Murder on the Lunatic Fringe (Jubilant Falls Series Book 4) (8 page)

Most importantly, what was the point of her secrecy?

I picked up my phone again and began to dial the numbers of the next church the priest suggested. There was a knock on my door and Elizabeth Day peeked her purple head through.

“Hey Addison, you got a minute?”

Elizabeth stepped into the office. By her body language, I could tell what she wanted. After while, an editor knows when this conversation is coming: over the years, I’d had enough staff come through my office to know when a reporter had grown enough professionally to want to leave the nest.

The first few months Elizabeth was here at the
Journal-Gazette
, she would go cry in the ladies’ room every time I made a serious criticism or structural change to one of her stories. She’d come a long way, though, and while I don’t ever think she’d make a good police reporter, her skills at everything else had stepped up. She could take criticism now, she could write a hell of a lead and she could bang out a story like there was no tomorrow.

“Sure, kiddo. Come on in,” I said, hanging up the phone. “Have a seat.”

“Can I talk to you about something?” she asked. “Something personal?”

Chapter 12 Graham

It was nearly eight in the evening before Elizabeth got to my apartment. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tightly in the doorway.

“C’mon in,” I said. “I can start dinner.”

From the kitchen, I watched Elizabeth flop on the couch, where she began to unlace her black military boots and pull off her socks, her face pensive. I pulled the pork chops and the green beans out of the fridge and began cooking, the marinated meat sizzling as it touched the preheated pan. Once the chops browned, I would turn the heat down and begin to sauté the green beans in olive oil. I wasn’t a great cook, but I could find my way around a cookbook.

“Can I get you a glass of wine? How was the school board meeting?” I asked as I stirred.

“God, yes, please.” Elizabeth sighed. “The meeting was boring as hell. It’s the last meeting before school starts, so it was all about setting the cafeteria lunch prices, approving changes to the student handbooks, crap like that. I don’t even know if it is worth a story.”

I reached into the fridge again, behind the cake with the engagement ring on top, and pulled out a bottle of red wine.

“Did lunch prices go up? That’s what usually happens this time of year,” I suggested, hoping I wasn’t grinning like a fool.

“A quarter at the high school and twenty cents at the middle school.”

“If you don’t do a story, then every mother in town will blame us for her little darling missing lunch on the first day of school because he didn’t bring enough money.” I uncorked the wine and poured two glasses, handing one to her. “So how was your visit with your mom this weekend?”

She took a tiny sip of wine before she answered. “Fine. She’s fine.”

“What did you guys do? Anything special?”

“Not really.” She drew up her legs and tucked them beneath her round bottom.

“Did you feel OK this weekend? No problems with your stomach? The wine isn’t bothering you, is it?”

She sighed, this time in exasperation, and took another sip of wine. “Why are you so worried about it?”

“Because I worry about your health!”

“I’m not pregnant, OK?” she retorted sharply. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly so worried about that. I throw up a couple times in the morning and you just go all baby daddy on me!”

“You’ve been throwing up a couple times a week for three weeks! What do you expect me to do—or think? I’m allowed to care about you, aren’t I?”

“Worry all you want, but I just have other things on my mind—and it’s not a baby.”

“So what is it? There’s not anything else wrong, is there?” This wasn’t the way I wanted tonight to unfold, not with an argument about a possible pregnancy. I turned the heat down on the pork chops and covered the pan. In two steps, I was beside her on the couch. She leaned up against me and was silent for a moment.
“Ever wonder what you’re going to do next? I mean in your life, not just during an ordinary day,” she said softly.

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close, the hair of her purple wig beneath my chin. “Sometimes. What do you mean?” What happens next just might depend on you, I thought.

“How long do you want to stay here in Jubilant Falls?”

I shrugged, still holding her tight. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Why?” What did she mean? Did she have any inkling of what I was about to ask?

“Some days I just can’t stand this place. These meetings just made me think, ‘Here I am starting another school year again, with all the same stories and all the same crap.’ There are times when I think I’ve written every story there is to write, I’ve taken every picture of every damned cute kid in Plummer County that needs to be taken.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes I think the same thing: ‘Haven’t I written this story before?’ It happens.”

“I’m just bored out of my mind and I’m bored with my job. Do you ever get bored, Kinnon?”

“Sometimes. Like right now, when the news is slow, I can’t stand it.” I returned to the stove to check on the chops and dumped the green beans into a separate pan to sauté them. “Maybe we could go someplace next weekend. What do you think?”

She didn’t respond to my question.

“Maybe something will come of what that Russian woman told you this afternoon,” Elizabeth said, instead. “Maybe they’ll catch the guy who is killing her animals. That would be a great front page.”

“I hope so.” It was my turn to shrug. I couldn’t let Elizabeth know yet about Benjamin Kinnon or what Chief G and I had discussed. I couldn’t even do a story about the conversation I had with Ekaterina Bolodenka this afternoon until I had a chance to talk to Sheriff Roarke and see what kind of report had been filed.

“Let me help you with dinner,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about this any more.”

“No, this meal is on me—my treat. You’ve had a lousy day. Just sit there.” I smiled at her and this time, she smiled back. She’s going to say yes, I thought to myself. She’s got to.

Within a few minutes, the microwave beeped, signaling the baked potatoes were done. A quick check of each pan showed the meat was cooked through and the green beans were tender. I loaded everything onto a platter and carried it to the table.

“Dinner is served,” I said.

“My God, Kinnon, you’ve outdone yourself,” she said, settling into one of the dinette chairs. She reached over to the platter and picked up a green bean with her finger, snapping off a bite of it in her sweet red lips.

“I wanted tonight to be something special. Be sure to save room for dessert.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, we can make it special. Trust me.”

I reached across the little table, lacing my fingers through hers and smiled.
Yes. Yes, we will
.

Conversation turned casual—work stuff, programs we watched together on television. I hoped she couldn’t sense the nervousness building in me. Soon, our plates were empty.

“Kinnon, you did a good job,” Elizabeth said, pushing back from the table.

“We’re not done yet.” I stepped over to the fridge and, drawing out the cake, began my carefully rehearsed speech, the one I’d stood in front of the bathroom mirror and repeated over and over:

“Elizabeth, we’ve been seeing each other for almost a year now. I just want you to know I love you, like I’ve never loved anyone before. You brighten my world like no one else ever has and I don’t ever want to lose you.”

I set the cake in front of her and opened the blue ring box in the center.

“Elizabeth, will you marry me?”

Her face was ashen as horror rose in her eyes. Maybe she was just surprised, I thought. Maybe she didn’t hear me right.

“Elizabeth? Will you marry me?” I asked again.

“Oh God, I was so afraid you’d do this!” She jumped up and, gagging, pushed me out of her way. The door to the bathroom closed and once again, I heard her vomit.

This time, I didn’t hover outside the door, begging her to call a doctor. I sank on the couch and stared into space as my world came to an end. I waited until I heard the toilet flush and the sound of running water as she brushed her teeth.

The bathroom door finally opened. Her eyes were red and her purple wig slightly askew.

“You want to tell me now what’s really going on?” I asked softly.

She leaned against the bathroom doorframe.

“I got a new job, Kinnon. I’m going to write features for the
Akron Beacon-Journal
,” she said softly. “I told Addison this afternoon while you and the llama lady were at the police station. She’s going to announce it tomorrow at the staff meeting.”

“You weren’t going to tell me first? You were going to let me get blindsided at a staff meeting?” I asked angrily.

“Kinnon, I’m—”

I didn’t let her finish. “You didn’t think I would be happy for you? That I’d be proud somebody at a big metro thought you were good enough to write for them?”

“Kinnon, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“So your trip to Shaker Heights wasn’t for your mother’s birthday.”

“Well, yes it was. We also looked for an apartment in Akron.”

We were both silent.

“Find one you liked?” My voice was barely above a whisper. I felt beaten, like I’d just taken a punch to the gut.

She nodded, a tear running down her cheek.

“How long have you been looking for a new job?” I asked.

“A couple months. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it or how Addison would take it,” she said. “It was the stress of applying for a job and then worrying if I would get it or if I wouldn’t. I was thinking all kinds of crazy things: What if somebody called for a reference before Addison knew I was even looking? What if I gave my notice and she fired me for some reason? And us—I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

“Guess you know, now.”

She sat down next to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Yeah. They told me Thursday I’d gotten the job.”

“So you woke up Friday morning with me, in my bed, knowing you were leaving, and started throwing up.”

“I didn’t know what to say! It’s not that I don’t love you, Kinnon—I do,” she said. “It’s just that I’m not ready. If we got married now, I could see us settling down in Jubilant Falls and never leaving. I’m not willing to do that. Not right now.”

“I’m not planning on staying here at the
Journal-Gazette
forever either,” I said. “I don’t know what I want to do next. I just know I want you in my life forever, whatever comes next.”

“Kinnon, please—”

I pulled her arms from around my neck and looked her in the eye. A note of desperation crept into my voice. “Listen, Beth, why can’t we see each other, even after you go to the
Beacon-Journal
? On weekends, I could come up to Akron, or you could come down here…”

“And what happens if there’s some breaking news story? I’m going to sit here while you go chase it?”

“And you don’t think you’ll have some assignments that interfere when I come up to see you? That’s the business we’re in! Nobody else is going to understand like I do. I understand about the crazy hours, the lousy pay, how frustrating it is when your sources don’t call you back and the story is due in twenty minutes. I understand that, but there’s one thing you need to know. Nobody else, Beth, will love you like I do. Nobody.”

She pulled away from me and reached for her socks and boots.

“And I must be the dumbest girl in the world for turning you loose, Kinnon, but right now, I think it’s the best for both of us.” She kissed me on the cheek and slipped out the door.

I waited until I heard her car pull away from the curb then hurled the cake against the door.

Chapter 13 Katya

“You did what? You dumb
súka
!” Russian profanity spit from Jerome’s mouth. “Why did you do that? Why did you think the editor of the newspaper, of all people, could help you?”

I tossed my hands in the air. “She knew who struck you. She knew he was bad man! I thought I could find out more to help you!”

We were standing in the feed room of the barn. Bags of grain were stacked on pallets along two walls. On a third wall hung kitchen cabinets with vet supplies like worming medicines and bandages. Beneath them was a small sink in the center of a small counter. Jerome’s desk was along the fourth, looking out the one window onto the front pasture and driveway.

Jerome picked up a fifty-pound bag of feed and heaved it angrily into the wheelbarrow just outside the entrance to the barn’s interior.

“I told you to stay here!” He picked up another bag of feed. “I told you I would take care of it!”

“But Jerome, I—”

“No! You listen to me!” The second bag landed in the wheelbarrow with an angry
thunk
and his voice got louder and louder. “You have made this detail harder than any other job I’ve ever been on. You continually step outside the boundaries of what you have been told more than once are in place to keep you safe. You keep doing these things you don’t think are dangerous — like the state fair and the newspaper article—but they are!”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” I screamed back at him. “Sit here and do nothing? Twiddle thumbs until it’s time to move on to next place? Do you know what is like to try to talk to people and everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie? I have never taught art history in my life! I can’t talk about my mother, I can’t talk about my sister—”

“What don’t you understand?” The veins stood out on his neck. “We’re trying to keep you safe until the trial, Katya!” Grunting, Jerome angrily yanked a third bag of feed onto his shoulder.

“And then what? I disappear again?”

He stopped, the bag of feed on his shoulder, and sighed. “No. Not this time. Not if your identity wasn’t compromised. Since this town is so far off the beaten path, the plans were to let you stay here, once we were sure you were safe. I mean, who the hell would come looking for someone in a town called Jubilant Falls?”

“So now the truth,” I said. “I have blown our cover?”

The feedbag slid from his shoulder into the wheelbarrow, more slowly this time. Jerome pulled his smart phone from the holder on his belt and, after touching screen a few times, turned it so I could see: It was the photo of me from Saturday’s newspaper article, smiling into the camera, seated at my spinning wheel surrounded by llamas and alpacas.

“Where is that?” I asked.

“It’s on the newspaper’s website. Anybody looking for you can do an Internet search and find it. That story was posted Sunday while we were at McIntyre’s house having lunch.”

I covered my face with my hands. “And when we come home, Dasha is dead, then today, Zaneta, ” I said softly. “I am dumb
súka
.”

“What happened when you went to talk to Addison this afternoon?”

“I started to tell you—she wasn’t there. So I talk to reporter, his name is Graham Kinnon,” I began. “He said the man who hit you might be doing other things, bad things.”

“Like what?”

“A ‘hate crime’ was what police chief called it.”

“You also talked to the fucking police?”

“I didn’t tell them anything except that my animals were dying! Graham Kinnon, he tells me the police are watching this man and police chief might have more information for me, so we walked down there to talk to him.”

“Oh, Jesus, Katya.”

“I told him you were talking to the sheriff.”

“I didn’t just talk to the sheriff, Katya.”

“Who else did you talk to, then?”

“Who do you think?”

I closed my eyes.

I knew the answer.

“I have to protect myself, too, Katya. I can’t let another detail like this go south. I screwed up once and it cost me my career in the Marines. I’m assigned to protect you, but you’re not making it easy on me,” he said. “I have to tell my superiors what you are doing and how that compromises your safety. It doesn’t make it any easier that we are sleeping together.”

“Oh, and I’ll bet you were completely honest with them about that, weren’t you?” I snapped. “I’m tired of hiding everything in my life. I want to be able to live the kind of life everyone else lives. I’m tired of being everyone’s dirty little secret.”

He sighed. “You won’t be a secret forever. I promise. But I had to let my superiors know what happened.”

“What did they say?”

“The trial is next month. You are the lynchpin of the entire federal case, the prosecutor’s main witness. We have to keep you alive, but you have got to follow the rules. They were adamant about that.”

“What if the person killing our animals is this bad man, this Doyle McMaster? What if it’s not—?” I couldn’t even say his name.

“It doesn’t matter, Katya. If you’re dead, you’re dead and the case is over. I’m out of a job—and Kolya Dyakonov goes free.”