice.”

“What did he say?”

“He was angry. Something about her crying and her makeup running.”

“What do you think that’s all about?” Felicity asked.

“Search me.” I didn’t know what to say. “I told you I didn’t remember anything that made any sense. I suppose it might not have been the guy that killed her at all. Maybe it was some kind of latent memory. Argument with a boyfriend or something?”

“Maybe her boyfriend is the killer,” she offered.

“We’ve beaten that horse.” Ben shook his head vigorously then took a sip of his coffee. “Boyfriend’s clean.”

“Ex-boyfriend?” I posed.

“There isn’t one. You gotta understand,” my friend explained, “this girl was like right out of a fifties TV show. A regular Stepford kid.” He began ticking items off on his fingers. “Honor roll, cheerleader, never been in trouble, been datin’ the same guy since high school. She’s friggin’ unreal.”

“That sure isn’t the impression she gave me when she was bouncing in and out of my head,” I told him.

“What can I tell ya’?” he shrugged.

“It doesn’t really matter.” I was shaking my head now. “Because you’re right, the boyfriend idea is the wrong track anyway. If it had been her boyfriend, then we’d be talking about a crime of passion, right?”

“That ain’t a given, but it’s pretty likely. Why?”

“Well if it was a crime of passion then it would be an isolated incident. There wouldn’t have been any reason for her to insist on me touching Paige Lawson. Unless, of course, there’s a connection there that we’re missing.”

“We haven’t had a reason ta’ look for one. Lawson is an accidental death… Whoa… Wait a minute, back up… So are you tellin’ me Debbie Schaeffer’s ghost had somethin’ ta’ do with that whole stunt you pulled back there?”

“Exactly.” I nodded affirmation.

“So, she like what, talked ya’ into it or somethin’?”

“No, she actually physically dragged me over there and forced me to do it.”

“She did what?” He stared back at me in disbelief.

“Yeah, I know it sounds bizarre, Ben.”

“That’s one word for it… But I guess it doesn’t matter what ya’ call it… I’ve come ta’ the conclusion you’re whole freakin’ life is just one really long episode of the Twilight Zone, Kemosabe.”

“Just since I got involved with murder investigations. Before that I was pretty normal.”

“Says you,” he grinned, his tone softening.

“Look who’s talking,” I returned the jibe. “Anyway, I wasn’t in control of my actions when I went after Paige Lawson’s remains. That was Debbie Schaeffer all the way. That’s the one thing I can remember clear as daylight.”

“See now, I just figured you were seizin’ an opportunity, and that just pissed me off.”

“Yeah, I kind of had the impression you weren’t real happy with me.”

“Uh-huh, well I was pissed when I turned around and saw ya’ standin’ there holdin’ on ta’ Lawson and screamin’ your damn fool head off. And, after what she’d just walked in on, the Doc wasn’t sure what the hell ta’ think. I can guarantee ya’ it didn’t help matters any.”

“Like she said, we probably should have called her before going down there.”

“Yeah, well we all know what they say about hindsight, now don’t we?”

“Can we get back on the subject, then?” Felicity interjected.

“Yeah, let’s,” Ben agreed. “So you’re sayin’ that there’s some connection between Schaeffer and Lawson?”

“There must be.” I nodded and then took a sip of my own coffee before setting the cup down and pushing it away. One taste was all it took to convince me to wait for the fresh pot. “Why else would she have wanted me to touch the body?”

“I get what you’re sayin’, but everything on Lawson points ta’ accidental death,” he objected. “So if there’s a connection maybe it’s somethin’ besides bein’ killed by the same wingnut.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Ya’ aren’t bein’ much help, Row.”

“Hey,” I shook my head, “I’m doing the best I can. I told you I’m pretty fuzzy on all this.”

“Maybe Paige Lawson knew Debbie Schaeffer somehow.” Felicity said. “Or maybe the killer is a mutual friend or acquaintance.”

“Lawson was a marketing VP for an HMO. What’s she gonna have in common with a college cheerleader?”

“You have a better idea, then?” my wife raised an eyebrow.

“No,” he returned, voice flat as he shrugged. “Maybe they did know each other. If we can’t find a direct connection, then we can make a list and see if any names match up as mutual acquaintances. I know Lawson had one of those electronic organizers in ‘er briefcase. I think Schaeffer had somethin’ too.”

“Do you remember anything else?” my wife pressed, turning her attention back to me.

“Nothing important. Just something about a fashion doll in a prom dress, or something like that.”

“Do what?” Ben looked as confused as ever. Since I was no clearer on what I’d just said than he was, I couldn’t blame him.

“Yeah, it was green and she didn’t like her shoes, or some such.”

“Who didn’t like whose shoes?”

“The doll. Debbie. I don’t know, both of them maybe.”

“You are talking about a toy fashion doll, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Rowan,” Felicity asked. “Are you absolutely certain you’re okay?”

I slid number eleven from the pack and lit it up in an unconscious motion. “Believe me, I’ve been wondering that myself.”

“Are you coming to bed or not?” Felicity called to me from the hallway. “We’ve a long day ahead, then. In case you didn’t remember, Yule is day after tomorrow.”

“You mean, Yule is tomorrow,” I called back while in the process of exhaling a plume of smoke through the crack where I was holding the storm door just slightly open. “It’s pushing five a.m., so it’s already today.”

“Aye, don’t remind me,” she called back with a resigned sigh. “We’ve far too much to do, and we’ll need rest if we’re to get everything done before Friday and still be able to tend the fire through to dawn.”

We’d all finally decided that we were far too exhausted to continue the discussion, and since we weren’t getting anywhere to begin with, it wasn’t a hard call. The caffeine was all we were running on, and I think we’d even started becoming immune to its effects in short order. Our bout of speculation was terminated with the idea that a bit of sleep might bring some more of what I’d seen to the surface. While I agreed with the idea in theory, I most definitely wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of yet another Technicolor nightmare.