Killer Pancake

The uniformed cop trotted away. Tom gave me the full benefit of his green eyes.

To my dismay, I began to cry again. “It’s Julian’s girlfriend … you know … Claire. Is she alive? Is she going to be okay?”

“No, she isn’t.” He put his arms around me. “I swear, Goldy, what are you doing out here in the garage?” When I didn’t answer, he held me closer and murmured, “She probably didn’t suffer much. Looks like she died on impact.” He released me and narrowed his eyes. They were filled with seriousness and pain. “Goldy, try to pull yourself together for a minute. Did you see it?”

I brushed the tears from my cheeks and took a shuddery breath. “No.”

“Where’s Julian?”

“Inside that nightclub. Hot Tin … you know, where they’re having … he was catering with me.” I tried to think. “What should we do, tell him? Or wait? Did the person who hit her not stop?”

“Hit-and-run. State patrol will handle it. You know, they do traffic And yes, you and I should go find Julian. Let’s not tell anybody else, though, we don’t want a general panic. Plus we need to follow procedure here, find the next of kin…. How long have you been here? You said you didn’t see this accident. What did you hear, anything?”

Haltingly, I told Tom that Claire and I had come out to get supplies from our vehicles about ten minutes before. I had not seen Claire after I got to the van. I’d loaded up and only moments later heard the growl of an engine, squealing, and the horrible thump as metal hit flesh. I pointed in the direction of the van, then remembered slapping down the fish and vegetables on the hood of a nearby car. “I guess I better go get my stuff,” I said lamely.

“Hold on.” He brought his bushy eyebrows down into a V. “The car you heard, did it honk? This squealing, was it like tires or brakes? Was it the sound of a car going around a corner?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to clear what felt like cotton in my head. “No horn. The sound was like someone going around a corner. I guess.”

Two light beige Colorado state trooper patrol cars pulled up. Tom held up a hand for them to wait. Then he pointed at the shoe-store entrance. “Get your stuff and meet me over there, would you?”

“Get my stuff?” I was incredulous. “You mean you think I still should do this stupid banquet when one of the company employees has just been killed?”

“Please. Goldy, we can’t tell her employers or coworkers yet. We’re going to have to take care of Julian. If you don’t do the banquet, the word will get out and then the journalists will make a mess—”

“Okay, okay.”

“We’ll go in to see Julian together. Avoid the demonstrators.” Then he strode off to deal with the troopers while I struggled to get my bearings. After a few shaky breaths, I turned to backtrack toward the Jeep, then turned back. Tom and the two troopers were crouched near the garage floor. Beyond them, the paramedics had hooked Claire’s body up to their telemetric equipment. Tom and the troopers were pointing at something on the asphalt.

I surveyed the garage and shivered. Could Claire really be dead? I had just talked to her, been with her, less than half an hour ago, I started to walk, then suddenly felt dizzy and reached out for one of the cement columns. How am I ever going to break this to Julian? What could I have done differently? What? Get a grip, I ordered myself. I stepped on something and stared down at the asphalt. Under my foot was the stem of a rose. At first I thought the fluorescent light of the garage must be playing tricks on me, or maybe stress arising from what I’d just witnessed clouded my vision. The rose seemed to be blue. Its closed petals were blue as a robin’s egg, blue as the color of the Colorado sky in the early days of autumn.

Without thinking I reached down for the blossom I’d crushed beneath my heel. Immediately I was rewarded with a thorn in my right index finger. Well, Tom the garden man would be interested in seeing it anyway, I thought absurdly. I held the flower up to my eyes, still unable to determine how its unique color had been applied. I turned back to see what Tom was doing. He was deep in conversation with the troopers. Twenty feet away, the ambulance, its sirens off, moved slowly out of the garage.

I walked holding the rose by its stem until my steamer and bowls were in front of me, on the Jeep hood. I put the rose on top of the salad greens, picked up the food, and started walking toward Stephen’s Shoes. Where had Tom said to meet him? Oh yes, by the entrance. Well, he’d have to come find me. He was remarkably good at that.

As I lugged the food toward the shoe store, a voice screeched.

“Hey! You! You’re one of them! You’re serving the animal-killer fascists!”