Cover Story (13 page)

I stalked off to the kitchen and began washing out the coffee percolator.

*

Gnomes Protest Rights Abuses

By Tobi Fletcher

The Gnomes of Santa Fe have had enough. For too long, they’ve been subject to the tempers and whims of the very humans who pledged to protect them.

Carrying placards with slogans such as “Gnome Rights Now”, “Stop Violence Against Gnomes”, and “Gnomes are People Too”, an estimated seven thousand gnomes and four thousand of their human friends descended on Santa Fe’s famous Bicentennial Park to broadcast their grievances to the world.

The event was organized to coincide with the launch of Dig Dog’s song, “AG Phone Home”, which highlights the plight of the gnome-napped AG. The band was on hand to perform their song and other entertainment was provided throughout the day. “It’s great to see this turnout,” band spokesperson, Lukas Molloy, said. “Great for us, great for AG and great for gnomes everywhere. We just hope this event will encourage those who have AG to return him safely home. Someone somewhere must know something.”

Guest speakers called on the State Government to create a Special Office for the Protection of Gnomes. Those on the left of the gnome movement suggested that this also cover garden fairies and trolls, but these suggestions were met with strong opposition from others who feared diluting the true gnome message.

Government representatives failed to show, but organizers were pleased with the number of humans and gnomes who demonstrated their support, citing a growing awareness of the plight of the garden gnome.

Activities following the speakers included an enthusiastic game of “hide and seek”, played by a mixed group of children and gnomes.

Monday morning I pulled into Los Alamos Court and parked in front of Simon’s house, the events of the weekend still replaying in my mind.

Seduce him.

I checked my mother-of-pearl watch then huffed. Sunday, 9.02a.m. No matter what I did, this watch always ran a day behind.

Grabbing my bag, I walked the path to the door, which was thrown open by a blond whirlwind long before I reached it.

“Tobi!” She flung herself at my legs.

“Hi, Anna.” A funny warmth unfurled in my chest. The kid was growing on me.

A vision of Grace squatting at their introduction flashed in my mind. Detaching her hands from my thighs, I moved back a little and saw disappointment cloud her eyes for a second before I squatted down to her level and hugged her. She enthusiastically hugged me back, gripping my neck as tight as she could. She held onto me for a minute or so and I began to relax. It wasn’t so bad. I even kinda liked it.

Then Anna moved her mouth to my ear and whispered, “I love you, Tobi.”

I felt the words like a blow to the head.
She loved me?
Of course, I suspected she also loved the entire cast of
Sesame Street
and an assortment of cartoon characters, but still …

“Um,” I stammered.

Anna didn’t wait for a reply—she didn’t seem to need reciprocation like adults. Good for her. She pulled away and looked up at Dot. “Granma, now Tobi’s here, can we go for a walk? Pleeeease?”

Dot laughed and I stood, brushing the wrinkles from my trousers.

“It’s up to Tobi, honey. Remember I said we had to wait and ask her what she wants to do?”

Anna twirled back to me and grabbed both my hands, arching back the way I’d seen her do with Simon. “Tobi, you wanna walk, don’t you?”

Dot ruffled Anna’s hair and looked at me. “Now, Tobi, you said you wanted to meet the women at number one?”

“I’d love to. I have to write another story—or more—and I’m out of ideas. I was hoping someone new would give me another angle.” Besides, I was more than a little curious about them.

“Well, you’re in luck.” Dot seemed impressed with herself. “Rafaella’s home sick today. I had a quick chat with her earlier and she said she’d talk to you. I’d been thinking since you called last night about what we could do this morning, then I saw her, so I leaped at the chance.”

Sick? I wanted to ask what kind of sick—coughing and spluttering sick? Contagious sick? Or—hopefully—a nice dignified migraine type of sick? Well aware it was childish, I crossed my fingers for no bodily fluids. “Thanks, that’d be great.”

“Anna and I are ready now, if you are.”

“Sure, let’s go.”

Anna was still holding both my hands and, after Dot had closed the door and pocketed the key, she let go of one hand to grab her grandmother’s.

Number one was on the same side of the street as Valentina and Gerald, which meant walking across Winston’s turf. I considered asking if we could walk down the other side, but that seemed ridiculous even to me, so I kept up my guard, swinging Anna’s hand, watching left to right—
and
up and down.

“So,” I said casually, “anyone seen Winston this morning?”

Anna dropped my hand to point at Valentina’s front window. “There he is!”

He sat on the windowsill—only a screen between us—watching me. As I made eye contact, he flicked his tail up to wrap around his body. It was the only movement he made—he looked like an Egyptian statue, expecting worship, yet disdaining his subjects. Even from that distance, the hypnotic power of his eyes was strong. I knew I’d stopped walking, but was incapable of doing anything else—I just stared in fascinated dread.

Then, without warning, he spat a
kaaaa
sound, jaw fully extended, eyes wild.

I jumped higher than I ever had in my life. Winston bent to groom his front legs.

Anna giggled. “Winston’s so funny.” Then she walked on, dragging Dot and me along with her, chattering away about all the other hilarious things Winston had done.

Oh yeah, the cat was a riot. When I ended up in intensive care with heart failure, I’d be sure to remember that.

We passed Gerald’s house and all waved to him and Remington in the front window before moving on to the next house—the mysterious number one. It was two stories with caramel stucco walls, square garage doors, and wooden roof beams projecting through the walls above us. Dot let Anna push the bell and it peeled out the national anthem.

We waited a couple of minutes before a woman in her thirties with a honey-brown pixie cut and—I made a silent prayer of thanks—no signs of bodily fluids answered the door.

“Hello, Rafaella,” Dot said. “This is Tobi.”

“Hi, Dot. Hey, Anna.” She grinned at the kid, but seemed to be wincing at the same time. “Nice to meet you, Tobi.”

There was something vaguely familiar about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.

Not wanting to shake her hand in case of contagion risks, I smiled instead. “Thanks for meeting me, Rafaella. Are you sure you’re up to this? Dot said you were sick?”

“I’m fine. I threw my back out yesterday, so as long as I get over to the lounge quickly, I’ll be good to talk.” She grimaced, then hobbled back through the lounge and awkwardly lowered herself onto a three-seater. Dot rushed to arrange the cushions around her and Anna smoothed the hair back from Rafaella’s face.

As soon as Rafaella was settled, she sighed then looked around at us. “I’m sorry I can’t offer to make you a drink—”

“Oh, no, dear girl,” Dot cut her off. “I’ll make
you
something. Would you like me to whip you up some breakfast while I’m here?”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. Liz made me toast before she left for work. But if it’s not too much trouble, I’d love a hot chocolate?”

“No trouble at all.” Dot seemed pleased to be doing something useful. “Anna and I will do that. Tobi, would you like something?”

“Ah, no thanks.”

They left the room and I looked back at Rafaella. She adjusted her position slightly and winced.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” I might not get another opportunity to speak to her, but I did have a conscience.

“It’ll stop me being bored out of my brain. There’s only so much daytime TV I can handle at any one time.” She laughed and I liked her. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to meet you face to face.”

“You have?”

She paused, as if unsure, then smiled. “A couple of neighbors have mentioned you and I’ve been following the stories in the papers.”

Embarrassed, I groaned. “I’m supposed to be writing more of those stories now, but I’ve run out of angles. I was hoping you might have something I could use?”

“I’ll tell you what.” She bit her lip. “I’ve been thinking about this since I spoke to Dot this morning. I can give you one thing on the record and one thing off the record.” She waved me closer and I moved to an adjacent chair, glad for a little intrigue. “You have to promise my name won’t be connected to the information if I tell you.”

Not an unusual request of a journalist, but one I hated agreeing to. Once I’d given my word, I couldn’t go back, so I never did it lightly. She held my gaze and I had a suspicion more rode on my answer than I understood.

Slowly, I nodded. “Okay, I guarantee confidentiality.”

Her eyes flicked to the kitchen and I nodded again.

“Does your back go out often?” I asked, needing to stall until we were alone.

She chuckled. “Only when I’m stressed, strangely enough.”

Dot bustled back in, a tray with one mug and a plate of chocolate cookies in her hands.

Anna followed closely behind, beaming as she announced, “I helped make the hot choc’late.”

“I found a jar of cookies,” Dot said, as she handed the mug to Rafaella, “so I put a couple out for you, dear. I hope that’s all right.”

Rafaella smiled. “Thanks, Dot.”

“Now, Tobi.” Dot turned to me. “Would you like Anna and me to wait or leave you to it?”

I heaved an internal sigh of relief—I’d hoped she’d offer. “Thanks, I’ll be fine here on my own.”

Anna reached her arms up. That same funny warmth I’d felt on her veranda earlier spread through my chest and I hunched down to hug her.

“Bye, Tobi.” She beamed at me and turned to take her grandma’s hand.

Given Rafaella’s incapacitation, I saw them to the door then returned, taking out my notebook and pencil, mind whirring at the possibilities. There was nothing like the buzz just before an informant spilled their information.

“Okay, I’ll tell you the off-the-record one first.” She bit her lip again. “Did you know that two people on this street are having an affair?”

“Um … no?” I mentally flicked through the cast of characters. The only married people were Martin and Beverley Sinclair. One of them had to be involved for it to be an “affair”. Something Beverley said came floating back:
He’s too busy with his “other interests
”
.

“Martin Sinclair.”

She nodded.

Tapping my pencil against my teeth, I ran through the women on the street—Dot with the pale orange hair and glittery earrings; Valentina doing her Granny Clampett impersonation; Ethel, stuck all day caring for Gerald; Jazlyn …
pregnant
Jazlyn. Oh!

“The missing father of Jazlyn’s baby!” They lived next door—why hadn’t it occurred to me?

She sighed. “An obvious conclusion, and one I’m pretty sure Beverley Sinclair had made.”

“It’s not her?”

“Nope.” Rafaella shook her head then winced.

I frowned, running through the list again. “But that only leaves …” I looked her up and down and she laughed.

“Not me. Liz, my housemate. That’s why this is off the record.”

“Oh, right.” I scribbled it down, not sure what I’d do with the information. “So why tell me at all?”

“Martin’s a scumbag.” Her amber eyes flashed and her lips thinned. Anger and disgust emanated from her. “He treats her like dirt and I’m sick of it.”

Not all that surprising a revelation, given the little I knew of Martin. “Why not talk to Liz yourself?”

She rolled her eyes. “I have. But she won’t listen. They work in the same building and sometimes carpool. She thinks he’s God Almighty.”

Well, she and Martin had that in common, at least. “Okay.” I briefly wondered what Liz could possibly see in him, and why she hadn’t seen through him. She must be deliberately ignoring the signs.

“This could be a mistake, me telling you this, but I have to do something. If the affair came out, maybe it’d stop and she’d move on with her life.”

Unease stole over my whole body about my potential part in this charade. “So, what’s this got to do with the gnome stories?”

“I’ve been thinking.” She carefully edged herself up a little onto one elbow. “Beverley believes he’s having an affair with Jazlyn, right?”

“Okay.”

“But Beverley never says boo to him. She wouldn’t dare be angry at him.”

I sensed the glorious budding of a brand new theory. “I’m with you so far.”

She eased herself off her elbow onto her back again, but looked just as uncomfortable. “There are two pregnant females in Jazlyn’s house.”

“Jazlyn and Deefer Dog.”

She watched me closely, as if assessing. “Both impregnated—Beverley thinks—by males on Los Alamos Court who sneaked out.”

The jigsaw pieces in my mind twisted and turned until they fit together. “So she’s using Remington as a substitute for Martin. She’s angry at Remington for knocking up Deefer instead of Martin for getting Jazlyn pregnant.”

The old Displaced Anger for the Cheatin’ Husband angle. I loved it!

“Right.” She smiled. “The first gnomicide was at Remington’s house.”

I scribbled it down, flitting through the other clues. “What about Simon’s?”

“Beverley covering her tracks. Same with Valentina’s gnome-napped one.”

I drummed my fingers against the armrest. “Okay. But she’s wrong? Martin’s sleeping with Liz?”

Rafaella winced, and this time I didn’t think it was her back causing the pain. “Yes.”

I looked back over the notes I’d made. “Are you sure Beverley thinks his affair is with Jazlyn?”

“Last week Beverley slipped and almost told me before back-tracking. So, yes, I’m sure.” Her eyes met mine in an open and steady gaze. Yep, she was sure, and I had no doubts she was telling the truth, either.

I rolled my pencil between index finger and thumb. This was, by far, the most convoluted, messy, bizarre theory yet. Which probably meant it was true. Excellent.

I looked back at my informant. “You said there was something you could tell me on the record, too?”

She nodded. “This morning, not long after dawn, I got up to take more painkillers and saw Jazlyn cleaning up a smashed gnome in her yard.”

My gaze drifted to the window and Jazlyn’s front yard. “But Dot didn’t mention it to me.”

“Jazlyn seems to have covered it up. It was in the way she looked up and down the street and wrapped the pieces in newspaper before putting them in the bin.”

I stood and walked to the window. There was nothing to see now, but my mind was racing. “It plays perfectly into your theory about Beverley. After her displaced anger at Martin, her next target would be Jazlyn.”

“Yes.” Rafaella sighed. I could see that, although she was passing on this information, she was hardly happy about it.

“Okay, thanks.” I smiled, wishing for a moment that I could fix this for her and everyone. How was that for delusions of grandeur? I shook my head to clear it. “I might go and see Jazlyn now. Do you want anything before I leave?”

“No, as long as you don’t mind seeing yourself out?”

“Not a problem. And, thanks, Rafaella.”

Outside her front door, I paused. I wasn’t sure if I could work this into an article, but if Beverley was the culprit, I could get the closure I needed, type up the final article and leave Gnome Lane behind me for good.

I checked my watch: 9.46. Sunday. The day early thing had never bothered me before—I’d just mentally adjusted for it. But today, the word jumped out every time I saw it.

Sunday. Yesterday. The day at the park. The day of the kiss.

Seduce him.

Why did Grace’s voice keep replaying in my mind? I forced my attention back to the task at hand and crossed the road to number two’s relatively unkempt front yard then walked next door to Jazlyn’s. It was time for a heart-to-heart.