'Listen! You gotta help me,' hissed a young voice in the dim light before dawn. DeeDee stirred. One boy clasped another by his shirt. Their faces jammed against each other's. Both grimaced. 'Listen,' he said again, giving the shirt-front in his fists a shake. It was hard to see in near-darkness. They grunted and struggled. 'You gotta,' came the plea. 'Okay, okay.' The fabric was released. A palm smoothed it. 'Here.' A small, black object was passed from one hand to the other. 'Thanks man.' A slap on the back as they parted. When one boy turned to the other, DeeDee caught a glimpse of a crooked smile. What had he handed over? She'd have to remember that crooked smile and the slender nose.
DeeDee rolled over and fell into a deep sleep. In the late morning, she woke and indulged in a slow start to the day with the puzzle of the two boys in that twilit atmosphere haunting her. She knew the answers would come. No need to push.
DeeDee found herself staring at the students talking on the TV screen from the far corner of her bedroom. She lost all awareness of the salad nicoise and croissant on the lunch tray in her lap. A girl was being interviewed by a news reporter about the candlelight vigil being organized for that evening at St. Bart's. As the reporter moved through the crowd, DeeDee saw him. It was him? The same boy who'd given something to Dane Pritchett. Her heart flopped in her chest. Who was he? And what had he given up? More importantly, when did this happen? And where?
"You look white as a snowdrift in February," said Clarence, rising from his brunch tray to pat DeeDee's clammy hand.
"T-that boy? Did you hear them mention a name?"
"Shouldn't be too hard to find out. Guess that will top the to-do list for your new assistant?"
"Quite right," said DeeDee, hand on heart, beginning to breathe normally again. "I have help." Clarence frowned. "So sorry, my love," she continued. "No disrespect to you. You are my lifeline. I would never refer to you as help. Now, Bianca? I could only wish..." DeeDee chuckled and Clarence winced with great showmanship.
"Make all-gone or no dessert," he chided.
* * * *
When JC arrived, she noticed the old bat's anxiety.
"I haven't been myself since the time changed back," was her excuse as JC entered the spearmint-cool room in mid-afternoon. She noticed the bat's hair was flatter and duller. That her eyes were smaller under drooping turquoise lids. Lids that matched her bed jacket. And her lips were painted in a more muted shade of red. Undertaker's hand, thought JC with a tiny smirk.
"You must call the KTV-channel first thing," the bat continued, zinging JC's brain to thoughts of its sister station KCOW – country radio that boasted all moo-sic, all the time and used cattle stampedes and calling contests to motivate listeners. What a hick town this is, thought JC as she thought about those farm kids that piled off school buses every morning, manure fresh on their boots.
"Are you with me, child?" asked the bat, snapping her fingers in front of JC's face.
Hey... what's with the 'child' crap? Then calmly she replied, "Sure. Call. And ask for who?"
"That would be 'whom' and it would be news reporter Mary Murphy. We need that boy's name." The bat rolled her eyes and laid the back of her hand in a faux-faint over her forehead. Gimme a break, thought JC. "Then we'll check him against the St. Bart's class pictures online and go from there." The bat drained her tea with a slurp, scowled and rang the brass bell. As JC picked up her to-do list and eased out of her chair, the geezer opened the door, warm teapot in hand.
"We do try to avoid field trips," the bat rambled on. As JC raised her pierced eyebrow, the geezer jumped right in to explain.
"It means maneuvering a wheelchair. And then Bianca's Lexusadio nce rising from his dinnerfaded on the tray in her lap. The boyrence would arrive shortly with plates bearing lunch and ey...Lord, she's skittish about that paint job. My wife travels like a rock star, you know? With entourage! Complicated and tiring."
JC's mind went blank so she slapped a multipurpose smile on her face and bowed out of the conversation. Across the hall, she googled the station for a phone number, then reached for the cordless.
"Ugh," groaned Ms. Murphy on the other end.
She's either over-protective of her sources or she's just got a thing against kids, thought JC then took another stab. "Aw geez. My boyfriend recognized him on the TV. Used to be friends in like kindergarten or something. Just gimme a name. I'm not lookin' to marry or stalk the guy. I just want to surprise my boyfriend 'cause the dork can't remember his old friend's name. Is that too much to ask?"
There was a long sigh at the other end. "Cameron Byers."
"Thanks. Now he owes me!" JC clicked her tongue.
"Christ, you kids today," grumbled Ms. Murphy under her breath before hanging up.
"Score!" JC pulled up the school website. There's Cam in the same class as Dane. So, JC searched Cameron Byers and found his blog. A photo of seven soot-faced boys wearing camouflage gear, remotes in hand, graced the splash page. There's Cam. And there's Dane. Gaming buddies, decided JC.
She tapped on the bat's door. No answer. So she leaned against the frame and tried to think of reasons she should care...at all. Big deal that this kid had a fight with his parents. And he took off. Who gives a crap? And the fact that he has friends...that he's a gamer. No biggy, right? Today this stuff feels like a waste of energy.
Just then Gucci-Glam – GG – poked her fashion-model-face around the corner and pulled it back like a turtle. "Goodbye, Daddy," JC heard her say in the foyer. JC could just picture her making big production out of kissing the geezer on the cheek, all like the Queen or something. Yuck. So, JC knocked again, flicking the printed pages in her other hand.
"By all means, child, come, come" came a voice from inside. Enough of this shit. JC burst in, bracing fists on hips and leaning into her words.
"I'm not a child! Even my mother doesn't get away with that crap." She stopped. Dropped her attitude.
"Settle, my dear. My apologies. I won't make that mistake again. Okay?" The bat paused to watch her. "JC?"
JC gave a reluctant nod as she plopped down on the chair. She tossed the pages onto the bed. I guess I'm guilty of that too, she thought, calming herself. I just don't say it out loud. So, DeeDee and Mr. B. From now on it'll be DeeDee and Mr. B.
"Wonderful," said DeeDee, scanning the printed pages. "I'll get Sergeant Mackenzie to bring him to me."
"What gives anyway?" JC was still feeling a little snappish.
"I saw this young man give our missing boy something."
"What?"
"Don't know yet."
"When?"
"Don't know that either. This thing I do isn't an exact science, y'know?" The old lady rang the bell. When Clarence appeared, he was instructed to get Mac on the horn. To make it happen.
"Now, in this picture? Please explain," said DeeDee pointing to the fierce Seven. "Is this some kind of dress-up wargame? "
JC took a deep breath. Christ, shit moves fast, she thought. How the hell do I explain the 21st Century?
* * * *
DeeDee tensed when she heard the doorbell chime. She ran her hands over her coif, batted her lashes for good measure and ran an index finger around the corners of her mouth. Lipstick in place, she thought. JC popped in right before Mac gave the stocky young man in the bedroom doorway a nudge.
"Sit," Mac instructed. JC hovered by the TV. Making herself invisible, noticed DeeDee. Very clever. Mac continued, "Mrs. Burgermeister has some questions for you. She's working with the police on Dane Pritchett's disappearance."
The boy snuck a glance at DeeDee, then dropped his gaze to his stained, wet socks. His pants were fringed ragged at the bottom and had wicked water half way to the knees.
"Could you kindly remove that?" requested DeeDee indicating the brown hood of the zipped sweatshirt. Not nearly warm enough for this November rain, she thought. "I like to see who I'm talking to."
The boy grunted. He revealed long, greasy hair, a pockmarked forehead, that sleek nose DeeDee remembered, chubby cheeks and a lazy mouth.
"Better," DeeDee tried coaxing with a smile. No go? Then plunge right in. She raised the photo of the fierce Seven. "You?"
"Uh-huh." Mac shoved the back of the chair and the boy sat up straighter.
"Your friends?"
"Yes, Ma'am." He met her eyes defiantly.
"And when did you last see your good friend Dane Pritchett?"
"Like, two weeks ago!" His eyes burned. I'll soon knock that out of you, thought DeeDee.
"I'll not play games here, Cameron," said DeeDee, hoisting herself regally from her pillows. "I know you gave your friend something and I suspect it was after his official disappearance." DeeDee watched his eyes skitter away. The colour seeped from his face. Gotcha.
"I keep seeing water. And I believe that this place figures into the mystery." DeeDee dropped the photo of Gabriele Pritchett's listing into the boy's cradled hands. He jumped as though stung.
"Come clean," ordered Mac from the sidelines. JC's eyes were riveted on the boy. Now she squinted.
"H-he called me."
"From there?" asked Mac, looming over him. The boy nodded and gulped. His eyes panned the room as though it were a cage. "Fingerprints will verify everything. I can get a team out there right now."
"And?" DeeDee spoke softly as she searched his face.
"Needed money," he mumbled.
"Makes sense," said Mac.
DeeDee followed his gaze as his eyes jerked up to the left. There's a lie coming. Wait for it!
"That's all," said the boy.
"Oh no!" DeeDee snapped. The boy began to shake.
"O-kay. The money and my cell. Said he had whatever food and clothes he needed right there." The boy nudged his head at the photo.
"He wasn't afraid of being caught?" DeeDee asked.
"He told me the guy was cool. Wouldn't complain. Like he knew him or something." The boy squirmed in the William and Mary chair.
"I still have a problem with water," DeeDee mused to Mac who took over.
"So, let me get this straight. You show up with the money, but don't want to leave your cell phone. Argument. Dane ends up in the lake. Am I getting close?"
"No!" The boy's head shot around at Mac, then back to DeeDee, "I gave him the phone. I didn't want to at first, but I did it. And then left."
"We'll need that number," said Mac.
"He was there? And you told no one?" asked DeeDee, adding a little thunder to her voice for effect.
"While we mounted a massive search to no avail?" Mac's voice boomed.
"Did he call you again?" asked JC from her corner.
"Yah. That night. Said he was movin' in the morning." The boy turned back to DeeDee. "I couldn't snitch. He wanted to put the screws to his folks. Besides, when he really disappeared, I got scared." DeeDee read it from his eyes. The truth was hiding behind his pupils.
"Be gone," DeeDee snapped with a wave of the hand. Mac lifted him from his seat by the shoulders.
"I can be back in an hour," offered Mac, turning for the door.
"Make it two," DeeDee answered. "After tea. First bring the Missus. Then the homeowner." As the door opened, Clarence was loitering in the hall and read DeeDee's nod as a request for refreshment.
"I'll have a uniform pick up the homeowner. Four-thirty it is." And Mac was gone.
"He wouldn'a hurt his friend, y'know?" JC said, also moving to leave.
"You could be right. Strange things happen with heat. Dane was angry when he ran. Sounds like he was more than a little vindictive too."
"So? The kid had a grudge against his folks. Big deal. Happens every day." JC clicked her tongue and nodded.
"Maybe something else – or someone else – happened. Don't ever underestimate the power of passion." DeeDee gave JC a tired smile and dismissed her with a soft wave. "Be gone."
"See ya Monday. Get Mr. B. to call if you need anything."
My, my, how things change in the span of a week, thought DeeDee as she dropped back on her pillows to catch her breath.
By the time Mac returned, Clarence had cleared the plates and reheated DeeDee's tea. She rested, letting her body drift on that syrup-surface of black water that so filled her mind these days.
"What's all this about?" griped Gabriele Pritchett as she entered the room. Mac loomed right behind her. The officer remained standing, feet spread, arms folded behind her back. She nodded and DeeDee gathered that the other package was enroute. Timing is vital.
DeeDee watched the woman make great ceremony out of dragging a tissue from her pocket and sniffling. "Tell me about this listing of yours," she said, drawing out the photo.
"It's all there! You can read, can't you?" She was so brittle that DeeDee looked forward breaking her down.
"Ah. But we've placed your son there," said DeeDee with a twinkle.
"At the Lakeview Drive house?"
"And he spent some time there. So, why don't you tell me, Mrs. Pritchett?"
"There isn't much to tell." Her eyes shot to the left. She's dreaming up some lie to feed me, thought DeeDee.
"I see water. Cold, dark water." DeeDee felt almost jubilant as the woman began to cry. The door opened. Clarence ushered in a large man with sandy good looks and an athlete's body.
"Mr. Lee. Come join our little discussion," said Mac.
"The other officer's waiting in the living room for instructions," said Clarence before closing the door.
"Jeremy!" Mrs. Pritchett spun out of the chair, trying to pin down Mr. Lee's evasive eyes. Hum? "They say Dane was there. At your house."
"Come, come now, Mr. Lee. Let's have the truth," said DeeDee. "I see water in my visions."
"And I've got a team of divers on speed dial," said Mac, her eyes following the two closely as well.
"I'll start, shall I?" suggested DeeDee with a bright smile. Why do they always make me push them? "We've placed the boy at your house until Tuesday morning. After the purported disappearance. I believe he's in the lake. What can you add to this tale of misery and woe?"
"Jeremy?" Mrs. Pritchett's hands shook. Her pale skin blotched. She groped the edge of the man's jacket, her voice taking off like a jet. "Did you see him?"
The man shrugged the woman off, strode around her and straight to DeeDee. His eyes intense as he wrung his hands.
"Tuesday mornings. Our mornings," he said, nodding over his shoulder. "I got there early. That sniveling little SOB had on my new leather jacket. He'd slept in my bed. He'd raided my fridge. All that I could live with, but that punk stood right up to me when I threatened him with the cops. Mouthy! 'Gotcha man,' he said."
"You hit him and dumped the body," murmured DeeDee, staring at the broad shoulders and beefy arms. He was shaking now. Mrs. Pritchett hurled herself at his back, pounding with her fists. Mac dragged her off and jammed her back into the chair.
"No! I mean...I smacked him," said Mr. Lee, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. "He took off. Gabby was due shortly. I grabbed his stuff and tossed it." Mac stepped forward to clasp a firm hold on Mr. Lee's arm. She pried out her phone with her free hand and mumbled instructions.
"That's why you pulled me to the sofa. So I wouldn't see your bed," wailed Mrs. Pritchett. "So, he's alive, but where? Where?"
"You can show the divers where to look that way we'll rule the lake either in or out," said Mac, bulldozing Mr. Lee out the door. "The officer will drive you home, Mrs. Pritchett. I'd have a talk with my husband if I were you." Mac raised an eyebrow at DeeDee.
"Ah, the beds we make for ourselves," said DeeDee, now shivering from exhaustion.
"Almost over, I hope," said Mac from the hallway.
"I'll draw you a warm bath, love." Clarence is worth his weight in peanut brittle, mused DeeDee, clenching her chattering teeth.