Home Strange Home

by CeeCee James

  Ms. Valentine snorted. “The man is simply reacting to you following and pestering him all the time. Don’t get your hopes up. I swear, you’re driving him to headaches. I saw him take some medicine the other day, just as he spotted you walking up. If he’s gone then where will we be? I’d like to see you digging up the weeds.”

  “Sister, you are so unkind. Of course, no one knows how long they have. I myself take medicine.” Her hand fluttered over her heart. “It’s a terrible thing getting old.”

  Ms. Valentine snorted. “I didn’t say he’d die, I said he’d leave. And as far as getting old, it’s better than the alternative.” She leaned on her cane, easing her weight to her other foot. I could only guess that she was regretting her stand against the ‘filthy chairs’.

  “Well, I still think he might fancy me. He does have such a smile when I come around.”

  “More likely a grimace,” Ms. Valentine tacked on. “It’s probably that infernal pesticide he’s always mucking around the garden.”

  “He knows what he’s doing. Did you know that Jeffry is a smuggler?” Charity’s eyes widened like a school girl’s. “Yes! He was on a trip in China and discovered a mushroom that works miracles on powdery mildew. It’s all natural, but quite toxic to touch while it’s wet.”

  “Yikes! And you’re sure it’s safe?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Once it’s dry, it’s perfectly fine. I’ve given a few rose clippings to several friends. No one’s died yet!”

  She giggled, but her wording sent chills down my spine. I didn’t have time to respond though. At that moment, a ding announced the number had changed. I was finally up. I said my goodbyes and walked to the counter.

  Those ladies were something else. I shook my head and gave my ‘please, let everything go smoothly’ smile to the attendant as I slid over my license and debit card. As she told me the price, I winced.

  I really needed to get a house sold.

  18

  Saturday morning was cold and raining when Uncle Chris and I arrived at the church. Everything about funerals made my skin crawl. Not only did I hate watching people cry (and feel helpless to comfort them,) but I knew that someone in there, crowding shoulder to wool-jacketed shoulder—had to be guilty. I firmly ascribed to the theory that the murderer always showed up again. Maybe I’d learned it from TV shows, but it made sense to me. He or she needed that recognition even though they couldn’t take credit for the crime. They craved to hear the drama and emotions, as well as the gossip.

  But I kept my bargain to keep my face free from emotion. Uncle Chris took one look at me and whispered that I needed to quit sucking on that lemon. That was good for a laugh, which helped.

  We found a seat on one of the hard pews, the floor damp around us from all the folded umbrellas. The service was long. I feel terrible for saying that, but it was. The priest spoke on and on about stuff that didn’t seem to have anything to do with a funeral and sounded more like a recycled Sunday sermon. His message was interrupted at intervals by a tired-looking woman at the organ who thumped the pedals until the organ itself sounded like it was giving up the ghost.

  People yawned around me. I blinked hard myself. Was there anyone here who cared about Ian?

  A sniff to the right of me caught my attention. Uncle Chris. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. It yanked on my heartstrings and made me feel like an absolute heel.

  At the end of the funeral, the priest invited us to the reception hall downstairs. He offered for the family to go first, and Jasmine, and another man whom I assumed was Ian’s brother, along with an older couple filed past.

  They stood in line just inside the entrance to the reception hall. We congregated outside and slowly rifled through the doors after expressing our condolences. Jasmine was calm but thin and pale, clad in a simple black dress. Her hand was ice cold when she took mine. Uncle Chris broke down again while shaking the brother, Jordan’s, hand. I patted my uncle’s back as we passed into the room.

  There was already a line in place for people getting food.

  Uncle Chris wiped his eyes. “You coming?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Maybe in a minute.”

  He nodded and, after straightening his sport’s jacket, lumbered over, appearing like he was feeling slightly better. A group of men saw him coming and welcomed him with smiles and claps on the back.

  I scanned along the line of people waiting in the reception line, searching for anyone acting suspicious or out of place. Everyone seemed focused on the buffet—mounds of chicken, platters of salad, a plethora of crock-pots.

  Wait. Who was that lady?

  A woman waited to the side, not quite in the line, but still by the tables. Her hands were tucked deep into the pockets of her tan dress coat, and she watched the crowd with a quiet stillness. That was quite curious to me. Who stood by themselves and stared like that?

  A nano-second later, I realized I was acting exactly the same way. I blushed, realizing how I must stand out like a sore thumb here in the center of the room.

  I started to move back to a place where it was less inconspicuous when I felt a touch on my shoulder. It was Kari.

  “How are you doing, chickie?” she asked. She wore a somber dark blue sweater, her blonde hair pulled into a tight chignon.

  I shrugged. “Better than Uncle Chris.”

  Kari raised her chin. “What do you think she’s thinking about?”

  I glanced in the direction she pointed.

  Celeste.

  She wore a silk, cream-colored dress and was posed like an ice queen. I’m serious, if a director were casting the part of a frigid ice-carving brought to life, she would get it, hands down. Blonde-white hair like corn silk, blue eyes as pale as a glacier’s heart, skin that appeared already touched by frost.

  “She’s thinking she wants to get out of here, like the rest of us. I just saw her the other day at Jasmine’s house,” I said. “I had those papers that needed to be signed, remember? Well, I also brought over a piece of jewelry that I found when we were cleaning up after the party. They had no idea who it belonged to.”

  “Hm, must have belonged to some other guest.”

  I watched one of the young men from the reception line stare over at Celeste. He nodded at her as the corner of his mouth lifted, giving her a sultry expression like he thought he was trapping her under his spell. Slightly pouty lips, lowered eyebrows.

  She gave him a cruel smile and turned away. Burn!

  She must have felt my eyes on her because she glanced my way. Her eyebrows lifted in recognition and she sauntered over.

  Next to me, Kari muttered, “Wonderful.”

  “Hello, ladies,” Celeste said, lifting a wine glass. I wondered where she’d gotten it from.

  “Celeste,” nodded Kari.

  I smiled back. “It’s nice to see you again. I was just talking to Kari about the jewelry piece I found, and we were wondering who it could have belonged to.”

  “Who on earth knows,” she said in a bored drawl.

  I was a little taken aback by her response, unsure of what to say next. Luckily, Kari came to my rescue.

  “Are you looking for someone, Celeste?” she asked.

  “Mmm, trying to sense if Ruth’s here. You know, Ian’s mom.” She took another sip and leisurely looked around. I shivered, not wanting to follow her gaze.

  “Oh, really? And why do you think that’s a possibility?” Kari asked, smiling, but I knew her well enough that the question was loaded with skepticism.

  Her brow puckered. “Her boy was murdered. She might be here for justice.”

  Before Kari or I could respond, there was a noise from the front of the room in the form of nervous clearing of the throat into a microphone. Uncle Chris stood there, easing back and forth on his feet, getting ready to speak.

  “If I could just have your attention,” he said, his face red and sweaty. The microphone took a horrible turn for the worse as it emitted a high pitch squeal.

&nb
sp; He cringed, and we all winced. I watched him pat his jacket front where he kept his cigar. Feeling it seemed to bolster him, and he continued.

  “We all know how important family is. Well, Ian Stuber was family to me.” The room quieted as Uncle Chris proceeded to share some of his memories of Ian. When he finished, the microphone was passed to a few more people.

  There were tears and laughter. I relaxed, feeling like people here did care about Ian.

  After the last person finished, Celeste lightly touched my elbow. “I need to go find Jasmine. She’s probably a wreck.”

  I understood what she meant. Hearing all the speeches hit me in the heart too. I watched her slowly drift through the crowds in search for her cousin.

  Unfortunately, Celeste had headed in the wrong direction. Here came Jasmine from the back where all the flowers were being displayed.

  Walking in her direction to intercept her was an attractive man. Her drawn face lit up with a small smile as he clasped her hands in his. He started talking animatedly. They were too far away for me to eavesdrop, but his face was set in a firm, comforting expression and his words seemed to relax her.

  Jasmine nodded as he spoke, and then answered him back. He seemed shocked at what she said, eyebrows raised, jaw open. Now, this was interesting. He nervously glanced across the room, and his hand left hers and went to the knot in his tie. He shrugged his shoulders as if his jacket were too tight, and then settled back into his confident persona as he answered her.

  I waited for her response, but instead of giving one, she frowned and abruptly walked away.

  Whoa. What was that all about? My gaze followed her for a second to see where she’d go. She was immediately detained by an older couple, both wearing matching cardigans and deeply sympathetic expressions.

  I turned my attention back to the man. For a second, I couldn’t find him. He had walked rather abruptly across the room. I finally spotted him near the refreshment table. He was staring at something in his hand. A piece of paper? His complexion flushed a deep red, and he angrily crumpled it up.

  What in the world? His hand shook that was clutching the paper. He stormed over to the trash can and flung it in. After straightening his tie, he helped himself to a glass of juice, gulped it down, and threw the cup into the trash can with the same ferociousness.

  Every nerve in me was on go, jerking me forward. I had to see what was on that paper. But before I could reach the trash can, a woman wearing a white straw hat, matching sweater, and a dark chintz dress threw a mucky pile of paper plates in the trash.

  No!

  She started to undo the bag to take it out.

  I ran over, bumping people out of my way. “Excuse me. Sorry!” I muttered, in a panic.

  I reached the trash can just as she was lifting it.

  “Here! I’ll take that!” I said, reaching for the bag.

  She stared at me in surprise and pulled it away. “What?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Hurry, Stella! Come up with an excuse! “It’s just that I’m on trash duty and—”

  “Good.” Her face relaxed in relief. I’m sure she thought she had a deranged person on her hands. Little did she know. “That can over there is full.” She pointed.

  “I mean, I dropped something in the trash. I think it was this one. Let me take it and…” I reached for the bag and gave it a jerk, relying on her being caught off guard. It worked. “I’ll be right back for the other can in just a minute!” I said, waving.

  She gave a lackluster “Okay,” as I spun away. Ooomph! Right into a man’s chest.

  “Excuse me,” a deep voice said.

  I looked up.

  It was the guy in the suit.

  19

  I jumped like I’d been hit with a stun-gun and whirled away without apologizing. I smiled again at the lady in the white hat and hurried in the direction of the kitchen, the bag thumping against my leg. No doubt she definitely thought I was crazy, after running into someone and not even saying sorry. I was sure she might even follow me. Maybe him, as well. I had to get that letter out fast.

  Trying to look like I wasn’t running from rabid animals, I scurried into the kitchen. There, I spun around, trying to find a little hiding place. Aha! I spotted a door to a closet or something. I opened it to discover a pantry filled with paper plates, eating utensils, cups, and small cooking appliances. Perfect! I shut it behind me and opened the bag.

  My nose wrinkled at the sight of baked beans, macaroni salad, and chicken bones. Then the smell hit me and I actually heaved. Quickly, I shut the bag and my eyes at the same time.

  Okay, Stella. You’ve got to do it. You’re tough. You’re tough.

  Lies! My inner voice yelled. But I ignored it. I am tough. Just hold my breath. Get in there, and get out.

  Right then, I heard heavy footsteps. That cinched it for me. I ripped opened the bag, adrenaline making me forget to hold my breath but also fueling me to dig in under the paper plates. I knew the note had to be close to the top, and sure enough, there it was. I plucked it out, gave it a quick shake, and jammed it into my back pocket.

  Just in the nick of time. The door swung open. I stared owl-eyed at the man in the suit.

  “What are you doing in there?” he asked.

  “Oh, I thought this was where the trash was kept.” I brushed past him, not eager to remain trapped in the closet. “How silly. It must be over there.” I walked to the other side.

  He followed after me and grabbed my arm. “I said, what were you really doing in there?”

  “Let go of me!” I snapped, jerking my arm away.

  “What’s going on in here?”

  The two of us glanced over at the entrance. Lo and behold, it was Officer Carlson. All nearly seven feet of him. His bald head never looked so good.

  The man’s hand immediately dropped off of me. “I was going to see if she wanted me to take out the trash.”

  Officer Carlson glanced at me for confirmation. I nodded and passed over the bag. “Sure,” I said, probably sounding as wooden as I felt.

  The man stared at the bag and then back at me. He gave me a tight smile and then grabbed the bag. A moment later, he marched out the back door.

  Officer Carlson watched him go. “How about it, Hollywood? What was it really?”

  I was so relieved to see him, I didn’t even care about the tease. I was, however, puzzled if I should yank out the paper in front of him without knowing what was on it myself.

  “Well?” he prompted, his eyebrow lifting. His dark eyes shone as he considered me.

  I glanced at the back door where I could see the trash container. The man in the suit was nowhere in sight. Slowly, I pulled out the note, wet with garbage juices.

  “I was after this,” I said, handing it over.

  He eyed it a moment before gingerly taking it from me with two fingers. His muscles flexed as he smoothed it out on the counter. He and I practically bumped heads leaning down to read it.

  “Easy, now,” he said.

  Don’t forget. You’re in this as deep as I am.

  “Wow,” he said, his eyes locking onto me with curiosity. “What made you go dig this out?”

  “I saw that guy who just grabbed my arm read it and then ball it up. You know, the one that followed me in here.”

  “Yeah, but what cued you in to watch him in the first place?”

  “He was talking with Jasmine. It was an odd conversation, ending with both of them upset.”

  He read the note again and pursed his lips. “Well, congrats, Hollywood. You definitely stumbled onto something interesting here.”

  “You think so?” My spirits lifted. I’d been disappointed that it had said so little.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “You going to let me know what you think it means?” I asked.

  He touched the side of his nose and then shot his finger towards me. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. You have yourself a good night, now. Stay out of trouble, you hear?” With that, he sauntered out the b
ack door, possibly to look for the man.

  I stood there watching my one clue walk away in the pocket of the most arrogant, irritating man known on the planet. I balled my hands in fists. The stickiness reminded me that they needed to be washed a.s.a.p. I walked to the sink and flipped on the water, as dark thoughts came within a breath of being muttered about how I’d show Carlson that I didn’t need him to tell me why the paper was so important. Because I needed some respect!

  Immediately, the song filled my head, and I felt the dance moves electrify me. I mentally sang the words, shaking my hips. Shake it to the left! Shake it to the right… Shake it…. My eyes caught my reflection in the microwave window. I looked like an idiot, and what was worse, someone was watching me.

  I spun around.

  It was Robbie from the gym, standing in the doorway with a goofy grin on his face. “Stella.” He nodded, sounding pleased.

  “Robbie!” I was more shocked than embarrassed. Then heat filled my cheeks. I wanted to cringe, until I remembered how I’d always tried to be self-controlled. To portray that savvy business woman that my dad wanted so much for me to be. I wasn’t what he expected. Heck, half the time, I wasn’t what I expected. I was me, and I would learn to embrace that; the good, the bad, and the… weird. This was me, world, take it or leave it. I grinned at Robbie and did another little shimmy and then shrugged. “The music called me.”

  “Can’t deny the music,” he agreed. His eyes lit up and he wiggled his hips back.

  I giggled, until the reason why we were both here clicked in my head. Ian. “I’m surprised to see you here. Did you know Ian well?”

  His smile dropped from his face, replaced by sadness. “Yeah. I used to train him actually. He was a good guy. Died much too young.”

  “I’m so sorry. I knew him as a client, but he was my uncle’s good friend.”

  “Your uncle did a good job up there on the microphone.” He smiled at me, quite an endearing one. And I couldn’t help but notice how well his suit fit.