“And what if I just want to throw him in a pine box and have him cremated?”
The question obviously caught Sebastian off guard. “Oh, well ... um ... .”
“That’s how my grandfather wants to be put to rest,” I offered. “It’s not a terrible idea. Caskets are really expensive.”
Sebastian shot me a dirty look over Vera’s shoulder. “They’re also beautiful, and a fine final resting place. I mean ... who doesn’t like the idea of a comfortable casket?”
I raised my hand but he ignored me.
“If you prefer cremation, I understand,” Sebastian continued. “Many families are choosing cremation these days. There’s worry of overcrowding in cemeteries ... and concern for the environmental footprint.”
“Oh, that’s not why I want him cremated,” Vera countered. “I don’t care about any of that. I’ll be dead long before global warming becomes a concern and I don’t really care if it’s a hardship for the next generation because they’re all jerks.”
I pressed my lips firmly together and averted my gaze. I just knew if Sebastian and I made eye contact,we would both start laughing.
“All right,” Sebastian said, choosing his words carefully. “You don’t have to justify your reasons for wanting cremation.”
“It’s not a justification. He was a jackass, an Axehole really. Oh, yeah. I’ve heard the variations on that name for years. They were warranted.
“Listen, Roy was a jerk. I knew it better than anybody else,” she continued. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m only bothering with a proper burial because people in town will think I’m cheap if I don’t. If it were up to me, I’d throw him out in the middle of the street and let people spit on him.”
“I’m sure he had some good qualities,” I hedged, desperately looking for something to latch onto.
“Sure he did.” She flashed a smile more grimace than grin in my direction. “He was great when it came to doing yard work.”
That wasn’t what I was looking for, but it was better than nothing. “Well, that’s something, right?”
“Absolutely. He kept the hedges trimmed because he liked peeping in Marla Stinski’s windows. She doesn’t like wearing clothes inside her house — heck, she probably doesn’t like wearing them outside either, but she knows she’ll get ticketed if she’s not careful. Roy realized that if he didn’t keep the hedges maintained he wouldn’t be able to see her in the buff.”
My mouth dropped open.
Vera kept on as if she didn’t have an audience hanging on her every word. “He also kept the branches on the large maple tree at the back fence trimmed properly. That’s because the Stevenson girl likes to lie out in her bikini. We have one of those privacy fences, so he had to get on a ladder to look at her. He trimmed so many branches last year the tree looks naked from the waist down.”
“Oh, well ... how old is the Stevenson girl now?” I tried to do the math in my head.
“Sixteen,” Sebastian answered grimly.
That sounded about right. She’d barely been walking when I’d left for college. “Well, maybe he considered himself an artist,” I offered brightly.
Vera’s lips curled into a sneer. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Artists study the human form in a clinical manner.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t it. Roy couldn’t draw a stick figure unless the stick was in his pants. He did enjoy adding penises to photos in the newspaper. He thought it was funny, even if the photos were of an accident scene or a murder victim. He would leave the newspapers behind in restaurants so other customers could enjoy his artwork.”
I chewed my bottom lip. It sounded as if Roy was an even bigger jerk than I remembered. “Still, you married him,” I pressed. “There must’ve been something about him you liked.”
“When Roy and I met, I was looking for a way out of my father’s house. He was a strict disciplinarian and believed the only way a daughter could leave the nest is if she was married. At the time, I thought Roy was the answer to my problems.”
“See.” I forced a smile I didn’t really feel. “He was good for something.”
“Yes, he was a true joy,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “If I knew then what I know now I would’ve stayed with my father. He might’ve been a real killjoy, the sort of guy who never laughs and doesn’t think others should either, but at least he didn’t get his rocks off staring at underage girls.”
Helpless, I looked to Sebastian to take over the conversation. He looked just as lost.
“So ... the most inexpensive box we can find and cremation?” All the excitement he’d been feeling earlier in the day deflated, leaving his shoulders hunched. “Do you want a tombstone or shall we just stick a little sign in the ground and be done with it?”
“Oh, I want a tombstone.” Vera flashed her teeth. “Do you think I can put ‘beloved philanderer’ on it without turning the town against me?”
“Um ... .” Sebastian looked uncertain.
“Are you sure he cheated on you?” I asked, knowing it was probably the worst way to turn the conversation. I couldn’t help myself. “I mean ... just because he liked looking at other women doesn’t mean he acted on his impulses.”
“Oh, honey, you’re sweet.” Vera shot me a pitying look. “Do you know how many women have contacted me over the years to tell me my husband was cheating on me?”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean it was true.”
“Two of them claimed to be pregnant with Roy’s babies.”
“There are ways to prove that.”
“He paid them off.”
I was done trying to find a single good thing about Roy. It was a wasted effort from the start. “I’m really sorry.” I meant it. “He sounds like an absolutely horrible man.”
“He was. I still have a responsibility, and I mean to see it through.”
“Then we’ll help you.” Sebastian grabbed his notepad and headed toward the couch. “You know, there’s this really garish tombstone they’ve been trying to get rid of. Someone somewhere thought it was a good idea to make one in a puke green color. You can get them for a song now that they’re discontinuing the line.”
Vera brightened considerably. “That sounds great. He would hate that.”
“I think I know a few more things he would hate. There’s a spot in the cemetery where the squirrels hang out and crap all through the summer. It smells terrible. Those spots are inexpensive.”
“Sign me up.”
This wasn’t how I planned to gather information, but it was better than nothing.
11
Eleven
Two hours with Vera was my limit. The joy she took in picking out the things she knew Roy would hate made me sad. Sebastian got into the spirit of the endeavor, but even he looked wiped out when she finally left.
“Did you at least make a profit?” I asked as I stretched out on the settee. It was surprisingly comfortable for such a small piece of furniture.
He nodded and flopped in the chair next to me. “I made a fairly decent profit. The markup on this stuff is astronomical.”
“I bet. It’s one of the few businesses that can get away with almost anything and nobody will call them on it.”
“You make me sound like a con artist.”
“Not you personally,” I reassured him. “It’s just the thought of profiting off death. It seems somehow wrong.”
“Some people could say that about food,” he pointed out. “Food is necessary for life, but it’s not a luxury. Your family makes a living off the backs of those who are starving.”
“No, my family makes a living off the backs of those who are too lazy to cook for themselves,” I countered. “Nobody is forcing them into the restaurant.”
“Nobody is forcing them into the funeral home either.”
I rolled so I could meet his gaze. “I wasn’t getting a dig in at you. I was just commenting on the circle of life.”
“Oh?” He looked amused. �
��Are you feeling philosophical this afternoon?”
It was a fair question. “I’m feeling ... something.” I pushed myself to a sitting position, mostly because I was afraid the hangover would finally catch up with me if I remained prone, and the last thing I wanted to do was catch a catnap in a funeral home. “What do you know about Roy?”
“I think we just heard an earful.”
“Yes, but that was from Vera’s perspective. She did give me a few things to think about. She focused on his sexual appetite, which was apparently disgusting. Other people hated him for any number of reasons. Not everything had to do with his wandering eye.”
“Ah.” Sebastian nodded in understanding. “You want to know what sort of dirt I’ve heard about Roy.”
“Pretty much. I’d heard stories about him before I left. I never paid much attention to them. The only thing I remember is that it was a running joke not to get near his hands. I guess, in hindsight, that wasn’t much of a joke.”
“He had a horrible reputation when it came to women ... and apparently teenagers. I never really heard about the teenagers. I might’ve said something if I’d had.”
“You and me both. What are some of the other stories you’ve heard?”
“Well, I heard he borrowed Frank Farmington’s snowblower but never returned it.”
“I doubt that’s worth killing over.”
“I’d agree, but they had a big blowup over it.”
“Really?” I smiled to encourage him. “What sort of blowup? Were punches thrown?”
Sebastian chuckled, obviously tickled by my enthusiasm. “The thing with Roy is that he wasn’t the physical sort. He was a blowhard and would say the dumbest crap imaginable, but nobody ever worried he’d back it up.”
“Give me a for instance.”
“For instance, his fight with Frank. Apparently they’d been going at each other for some time, Roy denying he’d ever borrowed Frank’s snowblower and Frank calling him a big, fat liar.”
“Did something happen to the snowblower in question?”
“I believe Roy broke it, because that plays into the story. Anyway, there was a festival downtown — it was an offshoot of the Hemlock Cove summer festival last year — and Frank approached Roy during the carnival. Actually, if I remember correctly, Frank stalked Roy through the festival because Roy kept hopping on rides to avoid him.”
“Did Roy really think that hopping on a five-minute rollercoaster ride was going to dissuade Frank?”
Sebastian held out his hands and shrugged. “I’ve never been able to fathom the things Roy did. Delaying the inevitable only irritated Frank. He was foaming-at-the-mouth mad when he finally caught up to him.”
I tried to picture the scene in my head, smiling. “So, what happened? Don’t leave me in suspense.”
“Patience, grasshopper. I’m getting to it.” He flicked his fingers at me and grinned. “So, picture it, Roy thinks he’s shaken Frank and is back to being a blowhard as he exits those flying swings that everybody pretty much hates.”
I frowned. “I didn’t know those were still a thing.”
“Only at really depressing festivals, which is what we have here, because Hemlock Cove has a lock on all the good carnival companies. Anyway, Roy decides to hang out between the swings and the flea market, calling out to anybody he sees and making a general nuisance of himself. That’s when Frank finally cuts him off from any avenue of escape and approaches him.”
“You tell a story like my grandmother,” I complained. “It goes on and on, and there’s no buildup of suspense.”
“I’m an excellent storyteller ... and I’m getting there. Roy is talking nonsense, as he usually does, when Frank appears behind him and asks about his snowblower. Roy looks like he wants to run, but there’s nowhere to go.”
“You definitely remind me of my grandmother.”
“Shut it,” he warned, his eyes flashing even as his lips curved. “So, Frank starts yelling about how Roy is a dirty thief. He mentions how Roy has borrowed power tools from every guy in a ten-block radius but never returned them. He theorizes Roy is making money by selling these tools.”
“Is that possible?”
“I’m telling my story.”
“Okay, Grandma, keep going.”
He flicked my ear and smirked. “Roy swears up and down he returned the snowblower. He feigns ignorance as to what happened to it. Frank tells him he’s full of crap and mentions how much he hates him. Blah, blah, blah.
“They go back and forth for a good twenty minutes, to the point someone called Hunter to break it up,” he continued. “Frank explains why he’s upset and Roy denies even borrowing the snowblower at this point. To ensure a ceasefire, Hunter suggests he go to Roy’s house with him to search his garage.
“Roy balks and has an absolute meltdown. He claims he never borrowed Frank’s snowblower and demands Hunter get a search warrant if he wants to enter his garage. The whole thing has garnered the attention of almost everybody now and there’s a whole bunch of people watching the show.
“Roy’s other neighbors, the ones who claim they loaned him tools as well, start chiming in, saying they would like to look inside Roy’s garage,” he continued. “At this point, Roy is pretty much melting down. He’s calling anyone within earshot names and then does a complete one-eighty when Hunter suggests he’s going to try to get a warrant.”
“What does he do?” I asked. “Roy, I mean.”
“He starts writing checks for the power tools. He writes one for anybody there, anybody who ever loaned him anything.”
“Are the checks good?”
“Aha. Smart girl.” Sebastian snapped his fingers and grinned. “The checks are not good. They all bounce. Turns out that Roy switched over his bank account before anyone could cash the checks.”
That sounded demented — and interesting. “Did Hunter go back with a warrant?”
“He did. And when he went inside Roy’s garage he found it completely empty. Except for a broken snowblower.”
“Then why was Roy so worried?”
“I should emphasize the fact that the garage smelled like bleach and looked as if someone had recently cleaned it.”
“So Roy was hiding something in his garage,” I mused. “Could it have been the power tools? Was he demented enough to throw everything away rather than give it back?”
Sebastian pursed his lips and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. There are a number of hunches regarding what Roy had in his garage. Some people claim he was cooking meth.”
That made me smile. “I seriously doubt that. You could smell it.”
“That’s what I said, but you know how people are. Others say he was running an illegal gambling hall in his garage.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Not really. For people to gamble there, they would have to visit the house — and nobody would be caught dead visiting Roy’s house without a gun pressed to their head.”
“Okay. What does that leave?”
“I don’t know, but if you find out I’ll be happy to spread the gossip for you.”
I SPENT ANOTHER HOUR BANDYING ideas around about Roy’s garage. There were so many possibilities and ridiculous rumors. I had a good time listening to them all — and contributing a few of my own. My favorite was that Roy was an underworld pimp running a brothel out of his garage. That one made me laugh out loud.
By the time I’d left, I was feeling markedly better. The hangover was gone and all I had to decide was what I wanted to do with the rest of my afternoon. I was halfway down the sidewalk in front of the funeral home when something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. When I swiveled and stared at the cemetery at the edge of the property, I didn’t see anything. Still, I couldn’t shake the notion that someone was watching me.
On a whim, I started in that direction. I could cut through the cemetery — even though I’d never been particularly fond of the property — and get to the restaurant from that directi
on.
Because it was small, Shadow Hills had just the one cemetery. I took my time, my eyes bouncing from tombstone to tombstone. I searched for the source of the movement I was positive I’d seen when leaving Sebastian’s funeral home, but I saw nobody. I was just about to write the whole thing off to my imagination — which seemed to be throwing party after party these days — when my eyes landed on a familiar marker.
William Archer. My grandfather’s father. His mother was still alive — and on her third husband — but his father had died when I was fairly young. I had only one memory of him, and it wasn’t exactly illuminating. He’d been sitting at the formal dining table in my grandparents’ house, playing chess with Brad, and talking about some ridiculous political conspiracy theory that involved ranking members of the first family being aliens.
I smiled at the memory. Perhaps that’s where Brad got it. He was especially close with my great-grandfather. It was possible he’d inherited that part of his personality. Lord knows I’d picked up a few unsavory tendencies from my grandfather.
I bent over long enough to clear away a few weeds, jerking up my head when a shadow passed over me. I scanned the nearby graves, frowning when I found no one near me before returning to my task.
The shadow appeared again.
“Okay, who is here?” I hopped to my feet and planted my hands on my hips. I was positive someone was messing with me. “Sebastian, is that you?” I shook my head, disgust rolling through me. “It’s not funny. You know this place has always freaked me out.”
He didn’t immediately show himself. I was convinced it was him — until I remembered I’d seen the movement ten seconds after I’d left the funeral home. There was no way he could’ve made it to the cemetery that quickly. Even if he was in a playful mood, he wouldn’t go out of his way to frighten me.
“I’m serious,” I shouted as my heartbeat ratcheted up. I could feel someone watching me. No matter where I looked, though, I couldn’t find a source for my agitation. “This is not funny.”
Sinfully Delicious Page 11
