Peace of Pi

By Edward DeMarco

In this book there are two mysteries. The first is finding out who committed a cold and calculated murder. The second mystery is discovering how John and Willa ended up together on a plane from Canton, Ohio to Sarasota, Florida. John had lost his company, his friends, and his family. Willa had lost her purpose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9781304594761

Book preview

✌Chapter 1 – Its Own Time

JUNE 15, 2011

It was a Wednesday in June, and he was boarding a plane. There was no work, no family, no yard, no garden and no longer a worry about the future. It all seemed clear now. There had been so much weighing him down and he spent most of his time trying to figure out why. And then last night John Laymon found his answer. It was truly clear now. And if he had one minute, one hour or one year left, he knew there were people, including his ex-wife, who would be happy when it was his time.

The woman sitting next to him began complaining out loud about the top on her coffee cup and how it didn’t fit quite right. Oh, god, she said, You would think it would be easy to match the size of one circle with another so that they actually fit. But that would take a miracle.

The fact that the lid didn’t fit correctly made it impossible to drink without spilling, especially as the plane began to bump along the runway during takeoff. This led to more calls for help from a higher power, but not in any sort of reverential tone.

John responded, almost under his breath. I hear you. Things seem to happen that make no sense at all. But like your cup, I think the circle, itself, is the answer, no beginning, and no end. It’s just like God.

The woman looked up at him, her brow furrowed, with an expression that said, What? without having to say the word.

I’m John Laymon. He handed her a handkerchief to help clean up the spill.

My name is Willa Prophet. Thank you, John, that’s helpful. Using the handkerchief, she began dabbing the coffee that had spilled and then said. Not sure I understand God’s connection to spilled coffee but to each his own.

Willa Prophet was a supervisor of a federal jobs program in Canton, Ohio. When her late husband died suddenly of a heart attack five years ago, she lost her faith in the unknown. There could be no feasible reason for the love of her life to go so suddenly, leaving her completely alone. As she once told a friend. No prayers can patch my broken heart. So, she put up a wall that excluded gods, angels, and saints.

She didn’t have any real problem with those who were religious, it was just that talking about an invisible god was not something she found productive. However, as Willa had not been able to sufficiently indulge in her sacramental coffee, because of the faulty lid, she found herself nodding in feigned interest, attempting to be politically correct and polite.

John smiled at the prospect of an actual conversation and began to push forward. Everyone says that God is perfect.

Well, not everyone.  Willa responded.

Anyway, John continued speaking quickly, People say we should accept whatever is happening to us as God’s will. Now, some think the priests and elders know His will. Others say it’s all in the Bible or Torah or whatever.

John paused and began talking again, slowing down now to emphasize his point. Shouldn’t we be able to expect that wherever the explanation comes from, that it should have some reasonable logic? Don’t you think?

Without waiting for a real response, and hardly taking a breath, he continued, We should be able to expect that God’s mind is rational. We might not be smart enough or evolved enough to understand, but if we could, it would be sensible. We would have an ‘aha’ moment. You know what I mean?

As Willa wiped more drops of coffee from her white blouse and without looking up, she replied, "But that’s the whole thing, isn’t it? We want a god as our crutch to explain away the stuff that just happens. Life is messy, coffee spilled and stained my shirt kind of messy. We need to get over it. We waste valuable resources trying to god everything up."

Looking up at John, she flashed him a Mona Lisa smile. People use their god as an excuse for the bad things, a reason for the good and a way to justify their rehabilitation. They want something somewhere to explain everything.

John lifted his hand as if he were toasting with an invisible cup and hit his hand on the overhead compartment. It was the same one he had hurt a few days ago. Damn! Ow! Anyway, you’re right. We want to look up into the heavens and see that it makes sense. ‘Hey God, what’s the story here?’  We cry into the night. When he doesn’t speak to us in flaming bushes or talking clouds, we lose faith.

Or we choose to believe in us, instead of something unseen, Willa retorts. John was enjoying the banter and it motivated him to continue.

I’ve been spending most of my time lately trying to figure out the meaning of what’s been happening in my life. A, there’s this disease I have, with no known cure. B, I’ve lost my job, my company, and my wife. My children have turned away from me, as well as most of my friends, and then there’s my asshole son-in-law, and for all of this there is no known cure.

He paused to see if there was any reaction from his new friend. When he glanced over and saw that she was looking at him and listening intently, he continued.

This A and B must equal C, some C that makes sense. Otherwise, why get up? But the other night at two in the morning I got the most incredible thought. God is like a circle.

So, back to the cup, are we? Willa asked with a smirk.

John took out a small notepad and pen from his shirt pocket. He flipped through pages of words and lists and drawings. When he reached an empty page, he sketched a simple circle. Pointing at it, John continued.

This thing, this circle is something I can clearly see. It’s perfect. Like God, there is no beginning and no end. But if you simply want to understand the circle and find the area of the circle, it’s not A B C. You’re only allowed a glimpse of the circle through something called pi(π). And pi(π) is an irrational number. In fact, it’s not a number at all; it’s an infinite string of numbers.

Mathematicians spend their whole life trying to understand it, they dedicate their career working on a better understanding a number which is irrational. I believe God might be understood by letting go of reason and thinking irrationally. I look around and just like we believe that pi(π) can help us understand the circle, I need to believe that the things that happen in my life that make no sense are evidence of God. Imperfect people, unraveling calamities, unexplainable coincidences, and everyday frustrations are the pi(π) to understanding a perfect God and his plan for us.

He closed his notebook and slid it back into his pocket and exhaled so deeply that it seemed it might have been his first breath of the day. I don’t know, it’s just a thought. I mean, it could be true.

John smiled. This is what you get when you talk coffee cups with someone who’s been up all-night thinking. He paused, insightfully. And with all of that thinking, this, he says drawing his finger in the air in a circular motion, is all I have to show for it.

He laughed out loud nervously, as one who is out of things to say, and Willa smiled politely and spoke softly. It’s pretty early in the morning for talk of gods and circles, John.

If the plane had just landed in Atlanta, as scheduled, that would have been the end of it. In fact, however, the plane didn’t make it to its destination. It landed in Cincinnati. A passenger on the plane died unexpectedly. His name was John Laymon. It was his time.

π

✌Chapter 2 – The Plane Ride

JUNE 15, 2011

As a young couple boarded their flight to Atlanta, Lewis, a tall and slender man, struggled to lift a carry-on off the floor and stuff it into the overhead compartment.

What have you got in this carry-on? Lewis said to his wife Wendy.

Quit complaining about my bag, it’s almost all from our meeting with Tim. Wendy shoved another bag by her feet and took the window seat.

She stared out at the airplane parking lot and said to herself, I can’t believe it happened. Lewis can’t find out. She thought back to her conversation with Tim Dorman when Lewis had left them to work on the proposal and print copies at the hotel business center.

So, what do you really think, Tim? I don’t want Lewis to put in all this work if you already have decided it’s a no go. It would kill him.

Wendy, I thought you both wanted this?

Listen, Tim. I’m as invested as Lewis in this project, but it’s his baby and he can’t face another denial.

I like the idea, and I know how to put together the funding, Wendy. But I need to know that you personally are committed to it, as well. It’ll be a disaster if the partners aren’t fully invested. Tim responded.

I will be fully invested, Tim. Whatever it takes.

That was when Tim called her bluff, and she ended up with her skirt above her waist and his pants below his knees. She kept saying to herself that she did it to save the deal. But she knew that wasn’t the whole story and it probably wouldn’t be the last time.

From her seat, she looked back at her husband with a forced smile and heard him say, This just has to work out, if it doesn’t, I don’t know what we’re going to do, we are tapped out.

Wendy agreed, It’s important we meet Tim’s needs, but I have confidence that if we each do our part, Tim will be on board. In the short run, Tim told me he might be able to arrange a bridge loan while we get our long-term financing together. He knows a guy from Canton who can help.

Yeah, he told me the same thing. We might need to take advantage of that. He sat down and buckled in and continued the conversation. Tim is our best option for getting this to market and our last chance to climb out of this hole. We can’t let this guy slip away. He looked at his wife and saw that she appeared troubled. I know you’re afraid about just jumping into this thing with a guy we hardly know. I can see it on your face.

Wendy knew that wasn’t her worst fear. She was afraid of that clearly intoxicated man who barged into the conference room and interrupted her dalliance with Tim. If he blabbed about what he saw that would be the end of the deal and her marriage. Tim told her, I know that asshole, and I’ll make sure he’ll never have the chance to say anything. But she wasn’t comforted by his promise.

As the plane left the gate, Wendy stared toward the window and whispered quietly to her husband, Each of us must do our part, whatever is necessary. She believed that what she had already done was, in fact, necessary.

Lewis was already at work in his head. As soon as we get home today, I’m going to start putting together the tech data Tim wants. And if you can work on the financials, we’ll knock this out. There is no time to waste.

π

JUNE 15, 2011

Detective Frank Munchie made sure he was sitting eight rows behind the young female prosecutors, Laurena Thomas and Parisol Stewart, who were attending the same conference. He was not looking forward to a workshop on cooperation. I don’t need to cooperate. He mumbled. I need people to stay out of my way. I’m glad I’m getting out of the game before women take over everything.

He would have continued obsessing but was distracted by a man a few rows up who was flailing his arms about and seemed to be talking a mile a minute. To Munchie the woman next to the wild man in the window seat was trapped into listening. I’m glad that’s not me. I'd have to muzzle the guy.

Munchie closed his eyes for about fifteen minutes until he heard the flight attendants rolling their beverage carts down the aisle. Finally, women doing what was intended. But his thoughts were interrupted by a man asking him what he would like to drink. He was about to say something about the man, but he knew others would think he was being rude. But in Munchie’s head, I just call it as I see it.

Suddenly, he heard screaming and noticed the woman by the window yelling. He jumped from his seat pushing the flight attendant aside as he rushed forward. He saw Parisol jump from her seat and call out panicking. Somebody, help him. He’s choking and his face is swollen.

Munchie moved quickly to see if he could be the one to save the day, but the man was already dead. Munchie didn’t get there fast enough.

π

JUNE 22, 2011

Detective Frank Munchie arrived at the station about an hour ago and stood staring at the wall where he had taped a handmade calendar. The 2011 calendar had an X over each day through June 22nd. He was hoping he could take it easy for the rest of the year.

Starting in 2012, I’ll be on my boat. He smiled and looked at the folder on his desk and the smile faded. And here they give me a new case. He reviewed the contents of the folder and mumbled, This is just another drug related killing. He turned another page and noticed that he would have to break in a new investigator named Godfrey. And on top of that the DA’s office had assigned Laurena and Parisol to the case. Ah, Jesus, and I get those two. Hell, if we had just been able to attend that workshop they would have learned how to cooperate. He laughed.

Munchie knew that drug-related crimes, particularly violent crimes, can be difficult to solve in a timely fashion. Witnesses are reluctant to come forward and may be unreliable in a trial. In some cases, it is hard to determine if there was even a crime committed.

This year was fast becoming one of the most violent in a long time. The city of Canton, Stark County’s largest city, saw almost a dozen homicides. Munchie wasn’t really interested in violent drug crimes. In fact, he wasn’t interested in much these days except counting the days until he retires.

He called out from his cubicle, Sergeant Brown, we better get that woman, Ms. Prophet, in here. Might as well start with her. You know how women can be. Sometimes without provocation, they just pow and you’re down for the count.

Brown shook his head and said, I’ll send out a squad car to pick her up. Brown looked at his clipboard and continued. Munchie, we also have an eyewitness, who is here and wants to talk with you. He has an interesting story about that whole damned family. And that guy, Templeton, who talked to you earlier. He’s coming in at around 10.

Munchie took a deep breath. And who’s the eyewitness?

You won’t believe it, but it’s the husband of that new officer, Burke.

What’s he got to do with drugs? Brown shrugged his shoulders and Munchie slumped and continued. Just hope this last case doesn’t put me in the grave before I get my watch. Even if I had 1000 days, it probably won’t be enough.

π

✌Chapter 3 - The Last Rights

June 21, 2011

Man, I feel like crap. Tommy Bucknall held his head in his hands as he rose to get out of his chair. Tommy’s movements were blocked by the damned dog. He moved the dog out of his way with a swift kick. Today, Tommy wasn’t in the mood to walk around her.

He continued talking to himself, Man, with a single hit I’d be better…much better. He stretched his arms above his head. What’s their problem? They want the whole world to be as miserable as they are.

Tommy worked as a job counselor at the local career center. He had just gotten his job back after accusations of drug abuse during working hours. Well, they weren’t really accusations; they were true. He did use drugs at work. Tommy used drugs at work but didn’t consider it a problem. The only question to Tommy was why it mattered so much to other people.

As he was making his way to the bathroom, he had to stop and regain his balance. Woe, I’ve got to get in touch with Bobby today. He steadied himself. I’m so pissed at that bitch Prophet. I don’t care what she thinks, I have the right to make my own choice for my body. Because of her, I’ll have to find out when the N/A meetings are at that church. I’ll have to attend a few of those things and then pass the damn drug tests to keep my job.

He needed the job, because he needed money to buy the help needed to be able to cope on the job. This circular logic ran round and round in his brain.

His friend once told him while they were both high that, I’ve been quitting every week for four years. Quitting is hard, especially cold turkey.

Tommy responded. Honestly, I don’t understand why anyone would want to quit, with or without turkey.  They both laughed until they forgot what was funny.

Even with the upcoming drug tests, his only thought was that his throbbing headache and shaky hands would disappear as soon as he was able to get high. He stood in a pair of sweatpants that were too small and no shirt at all.

What happened to my shirt? Tommy then saw his shirt wadded up on the floor next to a dozen empty beer bottles. My God, it’s covered in blood and ruined. What the hell? He then remembered, Why won’t she just listen? Man, she brings it on herself.

Tommy got upset because his wife, Molly, wouldn’t stop crying. Sure, her dad died while riding on a plane and, frankly, that is slightly amusing. Tommy thought, But to cry for days on end. I had to give her something to really cry about.

Molly walked into the living room at just that moment, and turned to her husband and asked, Are you going to get ready? We have to leave. Molly was dressed entirely in black, even her eye still showed