Pineapple Lies by Amy Vansant Page A

anger subside. He released his fists and took a deep breath.
    “Look, I came here to help you catch my mother’s killer and all you’ve done is insult me.”
    Frank’s head tilted to the side like a curious dog’s.
    “Catch your mother’s—”
    The fire in Frank’s eyes died and his face fell slack. He grabbed a wad of papers from his breakfast bar and shuffled through them until he found the one he wanted.
    “You’re not Tommy Wickham?”
    “I told you my name is Declan Bingham .”
    The sheriff resumed shuffling through the paperwork and pulled another sheet.
    “Christmas on a cracker. You think those bones they found at Charlotte’s house are your mother’s?”
    “Yes. And I don’t see how that makes me a weirdo or a pervert.”
    The sheriff waved a hand in front of him. “My mistake. I got you confused with this other kid, running around sticking his willy into koi ponds.”
    “His what?”
    “You know…” Frank made a few quick pelvis thrusts to illustrate his point.
    Declan recoiled.
    “You thought I was violating koi ponds?” He laughed. “That’s why you didn’t like me talking about your frog pond!”
    The sheriff chuckled. “I didn’t want you makin’ eyes at Lil’ Frankie.”
    “You named the ceramic frog Lil’ Frankie? And I’m the weirdo?”
    “Watch it. Darla named him. She calls him ‘Lil’ Frankie’ because he catches about a many fish as I do.”
    “Darla’s your wife? I met her. Her, Charlotte and…Mariska? They were very kind to me after I realized the bones might be my mother’s.”
    “Those three are never more than three feet apart. Anyway, I apologize. This office remodel has everything mixed up.”
    Declan nodded. “It’s fine. I’m relieved. Let’s start over.”
    “Okay. And if you want to pet Oscar, you go ahead.”
    Declan glanced at the dog who had flopped on the ground by his foot.
    Frank looked over his notes. Declan watched him cross out the word weirdo in three separate places and sick bastard in one.
    “So long and short of it, your mom disappeared and you had no idea why. No talk of a boyfriend or anything like that?”
    “No. I mean, I was a kid so I wasn’t really thinking about things like that, but Mamó never said anything like that later in life either.”
    “Mamó?”
    “My granny.”
    “Is your grandmother still alive? Can I talk to her?”
    “No. She died two years ago. Emphysema.”
    “Those damn cigarettes, I bet. I lost a sister to them.”
    Declan nodded.
    “Do you know where your mother worked?”
    “Here, I think. She worked as a secretary at the building office, and then she also waitressed a bit, nights and weekends.”
    “You know where?”
    “Orange Grill?” said Declan. “Something like that.”
    Frank grunted. “Nectarine’s. Yeah, they went out of business close to ten years ago.”
    “That’s pretty much all I know. I just recognized that necklace. I’d given it to Mom for Christmas and she always wore it.”
    “I need to take a swab from your mouth so they can compare it to the DNA of the bones. Though they’ll probably do the identifying by her teeth if they’re in good shape.”
    “No problem.”
    “We’ll have the tests back in a few days. Then we’ll know for sure if it was your mom or not. I’m real sorry, about the bones and my behavior today.”
    Declan shrugged. “No problem. I’m glad we got that cleared up.”
    The sheriff swabbed Declan’s mouth, put the results in a clear jar and sealed it. As he jotted his name on it, there was a knock on the door. He put down the jar and shook Declan’s hand.
    “That’s it. You’re free to go.”
    He opened his door, Declan following to leave.
    A shifty-eyed young man in his late teens wearing jeans shorts and a torn t-shirt stood on the sheriff’s steps. He was staring at the frog pond.
    “Yeah, I got a call to show up here,” he said, turning as Frank opened the door.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Tommy. Tommy Wickham.”
    Declan