Page 88 of Shake Your Boo Thang

“What a clusterfuck.”

“No shit. Margaret’s forcing an audit of all the cases that investigator worked on over the years, not just yours.”

I whistle at that. “You were right about Margaret. She doesn’t mess about, does she?”

Liz chuckles. “She has no qualms about pissing off other people, that’s for sure. Professional accountability and transparency are of the utmost importance with her. Protecting the reputation of a former member of the fire brigade engaged in corrupt practices isn’t something she’d stand for.”

“Won’t that create some hostility in the ranks, especially among any old-timers who worked with the guy?”

“No doubt. But this is going to become a massive internal review, and Margaret will be bringing in external examiners to ensure that everything’s on the up and up. Given that a past commissioner was involved too, we might be talking more than one external entity getting involved. The papers will have a field day.”

I’m not surprised about that.

“So now we’re in the hurry-up-and-wait phase,” I say with a chuckle.

There’s a beat of silence. “You’re calmer about this than I expected, but you’re right. There won’t be any developments anytime soon with your specific case, but Margaret is already assembling a team to get underway. She’s not wasting time.”

I’m strangely elated, but it’s also a somewhat hollow victory. I’m going to have to let go of the case once it’s reopened. For that very reason, I decide to hold off on telling Liz that we’re meeting with Nigel this evening. There are things Beau and I need to know now that can’t wait.

When we hang up, Beau pulls me into a hug, wrapping his arms around me.

“We did it,” he says.

I make a noise of agreement.

Beau pulls back and searches my face. “I know you won’t be able to be part of the official inquiry anymore, but you played a pivotal role in making this happen. Be proud of that. If the haunting at Salon de Spin had never been taken seriously by the two of us together, those spirits would never have had anyone to help them. Their story would have remained buried and forgotten.”

“You’re right,” I say, brushing the hair from his forehead and kissing him there. “But I still intend to get as much information out of Nigel as I can.”

Beau grins. “I’m right there with you, partner.”

I like the sound of that for more reasons than I’m ready to admit.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Departure day is almost here, friends! It’s all starting to feel very real, and I’ll admit, I’m equal parts nervous and excited. I’ve only ever been on an airplane a handful of times and never to go someplace across the ocean.

A while back, before the pandemic, Mama and I flew to Las Vegas so we could see Sir Elton John when he had a residency at The Colosseum in Caesar’s Palace. Talk about a gay pilgrimage! It was a memorable trip, but nothing like what I’m about to undertake.

This will also be my first time traveling alone. I have no trouble entertaining myself, but I do hope I meet some interesting folks in London who will be happy to show me around. I’m bringing along a whole box of individually wrapped Priester’s Pralines—an Alabama classic—to give out as thank-you gifts to any kind strangers I meet. After all, my mama raised me right, and I know how to show my gratitude and appreciation toward others––and what better way than to share a little taste of home with them?

––Beau’s Boos and Beyond, Episode 75

Beau

“Isn’t this place closed?” Nigel asks, looking at the darkened spin studio building with wide eyes.

I smile. “We have a key and permission to use this space for some of our work. Callum here works for the business owner.”

We’re fudging the truth a smidge, but it’s mostly true.

I can tell that Nigel Townsend really doesn’t want to go inside, but he musters his resolve and follows us despite his obvious trepidation. Not that I blame him. If some strangers were trying to bring me into a locked building after dark, I’d be hightailing it the other way.

But it seems that Callum’s threat of speaking with his family has overridden any reservations he might have about joining us. While I sympathize with whatever trauma little Owen Grant might have experienced from the fire that Nigel Townsend then carried into adulthood, my top priority is helping the folks who died. They deserve to be able to leave the limbo they’re in and not suffer anymore.

I pull out a wrapped praline and offer it to him. “Would you like a little sweet treat? This is a specialty from Alabama, where I’m from.”