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Chapter 17 – Grievous Bodily Harm

Verne’s voice: cruel, whispering,

Insistent, filling up

An answering machine with abortive calls

Never answered. “Mirabel?

Don’t think you’ll escape me.

You’ve begun a game

You can’t win”

My teeth began to chatter.

Derek’s eyes bugged.

It went on and on – filled the cassette –

Verne threatening that he’d find her and

The longer she made him wait

The sorrier he’d make her.

Did she want her family

MUDERED?

Did she want her friends

MURDERED?

Because he had nothing left to lose.

Sometimes he attempted different ploys;

He loved her –

They were made for each other –

She knew that

It had never been good with

Anyone but her.

Didn’t she want to be Lady Verne?

Wasn’t every bad thing

That had ever happened to either of them

All her fault?

She owed him.

He’d would find her

Wherever she was hiding,

He could smell her out.

He knew her friends were lying and

One of them would succumb – eventually.

“Call me, Mirabel.

You better call me.”

Derek and I looked at each other

Pale as ghosts. 

“He did it,” said Derek, finally.

“He must have.  He

Has everything – motive, means

Most of all, he has the 

Personality – the – what do they call it?

The killer signature.

Even a past record for

‘Grievous bodily harm’.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,”

I defended weakly, not wanting to have

Roomed with a killer. Not wanting my sister to have

Thrown me at a murderer.

Derek scoffed.

“We’ve got to take this to the police.”

Derek was supposedly the expert –

But even I could see the holes.

“It isn’t proof of anything,”

I argued. 

“So he threatened an ex-girlfriend!

Do you know how many guys do that?”

“No,” said Derek. “Do YOU?”

“Yes,” I spluttered. “I read Teen Vogue.

It happens all the freakin’ time.”

“Well,” said Derek, red-faced,

“You caught me. I’m embarrassed

For my gender.”

God, he was adorable.

I made my case,

“If the police came calling

Would be to search for Mirabel HARDER.”

“OH, GOD,” sighed Derek,

“I gave him the name of my dad’s P.I.! I’ve got to

Call him!” I sprang back so fast

Derek’s phone clattered to the ground

Between us. “Don’t call Verne!”

“I’m not calling Verne!

I’m callin the P.I.! Hello, Angie? This

Is Derek Lowther. Can I speak to Ed?

It’s an emergency.

O.K., I guess I can tell you,”

He grumbled. “I gave Ed’s name

To somebody I just met

Who’s looking for his missing girl. But then I found out

He’s a dangerous kind of guy.

Oh, he doesn’t?  Well, what if he asks

For a referral? OK. 

He hasn’t called? Well, thanks.

I’m better.”

Disconnected.

“She says he never takes cases like that

And would only recommend

Police. She says –“

He gulped – “Most people –

Searching for a past lover –

Have nothing good in mind.”

And I had been helping him!

But what else could I do when

Mirabel dumped me, too.

I leafed slowly through Mirabel’s

Portfolio.

There was a picture that I recognized –

Mirabel sent it to the family –

Bikini’d Mirabel on a sun-beaten

Grey-weathered viewing deck

Posing beneath an osprey nest.

“She talked about this place,”

I recalled. “She called it Dream Island.

She said she wished

She could just live there forever.”

I grabbed Derek by the arm.

“I know where that is,”

Eureka. Hard to explain

Those moments of insight

Where everything just comes together.

“She’d be stupid to return

To any place she’d ever been.”

There’s Derek, arguing for the sake of

Arguing. “The smart thing

Is to light out for somewhere you’ve never

Been before.” I batted that one

Off easily.  “Then what’s the point? If you’ve

Been miserable, what you want is 

Guaranteed happiness.”

“Unless you’re shallow,” said Derek.

“Then you need guaranteed variety.

Guaranteed newness.”

What an awful thing to say.

The question was, is Mirabel that bad?

I refused to believe it.

“She’s my sister,” I one-upped,

“I hope I know her better than you.”

He could have told me

I didn’t know her at all

And been right, but he backed down

Immediately. Maybe he saw

In my face the high stakes I felt in

Rescuing the sister who made me

Happy face pancakes all those years ago.

“It’s like a password hack.”

Now he argued for my side,

Bless him. “Depends how well 

You know the person.”

My phone rang. I jumped a mile.

“Oh, Jeez, it’s Verne!

What should I tell him?”

“Don’t pick up! We better get

Our stories straight.”

But I picked up. Bravest thing

I ever did. “Oh, hi, Verne

Did you find something?

Well, Derek’s talking to a neighbor

Who used to be a cop. 

Sure – when we find something –

Ok. Catch you later.”

Derek stared at me awestruck.

“That was incredible! Have you studied acting?”

“Hell no,” I told him

“I’ve studied LYING. Can’t get through

Teenage life without it.”

Most lies are cover-ups where your quarry

Is already suspicious. That never works.

Smart lies strikes first –

Bold, believable

(Because part of it is truth)

And straight out of nowhere.

“What were you thinking? Maybe you

Spooked him?’

“I was hoping to spook him. I wanted a way

To hint what we learned from your PI’s

Receptionist.  I mean,

WE NEED TO STOP HELPING HIM.”

“But what good is that?” Derek argued,

“If he finds Mirabel first?”

“He won’t,” I said.  “I know where to go

And I don’t want him following me.”

Do you have a spare phone?”

“Sure,” said Derek,

“Brand new trac phone in my dad’s office

Still in the packaging. And

Plenty of air miles burning holes in my pocket.

Do you need a passport?”

“It’s only Florida. Isla Ensueno.”