by Brett McKay
Mr. Beaumont stepped into the foyer, straightening his suit jacket. Nose high in the air, he stopped fifteen feet from her.
“Gerald? My goodness, Gerald!” Excitement and shock beamed from her face, and even though every ounce of energy was depleted in her body, she quick stepped toward him, arms outstretched.
He backed away and held up his hands. In a cold voice, he said, “Excuse me.”
She froze, clearly confused.
“I’m working right now. Very busy. You know I don’t like to be bothered at work.”
Words caught in her throat, and mouth gaping, she furrowed her brow as she stared at him. I too was surprised that Mr. Beaumont would be so dismissive with his wife.
“Where have you been, Gerry? You haven’t been home in two nights. You didn’t call. No one knew where you were...”
“I don’t need to explain myself. You know how busy I am. Three services this week. The bodies rolled in last night. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Mrs. Beaumont was crushed, and her body sank as if she’d deflated.
“Gerry,” she pleaded, attempting once more to approach with a hug, but he stepped back, with palms out, again.
Tears ran down her cheeks. How could someone be so cold? This is not Mr. Beaumont.
They exchanged a few more words, but Gerald cut her off cold at each turn then told her she had to leave. She asked him when he would be home for dinner.
“It’ll be too late, so don’t bother with dinner.”
Mrs. Beaumont blinked, as if she’d been physically smacked. She was so confused that she almost went through the chapel doors to leave before she stopped and changed direction to exit through the front doors.
Beaumont caught me in the hall, holding a broom and doing nothing. He scowled. “I’m not paying you hourly, am I?”
“Sorry” was all I said. I turned and continued my work.
Once Mr. Beaumont and Lester were back in their offices, I stepped out into the parking lot. Like déjà vu, Mrs. Beaumont was sitting in her car, hunched over and sobbing.
I walked over and tapped on her window. She turned, red-faced, and mascara ran with her tears. Her eyes widened at the sight of me.
She rolled down her window. “Ret, how are you, my dear?”
I shrugged. “Not good. I’m sorry about...”
Sounding embarrassed, she said, “Did you see that in there? You shouldn’t have to see such things. I’m sorry.”
“Mrs. Beaumont? Can I ask you a strange question?”
“What could be stranger than what’s just happened?”
“Well...” I didn’t quite know how to say it. “Is that really Mr. Beaumont in there?”
She paused. “It appears so. He’s never acted like this before. We’ve had our spats over the years, but nothing like this. I just don’t understand.” She said it not so much to me as to herself. For a moment, she stared silently off into nothing as the wheels turned in her head. Finally, she said, “I just want to know what happened. Is that too much to ask?”
“No, Mrs. Beaumont. Not at all.”
We said our goodbyes and good luck to each other, and she drove away. I went back to my work inside a building electrified with tension, quietly kept to myself, and did my work.
I was nearly done mopping the women’s restroom when I heard Sheriff Packard’s voice, followed by muffled discussion, from the other room. I cracked open the door to listen.
“Gerald Beaumont?” Packard’s voice boomed.
“Yes, Officer?”
“Officer? Since when did you stop calling me Orrin?” He chuckled.
“It’s been a busy day. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes. You’ve been missing.”
“You must be mistaken. I’ve always known where I was at.”
“Your wife was frantic yesterday. You didn’t come home at night, and you disappeared from work.”
“Is that a crime?”
“You wasted a lot of city man-hours. Deputy James and I searched round the clock. Not to mention all your neighbors and friends who helped.”
“I chose not to go home that night. I despise my wife, Mr. Packard. I always have. Fifty-five years with that hag, and I’d had enough. I don’t live my life by when I should be home for dinner,” he snapped.
I couldn’t see Sheriff Packard from inside the bathroom, but in the moment of silence, I imagined his face in horrific shock.
“I did not intend for anyone to come looking for me,” Mr. Beaumont continued, his voice smug and patronizing. “I can look after myself well enough. If I go missing again, I’ll be the first to let you know.”
“Where did you go?” Packard demanded.
“That is my own business.”
“Were you hurt? In an accident? Did you fall down and lose consciousness?”
“It is really none of your concern. Now I must go. I have several services to prepare. Ironically, the dead do not wait.”
“You’ve been unaccounted for nearly forty-eight hours. Let’s at least have you come down to the hospital and have you checked out.”
“Is that mandatory?”
Packard sighed. “No.”
“I assure you I’m quite fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Packard snapped. “This isn’t you, Gerald. The Gerald I know wouldn’t say such things, especially about his wife. Just last week, you told me how much you adore her.” I could hear Packard’s anger escalating.
“This is the real me. You may not have seen me before. I was living a life I wasn’t happy with. I have finally awakened, Mr. Packard. This man you see before you is the real me. Like it or not.
“My only wish is that one day you too will open your eyes and look at your wife for who she really is, and who your children really are, and ask that dreadful question. ‘Am I happy?’ Because if you’re honest with yourself, and let your secrets out, maybe you can finally live the life you deserve.”
“You son of a bitch! Say one more thing about my wife or children again, and you will be missing.”
“Is that a threat?” Beaumont chuckled.
“It’s a promise.”
“Mr. Kilborn? I take it you’re witness to Sheriff Packard’s threat?”
“I am,” Lester answered.
There was silence again.
“Careful, Gerald. Make sure you treat your wife well. I don’t want to see this happen again. I will have my eyes on you.”
I heard the front door open and shut, then there was silence.
“Mr. Kilborn, is this going to continue happening?”
“No. I’m sure it won’t. We’ll be more careful.”
I heard them shuffle back into their offices.
My body shook with fear and rage. I couldn’t imagine how Packard felt.
I finished mopping, did a fast, sloppy job of putting everything away, and left. I didn’t even ask Mr. Beaumont for my pay or say goodbye. I was too scared.
CHAPTER TEN
Fireworks
Over the next couple of days, I saw Mr. Beaumont around town several times, but never without Lester. They were like best friends, attached at the hip, never one without the other, and they spent quite a bit of time at Lester’s haunted home.
Gary and Jax were still not back from their vacations. Matt was back to hanging out with his cohort, Wes. My brothers did their own things. The new girl roamed the neighborhood with Morgan, but I still hadn’t worked up enough nerve to approach her. So I was left with myself and a nagging urge to find out more about the “new” Gerald Beaumont and Lester.
I rode my bike around the vicinity of the crooked dwelling and hid behind a nearby tree to look through the windows with my brother’s binoculars. I never saw anything. No movement in the main level or upper floor. My conclusion was that they were in the basement—a horrible place I never wanted to venture into.
What could they be doing? Drumming up ghosts and having a tea party? They were so strange and creepy that the ghosts
were probably too afraid to appear.
When Sunday came, Mrs. Beaumont was not at church, but her husband was. My family sat in the back of the chapel, and Mr. Beaumont was five pews from the front. He sat a head taller than everyone else, and throughout the whole meeting, he turned his head left and right, sweeping across the congregation. Occasionally, he would twist and scope the people behind him. He stared at people, then he would scribble notes on a pad.
As the meeting broke and everyone moved to their next class, I overheard several people asking Mr. Beaumont where his lovely wife was.
“Where’s your better half?” they would ask.
“She’s ill. Some sort of flu,” he answered each time.
Mrs. Crawford scrunched her face in confusion. “She was supposed to speak in Primary today. Do you know if she got a replacement? She hasn’t answered her phone.”
The question seemed to catch him off guard. He paused, as if searching for words, and ended up using the same excuse. “She’s sick.”
He walked past Mrs. Crawford, leaving her standing there looking perplexed. I knew what Mrs. Crawford was thinking—the same thing I did. This is not like Mrs. Beaumont.
No one could remember the last time she’d missed a service, and she was not one to leave a commitment without finding a substitute.
THE NEXT DAY WAS GREAT. Gary and Jax were both back, and I was busting to spill my guts about everything that happened while they were away. As horrifying as it was, the mystery of it all was tantalizing. I expected them to feel the same way.
When I told them the story, even as my words came out of my mouth, they fell flat. The concern didn’t register in their eyes the same way it had for me.
“So, you don’t think Mr. Beaumont is Mr. Beaumont anymore?” Gary said with sarcastic disbelief. “Who is he then?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Maybe he’s an alien.” Oddly enough, I had missed Jax’s nasally voice. “Like Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”
“Really, guys? Come on. There’s definitely something strange here. What about Mr. Beaumont spending all his time with Lester?”
“Yeah, but don’t they work together?”
“Yes, but Lester is weird, and he lives in a haunted house. They spend all their time in the basement. And what happened to Mr. Beaumont’s wife?”
“You said she was sick,” Gary pointed out.
“No, I said he said she was sick. I don’t think it’s true. I’m afraid something bad has happened. And Beaumont is not the same person he was. Not by a long shot.”
There was silence for a moment, but I felt like I still had to prove something to them.
“And what about Sheriff Packard? You should have heard the things Mr. Beaumont said to him.”
“It’s not like we don’t believe you,” Gary said. “But what are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head in surrender.
“I do.” Jax’s voice held excitement. “My mom gave me some money to buy fireworks. There’s a Black Cat stand across from Pederson’s.”
Jax was right. That was exactly what I needed—a pleasant distraction. And I loved fireworks. Black Cat stands popped up a week before the Fourth of July every year, eliciting my excitement. I would stare at the array of products displayed on the shelves, wishing I had the money to buy it all.
When we got there, the Black Cat stand was crowded with kids. The skinny teenager behind the counter leaned over the countertop with as much enthusiasm as a dead snail. With his long hair hanging over his eyes, he asked me what I wanted.
I had some money from the mortuary job and bought snaps, sparklers, and black snakes. Gary and Jax had enough to buy a few boxes of snaps too. Nobody could walk away from a stand without buying those. We threw them at each other’s feet all the way home, making each other jump at each pop.
ON JULY THE FOURTH, the skies were clear, and the temperature was forecasted to be into the high nineties. My parents complained about the temperature all day long. They nit-picked at each other from the start, until we got to the park, but that was normal, so it didn’t discourage us from having a good time.
Jax and Gary were at Riverton Park with their families too. Almost everybody in Riverton was there, and the people who weren’t were in their front yards, partying, barbecuing, drinking, and lighting fireworks. The Fourth of July was the one time of the year that I felt like the entire country celebrated together.
The best part of the park was the carnival. Each year, the city brought a full-blown carnival to the park with rides like the Zipper, Tilt-A-Whirl, and the Octopus. Those rides were always too expensive. That didn’t matter, though, because I didn’t care about riding the rides. I enjoyed the gears cranking, the smell of hot oil and gas, and the sounds of rides swooshing and brakes screeching. When the sun went down, their neon lights lit up the sky like it was Christmas.
It was fun to walk the carnival and listen to the hawkers calling out for people to play their games and check out the cool prizes. I played a couple of them but never won.
It was dusk, and I sipped on my third Ramblin’ Root Beer for the day. My friends and I sauntered past the giant stone fireplace that had been there since the Mormon pioneers discovered Utah, and I saw Sheriff Packard sitting alone on top of a picnic table, finishing off food from a paper plate.
I didn’t see his family with him, and I wondered where they were. His eyes wandered the crowd as he ate the last spoonful of baked beans. He looked like a kid sitting alone at lunch, looking around for a friend to sit by.
“Hey, guys, you go on. I’ll catch up later,” I said.
“No problem. I gotta run back to my family. We’re supposed to be eating now,” Gary said.
“Fine,” Jax whined as he looked at his bag of fireworks. “I guess we can light these later.”
I walked over to the pavilion Packard was sitting in, and he looked up at me.
“Well, the trouble starts now, doesn’t it?” He smirked, and I smiled.
“Don’t worry. I’m laying low. I’ve given up my life of crime.”
“No more gang life, huh?”
“It’s a dead-end road. Nothing but trouble and prison down that path.”
“Sounds like you got it all figured out, kid.” Packard stood up, threw away his empty plate, and adjusted his utility belt. “What can I help you with, Ret?”
“Mr. Beaumont.”
“Mr. Beaumont? What’s he done now?”
“Don’t you think he’s acting different?”
“Different how?”
“Just really strange. It’s not him anymore. It’s like he’s someone else.”
“Well, Ret, people change. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worse.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Not overnight. He was the nicest man around, and now he’s just plain mean. Something else is going on.”
“I don’t know where you’re going with this.” He looked at me quizzically.
“His wife is missing. I think he killed her.” I couldn’t believe the words that fell out of my mouth.
Packard’s face went white, and his eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?” he asked skeptically.
“I mean she’s nowhere to be seen. She’s not coming to church, no one can get a hold of her, and she’s not showing up when she’s supposed to...”
“Hold on here.” Packard let out a tense sigh. “Listen, son, he’s gone strange—I’ll give you that, but you’re a mile away in a foot race from someone committing murder. I can’t believe you’d even say that. Just because she’s not been around, and Gerald suddenly has a stick up his a—I mean, he’s ornery, but that doesn’t mean he killed anybody, and certainly not his wife.”
“You need to arrest him. Take him into custody and question him. Ask him where she’s at. He’ll probably still say she’s sick.”
“Well, she is at an age where she’s going to get sick a lot. It’s not uncommon. She could be in poor health, and I can’t
just run Beaumont in on no charges. There is no evidence. Hell, there’s not even speculation!”
“Can’t you go check in on her? See if she’s okay?”
“I have absolutely no reason to. I haven’t seen your mom in weeks. It doesn’t mean I should run over to your house to see if she’s okay. I have duties to perform. I can’t run around and check in on everybody because they stopped going to church!”
I was exasperated, and he sensed my frustrations.
“I know how you feel.” His voice became calmer. “It was pretty intense what you went through with the Beaumonts at the funeral home, and I appreciate your help. But everything’s worked out now. Mr. Beaumont is found, and even though he’s a bit weird, he’s done nothing wrong, and Lester’s done nothing wrong from what I can tell. You’re letting paranoia get the best of you, and you’re too good for that, Ret. You should be out enjoying your summer. Not worrying about these old folks.”
“It’s just... I just feel like something’s wrong, and I can’t get it out of my mind.”
“How’s everything at home?” he asked.
I started to feel defensive. My parents did fight a lot, but that didn’t mean anything. Did he think I was acting out because things weren’t good at home?
“Fine,” I said aggressively.
“Okay.” He nodded and looked around at the crowd. “I’ve got to make my rounds.”
“How’s everything at your home?” I asked back, and he stopped in his footsteps.
Without turning back to me, he stared at the ground.
“How are your wife and kids?”
“Fine,” he said and walked away.
I walked back to our piece of turf amid the quilt of hundreds of other families who’d set down blankets and chairs for the fireworks show.
I felt deflated. I thought my night was going downhill until I saw my mom on a blanket, talking to another lady with her blanket camp next to ours. She looked familiar, and when I saw her daughter, I realized why. It was the new girl.
