[Fiction] Waves of Deception

By Jennifer J. Meyer

Stacey’s head pounded like the bass in last night’s cover band. With a moan, she rolled out of bed and slipped into last night’s jeans before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

The local crackheads kept her awake most of the night rummaging through the dumpsters in the alley behind her Ocean Beach apartment. Retro was a polite description of the complex, the rotted boards of the wooden structure kept standing by termites holding hands. The building had been remodeled from a 1960s two-story motel, where the apartments faced an interior courtyard, penitentiary style.

She bragged to her family in Idaho about her apartment being close enough to the beach to smell the salty air and feel the ocean breezes. That she could walk there with her surfboard in tow and how she had a tight-knit group of friends in OB. Above all, rent was cheaper there than most of the other beach cities. It was a cool place to live despite the crime and homeless problems, subjects she avoided with the folks back home.

She laid in bed until planes from nearby San Diego International started taking off at six-thirty, the roar setting off a flock of screeching green parrots that roosted in the palm trees outside her window. Jake loved those damned birds, even named his tavern The Wild Parrot. She thought about chucking a shoe out the window to shut them up, but she could never hurt an animal, not even an annoying one.

Her headache resulted from the five or six beers she’d knocked back while watching Jake flaunt that bitch from La Jolla at his bar last night. Jewel—all silicone, Spandex, and high heels—dressed like she just stepped out of an episode of the Real Housewives of the Wherever. Jake dumped Stacey for Jewel three weeks ago. Maybe he thought he’d upgraded. Granted, the leggy blonde had a killer bod and apparently plenty of cash. And she could’ve won Miss Congeniality after buying rounds of drinks for the boys at the bar last night. Still, Stacey wondered what Jewel was doing slummin’ with the OB crowd. Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t end well for Jake. His new girlfriend was using him for something, and Stacey was determined to figure out what it was.

She had a knack for uncovering secrets. Most people had no idea the information trail they left behind in the most innocent of transactions. Try Jewel for example, who was born Jane Ann Bennett. Stacey laughed at how easy it was to find. Plain Jane had posted a photo of herself with her arm around her sister on Facebook. The metadata revealed it had been taken in Greenfield, Indiana. A good bet that it was Jane’s hometown. A few clicks on her list of friends and family revealed snippets of her past, including a marriage to an older man who’d recently kicked the bucket. Probably why the widow Jewel was flush with cash. Yes, Stacey knew more than a few tricks of the trade.

Why hadn’t Jake returned any of her forty-three drunk texts she sent after leaving the bar last night? She vowed it would be the last time she stepped foot inside the Parrot. But then again, that’s what she’d told herself for the last three weeks; she was not about to give up that easily. Her relationship with Jake had taken five years of her thirties—her best years—only to be traded in for a newer model, one who appeared to have money. Quite an attraction for a guy in danger of losing his livelihood. Stacey knew he was behind on payments and the Parrot could end up another of OB’s neighborhood hangouts shuttered for good.

She grabbed her board from its resting place in the corner of the living room and headed toward the beach, hoping Jake would be there. They surfed together nearly every morning until Jewel came along. Anyway, nothing like a good ride to clear her head, the buzz better than caffeine.  

She scanned the gloriously empty beach. Every fall, the locals rightfully reclaimed their turf after the tourists left town. By the time she got to the water, many of the other surfers were leaving. There was no sign of Jake. She stood along the shore sizing up the two-foot rollers before deciding whether to go in. Thankfully, she had her long board. A few of the guys acknowledged her with a nod as she waded into the water, their eyes scanning her slim body in the sleek, black wetsuit.

“Not very makeable today,” reported one of the regulars.

“I see that,” she said and paddled out anyway.  

She waited in the lineup for her turn, hoping for at least one ride that would make it worth the effort. Eventually, she popped up when a decent wave came through, but otherwise, the morning was pretty much of a bust.

It was nearly nine o’clock by the time she returned to her apartment. Even with a hangover, Jake generally made it to the bar by ten, give or take. He had a loyal lunch crowd with a fondness for burritos and beer. She showered and styled her dark, curly hair, pulled on tight jeans and one of the sexier tops he used to like, then walked the two blocks to the bar.

His Harley was parked out back. Tears shimmered in her eyes from a flashback of riding two up on that Big Twin along Sunrise Highway to Mount Laguna, her arms wrapped around his waist. She brushed it off, determined not to let him see her cry. She slipped inside through the back letting the screen door slam behind her.

Jake’s head popped up. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you could use some help.”

“Get out.” He slammed the knife down on the cutting board. “What part of ‘we’re through,’ don’t you get?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Stacey closed the gap between them, pouring on the sex appeal. She could see in his eyes, it was working. “What are you doing with her? I deserve an explanation.”

He dropped his head and let out a harsh breath. “Look, she’s bailing me out, putting up money to keep this place goin’. I still owe people the money they loaned me to get started, including you.”

“I put more than money into this place.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I poured my heart and soul into it, into you too.”

“I know, I know. It’s not right.”

“You make a good burrito, but you’re no businessman. You’d never have opened if it wasn’t for me.”

“Give me some time; I have it figured out. You’re still part owner in this place and it’s going to stay that way.”

“But what about Jewel?”

“The dead hubby’s daughter has a lawsuit against her, so she doesn’t want her name on the bar until it’s over. Then she’ll expect to be added. By that time, I hope to have another investor or a partner.”

“I thought I was your partner.” She couldn’t believe she’d stooped to whining.

Jake put his arms around her. His voice softened. “You still are, Babe. I didn’t want things to turn out like this.”

“She’s not who you think she is.” Stacey pushed him away. “Her real name is Jane Bennett who recently upgraded her residence from a Midwestern cornfield to La Jolla. She dabbled in real estate back home, but now she’s claiming to sell multimillion-dollar properties along the coast. She’s probably looking to take you for everything. Trust me, I’m going to find out what she’s all about.”

“I’ve uncovered a few things about her too. With any luck, she’ll be in jail, and I won’t have to pay her back.” He laughed bitterly.  

“What?” Stacey’s eyes went wide. “You’re scamming her?”

“Yup. I knew she was after more than my good looks when she came on to me.” He gave Stacey his lopsided grin that had always melted her heart. “I’ve read about her hubby’s death, and a lot of people are pointing the finger at Jewel, or should I say, Jane. She left Indiana in a hurry. It’s a matter of time before the cops build their case and come looking for her.”

“So, you’re using her for her money?” Stacey threw her arms around him. “Why didn’t you let me in on your little scheme?”

“It was mean, but I needed you to play the jilted girlfriend to make this work. It was all part of the game. Please forgive me.” He gave her a quick kiss.

Stacey looked up from their embrace to see Jewel marching into the kitchen. “You think you can play me, Jake Moreno?”

“Listen Jewel, I never—” He pushed Stacey away.

“Shut up Jake, and you…” Jewel grabbed the knife off the cutting board and lunged toward Stacey. “Get the hell out of here.”

Stacey ran out the back door, not stopping until she was back at her apartment. Shaking and breathless, she threw the deadbolt on the door. Maybe she shouldn’t have left Jake alone with Jewel. How much had she overheard?

Stacey thought about what Jake had said, and with a hunch flipped open her laptop. She had inside information about a luxury condo development planned for the strip where the bar was located. Martin Michels, a wealthy San Diego developer was behind it. She knew him well. A while back, he’d taken her to an expensive restaurant, then asked her to talk Jake into selling the bar. She told the slimeball that would never happen. “We’re going to run the place until we’re too old to work. We’ll call you when that happens.” She’d never seen Martin so angry.

He continued to hang around the bar with a watchful eye. He tried to be friendly, even inviting her to a soiree at his palatial estate. She declined, but now wondered who attended that event. She scanned his social media accounts for photos and found one of Jewel, hanging all over the guy. Of course, they were working together. Stacey always knew Martin was a snake.

Her fingers pounded the keyboard for background on the lawsuit Jake mentioned. An Indiana newspaper reported the husband’s cause of death was “undetermined.” And apparently, the good people of Greenfield found his demise rather suspicious, including the man’s family, who had a wrongful death suit against Jane. No wonder she changed her name and fled Indiana for sunny California.

Stacey flopped onto the sofa, unable to concentrate any further. She needed to get her head on straight, plan her next move. Martin and Jewel were not getting the Parrot. That bar was Stacey’s retirement plan. She planned to work the bar with Jake until they were the last holdouts on the strip. Martin would have to up his game to buy them out. Then they could ride off into the sunset to a nice little spread in Idaho.

Stacey drifted off for two glorious hours. When she awakened, it was as if the marine layer had blanketed her brain. She stumbled out to the kitchen and popped a doughnut shop-flavored pod into the coffee machine, then stood mesmerized as it dripped into her mug.

Just as she was lifting the mug to savor the welcome aroma, there was a knock at the door. Not just any knock, but a cop knock, the hard forceful, “I mean business” knock. With the mug still in hand, she opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?”

“Stacey Harper?” asked the taller of the two men at her door in off-the-rack baggy suits. They towered over her five-foot, four-inch frame.

“Yes.”

“I’m Detective Kincaid and this is Detective Richards.” He flashed his badge. “We have a few questions.”

“What about?” She willed her body to remain calm.

“Jake Moreno.”

Her stomach dropped. “Why do you—”

“May we come in?”

She stepped aside allowing them to enter. She no longer wanted the coffee and set it on a side table.

Kincaid brushed the seat of the stained sofa with his hand before deciding to sit. His face wrinkled like an old catcher’s mitt; his stern expression was reminiscent of the high school principal she’d hated back in the day. She tried to appear relaxed in the overstuffed chair facing the detectives.

“We understand you and Jake Moreno were in a relationship,” Kincaid said.

“We were until three weeks ago.” She fingered the parrot charm that hung on a chain around her neck.

“When did you last see him?”

“This morning. Why are you—” She looked back and forth at their faces.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Jake Moreno was found dead a few hours ago.” He kept his eyes on hers.

“What? No, he can’t…” The news felt like a gut punch.

Kincaid leaned forward, closing the gap between them. “And someone reported seeing you running out of the back of The Wild Parrot this morning.”

“I was there talking to him, but left when his new girlfriend, Jewel, came in screaming at us.” Stacey took a shaky breath. “She picked up a knife and told me to ‘get out.’ She was with Jake when I ran out of there.”

Kincaid sat up; his eyes narrowed. “So, when you left the bar, Jake Moreno was alive?”  

“Yes, I love Jake, I’d never hurt him.” Stacey thought she might throw up.

Kincaid nodded and studied his small notepad for a beat. He clicked his pen a few times, then looked up to meet her gaze. “The bar doesn’t open until noon. Did Mr. Moreno let you in?”

“No, I walked in the back door,” she said choking back a sob. “I used to work there, so I know he keeps it open.”

“Did Jewel come in through the back?”

“No, she must’ve come in the front door. She entered the kitchen from the bar area.”

Kincaid glanced at his partner. Stacey sensed unspoken communication between the two.

“We need to finish this at the station.” He wasn’t asking.

The detectives stood in unison. Stacey felt the color drain from her face as she walked out with them.

Her coffee went stone cold.

#

The interrogation lasted six hours. They kept asking the same questions and she kept repeating her answers. She felt like she was never getting out of there. But after she agreed to a polygraph and passed, they released her. As she was leaving the station, she saw Jewel going into an interview room with another detective.

“Hope they keep you here forever!” Stacey screamed.  

Kincaid hustled her out to the reception area where she called an Uber. She didn’t want any of her friends picking her up from the police station.

The realization of Jake’s death set in when she returned home. Blood-shot eyes, dark circles, and a disheveled appearance stared back at her in the hall mirror. Thirty-four messages popped up on her phone that she had no desire to answer. She wanted to be alone. Jake was gone. Once the tears started, she couldn’t control them. She threw herself on the bed and sobbed for hours until squawks from the parrots outside her window caught her attention. It reminded her of how Jake loved them, and for a moment, she smiled.  

The days following Jake’s death were a blur. She stayed in hiding; her grief was all consuming. Friends called about the arrangements. Because he had no family, she figured it would be up to her to plan his funeral. After Jake’s body was released from the coroner, he’d be cremated. A paddle-out service with Jake’s surfing buddies would be planned and his ashes spread in the Pacific off Ocean Beach. He would’ve approved of the send-off.

The legal aspects would take time to sort out, but in the meantime, she needed to get into the bar. Food was rotting in the refrigerator. Stacey remembered that Jake kept an extra set of keys to the Parrot on a hook in his kitchen. Thankfully, he never asked her to return the keys to his beach rental when they broke up.

Grief washed over her when she stepped through the threshold. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and clothes were strewn around. Typical Jake. She picked up a T-shirt, a souvenir from a motorcycle rally they’d attended a few years back, his musky scent still lingering. She hugged the shirt to her chest; she couldn’t believe he was gone.

As she sat soaking in the place where they had spent so much time together, she felt his presence. It was as if he was nudging her toward the bedroom he used as an office. She padded down the hallway hoping to find something that might indicate how she should handle his affairs. She dug through the stack of unpaid bills on his desk, then opened the file drawer. A folder with her name on it caught her eye. Her hand shook as she lifted it out. Inside was his last will and testament. She flipped through the pages and found a copy of the deed to the Parrot. He’d left her everything, plus an insurance policy he’d never told her about. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand; it was worth a half-million dollars.

A yellow sticky note fell out into her lap. Stacey, I know you can make the Parrot work. Love always and forever, Jake. She held the note to her chest and sobbed knowing he’d really loved her. He’d wanted so much for that bar to be successful; she’d make it work for him.

Her mind was spinning. At some point she’d have to deal with Jewel and return the money she loaned Jake. It was a matter of time before she discovered Stacey was the sole beneficiary of his estate. The bar was now hers and she was not about to let it fall into disrepair. Jake would not have wanted that.

Over the next few days, she pestered Detective Kincaid to release the crime scene. When the yellow tape was finally removed, she opened the bar for Jake’s staff who’d offered to clean and remove any evidence of his murder. He meant that much to them.

A few weeks later, Stacey opened the Parrot for business, though she constantly looked over her shoulder, knowing the fight with Jewel wasn’t over. Stacey changed the locks and had a security guard with her when she closed at night. What she never expected was for Jewel to show up at ten o’clock on a Friday night when the place was hopping.

Jewel burst in, eyes dark and crazed. “What do you think you’re doing? This place is mine.”

Stacey looked up from pouring drinks behind the bar. Her body stiffened. “Jewel, let’s not do this now. We’ll talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Jewel stepped closer. “Jake assured me the Parrot was mine.”

“Well, you’re wrong. He left the bar to me.” Stacey knew better than to argue with a crazy person.

Jewel pulled a jagged knife from her purse and headed toward her nemesis. Stacey picked up an empty beer bottle and squared her shoulders, the two in a standoff like rival gang members. A guy seated at the bar attempted to stop Jewel, getting sliced in the upper arm in the process. Blood dripped onto the floor. Several women screamed and ran for the door. Other patrons backed away, recording the action with their phones.

“I’m going to take you out, too,” Jewel sneered.

“So, you’re admitting to killing Jake! You guys got that?” Stacey pointed to the customers who were capturing videos of the scene.

Kyle, one of Stacey’s regulars, pushed through the crowd. “Come on now, put the knife down,” he appealed to Jewel in a calm voice.  

Instead, Jewel made a run toward him, her face twisted in anger. As she was about to reach him, Stacey’s surfing buddy, Scott, swung a pool cue, striking Jewel across the forearm with a sickening crack. The knife skittered across the floor. She winced with horror at the sharp bone poking through her skin. Before she could make another move, Scott tackled and pinned her down.

Stacey was momentarily stunned. A twentysomething screamed that she was calling 911.

Sheriff’s deputies arrived in minutes. They pulled the six-foot-three ginger off Jewel and forced him to lay face down with his arms spread while they assessed the situation. Controlled chaos ensued as everyone was escorted outside and interviewed. Patrons showed their cell phone videos of the attack to the deputies. Stacey was taken aside and interviewed as she shivered in the chilly night air. The crowd cheered when Jewel was taken away strapped to a gurney.

Stacey called Detective Kincaid the next day. Jewel had been arrested for assault and attempted murder. He wouldn’t say whether she’d been charged in Jake’s murder or the murder of her husband, though Stacey felt confident those charges would eventually be filed. And she’d attend the arraignment. It would be delightful to see Jewel in an orange jumpsuit and spiffy plastic sandals.

Stacey returned days later when the Parrot was no longer draped in yellow crime scene tape. Each morning since taking ownership, she blew a kiss to the photo of Jake on his beloved Harley that she’d hung above the long wooden bar and said, “Love ya, Babe.” His polished black and chrome cruiser with its alligator seat and leather saddlebags sat in a roped off corner of the bar on display. Above, a plaque read: “In loving memory of Jake Moreno, riding Heaven’s highways fast and free.”

A new sign would be installed on the front of the building in the coming weeks. When Stacey took over, she changed the name to The Noisy Parrot, a nod to Jake with a twist of her own. She unlocked the front door and cranked open the awning-style windows that lined the front of the establishment to announce the Parrot was once again open for business.

Her back was to the door while stocking bottles behind the bar. When the door opened, she looked up in the mirror to see her first customer of the day and sighed.

“Well, Stacey, I hear you’re now the owner of this fine establishment,” Martin said.   

“Yes, but not how I hoped it might happen.” She kept her back to him.

“So, what’s your price?”

“Seems you’ve misjudged me, Uncle Marty.”

“This bar will never turn a profit.” He emphasized each word.

She turned to face him. “I owe it to Jake to make a run of it. And I plan to be the last holdout on the strip you so desperately want for your condos. If I decide to sell, I’ll milk you for the best price.”

“Come on, we’re family.” He stepped closer to the bar.

“Jake was family to me, more than you’ve ever been.” She shook her head with disgust. “You tried everything to get this property, even sending Jewel in here to seduce Jake and murder him.”

“I had nothing to do with his murder.” His face hardened and that false smile vanished.

“I wonder if the cops feel the same way. I bet they’ll be calling soon.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He stared her down, his dark eyebrows knitting together. He balled his fists before turning to storm out.

She smiled and gave Jake’s photo a wink.

Jennifer J. Meyer is an award-winning journalist who also enjoys the creative freedom to pen various forms of fiction. She is a graduate of Chapman University’s creative writing program with Richard Bausch. Her fiction has appeared at 101words.org and FridayFlashFiction.com. She's a self-proclaimed true-crime junkie and is currently writing a mystery novel set in Southern California. Find more about her at jenniferjmeyer.com.