Veronica Mars Year Four Chapter Two
Chapter Two: Watchful Waiting
“Thank God it wasn’t one of the sororities,” I turn around to face one Hallie Piatt; bi-curious member of the Theta Zeta Beta sorority who’d got into the pants of both Selma Hearst Rose and her then-husband, Budd. Talk about libidinal drive-- it almost figures she’d be unphased by seeing fourteen charred and as-of-now unidentified bodies being wheeled out on stretchers from the pile of rubble that remains of the building. That’s what I hate about these damn sorority girls; always worrying more for themselves than others.
Dad’s here; he’ll be holding a press conference in a couple of hours. He looks up from the rubble and spots me; I give him a strained smile-- just to let him know I’m all right.
“Finally, something good happens around here.”
I turn to the side to see Nish Sweeney surrounded by a small cluster of her loyal feminist followers-- by the look of things, she’s picked up a few incoming Freshman to join the clan.
“How can you be so cold?” I ask angrily.
“What do you care, Veronica? You’ve signed away any respect I could ever hold for you after that Piz tape…” I redden as her fellow feminists nod their heads in agreement. Nish continues, “I couldn’t believe you’d been reduced to a common slu--”
“Watch your language there, Ma’am,” a brown hand clamps down on her shoulder. It’s Weevil.
“Thanks, Weevil. We’d better get over here before the media swoops in like the vultures they are. Thanks for the reality-check, Nish-- I’m really going to take to heart advice from an untalented journalist who’s never going to get anywhere in life. And Hallie--” she turns to face me, “--nice implants! You can hardly tell they’re fake. Did Budd pay for them before or after you seduced his wife?”
A few members of the crowd gasp; I guess they weren’t familiar with Hallie’s oh-so-interesting sexual conquests; it’s great to enlighten people.
“Let’s get you out of here before you cause a riot.”
Weevil and I head off through the crowd.
“Did that blonde job say anything to you today?”
“No, actually-- she said something that annoyed me. So, a shot at her boob job and string of lovers was a must.”
“Still the same Veronica.”
“As always.”
“So, how’s the PI business treating you?”
“It’s pretty okay considering no one expects a cute blonde to be packing thousands of volts worth of tasering; a necessary ruse for the biz.”
“So, who do you think is behind it?”
“Who knows? If Nish and her allies ever took the opportunity to study up on explosives, I wouldn’t put this past them-- what a tragedy… Their parents…”
“How’s your friend-- Wallace--?”
“You heard?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s better. He’s basically acting like nothing happened…” We come to a halt in front of my car, “I’d better get home… I’ve got a hungry pit-bull to feed-- not to mention a date watching Neptune’s very own Keith Mars’s first press conference of 2007.”
“Drive careful, V.”
“You too.”
---
Driving home, the day’s events swim before my eyes-- almost blurring my vision; the explosion-- and Weevil’s mention of Wallace.
I’m not about to stand around and let these things go unsolved-- I learned a harsh lesson in Washington and I’m not about to let history repeat itself-- not in this day and age.
---
A day after arriving, the internship began.
In addition to Chris Huber (the guy I mentioned earlier), four other guys and two other girls from across America had been invited for various reasons to take part in the internship. Other than Chris, I’m not going to mention names; no one too special. No one said a thing against me; they kept to themselves as did I.
The first few days of the internship went along swimmingly; nothing too special. Our supervisor gave us the protocol for dealing with suspected serial killers, rapists and whatnot-- okay, I might’ve rolled my eyes a couple times-- but no one noticed and I nonetheless took notes along with my fellow “classmates.”
That’s basically how I thought the entire summer would go.
I was wrong; four days later, a body was found.
If it wasn’t for Chris Huber, his selfishness and stupidity, the killer would be behind bars awaiting trial.
---
I pull up, get out of the car, clamber up the stairs and find myself home again. I have things to do-- plenty. First things first: business has been moving rather slow at the office so I’d better get a crack on finding the bastard responsible for Wallace’s handicap-- nothing to do yet on this latest Hearst event-- maybe I should’ve rethought transferring to somewhere out-of-state-- I need the names of the victims first before I try to do anything productive; that could take the coroners a month depending on if any witnesses pop up-- people who know who was there/what they were doing, that is.
I get out my cell and dial a number I jotted down the night; if there’s one good thing about Veronica Mars, it’s that she’s smart-- Veronica Mars has her connections and those connections have as of last week, gone global. I don a previous unused accent (Southern African-- I’ve got to play the part); he answers on the fourth ring, “Hello, this is Nish Sweeney and I was hoping you could help me.”
Who said all my aliases needed to be original-- you need to work with what you have sometimes-- and besides, nobody’s perfect.
---
Max’s
She aims the remote and promptly changes the channel; nothing much is on-- a Friends rerun and some ignorant PBS show her little brother stopped watching when he was four.
She sighs; maybe she expected something… more out of this relationship-- his snoring depresses the hell out of her-- this apartment depresses the hell out of her; Max moved in the day after he was officially kicked out of Hearst-- he’d asked her to move in but she’d declined; now she lives in-between home and here; she gets home late, leaves for school; a vicious cycle that, a mere two days in, is already leaving her with a feeling of drowsiness and irritability.
She waits around for him for what seems like hours each and every day; he’s taken to sleeping in till seven or eight at night-- going to bed at noon. Their time together is fleeting and every now and then it’s enough to make her want to scream.
Max has changed her in some way; whether it’s for the better or the good, she doesn’t know.
---
Logan’s
He stares at the television not believing what Sheriff Mars-- Veronica’s father is saying-- a bomb at Hearst? It’s too-- unworldly-- surreal; he can’t describe it. He’s relieved he missed witnessing it firsthand-- something like that would disrupt his sleeping pattern all the more. At least he doesn’t have to worry; Dick is safe and sound in bed as he opted to sleep in as opposed to accompanying Logan to school.
“How many bodies were recovered from the house, Sheriff Mars?” a reporter asks-- Logan recognizes the stooge as one of the bitches who’d harassed him after Lilly’s death-- and after Lynn’s the following year.
“We’ve found fourteen in total-- but there may be more. We’re resuming out search tomorrow.”
“Have any of the victims been ID’d?”
“That could take up to a month.”
“Has Dean Murray commented further on the decision to shut down the campus until the winter session begins?”
Logan turns off the TV and heads to the bathroom to shower.
---
The Sheriff Department
“Any calls, Inga?” Keith heads into the Sheriff Department; almost wishing that he could shut the day’s events out for good. Shortly before the press conference was held, he’d seen the bodies. Fourteen bodies-- all of them charred beyond recognition; he’d thought-- and hoped not to see a crime scene worse than that of Lilly Kane’s.
“Just one. From Veronica-- she asked if you wanted chicken or shrimp egg rolls.”
“If I know my Veronica, she went with chicken.”
“She expected you to say that and--”
“Sheriff Mars, the coroner’s ID’d a victim.”
Keith stares at Leo in disbelief, “This soon? How?”
“An ID bracelet if you’ll believe it--”
“And Veronica told me in the second grade those were ‘un-cool.’ Specifics?”
“One Thomas Greenfield. Sophomore, aged nineteen. His family was out-of-town.”
“You’ve had them contacted them, then?”
Leo nods.
“Inga, I’ll be in my office-- take my calls.”
He heads off with the paperwork Leo’s handed him; he closes the door behind him, slides into his chair and mourns with Tom’s parents over the loss of their son.
---
I absentmindedly flip through the channels not really seeing or hearing anything; the warm colors and pleasant glow of the television fill my void. Backup sniffs me eagerly looking for a handout; I successfully polished off more than half the Chinese delivery playing the waiting game; stir-fry, egg rolls, fried rice, beef and broccoli-- I’ve ruined my sodium intake for a month at least-- I wasn’t even too hungry after the first couple of egg rolls and stir-fry I scarfed down; playing the waiting game is a dangerous thing for the figure. The rest of the food is calmly waiting for Dad in the refrigerator.
It’s nearing midnight and Dad still isn’t home; it’s expected given the unpleasant circumstances of the day. Today has not been a productive day; who knows? Maybe I got my hopes us thinking it’d be a cinch to solve the mystery concerning Wallace and the travesty that went down Washington without a hitch-- a month later, throw in another thing-- it’s enough to drive anyone insane. Take Wallace for instance; any clues found-- that’s thousands of miles away-- could be picked up by just about anyone-- and maybe clues concerning this case being found is wishful thinking.
The call I made today proved to be a bust; the guy I reached informed me there’d been no similar incidents since the one that took Wallace’s hand-- it’s either my extreme distrust towards others-- or wishful thinking once again that’s led me to believe there’s that slight possibility that lies are being told--
---
Mac’s House
She unlocks the door, shuts it and locks it again; it’s three in the morning and the silent is dark and silent-- as always.
“Home sweet home,” she mutters sarcastically cracking a smile in spite of herself.
She’s halfway to her room when she hears it.
“Cindy?” she turns; a light flickers on-- her mother’s standing in the entryway; she’s wearing a nightgown and her face is slightly damp.
“Mom, what are you doing up?” she asks.
“Honey, I’ve been worried sick about you,” before she can disappear into her room, her mother’s practically choking her in a tight embrace.
“What is this?” Mac asks trying to mask her annoyance with indifference.
Her mother pulls away, “You haven’t heard?”
Mac stares more intently at her mother.
“There was a bomb at Hearst-- one of the fraternities--”
“I know, Mom,” she surprises herself by how easily she can snap now.
“If you knew, you could’ve at least called,” her mother’s angry now; Mac frowns.
“Well, if you knew me, you’d know that I don’t hang around fraternities. Good night,” and she heads up the stairs, into her room, shuts the door and locks it.
She lies in bed; what was that?
---
I hear keys jingling from outside the door; Backup stirs as he’s been waiting patiently in front of it since around two; I check the clock. It’s already five in the morning-- surprising how quickly the night went by.
Backup jumps up excitedly on Dad, “What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep-- not with all this going on… You hungry? There’s some Chinese in the fridge.”
“Inga told me. Thanks but no thanks-- it’s six in the morning-- I was thinking something more along the lines of pancakes. Want any?”
“No… I’m still full from dinner… I’d better get to bed; no school today-- no school for months.”
I stand from the couch, flip off the TV and stretch, “G’night.”
“Honey?”
I turn, “Yeah?”
“Did you happen to know a Thomas-- Tom Greenfield?”
I shake my head, “No. Why?”
“He’s the first identified.”
“It’s horrible.”
“I know.”
Feeling slightly awkward, I rush over and give Dad a tight hug, “It’s okay,” he whispers reassuringly.
“It’s going to be,” I whisper, pulling away.
“Goodnight, Veronica.”
“Goodnight.”
Every now and then when you’re hurled into the middle of something extremely chaotic, the only sure thing is the notion that a parent’s love can save you for the time being; giving you the strength to move on; I’ve got a full plate in front of me but I’ve done the impossible before. And whatever the case, I will solve these problems and I will find and hold those responsible for their wrongs.