The Catcher in the Eye (America's Next Top Assistant Mystery Book 1) (10 page)

“It was about a month ago that she
met this new guy. The timing was about the same as the finalization of her divorce.”

Karen told us as
soon as she led us in to her parents’ kitchen. She preferred to speak in
private.

Just like her
neighbor’s place, the Andrews kitchen was kept clean and spotless, indicating they
have regular housekeeping services. Karen served us each a disposable cup of
milk and a chocolate-coated potato crisps from Neiman Marcus.  

Karen said. “She
was so excited. Initially, I was happy to see her moving on. In this
neighborhood it is widely considered Alice to be a happy divorcee with a
handsome settlement, but things were not that simple. Not only had Anthony
totally deceived her, he ran away to NYC with his new lover who happened to be
a man.”

“Ouch,” I winced. “That
should have hurt.”

“Indeed. The worst
part was she still loved him after everything.” She nodded. “So when she first mentioned
that she is seeing this new guy, the first thing I’ve checked with her was his
sexual orientation. I wasn’t real sure if that was appropriate to do so, and
I’m still unsure. Maybe if I behaved like I wasn’t really interested, she might
have gotten more talkative.”

Then she asked me
with a serious face. “By the way, Kelly, do you have such experiences like that
of Alice’s?”

“Well…” I was a
little taken aback with her sudden interest in my personal life, but soon
decided to go with the truth. “Not exactly the same, but my ex had run away
with a Brazilian dancer and anyway, he deceived me a big time.”

“Oh,” Karen sucked
in air. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked it. Sometimes I tend to get too
nosy. My bad, I apologize.”

“It’s okay.” I
managed to smile. I half expected Archangel to make some remark that rubs salt
to injury, but he was busy savoring the snack. “Actually, it was not my first
time when a man ran for other woman. When I was little, my biological father
ran away to a burlesque dancer in Las Vegas.”

“I have a similar
experience, except mine went to Miami to become a burlesque dancer.”  Karen
nodded sympathetically. “Let’s get back to Alice’s new beau, when I asked her
about his sexuality, she said she hasn’t yet checked that out, but felt
something very spiritual with him. That’s when I saw the red flag. You know,
back in the old era, followers of Manson family thought Charles Manson was
spiritual, right?”

“Good point.
Besides that quote by Alice, were there any other things that you have found disturbing
about this man?” Archangel interjected.

“Her taste in
artwork had changed.” Karen fumed. “Did you see the sorry excuse of garbage
that insists to be called art in her room? I know sometimes, things bought at
weekend arts-and-crafts fairs score very big later, with some of those creators
attaining success and some initially regarded as knickknack turns out to be a
missing Renoir or some kind of a masterpiece. But come on, those were nothing
more than just pieces of crap. And I say they’re crap as in capital C-R-A-P.”

“Okay, so she
started buying those knickknacks after meeting that guy.” Archangel raised an
eyebrow quizzically.

“Yes.” She nodded.
“It’s fine when she buys pieces of cheapo crap just for fun, but seeing very
valuable pieces like small but authentic Picasso sketches and Mucha lithographs
disappearing one by one whenever she got new worthless thingie, it’s a complete
different story. Maybe it was none of my business, but I was disturbed. I can’t
help it when I see injustice.”

“Did you ask her what
she had done with Picasso pieces?”

“Of course, I did.
But she wouldn’t tell me anything. I think she had given them up to that man.”

Then she added, “I
know what I’m saying has no credibility on an account that’s based only on my
gut instinct, however, a lot had changed since this mystery man had appeared in
her life.”

“Do you know
anything about her new beau? Any personal information?” Archangel suggested.

“Unfortunately, not
much.” Karen shook her head sadly. “She didn’t tell me much about this man. All
the information I’ve managed to obtain from her is that she mentioned him as Sam.
I wish I had asked her at least his full name, but she was pretty much cryptic
about him.”

“Even if you
asked, she might have preferred not to discuss Sam-topics with anyone.” I said
to her. “When a woman decides to hide something about her significant other
from her friends and family, she clams up whatever you do or don’t. Don’t beat
yourself for that, please.”

“Thanks for kind
words, Kelly.” Karen nodded. “So I might be overreacting. But I knew something
was very fishy with that Sam. Alice used to have a good taste in art, but now
her collection was so ruined. Though some of her good ones had survived on the
account that pieces were colored red or featured some kind of round objects,
she gave away some of her masterpieces only a short while after meeting Sam.”

“You think her
change in art taste and her behavior with her collection are the result of the
involvement with Sam, is that correct?”

“Yes, it is more like
an understanding than a thought.”

“And you believe
this Sam had killed Alice in a very brutal manner.”

“That’s correct. I
suppose my theory fits very well with the killer’s modus operandi. I’ve read
that psychopaths tend to be skilled mind readers and manipulators, completely
lacking humane feelings such as remorse, sympathy, or compassion, making them a
herd of monsters dangerous to society. In addition, in many cases of
psycho-killings, the methods of killing have great visual impacts, just like
the series of Eyeball Snatcher murders. Besides that, red color can be
symbolized as the color of blood and the round things are capable of standing
for eyeballs. If we take the possibility of Sam manipulating Alice into
collecting artworks that did not match her previous preference, he would be an
ace suspect.”

Listening to Karen’s
explanation, I was truly amazed. Her argument was not only coherent but
convincing. And from physical standpoints, she was only a child.

“You know what,”
Archangel said. “There are two other victims aside from Alice and so far, there’s
no evidence that the three of them had known each other. How do you explain the
involvement of Sam with those two other women?”

“Well,” Karen fidgeted
with words for a moment. “So right now, I have no strong evidence to support my
theory that Sam is the person who is responsible for the series of gruesome
killing of three innocent women. However, that doesn’t prove my theory wrong.
And I’m positive you’ll thank me later for giving you this info. I can almost
see you thanking me.”

“Tell me what
supports your confidence of your
theory
?” probed Archangel.

“A woman’s
intuition.”

Following Karen’s
bold statement, Archangel opened his mouth, as if to throw in an opposition, but
words failed to come out.

I applauded to
Karen, who showed me her appreciation with a curtsey and a wide grin.

“Excuse me? As an
assistant you’re supposed to be on
my
side, aren’t you?” My employer grunted.

“Sorry, but it’s
nice to see you, instead of me, coming up wordless for a change.”

Arms crossed, he
humphed. “A woman’s institution? You insist that you know the Eyeball Snatcher
is this mysterious Sam whose identity is completely under the veil, not to
mention we don’t even know if he really exists, just because of your woman’s
intuition?”

He uncrossed his
arms and did a palms-up. With a pause for the emphasis, he said. “Get real, for
crying out loud.”

“Just because you
don’t know the details about Sam right now does not necessarily mean he doesn’t
exist. Just like the quote that says, ‘And yet it moves,’ by Galileo Galilei.”
Karen said defiantly. “In addition, I have a woman’s intuition meanwhile you
don’t.”

“I know.”
Archangel spat. “Thank you very much for your reminding.”

I rolled my eyes.
Michael Archangel often drove people around him crazy but it never occurred the
other way round, not less by an eight-year-old. I was amused.

Archangel stood
up. “Thanks for the snack. Forget Sam and do your school homework, okay?”

“I’ve already finished
my homework at school. It was too easy. Actually, I’ve even helped my friends’
homework.” Karen snorted. “It’s fine even if you don’t take my information
seriously. I can look for Sam myself. I will somehow find a way to conduct my
own investigation.”

“No, you are not.”
Archangel retorted. “As we know, whoever killed Alice is a blood-thirsty
murderer. Even in the rarest case that your theory turns out to be right, the
last thing you want to experience is bumping with him on the account that kind
of event is most likely to cause serious consequences such as your death.”

“Compared to that
dreadful summer camp where my father in law is making a little scheme to send
me off this coming summer, getting myself killed sounds like a very good
alternative.” Karen pouted.

“Alright, I got
your point.” Archangel gave out a resigned sigh. “I will communicate with the
FBI about Sam, the influence he had over Alice’s changing taste in artworks.
For crying out loud, leave the investigation to the professionals, okay?”

“You need to check
out the artists of her new collections. Did you see the painting of what
remotely appears to be a sunset? That’s the first piece she acquired after
meeting Sam, that’s her favorite.” Karen added. “Sam might have painted it.”

Archangel stood up.
“Let’s go and talk to Henderson.” He told me.

Then to Karen, “Can
you come with us?”

“Absolutely.” She
grinned.

“By the way, why
did you say you have a woman’s intuition when you had much more compelling
explanation?” Archangel asked, walking.

Karen shrugged. “I
was having a woman’s intuition moment.”

Archangel didn’t
seem to be convinced but he didn’t press it further.

We caught
Henderson who was just coming out of the room #1313. He went back into the room
with us. Listening to Archangel’s explanation about the particular painting
(and lots of Karen’s footnote), he made sure to process with further analysis in
order to learn more about them and the creators.  

When things were
settled, Henderson promised Karen that he was going to catch whoever killed her
BFF.

After seeing
Henderson and forensic guys leaving, Karen sighed deeply.

“I can’t believe
she’s not coming back.”

“I know.” I hugged
her. She certainly needed a big hug.

“No way, you don’t
know. It’s impossible to know other people’s feelings.” She said in a muffled
voice.

“At least, I can
imagine. Because I believe I’ve had a similar experience.” I said.

“Can you tell me
what happened?”

“I couldn’t
believe when my former husband was imprisoned for the sentence of three hundred
and five years. I know he’s not dead but at the same time, I’m positive that
he’s not coming back.”

“The one who ran
away with a Brazilian dancer? What has he done?” Karen widened her eyes.

“A fraud. A big
one which could be described as a massive fraud in a manner of a Ponzi-scheme.
He swindled a total of hundreds of billion in GBP and Euro.”

“Gosh,” she
furrowed her eyebrows. “Your dad ran away from you and your mom to another
woman and your ex-husband has done the same thing
and
is a fraud and…”

She looked up
Archangel standing tall by our side and glanced at me. “No offense Kelly, but you
have a rotten luck with men. No, rotten is an understatement, doomed sounds
like a more appropriate term.”  

“Thanks for your
acknowledgement.” I shrugged.

“Speaking of doomed,
my life is as doomed as it can be.” She sighed again. “Now that Alice is not
able to take me to a journey in the Mediterranean, my summer’s screwed.”

“Mingling with the
kids of your age might give you good insights for pediatric behaviors.”
Archangel chimed in. 

“No way!” spat
Karen. “I wouldn’t be this miserable if I’m to attend a normal camp. I agree
with you in that mingling kids from suburb, town, and out of nowhere might be
fun. Then again, trust me, spending over ten grand for a stupid six-week summer
camp where yours truly has to deal with superficially well-behaving but
oh-so-mean-inside snobby kids is sacrilege! I can come up with better ways to
spend that much money, like donating to the research fund of some rare and deadly
disease, running a soup kitchen for the homeless, or visiting Disney World. At
the camp, they make us play tennis daily for six-freaking-weeks for Pete’s
sake!”

I made a
sympathetic noise. I’m not a sporty person. I loathe to sweat. To the point
that I don’t even wear a sweatshirt. Or sweatpants. I’ve never quite grasped a
humor, or meaning, in jumping around like a meth-crazed baboon without no good
reason. Besides that, this camp she was likely to be sent to sounded like the
one I had spent a day of summer when I was nine. Instead of building tents,
kids stayed at a fancy yet boring lodge, and the counselors forced us to learn
tennis.

“Tennis is fun. I
played tennis while in college.” Archangel told Karen. “I had once considered
becoming a pro until I heard that I’d have to pee in front of anti-doping
agency people on a regular basis, sometimes more than once a month.”

“Icky. One more
reason that they should display tennis rackets at the Museum of Medieval
Tortures.” She muttered. “By the way, Mr. Archangel, I can’t believe you still
manage to wear heels, after twisting your ankle probably a million times.”

“Okay, so I’ve had
my share of sprains and strains but luckily, my body comes with a quick repair
system.” Archangel snorted. “Anyway, tennis is a good method to observe physics
in real life manner.”