by Mary Logue
“It was dark. There was a band. I suppose that can explain some of it.”
“What do you know about Leonard Lundgren?” Claire asked him. “Do you know where he works?”
“I think I heard he’s working at that new sand pit that opened up past Maiden Rock. Other than that I don’t know much. Big guy. But not so bad as he looks. I caught him speeding once, barreling down Thirty-five. It was about two in the morning. I pulled him over. He had been going seventy. He was actually pretty agreeable about it. Didn’t seem to have been drinking. Said he deserved the ticket. I sent him on his way.”
“He had been drinking last night. I wonder if he’s one of those people who become Mr. Hyde when they drink.”
“Who’s Mr. Hyde?”
Claire looked up at him to see if he really didn’t know. He waited for her answer. “The side of us we want no one to see.”
“Brad, wake up. I think someone’s here.”
Brad had been having a very bad dream, and he woke feeling like all the muscles in his body were clenched, as if he were fighting hard against something immovable. When he opened his eyes, Nora was staring down at him.
“Who?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. I don’t recognize the car. A guy.”
Brad scrambled out of bed. He hadn’t even taken his clothes off from the night before. He and Jenny hadn’t gotten to sleep until around five in the morning. “What time is it?”
“After noon.”
“Where’s Jenny?”
“She went back to bed.” Nora was wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of polka dot shorts. Her hair was a mass of curls. He sat up in bed and reached over and tousled her hair.
“Is it true about Dad?” Nora asked him.
“Did Jenny tell you?”
Nora nodded.
“It’s true,” he said. He remembered seeing Dad stretched out in the operating room, pale as a ghost. The blood had flowed out of him.
“Who’s going to take care of us?” Nora asked.
“We’ll take care of each other.”
“What about when I go to school? You and Jenny are already gone. I’ll be by myself.”
“But you’re a big girl.”
She ran her hands down her T-shirt and said, “Yeah, I guess I am. I’m in the top grade now in my school.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I wish Dad didn’t die,” Nora said, and she started to cry.
Brad rubbed her shoulders and said, “Don’t cry. Let’s go fix some lunch.”
“We’re orphans now,” Nora said as she walked out of the room with him.
What a weird thought. No parents, all alone in the world except for each other. He was glad he had two sisters.
A banging came from the front door. The doorbell hadn’t worked for a few years. Dad never had felt like fixing it. Brad went to see who it was, and Nora tagged along.
A thin man in a clerical collar and black jacket stood at the door with a casserole dish in his hands. “Are you the Spitzler children?” he asked.
Brad said yes.
“I’m Pastor Wilkins from the Calvary Covenant Church. I don’t know if you remember me. I haven’t seen you in church in a while. Probably since your mother died. Anyway, your mother is buried in our church, and I know you have another plot there, so I thought you might want to use it for your father.”
Brad felt like he should introduce himself. “I’m Brad, and this is my sister Nora. Our other sister is still sleeping.”
Brad let him into the living room. It wasn’t in too bad shape.
“May I sit down?” the man asked. “Oh, and my wife made this for you children.” He handed Brad the casserole. “It’s tuna hot dish. Should still be warm.”
Brad thanked him and took the casserole dish, setting it on the coffee table on an old pile of newspapers.
“I’m here to talk to you about the funeral. Do you have any relatives that can come and stay with you?”
“No,” Brad told him. “Mom was an only child. Her folks died a while ago. Dad’s family I don’t know too much about. We’ve never kept in touch with them.”
“Are you the oldest?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then let’s go over the arrangements.”
Brad pretty much agreed to everything the pastor suggested. A short service on Wednesday. A luncheon served in the church basement made by the Ladies’ Club.
“And then I think your father had purchased two plots when your mother died. So we can just bury him next to her.”
“No.” The word popped out of him before he had time to think. He wished Jenny were there to help him.
The pastor looked at him in surprise. “Do you have another plot?”
“No, but we can buy another. Can’t we? Is there another one for sale in your cemetery?”
“Yes, I’m sure there is. But why don’t you want him in the plot you already have?”
Brad thought fast. “Because Dad promised Jenny that she could be buried next to our mother. And I know he wouldn’t want to break his promise.”
Claire knew that Bridget and Meg would be along any minute. Once she had gotten home to her empty house, she had missed Meg. They were hardly ever apart.
It was such a lovely day, warm wind, in the low eighties, fluffy clouds floating overhead. She needed to be outside. She decided to go and work in her garden for a while. She would do what always needed doing in her garden—weed. The soil in this area of the state was dark and amazingly fertile. In one of her gardening books, Claire had read that nettles are an indicator plant for fertile soil. She had a fine crop of nettles on the back end of her lot.
Actually, some of the weeds that came up in her flower beds, she ate. Purslane and lamb’s-quarters were nice in salads, and sometimes she even cooked the lamb’s-quarters like spinach. She loved the idea that even the weeds in her garden were tasty and good for you.
She looked over the leaves of her roses. They got these nasty little green worms on them if she didn’t spray them every week or so. She used an organic spray that wasn’t toxic. If she used one of the more toxic sprays, she would probably not have to spray as often, but she didn’t mind the excuse for puttering around.
Her gardens were small and usually gathered around something. She had three beds next to the house, one around her clothesline, two next to a shed, and then one by the garage. She felt more comfortable working off an already established building. She read the books and knew this wasn’t the correct way to make gardens. They should be seen as pools of light in the lawns, beds that have their own shape and form. But she didn’t feel brave enough to start digging up the middle of her yard.
One of these years.
Her roses were blooming again. Landers, her neighbor, who had taught her much about gardening but had died early spring, would have been proud of her. She had done everything right this year. Deadheaded them vigilantly after they bloomed in the early summer, fertilized them, watered them although they had had nearly enough rain, and now most of their long waving wands of growth were festooned with clumps of lovely red-pink roses, a soft faded red color that she would love to find in old silk fabric and make into a blouse.
She picked a blown rose and smelled—the soft fragrance of nutmeg. Sleeping with Rich had stirred up dark feelings in her, her sense of vulnerability and danger. To love someone was very dangerous.
Two years ago her husband had been killed by a drug gang in the Twin Cities. It had blown her life up. So she moved down to Fort St. Antoine and started over. But the trouble followed her in the form of her old partner, Bruce Jacobs. She had discovered that he was behind everything. He had been the infamous “Hawk,” the leader of the drug gang, and he had been responsible for her husband’s death. Worst of all, she had loved him. In a showdown, she had killed him in self-defense and then, to save his reputation, concealed what he had been. No one knew she had killed him. She felt trapped in his death.
How could she even think of ge
tting involved with another man, considering her track record?
She heard a car drive into her driveway and stood to watch Bridget’s car pull in. Meg bounced out of the car as soon as it had stopped. “Mom!” she shouted.
“Here, sweetie.” Claire waved at the two of them, glad to be pulled out of her dark thoughts.
Bridget extricated herself from the car with care. Another inch or two on her belly, and she would not be able to drive. She slowly walked behind Meg, rocking side to side.
Meg flung herself on Claire, and Claire grabbed her up and twirled her around. “Is Auntie Bridget tired of you?”
“I doubt it,” Meg said. “We had a blast. She let me stay up late and watch a scary movie. Frankenstein. Have you ever seen that? Totally cool. Kinda sad at the end, when they burn him to death. The monster, I mean. It’s really the doctor’s name that is Frankenstein, but everyone always gets that wrong.”
Bridget came up to them, smiling at Meg’s description of their night together. “I didn’t make it through the whole movie. Meg had to wake me at the end.”
“Hey, Mom, I tried to call you this morning, but you weren’t here. Did you stay over at Rich’s?”
Claire wasn’t quite ready for this. She didn’t believe in lying to her daughter, so in good splitting-hairs fashion she sidestepped the question. “I had to go into work for a while this morning. Sorry I missed your call.”
“Oh, I was kinda hoping you stayed at Rich’s. You know, that would show that you really liked him.”
Claire bent down to be Meg’s height and looked her in the face. “I do really like him.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’m waiting for you guys to get to the next step. The sleep-over step.”
“Where do you learn these things, Meg?”
“At school. TV. Books. Aunt Bridget and I had a good talk about you and Rich last night.”
Over Meg’s head, Bridget rolled her eyes. Claire would check in with her later.
“I’m glad you are so up on everything.”
“What’s for lunch? I’m hungry.”
Bridget chimed in. “So am I.”
“Tomato soup. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Meggy, you run in and start the soup. It’s sitting on the stove.”
Meg ran ahead of them, and Claire walked with Bridget. “I hope she didn’t wear you out.”
“Not at all. She is a constant stream of chatter, but she’s quite interesting. I need distraction right now. I feel like a whale. Actually, I feel bigger than that. Like the Titanic. I’m afraid that if I hit something, I would sink.”
“Not long now.” Claire reached over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
“That’s what I’m really afraid of. I can’t imagine this child trying to get out of me. Gives me the shakes.”
“When the time comes, you’ll want it out.”
“I’ll want it over, is what you mean.” Bridget stopped. “Before we go into the house, not to change the subject, but give me the lowdown on last night.”
“Wouldn’t you know, a guy got stabbed at the dance we went to.”
“No. Did you have to work? Did that ruin your evening?”
“Yes, I did have to work. He died a few hours later in the hospital.”
Bridget said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Claire. I know how much you were looking forward to last night.”
“But it didn’t completely ruin my evening.” Claire smiled.
“Well, that’s good to hear.” Bridget studied her. “Sister of mine, you look like a satisfied woman.”
Claire simply nodded.
Lola was done with her shift at the Bluff Bar and Grill. All the customers were gone, and her area was all set for the evening shift. She had eaten a cheeseburger with fries and decided to have a beer with it. What the hell. She almost hadn’t come into work today. What with Jed killed and all, she would have had a good excuse, but she desperately needed the money.
She sniffed into a napkin when she thought of Jed. Things hadn’t been great between them recently, but for a while he had treated her so good. They had met at the bar about six months ago. Not that she didn’t know who he was—she had seen him around all her life, but he was quite a bit older than her.
But about six months ago, he sat in her section and she waited on him. He had been in a good mood, and she had flirted with him. Before he left, he asked her out for a drink. That started it all. He had taken her out a few times before he made any kind of moves on her. She had been surprised by how slow he was about it, especially considering it had been a few years since his wife died. Then, when they made love, he always wanted her to start by going down on him. It seemed to be the only way he could get aroused. She didn’t mind, but it surprised her. He wasn’t that old, but still getting close to fifty.
She wasn’t getting any younger either. In two years she’d be forty. She had hoped that they might marry. Brad would be moving out this year, and Jenny wouldn’t be far behind. That would leave her and Jed and Nora. A nice little family. Since she couldn’t have kids herself, she had really looked forward to raising Nora, dressing her up and taking care of her.
Now it would never happen. She would have to waitress the rest of her life. She lit a cigarette and looked around the bar. Maybe it was time to leave. Get out of this area. Everyone knew her and her business. And Leonard would never leave her alone.
Just as she thought of him, he walked in the door. The last person she wanted to see, Leonard. She would have known it was him just by the sound of his big boots on the floor. Leonard never picked his feet up, he dragged them. Him and his big stupid cowboy hat. Nobody wore a cowboy hat anymore. What did he think he was, some kind of Western hero?
He walked up to her and said, “Lola, I gotta talk to you.”
“Get out of here, Leonard!” she yelled at him.
Jim, her boss, came out from the kitchen. “You two take it outside. I don’t need your fighting in here.”
Leonard grabbed her wrist and started pulling her outside with him. She kicked him in the leg, and he kept pulling. She kicked again, and he yanked her so hard that she almost fell.
“Jim, stop him!” Lola yelled.
“I don’t want to hear about it, Lola. You get rid of him.”
She gave in and went outside with Leonard.
“I want to talk to you.”
“Let go of me. I’ll only listen if you let go.”
He dropped her wrist, and she thought of running back inside, but Jim was obviously going to be no help. She might as well get it over with. “What?”
“Lola, you need to get away from that guy. I’m worried about you. You’re not thinking straight.”
“Listen, Leonard. I told the police all about you last night. You were seen with Jed right after he was stabbed. I’m surprised they haven’t picked you up yet for killing him. Did you know he was dead? He died in the hospital. Now are you happy? You killed him.”
Leonard stared at her as he let her words sink in. Surprisingly, he did not get riled up. He pushed his hat back on his head and said, “Spitzler got what he deserved. You’re the blind woman around here. Jed Spitzler was no good, and I don’t mean to speak poorly of the dead, but it’s the truth. You’ll just have to get over him.”
“Get over it. The man I loved is dead.”
“You said you loved me once. Doesn’t seem to mean much to you.”
Lola decided to tell him her big news, even if she was pushing the truth a little. He thought he knew everything. “We were going to get married.”
Leonard stopped at this. “Married?”
“Yes. We were talking about it. Probably sometime this year.”
Leonard took a step back from her, looking her over. “You would have married that creep?”
“Hey, I would’ve been able to quit work, stay at home, and raise his little girl. He would have taken care of me.”
“Right. Just like he took care of his first wife.” Leonard turned to walk away. Lola was surprised. Usually he did
n’t give up so easily. Then he turned back and said, “I think you are one lucky woman.”
9
MY favorite ghoul.” Dr. Lord smiled and nodded as Claire walked in the door to the morgue, which was in the basement of a deconsecrated church. He was sitting at his Mission-style desk, a small laptop open in front of him. The two objects looked so incongruous that Claire chuckled. That typified Dr. Lord. He seemed able to live in many worlds at the same time.
“My favorite necrotomist,” she replied.
“What an apt term.” He stood up from his desk and walked toward her. “I bet you’ve come about Mr. Spitzler. Jed. Am I right?”
“As always.”
“Looks like someone killed him.” He ran his fingers through his hair, but there wasn’t much there. Dr. Lord was in his sixties, and his hair was thin and white, but his demeanor was robust.
“You’re not beating around the bush today.”
“A knife in the guts isn’t usually an accident. Although”—he stopped and thought for a moment, his index finger touching his lip—“I do recall a very strange incident where a man fell on his knife as he was gelding a horse. But I don’t think he died.”
“Thank you for that little tidbit. Well, as you’ve probably heard, the stabbing happened at a street dance.”
“Yes, I had heard.” Dr. Lord waved toward the back room, where Claire could see a body lying in state under a sheet. “I’m sorry you missed my big performance, but I got to him sooner than I thought I would. No surprises with him. He was stabbed in the guts, right under the rib cage. The person either knew what they were doing, or they were lucky in their placement of the knife, or they were shorter than him.”
“So they would naturally jab him in the right spot?”
“Might be something like that. But the blade of the knife cut right up into his lungs and under his heart. He bled out pretty fast. I’m surprised he even made it to the hospital alive.”
“His daughter said he sounded very odd. She was at the scene. She described him as sounding like a stuck pig.”
“Yes, that would be about right. Trying to get his breath while the air is leaking out of him on the inside. Must be a horrible feeling.” He bowed slightly and said, “Would you like to have a look-see?”
