Painting With Fire (8 page)

Chapter 12: Murder on the Mind

Claudia finally got a call from a potential employer while sitting in her bathrobe watching a daytime talk show about different size booties and whether or not they belonged to a man or a woman based on the shadow behind the screen. It was absolutely riveting television. It took her a good five minutes to find her cell phone under the stacks of half-opened bills on the coffee table. The pages flew off the table, fluttering to the ground.

She listened to the voicemail and called back immediately trying to sound casual, not desperate. She’d make a great office assistant, she thought, as she stared at the chaos in
the apartment with papers, mail and laundry strewn all over.

She busted out the interview clothes and the high-heeled shoes. She was out of practice so she wobbled in them a bit or maybe they were always a little too big. Her heels slipped out of the edges as she hopped on the bus going downtown.

She called Tom immediately with the news about the interview. He wished her luck.

“Hope this will finally get your mind off our murder mystery,” he said. “It’s time to move on and let the police worry about it.”

Yes, maybe it’s time to move on, she thought sadly. If she had a job, maybe she and Tom could have that conversation.

She stared up at the 50-stor
y black building with its rows of windows after windows. It was an older high rise, a big black box. She had to sort through 50 buttons in the elevator to find the right floor. Her pointer finger danced around and hunted for that button, especially since she was nervous.

Claudia scribbled her name on a visitor’s pass, spent five minutes waiting in a gray, drab lobby and found herself sitting across from a middle-aged Mr. Zaleski. She got the impression he was clever. Maybe it was just his old-fashioned, round spectacles. Or maybe it was just the glint in his eye.

“Pardon me,” he said, while wiping his nose. “I seem to be coming down wid a cold.”

Great, she thought, looking down at her fingers, I just shook your hand.

“So why do you want to work at Rabid Consulting?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” she said. “Oh, why do I want to work at Rabbit Consulting? Because it seems like a great company.”

The fact of the matter is she had no idea. Because they pay $17 an hour, that’s why, she thought. In reality, she had no idea what Rabbit Consulting did even after visiting their office. Their website simply said they offered solutions to clients. What the heck does that mean? Claudia was tempted to ask Mr. Zaleski but didn’t want to blow it.

But as he started talking about his company, she started to tune out.

Maybe her problem was that she kept applying for boring cubicle work, she thought. Looking over Mr. Zaleski’s shoulder, she wondered if she really wanted to work in a plastic cave drenched in florescent light, shuffling papers from point A to point B, making copies of meaningless papers and filing files.

Claudia couldn’t help but think she’d like to find a job where she made something, did something, created something
– tangible evidence of working on something that actually existed, a product. Even if it was working in a sock factory, she thought.

Mr. Zaleski, I would rather make socks than work in this office, she thought.

Instead of telling this to Mr. Zaleski, she gave him her speech about people skills and being a team player.

Claudia gasped when a man suddenly appeared, dangling from a rope outside the window behind Mr. Zaleski. She found it hard to concentrate as the man attacked the window with a suction cup in one hand and a
washcloth in the other. He wiped in circular motions and pushed off the glass, flying backward on the ropes. Now, there’s a job she’d like, she thought, a window washer.

Mr. Zaleski
did not mistake her fascination for window washing as a fascination for filing.

“
We have a few other candidates we still have to interview. We’ll let you know.”

She thanked him, shook his hand and left. She wondered if he would ever actually call.

She wondered if she would like it, working in that office, with her fingers dancing over manila envelopes in alphabetical order, half-time. It was the kind of work was that took hours, but not brains.

As she rode the bus home and stared at the lake,
Claudia couldn’t help but think about her neighbors. Who was the murderer?

She ran through the list
over and over. Doris, Mr. Washington, Alice, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, Kevin, Ted and finally Tom, but that seemed foolish. What if it were Tom? No. She couldn’t even think that’s a possibility, could she?

But how would she even know he was in his room that night? He always kept the door locked. It’s not like she would know if he had snuck out.
And what was the story behind his record and why wouldn’t he just tell her?

When she got home, she stared at his latest painting hung to dry in the living room. She stared at its streaks of red paint, smudged black edges, slashes and slashes and the dark outline of a figure beneath. It was the work of a frustrated and ignored artist. One who has given up his dream of sharing with the world.

Poor Tom, she thought. But he’s not a murderer even if he does have murder on his mind and a record he’s not talking about.

Chapter
13: A Locked Door

“I’m taking you out for dinner.” Tom pulled a black T-shirt down over his head. “I know you feel like shit not getting that job. The least I can do is take you out.”

“You don’t have to do that, Tom,” Claudia said.

“No, I insist,” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her off the couch. “You seem down lately. Let’s go out.”

Claudia didn’t have a lot of money. Neither did Tom with his barely over minimum wage job. She knew that.

Sure, the city was full of fine dining establishments, brimming with white tablecloths and chefs with world-famous egos. They could get a 24-course meal for $225 per person, but that was not where they were headed.

They got into her car, an old Nissan with the bumper just hanging on. At high speeds, the rusted hood had a tendency to float upward like an airplane wing.

Tom held onto the handle above the passenger side seat.

“Are you afraid of my driving, honey?” she said.

“No,” he said, clutching the handle tighter. “I’m afraid of your car exploding.”

“Well, then what’s the point of holding onto the handle, then?” she said, smiling and shifting into reverse. “If you are afraid, get your own damn car.”

They drove two miles on city streets to their favorite dive Chinese restaurant with its fluorescent sign and paper tablecloths.

They dined on chop suey while admiring the fake red carnations and frayed, faded plastic leaves.

“There is something satisfying about eating food that’s cheaper than you can cook it for,” Tom said, tapping the wooden tips of his chopsticks together on the plate. “Tasty too.”

She rolled her eyes. “One day,” she said. “When you make it big, we’ll be eating foie gras and drinking expensive wine with your supermodel girlfriend.”

“That sounds like a nice threesome. But for now, we don’t have to feel guilty about torturing ducks, geese, whatever,” Tom said, with a grin. “It’s not always about money, you know. There are more important things, like love and enjoying life.”

“How romantic,” Claudia said, laughing. “Who are you? You’re not going to propose here are you?”

“Not here,” he said, laughing back.

“Damn,” she said. “I could’ve really used the health insurance benefits.

“Seriously, though, thanks for taking me out,” Claudia said. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit of a droopy roommate lately and obsessive compulsive about this murder.”

“No apologies needed,” Tom said. “It’s not your fault I was almost stabbed.”

“Yes, it was,” she said. “I feel really bad I haven’t been able to pay you back for all the rent, too.”

“Yeah, I guess it kind of was your fault we were there, but I can think of a few ways you can pay me back,” Tom said, raising his eyebrows. “Just kidding.”

“You know, Doris thinks you’re my husband,” Claudia said. “Kind of funny, huh?”

Tom smiled unsteadily as he laughed.

“Maybe we should get going then, my dear wife,” he said, taking a long swig of the last of his beer. “What? Just trying it out.”

As they got back in the car, Tom tapped his fingers on his leg. Shadows jumped across his face as the car drove between the streetlights.

At home, Claudia flicked on the lights and drew the curtains.

“You know, there are some things I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said.

“Does it involve a threesome with you, me and Halle Berry?” he said, yawning and sitting down with his arms up on the back of the couch.

“
No, I know it’s not a big deal but you do have a criminal record.” Claudia plopped down next to him and turned her body towards his. “What’s it from?”

“Seriously, that’s what you’re going to ask me
right now?” Tom said, pulling his arms crossed close to his body. “That effing cop tells you some trumped up bullshit about me, and that’s what you ask me? Next thing I know you’re going to ask me if I killed the guy outside in the snow bank, aren’t you? Christ.”

He stood up and paced across the room. The floorboards creaked at all the usual places.

“Tom, don’t you think I have a right to ask simple questions? We live together, after all.”

“Don’t you know me at all?” It was like he was holding something invisible in his claw-like fingers and shaking it in front of his face. “No, of course, you don’t.”

“Tom…” she started to say before he interrupted.

“You’re frickin’ blind.” The arm flew down to his side in exasperation. “How many times have I told you, I love the light in this place. You don’t get it, do you? Maybe I should move out.
You’re always going to suspect me of something.”

She opened her mouth and closed it a few times. Well, at least she had asked.

“Don’t. I just wanted to know for sure…” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop playing with me.” He slammed his door and locked it behind him.
“And don’t ask me again.”

Chapter 14: Missing

Claudia was still in her pajamas when someone banged on her front door.

She ran quietly shuffling her feet to check out who was behind the keyhole and saw Janice’s face distorted behind the glass. She opened up.

“Kevin’s gone,” Janice said. “Have you seen him?”

“No, I haven’t, I’m afraid,” she said, pushing unbrushed hair behind her ears. “What happened?”

“His expulsion hearing is set for today, but he ain’t in his room,” Janice said. “He ain’t nowhere. He ain’t answering his phone. It’s been two days.”

“Did you call the police?” Claudia asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But I don’t think they believe me. They think he’s just a teenager off partying with his friends. They made me come in and file a report. I had to take a taxi to get to the station. What good does a report do? It’s just a piece of paper.”

“What time is the hearing set for?” Claudia asked.

“One o’clock,” she said, starting to choke on tears. “I can’t even get there. He took the car.”

“Janic
e, I’d like to help but can you give me a few minutes?” Claudia said. “I’ll be right over.”

She went back inside her apartment. Tom looked up at her from his perch on the couch. He was eating a bowl of Lucky Charms and dri
nking the last of the blue milk one spoon at a time.

“After that crazy business
next door, why are you getting involved in other people’s problems?” he asked.

“The fact of the matter is I don’t have anything else to do today anyway
,” she said. “And how can you turn down a crying neighbor? I think I’d go straight to hell.”

Tom stood in the doorway as Claudia brushed her teeth, scraped deodorant under her armpits and applied a little mascara to her lashes.

“Why am I always the depository for other people’s problems? Maybe I just know weird people,” she said, blinking her eyes. “Maybe I attract them somehow.”

“Maybe you just like weird people. Besides, everyone has deep dark secrets,” Tom said, leaning against the old white wallpaper. “It’s not that people are weird, you just get to know weird things about them after a while. There’s no such thing as normal.”

Claudia ran the red lipstic
k around the edges of her mouth, then smacked her lips together.

“I can see why people tell you things,” he said. “You seem like you are good at keeping your mouth shut,” Tom said, watching as she blotted her full lips with a tissue. “Most of the time.”

“You know, I tell you everything,” she said. “I’m not great at keeping secrets.”

“Well, maybe you’re just nosy then,”
he said. “Good thing I haven’t told you mine.”

She went into her bedroom, closed the door and picked out some black pants and a crumpled button-up shi
rt that had fallen off the hanger. She checked her reflection in the mirror, particularly her butt. She would have looked almost professional if it weren’t for the wrinkles. But Claudia refused to iron when she wasn’t getting paid.

At Janice’s apartment, she sank into an oversized sofa and stared at the clock on her DVD player. It was 10:33 a.m.

“Don’t worry about getting to the hearing,” Claudia told her. “I’ll drive you, if you want me to.”

“I’m not sure how much good it will do,” Janice said. “If he’s not there.”

“When did he leave?” Claudia asked.

“Night before last,” she said. “We had a fight. He wouldn’t tell me about the gun, said he wasn’t a snitch. I called him a coward.”

“Do you know if he took anything with him? Clothes, money?”

“I hope he has his medication.” Janice’s forehead was lined with deep grooves of worry.

“Why don’t we take a look?” Claudia said.

They opened the door to his room. Claudia was surprised by what she saw.

She always pictured Kevin as the stereotypical messy teenager but there was no chaos. No dirty clothes were piled on the floor. Geometry and chemistry books were stacked neatly on a desk corner. A red electric guitar leaned silently against the wall.

“I didn’t know he’s a musician,” Claudia said. “Is he any good?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Janice said. “He always practices with his headphones plugged in, so I can’t hear any thing when his fingers dance over the wires. It looks kinda funny when he plays and there ain’t no sound. Just metal strings twanging quietly.”

“He writes a lot too, I see.” Claudia flipped through the notebooks stacked a foot high on his desk. “I didn’t have him pegged as a poet.”

“Song lyrics,” Janice said.

“He didn’t have a journal did he?” Claudia asked.

“Don’t think so,” she said. “But I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should look in his backpack?” Claudia said. “Maybe there will be some clues in there? Maybe he left his cell phone here?”

Claudia pulled out a notebook and flipped to the first page.

“’Angel’s after me, after me.’” she read softly. “’Trying to pull my strings, make me take all the drugs, money and material things. Angel don’t want me to sing. Angel don’t want me to sing.’”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean,” Claudia said. “You know, that’s interesting, cause the cops are looking for someone called Angel. You know him?”

Janice shook her head.

“You might want to tell the cops about that.”

“I doubt they’d be interested in my son’s bad song lyrics,” Janice said.

Claudia flipped to the next page.

“’
I learned one thing from my father. Honor and good intentions don’t keep you alive. Medals don’t matter when you’re dead. The most important thing is just to survive. You gotta hide your head. Hide your head.’”

Janice’s head jerked up at the words and she inhaled sharply.

“His father
was a hero, you know,” her voice quivered. “National Guard deployed to Iraq. Shot in the head.”

An empty silence hung in the air. She didn’t elaborate on the story and Claudia didn’t ask.

“I probably shouldn’t be reading this,” Claudia said. “Seems too personal. We better get going if we are going to make it to your hearing.”

When they pulled into the school parking lot, Claudia was reminded of a dungeon or a prison. There were no windows in the drab 1970s monstrosity of a building. Just a few narrow slits. They were buzzed inside and greeted by metal detectors at the entrance.

Janice didn’t have a lawyer. She was armed with a purse, no briefcase. She was in her best dress, but it was a little too low cut for the occasion. To compensate, she had tossed a frumpy sweater over it.

As they checked in at the office, Claudia asked her if she wanted her to come back and pick her up when it was over. But Janice shook her head.

“If you are ok staying with me, it would be nice to have somebody here,” she said.

Claudia wrote her name on the sign-in sheet and the secretary told them which part of the maze-like building to head to. Claudia quickly forgot the left and rights, but Janice weaved through the hallways, passed lockers and laughing, hugging teens.

When the two entered the school board room, there was a notice on the door saying closed proceedings, executive session on disciplinary matters.

Seven grim-faced school officials greeted them glumly as they shuffled papers on their desks. A school board attorney in a tie and black suit raised his voice slightly as Janice whispered to him the situation.

“What do you mean he’s not here?” the man said. “It’s his responsibility to be here. We can’t postpone the hearing because he didn’t feel like making it out here today.”

“You don’t understand, sir,” Janice pleaded. “He’s missing. I’ve told the police. We are looking for him. We need to wait until I find him. It’s not fair to expel him without hearing what he has to sa
y. It ain’t fair.”

“What’s not fair is wasting the board’s time by not showing up. Our time is valuable, Ms. Miller,” the attorney said.

“We don’t even have a lawyer,” Janice said.

“I assure you, Ms. Miller,” he
said. “Your son doesn’t need a lawyer, not for this matter anyway.”

“Isn’t there anyone here who can speak on Kevin’s defense?” Janice said. “He’s a good kid. He tried hard. Got good grades.”

“You received a copy of the school handbook. You are aware we have a zero-tolerance policy,” the attorney said. “So we don’t care about excuses, even if he was an honor student.”

“How do you know it was his gun?” Janice’s mouth trembled as she spoke. “How do you know he’s not covering for a friend or something? That boy never so much as gets a grounding, he’s so good.”

“Maybe he should have gotten a grounding, Ms. Miller,” the attorney said. His top lip curled back slightly as he spat the words out at her.

Claudia could see Janice’s hands shaking
on her lap.

“But we will hear what he told the teacher and his classmate,” he said. “Ms. Williams, can you enlighten us? What happened that day?”

Ms. Williams stepped forward and played nervously with a set of keys hanging from her neck.

“Mark came up to me and said that Kevin had a gun,” Ms. Williams said. “He said Kevin told him he had it for protection that someone was after him. Mark was scared something bad was going to happen to Kevin.”

“So what did you do,” the attorney said.

“I called the principal’s office and two assistant principals and
Officer Mike. We put the whole school in lockdown, got all the students locked inside the classrooms, hunched under their desks.”

Claudia leaned forward on the edge of the folding metal chair.

“Kevin didn’t run, just got down on the ground like Officer Mike told him and put his hands behind his back. He didn’t move much and just stared down at the floor. I’ve had that kid in my class two years and never thought he’d be capable of bringing a gun to school. He kept yelling that he wasn’t going to talk.”

Janice leapt to her feet.

“Did you ever ask him what he was afraid of,” Janice yelled, waving a piece of paper. “He’s missing right now. Here’s the police report. Something’s happened to him!”

The school board members sat at the table watching intently, but didn’t speak. The board president covered her mouth with
her hand and leaned back in her chair.

“Ms. Miller, you need to
sit down and be quiet,” the attorney said. “This is not the time for you to talk.”

“Wha
t about this Mark kid?” She shifted back and forth on her feet. “I want to talk to Mark. What does he have to say?”

“He’s in class, Ms. Miller, and we don’t need to hear what he has to say,” the attorney said. “This is not a trial. It’s an expulsion hearing and we have all the information we need. You’re lucky your son doesn’t face criminal charges for bringing a gun to school. We take this matter very seriously.”

“I can’t take this any more,” Janice sobbed. “My son is missing and you people can’t wait to expel him. You don’t even care. He could be dead in a gutter somewhere. I can’t listen to this anymore. I’m leaving. You don’t even want to wait to hear his side of the story.”

Janice scooped her purse off the floor and shook it like a dog wringing the life out of a small animal. She stormed out the room. Claudia followed her and tried to reach for her arm, but the woman was too fast.

“Janice, we will find him, OK,” Claudia said. “It will be all right. He will be all right.”

“I don’t want to look for him right now,” she said. “I just want to go home. Maybe he’ll be waiting for me. Maybe he’ll come back.”

But her parking spot was still empty when they got back. Nothing but yellow lines, concrete and an oil stain.              

“Sometimes, you feel the absence of a person just as much as their presence when they’re around,” Janice said.
“I can just feel he isn’t here.

“Usually, when I’m putting my keys in the door, I can hear the laugh-tra
ck from Kev’s favorite show.”

Claudia noticed it to, the empty feeling when Janice opened the door. None of the lights were on. The TV wa
s a blank, black screen.

“No shoes and dirty socks in the middle of the hallway,” she said.

“Do you want me to come in?” Standing at the doorstep, Claudia leaned against the heavy oak trim surrounding the front door.

“No, that’s all right, but
thanks for your help today,” Janice said, and closed the thin door slowly behind her.

Claudia could hear the thud as Janice leaned up against the other side. She tried not to listen but she could still hear it, the soft sound of a mother crying.

“Where’s my boy?” Janice whimpered.