by Rose, Kristi
Dad studied us over his glasses. “I’ll get this story put together the best I can. I need to call in some old contacts and see if anyone is talking.”
“This could explode or go flat. Either way, watch your backs,” Lockett cautioned.
Dad dropped an arm around my shoulder. “You need to get some sleep. Tomorrow…” He glanced at his watch. “Today, rather”—he cleared his throat—“is Carson’s celebration of life ceremony.”
I’d completely forgotten.
“Is it okay if I crash on your couch here?” I wasn’t up to going home just yet.
“I’d prefer crashing here, too,” Precious said. “We can share the couch.” Her high ponytail was sagging, her lipstick long chewed off.
“I’ll take a spot on the floor,” Toby said.
Dad held up his hands. “Go upstairs, take the apartment. I don’t have any tourists staying there right now.”
“Beds,” I said to everyone and gestured for them to follow me.
Lockett paused at the door. “I’m going to stay and help your dad. I can call in a few favors as well.”
I glanced at Dad, who gave me two thumbs up. Then I led my friends to a set of side stairs tucked along the back wall of the newspaper office. At the top, a door opened to a small landing on the building’s roof. This brought us to the backside of the apartment. Encompassing the apartment was a small terrace that I’d used to sunbath, people watch, and grill when I lived here. It took us to the front door.
Dad had installed an electric keypad on the apartment, and I keyed in my mom’s birthdate to open the door. We trudged in, each exhausted and on edge. Both Toby and Precious watched me lock and bolt the door. Afterward, Precious drew the curtains.
The space was simple. Living room and kitchen up front. Bathroom in the middle, bedroom right behind it.
“You can have the couch. It pulls out,” I told Toby.
He flopped down, feet hanging over the armrest and waved us off.
“Look at us,” Precious said. “My ponytail is flat, I have a sweat stain under my boobs, and I don’t feel like I want to wash my face even though I’ve washed my face every day for the last fifteen years.” She faced me, looking a little wild-eyed. “And I’d use a stranger’s toothbrush right now.”
I nodded in agreement.
“These are dark times, Sam.” She cupped her hands over her mouth then blew out a breath, sniffing immediately after, her way of smelling her own breath. She closed her eyes. “Disgusting.”
Precious and I collapsed on the king-size bed in the back. Neither of us bothered to take off our shoes or do anything beyond relieving our bladders.
If Cooper wanted to kill us, now would be the perfect time. I was too tired to care.
I woke to the soft hum of a conversation in the other room, the smell of coffee, and cinnamon buns. The latter was enough to drag my tired butt out of bed. Precious was still zonked out. I shuffled into the living room/ kitchen combo. Toby was sitting on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table and crossed at the ankle. He’d changed from his previous ironic T-shirt to a new one that had five commas before a chameleon. He wore jeans with no holes and lace-up shoes.
“What’s this?” I said, pointing to his attire. The Culture Club song from his T-shirt was running through my head.
He puffed on his vape pen. “Today’s the ceremony. Did you forget?” He blew out a wonderful smell of baked cinnamon, bread, and sugar.
I leaned in. “I smell cinnamon rolls. Please tell me it’s not your vape pen but real rolls.”
He grimaced and said nothing.
“Is it your pen?”
His brow furrowed, he said, “You told me not to tell you.”
I slapped myself on the forehead. I needed more sleep, food, and a run to reset my system. Not in that order.
“I have hot coffee,” Lockett said behind me.
I grunted with irritation. “That’s a start.” I took the mug and sat in an armchair. “What’s the latest,” I asked, rubbing my eyes.
Lockett sat in the armchair across from me, dressed in clean clothes that looked brand new. “Your dad finished the article. He sent it to Fulton to give him a heads up and asked for a statement.”
“And?” I already knew the answer. We were in limbo, the next actions out of our control.
“We wait.”
I groaned anyway.
Lockett said, “We go about life as usual. We have Carson’s celebration of life ceremony, and the article runs tomorrow. Your dad said he has to send it to the printer in an hour.” He shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly.
How he could be so cool and calm was baffling. Inside, and probably outside too, I was a dumpster fire.
“Wait,” I said. “Dad sends the stories to bed in the evening. What time is it?” To bed meant to press.
“Dudette, you have an hour,” Toby said.
When I sat up quickly, coffee sloshed over my cup and onto my leg, burning me through the fabric. “Seriously? We slept all day?”
Toby and Lockett nodded.
“I gotta get dressed,” I said. “Precious!”
She hopped into the room as she was putting on her shoes. “I heard. You know it takes at least an hour to get this package to sparkle,” she said.
Lockett stood. “I’m escorting you home,” he told her and glanced at me. “Your dad is covering you. So far, everything has been really quiet.”
“Now you just jinxed us,” I said. “Where will you be?” I asked Toby.
“Here.” He relaxed into the couch, looking comfortable.
“Okay,” I said. I opened the front door, but then slammed it suddenly.
I spun to face them. “I need an urn!” I’d almost forgotten. I stared at Precious because she was my best option to come up with a solution. The one she’d bought had been thrown at my intruder a couple weeks ago. She nodded to something over my shoulder and smiled. I turned, a decorative white and gray marble canister with a matching lid rested on a pedestal by the front door.
“I can’t use that. It’s not even an urn.” But as I said it, I picked up the canister. It was half a foot in height and a little less in width, making it squatty. The lid sucked on tight. Little chance of it coming off without a good tug thanks to the plastic seal around the lid’s lip. I didn’t have any other options or time to shop for an urn.
“It’ll have to do,” I said. “Now I need to fill it with something.”
“Give it to me,” Precious said. “I’ll take care of it”
We split up, with the exception of Toby who was staying at the apartment, and agreed to meet at the Frontiersman.
Dad drove me to my place. I showered, blew out my hair, applied makeup that didn’t contrast with the fading bruises, and wore my one black dress. A simple number, cut at an A-line with a sweetheart neck and hidden pockets. I touched my throat where I always wore Carson’s necklace. Even if I hadn’t pulled the keys off for the safe deposit box, I wouldn’t have worn it. Instead, I put on one my mom and dad had given me for my sixteenth birthday, a solitaire diamond bezel.
I carried a small clutch, big enough for my driver’s license and some money. Definitely not big enough for my stun gun. I didn’t want to leave it behind, so I tucked it into my pocket and found the swing of the skirt hid it well.
When I came downstairs, Dad gave me an expectant look. I gave him a puzzled one.
Dad said, “Ah, I hate to ask, but what’s being done about Carson’s…ahem…remains?”
I plopped onto the bottom stairs. “Oh, Dad. I’m sorry I kept the truth from you and mom.”
He sat next to me. “Sweetheart, I don’t know if I’d have handled it any better. I’m sorry you now have to go through with this charade. We need something to take to this ceremony. Maybe a picture of Carson?”
A picture! Man, that would have been way easier.
“Ah, well, Precious is bringing the something.”
He looked like he wanted to say more on the subject by wisely
decided to let it go. “Ready?” Dad asked, looking somber. His was a loaded question.
“Do I have a choice?”
As Sherlock Holmes would say, the game was afoot.
36
Monday
Dad was right. A ceremony for Carson would go a long way for closure. I was ready to put him and our life, and all the lies, behind me. Reconciling the man I thought I married to the real man was painful and, frankly, I didn’t like pain. This ceremony would shut the door on my life with Carson. Now, if I could get through this event with no one else the wiser to Carson’s skeletons, that would be awesome.
Precious was waiting for me outside with the canister urn. It was noticeably heavier.
“What’s in here?” I tested the weight by moving the canister up and down.
“I don’t want to know anything.” Dad covered his ears and went into the building.
“Some planter sand Lockett and I picked up at a craft store on the way here. My fireplace was cleaned for spring.” She rolled her eyes. “I totally forgot. But look at this. You’re gonna love this.” She looked around the empty parking lot before taking the lid off the canister.
Inside, colorful wisps of shimmery confetti sparkled back at me.
“Take some out.” She didn’t wait for me to do it, but instead reached in and took a small handful. “I had a client who found out her husband was cheating. To celebrate her new life after her divorce, she bought this confetti and sprinkled it on his car and yard. She had a few bags left over so I took them because they’re bad juju in her new house.” She opened her hand, the confetti on her palm.
Liar, the little pieces read. The words were in blue, pink, gold, green, purple, silver, and black. They begged to be tossed in the air to fall to the ground like happy rainbow-colored snowflakes. They were very cheerful.
“You just think about this being inside your urn.” She put the lid back on.
We laughed and went inside. The room was surprisingly crowded.
My mother rushed up to me. “You doing okay?” She brushed her fingers across my bruised cheek.
“Yep.”
She reached for the urn, paused midway, and cocked her head to the side. “That’s a canister.”
I shrugged. “Same thing. It’s very pretty and looks like something Carson would have liked. So I went with it.”
Her gaze met mine. “Is that from the apartment? It looks just like the one I have on the pedestal by the front door. I got it for pennies at Home Goods.”
I swallowed. “Nope, different one.” She wouldn’t look on the bottom for the tag. Not in public at least. Mom took the canister from me. Please don’t let her look at the bottom. “Go mingle.”
I scanned the room and took in the guests. Mrs. Pullman, who owned the liquor store. Carson had set up her security system. Chuck, Mr. Linn, the elder Kleppners, Precious’s parents Otto and Bridget Shurmann, her sister Heidi, and so many others from town. Likely in support of my parents.
Some of the guests showed up for me. Lason came with Marni, and both thanked me for what I’d done. Lason made me promise I wouldn’t quit. Mrs. Wright and Mrs. Long came as well. Both hugged me and showed pictures of the kittens. Shannon Kleppner came, escorted by a nice looking gentleman with wire-rim glasses and a pocket protector. The math teacher, I assumed. She cried and thanked me profusely. These were the wins I desperately needed. Their timing was impeccable.
My sister had left a tearful voicemail apologizing for not being here for me in my time of need. I would tell her the full story when this was all over.
The Frontiersman Bar and Grille was at max capacity, and though the vibe was somewhat somber, laughter could be heard. People would walk by and squeeze my arm in support. Tomorrow, the good people of Wind River would put Carson behind them, and we’d all move on, no one the wiser to who he really was. The sense of achievement I had from pulling it off made me stand taller. Now, if the issue with Cooper could resolve as easily, then I’d call this entire shit show a win and happily never look back at it again. I had faith that Dad’s article focused on the nefarious plans of Bolt and Cooper. After all, Graycloud was at the center of this thing and might not want the attention either.
Chuck moved to stand next to Carson’s canister. “Toast,” he said and raised his glass.
Others raised their glasses. Personally, I found the toast ritual an excuse the men used to drink whiskey because they did this at every event. Weddings, births, football games.
Chuck continued, “Death has become his sleep from which he wakes to a new life.” The toast was an old German saying.
Lockett moved next to Chuck and, with his glass in the air, said, “Whether at the gates of heaven or hell, may the trip there have been worth it.” He met my gaze and nodded. Sadness and bitterness were at the heart of Lockett’s toast, but only a few of us knew that. Others laughed, unaware.
Then my dad stepped up. “Here’s to absent friends.” He and Chuck laughed and elbowed each other. Dad tended to become slightly juvenile when drinking.
My mom hissed my father’s name. “That’s not appropriate.”
“Okay, okay,” Dad said, holding his glass in the air. “So long as he lives in our heart, he will never die.”
When I scoffed, those standing around glanced curiously at me. Toby rushed to the small circle of men near Carson’s canister.
“I want to toast,” Toby said.
“How about we take Carson to the river and release his ashes there while we toast,” Chuck suggested.
“No,” Precious and I shouted.
Everyone looked at me. “I mean, that’s so permanent, and I’m not sure I want to do that yet. Feels like a big decision.” I went to the canister and took it off the table, tucking it alongside my body.
“Okay, darling,” my dad said. “We won’t do it.”
I stepped backward away from them. “Maybe another time if it feels right.”
“Samantha,” Dad said and pointed behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder and realized I was about to collide with a chair. “Whoops,” I said and sidestepped around the chair, but not fully because my toe caught on one of the back legs of the chair, and I stumbled. I put my free hand out to catch myself, finding balance by placing my palm on the seat of the chair. Only the angle of my back and the placement of the chair were at odds. As I spun and tried to stop my fall, the back corner of the chair caught the canister just right and sent it flying out of my arm, soaring high like a bird freed from its cage.
“No,” I screamed and lunged for the canister.
“Sweet Jesus,” Precious yelled.
The crowd gasped as the canister hit the floor, bounced once, the lid flying off, bounced a second time, and smashed open on the floor. Beige sand and colorful confetti exploded out in a wide-spreading radius.
Some people covered their eyes. Others their mouth.
“Is that confetti?” Mrs. Wright asked and bent to pick up a piece. “I kinda like the idea of confetti at a funeral.”
“Is that sand?” my mom asked, looking at me puzzled.
“The confetti says liar,” Mrs. Wright said.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Long said. “That’s not good.”
Mrs. Pullman said, “When my Homer was cremated, they gave me his remains in a plastic bag. This does not look the same. I wasn’t given the option of confetti.”
“Samantha?” my mom said. “What is this?”
“Is your Carson really dead?” Mrs. Wright asked. “Because I see some scams like this on the true crime channel.”
I glanced around the room at the questioning faces. I blew out a sigh and plopped onto the tripping chair. “As far as I know, he’s dead. I don’t have his body.” I pointed to Lockett. “He’s the one that told me he was dead.”
Everyone’s attention swung to Lockett. He said, “Er, well, he is dead. I can assure you.” He coughed nervously.
“How?” my mom asked.
Lockett looked at me in panic. My mom
was watching me and waiting for an answer. I looked at my dad for help but all he did was shrug. I groaned and looked up at the ceiling, searching for the right words. But there weren’t any.
“Carson was married when he married me. She got his body.” I continued to look at the tiles overhead. “Apparently, Carson came here for revenge against his partner, Joe Cooper. It’s a long story, and you can read the heart of it in Dad’s paper tomorrow.”
Mom gasped. “This is about the land?”
I lowered my head and nodded. “Yeah, he came here to try and get the land, and when he couldn’t, he stayed because he wanted to make sure his old partner wouldn’t get it. He lied to us about everything.”
“But he helped me find my brother,” Chuck said.
I gave Chuck a grimace. “Yeah, he did. But he also gathered personal information about you in the meantime that he might have used against you later. I’m sorry.”
The room was quiet as people processed the information. Finally, my mom slapped her hand on her leg and said, “Well, nothing we can do about it now. Let’s clean this mess up.” She went to the hostess and brought back a broom and dustpan.
“I like the touch with the confetti. Priceless,” Mrs. Wright said and clapped me fondly on the back.
We cleaned up the sand and confetti and placed it all in two large brown grocery bags.
“Toast,” Dad said. “Drinks are on us.” He raised his glass, and people scurried to get one of their own.
“I’m going to take this to the dumpster,” I told my mom. I needed a moment of fresh air.
“Come right back,” Mom said.
The dumpsters were kept on the side of the Frontiersman facing the street that led to the pier. I tossed the trash then leaned against the wall, pressing my hands to my hot cheeks. I closed my eyes and counted to ten seven times before I’d come to accept my humiliation. When I opened my eyes, I was not alone.
Standing before me, blocking any way of escape was Joe Cooper.
