Stalking the Dead

by E. C. Bell

  “Sounds great,” James said.

  “Won’t it be kind of—uncomfortable for you?” I asked. And me, I thought. Definitely for me.

  “I thought it was time to put the past behind us all,” she said lightly. “Before it’s too late.”

  The huge truth squatted on the table like a half-drunk baboon. I thought furiously, trying to come up with anything that wouldn’t sound like I was being an ass about her having a last wish.

  “Don’t you think this might not be a good time for this kind of thing?” I asked, weakly. “After all, there’s the cops after James—”

  “When have we ever let the police stop us from having a good time?” my mother said. “It’s been too long since we’ve all been together. Far too long.” She smiled. “Besides, I expect you’ll dash back to Edmonton as soon as you can. And the opportunity will be missed.”

  The baboon laughed, wickedly, and I closed my eyes. I hated having the truth thrown at me like that.

  “But you need to talk to your father,” Mom continued. “Get some things ironed out. So Rhonda can have a nice meal. You know?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “I understand. Where can I find him?”

  “He’s at his spot,” Mom said. “Or he will be, in an hour or so.” She squinted, appraising me. “That’ll give you time to have a shower. You know, clean up. Maybe curl your hair?”

  “I don’t think—” I started, but James jumped right in with his two cents’ worth.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I bet you’d feel a bunch better after a shower, and—you know—the hair curling thing.”

  Good grief! They were ganging up on me.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

  “And we’ll leave in an hour?” James said hopefully.

  “You’re not coming with me,” I said. “Remember?”

  “Come on!” He sounded crushed, like I had just told him he could never have ice cream again.

  “The course,” I said. “Remember?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” He sighed. “Right.”

  He stood, but I stopped him. “Do me a favour and be kind of quiet when you go in there.”

  “Why?”

  “Your voice bothers Laurel,” Mom said. “For some reason. Keep it down so she doesn’t get upset.”

  He blinked rapidly, as though he was trying to make sense of the words he’d just heard.

  “Seriously?” he finally asked.

  “Seriously,” Mom said.

  “Okay.” He sighed. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

  He grabbed his cup and disappeared around the corner of the trailer.

  “I wonder why his voice bothers her so much,” Mom said. “It’s a bit of a mystery.”

  “I guess,” I said, not really caring one way or the other. I grabbed my cup and rose from my seat. “I better have that shower, if I’m going to see Dad.”

  “It would be best,” Mom said. She sipped her coffee, and then smiled at me when I didn’t march off double-time. “Anything else?”

  “Do me a favour and make sure he works on that course,” I said. “He really does need to get it done.”

  “What you really mean is, you want me to make sure he doesn’t try to go with you for this meeting with your father. Right?”

  “Right.” I sighed.

  My last meeting with my father hadn’t ended well. As a matter of fact, we’d screamed at each other before I hopped the bus to Edmonton. I couldn’t remember who started the fight, but suspected it was, as usual, me.

  I didn’t want James anywhere near either of us if we were going to pick up where we left off. He didn’t need to hear that.

  “I’ll make sure he stays put,” Mom said. “Promise.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and then went inside and had a shower. I even curled my hair.

  Good grief.

  Marie:

  Dad, It’s Been a Long Time

  THE PETER POND Bar looked the same as the last time I’d been there. Only more so. The chairs and tables looked a little more beat-up. So did the bar, with the mirrored back wall still overloaded with every liquor known to man and an even longer line of beer taps at the far end.

  Dad was sitting in the beer-soaked gloom at his regular seat. End of the bar, close to the washrooms. For convenience, he’d told me once, when we were talking. I didn’t know if we were talking now. Didn’t know if I wanted to speak to him, or if he’d want to speak to me.

  After all, I was just like my mom, and he’d run away from her.

  He didn’t look over when I walked into the bar, but that didn’t surprise me. A couple of the other old-timers who needed their two and a juice every afternoon glanced at me and frowned. They leaned toward each other and whispered, and one flicked a glance in my father’s direction. Then they both leaned back in their chairs and settled their arms over their paunches—after all, two and a juice every day forever will build a nice little beer gut—to watch the show.

  God, I hated this town.

  I walked up to Dad, surprised to see how much greyer his hair was than the last time I’d seen him. Got within three feet of him before he came out of his glass-staring reverie and looked at me. Did a classic double-take as he focused on my face. Almost stood, then fell back onto his bar stool.

  “Jesus, girl!” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. You said you were finished with this place, before you left.”

  Oh, so we were going to pick up right where we left off. Good to know.

  “Mom told me I had to talk to you. So, here I am.”

  He stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You look tired,” he finally said. “Getting enough sleep?”

  I laughed. I’d even curled my hair, but he could always find something. “Probably not.”

  Then he looked at me, even more closely. “What the hell happened to your eye?” he said. “Caught talking when you shoulda been listening?”

  The black eye had happened during James’s and my last case, and had almost healed. Even Mom had been too polite to mention it, but not my dad.

  “That’s it exactly,” I said.

  “But you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “I’m okay.”

  “Well, sit down,” he said, pointing to the stool next to his. “Take a load off. Want a drink?”

  “Coffee,” I said. The bartender nodded, then looked at the coffee maker. Even I could see it was off. Coffee in the afternoon was not a big seller.

  “Gimme a minute to make a new pot?” he asked, and I nodded. He turned away, and Dad and I were again alone.

  I thought I heard the two old farts screech their chairs closer to us so they wouldn’t miss a second of our “welcome homes.”

  “How’s your mother?” Dad asked after a short but extremely uncomfortable silence.

  I was fairly certain Rhonda kept him updated, but decided to answer him anyhow. There was always the possibility that Rhonda was whitewashing how bad Mom was, and that Dad didn’t know she was dying—really dying.

  He needed to know.

  “She’s not good, Dad. She’s lost a ton of weight and—”

  “Yeah, Rhonda told me,” he said. “It’s come back, is that right?”

  “It?” Jesus, he still couldn’t say the word cancer. Like somehow if he didn’t actually voice the word, it would miraculously disappear or something. “Really, Dad?”

  He scowled, first at me, and then down at his nearly empty glass. “You know what I mean,” he finally said. “That damned disease . . .”

  His words winnowed down to nothing and he picked up his glass, emptying it. I wondered if he was still drinking rum, or if he’d moved to something else.

  Rum had always been his drink of choice.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s back.”

  His lips pursed as he pushed his empty glass across the bar. The bartender looked at Dad, and he nodded for another.

  When it arrived, he buried his nose in it as he sucked off the top half.

&
nbsp; “So what brought you home?” he asked.

  I didn’t really want to get into this with him. He didn’t need to know I’d followed James. Seemed weak. Puerile. Like something a lovesick kid would do.

  “I came to see Mom,” I said.

  “That’s not what Rhonda told me.” He gave me a sidelong glance and took another sip of his drink.

  Damn Rhonda.

  “Yeah, well, I did come up to get my boss, too,” I said uncomfortably. “But I wanted to see Mom.”

  “Oh, and not your father?” He laughed when I blinked my surprise.

  “Oh sure,” I said. “I wanted to see you, too.”

  Luckily the bartender brought me my coffee, so I was able to focus on something else for a moment. As I doped my cup, I wondered, though. Why had he asked me that?

  That last fight we’d had had come after a long line of them, stretching out for years. We fought every time we got together, ever since he and Mom had split up.

  Why in the world would he think I wanted to see him? He didn’t care if I lived or died, as far as I could tell. Why would I?

  I sipped the coffee, and sighed. Bitter and weak, just the way I remembered.

  “Nice to hear,” he said. I turned and stared at him.

  “Really?”

  “Well, yeah.” He scowled. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I wondered, you know.”

  “Wondered what?”

  He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “How you were doing, you know, down there.”

  “In Edmonton?”

  “Yeah.”

  I took another sip of my coffee. “You could have called,” I finally said.

  “I—I didn’t know if—”

  “You didn’t know if what?” I put my cup down and turned toward him, suddenly disconcerted. He never had any trouble saying exactly what was on his mind. What was wrong with him?

  “You’re not sick or something, are you?” The words blurted out of my mouth before I even knew they were there.

  “No,” he said, and shook his head.

  “Well, good.” I stared at him, but couldn’t read his face. “What didn’t you know?” I prodded.

  “I didn’t know if you’d answer the phone. If I called.” The words blasted out of him, and then he took another long sip of his drink. The lone ice cube rattled in the bottom of the glass as he set it down and pushed it toward the bartender with a nod.

  “I would have,” I said. I wondered if I was telling him the truth. “I’m pretty sure I would have, anyhow.”

  He grunted laughter and grabbed his refilled glass like the alcoholic lifeline it was. “Well, that’s something.”

  “Best I can do,” I muttered. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, none of what happened before was easy on anyone,” he said. “I’m glad to see you, girl. Glad you came home.”

  The silence was complete. Not even the two and a juicers moved a muscle as we all tried to decide what to do next.

  “Can I talk to you about Mom?” I asked, when the silence became intolerable.

  “Sure.” His voice sounded old.

  “She doesn’t listen to Rhonda, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “She needs to—take it easy. Slow down.” I shook my head. “I don’t think she’ll listen to me, either. But—”

  “Why does she need to slow down?” Dad asked, sounding honestly puzzled.

  “Because—because—” Jesus! Why would he even ask me a question like that? “Because if she doesn’t, she’s going to die,” I finally said. Words out in a rush.

  “Of course she’s going to die,” he said. “Why can’t you let her live the last of her life the way she wants?”

  “But—”

  “No buts, missy.” His voice tightened, headed up to an angry register, and I sighed, thinking, here we go. “You and your sister need to leave her alone.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I snapped. “When was the last time you spoke to her? Saw her?”

  He didn’t answer. Stared down into his glass until I wanted to scream.

  “Well?” I asked. “When?”

  “It’s been a while,” he finally said. “But you need to respect her wishes. If she wants to dance a frigging jig every day that she has left, why can’t you just let her do it?”

  “Because I don’t want her to die,” I said. “Maybe you don’t care, but—”

  “Don’t you ever say that!” he bellowed. “I care! I frigging care!”

  “Then why did you let us go?” I screamed.

  I heard the two old farts suck in shocked breath and could have kicked myself. I’d handed them the headline for their next old coot’s convention, I could just tell.

  I toned the next bit down, considerably. In fact, I made sure that only my dad could hear the next question out of my lips.

  “Forget that,” I said. “I already know the answer to that one. I don’t get why you didn’t offer to help her out after she got sick. It wouldn’t have killed you to at least offer her some financial support—”

  He swung around and stared at me, the shock honest and huge on his face. “I did,” he said. “Until she put a stop to it.”

  “What?”

  “Do you really think I wouldn’t help your mother out?” he whispered. “Even after she told me she didn’t want my help any longer, I offered. I did.”

  He took a quick glance behind me, and I realized he too wanted to keep the rest of our conversation away from the sharp ears of the two-and-a-juicers parked behind us.

  “What?”

  “I did offer her money,” he said. “When she first got sick. She took it for a while, then told me to stop. She said she didn’t want to be beholden to me any longer.”

  I blinked.

  “She wouldn’t take anything from me this past year.”

  I looked over at him, my eyes so hard they felt like marbles in my head. “If this is the truth—”

  “It is.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “Before I left, I mean? God, I thought you were being the biggest dick ever. And I could’ve talked to her. Made her—”

  He glared at me, until I shut my mouth and stared down at the bar top.

  “We weren’t talking,” he said. “Remember?”

  My head felt like it was spinning. I pushed the coffee cup away from me, shaking my head when the bartender pantomimed pouring me another.

  “I guess I should get going,” I said stiffly.

  Dad stared at me for a long moment. “You going to talk to your mother about this?”

  “Of course I am,” I said.

  “Why can’t you just leave it alone? She didn’t want to need me,” he said, distantly. “Much as I wanted her to.” He tossed back the last of his drink. “Yeah,” he said. “You probably should go.”

  I stood. “You coming to that meal Rhonda’s planning?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. Why? You want me to stay away?”

  “No,” I said. “Jesus, Dad, you can come if you want!”

  “Well, I might, then. Be good to see the whole family, together again.” He looked up at me. “Don’tcha think?”

  “Yeah,” I said. And I wondered again if I was lying to my father. Decided I was, but kept going. “It would be nice.”

  “Besides, I wouldn’t mind meeting this James character,” he continued. A small smile played across his mouth. “Rhonda hasn’t shut up about him since he got into town.”

  Good grief.

  “He’s my boss, Dad. Just my boss.”

  “Not what your sister thinks,” Dad said. “Guess I’m going to see for myself.”

  I beat a hasty retreat after that, but I seriously wanted to cuff the two old farts, hard, when I heard them guffaw as the door eased shut.

  It wouldn’t take long for that whole conversation to get around. Soon everybody who knew me would know about James being here. And then the gossip would start in e
arnest.

  After all, there was Arnie’s death. Arnie’s murder. Wouldn’t take long for the wagging tongues to start putting two and two together, and coming up with four.

  A bunch more than four, if I remembered the way the rumour mill worked around here.

  Arnie:

  Reeling Him In

  ROY WAS WISHY-washy on my plan, which seriously made me want to slap the crap out of him. But I knew that wouldn’t do a damned bit of good—and I wanted to find Marie. I needed Roy.

  I could manage hopping from Rosalie’s apartment to the cemetery, but I couldn’t go any further on my own. Didn’t know what the deal was, but I could not take even a step further than either the apartment or the cemetery.

  So I needed Roy, because I was going to try riding him. Like a pony or some such shit. But first I had to talk him into going along with my plan.

  “Oh, come on,” I said, for what felt like the nine-hundredth fucking time. “It’ll be easy. Swear to God.”

  “I think I should stay here and wait for Laurel,” Roy said again. His face had taken on that tight prim look that it got when he was getting pissed. I recognized it from the last time he’d disappeared, and didn’t want to take the chance on him vanishing again.

  “I don’t think Laurel’s coming back,” I said.

  “How do you know that?” Roy asked, his lips so tight I could barely see them. “She loves me. She’ll be—”

  “She didn’t come into the cemetery last night,” I said. “She stood, just out there.” I pointed past the gate, which was a hundred feet from Roy’s grave. “She wouldn’t come in.”

  “But—but—” Roy started, but I waved him off.

  “No buts, Roy,” I said. “She would not set foot in this cemetery. You’re going to have to go to her.”

  Roy ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair, looking fucking distraught, which was right where I wanted him.

  “Which means you have to go to Sylvie Jenner’s place. You know, to get her.”

  Seriously, I didn’t give a rat’s ass if Laurel came back to Roy. He was a real buzzkill, and I got why Laurel would leave. But I needed him to commit to going to old lady Jenner’s place so I could get there, too.