Louder Than Words (14 page)

The smell of freshly brewed coffee welcomed me as I climbed into the front seat and quietly shut the door. It was 4:15 in the morning, but it felt like the middle of the night. Jules handed me a steaming paper cup.

“It’s not a real stakeout without coffee and doughnuts.”

“OF COURSE NOT.”

The dramatic aspect of our quest to catch the mystery poet in action appealed to Jules’s theatrical bent. I was surprised she hadn’t given us each cop names, although it was still early.

“Did you know that the Creepy Cruller opens at 4:00 A.M.?” She was way too chipper, considering she was not naturally an early riser.

“HOW MANY COFFEES HAVE YOU HAD THIS MORNING?”

“I had two double espressos while I was waiting for the chocolate ones to come out of the oven. They’re your favorite, right? Why do you ask?”

I put my hand on her leg, which was bouncing up and down in time to the song on the radio, and nodded at her fingers tapping the same beat on the steering wheel.

“YOU’RE JUST A LITTLE HYPER, ESPECIALLY FOR SO EARLY.”

“I guess I am.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“JUST A TAD.”

I hoped the caffeine would wear off soon. If she was this fidgety, she might fall out of the tree.

“Sorry,” Jules sang. “Are you okay? Being that it’s Liz’s birthday and everything?”

“IT’S WEIRD. ON HER BIRTHDAY WE ALWAYS WENT TO THAT GERMAN RESTAURANT DOWNTOWN. WE ATE SCHNITZEL AND STRUDEL AND THERE WAS FOLK DANCING.”

I hadn’t thought about that place since the accident, but in the last few months memories had begun to float in, like bits and pieces of a boat washing up on shore long after the shipwreck. Part of me wanted to go back to the Alpine Village, to try and remember more, maybe feel closer to Liz, but I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

“That sounds like a total geek fest. So not your sister.”

“EXACTLY. I THINK THAT’S WHAT MADE IT SO COOL. SHE LOVED IT.”

Liz would have been nineteen if she had lived. I wondered what she would look like, where she would have gone to college, whether she would have a boyfriend. Would we still be close, or would she have left me behind when she went away to school? So many questions that could never be asked or answered. Maybe I should put away my detective hat and leave the past in the past. But looking over at Jules, I realized there was no backing out.

“WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?” Jules was dressed in brown coveralls and a matching cap. “ARE YOU PLANNING ON CHANGING THE OIL BEFORE OR AFTER THE BIG STAKEOUT?”

“You’re a riot. There’s a matching set for you in the back seat, smartass. This way we’ll be sure no one can spot us in the trees.” She tapped the side of her head. “Success is in the details.”

“I THOUGHT GOD WAS IN THE DETAILS. YOU’VE WATCHED ONE TOO MANY EPISODES OF
LAW & ORDER: SVU
.”

“I’m just being logical. We’re going to park down the road a ways and approach through the woods.” She had it all worked out.

“YOU FORGOT THE CAMOUFLAGE NETTING.”

“No, I didn’t. It’s in the trunk.”

Her father was an avid hunter, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that Jules would be so knowledgeable and well equipped. I rolled my eyes. If she made me put shoe polish on my face, I would have to hit her.

“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. We have to be invisible.”

“OR AT LEAST CRAZY.”

“I got you your chocolate doughnut. Now let me have my fun—and increase the chance of catching this guy. Leave your coffee in the car.”

“WHY CAN’T I TAKE MY COFFEE? IT’S 4:30 IN THE MORNING. I NEED CAFFEINE.”

“The same reason you can’t take your Hawkie Talkie—we’re trying to blend in with the woods, so no unexpected smells and no unexpected noise.” Jules handed me a pen and a small pad of paper. “If you have something to say, you’ll have to write it down.”

“UNEXPECTED SMELLS? THAT’S RIDICULOUS. WE’RE NOT TRACKING A BEAR. AND IT’S PITCH DARK. HOW WILL YOU SEE WHAT I WRITE ON THE PAD?” She pulled out a tiny flashlight and cupped her hand around it. “NO NIGHT VISION GOGGLES?”

“Daddy wouldn’t let me borrow them. They cost a fortune, and he was afraid we’d break them.”

I should have known. “FINE. LET’S GO, GENERAL.”

Huddled next to each other in the crotch of a tree, shrouded in netting, we each peered at nothing through binoculars. A squirrel scurried across a branch overhead and I flinched, almost falling from our precarious perch.

“Careful, you’ll break your neck,” Jules whispered, grabbing me around the waist.

I scribbled on my pad.
Sorry. Just nervous. What if one of the squirrels mistakes our heads for giant acorns?

“Relax, I think the squirrels know the difference.”

Two hours later we folded our camouflage netting and limped back to the car, our legs numb from sitting still for so long. At least we hadn’t been attacked by rabid chipmunks. Our flower-leaving bard had failed to show. Not that I’d really expected it, but somewhere, deep down, I had hoped it would be that easy.

“NOW WHAT?” I sipped my cold coffee and gnawed on a doughnut. “WHOEVER IT IS FORGOT MY SISTER’S BIRTHDAY.”

“You can’t be ready to give up after one mission.”

“MISSION? SHOULD I BE SALUTING WHEN I TALK TO YOU?”

“I’m just saying it’s a little soon to throw in the towel.”

Jules took a swig of coffee and removed her cap. Even in a dirt-colored mechanic’s jumpsuit, she was still the head cheerleader who never wanted for a date on a Saturday night. Her flawless skin glowed, and I wondered, as I had so many times, why she bothered with me.

“AND WHY ARE WE SO SURE THAT THIS FLOWER DROP ONLY OCCURS UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS?” Spending the afternoon with Chip and Dale was way more appealing than huddling in the dark, not sure what was about to crawl up my leg.

Clearly a stupid question, based on the look Jules threw my way. “Because whoever is leaving the flowers is a killer and wouldn’t dare show his face in the daytime.”

“I SUPPOSE THAT MAKES SENSE, BUT I’M NOT CONVINCED IT’S GOING TO MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE IN THE END.”

“Have you totally forgotten why you’re doing this?” Yawning, Jules put the car in gear and slowly headed back toward town.

“I KNOW. MY VOICE. BUT AFTER SO LONG I CAN’T BELIEVE ANYTHING COULD REALLY MATTER.” When I was feeling discouraged, I tended to wallow in it.

“First of all, it’s not just your voice you’re trying to get back. What about your twenty-first-century Roman god? You can’t have forgotten about his tongue already. I mean, the way you described him to me,
I
can practically taste him.”

Oh yeah, kissing. I nodded.

“Having kissed a few guys, I can tell you he sounds like a rare talent—worth working for. Don’t give up so easily.”

“YOU’RE RIGHT. I NEED TO THINK LONG TERM, BE POSITIVE. SO TOMORROW MORNING, SAME TIME, SAME DOUGHNUTS?”

“I was thinking tonight. It’s still Liz’s birthday, right up until midnight. I’m up for it if you are.” We pulled into my driveway just as the sun rose over the trees.

“OKAY. WHAT HAVE WE GOT TO LOSE? THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. I FEEL BETTER.”

In spite of Jules’s overzealous attention to details, it was obvious that all she wanted to do was help me get what I wanted. Knowing how sincere she was, I could easily forgive her over-the-top approach.

“Wear all black. I’ll bring stuff to blacken our faces.”

“WE’RE NOT GOING BEHIND ENEMY LINES.”

“No complaining allowed. I’m in charge of makeup and wardrobe. Be ready at 2200 hours, Corporal, or else.”

I gave her a hug and climbed out of the car. “YOU NEED TO DO MORE THEATER STUFF AT SCHOOL, OR MAYBE LESS. BYE. DON’T TEXT ME. I’M GOING TO BED.”

“Sweet dreams. Remember the tongue.” Jules saluted and sped away.

“I feel it. Tonight’s the night,” she said as I climbed into the car, my feet crunching on an empty doughnut box and four cardboard coffee cups.

“JUST BECAUSE YOU SAY IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN WILL IT INTO HAPPENING.”

“Don’t be so negative. Remind me to throw that crap out when we get back. It’s pretty disgusting, isn’t it?”

The car seemed to know its way to the spot down the road from the wounded tree. We marched quickly and soundlessly through the woods. I was getting into the whole paramilitary fantasy, imagining us on a top-secret mission deep in enemy territory. If we stepped on a twig, we would give away our position and be taken prisoner. When the interrogators threatened me with death unless I talked, I would just smile knowingly.

After about an hour in our tree, I must have dozed off, because I opened my eyes to the glare of headlights when the rumble of tires on the dirt by the side of the road woke me. Jules put her finger to her lips, and we carefully climbed down from our branch, trying to get close enough to glimpse a license plate. We hadn’t discussed what we would do if someone actually came to leave flowers, and now we looked at each other, eyes wide, afraid of what would happen if we were discovered. If this was the murderer of my family, he might kill us and hide our bodies in the woods to avoid having to pay the price for his wretched crime. The closest thing we had to a weapon was the tiny diamond emery board that Jules always carried since she stopped biting her nails. It was unlikely we would be able to file anyone into submission. As we got closer, I could see that it was a van, not a car, and it had writing on the side. It said Shakespeare’s Flowers, and underneath, “A rose by any other name …”

Suddenly Jules ran toward the van, yelling, “Stop!” just as a balding, slightly overweight man stepped out with a bouquet of white tulips.

Dropping the flowers, he threw his hands in the air. “I don’t carry any money in my truck. There’s twenty bucks in my wallet in my back pocket. Take it. Don’t hurt me. I’ve got a kid.” He tossed the keys he was holding into the dirt. “Here, take the van too.”

Jules stopped in her tracks and I caught up with her. “We’re not going to rob you.”

“Then what the hell are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack.” When the man realized his muggers were a couple of teenage girls in matching jumpsuits, he sheepishly lowered his hands and picked up the dropped flowers. “What kind of crazies are you, hiding in the woods?”

“We wanted to know who brought the flowers and poems.”

“What? I deliver a bunch of white tulips to this spot a few times a year. That’s all I know. I get paid extra to deliver them at midnight. You’ll have to talk to my boss if you want to find out more.” Gently placing the bouquet at the base of the tree, he climbed back into the truck and rolled down the window. “You two shouldn’t be wandering around in the middle of the night. It’s not safe, for you or anybody else, for that matter,” he said, putting one hand to his chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Thank you, sir, and I’m sorry we frightened you. It’s just that my friend’s family was killed in an accident on this spot, and we’re trying to find someone who might know more about what happened.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. Good luck, then, and I’m sorry about your family. Call my boss in the morning. His name’s Mike Grant. Maybe he can help you.”

As he pulled away, leaving us choking on a cloud of dust, Jules jumped up and down. “We did it. It worked. Sasha, this is huge. We’re going to figure out what happened that night. Can you believe it?”

I shook my head and stared at the cellophane-wrapped bouquet. Maybe I really was on my way to a breakthrough. Tears silently streamed down my cheeks, and I put my head on Jules’s shoulder. In the light of our little flashlight we stood holding each other. After a few minutes, I picked up the bouquet, and we walked back through the woods. Finally, we were making some progress.

“So what does this one say?” Jules started the car, and I unfolded the most recent poem and read it out loud.

“Is that a haiku?”

“IT IS.” But it wasn’t the fact that our mystery poet was branching out beyond simple rhyming that caught my attention.

“It’s not bad. I like haiku. Using only a few words is very dramatic.”

Sometimes Jules missed the forest for the trees. “THANK YOU FOR YOUR INSIGHTFUL LITERARY ANALYSIS, PROFESSOR HARPER. BUT DIDN’T YOU HEAR? WHOEVER WROTE THIS KNOWS ME, KNOWS THAT I’M MUTE.”

“We live in a small town. Lots of people know you don’t talk, don’t they? It’s not exactly a deep dark secret, Dr. Hawking.”

“IF YOU WEREN’T DRIVING, I’D PUNCH YOU.”

“It’s true. The fact that the person who wrote this poem knows you don’t speak doesn’t get us anywhere.” Jules seemed awfully sure of that fact, but I wasn’t totally convinced.

“I SUPPOSE YOU’RE RIGHT. BUT MAYBE IT MEANS THIS PERSON IS FROM HERE, NOT SOMEONE WHO WAS JUST PASSING THROUGH.”

Who would cause a terrible accident and drive away without even calling an ambulance? A criminal fleeing after committing a crime? A drunk driver? A kid? A drunk kid? The possibilities were endless.

“I’ll give you that, but local still means we’re talking about thousands of possible suspects. If we were CSI, we could do paper and ink analysis, but I think that’s beyond us.” Jules was clearly disappointed that we were so technically limited.