Seven Stories. Story One, Part 6.
Editor’s Note: We are pleased and excited to introduce our newest Hummingbird Guest Contributor, Beth Kalet. “Trouble” is one of 7 short stories included in Beth’s book Seven Stories, published in 2012. Hummingbird will be publishing “Trouble” in parts, one per week over the next few weeks, so please check out Parts 1 - 5 and here is the finale.
Beth is an accomplished writer and editor. Her work, and her own story are what encouraged us to reach out to her. Please give a warm reader’s welcome to Beth, and feel free to comment at the bottom of the page.
Let’s dive into “Trouble.” I assure you, you will not be disappointed. Welcome Beth!
Photo Credit: Diane Pell
Trouble’s Always Just Around the Corner. Part 6.
“Yes, officer, I did notice some things about him that made me wonder,” Marla told Grindhart. She was warming up to her role here. “You know,” she said, looking at him and then back at me, “I told Julie, I told her ‘I just don’t like this guy. I don’t trust him. He’s not right for you.’ I mean that’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” Grindhart told her it was but then urged her to get more specific.
“Well, the first time I met him it was after my sister’s birthday party and I was all dressed up. I was wearing my grandmother’s pearls. Only for special occasions. We, my boyfriend and me, we went from the party to meet Julie and Harry at the Liberty Tavern, just for a drink. She wanted to introduce him to us. You know he just gave me a negative vibe. Julie stood up and waved us over, my boyfriend and me. I remember he just sat there, Harry. He didn’t even get up.” She paused here for effect and Grindhart nodded at her.
“He was drinking a scotch or something. Julie asked us if we wanted a drink and she even went over to the bar to get our drinks. Meanwhile, you know, awkward silence. I tried to break it of course. Asked him about his work. He just said something like, ‘Oh, it’s not very interesting.’ He really wasn’t much for conversation. The whole night he was, like, looking at my cleavage. It was pretty uncomfortable, I have to tell you. But later, my boyfriend Gerry said he was actually looking at the necklace. It was like he was sizing it up, the necklace, Gerry said. That was almost worse! I have a safe, though, where I keep my best jewelry.” She turned to me then as if to say, this is how responsible people behave.
I had forgotten this episode. All I remembered about it was how noisy and crowded the bar was that night.
“Should we check my safe?” Marla asked Grindhart, suddenly alarmed. He sent her off to check and the two of us sat there for a bit. Then Grindhart told me he was pretty sure that Harry had left something in my apartment, and while it may have been true he needed a place to stay, that was most likely a ruse to get into my apartment easily … without having to break in. But now, Grindhart said, it was only a matter of time before he’d slip in to retrieve what he’d left there. That’s why I was lying low and why they -- the cops – had someone watching my apartment. I had signed a paper the other night giving them permission to set up some hidden cameras and listening devices at my place. I had asked where and how many but they said we could review that afterward. I was hopeful it would all be over soon.
And, then, afterward, I wanted those cameras out of there. All of them. I didn’t want them watching me in the bathroom or whatever.
We didn’t have to worry about Marla’s grandmother’s pearls. She found them where she’d left them, securely tucked in her safe, which was also secure in her apartment, she felt. It was not too big but it was heavy and not the sort of thing a burglar could easily run off with. Grindhart told her she shouldn’t worry. And, remarkably, she didn’t. Marla liked being right about Harry and she trusted the cop when the cop told her to trust him. Wasn’t that dandy?
It was the next Tuesday, when I got the call from Officer Farris telling me to stop down at the police station after work. She said I could rest easy now. Things were winding down.
“You’re lucky,” Officer Farris told me when I saw her that night. “Yeah, things don’t usually wrap up this quickly.”
I was sitting at a desk in the police station. It was sterile. No noise. No drama. No atmosphere. The small room had one desk and two chairs. A camera suspended from a metal pole watched us.
“Now, first of all,” she said. “We’ve got Mr. Thomas, the man you knew as Harry Newsome, in custody. Actually, he’s already been extradited to Maryland, where they had a warrant out for him on a few charges. And then, he may be off to Florida. He’s not even in this state and he’s in police custody. So, like I said, you can rest easy.”
That was good news. I might go home tonight. Last week I had made up my mind to move. And, I’d closed down my Facebook account and I was thinking of getting a new cell number, but that was getting to be a lot of trouble. Maybe I’d just move.
She seemed more sympathetic this time than the last time I saw her. She told me they had nabbed Harry as he was leaving my apartment. He’d broken in finally, and they watched. He went straight to my couch, unzipped a cushion and pulled out a handful of cash and some jewelry. Marla might have had reason to worry. Or maybe her pearls weren’t worth the trouble.
Turns out not only did Harry have a penchant for lying – about his name, his work, his motives – he also had sticky fingers. He was an unreformed thief who could not stop stealing, especially when the merchandise was staring him in the face. That’s how it was at the flea market, where he’d helped himself to some antiques -- coins and jewelry and some other small items he could pocket and later sell to a dealer someplace else. He even stole from people he’d done business with, Officer Farris told me. That’s how he got noticed. One of the sellers recognized him from a past deal that soured. Harry had stiffed him and the guy, just by chance, noticed Harry even as he was turning away to leave when we were trying to sell the paintings. The guy had filed charges some time back. He’d been burned and would not forget it.
“You get enough little charges piled up,” Officer Farris told me, “and it soon it takes up space. Now, with computers linked state to state, we can see a person’s history. One little charge in Trenton, two medium charges in Baltimore, you get the picture,” she said, “they do add up.”
I had an image of Harry, wearing his newsboy cap and an orange jumpsuit, sitting in a cell someplace in Maryland. I wanted to ask Officer Farris if prisoners wore jumpsuits but she was saying: “I don’t think we’ll need you for anything else at this point. You can just sign here.” She was moving some papers across the desk at me, with her manicured hands. “What’s this?” I asked.
“This just says that you permitted us to place the cameras and devices in your apartment and that now we are going to take them out. It’s a formality.”
“Oh,” I said, not sure why I had to sign for them to remove the cameras. Who would want them there forever? But, I picked up the pen to sign.
I’d trusted Harry, who, I had been made to see, was a liar and a thief. I didn’t listen to my friend, who apparently has better insight into human nature than I do. And, now, I was blindly doing what a cop told me to do, because she was a cop. How was this any different from any other decision I’d made? How would I know when I was making the right choice?
“Thank you Miss Barnes,” she said, collecting the paper and studying my signature. Her tone of voice and the way she held the paper, scrutinizing my penmanship, made me feel like a schoolgirl. Small, unsure of my next move or whether I’d performed correctly. I waited for her approval: of my penmanship, my lifestyle. I realized I wanted her to absolve me from my anxiety over the predicament that had put her, Officer Tonya Farris, and me, in each other’s orbit even if only for a few weeks. She had made me feel it was my fault, the danger I faced, the chance I might be taken advantage of, and now I needed her to dismiss me, to say not just that it was over, but that I was okay just the way I was. That crossing paths with Harry was a once-in-a-lifetime freak thing. That there was no chance something like this would happen again. But even as I wished for this, I knew it was impossible.
“Well, okay then. You’re free to go,” she said. That was it. She was done with me. Not even a lecture for old time’s sake.
I got up to go but I had one more question for her. Not why me? I knew, it was the randomness of the world. But how, how did they find me? How did they connect me to Harry?
“It was your license plate,” Officer Farris said. “The guy who turned him in wrote down your plate number as the two of you got into your car at the flea market,” she said. “Simple.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Simple.”
“And, oh yeah,” she said. “And, your freckles. The guy noticed your freckles. He told us the plate number and said ‘The girl driving the car has dark hair and a face full of freckles.’ Funny, right?”
I looked at Officer Farris, her perfect bob, her giant diamond and her French manicure. She was smiling at me. Her thoughts seemed far away from me and my troubles. I wondered if she was thinking about her fiancé or what she would be eating for dinner tonight.
“Okay, now,” she said again. “Gotta go catch more criminals.” She winked at me. It was such a strangely dismissive gesture, all I could do was turn to walk away. “I’ll lead you out,” she said.
THE END.
Story One, Trouble’s Always Just Around the Corner, Unfolds
Story One. Part 1.
Story One. Part 2.
Story One. Part 3.
Story One. Part 4.
Story One. Part 5.
Story One. Part 6. Finale. (This one.)
© Beth Kalet
To learn more and to purchase Beth Kalet’s book, Seven Stories, please click here. You may also contact Beth through Hummingbird by clicking here.
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