It took two days before Marianna calmed down enough to call Alna.
She sat on her bed, phone dangling in her hand as she nibbled on her lip. Really, she shouldn’t be so nervous about calling her own girlfriend, but considering what she was about to get herself into, Marianna felt that it was justified.
Pursing her lips, Marianna stood up, tossing her phone on her bed. She turned around, smoothing down the wrinkles in her bedspread for lack of anything better to do. She fluffed her pillows for good measure, well aware that she was stalling.
That done, Marianna straightened up, arms crossed as she eyed the phone now sitting on her bed, looking so innocent in its purple case with the sparkles that Marianna thought represented stars. She picked it up.
After finding Alna’s number in her contacts, Marianna hesitated once again. Her jaw clenched and she gripped her phone more tightly.
Here goes nothing, she thought, pressing “call.”
Lifting the phone to her ear, Marianna directed her gaze to the poster hanging above her bed. It was a poem by a man known as William Wordsworth, titled “Daffodils.” Being someone who dabbled in poetry herself, Marianna had taken a liking to it and decided she wanted it on her wall. The version she had printed imitated an old piece of parchment, all four edges curling with age, and a few fake ink stains here and there. The writing––
God, she was nervous.
“Marianna,” Alna greeted when she picked up. Despite her carefully controlled tone of voice, Marianna thought she sounded wary.
“Hi,” Marianna said, wondering if she should have invited Alna somewhere so they could have this conversation in person. Needing to focus her gaze on something, Marianna read her poster poem, barely even processing the words. “How are you?”
Really? That was the best she could come up with after stewing for two days?
“I’m well,” Alna replied. After a moment, she added, sounding hesitant, “Can I help you with something?”
Marianna tried to picture Alna, sitting on her bed, gripping her phone, her face set into an apprehensive frown.
“No, I don’t think so.” Silence. Alna said nothing, and Marianna realized how that had sounded. “I’m not breaking up with you,” she added hastily.
“I see.” Despite the formality of Alna’s words, Marianna was certain she heard a soft exhalation of relief on the other side of the line.
“What I mean,” Marianna began, sitting on her bed, “is I think I get why you lied to me.” She smoothed down another wrinkle in her blanket. “I’m not happy about it, but I understand.”
“I wanted to tell you,” Alna said, cutting off her next words. “I almost did, but it’s… difficult for me.”
The excuse was lame and they both knew it. Despite herself, Marianna smiled a bit.
And then her mind latched onto Alna’s words, making sense of them.
“After the movie, right?” she asked, staring down at her bedroom floor. It needed a vacuum, she thought. “That’s when you wanted to tell me.”
Alna’s voice was self-deprecating as she said, “That is not the only time I’ve wanted to tell you, but it was the one time I almost did.”
Marianna felt a flash of annoyance but forced herself to push it away. She had to admit that wouldn't have been the best moment for such a revelation. Besides, she hadn’t called to take out her (slowly dwindling) anger on Alna.
It was time to get to the point.
And so, breathing in slowly, she said, “Okay, then. How can I help?”
Silence.
“Sorry?” Alna sounded baffled
Stifling a giggle, she clarified, “With the”––she cast a wary look at her door and lowered her voice––“investigation thing. How can I help?”
More silence.
“You want to help me.”
It wasn’t a question, but Marianna answered anyway. “I do.”
A pause. And then, “You know, I pictured this scenario, but I wasn’t certain it would come to fruition.”
“Well,” Marianna said with a grin, glancing toward her bedroom window. There was an orange leaf stuck to it. “Good for you, because I’m helping whether you like it or not.”
***
Marianna had to admit she was a little nervous. All right, so “a little” was a gross understatement, but given the situation she would soon walk into, Marianna thought she was entitled to be apprehensive. Not that Alna was forcing her to interview Emile Cope’s parole officer. It had been Marianna’s idea.
Marianna thought the officer must have her work cut out for her, working with a former murderer who had only recently been let out of prison on good behaviour. According to Alna, he had been put away eight years ago after murdering his former friend after a skirmish, staging it as a drug overdose. As Alna later found out, that hadn’t been his first murder.
“You’ve already interviewed, what, three people, right?” Marianna had reasoned when they were still at Alna’s house. A couple of days before, Alna finally tracked down Bailey Quinton, saying later it was “almost a complete waste of time. That man’s not the killer. At least not this time around. Taylor showed much more promise.”
At Alna’s nod, Marianna continued, “Well, what if people start to recognize Ilene Dyson? I mean, it could happen. So, I could take your place for this interview. Then there’s a smaller chance of someone getting suspicious.” When she’d told Alna she wanted to help, she’d meant it. Even if Alna seemed reluctant to let her do so.
And that was how Marianna found herself in a fast-food restaurant, waiting for the parole officer known as Harlow Ashworth.
Marianna looked around, too restless to focus on anything for long. Besides various ice cream displays, the North Pole followed the pattern of any other: tables with booths lining the walls, their large windows that overlooked the parking lot. There were less comfortable tables in the center of the room, which didn’t deter people from sitting in them one bit. The plastic chairs, Marianna always found, should only be sat on when wearing pants or long shorts. Otherwise, it was too cold.
It was then, as Marianna was looking at a large advertisement of a banana split, that Alna spoke up.
“You don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable with it,” she told her for the umpteenth time. Marianna turned to her face with a smile that was a mixture of reassuring, indulgent, and annoyed.
“Alna,” Marianna said in a gentle voice, “I like you, but you’re starting to sound like a broken record.”
A brief look of amusement flashed across her girlfriend’s face. “I suppose I am, aren’t I?” she mused. Her features settled into a more serious expression. “I want to be certain you’re sure about this.”
“What?” Marianna teased, reaching out to give Alna’s knee a little shove. “You can’t read it in my body language or something?”
“I can,” Alna assured her. “But I also know you could change your mind.”
This time, Marianna squeezed Alna’s hand, intending to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Miss Holt, I’m all in,” she joked
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Alna searched Marianna’s face before her lips curled upwards. “Indeed you are, Miss Whitlock.”
Sitting back in her seat, Marianna cast another glance toward the entryway of the North Pole, a fast-food restaurant that was known for its ice cream. After another long explanation from Alna about her less than legal activities and a lengthy discussion, Marianna had finally convinced Alna that she wanted to help; that she wasn’t making a spur-of-the-moment decision.
“She’s here,” Alna announced, fixing her gaze on the parking lot. Marianna glanced to her right and noticed a strawberry blonde haired woman approaching the restaurant. Ms. Ashworth was dressed to the nines, wearing a black blazer that was only halfway buttoned up, revealing the white shirt she was wearing underneath. Her hair was gathered into a tight, professional bun that looked painful, her head ducked against the wind that had been attacking Brigate since this morning. With her black slacks and high heels, Marianna thought Ms. Ashworth looked more like a lawyer than a parole officer.
Was this some kind of standard dress code, or the way Ms. Ashworth always dressed? Marianna wondered.
She felt Alna brush a kiss over her cheek before she pulled her hand away. Marianna turned as she stood up. Alna’s expression was serious. “Keep a clear head and you’ll be fine” were her last words of advice before Alna walked off, getting in line to place an order at the front counter.
“I’ll stay nearby,” Alna said a half an hour earlier, as they went over some last-minute plans. “Within hearing distance, if I can. But either way, record the conversation and take notes. Watch her reactions, see if anything makes her uncomfortable. If she tries to ask you personal questions, redirect the conversation to Cope. And don’t let her get even an inkling of the real reason you’re speaking with her.”
Keeping this in mind, Marianna squared her shoulders and plastered on a polite smile, standing up to greet Harlow Ashworth.
“Ms. Ashworth?” Marianna asked as she approached the woman, who had just entered through the glass doors. A slight hesitation in her voice was the only sign of the nervousness she was feeling.
Ms. Ashworth’s gaze snapped toward Marianna, and a warm look appeared on her face. Oddly enough, despite Ms. Ashworth appearing no older than forty, the look reminded her of a kind, grandmotherly figure.
“Marianna Whitlock, right?” the woman asked, offering a hand for Marianna to shake. She did so, trying to hide her uneasiness.
“That’s right,” she replied. “Thank you so much for meeting me; you have no idea how many people have turned me down for an interview.” Great, now it sounded like she was gushing. She should probably dial it down a notch. It was hard to resist the urge to cast her gaze around in search of Alna.
Ms. Ashworth gave a slight laugh. “It’s no problem at all,” she said. “I’m always up for trying to convince people to join law enforcement or something of the like. God knows you can never have too many police officers. Or parole officers, for that matter.” Here, she gave Marianna a sly smile. She made a vague gesture toward the front counter. “Are you hungry? We could eat something while we talk.”
Marianna agreed, and they both got in line. Alna was already at the counter, waiting for her order. She cast Marianna a discrete, reassuring look over her shoulder before looking away. Marianna felt herself relax, if only a bit.
A little over five minutes later, Marianna sat down across from Ms. Ashworth, setting her Double Chocolate Brain Freeze (as the company liked to call them) in front of her, alongside a piece of lined paper and a pen. As she carefully pulled her phone out and started recording, Marianna cast a discrete glance at Alna, who appeared uninterested in her and Ms. Ashworth. She sat at a table to their left, facing them, but keeping her gaze focused on nothing in particular as she played with her plastic straw. However, as if noticing Marianna’s gazed, she met her eyes, smiled, then looked away.
The exchange lasted mere seconds, but it settled Marianna’s nerves somewhat. She turned her attention back to Ms. Ashworth, who took a bite of her own Brain Freeze.
“Right.” Marianna pulled a list of questions toward her. “If you don’t mind my asking, have you been paying much attention to the news lately?”
“I have,” Ms. Ashworth said, looking puzzled. When Marianna suggested that she question Ms. Ashworth with the excuse of doing some research for school (or college and career options), Alna had been wary. But, after some discussion, Marianna finally convinced her she could pull it off. Now she needed to follow through.
“Well, you might have noticed that the number of accidents happening is uncommon.” Marianna tucked some hair behind her ear. Don’t stall, she told herself. It wouldn’t help anything. “Do you think it’s possible that they’re deliberate attacks?”
A contemplative look fell over Ms. Ashworth’s features. “I suppose it is.” She cast another confused look at Marianna. “If you don’t mind my asking, how is this relevant to your project?”
Marianna forced an easy smile onto her face, her heart rate picking up its tempo. “I’m trying out my observational skills. Some students at my school are doing ‘A Day in the Life’ type of thing, and I thought it’d be cool to try my own detecting.” She shrugged her shoulders.
Ms. Ashworth let out a slight chuckle. “Sounds like you’re leaning more toward being a detective than a parole officer.”
Marianna tried to adjust the phone next to her leg, hoping everything was recording properly. Out of the corner of her eye, Alna gave no indication she even knew the two women existed.
Marianna tilted her head in a casual manner, licking some vanilla ice cream filled with chocolate chunks off the back of her spoon. “It’s a job I’m considering,” she pretended to admit. She attempted to flash a sheepish smile, which was easy to pull off, considering she was already a bundle of nerves as it was.
Ms. Ashworth looked amused at Marianna’s expense, although she didn’t comment on it. “So, deliberate attacks, huh?” She took another bite of her ice cream. “Have you taken this to the police?”
“No,” Marianna said. “I mean, it’s just a theory, and the police would probably think I’m pulling a prank or something.” Marianna’s heart, which had calmed down in the past few minutes, sped up once more. Was she being indiscreet? This was much more difficult than television made it seem.
Glancing down at the piece of paper, Marianna scanned the inquiries she and Alna had composed together. She decided against asking about Emile Cope’s possible involvement just yet, lest she started looking shady.
That thought almost made her smile. Never in a million years had Marianna expected to find herself in this situation.
“So, if I did want to become a parole officer, how would I go about that?”
For the next couple minutes, Marianna listened as Ms. Ashworth went into detail about getting a degree in college, background checks to make sure the potential officer had a clean slate, a training program and so on. She seemed very passionate about her job, as she soon went on to talk about some people she helped rehabilitate. Ms. Ashworth didn’t offer any names, but she told Marianna of how she had helped a drug dealer around her age turn his life around.
“And I can’t tell you how proud I was, to finally see him finally get his life back on track,” Ms. Ashworth said with clear enthusiasm, her eyes lighting up. For a moment, her mind seemed elsewhere as she glanced off to the side. Ms. Ashworth shifted her phone away from a small puddle of water that had splashed onto the table when she’d gestured too broadly with a bottle of water in hand.
“I’ve gotten off topic, haven’t I?” she asked, sounding apologetic.
Considering Ms. Ashworth had spent a good ten minutes talking about a client that had no real significance as to why she was here, Marianna agreed. But she couldn’t say that. Instead, she assured Ms. Ashworth, “It’s all right; it was interesting to listen to. Might even give me some street smarts.”
Ms. Ashworth gave a slight smile at Marianna’s poor attempt at a joke before asking if she had any more questions.
“Well, this might sound weird,” Marianna downplayed. “But I was doing some research online some time ago, and I came across an article about Emile Cope. The one about how he, um…”
Murdered five people by drugging them before they got into their vehicle, causing various crashes. Not to mention he’d given an older lady a heart attack. She’d died before the ambulance could reach her place.
The methods, as Alna said, were too similar to ignore.
“It kind of got me thinking…” Marianna continued. Unconsciously, she licked her lips. “Do you think it could be possible that Mr. Cope could have anything to do with the accidents that have been happening lately?” When Ms. Ashworth looked taken aback, Marianna rushed to add, “I was just curious. Trying to test out my detective skills more, I guess.”
Ms. Ashworth furrowed her eyebrows. The glint that appeared in her eyes was… Not angry, exactly, but annoyed. Defensive?
“Normally, I would refrain from speaking of my client in such an open manner,” Ms. Ashworth said lowly. Marianna resisted the urge to squirm. “But I’ll have you know that, since his release, Mr. Cope has made great progress in becoming a better citizen. His rehabilitation has gone quite smoothly and I’m very proud of him.” She leveled Marianna with a steely glare. “You should think things through before throwing around accusations like that.”
Marianna suddenly felt guilty. She half wished she could disappear into the floor. “You’re right,” she mumbled, feeling the telltale warmth creep into her cheeks. “Sorry.”
After that, there was a noticeable tension between her and Ms. Ashworth. Their interview ended a few minutes later when Ms. Ashworth coolly informed Marinna she had somewhere to be. Marianna managed to ask her one more question––whether or not she could meet Mr. Cope in person––before they said their goodbyes. Her request was denied, but she and Alna had known it was a long shot anyway.
When Ms. Ashworth finally made her leave, she left Marianna sitting in stunned silence. And then, slowly, a sense of accomplishment flared up. She smiled to herself with satisfaction. That, Marianna decided, had been the single most bizarre thing she’d ever done. And a part of her had enjoyed it.
Alna must have felt she had done a good job as well because not long after Ms. Ashworth’s vehicle pulled out of the parking lot, she slipped into the booth beside her. Marianna received a quick peck on the cheek for her efforts.
“You did well, Marianna,” Alna praised, her breath tickling Marianna’s ear. “I must say I’m impressed.”
When Marianna turned her head to meet her girlfriend’s gaze, she noted Alna’s eyes seemed to hold respect. Pride, even. Marianna felt her sense of accomplishment grow.
“Well, that was fun, I think,” she grinned. Alna, having dropped her mask of indifference, peered at her with eyes that glittered merrily.
“I’ve always thought there was a certain rush to it,” Alna agreed. She captured Marianna’s lips in a kiss that lasted a few seconds, her arm around her waist. “Now let’s go back to my place so I can go over the evidence.”