He retreated to the old section of the cemetery, pausing to pull a weed away from the headstone of Lucinda Judd, “In God’s Loving Care” since 1882.
The sky had grown hazy and oppressive, as if something cruel were brewing above his head. He shrugged this off and reclined beneath the tulip tree and soon was lulled to sleep by the susurration of wind through the spruces, the ratchet of grackles in the trees, the tolling of the swivel snap against the flagpole. Gotta wind that halyard tight against the cleat to keep it quiet. The dead needed their rest, and so did he. Yet he found the rhythmic sound soothing, almost hypnotic.
Clang, clang, clang. Ting-clang, ting-ting. Ting-clang.
The cadence seemed familiar. Where had he heard it before? Was it a song? Not if it had only two notes. Kennet tried to rouse himself as the noise continued, but his eyes were too heavy to open. There it was again:
Clang, clang, clang. Ting-clang, ting-ting. Ting-clang.
Three longs. A short, a long, and two shorts. Then a short and a long.
Morse code.
Kennet had kept a diary when he was young. Most of its entries concerned his anger and fears about his father, how Sir mistreated him and Ma, and his prayers for protection and help. He was unable to learn shorthand on his own—that was a high school subject—and he knew no foreign languages. Ma didn’t need Braille. So he taught himself Morse code from the encyclopedia at the school library. He kept his diary in it, substituting vertical slashes for the dashes, in case his father found it. He got quite good at it, but quit writing altogether after his father killed himself.
Clang, clang, clang. Ting-clang, ting-ting. Ting-clang.
Slash, slash, slash. Dot-slash, dot-dot. Dot-slash.
O-L-A.
Hello in Spanish? Kennet wasn’t certain, but if he recalled correctly, the Spanish word for greeting began with an H. Other letters floated in the tings and clangs, letters he couldn’t place because he had forgotten them. But he made out O-L-A again and again.
Something cold and wet touched the back of his hand. He jolted awake.
The black dog stood over him, licking his nose.
“Oh. It’s you.” Kennet sat up and stroked the dog’s sleek side. “Whatcha doin’ here, boy? Come to visit me? Unlike all the other customers here, I ain’t dead yet.”
The dog turned and stared intently at the flagpole.
“I know, I know. All that racket makes it hard to get decent nap.”
The dog took off, as if following something. A bird? Kennet couldn’t see what it was. He climbed to his feet and went after his new friend.
The animal stopped suddenly and studied the shadows by the Frost mausoleum. It was the big one overgrown with vines at the two o’clock position in the outer circle. The dog perked its long ears and gruffed. Kennet spied nothing in the shadows. He strode closer, but noticed nothing peculiar. The shade felt icy cool beside the crypt. Sweet-smelling Lily of the Valley sprouted along its foundation.
“You see a chipmunk or something, fella?”
The dog whimpered, tilting its black head.
Kennet turned back to the dog. It seemed anxious and wouldn’t look him in the eye when he scratched its neck with both hands. The dog finally headed back to the flagpole, gave it a sniff, and then trotted off through the cemetery and the ring of trees into the back field.
What are you trying to tell me, boy?
Chapter 19
“Phew!” Kennet pinched his nose at Nathan. “Smells like you anointed yourself with the secretions of a wild musk ox.”
“Very funny, Singleton. I like my cologne. I think it smells good.”
“Smells better than when he comes home from cutting grass all day,” Christy said. “Barely.”
Nathan smiled sourly and rolled down his window before backing the pickup from the care home driveway onto Smithfield. Christy sat between her brother and Kennet, and it was just crowded enough for Kennet to appreciate the situation. Her legs were smooth and tan, and sometimes they touched his.
They drove along the river in the evening light that stuttered through the trees and found their way to the first place Kennet had called, the room to rent in a house past Good Shepherd Cemetery. It wasn’t far from where Kennet lived with his parents while his father was still alive.
“Slow down. Here it is,” Kennet said, looking up from the directions he’d scribbled down that afternoon.
“You sure?” Nathan asked.
The ragged front lawn was overgrown with dandelions crowding a squat story-and-a-half structure covered with Insul-Board. The front porch sagged into a scrim of weeds. The deck was loaded with old tires, rusted auto parts, and stacks of yellowed newspapers. A middle-aged man with a scuzzy beard and stained wife-beater undershirt appeared at the door, sucking a cigar with a mouth void of teeth. In the front window hung a curled hand-lettered sign, “Room 4 Rent.”
“Geezer alert,” Nathan muttered under his breath.
“Geezer alarm,” Christy added.
“Keep moving,” Kennet said and waved at the man, who pulled his cigar from his mouth and stared at them.
They chuckled as Kennet scratched out the circled ad on the folded newspaper. Nathan turned around, and they headed back into Tenleytown to visit prospect number two.
The Tenleytown Farms apartment complex was set in the woods on a hill overlooking the Foodland. It would be a bit of a hike to the funeral home and cemetery, but not impossible. They parked at the rental office and piled out of the truck.
A woman with long brown hair and tight jeans stepped out of the office, lighting a cigarette. “You here to see an apartment?”
“I called about the efficiency this afternoon.”
“That would be thirteen-B.” She hit the cigarette and motioned with her head for them to follow her. “You’re not all moving in, are you?” she asked, exhaling at the same time.
“No,” Kennet said, “it would be just me.”
They followed her down the walk overhung by pinoaks, passing units ten, eleven, and twelve on the right. The building was brick, with each unit housing a glass door to a small entryway with pushbuttons and a squawk box.
She swung her hair off her wrinkled cotton tunic and opened the outside door of unit B. They preceded her inside.
“The A apartment is on the ground level. C is up top, and B is in the basement.”
“B for basement,” Christy whispered and smirked at Kennet.
Kennet smiled at her but said nothing. They could joke around later. He was about to look at his first real apartment. Not even Lawnboy the Entrepreneur had his own place.
“By the way, my name is Mindy.” She stuck out a bony yellow hand, and Kennet shook it. It was cold and leathery.
“Kennet Singleton.” He followed Mindy’s smoke down the stairs onto a dark landing where she fished for another key.
Immediately, Kennet felt uneasy. Perhaps he was associating the basement location with his prison quarters at the care home. He needed to get out, find a place of his own, and escape Alex and Ms. C. Lately he felt a sense of urgency bordering on danger, yet he couldn’t discern why. He found this frustrating.
“Gotta fix this light,” Mindy said, moving back toward the steps where she could see to find the key. She opened the apartment door and led them through.
Despite the cigarette smoke, the first thing Kennet noticed was the smell: a mixture of mold and ammonia. Christy and Nate wrinkled their noses, but Mindy didn’t seem to notice. She was busy finishing her cigarette. The place was empty and, even after turning on the lights, still looked dingy and dark. The walls were cinderblock, painted bone-white, and the floor felt as if the rust-brown carpet was laid directly over the concrete.
“You got your basic living area,” Mindy said, waving her arms around, “and the dining area here, next to the kitchen.” She moved into the small part of the ell and flicked on the kitchen light. Kennet and Christy peered around the corner because there wasn’t enough room for them all to stand in th
e kitchen. The tile crackled under Mindy’s feet, but she paid no heed as she opened a few particle-board cupboards and the door to the half-sized refrigerator. Another unpleasant smell wafted out at them.
Mindy squeezed by them and snaked her way into the bathroom. Kennet trailed after her in the wake of menthol smoke. She flicked the cigarette butt in the toilet, where it hissed briefly. Rust stains drooped around the rim of the toilet bowl and under the faucet. It smelled strongest of mildew here.
Behind the shower curtain, a fat naked woman lay in a tubful of bloody water. She cried silently, obviously in anguish. Kennet jerked in fright, but the woman was no longer there. Christy looked at him with concern. He shrugged and turned back to Mindy.
“You pay electric, and everything’s electric—heat and stove. We pay the water, sewage, and garbage. Gotta sign a one-year lease, and we need first and last month’s rent.”
“How much is it?” Christy asked Kennet.
Mindy answered. “Five-ninety, due the first of the month.”
“Five hundred and ninety bucks for this—”
Christy elbowed her brother and shot him a look that stopped him from finishing the sentence.
“Going rate,” Mindy said, digging in her back pocket for her Kools. “If you’re innerested, hundred-dollar deposit’ll hold it for you till the beginning of next month. Non-refundable if you don’t take the place.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Kennet said. “Thanks for showing us the place.”
“Got others innerested, so don’t drag your feet.”
“He’ll think quickly and pick up his feet,” Christy said, patting Kennet’s shoulder.
“That’s him, the lightning-fast prancer,” Nate added and followed them into the hall where it didn’t smell so awful.
Back in the truck, Christy shuddered. “I’m sorry, Kennet, but that place is nasty. It smelled like a cat peed on a pile of bleu cheese in there. Worse than Nate’s cologne.”
“And for almost six hundred bucks?” Nate said. “You gotta be kidding.” He followed the access road to Olivet, which led back toward Smithfield. “I’ll rent you my room while I’m away at school for half that much.”
“Won’t smell any better,” Christy warned.
Nate grimaced. Kennet laughed and winked at her. She winked back and slipped her hand in his. It was cool, and Kennet enjoyed the sensation that spread through his body at her touch. It faded when he remembered the woman in the tub. She had cut her wrists and bled to death because her husband left her. He knew this in the way he knew how all his clients had died. He also knew, no matter the price, he didn’t want to live there.
The third and final prospect was set in a quiet cul-de-sac between the Texaco station and Grinold’s Funeral Home. The garage and house were sided with white vinyl, and black shutters flanked all the windows. The lawn was neatly kept. Perfectly square yew shrubs bordered the house with red and white impatiens growing in the shade beneath them.
Kennet knocked on the front door. After a minute, he knocked again. He’d phoned the woman earlier and said he would stop by between eight and nine. Was she called away? No, he felt she was here. He was about to knock a final time when an elderly woman appeared around the corner of the house.
“Oh, hi. I’m out back.”
“Hi, Outback. I’m Kennet.”
The woman laughed, and so did Christy. The three of them came off the porch, shook hands, and introduced themselves on the sidewalk.
“Just pulling some weeds before the ground gets too dry to let ’em loose.”
Nate said, “You keep a very nice yard, here, Mrs. Pratt.”
“Why, thank you. Aren’t you the young man who cuts grass for the Kowalskis?”
“One and the same.”
“You keep a nice yard, too.”
Nate grinned and made sure Kennet and Christy noted the compliment. Christy rolled her eyes.
Steps built from sturdy treated lumber led up the outside of the garage to a quaint back deck on the second floor. They shielded their eyes against the smoldering sunset.
“Henry’s been putting on finishing touches,” Mrs. Pratt told them as she opened the door to the kitchen. “Hung some blinds to keep the sun off the new carpet, things like that.”
Kennet blinked and stared. Christy gasped, covering her mouth with a hand.
“Wow,” Nathan said.
The kitchen floor was a smooth navy blue, with pale yellow walls and white cupboards and appliances. The stove and refrigerator were smaller than the Springers’, but they were obviously new. The yellow energy efficiency rating sticker was still plastered on the fridge door. The windows were double-hung vinyl, also new, and graced with gleaming white mini-blinds.
“This is awesome, Mrs. Pratt.” Kennet moved around her to inspect the cupboards and the white porcelain sink. Christy accompanied him, holding his hand and gawking at the shiny ceramic tile that lined the wall behind the sink. “I bet the previous tenants wished they hadn’t moved out.”
“Oh, you’d be the first. Everything’s brand new. You don’t smoke, do you?”
“Only when he’s on fire,” Nathan said.
Mrs. Pratt smiled mischievously at him.
“No, Mrs. Pratt, I’m a non-smoker.”
“Glad to hear that. Too many young people today have picked up a filthy habit.”
The bathroom stood off the kitchen. It was quite small, but bright and sparkling with a shower stall, toilet, and sink in white. A tiny window overlooked the Pratt’s manicured side yard.
The living room was no bigger than the kitchen. There was a cable hookup and a bookshelf built into the wall separating the bedroom, which was likewise tight, but the neutral Berber carpet and ivory walls made the room look fresh and clean. Doesn’t smell of anything but new in here. And no lingering spirits.
Christy’s mouth still hung open, and her green eyes were wide, taking it all in. “This is so nice!” she whispered.
“Immaculate,” Nate said.
Mrs. Pratt said, “My Henry’s been a busy beaver the last few months. I think he did a terrific job. This place will make the right person a lovely home.”
Kennet reached for Christy’s hand again as he asked Mrs. Pratt, “How much is the rent, ma’am?”
“Four-fifty, but that includes water and electric.”
Kennet looked at Christy and Nathan hopefully before turning back to Mrs. Pratt. “And the deposit?”
“Another month’s rent. But if that’s a problem, you can pay half up front, and the rest on a monthly basis.” At this news, Kennet experienced a twinge of concern.
The three of them wandered around the little apartment, soaking up all the nice touches. Outlets on every wall, a deep closet with shelves in the living room, ceiling fans in the living room and bedroom.
“Gosh, Mrs. Pratt, this is the nicest place I’ve seen so far.”
“The nicest you’ll see anywhere, Singleton.”
Kennet had to agree with Nathan.
“And the most reasonable,” Christy said. “It’s beautiful.”
“Sure is,” Kennet said. “Give your husband our compliments, Mrs. Pratt.”
“I will. But you don’t have to call me ma’am or Mrs. Pratt. Name’s Loretta. Everybody calls me Loretta.”
“All right, Loretta.” Kennet felt funny calling her by her first name, but it was her preference. He sensed he would be talking to her again. “When is the place available?”
Loretta shrugged. “Any time, really, but the first of next month is probably best. Are you interested?”
“I sure am. But I need to consult with my banker first.”
Nathan scowled. Christy elbowed him.
“What do you do, may I ask?” Loretta led them out the door to the porch.
“I work at Grinold’s Funeral Home. Have for the past three years.”
“Parking cars?” She was referring to the handful of men like Jack Dodds and Mike McGaughey who, besides transporting corpses, made
extra money supervising the parking lot and greeting people at the door for viewings and funeral services.
“No, ma’am—I mean, Loretta. I run the crematory for Mr. Grinold.”
“And I thought you said you didn’t smoke!”
They all laughed and followed her down the outside steps. It was growing dark. In the front yard they said goodbye, and Kennet promised to call her soon.
“You’ve got to take this place,” Nathan urged him on the way back.
“I don’t often say this,” Christy said, “but he’s right. That place is awesome.”
Kennet concurred. But even with the hours he worked at the funeral home and the extra pay from the cemetery, he was bringing in only a thousand a month. Half of it would go toward rent. If he kept his remaining expenses low, he could do it. But the first month’s rent and deposit would take a significant chunk out of his savings.
“Look, dude, if you need it,” Nathan said, “I’ll loan you a hundred bucks.”
“I’ve got fifty set aside, too.” Christy patted the back of his hand.
Kennet said, “You guys are the best.”
“We know it,” she said with a smirk, “but you can’t let this opportunity slip away. You’ve got to find a new place to live. And that’s a pretty nice place.”
“Yeah, it is,” Nate said. “Get out of the old folks home. Start living like a real bachelor.” Nate crossed the Tenleytown bridge and headed for White Oak. “Let’s celebrate. Ice cream’s on me.”
“Aw, Nate,” Christy gushed. “Remember when I said you were good for nothin’? I take it back. On to Dairy Queen!”
Kennet slipped his arm around her. She squeezed his fingers and held on.
Ten minutes later they inched through the Dairy Queen drive-through, ordered soft-serve cones, and ate them on their way back to Tenleytown.
Kennet asked, “Nate, did you take Spanish?”
Death Perception Page 12
