Putting on Airs

Crash

Poke

"Sean."

Poke

"Sean."

POKE

"SEAN! Would you keep your fritters to yourself!" Owen's exasperated voice finally breaks through the darkness and explains why I keep feeling someone poke my shoulder.

"Yeah, Sean. Keep your fritters to yourself," I mumble and force my eyes open. "What happened?"

I use my arms to push myself into a seated position, the hand at my back keeping me grounded to the here and now as my head swirls again. Realizing that I'm seated on the floor of Owen's office with both Owen and Sean hovering over me like I'm the last Eggo and ready to pop out of the toaster has a blush start to spread over my cheeks. Why am I so hungry? Oh yeah, fritters! I grab the offending fritter from Sean's hand and take a bite.

"You lost consciousness, Sweet Potato. One minute Owen was telling me how much more appealing my presence made your date for you, and the next you crumple to the floor. I guess my dashing good looks overwhelmed you," Sean teases with genuine concern dulling his eyes, even while he smiles playfully.

"Maybe. Or maybe it was Owen's perfectly fitted jeans," I bravely return his tease but ruin the effect by blushing deeply. Sean throws his head back and roars with laughter.

"May I assist you in standing, Sang?" Owen inquires with a half smile on his face and red-tinted ears.

"Thank you," I answer and place my palm in Owen's. I'm careful not to make eye contact, knowing my fading blush will flare up again if I do.

Once I'm on my feet, Owen guides me the few steps over to his desk chair and has me sit down. The computer is in the screen saver mode, so I don't have to face what my gut instincts are telling me is true quite yet.

"Well, now that we know what the sight of Owen in jeans does to you, can you tell me what you were doing that caused you to feel all wonky?" Sean inquires around the fritter he had taken back at some point, getting straight to the heart of the matter.

After taking a couple deep breaths, I hit the spacebar on the keyboard to end the screen saver. Gulping down the sticky saliva flooding my mouth, I go back to the first picture--the still-shot of the intersection.

"There. You almost can't see it, but that house with the large birch tree at the edge of the shot. Look at the driveway. The detectives seem to have pulled up surveillance footage from various times of day over the course of several days. Keep your eye out for that car in the driveway there." I click a few times, and finally stop at the footage or the Randolfs' smashed up car.

"The transferred paint is the same color as the car that used to be parked at that house. Then we have the day of the accident, and the car is missing. We have the days following," I gulp as I quickly skip through the police-taken photos. "The car isn't back. Even in the included still shots from whichever business this is, that car never comes back."

"That could mean anything, Pumpkin. Someone could have been visiting from out of town for all we know," Sean tries to reassure me.

"Oh, they were from out of town alright," I growl, tears spilling from my eyes to stream down my face.

"Tell us, Sang!" Owen finally gets frustrated by my complete inability to verbalize the disgusting conclusion I've come to.

"I know why Landrum sounds familiar. That's where my father's mistress lived. I can only assume that the Randolfs tracked her down in an effort to find my father and then me. My father's 'business trips' pretty much guaranteed that he was visiting her. There was one weekend my father left, and my stepmother stuck Marie and I with a neighbor, and she left too. They had separate cars, and then they came home in the same one," I grit out and shove away from the desk so I can stand up and pace.