by Lillian Bell
He ducked his head. “I will, Ms. Provost.”
Lomax rolled his eyes and shook his finger at Janet. “You can play the sweet mom in the courtroom all you want, Ms. Provost. I’ve heard about you and what you do. You will not be getting away with it on my watch.”
“I’m sorry you feel so threatened, Tommy. You’re a very smart boy. I think you’re going to be fine.” She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a plate covered with plastic wrap. “Cookie?”
We all stood around clapping Kyle on the back and congratulating Janet on a job well done and eating snickerdoodles. We were so focused on our relief that no one even noticed Rosemarie until she was right up on top of us. She vibrated with pent-up energy. “I will be watching you, Kyle Hansen!” She raised one finger and pointed it at him in a classic j’accuse pose. “Don’t think I won’t be!”
I heard cameras clicking all around us. The tableau was going to look awfully good on some front pages.
Lola stepped between Rosemarie and Kyle. “Watch all you want, Rosemarie. Kyle is innocent. He didn’t do anything wrong, and he won’t do anything wrong.”
“He better not! I’ll have the police out there to arrest him again so fast, his head will spin!” Rosemarie screamed.
Lola waved a hand at her as if to dismiss her and then turned. It was probably a bad choice. Rosemarie couldn’t seem to resist and grabbed a hank of Lola’s hair, yanking hard. Lola screamed, and I thought we were about to have an instant replay of the fistfight from Delia Burns’s funeral, but the bailiff acted surprisingly quickly considering that bum knee. He had Rosemarie by the waist in a matter of seconds. He practically carried her from the courtroom.
Lola rubbed at her head. “I’m getting really tired of her pulling my hair.”
Janet patted her arm. “We’ll consider a civil suit about it once we prove Kyle’s innocence.”
* * *
Lola and Kyle had invited me back to their place to celebrate their victory, but I thought they deserved some time alone. Plus, I had something I wanted to check out. Before we all parted ways, I took Kyle aside.
“You’d tell me if my dad had had some kind of secret, wouldn’t you?” I asked.
“What kind of secret?” He rubbed at his wrists as if they still were cuffed.
“I’m not sure, but I found this in his desk.” I held up the key. “And the desk was less dusty than the rest of the room. It looked like someone else might have been looking for something in it.”
He took it from me and examined it. “It’s just a key, Desiree.”
“To a storage space, I think. A storage space that I don’t think he needed. What if . . .” I hesitated to say what I was thinking. “What if Dad isn’t really dead?”
Kyle’s eyes opened wide. “If your father was alive, he’d be here with you and Donna. You found a key and now you think he’s not dead? That’s a huge leap, Desiree.”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not. There are other things too.” I told him about the charms and the yarn and the photo. “I’m going to check it out anyway.”
He thought for a second, rubbing his chin. “I think that’s a good idea. Then you won’t have to wonder. There’ll be some easy explanation for all of it.” He pulled me into a hug. He smelled like soap and toothpaste just like Dad used to. He felt like home. Something caught in my throat—and was there something in my eye too? Damn it. Stupid allergies. “Don’t get your hopes up, okay? I’d hate to watch you go through mourning your father all over again. I know it was hard on you not to have found his body, but still alive? Why would he do something like that?”
I sighed. “I kind of hoped you would know.”
We all said good-bye. It made my heart glad to watch Lola and Kyle walking out of the courthouse hand in hand.
I’d already looked up where Pluma Vista Storage was. It wasn’t far. I made it there in about thirty minutes. I pulled up to the gate. There was a box to punch numbers into. What would Dad use as his code? I knew what he always used to use, so I tried that first. My birthday and then Donna’s birthday. Presto! The gate slid open.
I drove in until I found the right block of spaces and then got out of the car. The sun glaring off the cement blinded me for a second. Once I adjusted, I went up the stairs and found the space whose number corresponded to the one on the key ring. The key turned easily in the lock. I slid the metal latch aside and lifted the door.
It was a small space—maybe five feet by five feet—and there wasn’t much in it. Mainly a few boxes. I opened the first one. Photo albums. Probably five of them. I flipped one of them open. Pictures of Donna. Pictures of me. Pictures of Mom. I picked up another one. Same thing.
I moved that box aside and opened the one beneath it. Some papers and a smaller box, no bigger than a large kitchen match box. I opened the smaller box. It was full of charms.
I went through the rest of the boxes. It was definitely Dad’s stuff. There was no denying that. I still didn’t know why he felt he needed to keep it here. I closed everything back up and made my way to the office. A big guy with a backward baseball hat sat behind the desk.
“Hi,” I said. “I’d like to ask about a storage space.”
“Right on,” he said. “We got lots of those. How big did you need?”
“I think I might already have one. Sort of.” I fingered the key in my pocket.
“So what is it you need?” He looked confused. I didn’t blame him.
I decided to lay it out for him. I told him about my dad and then finding the key.
“And you want me to do what?” he asked, again scratching at his forehead.
“I was hoping you could tell me who is paying the rent on that space. My sister and I aren’t.” I bit my lip.
“Not sure I can tell you that.” He shook his head. “Privacy issues and all that.”
“Is anyone paying for it?” I asked. “Could you tell me that much?”
He squinted as he thought. “I maybe could do that. What was the number again?”
I told him, and he turned to his computer. After a few seconds of tapping, he said, “That unit was rented eighteen months ago. The rent on it was prepaid for two years.”
Eighteen months. That was two months before Dad disappeared. “Thanks,” I said.
I got back in my car with no more answers than I’d had going in. Why had Dad needed that space? What was going on eighteen months ago? Nothing really. I was still working at the television station and loving it. Donna had just found out she was pregnant. Everything was good.
Or did I only think it was good?
Chapter Eighteen
The Verbena Free Press
FRIDAY, JULY 19
Widow Breaks Down at Bail Hearing
Upon hearing that her husband’s alleged murderer was to be released on bail to return to his home directly next to hers, Rosemarie Brewer was shocked—so shocked that she confronted Mr. Hansen, his wife, and his attorney, promising that she would be watching them carefully and would summon the police at the slightest indication of danger to herself or her property.
According to Ms. Brewer, Ms. Hansen made a threatening gesture toward her. She felt she had no recourse but to defend herself: “The system was doing nothing to protect me. I had no one to turn to but myself. So I took matters into my own hands.”
No other witnesses saw the threatening gesture.
Along with matters, Ms. Brewer took a large hunk of Ms. Hansen’s hair, which she used to pull Ms. Hansen toward the floor. At that point, Bailiff Falk heard the fracas and intervened. “I don’t know what started it,” Falk said. “I just know that Rosemarie was spitting mad. I thought I was going to have to call for backup to get her out of there.”
Janet Provost, attorney for Mr. and Ms. Hansen, said, “I understand Ms. Brewer’s frustration. I, too, wish the authorities would find the person responsible for her husband’s murder and put that person behind bars. That person, however, is not my client. While we have great sympathy for
Ms. Brewer and her loss, we cannot allow her to attack innocent people. If she continues to do so, there will be repercussions.”
Madeline Ledbetter was pulling out all the funeral stops for her mother. We were having the trifecta of events (viewing, graveside service, wake). She’d chosen the Empire casket. Not exactly the Michael Jackson of caskets, but it was no plain pine box either. There was a memory box, a design on the interior, and a heavy-duty gasket to ward off the effects of moisture and soil for as long as possible. She’d selected several casket accessories that reflected her mother’s interests and causes: trinkets with an embroidery hoop, a garden trowel, and a bingo card. All that was draped with a lovely casket blanket. There was a program, a video, and a playlist. I’d drawn the line at funeral doves. She’d been a little disappointed, but it was one thing we just didn’t do at Turner, and I didn’t want to start.
Uncle Joey had wheeled Mrs. Ledbetter in and placed her at the front of the Magnolia Room. I had the music that Madeline had chosen playing over the sound system. Olive, Henrietta, and Grace did not approve.
“What the hell is that?” Olive asked me as I seated them and gathered their walkers.
“Native American flute music. Apparently, Ms. Stratton found it soothing in the last days of her life.” I hefted the three walkers up.
“She was deaf as a doornail. Probably couldn’t even hear it over all those machines they had going, keeping her alive,” Henrietta chimed in.
Madeline had done pretty much everything there was to do and more to keep her mother alive. I looked over to where she was sitting, handkerchief to her face to catch the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Poor thing.
“Should have let her go three weeks ago,” Grace said. “I, for one, don’t buy it.”
“Buy what?” I wasn’t aware that anyone was selling anything.
She gestured at Madeline. “All the tears. All the wailing. All the heroic efforts. All the gewgaws. It’s nothing but posturing.”
I looked over at Madeline. “She’s really distraught, Grace. I don’t think I’ve seen her stop crying since her first call to us.”
Henrietta shook her head. “She should have put a little more effort in when Virginia was alive and could appreciate it. Grace is right. This is a classic case of overcompensation. She was a rotten teenager, you know.”
I didn’t know, nor did I think Uncle Joey would approve of me gossiping about our client during the service. “I need to go check on the guest book,” I said.
“Oh! Remember the time Maddie stole Virginia’s car and drove to Vegas with her girlfriends?” Olive asked.
I stopped and looked back over at Madeline, with her tasteful black dress, sensible shoes, and discreet purse. “She stole a car?”
“Oh, yes. Wasn’t she the one who mooned the whole town during the Fire Festival parade?” Grace asked.
Henrietta laughed. “Oh, yes. That was quite the show. She jumped onto the back of the fire truck while it was moving slow, dropped her trousers, and waggled her fanny at us.”
“It was a miracle that Virginia didn’t die right then of embarrassment.” Grace gestured to Maddie again. “This? This is just a show so everyone will see that she’s mourning appropriately. Notice how she’s jamming it all into one day. Viewing, service, wake. Bam, bam, bam. Not going to spend any more time on it than she has to.”
“What about all the trinkets and such? Those things cost money,” Henrietta said.
“Overkill,” Grace said with certainty. “Over-the-top overkill.”
“Or maybe she feels really bad about how she treated her mother and is trying to get some closure but still has a job and things to tend to,” I suggested.
Grace made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “You are your father’s daughter, aren’t you? Always trying to see the best in everyone.” She said it as if it was a flaw I should be trying to overcome.
“Thank you,” I said and stowed their walkers against the back wall, feeling somehow taller than I had a few minutes before. I floated out to the lobby area to make sure the guest book was in place. It was.
My phone buzzed. A text from Rafe: “Any comment on yesterday’s hearing?”
I texted back an emoji of a face with a closed zipper where its mouth should be.
Everything went as it was supposed to. Pastor Campbell spoke and said some lovely words about Virginia. Her grandson read a poem that she liked that she had shared with him. Then it was time to say good-bye and go to the cemetery.
That’s when everything went wrong.
I went up to the front to close the casket, signaling to the pallbearers that it was time to bear the casket out to the hearse, where Uncle Joey was waiting. Madeline leapt from her seat, screaming, “Mama, no! Mama, don’t leave me!” and tried to leap into the casket before I could close it.
I screamed “No!” too and tried to keep the casket from tumbling over with Madeline’s weight overbalancing it. One of the pallbearers tried to pull Madeline out. She bit him, and he reared back, effectively head-butting me in the nose.
I don’t really know firsthand what happened after that. The next thing I knew, I was looking up to find Olive leaning over me. “Are you okay, dear?” she asked and handed me an ice pack.
I was on the floor, a trickle of blood running down from my nose. I sat up slowly, touching my face to see if anything was broken. “What happened?”
“Your uncle came in and lifted Maddie out of the casket. He got the casket out to the hearse.” She reached into the pouch hanging off the side of her walker and pulled out a tissue that she handed to me. “Such a fine, strong man, your uncle.” Her tone was a little dreamy.
I held it to my nose. “Madeline? Where is she?”
“On her way to the cemetery too. All calmed down now.” Olive pressed her lips together. “Overkill.”
“Or great grief.”
“Or great guilt. Sometimes they look pretty much the same.”
Once everyone left, I took the opportunity to go lie down in my room for a bit with an ice pack on my nose. The empty walls mocked me. Maybe I should have put the girl on the rock and the kitten in the tree back up. No. That wasn’t the right choice. Change is hard. Transitions suck. I just needed to get through this one, and the only way to do that was to go forward, not backward.
My other orders had arrived too: a plush area rug and a motion-sensitive security camera. I rolled up the rag rug, laid the new one on the floor, and then opened the box for the camera and read the instructions. I’d install it after this darn headache went away.
I looked around the room. It really was getting there. The rug and the drapes and the linens all looked great. The walls looked awfully bare now, though.
I settled into my bed with my icepack and a happy sigh.
* * *
When I walked into Tappiano’s for Hometown Happy Hour that evening, Jasmine gave me the slow clap. “Nice,” she said. “That might be the best haircut you’ve had ever.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” I fluffed it for her.
“The shiner, however? That is not quite so adorable.” She took me by the chin and tilted my head for a better look.
“I tried to keep Madeline Ledbetter from climbing into the casket with her mother.” I sat down next to her.
“You should have called your uncle,” Jasmine said. She settled herself back on her high stool.
“I know that now.” I settled myself in too and looked around. There were fewer whispers each time I walked in. That was good. Being the object of gossip was never fun. The room hummed with talk, and across the street the polo-shirted guys at the Clean Green Car Wash lounged in the shade. My world.
Monique came over with a carafe and a glass. “Care to sample the serrano sangria tonight? Mark’s giving it a trial run before the Fire Festival.”
“Sounds perfect.”
She poured me a glass. Someone called her name from another table, and she gave us a little wave and left.
&nbs
p; “So you went to Marie Ruiz?” Jasmine leaned in. “Did you learn anything?”
“Plenty.” I leaned forward too. I explained about Alan and the terms of the loan he’d offered Marie and that she would have known where Kyle and Lola’s gun was and how to get it.
“So what now?” Jasmine asked, her eyes wide.
“Now I check her alibi. She said she was at the senior center.” I needed to be able to check her alibi without it looking like I was. I took a sip of the serrano sangria and spluttered. “I’m not sure I like my drinks to be spicy.”
“You’ll get used to it after another couple of sips. You asked her for an alibi?” Jasmine sat up straighter. “Just like that?”
“I was more subtle than that, but I got what I needed,” I said feeling fairly satisfied. “Another couple of sips and all my taste buds will be burned.”
Luke plopped down at the table. “Whoa, Death Ray. What does the other guy look like? Sorry, I mean Desiree.”
He gave me an innocent look, but I had a suspicion he was trying to have his cake and eat it too. He still got to call me Death Ray, but I couldn’t get mad about it. Or could I? “Don’t be a jerk, Luke. I mean, I know it’s your default position, but try to fight it, okay?”
He put his hands up in front of him. “Whoa! What’s with all the aggro?”
“Anger can be really positive if expressed correctly. I tell my anger management group that all the time,” Jasmine said and smiled at me.
“Fine, but I’m not in the group. Don’t shrink me,” I said.
“Or me,” Luke chimed in.
She laughed. “Oh, you are way too easy to read to be fun to shrink, Luke.”
He scowled. “I’m going to another table.”
I clutched my chest. “Oh, woe is me!”
He glared but was true to his word and went off to talk to Bernadette Kim.
Jasmine watched him go and then asked, “What are you doing for the Fire Festival?”
“Ringtoss.” I nodded. It’s what we always did. Turner Family Funeral Home Ringtoss was a time-honored tradition at the Fire Festival. It was easy to set up, easy to tear down, easy to see if someone had actually won or not. One year, Vernell Trotter had set up a similar booth where you tossed rings over cones instead of posts. No one spoke to him for months. Our ringtoss was sacred.
