Chapter 22
T he sight in front of me makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat as Diana pulls into the curb next to my grandparents’ thick grassy lawn. Our neighbor, Officer Berrett, wearing a greasy smile, is chatting with Aunt Jevie in front of the house near our wrinkled sidewalk.
This can’t be good. My eyes flit directly to Officer Berrett’s Marigold tattoo and I stall in the process of opening the car door as a flutter of nerves skips through my ribs. What are they doing out here with the sun positioned directly above, midday on a Saturday afternoon? And why is he in uniform, talking to my great-aunt?
I slip past them on the side of the yellowing front window blinds wearing oversized sweats and Diana’s cat tee from last night, nearly crushing the flowers mixed in between the soil and the thin concrete barrier as I try not to involve myself in their seemingly friendly conversation.
Officer Berrett says hello from over Aunt Jevie’s shoulder and I watch as calculations begin circulating behind his eyes. He must notice just how juvenile I look right now. Hopefully, my rugged attire and lackadaisical exit from Diana’s car—as she blasts “Your Love” by The Outfield while shouting “Bring my sweater to school. K? Love ya!” over the car stereo with bushy-tailed enthusiasm—isn’t raising questions about my dual status here in this universe.
Officer Berrett knew I was on assignment from our conversations in passing and I was banking on the hope that he’d believed me and wasn’t going to question me further about the Bureau.
Truthfully, I hadn’t expected to have another encounter with him, not after I thought I could get back to the future. Since that failed, I’d almost forgotten the neighbor officer could be just as much of a threat to me as Marigold was in the future.
Was there a way for me to figure out exactly what Officer Berrett’s involvement with Marigold was without sparking suspicion? For now all I could do is maintain the role he thought I was playing—FBI agent working undercover as a spunky teenager. I was already doing that with some success. I think.
My worries escalate as I shut the door behind me. I feel as if I’ve stepped on a dull nail, unsure of how to assess the risk. Should I be feeling a tetanus-shot-worthy level of concern or are Officer Berrett’s neighborly conversations dull nails that present no danger.
Maybe he’s eager to chat with anyone and everyone. Totally exempt from ulterior motives. His reputation and questionable choice of body ink make me think otherwise. He could be questioning Jevie about me right now.
I take in the savory smell of brown gravy from the living room as I enter the house and peek into the kitchen where Marcie’s setting the table with forks and sharp knives. The sun peeks through the back door producing a prismatic light pattern onto the kitchen table thanks to a few cracks in the small forest of backyard trees.
My tongue prickles with delight as the shadow casts a spotlight on the heavy steam rising from the hot plates. Yum. Country-fried chicken. The prickling intensifies and I find my mouth watering, as if I can’t dig into Marcie’s home-cooked meal fast enough.
I drop my drawstring bag underneath Marcie’s mood sign and sit down at the table where Davy and Steven wait impatiently. Davy’s tapping his fork aggressively and Steven looks like he’s having an internal battle over whether or not to dig in before everyone’s seated.
I rub my thumbs together in anticipation and occupy my mind with Marcie’s mood sign which has a new setting, “Feeling Frisky.” Like a knee-jerk reaction, I cower in embarrassment. Pops is on Mt. Kilimanjaro right now, living out of his backpack, which would make him unable to help her with anything “frisky,” right? I stop that train of thought before it even leaves the station.
When she sees me eyeing the food again, Marcie welcomes me back. Jevie’s new husband, Gary, joins us just shortly before Jevie saunters in from outside. She sits down and Erica floats into the kitchen a few minutes later to complete the lunch circle.
Davy’s already stabbed at his chicken, shoved a piece into his mouth and moaned with pleasure before everyone’s seated, but somehow Marcie’s focus lands on me and the fact that I’ve failed to change out of Diana’s cat pajamas for our family lunch.
“You look purrrty relaxed in Diana’s cat tee,” Marcie teases, placing the dinner rolls at the center of the table before sitting down to eat with us. “How is Diana by the way? I haven’t seen her in a few weeks,” she says as Davy licks the gravy from his fingers next to her. Marcie actually notices this time and slaps his wrist with a bread roll.
“She’s good,” I reply, brushing the wrinkles out of my shirt with both hands under the table, wondering why my outfit trumps Davy’s table manners.
“You should have her come over here next time instead of going over to her place.”
“Yeah, maybe we’ll spend next weekend over here,” I say, attempting to fulfill her request.
“No. Eww. This house doesn’t need any more girls in it,” Davy says, shoving a roll into his brace-filled mouth. I can’t help but chuckle at his snide remark. The further he pushes the limits at the dinner table the wider his smile becomes.
“No, no please do.” Steven makes a winky face at me. “She’s hot!” he says. I make it a point to ignore his comment.
“I just met your neighbor.” Jevie cuts in as we fall silent, our mouths full of gravy. “The cop with the motorcycle, outside. Nice guy.” She leans over her new husband to hand me a business card. “He asked me to give this to you.”
I stare at the tiny paper in my hand. Why would a cop have a business card? The name Robert Schills rests on the front of the card under a bubbly Schills and Sons logo. When I flip it over I find a handwritten message addressed to me. My heart races as I read.
You mentioned Marigold the last time we met. If you need a ride to chase the flowers I’ll take you there. Leave a note in my mailbox.
The card feels like a scorching flame in my hands.
“Officer Berrett asked to have dinner with you all and his family soon,” Jevie says to the rest of the family. My heart sinks a little at this announcement.
“That would be lovely,” Marcie says.
I sit in silence waiting for my heart to steady. What appetite I had has left me and I’m unable to finish off the last few bites of country-fried chicken after the interruption of Officer Berrett’s cryptic note.
Davy leads the table in a discussion about whether or not Ewoks are furry and cute, or vicious and predatory, but it’s not enough of a distraction for me to occupy my thoughts elsewhere. Officer Berrett is up to something and it doesn’t take much to decipher what he meant by writing that note. He suspects I have something to do with Marigold and he’s baiting me.
“He asked how long you were going to be around and mentioned something about giving you an emergency ride,” Jevie adds as Steven proposes a theory in favor of Ewoks being vicious and predatory. Jevie winks at me, keeping her words at a low whisper behind her husband's back. “I would’ve told my aunt instantly if I’d received a ride on a cop’s motorcycle.”
Officer Berrett was definitely baiting me—inserting himself into my life through family members and asking questions. Was he baiting me to get me to go with him to the mountains? Or did he somehow think I had an interest in Marigold?
“Yeah. He helped me out this week when I was in a bind,” I say, hoping my short explanation won’t encourage more questions.
“Maybe I should find myself in a bind,” Jevie quips with ease.
I would laugh at her joke were it not so concerning that he took the time to corner a family member in order to personally deliver a cryptic message.
What was he doing bringing up our initial encounter with my family when I explicitly told him not to? My family couldn’t find out about my FBI badge and status. It would raise too many questions. He must be trying to give me a signal in the form of blackmail. As if he plans to disclose my FBI status to my family if I don’t “ride to chase the flowers” with him. That or he somehow knows of my Marigold connection and intends to introduce me to his cult.
Sickening. I become heated just thinking about it.
Later at night, I’m still disgruntled over Officer Berrett approaching a family member, when I remember the manila envelope of newspaper clippings shoved in my cheerleading drawstring bag. I’d already decided not to respond to Officer Berrett’s note but I had plans to do more Marigold research.
I make my way through the rod of flannel shirts into Little Narnia after waiting for all the family members downstairs to relocate themselves back upstairs. I plan to review the stolen envelope of clippings within the privacy of Little Narnia’s walls. That and Pops has hundreds of newspaper clippings stored within two large metal filing cabinets. I might find valuable historical information there as well.
In Little Narnia, I walk toward the metal cabinets and run my fingers over Pops’ pea green and mustard accessories scattered throughout his hideout. I open the first metal drawer and pull out a small collection of newspapers.
I set the newspaper stack next to my stolen manila folder on Pops’ desk, sit down and begin taking notes in my crossword about what I’d found yesterday in Tyler’s atrium. I jot down concerns about Officer Berrett and brainstorm our last two encounters trying to discern when he would’ve suspected me of having a Marigold connection. I mumbled Marigold under my breath during our second encounter after he mentioned the stabbing at the brewery. Did he hear me? Or is he aware of more than I thought possible. Could he have some sort of connection with the future and time travel? He mentioned he has connections to the Bureau. Were they capable of tracing me through time? As I write this down I realize I’m becoming a bit paranoid. The Bureau knew nothing of time travel.
When I’m finished, my fingers spread across the folded creases of the atrium sourced newspaper clippings and I read a few of the cutout headlines.
One headline from the stack flashes in front of me with familiarity. It reads “Bill Hee, EPA Director’s Death Shocks Local Community” and the date at the top, Denver Post, February 5, 1987 . The article is recent, as in cut from The Denver Post just a few days ago. The name is familiar so I sit for a minute thinking about where I’ve heard the name Bill Hee and then it hits me. Officer Berrett. The very man responsible for my bad mood this evening, mentioned that name to me last Tuesday before I’d discovered his Marigold tattoo.
He was prodding me to see if I was involved in Hee’s case while I was trying to get as much information as possible without confirming or denying involvement. How could I have not known it at the time?
Officer Berrett’s connected to Marigold and so must be Bill Hee’s death. The person who clipped these newspaper articles and paperclipped them together knows that much. Why else would they have shoved them in the same manila folder?
Whoever these clippings belonged to thought the EPA director’s death had something to do with Marigold, the Sheriden Foundation, and Clean Wave. My last conversation with Officer Berrett confirms the same.
Could that be why Sheriden recently acquired the brand Clean Wave, so that they can sell household and hair products? Products that need to be approved by the EPA. So why the death of the EPA director? Did Marigold need an EPA death to get their product approved?
If the newspaper clippings were grouped together for a reason, then I trusted someone in the Jacobson household had made this connection too. Tyler’s parents were his grandparents in Non-80s-Land thanks to this alternate universe’s generational time-squish.
Truthfully the alternate timeline made my head hurt. I try hard to think of what his grandparents' professions were in Non-80s-Land. A retired school teacher and lawyer, I think? Whoever compiled these newspaper clippings, they were further along in their investigation than I was.
Why they had made the connection between Marigold and the EPA, I hadn’t a clue, but I know I have to find one.