Page 2 of 3rd Tango
Mom interjects and turns to JJ. “What do your initials stand for?”
He swallows and dabs the napkin to his lips. “Joseph Jefferson. I was named after my grandfathers.”
Dad makes an approving noise. “Joseph Jefferson Carrington, the third. Sounds like a strong presidential candidate.”
Dad winks at me while cutting the meat on his plate and loading his fork. “Ever think of running for office?”
JJ takes a drink of iced tea. Buying time? “Not high on my list of priorities, but it’s not off the table.”
This makes my father extremely happy, while I turn a raised eyebrow on my boyfriend. “You never told me that.”
He gives a deprecating smile. “I like to keep my options open.”
I’m truly stunned. With a “hmm,” I signify we’ll discuss this more later.
Mother turns to Jerome. “Meg mentioned the other day you’re thinking of moving. This is a lovely residential area, and I know the Petersons on the next block are putting their condo up for sale. Ask Meg, it’s a great place for artists. We’re one of the few neighborhoods left with woods so nearby. You like to connect with nature, I bet. I know Meg does.”
Her hint is obvious, and I try not to laugh, thinking about Jerome, who can barely match clothes or remember when he’s supposed to pick Meg up, buying a condo in this neighborhood.
“I’ll have to check it out,” he says, and Meg smiles. She knows as well as I that he has no intention of doing so, realizing he’d be far too close to our parents for one thing, as well as out of his price range in this area. Hell, I doubt JJ could afford it. The only reason my parents are here is the generational inheritance.
“It’s too bad we can’t get the neighbor across the street to move,” Mom says in a disgusted voice. “I’m getting closer, though. It won’t be long until I’ll have enough for the police to arrest him.”
Meg kicks me under the table. Here we go.
Lunch was going so well, and now I have to find a way to divert Mom off the subject we feared would come up. A tense silence falls from JJ and Jerome, the two knowing we just dove head first into the hot zone.
Dad puts down his fork with a clank. “Helen, not now.”
Mom looks around, wide-eyed and innocent. “What? I’m just saying, the man is going to jail. I’ll make certain of it. Of course, who’d want that house, knowing a serial killer lived in it.”
She totally believes this is the truth. At the continued silence, she straightens her spine. “I’m working with the CSCC.” She nods at Meg and I, as if this makes sense to us. “We’re compiling all the evidence we can find linking Gayle to at least three cold case deaths. My notes from all these years are key to proving he’s been getting away with murder.” She leans forward and lowers her voice. "Literally.”
JJ digs into his mashed potatoes. “CSCC?”
I pinch him under the table for engaging the enemy, as Mom nods adamantly. “Citizens Solving Cold Cases. The group has grown considerably in the last year, and we’ve had success with more than six cases. You should join,” she says to him. “We have former police officers, detectives, even a retired FBI agent. He founded it.” At this, she flicks her eyes to me. “We could use people like you helping us.”
Meg kicks me again, and I give her a look telling her I don’t know how to change this flow of conversation. “Mom, can we talk about this later? Tell us what you made for dessert.”
She screws up her face, letting me know she’s not going to be diverted. She rises from the chair and walks out of the room. Meg and I glance at Dad.
He shakes his head, as conflicted about what to say as we are. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands. “I’ll check on dessert.”
Before he steps away, Mom strides in, arms loaded with blue file folders. Shethunksthe stack next to my plate, making the silverware jump. “No one move. Here are my notes, and the recent internet investigation Al conducted with my guidance.”
I look up to see determination and something else brewing behind her brown eyes—the investigative reporter she was in her heyday. “I’d love to go through these after lunch. It’s great that you’ve joined a group.” Total lie. That’s the last thing she needs, other people encouraging and supporting her obsession with our neighbor.
“Who’s Al?” Jerome asks, and I see Meg turn her fierce gaze on him.
“Alfonzo Baez,” Mom answers. “The retired agent I mentioned. He and I were going through my notes from the mid-nineties, and he saw a link between information I had on Gayle, our neighbor, and a place in Virginia he knew about where three women’s bodies turned up in the early 2000s.”
Now that, as much as I hate it, catches my interest.
“The fishing cabins on Whitetop?” Dad asks.
The mountain is a popular spot with hikers, hunters, and fishing enthusiasts. Mom nods and points at him, like we’re playing charades and he’s guessed right. “Remember the weekend you took me up there? We went without the girls, so we could have some alone time, and I thought I saw Gayle’s car at another cabin on that lane?” Mom turns back to me. “Your father wouldn’t let me go say hi, but when we got home, Gayle was putting the garbage out. I told him I thought I saw him there and he threatened me.”
Her face is flushed and she’s shaking slightly with anger. I’ve never heard this story and I glance at Meg, questioningly and she shakes her head.
