Page 8 of Building What's Meant to Be

I rock back on my heels and stare at the white mineral fiber ceiling tiles common in offices. They’ve always reminded me of freeze-dried vanilla ice cream like the kind astronauts eat. A fluorescent light flickers in my periphery. I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering if I really should just become the mayor of Butterbury and call it a day.

“I think she’s messing with me,” I mutter.

Another agent, seated at a nearby desk, glances over his shoulder.

I simply shake my head.

“Tinsley Humber, you are speaking to a Federal Bureau of Investigation Agent, please cut the theatrics.” I’m the one acting, using utmost calm when I want to say a few choice words to siphon off the frustration of this call.

But whatever ridiculous response she gives, I don’t hear because the line goes dead.

It’s moments like these that I’m ready to go full farm boy. Become a hay seed back home. It’s bad enough I had to leave Butterbury and fly to Los Angeles when the case escalated at the arrest of Harold Jerrold Pumanowski. I have yet to determine his intentions—whether he was knowingly committing treasonor was merely looking for a payday. Ultimately, that’ll be left up to the judicial system, but when I conclude the case, I’ll make a judgment for myself. In the meantime, I have to figure out whether Tinsley Humber is actually the skilled actress she aspires to be—at least according to intel—or in the wrong place at the wrong time. My peers let her off because of the latter, which is likely the case.

Agent Harrison swivels to face me and with a laugh, he repeats the last name, “Bueller,” like in the classic movie.

“Ha ha. Very funny. It’s too early for this.” I scrub my hand down my face.

“Or it’s late, depending on how you look at it.”

Out the window of the high-rise building, the Los Angeles sky makes me think of an eggplant. I ought to grow some in my garden once I get it going. Below, the city lights spread grid-like in every direction.

Without fail, when I fly into LA at night, I can’t help but stare in awe at how much light there is and how it abruptly ends where the ocean begins. Goes dark.

My future used to be like that, but now I see glimpses of it, where I can put down roots, shine some light on the earth and see what grows.

Harrison clicks his tongue. “Let’s see, Tinsley Humber comes from a well-to-do east coast family. Is an aspiring actress, including performances as ‘The cat food girl’ in a kibble commercial, a sidewalk sweeper in a musical mystery, and I can’t leave out ‘Sexy Alien Number Three’ in the sci-fi film, Distant Dust: Galaxy 2100.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.” Despite the fact that my sisters think I’m a pleasure-seeking, jet-setting business tycoon, I can’t remember the last time I sat down and watched a movie in its entirety. It’s work or nothing and sometimes my work looks like nothing, but that’s just part of being an investigator.

Harrison chuckles. “So, Tinsley Humber is either A.) Just another girl with stars in her eyes. B.) A talentless hack. Or C.) A criminal mastermind in disguise.”

My instincts are on option A. But you can never be too sure, and it’s my job to exhaust all possibilities before I arrive at a conclusion.

“The guys cleared her,” Harrison says.

“But I want to ask her some questions myself.” Now, even more so.

“Of course you do.” Harrison chortles.

I raise an eyebrow.

He spins a photograph my way, revealing a compilation of what must be Tinsley’s acting/modeling collection of headshots and images.

I can’t help but let out a low whistle. She is a blonde bombshell. Long hair, longer legs, and big brown eyes.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see her in Malibu when we arrested Puma.” Harrison’s tone lifts with disbelief.

“I’d prefer if we call him Harold.”

“He has a few bangers.” He sings a bar of an unfamiliar song.

I cock my head and cross my arms in front of my chest. “Harrison, how old are you?”

“Fifty-six.”

“Bangers? Really?”

“It’s what the kids say. I won’t even tell you the last case I was working on.” He brushes his hand across his forehead as if tired just thinking about it. “I had to create a glossary of terms just to understand what was going on.”

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