Liquid Lies (12 page)

They weren’t going to leave me alone unless they got a sound bite from me. And I definitely didn’t want them harassing Estelle. I stopped in my tracks.

“Great. You’ll talk to us?” Paul took a deep breath.

“Do I have a choice here guys?” I asked.

“You’re going to tell us what happened?” Paul asked.

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. “All you need to know is that the police are taking care of everything.”

“Let’s back up. Tell us the details of the discovery. Like where were you, what time was it, how did you find the head? Oh, and what did the head look like? Do you think it’s foul play? Did you see the body floating around? Do you know who did it? Could it be a serial killing?” Paul peppered me with questions.

This little town was so clean-scrubbed homogenized America. I’m sure this was a once in a lifetime story for some dinky local news anchor like Paul. Maybe I should humor the poor guy. I decided to give him something, yet nothing.

My bachelor’s degree was in business with a minor in public relations. So I pulled out some sound bites I learned from PR. “Well Paul, first, it would have to be more than one death to be a serial killing. Second, this is a catastrophic event for Mayor Pike, and this whole community. Francesca Pike’s death is tragic and heartbreaking. It has touched us all. And for the sake of her family we should all be giving her respect and not sensationalizing her death. I would suggest that you talk to Detective Wurkowski, the lead detective on this case. He’s at the Pike mansion right now, and I’m sure he can give you better insight into this painful event.”

Paul stood there for a moment, jaw dropped open. “Is that all you’re going to give us?”

I nodded.

“Here, take my business card. Call me anytime.” With that, Paul turned away from me.

I took the card and shoved it into my pocket.

The cameraman took his equipment down from his shoulder.

“Let’s go and find that detective,” Paul said. He and the cameraman wandered up the driveway to Pike Mansion.

“Wurkowski, Detective Wurkowski,” I called after them. Maybe the news exposure would get the public involved, and that might bring to light some clues or information that can put the murderer behind bars for life. For the first time, I realized that if Francesca’s murderer was indeed the blackmailer, and he connected me to the trucker’s murder, then I could very well be the next victim.

“They canceled all lake activity until they finish dragging it. This whole area is a crime scene,” Mark said as I approached him by the pavilion ticket booth. “What a shock about Francesca, huh?”

I shook my head and opened my arms in a sweeping gesture. “She was here yesterday and now…” the words caught in my throat and sputtered out.

“I know.” Mark ambled over and slung his arm over my shoulder.

“How could this happen? Who would do something like that?” The words caught in my throat, as my heart sunk.

“I don’t know.” Mark held me.

For a few moments I sunk my head into his chest. “I know the best thing to do is to go on with our lives. Let the police solve this. But how do we go on? It’s abysmal.”

Mark lifted my chin. “I guess I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the medical examiner is doing an autopsy.”

“On a head?” I yelped.

“Of course. They use whatever evidence they have. And that’s all they have right now,” Mark added.

His words seemed to drift above me as he continued to talk. My thoughts got lost in a montage of Francesca and our last day together; us talking, the way she smelled of suntan lotion and perfume. If I closed my eyes I could almost hear her voice that was sultry and childlike all at once. As though coming out of a cloud, I heard Mark talking once again.

“And her dad is planning a memorial at Saint Thomas Cathedral,” Mark continued.

“Of course. Okay then, that’s what has to happen next,” I whispered as I began to walk away.

“CiCi, you’re acting like you’re sleepwalking or something. Why don’t you go home?”

“Sure,” I mumbled. I had to get it together and start to piece together the facts, in order to find Francesca’s murderer. Detective Wurkowski seemed obsessed with me as a suspect. I knew I hadn’t done it. So if I didn’t find out who was the murderer, who would?

“Why don’t you get Ken to give you something to relax,” Mark said.

What I needed instead of medication was for someone to tell me this was some huge tragic mistake. That Francesca was alive, and that life was fine. Back to normal. Quiet. Peaceful.

“A Prozac or Valium would help you through this shock,” Mark continued.

“Drugs? Sure, that’ll solve this whole mess. Just pop a pretty little pill and all my troubles will go floating away on a cloud of numbness.” I realized I was almost yelling. “I’m sorry for yelling Mark.”

“You’re under a lot of stress,” he said.

“Maybe you’re right. I should go home for a while,” I said.

“After all, you’re going through all the normal stages of grieving. I can help you, I’m a--”

“MIT. Got it.” I scrunched my eyebrows. “You have her head?”

“Yes,” he said. “And, thanks to you I passed my exam. Which means I will be in charge of her, um, remains.”

“Don’t you have connections at the hospital? What did they say the cause of death was?”

Mark paused. Then looked down at his feet. “Do you really want to know?”

“I can guess.”

“What I’ve heard from my inside connections, is that the cause of death was a sharp object that severed her body from her head. So far they haven’t found any additional head trauma,” Mark said.

“Getting her head cut off was enough trauma,” I added. My head felt foggy, and my gut wretched.

“There might be other causes of death. Like maybe drugs in her system, or caused from a fight or fall, or gunshot. Or some type of accident.”

“How could Francesca’s death ever make sense? If it was an accident, then it’s still tragic. But if it was caused at the hands of someone else, then that’s too appalling to imagine,” I said.

He reached over and put his hand on my arm. “Go home. I’ll call you later. Whatever happened, or whoever did this will be found out soon.”

“I’m telling you now, her killer should be treated the same way she was. I know that sounds awful, but I’m so mad. So terribly pissed off at what happened to her I just can’t think straight,” I said as I clenched my hands.

“Listen, we all want the killer locked up,” Mark said.

Did Mark understand I was not involved in Francesca’s murder? I realized that Detective Wurkowski thought I was, but I hoped no one else would ever think that. “Mark you know I would never kill anyone?” At least not on purpose. “Don’t you?” I looked at him for agreement.

“Of course. And that’s exactly what I told the police this morning,” Mark said.

“The police?” Good gracious.

“Yeah. They’ve been questioning everyone who was at H&K’s last night,” Mark said.

A dread swept over me as I clenched my hands. “What exactly did they ask you?”

Mark adjusted his baseball cap. “Oh, what time I was at H&K’s. If I saw Francesca. What we talked about. What time we last saw her. Who she was with, you know, that kind of stuff.”

“And you said you told them I wouldn’t kill anyone?”

“Well not like that, they asked about your relationship with Francesca. I told them that you were once best friends. How you were short with her at H&K‘s, like you were angry or something,” he said.

“You told the police all that too?” I asked.

“I didn’t want to commit perjury,” he said.

“Perjury? Mark, you’re not in court under oath.” I realized I was getting annoyed with him.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the police.” Mark shrugged his shoulders.

“No. It’s fine Mark. You must tell the truth. I’m glad you did.” It’s all so very horrible. So very, very, very horrible.

“Anyway, I think they cleared me.” Mark raked his hand through his mop of red hair.

“Of course. They’re just doing their job.” Not if they’re pinning Francesca’s murder on me.

Police yellow crime tape was still strung around the pavilion area. A crowd of people milled about. The television station’s truck was parked next to the squad cars.

What would help now were answers. I sighed.

Mark pointed to the crowd. “It’s a zoo around here isn’t it? I think it’ll be like this for a while. It’s not every day you get the mayor’s daughter’s decapitated head floating in the lake. Or any head for that matter.”

“Mark, I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Sorry, sometimes I have no filter.” He shrugged.

“You can say that again, but please don’t.” I gave him a hug. “I’m spent. I’m heading home. Catch you later.”

***

“I’m so glad you’re home sweetie,” Estelle said. I’ve been crying and cooking all day. I just can’t get my mind off of poor Francesca. The phone’s been ringing off the hook, and reporters and police have been here all morning. Oh my goodness. I think I smell something burning.” She grabbed my arm and steered me into the kitchen.

“Who called? What do they want?” It didn’t look like I was going to get any rest.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

“Can you get that dear? I have to see if I can salvage my lasagna,” Estelle said to me as she opened the oven and smoke billowed out.

The fire alarm beeped. I cracked the back door to let in fresh air then grabbed a broom and smacked the alarm until it turned off. The doorbell continued to chime. I walked to the front of the house and opened the door. Mayor Pike stood on the front porch.

“CiCi, please excuse my poor manners, coming here unannounced. I was just at the Cathedral and passing by on my way home. Is this a good time?” he asked. His thick chestnut hair had slight graying on the temples. He looked like an aged version of JFK Jr.

It’s an awful time. “No, please come on in. Can I get you something?”

His nostrils flared. “Is there a fire?”

“Estelle’s cooking,” I said.

“I can’t stay long, so let me just ask you quickly,” he said. “I’m not sure how to say this. So I’ll just come right out and ask. I need someone to give a eulogy, and I want you to do it.”

“Me?” my voice rose.

“Yes. You were her best friend. I don’t know anyone who knew her as well as you did.” His eyes welled up. He paused and took a deep breath. “Would you please consider it?”

Estelle walked in the room. “Welcome mayor. We’re so very sorry for your loss. It’s shocking. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

Mayor Pike cleared his throat and smiled. “Thank you for the delicious cake. You’re one incredible cook.”

Didn’t he smell the burnt lasagna?

“We’re so sorry.” Estelle wiped her red swollen eyes.

The mayor walked over to her, and put his hand o
n her shoulder. “It’s surreal, I feel like I’m running on autopilot, going through the motions. Afraid that if I sat still too long, I would crumble from the weight of what’s happened.”

“I can’t even think about it. I just can’t,” Estelle added. “I want to help you out. Is there anything at all I can do?”

“Yes. Actually, I stopped by because I want CiCi to say the eulogy at Francesca’s memorial service,” Mayor Pike said.

“She’d be honored.” Estelle clasped her hands together.

No I’m not. “I not sure that I’m the right person for such an honor.”

“Don’t be silly mayor, you can count on her. It’s the least we can do.” Estelle pulled me close to her and squeezed my shoulder.

“Thank you. I’ll call you later with details of the service.” Mayor Pike stepped out the door onto the porch.

“Don’t trouble yourself. We’ll get all the information from Father O’Doul. You probably have so much to take care of,” Estelle said.

“Yes, I do. Thank you again for everything.” The mayor turned and stepped away.

Passing Mayor Pike on the sidewalk was Jacob. They exchanged nods. My stomach flipped and my heart raced at the sight of Jacob.

“Good afternoon Ms. Andrews, Ms. Coe,” Jacob said as he stood on the front porch and greeted us.

I smiled.

“We seem to travel in the same circles.” He winked at me.

“I’d say you were stalking me.” I smiled.

“Now CiCi, this nice young man is no stalker. He’s the carpenter I hired to fix the banister,” Estelle said.

“I didn’t mean that he was a real stalker. It’s just that we keep running into each other,” I added.

“It’s been my pleasure,” Jacob said.

Looking from Jacob and then to me, Estelle added, “I’ll just leave you two young kids alone to chat.”

“That’s alright. I’ll let Jacob do his work.” It was obvious that Estelle wanted to play matchmaker. She didn’t like the fact that Ken changed from being a once doting boyfriend to the current workaholic. “I need to talk to you anyway,” I said to Estelle as I guided her inside.