by Beth Solheim
"You are one lucky dog."
"My attorney admitted this isn't exactly how the constructive trust law is interpreted, but with a little manipulation he could get the judge to see his point of view. All the judge has to do is re-evaluate my grandfather's intentions and determine whether or not the Witt sisters got what they didn't deserve."
Paul paged through his phone messages as he listened to Carl.
"I don't think the Witt sisters can afford an appeal. I guess this will be the end of it. If nothing else, maybe I'll get a cash settlement out of the deal.” Grinning, Carl added, “Don't forget, the key to the whole case is the fact the Witt sisters deprived Judge Kimmer of the property he wanted."
"I still say that's a conflict of interest."
"I already told you they never listed the property and Kimmer never officially talked to a realtor. Nothing was ever put in writing."
"Their word against his?"
Carl nodded. “Something like that."
The vision of changing the resort's name back to its original name brought a smile to Carl. Swanson's Resort had a nice flair. His smile was short-lived when he pictured the Witt sisters’ mother wrapping his grandfather around her little finger with sexual favors. His poor, pitiful grandfather. No one would ever know what guiles the whore had used to seduce him. Carl spent a lot of time imagining what his grandfather had endured.
Carl scanned Paul's profile as his friend stared vacantly out the window and drummed his thumb against the desk. Carl had learned to tolerate Paul's mood swings and knew when to keep his mouth shut. Paul's business partner had been buried earlier in the day. Paul had served as one of the pallbearers.
The funeral for all three members of the Fossum family was the largest funeral in Pinecone Landing in over a decade and was held in the high school gymnasium to accommodate the massive crowd. The school's parking lot filled to capacity. Carl and several deputies had directed traffic to an outer lot behind the school's property to handle the overflow.
Paul's secretary rapped lightly on the door and reminded him she was leaving early for an appointment. “You sure you're going to be okay?” she inquired, poking her head through the opening.
"I'm fine. Thanks for covering for me this morning.” As she lingered in the doorway, Paul shooed her away with a flick of his fingers.
"I put a couple messages in your mail slot. One's from an out-of-state client who hadn't heard about Richard's death.” Her voice trailing off down the hall, she added, “See you in the morning.” A click of the latch signaled she had left the building.
Staring into his lap, Paul sighed. “That was really gruesome."
"The funeral?"
An annoyed glare darkened Paul's expression. “What else would I be talking about?"
"The accident?"
Spreading his hands as if to explain what should have been apparent, Paul said, “I wasn't there. How could I talk about the accident?"
"Well I was there. And believe me, it was gruesome. I'll never forget it. I've seen some pretty bad wrecks, but this was by far the worst.” Carl removed his cap and rested his head against the back of the sofa. “Dispatch got the call from a guy who came upon the accident. Angie couldn't locate anyone to take the call, so I took it."
Paul swiveled his chair and stared out the window.
"The first thing I saw was Richard impaled on that fence post. It had gone clean through his gut. Then I saw his wife. Her head went through the windshield and I'm guessing she died on impact."
Carl could see Paul's head over the back of the leather chair rotating back and forth. He waited for Paul to comment. Getting no reaction, Carl said, “When I opened the back door, I found their kid leaning against the seat with his eyes open. It looked like he was looking at his dad. There wasn't a scratch on him. I took his earphones out of his ears and tried to get him to talk before I realized he was dead."
Paul swiveled back toward Carl. “What did you find at the scene?"
"I'm guessing he swerved to avoid a deer. You know how many deer wander in and out of that area.” Carl breathed deeply trying to erase the memories. “The sheriff agreed. He didn't see any reason to investigate further."
Carl raised his eyes to meet Paul's gaze. “Has Lon talked to you?"
"About what?"
"About the fact that it might not be an accident."
"No. But I thought you told him to drop that idea.” Agitation tinged Paul's voice.
"I did. I just wondered if you heard any more about it. Lon's as crazy as Nan's ex-husband. You can sure tell they're related."
"Lon has no right to spread rumors,” Paul scowled. “Who else has he told?"
"No one, as far as I know."
"I'm counting on you to put a stop to it, Carl. Losing my partner is more than I can handle."
Paul drummed his fingers on the desk. “What about the car? What about Richard's belongings? He'd been in the office earlier that day and I wonder if he had any business papers with him."
"It was the usual stuff. I saw a purse and a shopping bag on the floor next to Richard's wife. The kid must have been at a movie, because there was popcorn all over the back seat.” Carl shifted in place before adding, “I think one of the deputies pulled a briefcase from under the front seat."
"Where is it?"
"Richard's sister has it. I sent all that stuff with her."
"Is Richard's sister staying at the Fossums’ house?” Paul said. “I need to go through his briefcase to see if there's anything I need to take care of."
"She'll be out of town for at least a week. Then she'll be back to finalize their affairs. She left right after the funeral."
The phone rang and Carl watched Paul put the receiver to his ear.
Paul swiveled the desk chair placing a barrier between the two men. He stared out the window. “It was devastating, wasn't it? It took a lot out of me, too.” Listening before he answered, Paul said, “I'm okay. You don't need to worry.” He shifted the receiver as his thumb drummed against the armrest. “I understand. You get a good night's sleep and I'll see you tomorrow."
"Nan?"
"Yeah,” Paul said quietly. “She's too tired to see me. The funeral took a lot out of her and she wants to be with Aanders tonight."
"She shouldn't work so hard. She needs to quit taking care of everything by herself.” Carl sneered as he added, “That old runt she hired can't be much help. Speaking of Nan,” Carl said sitting forward, “you still interested in buying the mortuary land when I win the lawsuit?"
"Of course. We'll need to form another partnership as soon as that happens."
"I don't think so.” Noticing a slight lilt in Paul's voice, Carl realized the man appreciated the change of topic. “We never did anything with the old partnership, and if all goes well, I might not need your money."
"Or you might. I've got a few marketing ideas. That place could be a goldmine if you promoted it."
"I offered you the land outright. We don't need a partnership for that,” Carl said.
"I don't plan to form a partnership for that. We already have a deal in writing for the land the mortuary sits on. I intend to see you keep your end of the bargain. Just as soon as the judge declares you the new owner, that property is mine."
Carl pushed against his knees for leverage and stood up. “There's got to be other land out there. Why waste good lake-front property on a mortuary?"
Carl put his hand on the doorknob. “What I don't understand is why you're using that land to get Nan to marry you. You've got all those other women hot on your trail. Why give everything up to get married?"
"It's part of the game. I'm like you, Carl. I always get what I want.” Paul rose and joined Carl. “What makes you think I intend to give anything up? After you evict the Witt sisters and Nan finds out I bought the mortuary land, she'll fall into my sweet little trap."
"Nan's not an idiot. She'll catch on eventually."
"That'll take a few years. And then I might be the one needing fresh air. At tha
t point, I'll make sure she wants out as much as me.” Paul's smile carried an edge of deceit.
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13
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When crossers arrived at Cabin 14, they possessed a state of strength to help them through their thirty-day journey. It was to their benefit to make their declaration early, because their strength dwindled with each passing day. A crosser became a crosser lost if they were unable to cross back over through someone else's light. Crossers lost faded into oblivion. Rodney's lack of interest in his thirty-day time span concerned Sadie. He obviously had no intention of making a declaration.
As the crossers gathered around the kitchen table for their nightly round table session, Sadie noticed Rodney plop down on the recliner and grab the remote control. He aimed and clicked, paging from channel to channel with rapid progression.
"Wait. I wanted to hear what he had to say.” Mr. Bakke looked from the television screen to Sadie. “I've been waiting all day to see how it turned out."
Marching over to Rodney, Sadie grabbed the remote and handed it to Mr. Bakke. “Mr. Nasty did it. Not me."
"You stupid bitch,” Rodney shouted. “I wanted to watch Monster Garage."
"You're supposed to participate in the round table discussion. Not watch TV.” Sadie pointed at the table. “How many times do I have to tell you to quit calling me a bitch?"
Mr. Bakke summoned Jane. “Let's go for a walk. It sounds like Sadie's got her hands full."
Jane closed her magazine and placed it on top of the others in the stack. She ran her knuckles down the edge of the spines to align the magazines before taking Mr. Bakke's outstretched hand and following him out onto the porch.
The evening breeze lifted Mr. Bakke's hair into wisps that remained afloat as the elderly couple paused at the bottom of the stairs. He placed a gentle kiss on Jane's cheek. His new orthopedic shoes stood out prominently, with the thick black soles appearing to anchor him firmly to the ground. Two knobby knees peeked out below his plaid shorts. He tucked the back of his striped shirt into his elastic waistband.
With Jane sporting a crisp white blouse, khaki slacks, and brown sandals, the pair represented a walking contradiction.
Sadie swung the screen door open and shouted to her sister. “Take Belly with you. He just lifted his leg on Theo's briefcase.” She tugged at Belly's collar and pulled him over the threshold.
"Now maybe we can get going with our session.” Sadie looked at Rodney. “Get over here and join the group.” She pulled out the last empty chair and pointed at it.
"I can hear you from here. Besides you aren't going to say anything new anyway.” Rodney slumped lower in the recliner and bobbed his dangling leg up and down.
Sadie grabbed the remote he'd retrieved when she let the dog out and switched off the television. She tucked the remote in her waistband.
"What's wrong with your dog's balls?” Rodney said.
"Nothing. What's wrong with yours?” Sadie cocked her head and watched his puzzled expression.
"There ain't nothing wrong with my balls. At least I've got two. What did you do to that mutt?"
"The same thing I'm going to do to you if you don't follow the rules."
Rodney taxed the limits of his imagination as he stared out the screen door and watched Belly's lone testicle sway as he followed Jane down the path.
"I wish I could get out of this dump,” Rodney muttered, dropping into the kitchen chair.
"What a benevolent fellow you are, Rodney. And so eloquent. I'll bet you went to Harvard,” Theo said.
"Where?"
"I'm sure everyone in this room would like to see you leave this dump. I hope you don't mind my quoting your ingenious use of the English language. If there truly is a Higher Power, and I'm beginning to doubt there is, maybe he'll accommodate us by granting your wish.” Theo tipped his head, staring at Rodney.
Rodney opened his mouth and then closed it. A confused expression pinched his features. “You better speak English so I can understand you."
"That was perfectly clear to me,” Sadie said.
Lora buried her lips in her son's hair, the corners of her mouth moving upward.
Rodney turned his chair so his back was against the table. He looked at Sadie. “Well? What are you waiting for? Aren't you going to bore us again?"
Theo tugged on Rodney's chair attempting to turn it around. Gritting his jaw as he grasped the wood, he said, “You are such a twit."
Rodney grabbed the edge of the table to thwart Theo's effort. He grasped Theo's hand and squeezed it. “Twit?” When Theo let go of his chair, Rodney repeated, “Twit? I'm insulted. Couldn't you come up with a better word?"
Rodney butted his chair against Theo's chair. Dropping back into the chair, he pushed hard against Theo's black-suited shoulder. “Now I suppose you're going to call your mommy so she can come and beat me up."
Without flinching at the intrusion of Rodney's nose three inches from his face, Theo said, “I wouldn't think of exposing my mother to the dregs of society."
"I don't blame you,” Rodney said. “She might ruin my reputation."
Theo looked at Rodney over the top of his glasses. “I'm sure she'd be quite distraught to hear that even though it made no sense whatsoever."
"Twits and dregs. I suppose you think that's a good description of my family."
"I have no doubt of its accuracy."
Sadie tried to interrupt the verbal volley by stepping toward Rodney.
"My parents are great people,” Rodney shouted, startling the others at the table. “My old man was the boss of our family and we listened to what he said."
"Surprise, surprise,” Theo said. “And I bet your mother's a quiet little church mouse who caters to his every need."
"Absolutely not. She's a large woman with great big tits and can open beer bottles with her teeth."
Theo spread his palms and scanned the others at the table. “Need I say more?"
"Are you criticizing my parents?"
"No. I don't need to. The image of your family portrait is repulsive enough."
"You worthless pig.” Rodney grabbed the briefcase handle and snatched the case from Theo's lap.
Theo's large hand clasped down on Rodney's fist before Rodney had a chance to flee. Holding the thief's gaze, Theo whispered, “Do you remember what happened the last time you took my briefcase?"
Rodney stared back and slowly let go of the handle. “You're a bunch of losers. Every one of you.” Punching his fist into the back of the chair, he stormed into the inner room and slammed the door. “I'll get even with you if it's the last thing I do."
Theo returned to his chair and placed the briefcase between his leg and the chair. He straightened his suit coat and smoothed his hand over his pants.
"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't rile Rodney anymore.” Sadie nervously picked at her hair.
"Madam. You are mistaken. It wasn't me who started that altercation."
"You're right,” Sadie said. “Now that we've got some quiet, let's begin."
Michael came out from behind his mother and looked at her for reassurance. Lora took him in her arms and hugged him. “It's okay now. Rodney's in the inner room."
Theo, Lora, and Michael eagerly edged closer to the table. When Tim first joined the evening session, he had occupied the chair farthest from the table. He remained in the same chair, showing little enthusiasm.
When the crossers began to discuss their day's experiences, Sadie noticed a change in Tim. It was unusual for a crosser to experience a high level of fatigue before the second half of their thirty days. Why hadn't she noticed the change sooner?
"Tim? Did you make any progress finding someone on the brink?"
Tim looked at his lap. “No."
"I can't hear you, Tim. Can you speak louder so the group can hear you?"
Michael pushed a spoon along the table's surface with his index finger. “He played with Aanders all day at the nursing home.” Michael hid h
is face against his mother's shoulder and peeked out at Sadie.
"Is that true, Tim?” Sadie's glare sparked disapproval.
Tim looked up at Lora and Michael and then down at his feet.
"Michael knows better than to tattle on his friends, but because this is important, I think it's okay.” Lora looked at Tim and then back at Sadie. “The boys haven't been working on Tim's declaration."
"Tim. You've got to concentrate on your decision,” Sadie said.
"I already made it. I'm going back through the light to see Mom and Dad."
"Then you need to find someone on the brink. If you don't, you'll never find them again. But first, you need to determine why you were held back."
"I already know why,” Tim whispered.
"I doubt that,” Sadie said. “We haven't even discussed it yet."
"Aanders spent the day pushing him around in the wheelchair,” Michael said. “They thought it was funny because everyone asked why he was pushing an empty chair."
"I'm disappointed, Tim.” Sadie raised his chin with her finger. “You know better than that. So does Aanders. We let him sit in on our round table sessions so he can learn the rules. If he's going to be a credible death coach, he needs to either help you find someone on the brink or let you finish your business."
Sadie realized her original concerns were coming true. She resented the fact she had been sent an immature death coach. Aanders was no more ready to take on the responsibility of recommending death alternatives than she was ready to relinquish the deed to the resort to that no-good Carl Swanson.
Aanders had no interest in learning. He was more interested in cramming a lifetime into the short span he had left with his friend. Reality would soon set in. The death-coach-in-training was too young to comprehend the gravity of this new responsibility. Tim's loss would set him back even further.
With tears welling, Tim said, “Aanders doesn't want me to leave."
Hearing Tim's outburst, Michael buried his face against his mother's arm.
"I know he doesn't. But he doesn't have a choice. Neither do you.” Sadie tugged at Tim's chair, pulling it closer to the table. “I'm concerned about how weak you're getting. You need to concentrate, and Aanders is going to have to understand."
