Red Rum: A Rosie Casket Mystery

by R M Wild

  I felt relieved—but only for a moment. What if one of them had stayed behind?

  I listened hard, but couldn’t hear any footsteps in the house.

  I allowed myself to breathe again. Maybe they were nothing but painters.

  But why the heck would painters need a canoe? And since when did painters work on a day as nasty as today?

  Later, the sun broke through the clouds and the grass steamed. I listened hard for a good two hours and determined that no one else was in the house.

  Not wanting to risk upsetting Kendall, I dragged the furniture back to its original location and made the bed. After all the practice at the inn, I did it without thinking.

  I had barely finished lining the hooves up with their original marks on the floor, when there was a knock on the door.

  I froze. Someone had stayed behind. They had heard me move the furniture.

  “You okay in there?”

  It was Kendall. I breathed relief. I hadn’t even heard his fancy car come down the driveway, nor his entrance into the house.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said.

  “I will get you out of there as soon as I can,” Kendall said. There was banging and squeaking as he tried to remove the nails.

  I sat on the bed and waited to be let free, my thighs shaking from the day’s anxiety, my bladder on the verge of bursting.

  “Did anybody come today?” he asked.

  For a second, I debated if I should tell him the truth. Then I figured I might be able to gauge his involvement in this whole thing. “Yes. Three men. They were dressed in fancy suits.”

  He was quiet. Then there was more groaning as he pried off the boards. “Listen, Rosie. Full disclosure. I want you to trust me.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “I know it’s hard, but please believe that everything I did was for your safety.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t blame you. I actually lied to you before. I’m sorry.”

  “Just once?”

  “Yes. I’m very sorry. I don’t actually own this place. I handled the real estate transaction for a wealthy client a couple of years ago. This place is his Maine getaway and he never comes. I suspect he only grabbed the land as a development opportunity. Eventually, he’ll tear it all down and put in a few condos overlooking the lake. In the meantime, this was the safest place I could think to bring you.”

  “So you knew those men were coming?”

  “I was suspicious, yes. In the event that he wants to use it as a corporate getaway, my client constantly has people coming out to work on the property. I know you don’t think much of me right now, but trust is a two-way street and you lied to me too. The men who came were not dressed in suits, were they?”

  “No,” I said quietly.

  “My client doesn’t know we’re here. That’s why it’s the safest place around. Nobody can trace you here.”

  “If this house belongs to your client, how did you know the passcode to the door? How did you have access to the security system?”

  “Like I said, I handled the real-estate transaction. All the numbers were in his papers.”

  “And he doesn’t mind you nailing boards to his doors?”

  “He never comes. He’s too busy to keep track of minor repairs,” Kendall said. He grunted, there was a shiver-inducing shriek, and then a bang as he dropped the last board on the floor. A moment later, he opened the door. “I’m so sorry I had to lock you in here. Do you forgive me?”

  I pushed past him, hopped over the pile of boards and twisted nails, and ran straight for the bathroom. Thanks to the sun, the power had come back on and the bathroom lit up the moment I stepped onto the tiles.

  I closed the door and dropped the seat.

  Kendall knocked on the door.

  I stopped peeing.

  “I thought you might like to know that I talked to the police chief,” he said. The creep was standing right outside the bathroom door, close enough to give me stage fright. “When you’re finished, meet me downstairs and I’ll tell you what I found.”

  37

  Kendall pulled a bottle of Red Rum out of the grocery bag. “I hope you don’t mind if I indulge. It’s been a long, stressful day.”

  He had no idea. I stood at the French doors, watching the mist. Depending on its height over the grass, the mist seemed to move at different speeds, as if it were reacting to invisible currents in the air. The fog over the lake was as thick as ever, but unlike the ribbons over the grass, it was sitting perfectly still, as though unaffected by any gradations in the wind.

  But more importantly, there was no sign of the canoe down by the dock.

  “I’d offer you something to eat, but it looks as if most of the food in the fridge has spoiled,” Kendall said. “Remind me not to waste my own money on solar panels.”

  I kept one eye on his reflection. “What did you speak to the chief about?”

  He poured himself a shot of rum and threw it back. Some of the red liquid touched his upper lip, making it look like he had just finished feasting on someone’s neck.

  He wiped his mouth on his expensive sleeve. “You sure you don’t want any of this? It’s very good. It burns a bit on the way down and has a coppery aftertaste, but it’s very unique. I like unique.”

  “What did the chief say, Kyle?”

  He poured himself another shot and touched it to his lips. “Before I talked with the chief, I checked with the warden and he told me that Roman Caesar didn’t show up to work this morning. When I told the chief about his disappearance, they said they’d look into it. My guess is that Caesar sensed the heat, packed up his tent, and skipped town.”

  “You know where he lives?”

  Kendall gazed into his shot glass as if the rum contained the answers to the universe. Then he threw it back. “Yeah. I told you I represented him.”

  “I didn’t know you made house calls.”

  “I don’t. It depends on the case. The point is, Caesar could be anywhere right now. I do NOT recommend going back to your inn, not until they’ve caught this bastard. If he gets wind that you’re there, he’s liable to burn your house to the ground—with you in it.”

  “Does he know where we are?”

  “You mean here?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. Why would he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kendall poured himself another shot. “You sure you don’t want any?”

  “Very.”

  Kendall reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thumb drive.

  I had to squint to see it, but as soon as I recognized it, my heart skipped forward. It looked exactly the same as the one that had been left on my porch.

  “I have something here that you might be interested in.”

  I was afraid to ask. “What?”

  “Watch,” Kendall said. Wobbly from the booze and needing to grab onto the back of the couch to keep from losing his balance, he shuffled over to the television. He plugged the thumb drive into the USB slot on the side of the television, used the remote to turn on the screen, and navigated the menu to the input that said Media.

  “What is this?”

  Kendall smiled. “You’ll see.”

  The video started playing. The screen was black and white and for a second, I thought it was footage from the prison again, but then the picture bounced and I realized it was handheld, not security footage. In fact, it wasn’t black and white at all, but gray and green, the picture filled with black umbrellas.

  Whoever was holding the camera was outside in the rain. The grass was bright green, but everything else was lost in a foggy haze, all except for the hard squares of reflective tombstones.

  Kendall licked the rim of his shot glass, his tongue coated in red. “Blessed are those whom the rain falls on.”

  I inched toward the television. The picture leveled. We were looking at an open grave. Hovering over it, on the apparatus used for lowering, was a
plain coffin. Including the minister, there were ten people standing around the grave. Two of them were in state police uniforms. I leaned closer. Behind one of the umbrellas, was the unmistakeable profile of my foster father.

  It was a funeral. I stepped closer to the television. “When did this happen?”

  “This afternoon,” Kendall said.

  “You took the video?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry you couldn’t have been there. As you can see, there were cops in attendance. If you showed up, they would have arrested you immediately.”

  “Why was it so fast?”

  “The state requires all of their troopers to have a will. As Mettle’s last attorney, I took it upon myself to see that his wishes were met. He didn’t want a service, just a small gathering. He didn’t want to be embalmed. He said he would never ingest those horrible chemicals in life, so he wouldn’t take them in death. For obvious reasons, this meant he had to be buried immediately.”

  My eyes misted over, doubly misty from the haze on the screen. I wiped them on my sleeve and sniffled. My foster-father’s head was lowered as he stared at the black edges of the grave beside the coffin.

  Kendall looked into his empty glass. “I was trying to hold the camera steady, but I kept getting choked up.”

  The camera panned up to reveal a minister. His words were soft, muted by the patter of rain on the umbrellas. “Today we mourn the loss of one of the finest cops I have ever met. Matthew Orlando Mettle, Troop J., was an exemplar of courage, strength, and poise under pressure. Officer Billy Ganz would like to say a few words.”

  I glared at the screen. “What is that guy doing there?”

  Kendall set his shot glass down on the coffee table. “He was one of the pallbearers.”

  “But he was the guy who arrested him. Matt would still be alive if it weren’t for him.”

  “He seemed genuinely upset,” Kendall said.

  “He wasn’t. He was faking.”

  On screen, Billy Ganz stepped forward, the toes of his rain-slicked boots jutting over the edge of the grave. With heavy jowls, a bald head, black wings for hair, and a sizable paunch making it look as if he were hiding a pillow under his uniform, it was hard to believe that he and Mettle were the same age.

  “I’ve known Mattie since we was little,” Ganz said with a Brooklyn accent. “Our moms and dads were besties, so in a way, our friendship began when we were nothing more than two little zygotes. He was a loyal friend, one I’ll miss for all times. If Mattie were here today, he’d insist that I lower him into the ground myself. I’m sorry, I wish I could, buddy. I don’t got the back for that, I don’t got your dead-lift numbers. I will miss you gravely,” he said. And with that, he stepped back from the grave.

  “It looks to me like they were friends,” Kendall said.

  “But why would a loyal friend snitch?”

  “Perhaps duty over friendship,” Kendall said quietly.

  A tiny motor whirred off screen. The cherry-colored coffin lowered into the hole, the wet edges of the soil crumbling under the indoor-outdoor carpet and plopping onto the lid. Once the coffin was down the hole, the congregation dispersed and the camera lowered. The screen streaked with beads of silver water.

  “Sorry bud,” Kendall’s voice said off screen. “It was one miserable way to go.”

  And then the video stopped.

  Kendall thumbed the remote control and the television went black.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” Kendall said.

  “If I had been there, I would have said something meaningful. I wouldn’t have made stupid meathead jokes.”

  “I feel terrible you couldn’t be there,” Kendall said. “But I did my best.”

  “Couldn’t the state at least pay for a decent service? What happened to the bagpipes? The color guard? The salute?”

  “When Matt died, he was off duty. His death was not related to his service.”

  “So his parents don’t get his pension?”

  Kendall looked at the floor and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.”

  I closed my eyes, my grief quickly displaced by anger. Then I marched over to the counter and poured myself a shot of Red Rum.

  In the bottom of the glass, it was as thick as syrup.

  I raised the glass and thought of my real father stirring a cauldron of red.

  “On second thought, I need a drink,” I said.

  38

  My tongue tasted like iron, as if I had sucked on old nails.

  I worked my jaw back and forth, trying to get my mouth open. A pulsing headache nested in the back of my skull.

  I peeled my eyelids open and had to actually pinch them and roll them back to see anything. I was lying on my back in a large dark cavern. But the ground was soft and silky on my bare skin. A patch of moss, maybe.

  But standing at my feet, at the foot of the bed, a lean and muscular figure was buttoning up his shirt. There was a hard line between his chest, straight down through his abs. He didn’t have an inch of fat on his body.

  “Matt?” I mumbled.

  “No,” he grunted.

  I blinked, trying to make sense of everything. A large tray ceiling. Covers. Pillows. A king-size bed. The silky sheets on my bare legs.

  Then the man at the foot of the bed, narrowed. He was muscular, but way thinner than Mettle.

  “Oh God.”

  “Good morning, Rosie,” Kendall said. He finished buttoning his shirt and wrapped a tie around his neck. “Do you always talk about the dead in your sleep?”

  I ran my hands down my body. All skin. I was in my underwear. I hadn’t shaved my legs in days.

  “Did we?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  I searched my memory, but the last thing I could remember was throwing the bottle of Red Rum into the trash hard enough to make it break.

  “No.

  Kendall pushed his sleeves into his tailored jacket. “To answer your question, not quite. We were about to, but you passed out on me.”

  “You didn’t—”

  “No, Rosie. I wouldn’t do that. Ever.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember, but couldn’t. God, I hoped he was telling the truth.

  “I need to go to the firm this morning and get some paperwork done. There’s a shower across the room if you want it.”

  “You’re not locking me up?”

  Kendall shook his head as if I were joking. “No, I think I can trust that you won’t go anywhere today. I can trust you, right?”

  I nodded, my whole brain shifting and banging against the inside of my skull. I had blacked out. I couldn’t believe I let myself get wasted. Back in New York, I had vowed to never drink again. Now, in the space of only a few days, I was coming apart.

  “Yes,” I mumbled. Of course he could trust me. The power was working again and he’d be able to watch me on the security cameras.

  “I am sorry about yesterday. I was scared for you,” he said. He studied me and then he came over, leaned on the bed, his red tie reaching all the way down to the sheets, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I will see you later.”

  “The phone charger.”

  “Yes. I will remember. It’s on my list. Anything else?”

  “No,” I said quietly.

  “Okay then. Enjoy the day. I’ll be back soon.”

  He flashed me a toothy smile and then he left.

  When he was gone, I ignored my headache and threw my head back on the pillow. How stupid could I be?

  I gave myself a hard slap. “You’re a MORON, Rosie.”

  I was desperately thirsty and needed something to drink. I shifted in the bed, but felt something damp on the sheets beneath me.

  I touched down there.

  Sticky.

  My headache pounded as the truth dawned on me. Kendall hadn’t been a gentleman. He hadn’t stopped when I lost my ability to consent.

  My little red friend had saved me.

  There was nothing to do,
nowhere to go, and no way to call for help. My head was on fire and thinking was painful, so I went back to sleep.

  Later, when the sun made the entire room bloom white, I sat up. It took me a minute to get my bearings again. I was still in the master bedroom, the fancy crown molding and an ornate ceiling fan making the room look about as far from rustic as the Taj Mahal in Jersey was from regal.

  If Kendall didn’t own this place, then who was the mystery client who did? And would this mystery client care if a stranger bled all over his silk sheets?

  I got up, slowly, shaky, and held onto the bed posts for support. Kendall had left a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt on the chair in the corner. It was a white leather lounge chair, no devil feet.

  I went into the master bedroom, drank from the sink, and then took a shower. The water pressure was far better than the pressure in my inn, the water soft, but powerful, and I stood in there for a long time and let the steam fog the mirror and ease my headache.

  Finally, fully pruned, I changed into the new clothes—they were a bit scratchy, especially the underwear—and went downstairs. Two empty bottles of Red Rum were sitting on the counter even though I could have sworn I broke one of them in anger.

  I closed my eyes, trying to remember, but couldn’t conjure any memories of last night except for Mettle’s funeral.

  I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and gulped it straight to the bottom. Thinking Kendall was probably right about the spoiled food, I went to the pantry, found a box of crackers, and ate to try to settle my stomach.

  I devoured them Cookie-monster style, but then caught a glimpse of a brassy gleam in the back of the pantry and paused, crumbs all over my chest. I stepped aside and the gleam disappeared. I stepped back and it returned. Each time my shadow blocked the light from the French doors, the gleam disappeared.

  Was it a door? Maybe the door to the basement? I put the box of crackers down and stepped into the pantry. I pulled on the shelves and they swung aside.

  Bingo. I grabbed the knob, debating if I should open the hidden door. I glanced behind me. The motion sensor beside the stove hood was blinking red. Certainly, the house was monitoring my whereabouts, but I couldn’t see any cameras covering this angle.