Chapter Six
After Sunday at the diner had gone by in a blur, Lee was grateful for Labor Day, or rather, grateful for the additional day of rest without having to focus on work.
As she flipped the overly-cooked pancake in the frying pan, Lee Holmes came to the conclusion that being exposed to murder wasn’t too dissimilar from being exposed to stardom, except, unlike movie stars, most people didn’t grow up wanting to be serial killers.
People craved fame, existing within their trivial bubbles if only to capture a moment underneath the spotlight. And yet the spotlight somehow hid terrible truths underneath its haunting illumination. The drugs, the abuse, the never-ending need to have something more.
Similarly, people all over the world, herself included, allowed curiosity to seep into their everyday life in the form of podcasts, documentaries, all about murderers. It was thrilling, intriguing, a peek behind the curtain and that was all—a peek to relieve the curious ache.
Lee Holmes had officially thrown the curtain open and disposed of the carcass behind it. There was no spotlight, because she had shattered it into pieces. And now, there were no hidden truths left to find.
When the frying pan began to sizzle, she retrieved the spatula from the kitchen counter, grabbing the pan by the handle with the other hand as she scooped its contents onto the plate. “Babe, your pancakes are ready!” Lee shouted, hoping that Morgan could hear her from the bedroom.
Her girlfriend padded into the kitchen just a few seconds later, putting both hands around Lee’s waist as she came up behind her, placing a kiss upon her cheek.
“Thank you,” she offered, as she retracted her body and began opening one of the kitchen cupboards, pulling out a jar of chocolate spread in the process.
Lee tried not to focus on the fact that despite the normality of cooking pancakes, the slightest hint of affection, even a kiss upon her cheek, seemed anything but normal at present time.
Playing the role of housewife all things considered felt not too dissimilar to putting headphones on in order to mask the sounds of a war occurring right outside her window.
“What time are we meeting your mom?” Lee asked—a vague attempt at distracting herself from the lingering intrusive thoughts that were festering.
It was almost humorous, she thought. Two days ago, she needed a distraction from the idea of spending time with Morgan’s mother, and now Morgan’s mother had become a welcomed distraction from the complexity of her current universe.
Until she was ready to face the complexity head on, denial seemed like her safest bet.
Morgan Finch was presently creating what could only be described as a pancake monstrosity.
After covering both of her pancakes with chocolate spread, she had now taken to adding sprinkles and crushed up pieces of a protein bar that was two weeks past stale and one week away from being considered a health hazard.
“Sometime around lunch,” she responded, attempting to talk over the sizzle from the pan after Lee added more batter.
“She didn’t specify. We’re meeting at that fancy place again, Laguana, or whatever the fuck it’s called.
All I know is that it makes me want lasagna, which they don’t serve.
It also makes me want to adopt an iguana. ”
Flipping the pancake with expert precision, Lee Holmes giggled ever so slightly before exhaling, allowing the weight from her shoulders to alleviate, if only temporarily.
“Do you remember when you took me to what was quite possibly the worst bar in all of existence for our first date? I should have known that you weren’t cut out for expensive tastes right there and then. ”
Morgan Finch took a seat upon her regular bar stool, placing her plate down upon the countertop with a clink.
“That might not have been my finest moment,” she grimaced at the recollection, picking up her knife and fork as she cut through her pancakes.
“I was nervous and ill-prepared. I like to think that I’ve made it up to you over the years. ”
With her pancake cooked to perfection this time, Lee grabbed her spatula and flipped it onto her plate, exchanging the spatula for a spoon after she had done so.
She placed the spoon into a bowl of sugar and sprinkled it accordingly.
“Whilst I would agree with you, there’s still an empty space to fill where our anniversary should have been,” she reasoned, grabbing half a lemon from the fridge to squeeze onto her pancake.
“Perhaps we could go back to that bar for old times’ sake. ”
Whilst Lee took a seat upon her own regular bar stool, Morgan gulped down a piece of her pancake and laughed ever so slightly into her fork. “I don’t know what’s more surprising—you wanting to go back to that bar, or you helping me the other night.”
Morgan Finch wasn't wrong. Her comment was surprising and yet oddly fitting given the current circumstances.
It sat, like the pancake in her throat. She swallowed both down.
Perhaps her entire personality had changed the night of their anniversary, and she was becoming the type of person that enjoyed dingy bars and sticky tables.
Morgan Finch was the attraction within the exhibit and Lee Holmes had ventured forth behind the display. Upon stepping inside, she was officially on the other side of the glass—an exhibit in her own right. “Let's just call it a change of scenery,” Lee commented.
“As wonderful as that sounds,” Morgan said, taking another bite of her pancake. “I have other plans in mind.”
Whilst she wouldn’t say it aloud, Lee Holmes would be perfectly content if Morgan’s plans involved sleeping for twelve hours, if only to catch up on their sheer lack of sleep over the past few days.
Alas, she concluded internally that her girlfriend was trying.
She was trying despite everything that sat between them, and so, she, in turn, could try, too.
“Consider me intrigued,” Lee said, cutting apart her pancake into smaller, more manageable pieces, not unlike a child. “Tell me more.”
“That’s all you get.” Morgan smirked, offering a wink in the process that would usually be enough in its own right to fluster Lee, only, the effect was somewhat wavered by her girlfriend chewing a piece of pancake around her words, hovering over the plate as if the contents could fall out of her mouth out at any given moment.
“Let’s just get through lunch with my dear mother first. If we both survive, it won’t be long until you find out what those plans are. "
Diana Finch did not move with grace or precision, but rather, much like a steamroller paving a new road with an overpowering sense of force.
Her shoulders, always square, never slouched—her chin raised upwards as if an invisible hand was always holding it there.
Diana Finch screamed business, or, as much as an individual could scream business on a less than lucrative salary.
The steamroller came to a stop at their table at Laguana’s—which sold neither lasagna, nor iguanas—and Lee made a point to stand up first, opening her arms wide for Diana to step into them.
Morgan followed shortly after, offering a kiss on her mother’s cheek before motioning an arm towards a chair that they had reserved for her at the opposite side of the table.
Diana Finch wasn’t the type of person who enjoyed seats being pulled out for her, and her daughter had reacted accordingly.
“It’s so good to see you, Mom. I know it’s hard for you to find the time on public holidays. ”
Lee Holmes maintained a smile as she sat back in her seat, pushing the chair forward towards the table. She better not say that crime never takes a day off, she thought to herself, as she watched her potential future mother-in-law take a seat herself.
Diana eagerly placed a napkin onto her tapered black trousers before removing her blazer, placing it on the empty seat to her right.
“Crime doesn’t take a holiday, Morgan. Regardless, I wanted to see you both to celebrate your five years together.
I presume nothing of significance happened, otherwise, you would have called. ”
Morgan Finch pinched the top of her nose and closed her eyes, as if attempting to prevent an impending headache.
It reminded Lee much of Morgan’s mother, Diana.
Whilst their personalities could not be more far apart, their appearance and mannerisms were uncanny.
They shared the same olive skin, the same piercing green eyes, and at present time, the same coping mechanisms. “If you’re asking whether I proposed, the answer, dear Mother, is no. ”
Diana waved down a waiter using nothing more than a disconcerting stare and a shake of her hand.
“I didn’t ask you anything, Morgan,” she said, looking now at her daughter as opposed to the man in a red blazer making their way over towards their table.
“Although, you are turning thirty in a few months, and I would like some grandchildren before I perish.”
Avoiding eye contact entirely was Lee Holmes, gazing down at the sleek black table until the waiter had come into view of her peripherals.
Grateful for the distraction, she lifted the menu and ordered first. It was a strange etiquette, being around Diana Finch.
Morgan's mother didn’t appreciate the politeness of queuing protocol or kindly asking the rest of the table if they would like to order first. To put it bluntly, she loved a narcissist, so long as she could control them.
“I’ll have the goat's cheese salad for my starter, the lentil bolognese for my main course, and a glass of Sauvignon, please.”
Diana Finch nodded, as if with approval, and there was a time in which Lee would feel relatively impressed at such a feat.
Now, however, after five years of spending time around her, it felt much like white noise.
“I’ll have the same, please, minus the lentil bolognese.
For my main course I’ll have the squid.”
Morgan fidgeted in place, a finger hovering over each item on the menu that sparked her interest. It brought a smile to Lee’s lips unintentionally, witnessing the endearing nature of her girlfriend as she struggled her way through coming to a decision as to what to order.
Having felt terrified that nothing would ever be the same between them again, she was grateful that moments like this still existed.
“The cheese and broccoli gratin sounds nice. Could I have that, please?” Her finger hovered once again whilst she perused through the menu a second time.
“I’ll also have bruschetta for my starter, and a negroni, please. Thank you very much.”
The waiter retrieved each menu from the table, smiling predominantly at Morgan, as if sensing a kindred spirit in her that was based upon an ‘I don’t belong here’ mentality.
Lee Holmes attempted not to dwell on the irony that he had placed his affections towards the serial killer of the table.
“Excellent. I shall return shortly with your drinks,” he offered, before departing promptly.
As far as Diana Finch was concerned, there was no such thing as an awkward silence.
However, Lee was unsure as to how to categorize the lack of voices surrounding them as anything other than awkward.
“So…” she said, uttering the word before an entire thought process had even entered her mind.
“Diana, I presume that you’ll be working after this.
Are there any particular cases at the moment that have piqued your interest? ”
Diana’s gaze now latched onto Lee, and at that moment in time, Lee deduced that Diana's eyes lacked something that Morgan’s possessed, or perhaps it was the opposite, namely that Morgan’s were the ones left wanting, she wasn’t sure.
All Lee knew was that whilst the pair of them had the same-colored eyes, the similarities between mother and daughter did not stretch as far as to what was behind them.
“Any case with a conclusion that is yet to be discovered piques my interest,” she commented, sounding much like a detective from a cliché eighties film, Lee thought.
“I have a case with no leads presently, and so, the answer is yes. I’ll be visiting the station after our meal. ”
With all things considered, Lee wondered at that moment if Morgan had ever pried for information from her mother that had aided her in her extracurricular activities, as she had recently called them.
Perhaps Morgan has asked her about her open cases.
For example, areas such as a potential search party being conducted for her latest victim.
Lee could practically imagine Morgan’s eyes lighting up at the idea of a cold case; the notion that she could not only solve a murder but commit one simultaneously.
“Anything we might be able to help with?” Morgan asked, partially confirming Lee’s own suspicions with a seemingly innocent question as the waiter returned with their beverages, placing them down upon the table as he memorized each order with their respective spots on the table.
Her girlfriend nodded in his direction in thanks as she took a sip of her negroni.
“Lee loves a good mystery, don’t you, babe?
Perhaps she could extend her expertise,” Morgan continued, diverting the conversation back to Diana’s case as the waiter took his leave.
Diana Finch crinkled her nose ever so slightly, as if her daughter's words had an unpleasant smell about them. “That’s awfully polite of you to offer,” she said, taking a small sip of her own drink. “But cases like mine are best left to real experts as opposed to…podcast enthusiasts. No offense.”
Through her own actions at both their apartment and Rosehill Cemetery, Lee was about fifty steps past podcast enthusiast and one step away from being a stone-cold murderer, although it was hardly appropriate to correct Diana on such a remark, given the fact that doing so would likely result in a lifetime in prison, and so, she took a sip of her own drink, albeit a much larger sip than Diana’s, and kept her mouth shut.
“You never know,” Morgan said, as her eyes became a shade darker underneath the dim lights of Laguana. “We might just make an expert out of her yet.”
Lee Holmes wasn’t sure whether she was looking into the eyes of an angel, or a devil, and yet, as she gazed into those darkened eyes and observed a somewhat menacing smirk adorn Morgan’s features, she found an equally dark part of herself looking back.