Near Miss

Chapter Seven: Weeding

Rhiannon's hand slid to her pocket, her fingers slipping against the thin sheet of paper. Trying to keep her eyes on the road, she dug out the paper, crumpling it a little in the process, and mashed it against the wheel until she was able to read the address.

She was fairly sure she was on the correct street, and the address she was looking for was displayed quite prominently on the mailbox. But somehow, she felt that something wasn't right.

"Blaise Jorgeson Junior," she muttered to herself, staring at the house he apparently lived in. "Who are you?"

There were already two cars in the driveway, so Rhiannon parked against the edge of the sidewalk. Making sure to check behind her for cars or bicyclists, she opened the door and stepped out.

There was already a man in the driveway, but he hadn't yet noticed her. He was almost completely bent over, scanning a wide crack in the concrete with incredible precision. Next to him was a small pile of limp green weeds.

"Hello?" Rhiannon called.

The man glanced away from his weeding, noticed Rhiannon, and straightened up. "Hello?"

Rhiannon checked the paper. "I'm looking for Blaise Jorgeson Junior," she said hopefully.

The man brushed off his jeans. "Yes, that's me. Why?"

"The- the financial advisor?" Rhiannon blurted before she could stop herself.

Jorgeson sighed and threw his head back. "I'm weeding!" he said forcefully. "Yes. The financial advisor. Is there a problem?"

Rhiannon gulped. "No, I was just making sure," she ventured.

"Enough of that," he dismissed. "What do you need?"

"I need to ask you some questions about last night," Rhiannon said briskly, tapping her finger against her chin.

Jorgeson cocked his head. "Are you from the police?"

Within seconds, Rhiannon had selected a plausible lie. "I'm the assistant of a private investigator," she explained. "I'm just gathering preliminary evidence, it's nothing important."

"Who do you work for?"

"S. Connor Greaves," Rhiannon found herself saying. She had no idea where the name came from; it seemed to pop from her mouth of its own accord.

"And what's his interest in the case?" After a brief pause, he added curiously, "What does the S stand for?"

Jorgeson seemed to have a lot of questions, which was perfectly understandable. But Rhiannon didn't really have the patience to answer them all, especially when that meant expanding on existing lies. She needed a quick and simple way to stop his interrogation- and before she even finished her mental sentence, she had one within her grasp.

"She," Rhiannon said sharply, "was hired by someone who's thought to have lied to the police. We're working to clear the woman's name."

Jorgeson was appropriately taken aback. "Okay then," he said cautiously, "fire ahead."

Rhiannon cleared her throat. "Perhaps we could... step away from the street, a little?"

"I have some chairs on my porch," Jorgeson suggested.

"That would work well."

Once they had taken a seat, Rhiannon began. "What exactly caught your attention last night?"

"There was this noise in the street," Jorgeson explained. "It wasn't metallic, not like a regular car crash or anything. But I thought I heard tires screech, and someone yelled- screamed, maybe, I couldn't tell. There were some- noises- of things hitting each other. Thuds, thunks, I don't know."