Tasting The Stars

“Thank you.”

The white-bearded man I had seen for the past few weeks now, gave me a toothy grin, handing back my change, his hands unpleasantly warm.

“No problem, little lady. Don’t forget about that drink I told you about. Have a good night,” he replied back, pretending to tip an imaginary hat, the legitimate counterpart of which he usually wore, towards me.  

I wonder why he wasn’t wearing it at the moment.

“Oh, I’ll remember.”

I climbed out the taxi, the sole of my boots meeting the concrete, adjusting the strap of my messenger bag around my shoulder. The bright yellow light illuminated from its post, covering the front side of my apartment building, making the brown, rusty brick appear lighter. My legs almost giving out, I made it up the set of stairs and swinged open the door.

The entire building seemed unusually quiet, the same colored doors lined up on the walls, not making a sound. I expected to hear a T.V. program playing through the walls, skillets clicking against one another, or kids shouting.

But nothing.

Deciding not to worry too much about it, I walked over to the elevator over to my left, pressing the white button. I bounced on my toes, glancing around at my surroundings to make sure nothing seemed to suspicious, until a small ding sounded, taking me out of my trace.

The doors slide open as I slipped inside hurriedly, hitting the number 3 on the button panel. I stood there, glancing towards the top of the elevator, feeling my stomach drop slightly, as the machine started moving. It didn’t take long to get to my level; maybe a good 20 seconds before it made ac creaking noise, indicating the ride was over.

When was this building going to get an upgrade?

I jogged out, heading for the door that was right across from where the elevator was.

Getting my keys that were dangling from my front pocket, I started to go through it, finding the right one. I placed my hand on the knob, getting ready to unlock it, when it cracked open a little.

“What…?” I mumbled to myself, staring shakily at my hand.

Panic and caution coursed through my body, as I searched my mind for those safety lessons my father always taught me when I was young. I took deep breaths, feeling that my palms had now become sweaty.

Don’t panic, Phoebe. Don’t panic. Just be smart about this.

I held my breath, pushing the door open slowly, mentally appreciating the fact that it didn’t make a loud creaking sound like it normally did. Poking my head out, I turned towards my left.

The living room was still the same as I left it. Nothing seemed to be in the wrong place or moved.

Feeling a little bit better, I stood up straighter, my full body entering the room. I kept my eyes everywhere in front of me, closing the door behind me. I wanted to keep it unlocked, in case I needed to get away and not waste my precious time unlocking the door to try to get help.

I set my bag down slowly on the couch, reaching down to grab the small can of pepper spray I kept on hand.

As I walked across the hardwood floor, a small creak sounded at my every step. As I rounded the corner, I flicked on the light to the kitchen, ready to spray anyone in my view.

But as I looked inside, no one was there.

Except for two glasses filled with champagne on the counter.

Not believing my eyes, I lowered the pepper spray, staring at them. I know for a fact I didn’t have any champagne before I left for my math class. I didn’t, did I?

Frankly, I am a champagne drinker, but I didn’t crack open a bottle, let alone buy one.

Walking slowly closer to the two glasses, I then noticed that both were half-drunk, a marking of where a pair of lips were on the side of it.

Who the hell was here?

My eyes didn’t leave the weird, dangerous objects in front of me, the sweat from the glass traveling at a strange speed down towards the now forming puddle on the counter. My heart thumped in my chest, my body frozen as thoughts and warnings ran all across my head. So much that I didn’t even notice someone standing in the door frame.

“Phoebe.”

I jumped, turning around in a flash, my pepper spray ready in my right hand.

But it was only Mr. Richardson.

“Oh my god.” I let out the breath I had been holding for the past 10 minutes, placing my hand on my heart. “Dale, you scared me..w-what are you doing here?”

The white button down shirt he had on was wrinkly against his chest, moving every which way, as he moved towards me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I took pity on his face, which was drawn and pale with an impressive five o’clock shadow, as I set the pepper spray down on the counter. “It’s fine, Dale. But why didn’t you call me or something? Just to give me a heads up?” I asked, before I dismissed him and started looking through my bag for my phone.

“So, did you hear from Dad yet?” I turned back around, sliding my phone open before glancing at him.

His eyes turned from embarrassment to immediate concern in a matter of seconds, which made all that panic and anxiety that I had just felt moments before, all come back rushing in. Of course I wasn’t a psychic or anything, but anyone with some common sense knew that something happened.

Something happened to my father.

“Dale, what happened?” I asked in a serious, firm tone, emotions begging to come out in some way.

He continued to stay silent, his eyes glistening with tears, as he pressed his lips together.

“Dale… tell me. Tell me... What-what happened… ” I hiccuped through my words, trying to contain my tears but it didn’t work as wet stains soon formed on my cheeks. Next thing I knew, I was on the cold tile floor, grabbing at my hair as tears flowed down my face. And the last thing I felt was Dale’s strong arms, holding me tight and engulfing my small, trembling body.

___________________________________

“Yes. That is correct.”

I stared blankly into the floor, sitting still on the couch with my knees up against my chest as I listened to him on the phone. After I had my breakdown, Dale was able to sit me down in the living room and calm me down enough to tell me what happened. I had wanted him to call someone to at least take a look at the situation and make a file for it.

Dale thought that maybe it wasn’t the best idea at the time, but I insisted.

“Is he on his way? Alright, thank you very much. Bye,” he finished, ending the call with a tap of his finger, before glancing over at me. But I couldn’t look at him.

I couldn’t look at anyone or anything.

Not when I knew while I was teaching little kids how to do their time tables, my father was being zipped into a body bag for his murder…

Why?

How could I have been so careless?

I felt more tears slip from my eyelids, shame and guilt eating their way out of me. I suddenly felt the couch sink next to me, a warm hand touching my back.

“Listen Phoebe. I have been best friends and business partners with your father for a very long time. And yes, we are going to grieve. And we are going to cry. But your father wouldn’t want to see us down like this. He would want us to flourish and become as successful as he was. He wants us to be happy.”

I sniffed, wiping my nose, trying to understand his words. “You’re right… but it hurts so much.”

“I know honey, I know. But things… they happen for a reason. And I know a lot of good will come out of this. Believe me,” he replied, rubbing his hand up and down my back, trying to sooth me.

“So, what happened when you found the body…?” I asked, becoming more concerned about the crime itself. But instead of answering like I thought he would, Dale internally winced, getting up from the couch and clenching his stomach.

“I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it, honey.”

I watched as he went over to the counter, and picked up one of the glasses of champagne and down the whole thing. That’s when my tired, damp eyes glanced over to its partner, it still filled with the bubbly substance.

Why was there another..?

I was just about to speak up and bug Dale with another question when the doorbell rang, causing my body to jump. Dale set the glass down on the counter with a click, making his way towards the door.

Being nosy, I craned my neck to get a peek at who it was.

Standing in the doorway, was a tall, brooding young man, maybe about in his late 20’s. His dark brown hair was combed over to the side, with a hint of gel added to it, giving it that natural look. He wore a beige button up, with a dark brown tie, and over that was what it looked to be a very expensive leather jacket.

“Detective Bentley.” Dale held out his hand, which the man sternly took with his own.

“Nice to meet you sir,” he replied back, looking past him into the apartment room, his serious, hazel eyes searching for anything suspicious.

Dale moved out the way, ushered him inside, and closed the door behind him.

“Thank you for meeting me Detective,” Dale started, walking past Mr. Bentley, over to where I was. “This is Phoebe.” Suddenly feeling disgustingly ugly, I quickly stood up, wiping my puffy eyes and holding out my hand.

“Phoebe Wheeler.”

His strong hand wrapped around my own, as he stared at me. “So, you’re the victim’s daughter.”

I slowly nodded, his hand lingering in my own for awhile, before he let it go.

That was weird.

“Well, the police that were at the scene earlier described their version and diagnostic, so I was able to make a file for the case,” he started , placing his hands on his hips and glancing around the living room once more.

“That’s good to hear.” Dale answered, rubbing his hands together.

“If you don’t mind, I would love to take a look around at the place.”

Dale was quick to open his arms out into the open. “Oh, of course, take your time.”

I didn’t say anything as he sauntered over into the kitchen opening, once again, those hazel eyes inspecting discreetly at everything they could see. We lingered behind him slowly, careful not to distract him but close enough to tell what he was doing.

He took a look at the floor, stopping in his tracks.

“I’m guessing this is where you found the body, Mr. Richardson?”

I turned my head, feeling tears start to rise up out of me, as I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Um, yes sir.”

“And you called the police right away when you found it, right?” Detective Bentley glanced up at him, expectantly.

“Well I mean when I first found him, I checked if he was breathing but once...once I found out he wasn’t, I immediately called them,” he explained, pressing his lips together.

Detective Bentley didn’t say a word, just nodded slightly. He walked around a little bit more, the badge shifting from his belt with every step.

“I would assume these two glasses were from you two?”

“Well actually-” I was about to speak up when Dale beat me to it.

“Actually those both are mine…. After seeing my best friend on top of a puddle of blood, I just needed something to calm me down. Ease the pain, I guess.”

“You didn’t think to use one glass? And maybe use a refill?” I watched as Bentley arched his left eyebrow, placing his hands on his hips once again. Dale shrugged, exhaling loudly, a big gush of hot air escaping his mouth.

“My head wasn’t in the right place… not after that.”

“Understandable,” Bentley said, tapping his foot slightly on the tile floor, a process running through his head. “Well, let me go to my car and get that file and evidence to show to Miss Wheeler. So, Mr. Richardson, I think it’s safe for you to go home now.”

Dale’s eyebrows raised a little, looking a bit hurt at the outward, honest statement.

“Well, are you sure? Phoebe doesn’t have anyone else and I don’t want her to leave her alone,” he retorted, placing his hand on my lower back, glancing at me with concern.

“Don’t worry, I just need to speak with her alone since she is the only relative of the victim we could find. Besides, I think Miss Wheeler can take care of herself. She is 23, after all.” Bentley replied, giving me a neutral look on his face, making me shift in my place.

Dale, unconvincingly, nodded, looking at me with one final pat on the back before he turned to grab his stuff.

“Call me if you need anything. Please.”

I nodded, leaning into him as he hugged me from the side, and planting a soft kiss on my forehead before he left out. There was a little awkward silence as I stared at the floor, not wanting to meet Detective Bentley’s eyes.

But he broke it, with a clearing of his throat.

“I’ll be right back.”

Maybe after about 10 minutes of waiting on one of my bar stools, I heard the door click open, a few footsteps heading my way. I looked over to see Bentley returning towards my side with two tan folders in his hands. I leaned back straighter, as he set them in front of me.

Taking a seat next to me, he slide one of them directly in front of me, opening it.

Inside was a few pictures of my father.

But one of them specifically caught my eye. And that was of his poor, limp body, drowning in a pile of his own dark red blood. I tried to hold myself together, not wanting to cry in front of a man I just met. Especially one that was that attractive.

“This is what we found when the police first arrived there. Doctors say that the wound was in the back of his head, so it was definitely a murder.”

I closed my eyes, biting my lip to stop my emotions from taking over.

“Is there anyone that you could think of that was capable of doing this? Maybe any enemies or foes that your father may have had in the past?”

I didn’t realize how close he was to me, until I opened my eyes and he was staring intently at me.

“I don’t….I don’t know. I never really talked to my father that much because he had so many business runs and I just… I just don’t know who would want to kill him. You know?” I said, looking at him, questioning everything. “He was a good man, and despite us not being as close as we wanted to be, I know he wasn’t deceitful.”

He just nodded understandingly, glancing back down towards the pictures.

“Well, whether he was a good man or not, someone had something against your father. And this murder…. This murder was definitely intentional.”

I didn’t respond, my eyes not leaving my worst nightmare in front of me.

Silence engulfed the air, but it was rather more of a somber silence than a awkward one.

Detective Bentley must have noticed my inability to wrap my head around the whole situation in itself, because he then closed the folder, stacking it over the other.

“We can talk about it tomorrow if you want.”

I bit my lip, taking a deep breath. “That-That would nice.”

He stood from the stool, grabbing them from the counter. “But due to the morals my mother taught me, I can’t let you stay alone like this. Not in this building.”

I looked at him, surprised at his offer.

I assumed detectives were more of the serious, not-playing-around types, and that they meant business. So it took me aback when he said such a bold statement. It took me awhile to say anything to the offer, before I glanced at his right hand.

Upon his ring finger, was a shiny silver band, the kitchen light reflecting from it.

Well, he definitely wasn’t trying to hit on me.

Which I wasn’t expecting him to at all, but the idea wasn’t a bad one. Sucking my feelings up, I shrugged my shoulders, anything sounded better than being here.

“Ok. Let me go get my bag.”

____________________________________

Turns out, Detective Bentley didn’t exactly have a house here in New York City. He lived in Boston, but this specific job had brought him to stay in New York City for a few weeks. Right now, he lived in a hotel that was maybe a few blocks from where my apartment building was.

I was currently sitting on his bed, just wearing a loose sweater and some sweatpants. Wet drops fell from my damp, brown hair, my body still a bit moist from the shower I just had. My eyes focused on at certain spot on the floor, my head going over everything that had happened to me in the past few hours.

Who could have done this?

Who hated my father so much that they wanted to murder him? Did he provoke them? Did I really know my father at all?

My thoughts soon got interrupted, as the door opened, revealing a full toned body.

He looked like a whole new person without his uniform. His normally slicked back hair, was now damp like my own, strands coming out which way, and he was just wearing a tank top and some sweatpants. Walking up to me, he handed me another towel.

“Just thought you needed another one. Just in case.”

I accepted the fluffy piece of cloth, setting it beside me. “Thank you.”

He nodded, shoving both of his hands in his pockets, glancing around.

“Um, you sure you don’t want me to just check out a room myself? I hate to be a bother.” I mentioned, glancing up at him, while drying my hair. He shook his head, throwing his hand in the air.

“It’s no issue. I’ll just take the couch.”

“You sure your wife wouldn’t mind? You know, about me being here and all..?” I wondered aloud, still focusing on my hair. But that’s when I stopped, seeing that Bentley didn’t say anything for awhile. I looked up, to see him only staring back at me, making me feel subconscious about what I just said.

Was that considered disrespectful?

“Well you don’t really have to worry about your wife minding if you know she doesn’t exist.”

I stared at him from across the room, my mouth agape.

Why did you have to assume Phoebe?

“Oh- um... I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to just- I mean I saw the ring and-”

He held out both his hands, smiling slightly to himself, as he looked down. “It’s fine, Its fine. It isn’t the first time that’s happened. The ring is from my father. He gave it to me right before he passed.”

I bit my lip, looking away from him.

So his dad died too.

That explains why he’s been so...so nice lately.

Because he could relate to me.

I soon felt bad and petty for just worrying about myself, before he flashed me another smile, heading back towards the door.

“Well, good night. If you need anything, I’ll be in the other room.”

“Thanks Detective Bentley.”

Right before he disappeared around the corner, he turned back to look at me.

“It’s Micah.”

And with that, he shut the door behind him.

It was maybe about 10 at night when I had sat up from my pillow, taking short breaths. I had been having small nightmares all throughout the night, keeping me awake like a nutjob. As much as I tried to forget about it, the same demons popped out of nowhere, spinning my thoughts in all different directions.

I had to know who did this.

Who took something so fragile… so significant, and crushed into the palm of their hand.  

I thought about all the people I knew my dad was friends with.

Mrs. Dennis from the bakery we always went to. Mr. Wilson, his boss. Some of his employees.

But who was the one person that found his dead body..?

Dale.

My heart started racing as I thought about him being a possibility.

He loved my father. He loved him like a brother. But even brothers have disagreements. Maybe Dale got angry with my father. Maybe he wanted to do something.

It was one thing that Dale was the person who found my father. But why was Dale in my apartment in the first place? How did he even get in? And what was that about the second champagne glass?

Something was wrong.

And I intended to find out.

Taking my sweatpants off, I replaced them with the jeans I wore earlier. I slipped my boots back on, and covered my body with my black, crushed velvet jacket.

I must have been making a lot of noise because the next thing I knew, I heard the door open.

“Phoebe, what are you doing?”

I didn’t pay attention to him as I grabbed my bag, and wrapped it over my head, so that it rested on my shoulder. I then felt a warm hand on my bare wrist.

“Phoebe, where are you going?”

I turned towards him, determined not to listen to his reasoning. “I’m leaving.”

He looked at me as if I was crazy, as I snatched my hand away from his, grabbing anything else that belonged to me.

“But.. why? I’m confused.”

Exasperated, I faced him, a serious look on my face. “I can’t stay here any longer knowing that my father’s killer is still out there. I can’t think, I can’t eat and I definitely can’t sleep. So I have to go somewhere.”

“Well- Well let me take you. You need a professional with you.”

“I don’t need a professional. I need the truth.” I started to breath harder and quicker, my anxiety raising it’s levels like one of those high strikers you do at the fairs and carnivals, until once again, Micah grabbed my hand.

“Phoebe, calm down. You’re not ready for this yet.”

“Not ready for this yet? I have been pondering over this for the last 4 hours. And if I can’t at least try, I’ll get worse,” I said, looking at him in the eye. “I know you would do the same if your father was murdered.”

His eyes couldn’t meet mine, knowing my statement had made him feel a certain kind of way.

“So..” I grabbed his hand and engulfed it in my own. “Please. Help me.”

It took him a few moments to answer, but I knew he was on board when he squeezed my hand, looking back up at me.

“Just let me get my gun. “

_________________________________________

“So, you believe Dale was the one that did it?”

We were in Micahs navy Ford Explorer, which was going a little over the limit. He had rolled the windows down slightly, so a little gush of wind would enter the car every now and then.

“I’m not sure. But he’s the only one I could think of at the moment.”

Micah kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, one hand on the steering wheel and one of them resting on his lap. “He was acting a bit strange when I first met you guys.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Our only option is to just give it a shot. Are you sure he’ll be there?” He asked, glancing over at me.

Truth was, I wasn’t sure. But I know Dale had a drinking problem. And when something was bothering him, he tended to drink a lot. Specifically at the Dandy Martini Club.

“All we can do is try.”

We turned on St. John Street, the only car amongst the few others that blended in with the dark. But straight ahead, was our destination. It wasn’t too hard to notice, with its neon lights illuminating from every side of the building, one of the letters from the sign, flickering on and off.

Micah pulled into an empty parking spot, putting his car into park, before removing his key.

“Alright, let’s go.” I said in a hurry, reaching for the door handle when Micah grabbed my lower arm.

“Wait, stay close to me at all times, you hear?” He ordered, which I nodded to before we both got out the vehicle. As we met in the center of the car, he placed a hand on my waist steering me close to him as we entered the lit up building. As we went inside, we were surprised to see a lot of people, mostly men, in every corner of the room. Many of them flirting with women, some of them drinking their hearts out and others passed out on tables.

Micah didn’t seem the least bit distracted by it all as his eyes traveled around, scanning for anything unusual. I did the same, but I couldn’t find the one person I was so desperate to look for.

“You see anything?” Micah whispered in my ear, to which I shook my head, disappointed.

“No, I can’t find him. And I was so sure he was here.”

Micah took one more look around the room before he started tugging me towards the exit. “Let's go then before something bad happens.”

But I wasn’t leaving just yet.

I knew he was here, I just knew it.

I pulled back from him, still looking around before I saw it.

I saw him.

He had just came out from the bathrooms, and was headed towards the bar, which I assumed to get another drink.

“Hey.” I hissed to Micah, causing him to look.

Dale told the bartender something, to which the guy smirked at him and nodded before going over to make the drink. I expected him to just indulge himself in drinks the entire time but what I didn’t know was that he was meeting someone.

Coming up behind him, another guy tapped his shoulder, getting his attention. Dale turned around grinning, and shaking the man’s hand, like he was thrilled to see him.

I wondered who it was.

And wasn’t Dale headed home to grieve like he said he would be?

The man seemed a bit overweight and he had a pretty grown out beard.

I couldn’t exactly see his face but when he turned around, a lump caught in my throat.

It was the taxi driver.