The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

by Sally Berneathy

  "Herbert?" Amanda's brain didn't seem to be working very well this morning. Instead of thoughts flashing through her mind like mercury, they seemed to be moving through murky quicksand. Silver Creek. Family. Herbert?

  "Charley's daddy. Your father-in-law. He couldn't come today because he has to work. But we all talked about it, and everybody wants you to come stay with us. Me and Herbert and the girls that are still at home…that's Paula and Penny, the twins. And then Charley has two brothers and two more sisters, and both boys and my oldest girl are married, and you have four nieces and three nephews and one on the way. Then there's Herbert's kin…he had five sisters. Can you imagine being the only boy in that family? They all have husbands and kids. I have three brothers and one whole sister and one half sister. Anyway, point is, you have a big family you've never met that wants to be with you while we're all grieving for the same lost loved one."

  Amanda lost count of poor orphan Charley's family members somewhere after the twins. "That's…uh…thank you." Fortunately the manners her mother had drilled into her since birth kicked in to compensate for her total inability to process and respond to this overwhelming information. "I'd love to. But I can't leave right now. I have a business to run."

  Mrs. Randolph smiled and waved a hand toward Dawson. "This nice young man says he can handle things here for as long as you want to stay with us. You can have Charley's old room. There's a big cottonwood tree right outside his window that makes the prettiest sound when the wind blows. It's real peaceful."

  His own room with a big cottonwood tree outside didn't quite coincide with Charley's tales of sleeping on a sofa with his little brother in a tiny living room while his prostitute mother turned tricks and took drugs in the only bedroom.

  "That sounds wonderful." Amanda smiled, hoping the expression didn't look as forced as it felt. "I'll think about it when Charley's funeral and the police investigation are finished."

  "I understand. I've got to get back home today, but I'll leave you our telephone number, and I'll be up here to help you with the funeral all I can. I buried my momma and daddy and one baby. It's not easy."

  "You're very kind."

  "You're family."

  "Mrs. Randolph—"

  The older woman patted Amanda's hand. "Please, call me Irene. One day I hope we'll be close enough you'll call me Mom, but we'll give that some time."

  "Uh, Irene, I have an appointment with my attorney this morning, but if you're still going to be here in a couple of hours, maybe we could grab some lunch." Even as she spoke the words, Amanda wasn't sure where they had come from. This woman was a stranger. She hadn't known her mother-in-law while she was married, and now she was no longer married. Yet there was something compelling about this woman who offered cookies and a family.

  The happy smile on Irene's face relieved any misgivings Amanda had about her offer. "That'd be real nice. I'll just do some shopping while you're gone. They don't have stores like these in Silver Creek."

  Amanda regarded her new-found mother-in-law with unexpected affection. How on earth had this gentle, compassionate woman produced Charley?

  "Let me give you my cell phone number," she offered. "I don't have a land line. That's why you couldn't find my listing." She scribbled on a piece of paper, tore it off the pad and handed it to Irene. She started out the door, then turned back. "Charley mentioned one person from Silver Creek. Do you happen to know a man named Roland Kimball?"

  Irene's lips tightened, and her expression looked as if she'd just tasted something bitter. "Everybody knows Roland Kimball. Big shot. Mayor of the town. Running for governor. Probably gonna win."

  Chapter Nine

  "There's no doubt your motorcycle was deliberately sabotaged."

  Amanda sat in a comfortable, muted blue client's chair in Brian Edwards' office, listening to the statement delivered in his matter-of-fact lawyer's voice. She understood the words, had even expected to hear them, but she was having trouble processing the meaning.

  Somebody had damaged her motorcycle. Somebody had wanted her to have a wreck, be hurt, perhaps even die.

  Last night she'd listened to Charley tell her the same thing, but she hadn't believed it, wasn't sure if she was really hearing it from Charley or if she imagined the whole thing. Today, in the stark light of day, sitting in Brian's mundane, medium-sized office on the fourteenth floor of a building in downtown Dallas, she had to accept it as truth.

  Had Charley had tampered with her bike? Was he that upset about the divorce?

  Or was it possible that Charley's outrageous story about Kimball was true? Had the Mayor of Silver Creek tried to kill her to keep her quiet?

  The thought that either of them had tried to kill her sent a chill down her spine.

  "Our expert tells me these things were done by someone who knows bikes and who knew you would have to ride several miles before your brakes failed and the rear wheel came loose. That person would presumably have known you were going on a trip." His expression grim, Brian took off his glasses and laid them on his polished walnut desk along with the papers from which he'd been reading, then folded his hands and looked at her.

  She felt that he wanted her to respond, to say something, but she couldn't think of anything to say.

  "I'm sorry, Amanda, but the only conclusion we can reach is that Charley tried to kill you. He knows motorcycles, and he knew you were leaving on a long trip."

  Amanda shook her head slowly. "I don't think Charley would do that." Though hadn't she accused him…or his ghost…or her hallucination…of doing just that? "Why would he try to kill me?"

  Brian spread his hands. "The two of you were going through a bitter divorce. Perhaps he was angry. Perhaps he didn't want to be left with nothing, wanted to inherit your assets."

  Amanda gave a brief snort of laughter. "That's not a whole lot more than nothing."

  "People have killed for less."

  "Well, he's the one who's dead." I think. "So what difference does it make if he tried to kill me?"

  Brian replaced his glasses, then took them off again. Amanda liked that he hadn't been a lawyer long enough to develop the air of supreme self-confidence and omniscience that seemed to come to all of them with age, experience and training. On the other hand, it didn't bode well for her that he seemed nervous.

  "If you had reason to believe your life was in danger from Charley, it gives us a plea of self-defense."

  A spear of cold shot through Amanda's chest and settled in her stomach. "I don't need a plea of self-defense. I didn't kill Charley." She almost added that Charley said Roland Kimball killed him, but bit back the words just in time. Brian would probably leap from self-defense straight to a plea of insanity if she started talking like that.

  Her lawyer pulled a yellow legal pad toward him and lifted a silver pen from its holder on his desk. "I need you to tell me everything you can remember about the day Charley was killed, especially your visit to his apartment and the gun he wanted you to bring to him."

  The cold in Amanda's gut swirled upward, squeezing her heart. "It sounds like this is getting serious," she said. "Am I going to be arrested?"

  "Don't worry," Brian reassured her. "If you are, we'll post bail and get you out immediately."

  Bail. We'll post bail and get you out. Somehow, his words weren't all that reassuring.

  ***

  Amanda met her mother-in-law (that concept still had her mind reeling) at a small restaurant next to an antique store. The place was run by a retired husband and wife who baked their own bread, cooked their own meats and served sandwiches and homemade soup on antique china. She and Irene sat at a small round table, eating chicken salad sandwiches and drinking iced tea.

  Irene took a bite of her sandwich, swallowed and nodded. "This is good."

  "I like this place," Amanda agreed, taking a sip of tea. "I'm glad you do, too. The chicken salad's one of my favorites." She bit into her sandwich, unsure how to make conversation with Charley's mother. Probably not a good i
dea to lead with his other women or his unscrupulous financial activities or her attorney's conviction that he'd tried to kill Amanda. Those were not likely things a mother wanted to hear about her son.

  "Charley was always different," Irene said. She didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable or at a loss for words concerning the awkward situation.

  "Yes," Amanda agreed, peeling off a bit of crust. "He was different."

  "None of us was really all that surprised when he disappeared. He always wanted to leave Silver Creek. He wanted bigger things from life, and he was smart enough to get them."

  "Mmmm," Amanda said noncommittally, taking a large bite of her sandwich so she'd have an excuse not to talk.

  "All my kids are special. Hank can build anything. Give him a piece of wood, and he'll make you the prettiest table or bookcase or carving you've ever seen. Travis, he's like a horse whisperer. He can train those horses of his to sit up and talk. Carolyn has a voice like an angel, and Susie makes clothes like you find at Neiman Marcus. The twins, Paula and Penny, they make the best pies and cakes you've ever put in your mouth. Charley was the smart one." She sighed, took a bite of sandwich and chewed slowly, looking into the distance, as if at another time and place. "I wanted him to go to college, become a doctor or a lawyer. I told him we'd help him all we could. But Charley didn't want to go to school. He thought he could make it through life on his charm."

  "He could be very charming," Amanda agreed.

  "He loved you."

  Amanda didn't respond. If this kindly woman wanted to think the best of her dead son, Amanda wasn't going to try to change that opinion.

  "When he called, he always told us how happy you two were."

  The bit of sandwich Amanda had just swallowed stuck in her throat. She coughed and swallowed again. "He called? While we were married?"

  "Not often. He said he was in trouble and couldn't let anybody know where he was, but he wanted us to know he was okay. Charley had a good heart. He called when he met you. Wanted us to know he'd met the woman he planned to marry."

  "How sweet."

  Irene missed the sarcasm. "Yes, he was a sweet boy. He called us when you married, and he called us when you decided to start a family. He was so happy."

  Amanda choked, dropped her sandwich and went into a coughing fit.

  Irene was immediately on her feet, coming up behind Amanda and pounding on her back.

  "I'm okay," Amanda managed to say, though she certainly was not. Start a family? Charley's cookie-baking mother was in for a lot of rude shocks. When she found out the truth, she wasn't going to be baking cookies or inviting her beloved son's estranged wife and suspected murderer to stay at the family home.

  Amanda cleared her throat. "I need to tell you some things about Charley and me."

  With a gentle pat on one shoulder, Irene returned to her seat and looked expectantly at Amanda.

  Amanda laid her napkin on the table, took a sip of her iced tea and drew in a deep breath. "Charley's and my marriage wasn't perfect."

  Irene nodded knowingly. "Nobody's is. Herbert and I have had our problems, but we worked them out. You and Charley would have worked yours out if he'd lived."

  Amanda shook her head. "We were separated. We were getting a divorce."

  "I know. The police told me. But I know how much you loved each other. You'd have worked things out if he'd lived." Her voice was calm and certain.

  "We weren't planning to start a family."

  Irene's expression saddened, but she didn't appear surprised. "Charley's always been a dreamer. Sometimes he tells things the way he wants them to be instead of the way they actually are. He needed a family. It would have settled him down, made him grow up. He'd have been such a good father." Her eyes became moist, and she took a tissue from her purse to dab them.

  Amanda had her doubts about Charley's potential fathering abilities, but she elected to keep her opinion to herself just this one time.

  At the end of the meal, Irene again extended an invitation to Amanda. "You're welcome at our place any time. You're family. We want to get to know you. Come when you can, leave when you have to, and every day in between will be a gift."

  The invitation held an unexpected appeal, but Amanda knew she'd never do it. She wasn't really a part of Charley's big family. If Charley hadn't died, they'd be divorced, and it just didn't seem right to establish a relationship with her former in-laws. She'd be accepting their hospitality under false pretenses.

  ***

  The next few days were surreal. Every time someone came into the shop, Amanda jumped for fear it would be a police officer come to arrest her. If that wasn't bad enough, either Charley was haunting her, or she was having big-time hallucinations. He was underfoot all the time, listening to her phone calls, giving her instructions about motorcycle repairs, turning on the TV in the middle of the night, more annoying than when he was alive. And he was obsessed with Kimball.

  "He put poison in the coffee," he told her one morning. "When he was going through your apartment, looking for the gun. He put poison in the coffee. Just in case you survived the wreck. I can feel it when I get near the coffee."

  "Charley, I don't drink coffee? You left that container here. So long as he didn't put poison in my Cokes, I'm okay."

  "But Kimball doesn't know that! Call the police and have them analyze your coffee."

  "I want nothing to do with the cops!"

  One morning a wooden step broke when Amanda trod on it, sending her thumping down the last three steps.

  "Kimball did it," Charley declared.

  "Actually," Amanda assured him, examining the step in question, "dry rot did it."

  He woke her in the middle of the night to warn her that Kimball was approaching her apartment.

  In spite of her certainty that Charley was being dramatic, she got up to look out and did see a man coming around her building toward the stairs leading up to her apartment.

  "Call the police," Charley ordered.

  "No way," Amanda declared, even though her heart was pounding so loudly she could barely hear Charley.

  She watched the man move closer and weighed the terrors of dealing with an intruder or calling in the cops who might haul her away.

  That intruder didn't seem very steady on his feet.

  "Oh, good grief." She whirled away from the window and grabbed the hammer she'd been keeping close at hand.

  "Don't go down there!" Charley called after her as she darted out the door.

  "It's just some drunk from the bar down the street! Hey, you!" she shouted from the top step. "Yeah, you! This is not a public bathroom!"

  The man ran away, tossing a few curse words over his shoulder.

  Charley was trying desperately to convince her that Mayor Kimball was out to get her. For the most part, he was just being annoying.

  But one event did make her nervous. The anonymous caller phoned again the second day she was home. Dawson answered and handed the phone to her. The caller hung up as soon as she spoke.

  Charley suddenly appeared beside her. "It was Kimball! He knows you're home. He'll come after you."

  Amanda ignored him, but she went to the hardware store and bought a deadbolt and chain for her front door.

  Finally the police released Charley's body.

  "Now I have to decide what to do with you," she said after Brian's call to deliver the news.

  "I don't want to talk about this." Charley looked out the window, avoiding her gaze.

  "I'd like to have you cremated and flush your ashes down the toilet, but you'd probably stop it up."

  Charley groaned. "Amanda, you have a mean streak."

  "I can't do that to your mother." She found the piece of paper with Irene's phone number and called her.

  Irene cried when Amanda told her the funeral would be in Silver Creek. "That's mighty nice of you to bring him home," she said.

  If you only knew, Amanda thought. "It's what he would have wanted," she said. Charley rolled his eyes and le
ft the room.

  "We've got a place for him in the family plot, and one beside him for you. Of course, you're young. You'll probably get married again. But if you want to rest beside him, we'll save it for you."

  "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."

  "I got Charley's room all cleaned up and ready for you. When do you think you'll be getting here?"

  "Oh," Amanda said, "I don't want you to go to any trouble. I'll just drive back and forth. It's only about an hour."