CHAPTER SIXTEEN ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER by B. A. Linhares

Sunday Morning August 27 Josh O'Dell day.

 

I become aware of a ringing noise and open my eyes in slits. I reach over and smack the top of the clock. I set my alarm for six am because I wanted to force myself to get up at dawn on Sunday. My plan is to clean my room way before Josh (hopefully) arrives so we can work on our case for Mr. Jackson’s class face to face. It’s crucial that we catch up with the rest of the class. He sounded fine when I called him last night. I just hope his mom doesn’t make him call off our study date thinking he’s not well enough. The way she babies him makes me jealous.

I lay there for a few more minuets enjoying the feel of the covers. The house is quiet. All I hear is the whooshing sound the air conditioner makes. I guess Pop’s still in bed. He must’ve stayed up late again, scheming and planning the remodeling of the kitchen for his catering business. Ms. Fergus has us learning how to design a website in computer class. I should make a site for his catering business. I’m pretty creative when I want to be. I mentally picture his homepage with different tabs. Of course I'd have to clear everything with him first.

The last few nights, I was up in my room also searching the net for anything I could find on Mom and her case. Rolling over, I stretch out and snake my arm out of the covers, snagging my Crime Science notebook off the floor. My pencil in on the bedside table. I push up on my elbows and review my most recent annotations. I read the book Mr. J gave me and tried using search words that might link me to articles about her, but that was unsuccessful.

I toss the notebook aside and rehash what Josh and I talked about on the phone both Thursday and Friday nights. I gave him updates on school and we compared what we’d each learned off the list of websites Mr. Jackson told us to check out. Josh insist that he’s pretty much on the rebound from his sinus infection, but to make sure he’s 100% fine, his mom made him stay out of school the rest of the week. Not like the missed days would hurt his perfect 4.O GPA. I’m the one suffering!

Anyway, Josh said if he was dressed and attended Church with them, she’d believe he felt good enough to come over to my house after lunch. I guess it’s nice to have a Mom that dotes over you like that. Pop is like that too, but how great would it be to have a mom to boot.

I fall on my face and scream into my pillow, “You better come over here O’Dell!”

I drop my arm over the side of my bed and feel between the mattresses for my journal. I pull it out and sit up, stacking pillows behind me. It’s time to catch up on my entries. I flip to the last entry read what I wrote. Tuesday August 22 after the dreadful breakup with Palmer. He and I haven’t spoken since, and I wonder if we ever will. I notice he’s been hanging with that Kelly Albright chic during lunch and after swim practice. Char went out of her way to inform me that they’re becoming an item. Leave it to my bf to be the one to keep me aware.

Thanks so much!

Bitch!

I click the pen and write. Wednesday August 23. At the mall with Pop, I bought another Goo-Dolls CD and an awesome top and some skinny jeans. That night, I talked to Josh O'Dell about Mr. J’s class and how behind our assignment was. He said not to worry. That Mr. J is cool. I told him I’d attach the photos of the stalker dude to an email if he felt like checking them out. Josh sounded so stuffy and coughed so much that I couldn’t tell if he thought the old man was dangerous or that I was just over reacting to what could—in reality—be coincidental sightings. I think I rambled on too long about Fredrik Koshechka because Josh had a bad coughing fit and we had to hang up. When I emailed him, I attached an enlarged picture that best showed his features.

I lean forward and look at my corkboard. While Pop was out of the house, I printed a copy and stuck it on my corkboard. I gave Frederick the codename ‘Valentine’ because the birthmark near his bushy eyebrow looks like a red heart. I remember seeing someone else who had a birthmark just like it, but I can’t, for the life of me, remember who it was. Maybe it’ll come to me.

I go back to my journal and write. Thursday August 24 not much happened today, just keeping up with my schoolwork and learning how to be an assistant catering person. Somebody started a false rumor (much to everyone’s chagrin) that school might be suspended the rest of the week because of a swine flu epidemic. It threw the teachers into a tizzy, which was fun to watch. After lunch, Principal Bishop called an emergency school assembly to be held in the Performing Arts building, and squelched any misunderstandings about a four-day holiday. They’d just attach the days to the end of the year. Boring day to say the least.

Friday August 25 the first week of school finally ended. And without the distraction of a fulltime boyfriend, I was able to stay caught up with my schoolwork and do my nails. I’ve been so tired lately that when my head hits the pillow I don’t even dream or sleepwalk. The last creep old man sighting was at the mall—thank God. I hope he left town. The strange work van with the doodads on the roof pops up around the neighborhood daily, but I’ve stopped worrying about it being the paparazzi or a threat of any sort. I figure I have enough to worry about without adding more to my list of issues. I’ll credit that to you Sean since it’s what you liked to preach to me almost daily. Huh, maybe Sean Palmer was the core of my problems. Now that he’s out of my life, I seem to be able to accomplish a whole lot more a whole lot sooner. Don’t think it’s easy. I still have my weak moments when I want to call him and just talk. I guess those too shall pass. Awe, poor Char came down with the flu so we didn’t go to see Madam Suzi on Friday, maybe next weekend.

I’m not holding my breath.

I stretch my hand—it’s starting to cramp from writing so much. I lay back and rest it a minuet. I turn my head and look at the picture of Valentine. After thinking about it, it’s probably nothing that I keep seeing him. Mr. J says, stay with what you know as credible clues and facts. Fact is this guy is nobody even remotely connected to Mom. I scoot out of bed and take the picture down. After looking at it, I fold it in half and stick it in the top desk drawer. If Josh thinks differently, then maybe I will too.

I crawl back in bed and pick up where I stopped. Only one more day and I’m caught up in my journal. Saturday August 26 for the first time in months, I stayed at home on Saturday night …with Pop. Pop grilled Cajun chicken on the patio and we sat outside drinking virgin frozen strawberry daiquiris. I listened intently as he laid out his business plans in lemans terms. So I could understand the systematic workings of a catering business. When he finished, he made me promise only to put in as many hours as my schoolwork allowed. We figured I’d learn the ropes as I go, like on The Apprentice.

“I’m excited about helping with the Zavalla wedding.”

I’ve watched The Wedding Planner movie with Char, like, five times. It reminds me of how I pretend played with my Barbie dolls as a kid. I loved to throw elaborate weddings in the backyard for Barbie and Ken. Madge and Skipper were the bridesmaids. Now I’m actually going to be paid to feed the guest at a real wedding––how cool is that! Later, Pop and I ate popcorn and watched Gone with the Wind. We cried like schoolgirls. It was nice. We haven’t spent that much time together in, like, ages.

I put my journal away and pull on a pair of shorts and a halter-top. I stick my cell phone in my pocket and run a brush through my hair. The lump still hurts but not badly. I look around. Time to clean my room. I haul a hamper full of dirty clothes downstairs to the basement and throw a load in the washer.

On the way out, I grab the can of lemon Pledge off the shelf above the dryer. I climb the stairwell running my eyes over the framed family pictures lining the wall, in particular, a sepia photograph of Grandma Blakely holding Pop as a baby on her lap. I giggle. He was a huge baby and already had a head full of thick red curls. He looked like the Michelin tire baby.

My cell vibrates in my pocket and I take it out. It’s Josh!

“Hello!” I whisper so I don’t wake Pop, and go back into my room.

“Hi, you busy?”

“Not really. Please don’t say you’re calling to cancel––”

“No way. I just wanted to say I got your email. Whoa, that Koshechka dude is fairly famous. I like your code-name Valentine.”

I smile. “I thought it was apropos.”

“Hey, sorry, I can’t talk, Mom just called me down for breakfast then we’re leaving for church. I emailed you back. See you later.”

“Okay. Bye.”

If Josh asked me, I’d go to Mass with him. I dash over to my desk, slide back the roll top and power up my computer so I can read the email from Josh. During this lull, I start realizing what it’s going to be like having Josh up in my room. We’re going to be talking about stuff that I’ve bottled up inside. Sean already thinks I’m bonkers and need psychiatric help. What if, after I spill my guts to Josh and he tells me I need to see a shrink too? I hope I can do this. On top of that, I’m afraid Sean will show up at our house without calling first. It wouldn’t be the first time he came over uninvited. He did say he wants me back. But Char told me he’s interested in Kelly whatshername. Maybe we should study in the kitchen or living room. What could go wrong? For one thing, what if Sean barges in and accuses me of having sex with Josh…

Don’t be silly.

I open my email program and Josh email downloads.

Hi-C, (LOL) Looking forward. Bye for now, JO

That’s it?

Suddenly, I unexpectedly remember something that I’d stored in the back of my mind.

A couple of years ago, when we took the trip to Ireland for the Blakely Clan reunion, late one night, I got up to get a glass of water. On the way to the kitchen, I saw Pop and Maimeó Blakely (his mother) in the living room talking in a hushed voice. I crept nearer thinking they were planning some surprise––it was close to my birthday. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I carried the glass of water back to bed and found some paper and a pen and quickly wrote down what they had said so I wouldn’t forget their conversation that went something like this. “Eva should be home with you and Cookie. It scares me Christopher that she might not come home someday. Ask her to quit for her daughter’s sake.”

“Ma, my Eva has special training with the United States Government. Besides, she loves her work. I would never ask her to quit. End of discussion!”

If only he had put his foot down. And if only I’d kept a journal during our trip to Austria. I’d have a ton more facts and clues. How could I know this was going to happen?

I drop down on my knees and pull my personal journal from between my mattress. I sit down on the carpet with it on my lap and flip to the page I’d just written on and update my New Year’s resolutions.

I write in bold STOP PROCRASTINATING!

I return my journal to its hiding place and make my bed.

After that, I scurry across the hall to freshen up the bathroom. Pop’s door is open and his bed is made. I remove my shampoo and condition out of the window and see him down the street helping the neighbors clean up the debris from the storm that hit early Wednesday morning. I feel bad not helping them. Oh well at least I’m in here doing something constructive.

I put on some music and slide a sweat sock on my left hand. I spray Pledge and dust all exposed surfaces. I tear around my bedroom tossing anything out of place into my closet and shut the door.

Looks good. Just as it did when Mom and I finished the remodel. Suddenly, a rush of nostalgia astounds me. The hairs on my arms stand up and I feel her presence.

“Are you here Mom?”

No cold draft this time.

I go out in the hall, take the vacuum out of the closet, and run it around my room, down the upstairs hall and through the bathroom and Pop’s room. Her perfume is on his bedside table. On the way out, I sniff the top, and then bump down the stairs, down the hallway and around the living room and den. After storing the vacuum back in the upstairs closet, I haul down the rest of my laundry and put the first load in the dryer.

In another world, I clean the downstairs half-bath, placing fresh fancy hand towels by the sink. Then I dash around fluffing the cushions on the couch and chairs, and dust the furniture in the living room and downstairs hall and entryway. I circle the house spraying a can of floral air freshener. I stop in the living room and smile. The whole house looks spiffy and smells great!

The German cuckoo clock in the foyer announces noontime and through the front window, I see Josh pull up near Pop in a blue Honda Civic. Holy cow! He’s way early. Josh toots the horn and Pop looks over. He motions for Josh to park behind his van. My Mustang rates the one car garage. Pop is afraid of vandals, so am I. Pop rented an air-conditioned self-storage unit a few days prior to my party. He moved Mom’s stuff in while I was out on a date with Sean—sneaky much. Anyway, knowing Pop and my nosey neighbors, they’ll keep Josh out there yapping for at least fifteen minuets.

I make a mad dash for my room and shut my door. My heart is racing. I cross the floor and stand in front of the full-length mirror. I look like something the freaking cat drug in! I sniff my armpits, gross! I run to the bathroom do a quick sponge bath, apply deodorant and spritz myself with a light floral body mist from the Body Shop called Untimely. I run a brush through my hair and apply clear lip gloss. Heavy makeup doesn’t really work on fair skin, freckles, auburn hair and green eyes. I found that out when Char drug me over to the Elizabeth Arden counter in Needless Markup for a makeover. It was hilarious. When the lady finished, I looked like a freak show clown.

Back in my room, I pull off my top, throw it in the hamper, and tug on the new caped-sleeve-flowy-shirt I bought at the mall. I kick off my shorts and slide into my skinny jeans and a pair of pink leather sandals. My cell phone is vibrating on the floor. I pick it up and drop my short in the hamper. I check who called and go over to inspect the results in the mirror.

Uh-oh, Josh left a message.

I’m on my way. Hope its okay that I’m early.

“Yes it is!” I smile and wiggle my hips. “Sexy girl!”

Chill, I tell my reflection, it’s just Josh.

I open my door and male voices float up from downstairs. Pausing in the threshold, I turn around and let my eyes swim over my room. No stray undies or other embarrassing tidbits lying around. Check! My journal is back in its hiding place. Check! Suddenly my room turns chilly.

Pop calls up the stairs, “Cookie! Josh O’Dell is here!”

I lean out and call, “Coming!” Within seconds, the temperature in my room drops another 20 degrees. I shiver and turn around look for her.

Great timing Mom!

I rub the goosebumps on my arms and scamper down the stairs. There are traces of mud and grass on the floor and the front door is ajar. I push the door open and see Josh and Pop talking at the foot of the porch steps. Pop wears a straw hat for shade that’s seen better days. The knees of his pants have grass stains and dirt on them and sweat rings stain his underarms. He apparently came in to tell me Josh was here with his dirty boots on and I just vacuumed!

In contrast, Josh is dressed in a black V-neck jersey shirt tucked into dark slacks, black leather belt and lace up shoes. He’s holding his backpack in his left hand by the straps. His thick black hair is gelled into place and his handsome face looks freshly shaven. His Sunday best I think remembering that he attended Mass with his parents before coming over.

I briefly wonder how old Father O’Malley is doing. He has to be at least ninety. After Father O’Malley came over for dinner and grilled Pop about Mom’s lack of responsibilities as a wife and her faltering salvation (or something like that), Pop tossed him on his holy butt and then swore off the Catholic Church. He said I could go if I wished, but as long as Father O’Malley was there, he wasn’t ever going to set foot in that place again. I will go some day, but I so far I haven’t come to grips with going to Mass alone. Again, if Josh asked me…

Pop rocks on the soles of his grimy work boots and rubs his chin. He looks suspicious. I wonder what he’s up to now. I clear my throat loudly and they stop talking and look over at me standing in the doorway.

Pop turns and cups his hand to his mouth, shouting something at the neighbors. “I’ll be right back!” He tells us, and then tromps across the lawn.

I smile and give Josh a little wave. “Hey stranger.”

“There you are,” Josh says, giving me a big toothy grin as he steps up on the porch. I catch scent of his citrus after-shave.

I focus my eyes on the little freckle next to his nose. “Um, you look good. I’m guessing you’re all better?”

He looks me in the eyes and I feel my face grow hot. “Yeah, I feel fine now.”

We go inside and Josh stops at the foot of the stairs and looks around. I see Pop is coming back across the yard so I don’t close the door. I go over and stand next to Josh, just as Pop comes barreling inside.

“Aye, some people!” Pop complains as he enters the foyer in his sock feet, and shuts the front door soundly. He removes his straw hat, hangs it on a coat rack, and shakes his head of sweat-damp red curls. “He stops just short of the small round rug in the foyer and glances around the house. “Wow, the place looks great!”

Josh sniffs. “Yeah, it smells good in here. I can actually smell and taste again!”

I smile proud of my efforts.

Then our eyes go to the mess he made on my clean floor. He points down and says, “You missed a spot!”

“Very funny!” I slide my eyes to Josh. “My Pop missed his calling a stand-up comedian.” I look at Pop and then Josh wondering what they are up to. “So what were you two talking about outside––”

 “We were just talking about Mr. Jackson and the new science wing.” Josh lifts his book bag. “I wasn’t able to bring my laptop. It crashed.”

“I hate when that happens,” he says, seeing if we laugh.

I roll my eyes and humor Pop knowing that he likes to chit chat with my friends.

Pop says, “Sounds like Mr. Jackson is going to be a good teacher with all of his experience in the NOPD.” He smiles at Josh. “I look forward to meeting him at Parent’s Night. It’s next Tuesday correct?”

“Uh, I think so. I’ve been out most of the week.” Josh points at his nose. “I just go over a really bad sinus infection.”

Pop frowns at Josh. “Yeah, Cookie said you were out sick.”

Josh stands taller and smiles happily. “I’m okay now.”

Pop says, “So incredibly sad hearing about Mr. Jackson’s family...” He takes out his handkerchief, squats down and starts cleaning up the mud and grass on the floor.

Josh looks over at me and touches my arm. “I guess you told you’re dad how Detective Jackson and my dad met.”

 “At Cookie’s party, Wayne told me that he was down there, but he didn’t go into detail…” Pop looks up and slides his eyes at me. “Uh...Cookie, remind me again...”

“Josh’s dad met Mr. Jackson during hurricane Katrina. They worked together.”

Pop steps outside and shakes out his hanky.

I smile at Josh and say in a low voice, “He has a lot on his mind. Pop’s opening a catering business.”

“Really.”

Pop returns. “Aye, Katrina was a horrible storm.” He stoops over, picks up a missed piece of grass then rises up, shoving the wadded hanky in his back pocket and responds to the conversation.  “In my opinion, so many people suffered because they refused to evacuate.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Not a good idea to mess with Mother Nature.”

Josh nods in agreement.

Pop bushy eyebrows rise on his forehead. “I got the feeling Wayne wanted to forget the time he spent in the Gulf Coast. Was he down there long?”

“Yes sir. About two weeks.” Josh shakes his head grimly. “Right after Katrina hit, my dad started rounding up about ten other officers from his precinct to help out. They joined several hundred law enforcement types from all over the country to help keep the peace and find people in dire straights. Dad came home sick as a dog. Mostly from exhaustion and being exposed to the awful living conditions following Katrina. This, if you saw on TV, would make anybody physically sick.”

I recall the images on TV. “Oh, gosh I can’t even imagine being down there. I mean, how horrible to be right in the middle of a hurricane that big and nasty! Especially when it hits land. Where do you go for shelter?”

“Yeah, Josh says, and sets down his backpack as if it’s too heavy to hold. “Hundreds piled into the stadium.”

Pop says to me, “Cookie, remember the nut job news anchor standing on a balcony on Bourbon Street and the people were in the street partying like nothing was happening.”

I nod. “Yeah, he kept saying New Orleans was going to “dodge the bullet” just as the levies broke and everything in the vicinity was sucked in and destroyed.”

Josh chuckles. “I get a kick out of the meteorologist that stands outside with the wind and rain blowing like crazy.”

It’s not funny but we can’t help but laugh. Pop nods his head thoughtfully and Josh just stares at the floor as if he’s thinking about the really bad stuff his dad saw. Like dead bodies and chaos.

Pop makes a little grunt noise. “Did Cookie tell you about our Labor Day weekend plans?”

I say, “We’re taking a little trip to Florida.”

“Florida huh,” Josh says. “My dad is down in Tampa right now at a MP convention.”

My cell goes off and I take it out of my pocket and check the screen. Oh crap, it’s Sean Palmer. Why is he calling me?

Josh and Pop are looking at me.

I smile and shrug. “It’s nobody,” I tell them and power off my cell. I stick it back in my hip pocket. I casually turn and look out the living room window. Sean is outside in his father’s sports car. He guns the engine and takes off, tires screeching on the pavement.

I laugh nervously. “Teenagers.”

Pop latches onto Josh’s upper arm. “Josh, you look like a man who appreciates good food. I’m about to put a roast the size of my head on the spit with all the fixings. Won’t you stay for dinner?”

I look over at Pop in shock. What is he thinking? Dinner is four hours away—Josh doesn’t want to spend that much time over here doing homework. Then again, it would be nice having Josh stay for dinner… Uh, the Sean sighting is freaking me out!

“Thanks Mr. Blakely, but I have to pick my dad at the airport at seven.” Josh consults his watch. “He’s actually flying in from Florida tonight that is if his plane doesn’t get delayed by a pop-up afternoon thunder storm.”

I whip my head around thinking what is it with dad’s and airports?

Pop frowns and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Lord, I hope we don’t have to deal with any rough weather, it would really ruin our vacation. Guess we’ll have to keep an eye on the Weather Channel, and NOAA. I’m constantly on the NOAA website tracking storms.”

“Me too,” Josh says, and then chuckles a little. “I’m a total weather geek.”

“Ha, me too,” Pop says laughing. “Have you ever seen Saving Springer, the baby killer whale story?”

Josh nods enthusiastically. “Yes! We own the DVD. It was so cool what they did for little Springer.”

“I know. I cry like a baby whenever I watch it.”

“Uh…TMI Pop!” I declare, and bug my eyes at him.

Pop asks, “What’s wrong with a man crying?”

Josh bumps into me. “You don’t cry when you watch Springer, Cookie?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Pop laughs. “She goes through a whole box of tissues.” He travels across the living room and looks out the window. “I got on NOAA and watched that storm we had on Wednesday.”

“That reminds me,” Josh says looking at me. “Later on, I’ll need to check my dad’s flight status on the Internet.”

 “You can use my computer up in my room.” I gesture toward the stairs. “We should probably get started on our assignment. You ready?”

“Yep.” Josh picks up his backpack.

Pop looks down at his filthy clothes. “I’d better finish up outside. My neighbors probably think I finked out on ‘em.” He slaps Josh on the back. “Thanks for helping me with the party.”

“Any time Mr. B.,” Josh says smiling. He shakes Pop’s hand, and then follows me up the stairs. We hear the front door close.

At the top of the stairs, I hesitate, letting Josh go ahead of me.

“My room’s right through there,” I say, indicating the open door. He walks past me and goes into my bedroom.

Josh circles the floor with long easy strides checking out my room.

I stand just inside the door, wishing I had super human powers that allowed me to read guys minds. How cool would that be?

Josh is totally hot.

Where did that come from?

I don’t know.

I go in my room and leave the door cracked.

It feels strange having Josh O'Dell in here. Sean was in here just a couple of days ago. Not that Josh is here for the same reason, which was to suck face.

“Nice crib,” Josh says, breaking into my thoughts. He rests his hand on headboard.

“Um, thanks,” I say, feeling my cheeks redden. “It was my mom’s bedroom until she married my dad and they took the Master bedroom.”

“I’m serious! Your room is really beautiful.”

I shrug and step over to my window seat and bend over to straighten a small pillow that’s fallen over. “I like it,” I glance over my shoulder, and then look out the Dormer window. Pop is in the backyard picking up twigs and tossing them in our wheelbarrow. That work van with the doodad on top is parked directly on the other side of our fence. Surprised, I turn around and look over at Josh then my gaze goes to the yellow blanket stored under my dresser. I open my mouth to tell him about the van and think better. In a minuet. Let Josh acclimate to my surroundings. I don’t want to scare him off.

Josh leans back on the curved foot board of my sleigh bed and crosses his arms over his chest. He says, “You know what, if this bed wasn’t in here, I’d think I was in an old English sun room.”

“Very good,” I say smiling. “That’s the exact theme Mom and I had in mind when we redecorated.” I stroll over and stand at the head of my bed. I point to the framed painting. “When I was thirteen, we went to the art museum and I saw a bunch of paintings like this. I can’t read the Artist name. He paints a lot of botanical garden scenes with old fashioned people and landscapes.”

Josh moves closers and looks at the painting. “That is a Pierre-Auguste Renoir reprint?”

“Yeah, that’s him, Renoir.” Of course I remember now that I hear his name. “Anyway, I wanted to my room to look like a Renoir painting. I even begged my dad to cut a hole in my roof and put in a sky light. He said, “What if Santa was to fall through it, we’d be sued by all of the children in the world. I was thirteen and didn’t believe in Santa Clause any more.”

Josh laughs at my little story. 

I stick my hands in my back pockets grip my cell and look around my room. I shrug. “My mom loved poring over Architectural Digest and Home and Garden magazines. She made suggestions, but let me pick the fabric and colors from the sample books. The wall paint is called Butternut Yellow. The cream colored sheers and flower-patterned curtains and the bed-set came with the burgundy bed skirt and the little pale green and light yellow pillows. The antique sleigh bed was already in here. We found the natural wicker bedroom set at an estate sell…it was like new.”

Josh sits down on my bed and bounces.

“This is nice,” he says, patting the mattress with both hands. “I’m in the market for a new mattress—mine is shot. It’s the same one I’ve had since I was small. What brand name is this one?”

A visual of us kissing snuggled under the covers flashes through my mind. I blush and drop my eyes. Why do I keep going there? What is the matter with me?

Josh bends over and peeks under the edge of the duvet. “Is this one of those Memory Foam mattresses?” I assume he’s looking for a tag.

Oh no, my journal is visible between the mattresses.

“Um, no, it’s what they call a pillow-top,” “I say to distract him and rush over, pushing his hand away and smooth the cover. I’m a tad paranoid about my journal falling into the wrong hands. “I, um, think the name is on the opposite corner.”  I move to the other side of my bed.

Josh twists around as I flip the corner of the bedspread back and pull out the sheets, exposing a sewn on satin label. “Yep, it’s a Serta pillow-top.”

Josh bounces some more then stands up at long last, circling the floor to see the rest of my room. “Huh, ‘pillow-top’ sounds nice.”

“It very comfortable,” I say, feeling like I’m in a mattress commercial. I quickly repair the covers, discreetly pushing my journal further between my mattresses, and then go over and stand by the desk in front of my corkboard. Now I wish I’d taken it down. There are incriminating personal things stuck on it that I’d prefer he doesn’t see.

Josh crosses the carpet and stops by my roll-top desk. “The desk doesn’t really go with the other furniture. Were you going with an eclectic feel?” He looks at me with this serious expression and I almost laugh aloud.

“Um, not really. I just liked the desk.” I hug my waist. ‘Eclectic feel’ is he serious? I didn’t think boys his age even knew what eclectic meant.

Josh walks all around the desk twice, stooping down now and then to eye every little detail. “Wow. Remarkable old desk. Did you pick it up at the same estate sale?” Josh looks sincere as if he’s waiting for an answer.

 “No, it’s a family heirloom.” I pick up a small figurine of a fat grey kitten sitting on the desk’s upper shelf that I’ve had for years, and wipe off a layer of dust I missed while cleaning. “It was originally in the den downstairs.” I drop my hand and gesture at the floor. I place the kitten figurine back on the top ledge and wipe my hands on my jeans.

 “The carpentry and intricate artwork is amazing! It’s even on all of the doorknobs.” Josh puts his fingers around the center knob as if it’s priceless. He pauses and turns his head to look at me. “Mind if I check the joinery?”

“Knock your self out.” I motion with my hand and mentally inventory their contents. Mostly junk and old school work, photographs, books…nothing embarrassing––I hope.

Josh carefully slides the center drawer out about halfway and bends down, examining the both side panels. “Whoa, nice dovetailing,” he exclaims.

I squat down and look at the side panel while he examines the other drawers. “Ah, I see why they call it that.” It’s funny. Josh is so not like Sean. The only ‘knobs’ Sean was interested in were on my chest.

He glances around my room and I push in the center drawer and watch him examine the artwork again.

“What do you know about the desk’s origin?”

“I think the story is that my Grandparents brought the desk over from Russia because it was handed down in my mother’s family for, like, generations.” I picture Pop and me sitting in the attorney’s stuffy office while he read Mom’s final wishes. I didn’t pay very close attention at the reading. It was too weird listening to him talk about her in past tense. I zoned in and out only half listening.

Josh is quiet for a minute. “I don’t mean to be weird,” he says placing his hand on the desk’s top shelf. “But this desk just might tell us something about your mom. It could even be a clue to why she died.”

I turn and stare at the desk. “Really. Wow, how?”

“Well, you said her parents had it in Russia and that it was an heirloom. Can you remember anything else?”

I search my memory. “Uh, if it helps, um, I think Pop said he had to hire an translator to interpret Mom’s Last Will and Testament because it was written in Russian––” My voice cracks and Josh looks right at me with his big brown eyes as if he understands. “Sorry,” I mutter, and shake my head trying to stop the unexpected sentimental emotions building up inside of me.

“It’s cool,” Josh says, reaching he plucks a tissue out of the box on my bed side, hands it to me. He picks up the porcelain kitten and waits for me to recover.

I blot my eyes remembering the mascara.

He says, “I know this is hard to talk about––”

I bark a laugh. “Uh, yeah!” I blow my nose and toss the wadded tissue in the waste basket next to my desk. “Wow, I didn’t expect to fall apart over a stupid desk.” I sit on the edge of my bed. My legs feel like rubber. How easy would it be to just go on with my life and not worry what happened?

Josh puts the kitten back and sits down next to me. “You sure you wanna do this?”

I nod. His closeness somehow gives me comfort and the power to keep talking. The voice (that is my conscience) screams you have to do this! I take a deep breath and rub my palms on my thighs. I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “Like I was saying, the lawyer was reading what Mom put in her Will. It was very short, only one paragraph and written in her handwriting. The attorney said it was legit. She said that she wrote it down right after her parents died. Mom said that the desk was valuable. It’s been in the possession of her family for a long time and was passed on from one generation to the next. That we shouldn’t give away.”

“Anything else?”

I poke my hair behind my ears. “Not really. She just requested we carry on as many family traditions as possible. I asked Pop to move the desk up my room mostly for sentimental reasons on my part. I like having it in here. It’s like having a piece of her close by…” I get up and push back the roll top. I place my hand next my computer and power it on. “It makes a great work desk and with all the little compartments, for storage. I…I can’t remember what I was going to say. Weird, my mind just went totally blank.”

“It happens.” He comes over and leans in looking at the inside. He runs his fingertips over the artwork. “I’ve always been fascinated with Khokhloma painting,” he says. He tugs on his slacks and squats down, duck walking to the side of the desk. And examines the paintings there. “This is so beautiful!” His nose is about an inch from the surfaces.

I look at him. “What did you call it?”

“Khokhloma…it’s a traditional Russian hand-painted folk art.”

Intrigued by Josh’s vast knowledge, I squat down next to him and really look at the paintings. I think it’s cool that Josh is so fascinated by an old piece of furniture and interior decorating. All the boys I know don’t have a clue about anything except sports and cars. Suddenly it occurs to me that Josh might be gay. I slide my eyes to him and do a quick digital survey: great skin, nice hair, buff body, a tiny bit of dirt under his nails. Nay, no way. Josh O'Dell is straight as an arrow. I would’ve picked up swishy vibes along time ago.

“It’s possible that this desk is hundreds, maybe centuries old. Usually furniture like this is only found in “upper class” families...rulers, diplomats’...people of status like Nicholas and Alexandra.”

“Get out! Royalty?”

I cringe, thinking how I abuse the old desk by piling my stuff all over it. I jump up to check if I caused any water rings in the wood by putting my Pepsi cans on the upper ledge. Whew, thank God for lemon Pledge. I pull out my desk chair and plop down to look up Khokhloma.

 “Well this desk has been kept in amazingly great condition, Cookie.” Josh rises and pulls another chair over next to me. He sits down and says, “It’s probably one of a kind and worth a lot of money. In the right auction house, I bet it would bring several thousand.”

“Uh-uh,” I wrap my arms around the desk’s exterior. “No way, I am not allowed to sell it, not that I ever would.”

“I’m not suggesting that you sell it, I’m just saying it’s virtually priceless. When it comes to family history not many people can say they own such a rare piece. You should have it appraised by an expert, you know, for insurance purposes Then again, your parents probably already have.” Josh stands next to me eyeing all of the compartments inside the desk.

“Yeah.”

Then he leans down and touches a clawed foot by his left show. He slides open the bottom drawer about three inches.

I look over. “Uh, that drawer is full of stuff I’ve been meaning to go through all summer.”

“Yeah, I have a problem throwing away things too. You should see my desk drawers. I see there’s no hardware.” He shuts the drawer and sits up. “Mind if I check out the roll top again? I just want to see the way it goes up and down.”

“Sure, no problem,” I say, moving my hands to the metal latch. He helps me lower the heavy roll top down, and once it’s down, I drag my fingertips over the slats remembering how dusty they where before I cleaned them this morning. All of a sudden a shiver rolls through me and I feel the same humming in my chest I always feel during and after my dreams about Mom. There’s an odd vibration under the scar on my temple as if a worm just slithers under the taunt skin there. It freaks me out and I moan out loud.

“Hello? You okay, Cookie?” Josh is talking to me.

I blink and look at him. “What?”

He smiles a little and waves his hand before my eyes.

“For a second there, you looked like you were on another planet.”

“I’m fine. Um, sorry.” I have a really bad feeling that something weird is going on with me and it has something to do with the scar where I bumped my head. I tuck my hair behind my ears letting my finger linger at the scar.

I push the thought away and say, “Um, I was just thinking we’d better get to work. I’ll start my computer and get my notes.” I click the computer alive and wait for it to boot up. I picture Mom sitting in this very chair doing her paper work. She was constantly working when she was home. I’d sit silently at her feet playing with my dolls just so I could be near her while she hammered away on her computer. Sometimes I’d hide in the shadows and watch her for hours. She was rarely home, I guess I was enthralled by her mere presence. I hated that I never felt very secure about her love for me.

Josh gets his book bag and takes out a black notebook, an ink pen, and a mechanical pencil. My computer plays its little jingle as it comes on fully. My screen saver is a picture of the Goo-Goo Dolls posing on a rooftop. I resist blowing Robby a kiss like I usually do, and type in my password and press enter. I frown and let my hands hover over my keyboard “Got an suggestion where to start researching?”

Josh says, “We should start by writing down dates and events.” He sits down again, and asks me, “How much do you know much about your ancestors on your mother’s side? What about her childhood in Russia, where did she attend school? Why did they move to America?”

Already feeling frustrated, I tell him, “I don’t know anything Josh! That’s the whole problem! My mom didn’t like to talk about any part of her past. It was literally like pulling teeth to get her to share during a family meal. My mother had this air of ambiguity about her. I always got the feeling she was hiding some deep dark family secrets. When ever I’d ask her about her past she’d always find a way to change the subject. Pop just accepted her, no problem.” I shrug. “Eventually, I gave up and stopped asking.”

“Could be he understood that she didn’t like talking about her past because it made her sad.”

“Well if it did, she sure didn’t show much sentiment.”

“Some people are good at hiding her emotions.”

“I guess.” I drop my hands in my lap and, turn to face Josh. “The rest is a big mystery––just like her death.” I watch Josh turn to a fresh page in his notebook. He sets it on the space next to my keyboard and writes some stuff about the roll-top desk, making little sketches of the artwork. His handwriting is so neat and he can draw like a pro. I take pride in writing neatly and making sure I don’t make grammatical mistakes. I think being careless shows a sign of self loathing. These attributes are very important to me and teachers eat it up!

“Oh wait, I do remember Mom saying that her parents died when she was in college. Don’t ask me how.”

Without look up from his notes, Josh asks, “Do you have her birth certificate or a college diploma, credentials or old letters? Did she keep a diary or a journal?”

I prop my elbow on the desk and shake my head. “Not that I know of…” I pause and picture the framed certificates on the walls in the den and living room. I turn and look at Josh. “Their framed diplomas are hanging downstairs in the den and living room. I assume their marriage license is in the safe with our other important papers. We can look through and perhaps find something. I’ll be right back.”

I run down, grab the folder out of the safe, and hurry back. I spread everything out on the carpet. “Here it is,” say and I hand Josh their marriage license. I pick up my birth certificate and study the ink impression of my tiny feet and giggle. I go over and show Josh the paper. “I can’t believe my feet were ever this small.”

“Huh,” Josh mutters, just staring at their marriage license. “Now that’s really odd.”

“What’s odd?”

He pulls a face. “The name ‘Sheahan’ has an Irish ring to it. Allegedly Eva was born in Russian. I wonder if she had her name changed to Sheahan.”

I drop my birth certificate. “Uh…I suppose anything is possible.” My eyes follow Josh as he stands up and goes over to my glass shelves with framed photographs. “But, my God, that would be so weird to find out that my mom is somebody else!” He keeps picking up the pictures on the shelves. “Josh…?”

Josh looks over at me. “Hey, sorry. Don’t take anything I say to heart, I’m just looking at this through every angle. This is just Josh playing detective.”

I sigh. “I know. I need to stop being so emotional and take on the same mindset.

Josh just smiles and bends over to look at more pictures.

“Like I told you Josh, nobody she worked with will tell us anything about her. Even weirder, I’ve never met any of Mom’s relatives or anyone who knew her long-ago.”

 “Cookie, surely your dad knows something about her past before they got married.”

I hold up my hands and shrug. “Yeah, you’d think. But over the years, every time I’d ask Pop about Mom, he’d say he didn’t know that much about the Sheahan side of the family. The only important thing he told me was that when they met, Mom worked as a linguist for the Central Intelligence Agency in Special Forces—whatever that means.”

Josh looks thoughtful. “I knew about her being with the CIA. My dad and I discussed Eva Sheahan-Blakely’s case a lot.” He points at a photo of me posing in my kiddy pool. “Cute.”

I snigger. “No way, I was butt-ugly as a kid.”

“Way, you are adorable.”

“Okay, stop it already.”

This is making me feel embarrassed. I smile and rest my right elbow on the desk top, twirling a lock of my hair around my finger. We’ve known the O’Dells for years, but Josh and I never were close friends. We don’t really know that much about one another. I can’t believe how comfortable I feel talking to him about all this as if we’re old friends. Up until now I was led to believe girls couldn’t have a boy as a best friend. Char has always told me that men only want one thing and it ain’t friendship. I stretch out my legs and say, “Almost a year later and the media are still calling it, The Big Agent Mystery. If Mom had any so-called “skeletons in the closet” it didn’t seem to bother your dad.”

Josh moves over to the dormer window and studies the photo of me and mom in Austria. “Well, as far as meeting someone and falling in love, I believe in fait and all that. But the girl I marry has to tell me who she really is and introduce me to her family. I want to know if she’s an x-ax murderer.”

 “I guess for him love really was blind and all that nonsense.” I hold up my hands and make finger quotes around both sayings. “I don’t believe in old clichés. I want the facts Jack!”

Josh comes over and sits down in the spare chair again. He picks up his mechanical pencil and says, “Hey, some of those old clichés are right on the money!”

I roll my eyes. “Oh please, not you too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pop drives me nuts! He has an Irish adage for every occasion. This is his favorite.” I sit up straight and stare off at nothing saying it from memory. “The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that one is loved. Loved for oneself, or better yet, loved despite oneself.”

Josh says, “Victor Hugo.”

“Victor Hugo?”

“You were quoting him. Hugo was a French Romantic writer in the nineteenth century.”

I pause. “Uh, okay, if you say so. I thought Mom made a needlepoint of it for him for a wedding gift. Pop has it hanging in his bedroom. He gets all sappy when you ask him about her. He says that he found Eva Sheahan captivating, that it was love at first sight….but the main reason he pursued her was because she played hard to get.”

“Ah, the thrill of the hunt.”

“So, you think mom’s evasiveness is what made her intriguing?” 

“Heck yeah! I think strong independent women rock!”

"I think you can be too independent. Mom spent way more time working than at home with us. A month after I was born, Pop even gave up his career as a chef so he could be home to raise me. Now she’s gone…”

“Don’t be too harsh on her. When you’re in her line of work you don’t really have a choice. It sounds as if your dad understands.”

I nod and stare at my hands hovering over the keys. “Yeah.”

Josh looks at my computer screen, which has gone dark, and I wiggle my mouse and open Internet Explorer. “So where do we start?” I ask, lightly clicking the keys anxious to get this show on the road.

“Well, this may sound sort of odd, but I was looking at the genealogy club my mom joined last year. She searched for any info on our ancestors and worked up a fairly detailed family tree. It’s pretty amazing. They have a pretty cool website. Wanna see it?”

He flips to a page in his notebook, and reads me the site’s URL. It’s complicated and I type it wrong. “Here you do it.” I stand up and swap chairs with Josh.

“It’s amazing when you come across information about your ancestors floating around out there in Neverland,” he say, and types in the URL and pulls up the main website, and then clicks open links that take us to O’Dell Family Tree personal pages. Josh click open a page with old photographs.

I scoot closer and prop my left elbow on the desk top, resting my chin in my hand. “Oh my, gosh, is that man in the old car your great-great-grandfather, because you look just like him?”

“Yeah. His name is Joshua Harrison O’Dell, I was named after him. That’s Lanarkshire, Scotland, about thirty minuets from Glasgow and an hour to Edinburgh” He clicks the mouse making the photograph of a quaint village encircled by dark green rolling hills, fill the screen.

“Wow…what a beautiful place. I wonder how I would go about doing this; I mean the family tree thingy. I have so little to start with.” I laugh softly. “I think my family tree has too many broken branches.”

Josh clicks to another page. He turns and looks at me.

“What?” I ask, and rub my nose self-consciously.

“We actually know more than you think.” He picks up his notebook. “We’re fairly sure your mom’s ancestors originated in Russia and that your dad is definitely from Ireland.”

“Pop’s entire family lives in Enniskillen.”

“Those two facts alone give you a good start.” He points at a link box. “We can start by posting questions about your family on a few genealogy blogs.”

“And say what?”

“You know, ask people to write to you if they have any information.”

I sit back and cross my arms. “You know, now that I think about it, in third grade I wrote a report on my ancestors.” I pause. “I think I still have it...somewhere.” I stand up and drop my gaze to the bottom drawer. Bending down, I’m a lot more careful tugging the drawer out, now that I know what I know. I carefully flip it over on its side and dump the contents on the carpet. The (slightly yellowed) white report folder is in the stack of papers and photos. “Here it is!” I hold up the folder with a big red A+ on the front and Josh takes it from me.

Josh asks, “Mind if I read over it?”

“Of course not,” I say, returning the other stuff and slide the drawer back in place, using the palms of my hands instead of my foot like I usually do. I sit back in my chair and watch while Josh turns the lined pages, and scan the short paragraphs neatly written in my immature loopy cursive.

Josh laughs and reads one of my paragraphs. “I asked my parents a lot of questions about our family. I think I remember Mom telling me that her great-grandfather Sheahan was from somewhere in Ireland…she wasn’t positive because it was a long time ago and the waters got muddy along the way. Her words. I giggled. Mom is always botching up sayings. She told me she takes each word literally because she is so anal about translating.”

I laugh too. “I can’t believe I wrote anal.”

Josh gives me my report back. “Outstanding writing for kid. No wonder you’re taking Fergus’ creative writing class. Do you want to be a author?”

I look at the crude sketch of my parents I drew in colored pencils on the front page. Pop looks like Bozo the Clown and Mom looks like a dark haired beauty queen. “Thanks,” I say, complacently. “I’ve thought about writing as a career. I think I’ll need a job that pays more.”

“You can always write as a hobby.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “I’d read anything you wrote.”

I nod and smile. Wow, I’ve never had anyone––other than a teacher–– tell me that my writing is any good.

I set the report aside and Josh writes down fact from my report on his notebook page. It only takes him a minuet.

“Big shock. The report was mostly about the Blakely side of my family. Mom was in Austria working. To ask her questions, I had to call her long distance. She told me she would send me a FAX.” I look down at the report. “She never sent it, I guess she got busy and forgot. I was so mad...” I feel my throat tighten at the memory and let my voice trail off.

I sigh and Josh reaches up and touches the desk’s upper edge. I blink back more tears and look up.

“This roll-top desk might be a major link to her legacy. Let me check something on the Internet.”

Link to her legacy. Hum, that would make a great title to a novel. I jot it down in my notebook, and then watch Josh type Khokhloma in the browser and click open on the first result. Pictures of the Russian folk art line the top of the webpage. I lean closer and read the description out loud, “Khokhloma art originated in the seventeen hundreds near Moscow in the Koverninsky District of the Nizhny Novgorod Oblast.”

Josh looks at me and points at a map of Russia. “Pottsylvanian accent, Natasha.”

I smile, “Thanks Boris dahling I’ve been practicing with tape recorder.”

Josh says, “That works.

We laugh at our little Bullwinkle show chat.

I say, pointing a the map on the screen. “Anyway…is that where we start looking?”

He points at a small town on the screen. “The thumbnail pictures of the dilapidated buildings look like Ghost Town. But who knows, this might be where your Mom’s people came from.”

I gasp. “Good lord you are a Boy Genius or what?”

Josh frowns. “I hate that nickname.”

Whoa, sensitive much. “Sorry, I meant it in a good way.” I give Josh a brilliant smile and punch him lightly on the arm. I gesture at the screen again. “So, um, is it possible to trace you ancestors back that far?”

“Never know unless you try.” Josh holds up his wrist and taps his watch crystal. “I set the alarm to remind me to check the flights.” He looks at me. “Our case assignment requires us to choose a title. I say we are Private Detectives hired by your father to investigate his wives demise.”

“Okay.” I forgot about that part. “So what we’ve been talking about counts.”

Josh says, “Yeah. If we’re going to investigate somebody, you need to know as much as we can about them.”

 “I wrote down stuff I remembered about the week in Austria,” I say, and turn to front of my notebook.

“So you’ve already been thinking like a true detective.” He glances around, and then, raising an eyebrow says, “On the phone you said you had something to show me.”

My gaze goes to Mom’s hidden blanket. “Oh, right, first let me explain a few things.” I look down at my notebook on my lap. “I made a list of people and event I remember during our trip last Christmas to Vienna and Schladming—” I stop talking and look at Josh. He’s studying me as if all of a sudden he’s not so sure he wants to do this. “What’s wrong?”

“Just worried that we’re going to get into trouble for interfering with a Federal case.”

I shake my head. “I thought about that. Josh, you can change your mind about helping me—”

“No way.” His dark brown eyes look solemn.

“Then tell me what that look is about.”

Josh hesitates. “Your father asked me to persuade you not to do this.”

I nod. “So, what’d you tell him?”

Josh hesitates and my stomach does little flips.

All of a sudden it feels like the air is filled with electricity. Little sparks run over my skin making the hair on my arms stand up. I look down at Josh’s arms. He feels it too. The dark hairs on his forearms are standing up like little black needles. Josh hunches his shoulders and rubs his arms. “Man, it is freezing in here. Your dad must have air conditioner on forty.”

“Um, Josh, it’s not the air conditioner,” I say cautiously. “He keeps the thermostat set at 74 degrees. This started happening after Mom died. It happens around the house, but mostly in this room.” I shiver. “I used to think it was my imagination. Sometimes I feel a presence too.”

Josh nods his head slowly. “Whoa. I’ve watched a few episodes of Ghost Story, but I never actually believe the things they show.” He looks around. “Are you telling me your house is haunted?”

“I don’t know...” I frown. “How would you explain the arctic blast?”

Josh holds up his hands in a shrug. “A unexplained phenomenon perhaps…” He blows into his hands to see if he can see his breath.

“Maybe it is a fluke, but Josh, I think my mom is trying to communicate with us…telepathically I gues. I know, you probably think I’m loony tunes, but I get the feeling it has something to do with my mom’s restless spirit. It’s like when you think you see something in the corner of your eye…or feel a presence then no one is there.” I stop talking and take a breath.

 Just as suddenly, the room returns to normal temperature almost as if nothing happened. I glance around and notice that Josh is frowning at me.

He doesn't comment. 

“I also have these unbelievably vivid dreams. I guess you’d call them dreams…they seem so real…it feels like they’re really happening.”

Josh says, “Sounds normal. You lost your mom.”

“Trust me. My dreams aren't normal.” I picture the blinding white light, and then Mom in the cage. “It’s hard to explain. They’re like messages, clues maybe. Whatever you want to call them. I'm starting to believe they have everything to do with what happened to my mom or what is currently happing to her.” I look Josh straight in the eyes. “Yes. This house is old and drafty, but how do you explain a blast of sub-zero air in August?”

Josh holds my stare. Then he turns in the chair and looks around. “So you're not joking. You really think that your Mom is talking to you through thought transference? Uh, you do know that telepathy and EPS are improvable pseudo sciences.”

I jump up off the seat. “So, you think I’m bonkers because I'm missing my mom. That time, drugs and therapy will fix me.” Josh is my last hope. If he won't help me who will?

Josh looks amused. “No. I think that your just anxious to find out what happened in Austria. Your subconscious can make you see stuff.” He turns his attention to the computer.

I narrow my eyes at Josh’s back. Grrr... Are all men alike or am naive to think that? I hope he isn’t like Sean where I spill my guts only to have him turn on me. Josh is busy searching the Russian map on the computer screen. “You’re right. Just forget it.”

“No. I want to hear about your dreams. They’re important.”

I go quiet and take a moment to get my thoughts straight. I go over to stare out the dormer window. I push open the pane and breath in the nights air. It’s dark and I can smell the roast cooking on the grill. Pop has music playing. I look over my shoulder at Josh. On the other hand, maybe he’s right. I do think everyone is talking about me behind my back... Okay. Maybe, I do have an over-active imagination. Screw it; I desperately need Josh’s help.

“Hey, think fast!” I pick up a little pillow and zing at him.

He catches it with one hand and places it behind his back. “Yoh, check this out!” He says, patting the seat of the chair next him. His eyes are still on the screen.

I go and sit down. “Josh, I don’t know what the deal is with the cold air. But, before we go any further tell me what you really feel about investigating my mother’s death?”

Josh opens Microsoft Word and a new file in My Documents. He names the file, Eva Sheahan-Blakely Investigation and saves it as a Word Document. He finally turns his head and looks at me. “I told I want to do this. Just so you know, none of this spooky stuff will hold up as evidence in a court.”

“Uh. Yeah. I know. That much I learned from watching CSI and reading Nancy Drew mysteries.” Does he think I’m stupid? He is ultra smart and I’m mediocre. “Uh, I hope you’re not here just to patronize me because you feel sorry for me.”

“No way. Look, Cookie, I know you’ve had a hard time dealing with this. Hell, tell me who wouldn’t. I might go off the deep end if I lost a parent––”

I smile happy that he understands. I nod at he computer screen. “So what did you find that’s so interesting?”

“That truth is stranger than fiction,” he says in a spooky voice and glances around my bedroom looking uneasy. He gives me a goofy worried smile. Then nibbles on his fingernails.

“You know what? You’re a nut case!”

Josh says, “No, I was just trying a few research tricks to see where they’d take me. Let’s lay out what we know, so far and see where it takes us. Starting with the earliest clue and following the order in which they occurred. According to my father that’s how most investigations go, and it’s basically how my mom researched our family tree.”

I smile and pick up my notebook. Glad that we’re on the other side of the uncomfortable stage. I hope. “Want me to start on December twentieth? It’s when we first arrived. Or the day she went missing and work backwards?” I ask, skimming over my notes. “Most mysteries start at the end and go back over the facts.”

“The twentieth,” Josh says, while he types in the basic outline.

“Okay fine…on December—”

“Just a sec,” he says interrupting me. “I’m opening another page so we can make a list of the things we need to research. Number one, find out what’s going on with the F.B.I. investigation.”

 “Good luck with that,” I say.

“I have my ways. Dad can help.”

“Anyway here’s what I have so far. On December twentieth, ^Pop and I flew to Vienna, Austria and met my mom at the train station across from the American Embassy.”

“Was her office in the embassy?”

I look up from my notes. “I assumed it was because I saw her coming out of the building both times.”

Josh nods and clicks away on the keys. “Continue.”

“Anyway, I was eight the first time we went and didn’t pay attention to the adults. Mom came over to the station and gave us hugs. As usual, she was surrounded by three or four shifty-eyed people wearing ear-pieces. Always a woman and two men.”

Josh looks at me. “Were they co-workers?”

“She introduced them as part of her ‘team’, but they acted more like her body guards because every place we went they hovered nearby warily watching the people around us. They wore normal clothing depending on the situation, but they acted like the secret service when the President travels, but not so serious They lurked around us the entire trip, but never said more than a few words to me. I was too nervous and excited to ask a lot of questions.”

Josh just listens to me and read my notes.

“The second time we went I was sixteen and more sociable with her so-called team. A twenties something woman named Jane was assigned to follow me around. Just Jane, no last name was ever given. She was nice enough. Kind of butch though. She wore men’s style suits and shaved her blonde hair real short and wore no make-up at all. It was sort of weird. At night, she’d sit in the chair next to my bed with her sunglasses on. I never knew if she was asleep or awake. She’d sit up and stretch or lean forward with her arms on her thighs like a guy––squeezing a tennis ball in her hand.” I lay my hand on the desk and show Josh how. “It was strange; sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see her looking out the window with binoculars or talking to someone in her ear piece. Now that I think about it, there were people around us at the Washington Zoo when I was six.” I picture the zoo in my mind. Parts of the memory are fuzzy. “A couple was sitting at our table while we ate lunch. Mom spoke to them, but I didn’t pay attention.”

“Did she always have a group of people around her even when she came home?”

“I just thought they worked with her and came along as her friends.”

“Mom wasn’t able to fly home very often. And we only went to see her the two times. I don’t know why she wasn’t with us on the trip to Ireland. I guess she had to work.”

Josh and I lock eyes. He says, “Sounds as if Jane was there acting as your personal bodyguard. Your Mom’s line of work probably called for security twenty-four-seven. Were they all Americans? Did you get to know them?”

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t really know. I’ve been trying to remember details. Nobody had an accent that I noticed. We didn’t really talk all that much so I didn’t get to ask them personal questions. Why is it important that they be Americans?”

“I’m just wondering if we can contact any of them.”

“Wouldn’t the Alpine Resort have their names on the guest register?”

“Very good,” Josh says, and I watch him turn around and type. Check for names of guest with the Eva Sheahan-Blakely party Christmas week, December 20-24, 2005. He opens a Schladming, Vienna website, and says, “Looks like a great place. Keep going.”

I find my place. “Um, from Vienna, we boarded a train to Schladming. Both times we stayed at the Alpine Chalet Resort…” I picture us sitting in the train’s lunch car. Mom was telling us about the Bavarian village and how she loved going there.

I stop reading, but Josh keeps typing away. He asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to interject something Mom told us on the train.” I hesitate. Josh slides his eyes at me and turns sideways in his seat. His face is fairly close to mine. I stare at the freckle next to his nose.

“What’d she say?”

“Um, she said any free time she had was spent in Schladming skiing or just relaxing. I also got the feeling she always stayed in the same room at the Alpine Chalet Resort.” I pause and picture the Alpine Chalet Resort. “One corner of the suite was set up like an office. Probably so she could be reached by her office...” I stare off at nothing. I can’t stand the thought of her being killed in our suit, and then drug out in the snow by somebody evil.

“So she never disconnected from work completely?”

I blink. “Never.”

“And.”

“It really bugged me that she was a workaholic. I wanted a normal Mom. Like yours.” I sigh. “I’m over it now.”

Josh keeps looking at me and I avert my eyes to the Alpine Chalet Resort website’s home page, which is filled with photos of Austrian Alps, skiing scenery, and the village shops. I point at a picture of a train winding it way through the snowy white mountains. “Oh my gosh! The train ride there is spectacular! You wind through rural valleys and see these cute little Bavarian villages nestled in the mountain ranges.

He follows my gaze and turns to face the home page on the screen. He reads the first line. “Schladming is a tiny mountain village about two hundred miles from the Vienna. Wow that must’ve been quite an adventure.”

I say, “Oh yeah. It’s a long way by train, but we didn’t care, the view is amazingly beautiful.” I laugh remembering how much fun we had. “The whole way my parents acted like they were on a second honeymoon. I told them to get a room.”

“Sounds killer,” Josh says, and then consults his wristwatch. “Hey, mind if I check my dad’s flight?”

I shake my head. “Course not.”

He opens the Delta Airlines website and easily finds his Dad’s flight. “Damn! It looks like his flight is delayed by a storm.” He sounds upset about having to drive to the airport late on a school night. “Great, no telling when he’ll get in tonight.” He scrolls down and murmuring. Then he clicks back on our word document. “Go ahead, sorry for the interruption.”

“Not a problem,” I whisper and drop my chin. I see us getting off the train. Mom is so pretty and alive. I look up and see that Josh is waiting for me to say something. “Um, at the Schladming train station we piled into two black SUV type cars that the Alpine sent for us and the six other people in our group. And at the resort, we all checked in at the front desk and then went up to suite 406—” I lift my head and look around. It feels as if I’m making this up.

“Cookie, you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. It’s just weird talking about all this again.”

He gives me a serious nod.

“Anyway, at the Alpine, Mom knew the staff really well. She called them by their names and they treated her, and the rest of us, like royalty. Anything we wanted they would make happen. I mentioned that I liked Pepsi-cola to our bellman and a few minuets later, a case was delivered to our suite.”

“The website says Helena Milinski is the manager.”

I smile. “Yes, she’s a really nice lady. She acted as if Mom was her daughter and we were her long lost family.” I frown. “It’s sad thinking that I’ll probably never see her or the Alpine again. I seriously doubt Pop will ever go back there.”

“Good stuff,” Josh says every detail could be the key that unlocks the vault and solves the case.”

What kind of life did Mom lead?

He turns and looks at me funny. “What’s wrong?”

 “Huh? Oh, I was just wondering if this was how she lived her life all of the time. It feels kind of cold and lonely don’t ya think? I mean, Mom had a whole other life away from us.” I look at the screen showing the resort. “I don’t know…now that I look back…the whole trip was odd. Everything we did seemed so closely controlled…”

“Talk to me.” Josh says, sounding intrigued.

“It’s hard to explain, but I’ll try.” I take a moment. “Okay, from what I comprehend, Pop didn’t like that the Pentagon made all of our travel arrangements. Mom explained how complicated it was and he calmed down a bit. Even our meals had to be ordered ahead of time and prepared by a personal chef who traveled with us. I knew Mom was a picky eater, but that seemed beyond extreme. Our food always arrived in separate specially sealed containers. The first time we were in Austria, I was only eight years old. I thought it was neat that my meals came with my name on the container. I’d order either a gourmet hamburger or pizza. I arrived tightly sealed and piping hot. When we were there at Christmastime, I questioned Jane about the food. All she’d say was that it was ‘S and S protocol’ to leave everything little detail up to whoever was in charge. That way traveling was safe and simple. Get it?”

Josh nods. “Traveling alone to a foreign country is complicated enough. The paper work, passports, foreign clearances…gesh! Try coordinating all of those security people and two civilians.”

“I get that, but this felt different. For one, each morning each of was presented with a typed out schedule we were supposed to follow. I wasn’t permitted to do anything on my own without prior notice. I couldn’t go anywhere by myself, take a walk or even leave the room without asking. Everywhere I went Jane would tail a few feet behind. I was told to pretend she wasn’t there. It was bazaar and you’d think Mom was somebody ultra important and that they had to protect her and everybody close to her.”

Josh frowns so deeply his eyebrows almost touch.

“Josh, what are you thinking?”

“Well, after the story broke about Eva Sheahan-Blakely’s death, I remember reading on an obscure website that she was a chief operative for the CIA. If that’s true, the security swarming around you guys could mean that she worked on highly sensitive cases. Could be that the security team was protecting you guys from people out there that wanted her dead.”

“So what happened? I mean why didn’t they protect her?”

“That’s what we’re hoping to find out,” Josh says, and points at my notebook. “Keep going.”

I shrug. “Sorry. That’s all I wrote down.” I point to my noggin. “Don’t worry, I have it all stored up here. Just ask me anything.”

“Okay, what exactly did you guys do once you arrived at the resort?”

“We unpacked our stuff then went down to the lobby. The rest of the week we skied, walked around the town, ate, played cards up in the room and watched movies. Nothing unusual comes to mind except of course what went down when we got back from Sunrise Skiing.” I look at Josh. “As you know, that’s when the stuff really hit the fan.”

I’m trying to act light hearted about this so I don’t lose it again.

Josh types some more notes and says, “Okay, this gives us a lot to think about. Let me make a few more notes.”

While he clicks away on the keyboard and eventually saves the file, I study the side of his face processing what he said a moment ago about Mom being a ‘chief operative’ with the Central Intelligence Agency. I should tell him what I overheard Pop and his mother say when we were in Ireland.

“Josh––”

“There you go,” Josh says, and points at the screen. He reads off a website named Splinter Cell. “Agent Eva Sheahan-Blakely was specially training with the United States Government. That could mean only one thing...”

“What’s that?”

“That Eva was a secret agent.”

I stare at my mother’s name on the screen. “Nothing surprises me.”

“Sorry I interrupted you.”

“Oh yeah. I was just going to tell you about something I overheard Pop say to his mother.” I tell him.

“Sounds like they were afraid she was in danger.” Josh studies the Splinter Cell site and looks at me. “I guess your father knew all along that his wife’s line of work was extremely hazardous. They didn’t let on because they didn’t want to scare you.”

I watch Josh get up and move to the middle of the room. Josh’s father is a cop. He and Mrs. O’Dell have to be afraid that he won’t come home one day. That they will get that dreaded knock on the door like we did.

“You must feel that way too. You know scared.”

He stretches his arms over his head then twists side to side to loosen tension. “Yeah, but you learn not to dwell on the ‘what if’s’.”

Don’t dwell on the what if’s. Josh got that from his dad. I wonder if Officer O’Dell told him about his truancy encounter with me and Char in Walgreens.

Reaching around, Josh re-tucks his shirt into his waistband. “You said on the phone that you wanted to show me something.” He takes out his cell looks at it then sticks it back in his pocket.

“In a minuet. So…you think my Mom was a spy-spy?” I ask. For some reason I picture Charlie’s Angels.

“Yeah, why not, it sounds about right if you think about her lifestyle.”

“Huh.” I blink and place my notebook on the desk. I jump up, go over to my bed, and drop down on my hands and knees probably giving Josh a nice butt shot. Hum. I feel around under my bed. I must’ve pushed it further under when I was vacuuming.

“So what’s with all the mystery?”

“You’ll see.” I say, glancing over my shoulder. Josh is bent over ogling the painting on my roll-top desk, again. I locate the Space Bag, drag it out and push it toward Josh’s feet.

He kneels down. “What’s this? A blanket?”

“Well technically it’s a throw because you, um, throw it on a couch…”

He picks it up, flips it over and tries to open the bag. 

“Stop!” I shout, jumping to my feet. “Don’t open it!”

Startled, Josh drops the bag and holds up his hands as if he’s under arrest. “Why?”

“Because, I the stuff on it might be toxic,” I tell him and I pick up the bag with two fingers on a corner. The way I’ve seen detectives on television do when they handle suspicious objects at a crime scene. I set the bagged blanket on my bed. “I also think it could be evidence. It belonged to my mom. So, I don’t think we should handle it too much even in the zipped bag.”

Josh comes over and stands beside me, staring at the bag.

I glance at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Josh raises an eyebrow. “It’s cool. Tell me about the throw.”

I look down at the folded yellow throw picturing it on the floor of our suite at the Alpine. I’ve bottled up my emotions and tucked them deep inside hoping to move on to happier times.

“Well, the other morning I held it up to my face…you know to smell it…it still smells of Mom’s perfume Eternity.” I swallow hard. “Eternity was my mom’s signature perfume. It’s all she wore. Anyway, one of the corners smells like some chemical.” I say, “It could be spot remover. It might be a trace of moth balls. The thing is I don’t know what it is.” I decide not to tell Josh (just yet) about the strange vision I had of Mom right before I smelled the yucky stuff. He’d probably run off and call the men in white coats. I scrunch of my nose. “You don’t think it could be Anthrax, do you?”

Josh leans over the bed.

“No. Anthrax is odorless.” He looks at me. “What makes you think it’s evidence?”

I gingerly turn the Space Bag, treating it as if it’s a live bomb and we sit down on my sleigh bed with the bag between us. I sigh.

“Wow, this is the first time I’ve talked this much about our trip in a long time.” I blow out a breath and picture myself coming through the door of our suite at the Alpine. I always get emotional just thinking about that day, and talking about it generally makes me cry. I sit up straighter and tuck a leg underneath my rear end. “Are you ready for this?”

Josh consults his watch and nods. He looks anxious to hear about the throw.

I drop my eyes to the Space Bag. “Okay, about five AM on Christmas Eve—the day Mom disappeared into thin air—my dad and I said goodbye to her and went sunrise skiing. When we left, Mom was curled up on the couch in our suite. She had the yellow throw wrapped around her shoulders to keep warm.”

I pause because something just occurred to me. All this talk has made me remember something new.

I shift and turn sideways to face him. “Josh, it might be better if I tell you what happened the night before Mom disappeared. I know you need to check on your dad’s flight so I’ll be quick.”

Josh glances at his watch again. “I’m good, take your time.”

I breathe through my nose trying not to lose it and tuck my hair behind my ears. “Well, on the twenty-third, the three of us spent the day skiing and sight-seeing. About seven we went down to the main restaurant in the resort for dinner. The security people planted themselves around the room and outside the entrance. Right before dessert, Pop excused himself to go do something. One of the guys followed him out. I figured he was planning a surprise for Mom’s birthday. As you know, he likes planning surprises.”

Josh smiles slightly.

“Anyway, while he’s gone, the waiter brought our desserts. I’d asked for Cherries jubilee—like I said everything was “pre-arranged”. I thought it was great that all I had to do was wait for my favorite foods and things to turn up. Well, about ten minuets later, Pop strolls back to the table looking like a Cheshire cat. He sits down and holds up three tickets for Christmas Eve Sunrise Skiing in a fan shape. The Alpine Chalet Resort holds the event every year and the whole town participates. It’s so awesome to see everyone skiing down the white mountainside in the dark, the lights on the ski poles illuminates the snow.”

Josh interjects, “I saw that on Wide World of Sports, during the Winter Olympics.”

“Yeah, I saw that too. I was like, hey, I did that!”

“So what happened next Cookie?”

“He was hoping we could all go skiing together on Christmas Eve, it’s Mom’s birthday. I got really excited thinking how great it would be skiing in the dark. But, then I started thinking about my skiing accident.” My hand goes to the scare on my temple. “When I was eight, I fell skiing and hit my head on a stump. Skiing in the dark seemed risky. Pop explained that we would be wearing a tandem harness. That’s when—”

“Cookie,” Josh says, interrupting me. “I know what tandem skiing is. Tell me what this has to do with Eva’s disappearance?”

“Because Mom said she couldn’t go with us since she had to be around for an important phone call. This was news to us. We were like, who works on Christmas Eve? Mom said she would be ready to party when we got back. Still, we begged her to go, but like I said she was a workaholic.” I say, “On the other hand, what if we’d stayed with her instead of going skiing? It was her birthday. Pop said he wanted to surprise her. But he knew better.” I lace my fingers together and place my hands on my lap. “I can’t stop thinking that if only we’d never gone...”

 “She was gone when you got back?”

“Yes.” Suddenly overwhelmed with remorse, I drop my chin and stare at the Space Bag. A hot tear runs down my cheek and I swipe it away.

Josh touches my arm. “Cookie, you couldn’t have known. So, where was the security team that was supposed to be guarding her?”

I look up and shrug. “I don’t know. Jane and this other guy named Sven, went sunrise skiing with us. I assumed that the other two were there at the resort. When the four of us first got back, Pop and I went directly to the restaurant to meet Mom for lunch. Sven went to round up Mom. He came back and said he couldn’t find her. Then we saw two guys who stayed behind with Mom––talking to some of the restaurant staff. They seemed as perplexed as we were that Mom was missing.”

I go quiet and hear our home security alarm beeping in the distance, which means a parameter window or door has been open. I pause and strain my ears to listen.

“Thanks,” Pop shouts, and shuts the front door with a solid thump.

When will I stop expecting her to walk through the door? I rest my hands on the bed and stare off at nothing.

Josh asks, “What did you do next?”

I blink and remember the day as if it happened yesterday.

“At first, we thought that Mom was called back to Vienna for an emergency of some sort. After Sven called the Embassy and checked it out, everyone became tightlipped. They all claimed that they couldn’t comment on the situation. Needless to say, Pop was fit to be tied.”

“It sounds as if her boss didn’t know where Eva was either.”

“At that point, Jane stuck next to me like glue. But I think the three other CIA guys either went to search for Mom or went back to the American Embassy because I never saw them again.”

“Man, it’s strange that she would go off alone, right?”

“Josh, I have no idea what Mom did when we weren’t around.”

“And she didn’t leave a note or a message at the front desk?”

I search my memory and shake my head. “Um, not that anyone I was around found or knew about. Um, Jane and I left Pop in the restaurant and went to the suite. You know, incase Mom went out and came back undetected. Along the way, we hunt for her in the resort’s shops off the lobby.”

Josh asks, “Did you ask the people if they’d seen her?”

“No. We just did a walk through. Jane didn’t want to go into panic mode just yet.”

Josh nods.

“Anyway, when the elevator doors opened on our floor, a lady in a wheelchair was struggling to get on so Jane held the door for her. Usually, Jane insisted on doing a room sweep before letting us enter. Mom said it was modus operandi. I went ahead, and used my key card to open our door. I called for Mom as I went in.” I gesture at the Space Bag. “At any rate, that’s when I found the yellow throw on the floor just inside the door. I picked it up and my first thought was wow, did she leave in a hurry or what. I got the strangest feeling that she dropped it there on purpose. I watch a lot of detective shows. They are always saying there are no consequences. There were wrapped Christmas presents sitting on the coffee table for us. I went room to room, thinking she was in the shower or getting dressed.

“Jane came in talking to the Sven on her earpiece. She did offer to tell me what he said. We searched for a note or anything that would explain her absence. Her purse was in the safe with her jewelry and our important papers. Jane took her purse and put it in a garbage bag before I had a chance to see if anything was missing. She said the purse was evidence and must be secured. I thought what gives her the right to take it? Jane wasn’t the type you argued with. It was apparent that Mom was wrapping gifts in the kitchenette. Wrapping paper was spread out on the counter with tape, scissors, and paper scraps.”

Josh pulls a small notepad out of his back pocket and picks up the pen I keep on my bedside table. “I just want to jot some of this down,” he explains and turns to a fresh page. “So, did you wait in your room?”

I shake my head. “No. Jane suggested I leave a note for Mom on some stationery, and then we went back downstairs. The whole time, Jane was talking with Sven or whoever on her headset. She dropped me off with Pop. We found him still sitting at the table, but looking worried and frantic to see Mom. Pop asked Jane to go to the front desk to see if Mom left a message in our box—poof—Jane never came back. Now, all of Mom’s team are no where to be found. Needless to say, Pop and I were starting to panic. I kept a fairly recent photograph of Mom in my wallet so we spoke to Helena Milinski, the manger, and she rounded up the resort security people and had the front desk manager run off some copies of the photo. We split up and showed the photo to the guests and staff, asking if they’d seen Mom in the last six or so hours. No one could recall seeing her at all. That’s when we really started to panic.” I pause to take a deep breath and swallow hard. I’ve been talking so much that my mouth feels like the Mohave Desert.

Josh doesn’t say anything so I keep going. His lips are pressed together in a thin line as he jots down notes in a little notebook.

“For the next hour, we searched everywhere for her, and then Helena Milinski and the security manager went to the front desk manager and had a little powwow. They said they had to wait like 78 hours. But Pop insisted they report Mom officially missing or he was going to call the constable and the American Embassy himself.”

“So did you have to wait?”

“No, Mrs. Milinski called the authorities; she was frantic to find Mom too. It didn’t take long for people from the American Embassy, the FBI and the Austrian police to put together a search party. They even searched the mountains with helicopters. When it got too dark and windy for the helicopters, Helena Milinski came to our suite and reported that they hadn’t found her. I still don’t know what became of Mom’s purse. Nobody seems to know where it is.”

Josh looks up from his note taking and frowns. “Hum. Did you guys help with the search squad?”

“Oh no. It was horrible. The FBI forced us stay up in our suite with a small army of armed agents. We watched from the windows. The Austrian police and everyone from the American Embassy came to the resort. Pop spoke to them on the phone several times, but he refused to let anyone talk or come near me. He was like a Poppa Grizzly. For the next twenty or so hours, armed security was posted outside our door in the hallway and at the entrances to the resort.”

“When did you find out that she…?”

“On Christmas night, Agent Werthoust came to our suite and told us that they found her body. I fainted. When I came to, I was in the resort’s medical center disoriented and scared. At first I thought I’d dreamed the whole thing. Then I saw Pop’s face and I knew it was for real. I freaked.”

Josh gives me a look as if to ask what I mean by ‘freaked’.

I sigh. “Let’s just say they had to sedate me with a shot in the arm. The next thing I knew, they were helicoptering us to the nearest airport to fly home. We never saw Mom again.” My head spins with images of the scenes inside the helicopter and then at the airport. I close my eyes.

Josh asks, “They forced you to go home?”

“I don’t remember much about what was said or the flight home. I was doped up on whatever drug they gave me to keep me calm.”

“So, up to now, all the CIA will tell you is because of national security reasons, either they won’t or can’t say what took place after you left to go skiing Christmas Eve?”

I nod my head. “Yup, it’s like Mom was abducted by aliens. And to this day they still refuse to tell us anything. Their why Pop’s hypertension never gets any better. Up until now, I was afraid to bring up anything about Mom.”

“You were afraid he’d have a stroke?”

 “Yeah.” I look at my hands lying on my lap.

“Jesus,” Josh says in a whisper. “My dad went over to your house the day after Christmas. He said you were pretty shook up.”

“Yeah, I sort of fell apart—”

A thick tightness in my throat won’t let me talk anymore. I pant, “Uh, all of a sudden breathing is difficult. It feels like an anvil is sitting on my chest. Maybe I’m the one having a stroke.”

Josh gets on his knees in front of me peering up at me at me. His eyes are like saucers.

I manage to squeak out, “I’m okay.” But I’m really not. I moan. I hold up my hands and fan my face. Josh’s face swims before me then I feel his hand on my legs. “It…it feels like I’m going to pass out.”

He tells me, “Cookie, you’re hyperventilating! Breath threw your nose.”

He swings me around arranging my legs so they’re hanging off the side of the bed, and then pushing my head down between my knees. My tight jeans mash my gut. After a few minuets, I’m ready to sit up. I lift my hands and wave them.

Josh takes his hand off my head and searches my face. “Wow, you okay?” He turns to go. “I’m gonna get your dad.”

“No Josh! Just give me a minuet or two. I really want to keep talking about this, I have to,” I tell him and shake my self off. After a few deep cleansing breaths I’m ready to talk. I grab a pillow for something to hold on to. I feel calmer now and manage to hold back the tears by blinking and chewing on my lip. I taste strawberry-flavored lip gloss. I look up and force a smile. “I’m better. Thanks though.”

Josh has his hands on hips. His face is scrunched with concern. “Are you sure, cuz we can take a break…really. Dad’s flight probably hasn’t even taken off yet.”

“Positive.” I kick off my shoes and scoot up against the headboard, tucking my feet underneath. I wrap my arms around the pillow feeling like I did when I was little and Pop would come in to tuck me in.

Josh slides the Space Bag to the foot of my bed and sits down at my side, his notepad and pen in hand. “Remember where you were?”

I nod my head. “Yes. We’d just got the news that they found Mom, and right after that, they rushed us to the airport.”

I close my eyes and search my memory. Visions of what was going on around me after Agent Werthoust gave us the bad news, flash in my mind. I open my eyes and stare at the Space Bag.

I say, “I haven’t told you about something that happened before we left. It was chaos in the resort, people shouting and running, doors banging. I thought they were looking for the people who did it. Who knew?” I roll my eyes. “The whole time, Pop was freaking out. He pushed by the guy standing next to our door and went out in the corridor, screaming at the guards that he was going to talk to whoever was in charge come hell or high water. Agent Werthoust came and they talked in private. And then later on, Pop was the phone screaming at the resort’s Housekeeping Manager for not reporting a car he saw speeding away from the resort the morning Mom disappeared. That’s when his blood pressure sky rocked and a doctor came up and gave him a shot to bring it down. It was horrible. Pop kept saying, “One minuet she is alive and the next—”

I cover my eyes with the pillow to hide the fresh batch of tears that filled my eyes unexpectedly.

“Cookie?” Josh whispers my name and nudges my arm.

I lower the pillow and accept the box of tissue he got from my bedside table. I manage, “Thanks.”

“Oh man, this has to be so hard for you,” Josh says, making a fist around the ink pen.

“It is,” I say, and blow my nose as quietly as possible.

“I think it’s worse to bottle it all in. Ultimately, it might make you do something extreme.”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah, I tried doing that, you know, pretending I felt nothing. That Mom was still out there some where and she...” I shake my head. “Let’s just say that plan didn’t go so well. I felt like I had an elephant on my back.”

Josh is quiet for a minuet. His eyes swim over my room and stop on the Space Bag holding Mom’s blanket. At last, he says, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

 “Why didn’t the crime scene team take this?” He twist around and motions at the yellow throw.

I stare at the bag without blinking. I picture myself sitting on the edge of the couch in our suite waiting to hear that they found Mom. The yellow throw is on my lap. I remember holding onto it like a security blanket. It was my link to Mom.

“Uh, when Agent Werthoust came and told us about Mom, I was sitting on the couch with the blanket on my lap. He told us to pack, that we were flying home. I must’ve gotten up and put it in my backpack so no one would take it and lose it. Mom knitted it herself. A few minuets later, we were escorted down the stairs by the FBI agents. We stayed in Helena Milinski’s office waiting to go. I guess I had the backpack with me while the police and everybody was combing the place for clues and dusting for fingerprints. Until the other day, it never crossed my mind that it could be evidence. Now I’m thinking that I screwed up royally. Because if the smelly stuff is some sort of clue to what happened to Mom?” Feeling restless and stiff, I stand up and go over crawl into my window seat and peer out the window. Geez, that strange van is out there again. The neighborhood watch team must’ve hired them permanently.

Josh doesn’t say anything. He’s looking over his notes.

I get out of the window seat and turn around to face Josh. Pop is standing at my bedroom door about to knock. He smiles and I walk over and he hands me a the large manila envelope holding my recorded conversation with Agent Werthoust. I know what it is because of the look on Pop’s face, and because it says it’s from Agent W. Werthoust, plus my birth name is on the label. “Thanks Pop.”

Pop is showered and has on a grill apron over his clean clothes. A yellow polo shirt and kaki slacks, brown loafers on his feet. He reeks of charcoal & hickory smoke. He nods at Josh who was sitting on my bed, but is now on his feet. “I see you two are hard at it. When you like, come down for some hot crab meat appetizers. Just pop them in the oven for five minuets at 325 degrees.” He calls out to Josh and they hold up their hands in greeting. “Later, I need to check on my roast.”

I wave and spin around on the balls of my feet. “Wow!” I hold the large envelope away from my body and gallop over to the desk. “I can’t believe this showed up while you’re here, Josh.”

Josh looks baffled. “What do you mean? What is that?”

“Well on my birthday, Agent Werthoust, Mom’s old boss called here. Basically he was trying to pick my brain. Anyway, they recorded the conversation and a currier just delivered the transcribed hard copy. Agent Werthoust said they were going to, I think it’s required by law. I just think it’s perfect that you’re here so we can go over it together! I’m over trying to figure this out by myself.” I undo the self adhesive flap slide, slide out the dossier, flip through it quickly, and then and hand to Josh. “It’s only a few pages long. You read it and let me know what you think.”

He scans the cover letter and reads the whole thing standing up.

Meanwhile, I sit down at my desk and look at the photos on the Alpine Chalet Resort’s homepage. It feels surreal and eerie looking at the place where Mom died. After a few minuets, I pull my eyes away from the screen and turn sideways in the chair to face Josh. His eyes are moving across the typed pages as he slowing paces the floor. I wonder if Werthoust included everything word we said. After a few minuets, Josh sits down next to me and says, “Interesting stuff.”

“Yeah. I thought you’d think so.” My eyes go to the dossier in still in Josh’s hands. “Did he include our squabble?”

Josh nods his head. “Yeah, it’s in here.”

I roll my eyes.

“Wanna read it?”

Josh holds up the papers and I wave my hand dismissively. “That’s okay. I almost remember verbatim what we said…it’s burned into my bran…”

Josh says, “Just curious why your dad let Agent Werthoust interview you now?”

“I took the call because Pop was busy preparing food and couldn’t be bothered. Plus he didn’t want to talk about sad stuff on my birthday. When he refused to talk to Werthoust I begged him to let me. Pop is at the stage where he wants to us to move on––not forget Mom––but begin to heal and plan our futures. It’s why he’s starting a catering business. However, after I convinced him that I needed him to help us investigate Mom’s death for Mr. Jackson’s class, he caved––sort of... I think the not know is the worse part for both of us.”

Josh tosses the dossier down and heaves a sigh. “Man, this isn’t going to be easy. If we’re going to nail this Agent Werthoust to the wall, we’re talking about overriding the CIA and the FBI.”

“Oh, my, gosh!” I blink. I can’t believe you and I are on the same page!”

“Yeah,” Josh says slowly, as if he’s picking his words carefully. “Especially after reading this.”

I hold up my hands. “Wait, let me get this straight. You also think that some of the stuff Agent Werthoust said is shady?”

“Yes, it makes me think that the way your Mom died was possible conspired to look like an accident… or whatever… perhaps to cover up somebody’s screw up…”

I roll my hand. “Who’s at fault?”

“I guess Agent Werthoust and the security team he allegedly sent to protect you guys and your mom from danger or a possible assault.”

Oh crap! I jump up and make a shock face. It occurs to me that because of Mom’s type of work we might’ve always been in danger. I go over and stare out the window. God, I hope not.

Josh comes over. “What’s wrong?”

I shake it off. “Nothing. I was just thinking that it’s scary to look back.”

Josh doesn’t say anything.

“Josh, no matter what, I have to listen to my gut and it’s telling me that they left Mom exposed while we were skiing. Question is was it on purpose or was it just a mistake?” I cross the carpet and pick up the dossier and wave it at Josh. “I didn’t trust Agent Werthoust the second I set eyes on him. I know, that sounds paranoid, but I don’t care! He’s calculating and shifty. Somebody has to pay!” I turn and look at the photos hanging on the wall.

Josh follows my gaze. He says, “Tell me when and how you came to that conclusion?”

I look at Josh. “That they left Mom exposed?”

“Yeah.”

“Just makes since. I can’t stop thinking why Agent Werthoust asked me if I saw anything suspicious in Vienna or on the train. He wants to know if I saw any strange people lurking around while we were in Schladming.”

Josh looks dubious and lifts a shoulder. “Cookie, those are pretty standard questions.”

“I agree. But, you have to ask why––if Mom died naturally would Agent Werthoust and his merry band would start interrogating moi after all this time.”

Josh nods. “I see your logic.” He picks up the report and runs his eyes over it again. “It says that you told him that you didn’t notice anything suspicious.”

“No, not any that I could remember when put on the spot. Hello! The dude’s intimidating in everyway, plus he’s my Mom’s x-boss. When I was talking to him on the phone, I was on the defensive and nervous as heck! Anyway, I’ve been racking my brain ever since trying to remember anything weird or anybody...” I stop talking and picture the old man that seems to be spying on me.

“And?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t come up with anything that stands out, yet. Except for the creepy old guy stalking around town. I know he’s a long shot…” I stand up and look around for my purse. “but why does he keeps showing up… I find it on the floor next to my backpack and fish my cell phone out of it to look at the pictures again. I remember the book Mr. Jackson gave me and dig it out of my backpack too. “What’s his real name again…?”  I murmur more to my self than Josh and find the pictures of the old guy in the mall I saved on my cell. “Valentine. Could he have something to do with all this?”

Josh interrupts my mumbling. “You’re right. It is rather odd that they’d be starting at peg one this late in the game. You’d think they’d want to put your mom’s death to bed sort of speak so they could keep the media quiet.”

“I know.” I push off the floor and stand up. I take my cell and the thick book over and sit next to Josh. I flip to the center of the book and find his picture.

Josh flips to the next page of the dossier and says, “It’s as if they’re on a fishing expedition.”

“Exactly!” I set the open book on top of the open dossier.

Josh looks at the picture and says, “Who’s that?”

 “Meet Frederick Koshechka. I’m pretty sure he the guy in pictures I sent you via email.”

“Valentine?” Josh asks picking up the book to take a closer look.

“Mr. Jackson gave me this book today. He said it might help us understand Mom’s work…or something to that effect since we’re investigating her.” Josh looks confused. “Just read what it says underneath. Then we’ll discuss.”

He reads the paragraph under the black and white photograph, and after a moment of contemplation, he asks, “I give. What’s the connection?”

“Josh, I totally think Fredrik Koshechka is the guy I keep seeing, only a lot older of course. He was with the KGB!”

“I saw that.” I hand him my cell and he holds it next to the picture, comparing the two. “Maybe if you squint your eyes. But why would an x-KGB be following you around Georgetown?”

I lift my shoulders. “I don’t know. How can we find out?”

Josh smiles and hands me my cell. “Give it time. We just started our investigation.” He pick up the book and fans the pages. “Interesting book. Mind if I borrow it for the night incase I get stuck at the airport, I’ll have something to read. I’ll bring it back tomorrow, promise.”

“Sure.”

Josh leans sideways and slides the book inside his bag. I close my cell and stuff it in my hip pocket. A wave a nausea hits me as I recall the message from Sean and see him race down our street. Why is he trying to get back with me? It’s so over.

Josh says, “Can you be a little more specific about what Agent Werthoust and the others said…or did that made think that they were hiding something?” I shrug and stare at my corkboard. Robby Takac appears to be looking right at me. What would it be like to be at the Goo-Goo Doll’s concert watching him play…?

Josh taps the dossier with his finger. “Yoh, Cookie, you need to be more specific.”

I blink back to my room. “Huh? Sorry, what did you say?”

“What made you suspicious of Agent Werthoust?”

“It’s just a feeling I have now. Especially after talking to him on the phone.”

“Sorry, but feelings aren’t facts. Was it the way he acted? Did he have shifty eyes or shuffle his feet a lot?” Josh smiles. “Just kidding about the last part. Sort of.”

“There’s nothing factual I can put my finger on. I only saw Agent Werthoust in the flesh for about five minuets.”

“Try meditating,” Josh tells me, I can tell I’m trying his patience, but I can’t just make things up.”

“I have. All I have right now is a strong sense that Mom is still alive. I think Agent Werthoust is lying.”

Josh thinks for a minuet, and then gets up and moves around my bedroom, turning off all but one light. “Want me to light some candles and incense?”

“Josh, stop. That won’t help.” I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

He sits back down and looks at me with all the seriousness he can muster. “Look, if you are the key that opens the door to where your mom is––hidden or whatever––then we have to try everything. But first, you have to tune into your subconscious to release any memories you’ve blocked for some reason. Just sit on the floor or the seat in your window, whichever you’re the most at ease. Close your eyes and concentrate on Agent Werthoust for a few minuets. See what pops into your mind. I’ll turn my back to you and do some research on the computer. Just forget I’m here.”

“Right now?”

“Yes! I know it sounds weird, but if nothing else, it’ll help you focus.” He shoves me on the shoulder. “Go! Times a wastin’!”

I mutter, “This is ridiculous.”

I rise up reluctantly and go over and stand in front of the window seat and look at the window pane. Pop has the outside lights on and all I see is my own reflection. I turn around and plop down. Josh already has his back to me, working on the Internet. I blow out a breath and lean forward, prop my elbows on my thighs and run my fingers through my hair. I stare at the carpet and take a few deep breaths and close my eyes, trying my best to relax with Josh sitting just a few feet away.

Fragments of images and snippets of conversations flutter about in my head like confetti blowing in the wind. This isn’t working. I stand up and go over to Josh. “I think I’ll remember better by talking about this.” I wave my arm. “Mind if we sit on the floor? It’s more comfortable.”

“Okay.”  

I kick off my sandals and sit down crossing my legs in front of me. I sit up a little straighter and tell myself I have to do this no matter what. Josh kicks off his shoes and mirrors me on the floor. I take a deep breath, shut my eyes. I picture Agent Werthoust’s face it blurs and turns into Valentine. My eyes pop open.

Ewe.

Josh says quietly, “Just start talking as if you are telling me a bedtime story.”

I nod and rest my hands on my knees and relax my shoulders. Without thinking, I say, “I’m in our suite sitting on the couch clutching Mom’s throw just staring out the window at the falling snow. I wonder if Mom is out there in the cold, hurt or did she just take off. Pop is pacing the floor. There’s a loud knock and one of the FBI agents looks through the peep hole, and then opens the door. Thinking Mom is going to walk in; I jump up to hug her. Agent Werthoust comes in, shows us his FBI badge and introduces himself. He unbuttons his winter coat, places his hands on his hips, and motions for the other agents to leave. They all file out into the hall and shut the door behind them. After a few seconds, Werthoust simply says, “We located her body.” Pop sat down hard in the spare chair next to the door. Anxious to learn more, I remain standing in the middle of the room and stared up at Werthoust. He’s a big man. He had dark circles under bloodshot blue eyes. His five o’clock shadow made his face appear dirty and menacing. His hair is black, a typical short FBI cut and he had on a dark suit, tie and white shirt. There was really nothing unusual about him other than the shoulder holster and gun strapped to his broad chest. His expression was unemotional and vacant…”

Josh shifts his legs but doesn’t say anything so I continue.

“I remember that his eyes darted all over the place while he spoke and he kept licking his lips. Oh, and he must’ve said, “It wasn’t anyone’s fault” at least five or six times. It bothered me that he sounded so mundane and insensitive. His tone made me sick to my stomach. I screamed something like “you lie” and tried to slap his face. He caught my wrist and Pop pulled me back. I reacted like that because I was so pissed about his lack of compassion.” I laugh. “I can’t believe I almost decked an FBI guy.

“I would be too.”

“That’s when Pop said I fainted. I haven’t seen Agent Werthoust since we’ve been back home. Pop has though.”

“It’s sounds as if Werthoust was trying to convince you that it was a freak accident or something.”

“We don’t have much to go on, huh?”

Josh smiles. “Don’t worry Cookie, we’re just getting started. Let’s go over the list of names we have so far.”

I picture the people at the Alpine. “Wolfe was the waiter that served us dinner every night. He made little jokes about his name. The laundry supervisor was Dolph Gandler, and of course Helena Milinski, the lady that runs the resort. I don’t know her official title. That’s all I remember off hand. Other than a hello or thank you, I rarely talked to anyone except my parents.”

“Did the officials tell you what happened or where they found her?” Josh asks, while he finishes writing down the names in his notebook

I shake my head side to side, flipping my long hair falls behind my tight shoulders. “All they would tell us is that before she was flown home, a coroner in Vienna––supposedly––performed an autopsy. We were lead to believe she died from natural causes, but Agent Werthoust explained that it was standard procedure. Don’t ask me anything about that. Pop handled the paperwork.”

Josh taps his pen on the note page. “Like everyone else.”

“Sorry?”

“I was just commenting that the news also reported that she died of natural causes.”

“I find that hard to swallow. For one, Mom was very healthy. Healthy forty-two year olds don’t die of natural causes. All I really want to know is if my Mom is dead––what or who killed her.”

Josh frowns. “Are you sure she wasn’t sick? You said she kept things locked inside.”

“Yeah, but my mom was the picture of health. She was snow skiing. She knew martial arts and could kick any man’s butt. That’s one of the main reasons I’m starting to think her death was a big cover-up.”

We go quiet for a few minuets. Josh makes a few more notes then clicks his pen and sticks it in the pocket size spiral-bound notebook.

I blink and place my hands on the sides of my face. “Oh man, this seems beyond impossible to solve.” I chew on my lower lip and stretch out my legs. They’re numb to my toes. I massage my left foot.

He smiles at me. “Hey, don’t fret. Because you know what? Things usually have a way of making sense as they go along.”

“I hope so.” I stand up, hobble cross the floor and retrieve the box of tissues. I turn my back to Josh, pull out tissues and dab at my eyes. Crying always leaves me dehydrated and exhaust.

He ask, “You okay?”

“My foot went to sleep.” I turn around and see that Josh is standing behind me.

Josh looks right at me with his beautiful brown eyes. “So, what next?”

I smile and manage to say in a somewhat cheerful tone, “You look like you need a pick me up. Wanna take that a break? Pop fixed some appetizers.”

I bet I look like a fright queen. Plus I’m super thirsty from all this talking. I shrug. “Okay sure. I’m jonesing for an ice cold Pepsi.” I gesture at my computer and throw the used tissues in the trash can next to my desk. On instinct, I look out my window and see the white van parked on the other side of our fence, glowing like a phantom craft in the street light haze. It’s being out there is starting to creep me out as much as the old guy’s existence. I suddenly get the urge to use the bathroom. “Um, do you want to check the flights first?”

Josh smacks his forehead. “Oh man! Good idea. I can’t believe I forgot all about him. I hope my he isn’t waiting to hear from me.” He checks his phone and goes over to my computer and clicks a few keys. He mummers, “No messages.”

While Josh is busy checking the airline, I open my underwear drawer and take out the binoculars and scamper over to my door, holding the binoculars to my chest. I plan to look out the bathroom window and see the backyard even better than in my room. Nevertheless it’s a different perspective than in here.

Josh says, “I should call my mom and see what’s up as well.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back,” I call over my shoulder. “Nature call!”

I go across the hall to the bathroom, shut the door. First things firs. I balance the binoculars on the edge of the sink and take care of business. Naturally my mind wanders while I sit there. I smile to myself. I think it’s neat that Josh noticed that I’m running on empty. Sean would never pick up on my needs. It’s always about him: I’m hungry. I’m bored. I’m horny…I notice movement in the corner of my eye and twist around to look out the window in the shower. I flush and tug my jeans up.

I turn off the bathroom light, step into the shower, and remove the lens cap. Peering through the binoculars, I brace the my elbows on the tile and adjust the night vision just so. That work van is parked across the street now in full view. I sharpen the focus a bit to see more detail, and rotate the binoculars looking at our yard and the street’s perimeter. This is so wild! I can see a bunch of tiny lighting bugs flittering around the shrubs next to the sidewalk leading to the fence. I focus on the van. I whisper, “Fanny’s Flower Shop? That’s odd. Why would they changing the signs?”

Okay, enough. I should get back before Josh thinks I fell asleep on the toilet. I step gingerly out of the shower and flip on the light. I stow the binoculars in the back of my makeup drawer, and then frown at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.

“YIKES!”

I splash water on my face, pat my skin dry using a hand towel. I bend over, flip my hair forward and run a brush through it a couple of times. Then fling it back and fluff the sides. Next, I pick up a bottle of light flowery Eau de toilette and spritz the air over my head. After one last check, I turn off the light and head back to my bedroom.

Out in the hall I look through my door. Josh is busy doing whatever on my computer. The sight of Josh O’Dell sitting at my desk stops me in my tracks. I feel something as I scan my eyes over him from head to toe.

I think I might have feelings for Josh that surpass friendship. I briefly wonder if he might feel the same way. Chill, you’re on the rebound and feeling shunned by someone who is a weasel. He doesn’t realize I’m back. As I come up behind him, I suck in a deep breath to regain my composure. I take a small step to the side and ask, “So, what’s the latest?

“Oh hey.” Josh looks over his shoulder at me and I rest my arm on the desk’s surface. He points at the chart on the screen and I lean closer. “If this is accurate his plane took off about five minuets ago. The plane is scheduled to land around ten—give or take.” Josh picks up his cell phone and I wonder if he had a chance to call his mom. “Looks like there might be a short layover in Atlanta though. I checked NOAA. A different storm front from the northwest is headed that way. But it’s moving slowly.”

“Um, that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Josh nods and stands up. He punches the key to close the airline website and drops his science notebook next to his book bag. He seems annoyed about something.

I head to the door and Josh follows me.