“Red carnation. It means ‘my heart breaks.’” Adam studied her face as if decoding it.
Mrs. Tomopolo chuckled. “Yes, that was it. I know I shouldn’t be laughing. I mean, he did die of a heart attack, but my husband always had a wicked sense of humor and a soft spot for irony.”
No kidding, I think, remembering the necklace pendant.
I took over from there, clumsily walking Ledah Tomopolo, step-by-step, through the many decisions she now faced, because of course Christian had put off making any kind of prearrangements. She shared some stories about her husband, including one about her gifting him the chai pendant necklace before discovering he was an atheist. “He wore it anyway, for me.”
I thought she might break down in tears again, but one look at Adam and the pamphlet’s picture of red carnations had her smiling again. It was a pained smile, but it got her through.
After dinner Mal called wanting to know how it was going with Adam. “Strangely okay,” I said. I didn’t know what else to tell her. He was nothing like I remembered or like anyone else I’d ever met. Naive in so many ways yet wickedly wise in others; recklessly candid one moment, cagey the next.
“Find out anything more about his past?”
“They had no phone, television, or computer in his house.” But I’d already known that.
“So what did they do in their free time?”
“Um, read?”
“Boring. Hey, how about I come over? We could watch Night of the Living Dead.”
We’d already seen it a million times. I wasn’t stupid. It was nothing but an excuse to see Evan.
“Sorry, not tonight. It’s been a wild day. Tomorrow, maybe. Okay?”
“Sure,” she replied, obviously disappointed. “Tomorrow.”
I told myself I was doing her a favor; I’d be lousy company. Instead I buddied up to Christian. Asked him whether he thought Neil Lassiter truly loved his son, and how was it there were no records of Adam or his family?
I could almost hear Christian’s reply. “You want answers? Go find them.” I knew he was right, but if the press couldn’t dig them up, how could I?
Between the formaldehyde and the heat, my head was pounding. I stuffed my cosmetics kit back under the counter and went in search of Adam. I found him laid out across the weed patch we called a lawn. Dressed in the drabbest of clothes, he could have been mistaken for a grave marker if not for his shallow breathing. I tipped my head back to see what had him so entranced. A fingernail clipping of the moon set against an ocean of stars so deep you could drown in it.
“Lie with me?” He gestured toward a patch of turf an arm’s length away. We were going to have to work on how he phrased things, but I got the gist of what he wanted. I picked a spot and lay back, grateful for the earth at my back and the shelter of the dark, but my cowardice earlier this afternoon still needled me. “Sorry about the reporter. If I’d known—”
“But you didn’t know.”
I should have. Ever since his arrival, I’d been hopelessly distracted. It was affecting my work, my sleep, and my relationship with Mal. Maybe Dad was right; the sooner Adam was settled somewhere else, the better. And yet I continued searching for a reason to keep him here—one my parents would accept. So far I’d used the crush of reporters as an excuse, but that wouldn’t last forever. The world had a short attention span.
“By the way, nice job with Mrs. Tomopolo,” I offered. He shrugged, as if to say no big deal. But it was a big deal. He’d smoothed over a situation that could have been embarrassing and costly. “We could use someone like you around here.” I could use someone like you.
As we stared heavenward, the silence between us pulled as taut as Orion’s bowstring. So many unasked questions notched and ready to fly. I took aim. “Adam,” I began, but he’d already anticipated my arrow.
“If you’re still wondering, my father did not physically abuse me. Knowing I failed him was always punishment enough.”
“I get that.” Boy, did I. “You’ve seen what my father’s like.” Oddly, there was an ounce of comfort in knowing Adam and I shared the same weakness: a need to please.
I found myself desperately wanting to reach out, to bridge the distance between us, to run a finger across his palm where his lifeline should be. How strange it would be to touch warm skin. We’d come close the night of the storm but were still too unsure of each other to seal the deal.
His fingers twitched, egging on mine. I slid my hand an inch closer in a counter-dare. He extended his arm an inch more. I smiled to myself at this game of chicken we were playing. How close could our hands get without touching? Who would be first to close the gap, to pull back? Why did the stakes feel so high?
The porch light flicked on, the screen door swung open, and out bounded Specter, ending the game. I sat up as Dad stepped onto the back stoop, dressed in his grungiest tee and his How the Grinch Stole Christmas pajama bottoms. “Lily, what are you doing out here? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Needed some fresh air,” I answered. “What’s up?”
“Ledah Tomopolo called. She wants you to trim Christian’s nose hairs. Guess she’s got a thing about that.”
“You could have left me a note.”
“Need it done tonight. And, Adam, I think tomorrow we should discuss what’s next for you.” It was his way of saying the time had come for Adam to move on. I’d known this was coming, but I still couldn’t bear the thought of losing Adam again—certainly not so soon.
Dad went back inside but kept us in his line of sight. He didn’t trust us. If he only knew what a waste of worry that was.
I stood and brushed off my butt. “Seriously, you should think about staying on.”
“Nobody’s asked me to.”
“I am.”
Now all I had to do was sell my parents on the idea.
RULE #9
TO AVOID UNRAVELING, MAKE YOUR STITCHES TIGHT, YOUR KNOTS TIGHTER.
From downstairs came the familiar staccato of sobbing followed by the click of the front door and the smell of something baking in the oven. Another typical morning.
According to my clock, it was well past the time my alarm should have sounded—if I’d remembered to set it the night before. I’d missed the morning appointment I promised to take so my parents could sleep in.
I showered, dressed, and crept downstairs, where Nana Jo’s latest project, a bust of Grandpa Ted, greeted me from its makeshift pedestal—an upturned bucket. Its eerie, hollowed eyes tracked me as I stole into the kitchen.
“Sale on mixers,” Dad announced from behind his newspaper barricade. “Tried mixing rye dough with that old one of ours and it started smoking.”
“We need a new gurney more,” said Rachel, pulling a tray of what she called “morning glory” bagels from the oven. Fourth batch this week. She was perfecting her recipe.
Head down and counting on my superpowers of invisibility, I pulled up a stool. I thought I’d escaped detection until Dad plunked down his mug. “Lily, what have I told you? Death waits for no one, so—”
“You might as well get used to it,” I finished. “Sorry. I overslept.”
“And then there’s the pair of gloves I found in the bathroom trash. I’m guessing they’re yours?”
I hung my head a little lower. “I forgot. I’ll take care of them first thing.”
Rachel served me a bagel with a dollop of marmalade on the side, the way I liked it. I propped my chin on my hands and stared at it, wishing it were a lifesaver, because I was drowning here.
What right did Dad have to assume I’d follow in his footsteps—in all their footsteps, five generations’ worth? But I didn’t have the heart—or the courage—to tell him that. Like my mother, who walked out on us two days after I was born, I didn’t want the business or the responsibility that came with it. The difference was that she didn’t want me, either.
That’s when Evan lumbered into the kitchen. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked, knowing
it was easier to irritate me when I was already in a mood.
“Nothing,” I grouched, because in my father’s eyes that’s about all I had done right lately.
Rachel mopped her brow with a pot holder. “Going to be another scorcher. Good day for cleaning the cold room.”
“Evan, consider that one of your jobs today,” piped in Dad.
“Speaking of jobs, I’ve been thinking—”
“Uh-oh, Lil’s been thinking again,” joked Evan.
I snatched a damp dish towel from the counter and whipped it at him.
“Hey!” He laughed.
“Like I was saying . . . I’ve been thinking Adam’s going to need a place to stay.”
“What he’s going to need is a way to support himself,” said Dad.
“That’s what I mean. He could work for us.” Dad walked right into that one. “He could have the room behind Nana’s workshop, the one we’ve been using for storage. It’ll need cleaning out, but I don’t mind.”
Dad eyed me suspiciously, obviously questioning my motives. Maybe I should have been doing the same. “And you should have seen how he handled Mrs. Tomopolo yesterday.”
“Yes, she told me all about it last night when she called.”
“Don’t forget I’ll be leaving for school in a few weeks, too,” added Evan. “You’re going to need the extra help, especially with moving the bigger ones.”
“The bigger ones?” I repeated.
“You know what I mean.”
Sadly, I did. (Someone seriously needed some sensitivity training.)
“And if the crematorium deal goes through, we’re going to be even busier,” said Rachel. “Besides, I don’t like how tired you’ve been looking lately. You make that appointment for a physical yet? It’s long overdue.”
“I’ve got a business to run. I don’t have time for doctor appointments.”
“Even more reason to take on extra help,” I argued.
“Okay. Okay. I hear you all, except . . . what do we really know about him?”
Yes, what do we really know about him? my thoughts echoed. Not much more than when I found him. I knew he still didn’t remember me, he had not been able or willing to tell us much about his past, and he was obsessed with getting some old tin box back. I knew he was the one person outside of Mal who didn’t see me as that girl, the one who lived in a creepy old house with dead people. And I knew this was my chance to make up for abandoning him. I intended to make the most of it.
Evan cleared his throat and signaled with a whirl of his finger. We all spun around, and there was Adam, towering over me, fresh from the shower and as ill at ease as ever. “You smell . . .” like fresh-turned earth, I wanted to finish, but that would have been too weird. Weirder still was that I liked it on him.
“I smell?” he said.
“Ignore her, Adam,” said Evan. “Everybody does.”
Thankfully the phone rang. We all looked to see who would answer, the usual question on our minds: Who died? Rachel was closest to the phone so lost by default. “McCrae Family Funeral Home,” she said. “How may I help you? Why, yes, he’s right here. One moment.” Eyes wide, she covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “It’s for you, Adam. It’s the police.”
Adam shook his head. “You take it. Please.”
Rachel returned the phone to her ear. “He’s asked me to speak to you on his behalf.” There were several “No, you don’t say?” and “Have they figured out . . . ?” before Rachel ended the call. “That was Officer Wells calling to say the FBI has closed the case.”
Adam’s expression hardened. “F-B-I? What does that mean?”
“It means,” she explained, “that the government agency who took over the investigation from state and local agencies has determined that the explosion was the result of a gas leak. They’re ending the investigation. It is odd, though, that it went all the way to the national level. I would’ve thought this was a local issue or of interest to the California’s Bureau of Investigation at the most.”
“Very odd,” Dad agreed.
Evan nudged my shoulder. “Told ya it was a gas leak.”
“But we never used the oven,” insisted Adam. “We microwaved everything.”
“Then it was probably a faulty water heater,” offered my father. “It happens.”
I was with Adam on this one. The explosion was more than a gas leak. The federal government would not have taken over the investigation otherwise. “What about the fallout shelter?”
Adam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the mention of it making him uncomfortable.
“Officer Wells said they conducted a thorough search to ensure that no one else was down there and then sealed it. He also said that you all were lucky the whole place didn’t collapse on you.” Rachel knotted her arms over her chest and gave both Evan and me one of those piercing What were you thinking? looks.
At the time I thought we were out of our minds for going down into the fallout shelter, and now I was thinking there was something very suspicious about this whole investigation. If Neil’s death was an accident, then why were the feds involved? And why the rush to seal up the shelter and clear the lot? It was like someone wanted this whole case buried and forgotten.
Not Adam. “So they’re not going to do a thing about Neil’s murder?”
“Trust me,” said Dad, reaching for the business section of the paper. “If they had any reason at all to suspect foul play, the case would still be open.”
“He’s right,” agreed Rachel. “The best thing now is to find a way to accept what’s happened and begin putting your life in order. It won’t be easy, but we’re here to help.”
“Thank you, but if the police or this FBI refuse to find the murderer, then I will.” He straightened, as though gathering together the fragments of himself. “Before I go, I . . . I would like to ask a favor. Would you handle the arrangements for my father? I can’t pay you anything now but will send money as I can. You have my word.”
“We’d be happy to,” I interjected, afraid my father would turn him away. “But you don’t have to leave. Dad, tell him.”
“Cam?” pleaded Rachel in that voice she reserved for him alone.
Dad sighed, knowing he’d lost the battle before it had even begun. “Adam, I don’t suppose you’d consider staying on and working for us? What you earn could be put toward the cost of handling your father’s arrangements plus your room and board.”
I braced myself for a no. It was one thing to share a house with the dead—although, strangely, it had not been an issue for him so far—but it was quite another to hands-on work with them. I was born to it. He was not.
Adam’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of work?”
“You could be an attendant,” said Rachel. “Help with pickups, setup, and takedown.”
“If you like, I could care for the yard, too,” he offered. “I used to tend the orchard.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Rachel clapped. “We could use a new gardener.” She heaped a plate with bagels and shoved it into Adam’s hand. “It’s all settled then.”
Settled hardly seemed the right word, but it was a start.
The spring of the screen door twanged. It was Nana Jo back from her morning walk. She yanked out her earplugs and plopped her pedometer onto the counter. “Three thousand steps!” she declared, in case anyone was keeping track.
Dad set aside the paper. “Gone a long time this morning, Mom.”
“Oh, I got to talking to Fran Ullman. You know what a gossip she is. She was telling me all about how she caught Sal Zmira in her front yard the other night with a metal detector. Says he’s found all kinds of stuff with it. You can imagine where she told him to go.”
I recalled what Evan said about seeing someone combing the Lassiter property with a metal detector. Adam must have been thinking the same thing. “Did he mention anything about a lockbox?” he asked.
“Well, Fran did say something about a keepsake box Zmira found rec
ently.”
“Could have been a jewelry case, Adam—from anywhere,” I was quick to point out.
“My suggestion,” said Dad, “is to go ask Zmira if it matters all that much.”
Easy for him to say. He’d never met the old buzzard.
For the moment, though, we had more pressing matters. If Adam was going to start work right away, he would need something other than the ratty hand-me-downs he’d been wearing for the past six days. He needed an entirely new wardrobe.
Time to call in reinforcements.
RULE #10
THE CLOTHES MAKE THE CORPSE.
Mal arrived half an hour later and sweet-talked Evan into driving us. Not much of a challenge considering he’d do anything to get out of cleaning the cold room.
While we waited for Evan to rustle up a more appropriate pair of shoes for our newest employee—something other than flip flops, Mal shouldered up to me. “So whose idea was it to hire Adam full time? As if I couldn’t guess.”
“Um, it might have been mine?” I admitted.
She pulled out a toothpick and stuck it between her lips. “Hmph.”
“He has nowhere else to go, and I figure a job will help get him on his feet.” Who was I kidding? She saw right through me. “Since when do you carry toothpicks?”
“Since you talked me out of cigarettes.”
“Well, put that away when you’re in the car. If we have to make a sudden stop—”
“Like for a fire hydrant?” piped in Evan, sneaking up from behind.
“Hey, that was an accident, and I did manage to avoid the squirrel.” (Not that Evan cared about a rodent. We still couldn’t pass a fire hydrant without him shouting, “Thar she blows!”) “Anyway, if we stop suddenly, you could choke on the toothpick. Just saying.”
She snapped the toothpick in two and dropped it in the wastebasket beside the coatrack. “You know, Lils, bad shit happens. Lighten up and take a chance once in a while. Be bold.” With that she commandeered the front passenger seat, leaving Adam and me stuck in the back. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She whipped out a folded piece of paper from her purse and handed it to Evan.
Mortal Remains Page 7
