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Authors: Elliott James
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Cassidy.”
Things kind of stalled after that. Cassidy ran out of gas, and Justin gave her a few things to think about before letting her retreat back into herself.
When it was my turn to talk, I cleared my throat. “My name is John Charming. I know, it’s a weird name. The thing is, I come from a long line of monster hunters, and I came here tonight because I have a dead cop on my hands, and I really want to get rid of the body in a way that makes it look like he died in the line of duty. I figured meetings like these would be a good place to get a lead on some violent criminals who deserve to get framed for murdering a police officer.”
Well, okay, I didn’t really say any of that. These people were traumatized enough. But that’s what I wanted to say. It was a support group, after all; it would have been nice to get some support.
* * *
I volunteered to be the somebody who washed the ceramic cups and plates after the meeting disbanded. The deacon who showed up to close the church told me he would take care of it, but he said it in the perfunctory way of a person doing what’s socially expected of them, and he seemed grateful when I ignored him. “We’ve got Styrofoam cups and plates in the pantry, but that guy over there”—he indicated Justin with a nod—“said something about landfills.”
I remained neutral. The basement had a little kitchenette walled off behind a huge counter, and I went ahead and filled one of the side-by-side sinks with soapy water. I could still smell the remnants of a lot of intense emotions in the air, and I like methodical, mindlessly repetitive tasks when I’m trying not to think too heavily about my past or my future.
Cassidy came over to help me dry while some people put away folding chairs, others left, and a few hung around to talk to other members about something that had resonated. I had mumbled some vague story about being a cop who had quit the force after seeing too many bad things. All respectable enough, but Justin wasn’t going to let me walk off with Cassidy without saying something about it . I liked that about him.
“He was buying her gifts too, wasn’t he?” I asked Cassidy quietly. “Steve.”
She actually froze with the dishrag in her hand as if she were in a still frame. Then she tried to answer coldly, but her voice was shaky. “How’d you know that?”
Because she’d mentioned that Steve broke into her house looking for a specific piece of jewelry, but what I said was “You’re the second person in Vista Verde I’ve heard talking about some phone sex operation that seemed a little hinky. A friend of mine who’s a cop said something about looking into something like that a couple of weeks ago. These phone sex operators were getting men convinced that they were really in love, and the men were sending the women all kinds of expensive gifts and things.”
She bit the hook. “Steve was buying lots of jewelry and sending packages to some place that must have been pretty far away. The dumbass paid for the postage with my card. Or maybe he wasn’t dumb. I guess he just didn’t care anymore.”
“Where was the phone number from?” I wondered.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’ve heard about that kind of stuff online. People getting people to fall for them over the internet and then telling them they need money to get out of their country or something.”
“But you feel like Steve is dead.”
She hadn’t actually said that during the meeting, and she didn’t admit it now. A huge sob without tears shuddered through her. “He wasn’t some fake when I fell in love with him. He changed.”
“I believe you.” And I did.
“He was in so much debt. The police think he just ran away from it,” she said uncertainly.
I nodded. “But you think his obsession with this woman got him killed somehow.”
Cassidy still wouldn’t address that directly. Like saying it out loud might make it true. “He wasn’t even ashamed when I
Things kind of stalled after that. Cassidy ran out of gas, and Justin gave her a few things to think about before letting her retreat back into herself.
When it was my turn to talk, I cleared my throat. “My name is John Charming. I know, it’s a weird name. The thing is, I come from a long line of monster hunters, and I came here tonight because I have a dead cop on my hands, and I really want to get rid of the body in a way that makes it look like he died in the line of duty. I figured meetings like these would be a good place to get a lead on some violent criminals who deserve to get framed for murdering a police officer.”
Well, okay, I didn’t really say any of that. These people were traumatized enough. But that’s what I wanted to say. It was a support group, after all; it would have been nice to get some support.
* * *
I volunteered to be the somebody who washed the ceramic cups and plates after the meeting disbanded. The deacon who showed up to close the church told me he would take care of it, but he said it in the perfunctory way of a person doing what’s socially expected of them, and he seemed grateful when I ignored him. “We’ve got Styrofoam cups and plates in the pantry, but that guy over there”—he indicated Justin with a nod—“said something about landfills.”
I remained neutral. The basement had a little kitchenette walled off behind a huge counter, and I went ahead and filled one of the side-by-side sinks with soapy water. I could still smell the remnants of a lot of intense emotions in the air, and I like methodical, mindlessly repetitive tasks when I’m trying not to think too heavily about my past or my future.
Cassidy came over to help me dry while some people put away folding chairs, others left, and a few hung around to talk to other members about something that had resonated. I had mumbled some vague story about being a cop who had quit the force after seeing too many bad things. All respectable enough, but Justin wasn’t going to let me walk off with Cassidy without saying something about it . I liked that about him.
“He was buying her gifts too, wasn’t he?” I asked Cassidy quietly. “Steve.”
She actually froze with the dishrag in her hand as if she were in a still frame. Then she tried to answer coldly, but her voice was shaky. “How’d you know that?”
Because she’d mentioned that Steve broke into her house looking for a specific piece of jewelry, but what I said was “You’re the second person in Vista Verde I’ve heard talking about some phone sex operation that seemed a little hinky. A friend of mine who’s a cop said something about looking into something like that a couple of weeks ago. These phone sex operators were getting men convinced that they were really in love, and the men were sending the women all kinds of expensive gifts and things.”
She bit the hook. “Steve was buying lots of jewelry and sending packages to some place that must have been pretty far away. The dumbass paid for the postage with my card. Or maybe he wasn’t dumb. I guess he just didn’t care anymore.”
“Where was the phone number from?” I wondered.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’ve heard about that kind of stuff online. People getting people to fall for them over the internet and then telling them they need money to get out of their country or something.”
“But you feel like Steve is dead.”
She hadn’t actually said that during the meeting, and she didn’t admit it now. A huge sob without tears shuddered through her. “He wasn’t some fake when I fell in love with him. He changed.”
“I believe you.” And I did.
“He was in so much debt. The police think he just ran away from it,” she said uncertainly.
I nodded. “But you think his obsession with this woman got him killed somehow.”
Cassidy still wouldn’t address that directly. Like saying it out loud might make it true. “He wasn’t even ashamed when I
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