Foods, Fools and a Dead Psychic Page 4

  “Fiat, are you okay?”

  My lips, independently from my brain, kept doing their open and close exercise while my hand shook out of control.

  Brenda didn’t waste any time. She grabbed hold of the Dane and said, “Let me guess, you were working on your Christmas cards... again.”

  I nodded, thanks Aunt Brenda, not. She turned and explained to Tristan about my ‘Come to Arizona, the weather is so fine’ ploy that I tried it on my family every Christmas. I’m not sure he paid much attention. His eyes were on my navel and once again, I tried to shield the view with my hand. It only made it more obvious, and I could see a devilish smile spreading from his amber eyes to his lips. Mr. Dumont was having a hell of a good time at my expense. What was he doing here?

  “I — I —” I looked at Brenda, too embarrassed to glance in his direction.

  “Monica, why don’t you go get dressed? I think you skinned your rump. And take Dior with you. I’ll be done in a minute.”

  Even if her words sounded a bit cold, her tone of voice was sweet. She felt my embarrassment and probably decided I’d been punished enough already. I took over Dior’s collar and headed back toward the deserted pool, nodding to Tristan while walking away. He called after me, “Hey, Fiat, please make sure to add me to the Christmas card list. I can’t wait.”

  I kept on walking.

  “Was that Tristan Dumont?” Kassandra, fully dressed, waited inside my place. “Look Monica, don’t get mad but I mean, he’s a client. A very important client. I didn’t feel comfortable being seen in my bathing suit. It’s not dignified, unless you’re at the beach, of course.”

  I didn’t answer. Brenda was right, my tailbone hurt and was probably bruised. To her credit, Kassandra brought in the props from the pool, including the bag of Jerky treats, now shredded as Dior sat on the floor gobbling them up as fast as he could. I scrambled to recoup as many as possible. All I needed was for the dog to get sick. What a disaster. Twenty minutes later the three of us walked into Brenda’s kitchen through the back door. No traces of Tristan. I discreetly peeked out the window; no black SUV either. The house smelled good — home-cooked food good. How was it possible? Brenda just got home. I looked at her and noticed her new haircut. Well, good for her. Maybe she was finally coming out of her slump.

  “Well, girls, I’m warming up the oven and heating a pot roast I cooked yesterday since I knew I’d be gone most of the morning. Monica, feel like setting the table? For four.”

  Four? Noooo. He was coming back?

  I just looked at her.

  “Bob may stop by,” she said, smiling.

  Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing, playing mind games with my heart. Kassandra didn’t seem to know what to do with herself, so she refilled Dior’s water dish.

  “Nice place you have here, Ms. Baker.”

  Brenda waved her off. “Oh, please, call me Brenda, I feel old enough without the ‘Ms.’ How about a glass of wine?”

  “That would be terrific.” Kassandra paused, “Real wine, not jelly, right?”

  “Monica? You’re still doing that stupid jelly thing?” Brenda rolled her eyes.

  The table looked quite nice, that was one thing I knew how to do right.

  “What was Tristan Dumont doing here?” I managed to say the whole sentence without stopping to gasp for air, not a small feat where Tristan was involved.

  “Oh, we ran into each other at the 40th street signal, and we were talking while waiting for the light to change. It felt sort of natural for him to follow me. He gave me a copy of the proposal for the Dumont Foundation he is setting up and offered me a seat on the board. It’s a great project. The City of Tucson is getting involved. You have no clue what I’m talking about, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Has to do with the Ranch he’s purchased. You know about the horse sanctuary. Well they are adding a small condo project for retired ranch hands and farmers on low incomes. The county will help with the construction, and the retirees will work with the horses to make up for part of the rent. Look, I need to really assimilate everything he has given me. It’s not something to be taken lightly.” She checked her watch, “Fifteen minutes and we eat. I’ll make a salad. Hey Kassandra, did you find the wine?”

  Brenda paused and looked at me, I mean, there was something in her eyes that made me feel like I had done something wrong.

  “How long has this been going on?” she asked.

  I could feel Kassandra behind me, listening.

  “Is that why I haven’t seen Max around lately?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Max is in Telluride with his parents. They own a condo there. Anyway he’s a friend, not my husband.”

  My tone a tad too loud for a guilt-free conversation. Again, I felt that sense of unease deep down inside. Guilt about what?

  “You noticed it too?” Kassandra spoke from the kitchen door. “It’s the same at the office,” she quipped, “The minute he comes through the door, his eyes are searching and she’s hiding in her cubicle or rushing out to run ‘errands.’ It’s sort of cute, as in high school crush cute.”

  OMG! They were talking about me and — Tristan. No, no. So wrong. “What’s wrong with you people? The man is married. M-a-r-r-i-e-d. Get it?” I was so angry I wanted to hurt them, to make my own hurt go away.

  “Monica, are you talking about Angelique?”

  I shook my head yes and avoided looking at Brenda. The oven timer went off and the three of us just stood there, the only sound was that of Dior crunching his kibble. “Look, I know Tristan’s private on the subject of his wife, but certainly he must have shared something with you.”

  I felt anger and sadness rise in my chest, how dare these women assume that Tristan shared his marital life with me. Or did he? That ‘important’ message Tristan had emailed me that day after I visited him, the one I deleted without reading it because... because... I couldn’t for the life of me remember what compelled me to do that. And what if indeed that was Tristan’s way of opening up to me?

  A light knock at the front door.

  “Must be Bob. Let me get the meat from the oven before I burn everything. Kassandra, can you get the door? Monica, I think you should freshen up a little, you look like you’ve been watching a sad movie. No crying on my china,” she teased and disappeared into the kitchen. I couldn’t move. Dior toddled along with Kassandra to the front door.

  “Well, well,” a woman’s voice. “What a surprise. We are looking for Brenda Baker.” I moved toward the open door where stood Adam and Eve, the couple of detectives I met that evening at the office. The she-cop with her fake smile.

  The Homicide Detectives.

  Looking for Aunt Brenda.

  SIX

  I ATE MY cold lunch and cried in my $1 white dinner plate purchased at last year’s January sale at Big Lots. Big Lots closed their doors a few months later so this felt like a relic.

  Not the way I had envisioned spending my Saturday. What a disappointment. After the two detectives politely invited Brenda to go to the precinct to look at some camera footage, they asked Kassandra to join the party. Since she was a regular at the Psychic Fairs, they concluded she might recognize some of the people who came in contact with Miss Fortune. Before she headed out, Brenda insisted I help myself to the food and to please keep an eye on Dior. She spoke while carefully avoiding looking at me as Officer Clarke, AKA Bob to his friends, showed up and offered to take Brenda to the station. Kassandra drove her own car, and Dior and I came back to my place with a plate full of cold pot roast. And my mind full of self-pity.

  Too much to digest, and no, nothing to do with the leftovers. First, Tristan showed up for no apparent reason. I simply couldn’t accept Brenda’s explanation and then — then I found out Brenda had gone to the fair. The Psychic Fair. How could she? She never, ever told me a thing about it. I tried to recall our precise conversation that day when she claimed she read about it in the newspaper. Yeah, sure, before or after she pai
d for reserving a spot. A spot for what? A séance? An astrological chart? Or that thing — the aura reading. Someone at the office was talking about that.

  Apparently, everyone I knew was somehow connected to the fair, except me, of course. How about Tristan? Was that what he was discussing with Brenda? All the suspicions and hurtful questions gave me a headache. And Dior was getting restless.

  “Hey big boy, how about we go for a walk? What do you say?” My first instinct was to hit 40th street, on the horse trails. And, no, I wasn’t going to go chasing Tristan Dumont until Brenda spilled what she knew about Angelique. Finally, a wise decision.

  “Okay Dior, we’ll do the neighborhood. We need to be back here when your mom comes home so I can get all the dirty details. Don’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault. They started it.” They? Discussing my problems with a dog?

  I grabbed the leash and Dior got excited. I slipped a poop baggie in my jeans pocket and hit the street. Brenda’s Pilot was still parked in the same spot where she left it when she got home. Such an odd sight. Across the street the neighborhood widow was busy watering something with her hose. She waved with her free hand. Probably dying to find out what was going on. Cars coming and going, especially Officer Clarke, whom she must remember from the break-in back in November. I quickened my steps, not in a chatting mood. Apparently neither was Dior and soon he was ahead, dragging me along. We turned North on 36th street. With such a mild winter, I didn’t even need a jacket until the sun went down. I’d bet Phoenix, in particular, and Arizona in general, were the envy of 90% of the United States.

  The fast pace felt like a soothing balm to my soul. Instead of anger, my thoughts shifted to Tristan’s last words.

  “Hey, Fiat, please make sure to add me to the Christmas card list. I can’t wait.”

  In retrospect, he sounded so sweet... and looked just... yummy. Stop it Monica. That’s when I realized I’d left my cell at home. I’d no clue how long we had been walking, but Dior decided to drink from someone’s sprinklers. Two doors down, he serendipitously lifted his leg on someone’s rose bushes. Yep. Time to take a different route home, pronto.

  The widow was still outside, minus the hose. She crossed the road, and there was no avoiding her. “You just missed Tommy, your ex,” she said.

  “Oh.” I pulled back on Dior. The big goof loved to go hopping around the poor woman, I blamed her heavy perfume, but honestly had no idea why Dior acted so naughty at times.

  “He was disappointed that no one was home and I suppose a little puzzled that your aunt Brenda would leave her car at the curb.” She waited for my response.

  “Yep, no clue why she would do that.” I shrugged. “We’ll find out when she gets back, I guess.” And with that I hastily walked up the driveway before she had a chance to ask more questions, especially since I had no real answers. I unlocked my door just as my cell stopped chiming. Damn. Dior didn’t give me a chance to see whose call I missed. He headed back out the door, and I barely caught his leash just as Brenda’s Honda inched up the driveway.

  Talk about timing. How did she get there so fast without me seeing her? The answer came walking up right behind the SUV. Hello Officer Bob Clarke. We smiled at each other while I waited for Brenda to get out of the garage, handed her Dior’s leash, and said, “Hello and good bye. I’m going to settle in for the evening. I’m sure anything new can wait.”

  I may have been wrong, but I swear, both sighed in relief as they disappeared into the house through the back entrance. I locked my front door behind me, kicked off my shoes and went to check the phone.

  I had a voicemail from Max; it could wait. An angry, “Where the f**k is everybody?” from Tommy, and a missed call from Kassandra. I poured myself a glass of sparkling Prosecco, stretched out on my unmade bed and dialed her number.

  “Hey, about time, where were you?” she asked.

  “Took Dior for a walk. I had to. Needed some fresh air. I’m drowning in lies and deception. I still can’t get over it. Brenda went to the fair. Unbelievable. What else is she hiding and lying about and ...”

  “Oh, zip it, Ms. Drama Queen. It’s not what you think. I’m spent. I came straight home, well, picked up a pizza to go, and I’m sitting comfortably eating greasy pepperoni and drinking a cold brew. Yeah. I suggest you make yourself comfy, too, because if you think what your aunt did is strange, well, you haven’t heard the rest. Guess who else went to the fair?”

  She must have swallowed her cold brew down the wrong pipe because she started to cough and spit. In between all that she chuckled. Damn. I was dying to know... and couldn’t stop my one-track mind from spelling Tristan’s name in flashing lights and bright colors. Mercy me. Kassandra finally calmed down.

  “By the way, it’s better than a movie, the way they have this stuff set up at the police place. Except for the popcorn. We all sat and watched the security footage on big screens with a tech standing by and ready to magnify rewind. Whatever it is they do. It pretty much showed that neither your aunt nor I are involved. And the detectives believe us now. Anyway, that’s the way I see it. What do you think?”

  “You’re older, you know better. How about you tell me what you saw? Details and all.” I couldn’t choke back the edge in my voice.

  “Calm down. You’ve been a pain ever since Pretty Boy Dumont showed up to photobomb your Christmas cards. Anyway, you ought to be proud of Brenda. Guess why she went to the Psychic Fair? To consult with that celebrity I wanted to meet. Remember? The Energy Therapist? It did take spunk at her age and never, ever, having done anything like that before. Anyway, she signed up for his six-month program to help with her anxiety, emotional issues and to rebalance her energy to resolve her weight issues. I wish I could afford that.”

  “Why? You have weight issues?” Make snarky my middle name. “Sorry, Kassandra. I’m mad at myself and taking it out on you.”

  She chuckled, “I’ll forgive you because I’m in a good mood. I shouldn’t be, but I am. Listen, Miss Fortune was in the security camera footage. She stopped at the booth that sells stones and crystals. We all know the owner, Jill. She’s missed a few fairs because of her health so it was good seeing her smile. Brenda was at the same booth, checking out some of the crystals when Miss Fortune stopped to say hello to Jill. There was a brief exchange among the three women, but it was obvious that Brenda didn’t really know either of them. Then Miss Fortune stepped away and called my number.”

  “You can actually see her dialing your number?”

  “Huh, I didn’t think about that. The tech said they never did find her phone or her bag but they have the list of numbers called from her service provider. They compared them with my phone and the times correspond. Isn’t that weird? She called my number, standing a few feet from Brenda.”

  I could hear her munching. I had to admit, that detail gave me goose bumps, and I didn’t even know the poor woman.

  “Then a man caught up to Miss Fortune. I could only see the back of his head, but he looked somewhat familiar. Reminded me of that creep, you know, the homeowner where we had the séance?”

  “Oh, no. The one who assaulted you? You left your bra in his house. That’s it. He’s the one, right? What’s his name?” Why was I getting all worked up over this? Nothing could change the outcome. Miss Fortune was gone. How sad.

  “Bill Smith.” Sadness muffled Kassandra’s voice. “That was the name on his Facebook page. I had the directions to his house on my phone, so I hope that helps. I wish I’d seen his face on the footage, just to be sure. Poor Miss Fortune. I feel so bad about it. The good thing is that both Brenda and I are pretty much in the clear and out of the picture. Oh, talking about being out of the picture. Are you sitting down?”

  “Umm, yeah. Why? What else happened?”

  “We were getting up from our chairs to leave, the camera was still rolling and you could see Jill’s booth with all the pretty crystals and a few wind chimes when... pay attention... Celine enters the picture.”

  “Wa
it... what? Celine as in Sunny’s daughter? Nooo. Was she with Brenda?”

  “No, I told you to pay attention. This is more fun than musical chairs. Brenda had left, Miss Fortune and the man were chatting in the background when Celine appeared. Looked like she had some papers rolled up. Maybe a picture of her aura? I don’t know. She put her purse on the counter to check out a crystal on a chain and she had a little bag sticking out of her purse. I know I’ve seen those cute paper bags before but can’t remember where. I couldn’t help myself, I called out her name. Brenda turned around and recognized Celine, too. She was a lot more surprised than I was.”

  I gulped down my Prosecco and declared, “Apparently everyone I know was at the fair, except me.”

  “Hey, miss poor me,” Kassandra scolded, “I wasn’t there in person, either. Stop whining.”

  That didn’t help my mood but I let it go. “What’s the name of the creep again? Bill Smith? How original. I’m going to look him up online and see what he looks like.”

  “Too late,” she said. “I already checked, first thing I did when I got home. His Facebook page is gone. Poof. Oh, there are plenty of Bill Smiths. I bet they are all phony names, as his probably was. But the detectives have all the information I could think of and I’m sure Mr. Zuckerberg will gladly let them search through old files if it helps to catch a murderer. Right?” Now she sounded as snarky as I did.

  “Right.” I said, returning the snark. I got off the bed to double-check the locks on all my doors and windows.

  SEVEN

  DIDN’T KNOW WHEN when Bob Clarke went home. If he went home. I fell asleep watching some boring rerun. The television was still on when I woke up. Or to be precise, when a loud knocking at my door woke me up. The light filtering from the mini blinds provided a sense of safety when I opened the door without even asking who it was. And I was still wearing my sweats from walking Dior the day before. Great.