Final Grave

by Nadja Bernitt

  The sudden quiet startled Meri Ann, the realization she could now hear the delicate sound of the ticking clock.

  “One minute you’re here and the next you’re climbing Space Mountain,” Becky said. “It was the same last night. Every time I turn around you’re hanging a moon face out the window. What’s going on in your head?”

  Meri Ann snipped the lower leaves from a rosebud’s stem. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t hand me that. And don’t cut the stems so short or the flowers won’t stand out from the ivy.” Becky scowled. “I thought you’d be relieved, having the case finally over. I mean I know it was horrible, but—”

  Meri Ann stopped clipping. “It’s not over for me. Tina Wheatley didn’t kill Mom. Sure I suspected her for a while but not now. It’s clear, she internalized her anger and lived it out in fantasy. Suicide fits her. Not murder.”

  Becky’s breath escaped in a whoosh. “I can’t believe this. Did or did not your Latin lover call and confirm he’d broken Tina’s alibi for the days in question and that her prints were on the note?”

  Meri Ann didn’t respond, just kept clipping and stacking the flowers.

  Becky squirmed. “But the detectives made a good case. The woman was nuts.”

  “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Graber.”

  “Get out.” Becky said it slowly, chewing on the notion.

  “I’m sure he killed Mom and the woman from Twin Falls. Tina’s raincoat confused the issue.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Graber’s neighbor said he wears a range coat, which could be easily mistaken for a raincoat. His hair is long. I think he’s the one we saw hanging around the house—at least in two of the sightings, although, Tina probably delivered the basement note.”

  “Jeeze.” Becky raked her fingers through her hair, her expression perplexed. “But you can’t do anything. You quit the case, remember?”

  “Let’s say I’m an independent, that I can lend more assistance outside the office.” Meri Ann wiped green Styrofoam residue off her fingers onto her already stained sweatshirt. “Give me the glue gun.”

  Becky held it out. “Careful it’s hot.”

  “I’ll say.” Meri Ann daubed the nozzle into several of the holes in the topiary. The scent of burnt plastic wafted up and she fanned the air.

  Becky grew somber, her face like a storm cloud. “And what if you’re right? What if Graber killed your mother? You think you’re gonna sashay up to that whacko’s bird farm and pull him in by the scruff of his neck? Come on, kid. You’re a cop, not a vigilante.”

  “The system’s down Becky. He’s still out there playing games. I’m going to find him, if he doesn’t find me first. Either way, he’s going to tell me what he did to my mother. Then it’s up to Mendiola or Dillon.”

  Becky snorted. “You’re insane.”

  “You of all people should understand. You know what it means to lose your mother. He stole my childhood.”

  Becky nodded slowly.

  “Graber’s a predator,” Meri Ann said.

  Becky circled her lips with her tongue and shook her head. “I don’t like this.”

  “I need a real, honest-to-God confession or tangible, irrefutable evidence. I’m not stupid enough to kill him, if that’s what worries you. Should I get into trouble, I’ll call for backup.”

  “Call now. Please call Mendiola.”

  “He won’t listen, I’ve tried.”

  Worry lines creased Becky’s forehead. The clock ticked. Both watched the hand move ahead.

  “You can’t go alone.” Becky’s lips tightened in resignation. “I’m gonna help you.”

  Meri Ann shook her head. “I can’t let you. If anything happened—”

  “You’ve always been there for me, kid, in my blackest hour. I may get mad at you, but you’re like a sister. I know I’m not trained. Can’t shoot for spit, but I’ll do whatever you say.” Becky touched her heart. “Payback’s my pleasure.”

  She studied her friend’s earnest expression, her steadfast gaze. “I really appreciate the offer, Becky. But, no.”

  “You know what? You are conceited to think you’re the only one of us with brains. You insult me.”

  Meri Ann was taken aback. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Becky. “You’re right. Not that I think you aren’t smart. You are. And there’s power in backup, even if it’s only someone with a phone to call 911.”

  And if… if the worst happened, if Meri Ann failed, if Graber meted out the same fate as her mother’s… at least someone would know. Graber would lose. Meri Ann squared her shoulders and said, “Okay, as long as you are not actually beside me and as long as you can get hold of someone’s cellular.”

  Becky beamed a wide smile. “No problem, kid, I’ll get Renee’s phone.”

  The old Regulator beat out the hour in four solid bongs.

  “We’re gonna be late.” Becky grabbed a handful of roses, shoved them in the top ball of ivy. “I’ll finish this last piece. You start loading them in the truck.”

  Meri Ann admired their handiwork, the two dozen festive topiaries. Even without their gossamer cream and gold ribbons, they were stunning. It seemed unreal, heading off to the Crane Creek, the same destination as Jack Mendiola. She’d miss seeing him by at least an hour, of course, but technically they’d both be at his best friend’s wedding. He would be a member of the wedding party and she would be the hired help.

  She wiped her hands on her grungy sweatshirt, which was already so stained that the new streaks would not be noticeable. “Yes indeed, we’d better get a move on.”

  She hefted one of the centerpieces, craning her head around a rose-covered sphere. “As soon as we get back, I’ll make a plan. We’ll find Graber tonight.”

  # # #

  Crane Creek Country Club’s spacious dining room cantilevered over a narrow canyon, overlooking a golf course fit for mountain goats. Meri Ann stood by the back windows, resting one of the topiaries on her hip while Becky took care of business.

  A muscular food and beverage manager stood to her left, a prissy caterer to her right. “Excuse me, but where do we set up?” Becky asked.

  The pinched-faced caterer looked down his long slender nose at her stained outfit, then at Meri Ann’s. His upper lip curled and he pointed at Becky. “You’re late.”

  “So shoot me.” She tapped her foot impatiently. “We’ve got twenty-four of these to unload and get on the tables.”

  “Over there.” He nodded toward a clear space near the window where Meri Ann stood.

  The caterer’s food and beverage crew bustled, tacking skirts to tables, toting cases of liquor, fussing with the sprays of long-stemmed pink roses—the real ones. Their fragrance filled the air. Meri Ann breathed it in as she plunked down her load and hurried out for another.

  Despite a ten-digit drop in temperature, she built up a sweat going back and forth. By the time Becky and Meri Ann sat down to assemble the final presentations, perspiration dripped form their foreheads, which were as wet as any marathon runner’s at mile twenty-three.

  Becky explained the final task. It sounded simple: tie the fancy gold ribbons in bows and insert the pins; secure one to the top sphere and three on the bottom of each topiary. Then place the finished centerpieces on the tables in beds of netting. “One, two and we’re out of here.”

  But the assembly dragged. Meri Ann’s prehensile skills were on par with a Neanderthal’s. “Sorry I’m not faster, but I don’t even tie bows at holidays. I buy those bags with the cute little string handles and shove in some tissue paper.”

  “Not to worry, kid.”

  But Meri Ann worried. Two pathetic bows later the photographer arrived, followed by two of the bridesmaids. Another two later, guests began to trickle in. Five bows after that she caugh
t sight of a dark green Blazer under the portico.

  “Damn,” Meri Ann said under her breath.

  “Here, let me.” Becky reached for the ribbon.

  “It’s not the ribbon. Mendiola’s truck just pulled up. I didn’t want to see him.” And she particularly didn’t want him to see her.

  “So what? I mean he’s in the wedding party isn’t he?” Becky’s shrewd eyes shifted from Meri Ann to Mendiola and back again. “What, are you embarrassed?”

  “Who, me? Yes,” Meri Ann said. “Every cop wants a fellow officer to see her tying ribbons. It’s exactly the professional image a woman detective needs.” She grumbled and sat back down, knowing it went beyond her profession, that vanity was equally involved. “Oh, forget it.”

  She set about tying another bow, but her peripheral vision stayed on Mendiola. A bubble of excitement fluttered in her stomach as he exited his truck. Despite their opposing views on the case, even in her unkempt condition, she did want to see him.

  He looked transformed in his tux with his black hair glistening under the chandelier’s light. His chest puffed out two inches further when he saw her. He smiled, actually beaming.

  Meri Ann waved, her mouth open to speak.

  But a female voice pre-empted her. “Jack. Ja-ack!” The woman called from behind him.

  Something in the high-pitched whine grated in Meri Ann’s ear. Then she saw her. Karen Harper floated on a cloud of aqua chiffon, two steps behind Mendiola.

  A half-tied ribbon fell from Becky’s hand. She rose onto her knees. Her eyes were mean slits. “Son-of-a-bitch.” It came out like a growl.

  Meri Ann’s emotions went from hard to mush in a bleep, like ice in a blender.

  Mendiola had no idea what was going on with her, not a clue as to the gut-wrenching panic she felt at having Karen and Becky in the same room.

  Karen slipped her arm possessively through Mendiola’s. One heartbeat later, she caught sight of Meri Ann. Confusion transformed her perfect Cover Girl face into a cartoon image. Slowly, her lip curled up in disgust. You’d have thought she had stumbled onto something two-weeks dead. “Oh, my God, if it isn’t Meri Ann Dunlap and Becky Schuster.”

  Mendiola’s gaze whipsawed from Meri Ann to Karen and back to Meri Ann. “You… you know Kari?”

  “Yes. I know her as Karen Harper.” Meri Ann cleared her throat. “We both went to Boise High.”

  Karen fumed, her grip tightening on Mendiola. “Can we please step outside? Right now, Jack.”

  He shook his arm free from her and stepped aside. “We’re not together, Meri Ann.”

  It sounded so sophomoric, so Jack likes Meri Ann not Karen. And it was sweet of him to say that, but her distress had nothing to do with him. She was sandwiched between Becky and Karen, the chance meeting destined to get verbal or a thousand times worse—it might reveal the nasty secret from her past. All she wanted was to get the hell out of Crain Creek and get on with her personal investigation. “We’re just about finished.”

  Karen glared at Meri Ann. “I wondered what you’d do with your life. I imagined kick boxing or Jell-O wrestling, anything but flowers.”

  Becky took up the gauntlet. “Bitch. Leave her alone.”

  “Don’t, Becky.”

  Mendiola’s expression teetered between amused and confused. He threw his hands in the air. “Whoa, ladies. What’s happening here?”

  “Meri Ann Dunlap broke my nose in the girls’ locker room, that’s what. She terrorized me, made my life so miserable, I finally switched high schools.” Karen focused on Becky. “And she’s not your friend, Becky. You’re a fool if you think so.”

  “You don’t know shit.”

  “Always the vulgar little lesbian.”

  Meri Ann’s heart thumped like a tire gone flat. “Leave her alone, Karen.”

  “What are you going to do, hit me? Again?”

  Oh, how she ached to tear into her as she had in the locker room. But her days of buying quiet with a right hook were gone. Meri Ann clenched her fists but kept them at her sides.

  Becky positioned herself ahead of Meri Ann, her face up close to Karen’s. “I’ll do it this time. It’s my fight, Meri Ann. She screwed up my sophomore year with her slimy poison pen.”

  Karen took a step back and eyed Meri Ann like a one-man firing squad. Then she spat her silver bullet. “I didn’t write that letter, Becky. Why don’t you ask your buddy who did.”

  Becky’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What’s the bitch talking about?”

  At this point Mendiola eased back, taking refuge against the bar.

  “Tell her.” Karen’s high-pitched demand drew attention from nearby guests, the macho manager, the servers and the long-nosed caterer. Their chatter hushed, everyone waiting for an answer.

  Meri Ann turned and faced Becky. She’d done it before in nightmares, where she’d confessed her long-held secret. The feeling was the same, Becky’s disbelieving expression the same. But today it was real, her day of reckoning at hand. Meri Ann lowered her eyes.

  “I wrote the letter.”

  # # #

  Birdie sorted out his camera equipment, his old Hasselblad with detachable back for different kinds of film. For Meri Ann he’d bought black and white. It’s what he’d used for her mother and the others. The pre-owned camera had cost him $900 in the early 1980s, at the start of his portraiture hobby. The 150mm lens, another $800. But the manual camera proved well-worth the cost. It seldom jammed and didn’t depend on batteries.

  He dragged the lights from the basement cupboard as well as the necessary tripods. He used telescoping Bogans with umbrellas. Four altogether: a fill light to soften her facial shadows; the main light off to the side to give her shape and dimension; the hair light positioned at her back. Oh, her resplendent hair. Richard Avedon set the standard for studio fashion, his portraits with white backgrounds were legend. Birdie suspected the technique required over-developing the film to heighten the contrast, though he’d never achieved it himself. After all, he was just an amateur, someone who wanted to record what he loved.

  Suddenly melancholy overtook him. It weighed him down till his arms felt like sledge hammers hanging from his shoulders. He lowered onto his haunches, then fell onto the floor amid the array of equipment. A long forgotten June day rushed back to him. Fifteen-years-old and eager to please. “Here’s your picture Daddy.” His father had thrown it into the woodpile and handed him a saw. “Be a man. Do something useful.”

  He’d gone to the hills and killed squirrels, fifty in all. He’d dissected a few and cut out their hearts. But most he left rotting where they fell. Later he’d gone home to his mother and told her. She said he ought to be a doctor. Didn’t she always want something special for him? His mother, his only comfort, until he’d found Joanna.

  Birdie folded his arms across his chest and drew his knees up tight. He rocked in a fetal position, filled with self-pity, then hate. It seemed like hours before he regained his composure, pulled himself up and smoothed his hair. He told himself to focus. He was a task oriented man with no time for self-indulgence. The clock was ticking, a chain of events was ready to unfold.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  A taxi dropped her off at River House. After Becky’s solo exit from Crain Creek, Meri Ann had called for the ride. Its red tail lights grew small in the distance, leaving her standing alone in the driveway at the back of the house. For the first time since her arrival, lights were on in the upstairs apartment above the garages. As she drew closer she saw a shadow moving back and forth across the drawn shade, Becky’s. The downward tilt of her head and the slumped shoulders were a sad reminder of the blow-up. Becky’s depression matched her own. The fact that her dear friend had left the house to avoid seeing her hurt more than anything. She felt the physical pangs of shame. Her stomach ached from it.

>   She made her way upstairs to the apartment and tapped softly on the door. “Becky? Let’s talk, please.”

  Footsteps approached the opposite side of the door. But Becky didn’t speak to her.

  Meri Ann leaned against the doorway. Her cheek pressed against the satin-smooth enameled door, one she’d opened and closed fifty thousand times in her youth when they had played in the two-room suite.

  “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” she said, “but hear me out.”

  There was no response.

  “Kids reject what they don’t understand.” Meri Ann’s voice broke. “Kids are so damn mean. I was just fourteen, Becky. You and that girl out behind the lockers, it frightened me. And I wanted to punish you, I’m sorry to say. Ten minutes after I’d written that note, I knew it was cruel, moronic. If only I’d told you then and explained. But once I saw how badly you were hurt, it scared me. You’d never talk to me again once you knew I’d written it. See, I’d lost so much and… and I couldn’t lose you.”

  Becky’s feet shuffled, indicating she was near, but she said nothing.

  Meri Ann kept her ear pressed tight against the door for awhile, waiting for a response. Finally, she gave up. “There’s no reason for you to sleep out here. I’ll pack my things and go. I can stay at Pauline’s.”

  “Whatever.” Becky’s voice wafted through the keyhole like ether. “Do what you want, kid.”

  Crawl under the stairwell carpet, she probably wanted to say.

  If only Becky would scream or curse or kick the door, anything but whisper those soft, dismissive words. Meri Ann saw no way to make it right. The freshness of the wound left her helpless. “I’ll go,” she said. A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away. “You’ll never, never know how sorry I am about everything I’ve put you through. I… I’ve been a worthless friend, but I won’t give you up, Becky.”

  “I left you something upstairs,” Becky said.

  What could it be, a farewell gift, a bomb? It should be the latter. “What?” she asked guiltily.