Ovenshine

20.

This early in the morning campus is silent, as soundless as a ghost town, and as he aimlessly paces the little curve of crumbling road outside the baseball stadium Percy can pretend he's alone.

It's only pretending. His older brother will be here at any moment, and in the mean time a dial tone trills in his ear, background noise as he paces up and down the walk: the soles of his tennis shoes, wet from the morning dew, leaving dark prints like the rubbings of fossils behind in the concrete.

Percy hates making phone calls, especially to strangers. He dreads it, will spend every second of the phone's ringing praying that the other person doesn't pick up. This is one of the rare times where he needs a response, where his heart pinches a little every time the ringer bwwrrs and then goes silent again.

There's a click. Percy stands up straighter, squints; the sun is in his eyes.

"Detective Ethan Kelso."

"Detective? This is Percy Mitchell. I believe we met the other day on campus?"

A pause, but it's brief, and then the man is laughing heartily. "Of course, of course! Good to hear from you, Percy. Is everything going okay? Is there something I can help you with? How are your folks?"

"Fine. I'm going home to see them this weekend, actually. I just—I have a question I was wondering if you could help me with?"

"Oh, is it something for class?"

Percy hesitates, kicking at a loose pebble. "I...something like that. I'm helping a friend with a project. It has to do with the Elizabeth Dobbs case, if you're familiar?"

On the other side of the phone, there's a squeaking noise like the slow readjusting of a chair. Kelso's voice sounds more staticky, and lower. "There seems to be a lot of interest in that one lately."

Tread carefully, Percy. His name only gives him an advantage in getting his foot in the door. How he crosses the rest of the distance is up to his own skill, and he can't afford to stumble now. "It's compelling, isn't it? Why a maintenance guy would just suddenly snap like that. But it's just a project, sir. I'm really just interested in getting enough information to fill the word count, if you know what I mean."

"You probably know the same amount I do. It's an old case, Percy, and evidence collection wasn't like what it is now."

He's losing him. Percy can hear the doubt creeping into his voice, and he can't afford it. "Just tell me this. Is there a record of what Lamar Pine was there for? A copy of an invoice from the HVAC company, or something? There has to be."

Please. If he has this, maybe it will at least quell the fire in Indy's eyes for a moment. If he has this, maybe it'll slow down the speeding train carrying her to distraction, to destruction. If he has this, maybe this weekend doesn't have to happen at all.

Kelso heaves out a long, old man sigh. "I'll take a look, but I'll tell you straight. It's been long enough that if it is still down there in evidence somewhere, it's probably near illegible. I wouldn't count on it."

"Please, Detective," Percy says. Tires rumble against the asphalt; he looks up and sees Harvey's car rounding the corner. The weekend's beginning. He wishes it was over. "I need this."

"I'll see what I can do, kid." Kelso hangs up.

Tina and Lawrence Mitchell have several superpowers. Mind control. An infinitely refilling bank account. The ability to multitask, or at least convince themselves they are multitasking, especially if the multiple tasks are working and everything else. Perhaps the most aggravating of their superpowers, however, is their ability to make an event out of everything.