by Raven Snow
“Don’t look now,” I whispered to Kosher, “but someone’s watching you.”
He shot me an annoyed glance, though he should’ve been irritated at the people making him into a sideshow act. “Don’t you have a respectful bone in your body?”
“I believe life is for the living.”
“And funerals are for the dead. So.” He nodded to the front, signaling me to give the priest my full attention.
Personally, I saw no point in glorying someone who had passed, simply because they weren’t here anymore. Chris had been a mostly horrible human being that the world was probably better off without.
Still, out of respect for Vic and Hope, I kept my mouth shut and nodded along like I was mourning along with the rest of them. In reality, my eyes were scanning the crowd, trying to pick out who had the nerve to show their face and who didn’t.
Sawyer, of course, was in the pews. He’d worn his Sunday best: a horrible green suit with a big, dead carnation on the jacket. The white shirt underneath was stained and turning yellow, but he’d managed to smooth back what little hair he had into a greasy blob.
I saw Skipper’s socks and not much more of him. In the very back, Shard was standing amongst the latecomers. She hadn’t even bothered to wear black.
And people called me tacky.
After the funeral, a lot of people cleared out, making the church less crowded. Vic had opted to have the wake here after the service. Probably, it’d be awkward to have your ex-husband’s body in the house you shared with your boyfriend.
None of Chris’s family liked him enough to come, so the wake was just a few of his friends from Waresville, some of the nosier citizens, and Vic’s people.
I fell into two of those groups.
An altar boy brought out some chips and refreshments. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sawyer trap Vic in a corner and begin to talk about the good old days with Chris. I was just about to go rescue her when Kosher came over.
“A couple of our suspects showed up,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure if that makes them look more or less guilty.”
I nodded and told him about what I’d learned talking to Shard this morning.
“A reporter’s credibility is everything,” he said after I was through. “It wouldn’t surprise me if a snake like Shard killed to protect her rep.”
“Me either. I’m sure she knows her way around a gun too. Plus, she’s been around tons of crime scenes. If anyone could successfully frame you, it’s her.”
“What a cheery thought,” he said wryly.
“If I wanted to comfort people, I’d be in the greeting card business.” A pause in which I prepared myself to gauge his reaction. “And then there’s Sawyer.”
He was shaking his head before the words were even out of my mouth. “Sawyer didn’t do this. Period.”
I rolled my eyes at the thick-headedness. Like him or not, Sawyer was the only person who we could definitely put at the scene during the murder. He could have easily snuck up on Chris after Kosher had stumbled off into the night.
As far as motive went, I didn’t buy that whole bit about forgetting gambling debts. Sawyer wasn’t well off in any way. From the state of his shop, he couldn’t go around forgiving dues. And it wasn’t like Chris would’ve returned the favor.
Then, there was his obsession with the lake monster. More than the money, I wouldn’t have put it past the old man to push Chris in, just to get another look at his precious Sabrina. Hell, it could’ve been some twisted attempt to care for the creature: feeding.
On that cheery note, I glanced up at the man standing in front of me, my third suspect. My mind was mostly made up that Kosher hadn’t killed Chris.
But not completely.
He was there, had motive, and wasn’t the most peaceful guy I knew. In fact, one of my earlier cases had involved the murder of one of his old girlfriends. He’d been innocent that time, but that didn’t mean he was now.
My head started aching when I realized there was no one in this mystery that I could trust. Not even my so-called partner.
Little did I know that an even bigger headache was about to come walking through the front door of the church.
She was platinum blonde with a body that you saw in those Japanese cartoons. Her inappropriately short, black dress hugged every curve like a lover as she ran down the aisle and up to the open casket.
With all eyes on her, she fell to her knees in front of the body and started bawling. The tears would’ve looked ugly on anyone else, but she managed to look younger and a little mysterious. Unlike when I cried, there was no snot flying. The water works didn’t even mess up her make-up. And there was a lot of it.
“Oh, Chris,” she sobbed. “Oh, my love.”
I glanced over at Vic, who had gone as stiff as uncooked spaghetti. Her skin looked washed out now, except for her face, which was getting redder by the minute.
Then, like thunder crackling in the small room, Vic’s voice rang out. “Get away from my husband, you hussy!”
Ah, Waresville, I thought, you never disappoint.
Things went downhill from there pretty quickly. Vic threw herself at her former babysitter, who had run off with Chris, and an all-out brawl started between the two.
There was blonde hair flying, panty-hose ripping, and insults echoed against the tall ceiling of the church. A bit of spit hit my cheek when I tried to approach, so I backed off and left them to it. Surely, this was pretty cathartic.
Unlike me, Kosher took it upon himself to break up the fight, bravely wading into the war zone with a terrified glint in his eyes. As soon as he had stepped within a three-foot distance of the women, one of them popped him right in the nose. From the size of the break, I was willing to bet it was Vic.
He reeled back, falling on his ass and scrambling away from the fight. His nose was gushing blood like someone had shot him in the face. Likely, that would have been less painful.
“Tragic,” Oliver said, coming to stand next to me, while sipping a margarita. “Just tragic.”
“He’ll probably need surgery for the break,” I said, watching as Wyatt came forward to help Kosher off the floor.
“Not to mention the therapy he’ll need for what Vic just did to his ego.”
We both laughed at that, and I heard a little strain in Oliver's usually molasses-smooth voice. When I glanced at his face, though, nothing was out of place. Frowning, I made a mental note to check in on the two lovebirds in their love nest. No one knew better than me how hard Liam was to live with. I'd tried to electrocute him in the shower not too long ago.
I'd do more than try, though, if he was making my best friend unhappy.
With a sigh, my mind and my attention drifted back to unhappy friends, and I figured I should break up the fight. Just to show I learned from other's mistakes, I didn't make a single move towards the mini-mosh pit.
Instead, I took a deep breath, reaching down into myself to tap that power that was always there. The force surged against me, hungry to get out since it had been so long. I narrowly controlled it and siphoned off only what I needed.
When I snapped my fingers, the two women flew apart. Hair whipped around their faces and their dresses rode up. The force was a little greater than I intended, and they both ended up on opposite sides of the church, panting and trying to right themselves.
Since I didn't give a lick about the spare, I walked over to Vic and crouched down, helping her keep her well-endowed chest inside her clothes.
"Show off," she said breathlessly.
"That's rich; you're the one making a scene."
While helping her up, she leaned heavily on me, and we both stumbled, almost falling back in a heap. Luckily, Wyatt was there, like always, to keep me from landing in an unladylike position.
Vic's make-up was ruined, half of it knocked off her face by the home-wrecking babysitter’s fists. The rest was smeared into her hair, neck, and clothes. She looked a bit like a hung-over rock s
tar, right after he did a line of coke.
But none of that was what a best friend was supposed to say.
I patted her on the shoulder. "You look great."
"Better than her?" Vic asked in a small voice.
I glanced over and winced when I realized that Kaitlin, the babysitter, didn't look too worse for wear considering their fight. Her hair had taken on a wind-blown quality, and apart from her new black eye, her make-up was untouched.
"No contest," I said brightly, shuffling Vic out of the church before she could see.
"I ruined Chris's funeral, didn't I?"
"On the contrary," I said, "I think a chick fight is just how he would've wanted it to end."
Chapter Seven
That night I excused myself from visiting my mother-in-law’s for dinner. While I was really worried about Oliver, the excuse to skip a couple hours of too-healthy food and uncomfortable chitchat had me skipping up and down the hall.
“Try to look a little disappointed,” Wyatt said from our bedroom, where he was putting on a more casual suit than he’d worn to the funeral.
“Oh, I am,” I said, doing a little happy dance. “So deeply disappointed.”
Cooper came out of his room, wrestling with his own tie. He looked so much like a pocket-sized Wyatt that I had to grin and mess up his hair a little.
“Cut it out,” he whined, trying to get his wild, brown hair to lay straight again, his untied tie forgotten around his neck. “I don’t see why I can’t go to Oliver’s too.”
Normally, I would’ve offered to take Cooper along to save him a likely horrible evening. But with Oliver, you never knew what state of undress you were going to find him in. And now that he had a live-in boyfriend, all bets were off.
I did Cooper’s tie, trying to hide my grin at his sullen face. “Let’s see…You can’t go, because I said so. Life is unfair. No one really loves you…Did I get everything?”
Wyatt, who had come up behind me during my speech, wrapped his arms around my waist. “You missed the part about how no one understands him.”
“Rookie mistake.”
We pulled out of the drive at the same time, and I waved to Wyatt and Cooper as they headed in the opposite direction. The radio in the bug was broken, so I just hummed a jaunty tune to myself and wondered if I was going to have to get physical with anyone when I got to Oliver's house.
The reality, when I got there, was much worse.
Since the lights were off in most of the house, I peered through the window while ringing the doorbell, trying to make out the shape of anyone. Oliver's car wasn't in the drive, but that didn't mean Liam hadn't gone for a joy ride by himself. My suspicions were confirmed when Oliver answered the door alone.
My eyes widened when I took in my best friend's appearance. Oliver really didn't look like Oliver. There was no flamboyant cape, only sweats and an old t-shirt, his hair was messed, and he was wearing threadbare slippers. He looked like a regular person relaxing at home on a night off.
"You brought booze, right?" he asked by way of greeting.
I pulled a bottle of wine out of my purse for his inspection and walked inside.
Oliver's house was the exact opposite of mine. While the furniture in the Victorian was warm and looked lived in, Oliver's entire place made you afraid to sit down. The chairs were hard and uncomfortable, the couches white and modern. It was extremely stylish, sure, but I always felt dirty and shabby whenever I stepped inside.
Just like Oliver looked now.
"Make yourself at home," he said as he retreated into the kitchen for a wine opener.
I didn't see how that was possible, but I plopped down on the main couch in the living room, keeping my feet away from the upholstery. There was a reality TV show playing, so I entertained myself with that for a little while.
Oliver came back with two full wine glasses, putting them down in front of us. "Liam just stepped out to get some groceries."
Funny. In the entire time he'd lived with us, I'd only gotten him to make a food run a couple of times. As the youngest child, he was used to being waited on.
We watched TV for a few minutes, and I kept sneaking glances at Oliver out of the corner of my eyes. It was so surreal seeing him like this. I didn't know what to say.
“I’ve got to get him out,” Oliver blurted out.
I blinked. “That was quick.”
He hung his head, and I felt obligated to give him a pat on the back.
“Did he fold his socks wrong?”
“I wish,” Oliver said, sounding thoroughly miserable. “He’s perfect.”
My tone was a tad dry when I replied. “Wow. That is a problem.”
Oliver shot me a look. “I know, I know…It’s just… I’m starting to think about things.”
“A dangerous pastime.”
“If this works,” He gestured around, “this could be it. Marriage. Kids. Death.”
“Almost immediately, too. Do you have your affairs in order?”
He bit his lip, and I took pity on him. Not so long ago, it was me freaking out over forever with someone. Turning up the volume on the TV, I settled in for a long night.
“He’s not proposing tonight,” I told Oliver when he refused to relax. “Just breathe.”
****
When I woke up the next morning after spending half the night at Oliver’s, I stumbled into the shower immediately. I smelled heavily of fish and desperation, two things I couldn’t seem to get away from in this case.
The hot water revived me some, and I was almost fully awake when I tripped over Stan’s unconscious body at the bottom of the stairs.
Swearing under my breath, I said, “Couch, Stan. I said you could sleep on the couch.”
He mumbled something and rolled over, putting himself even more in the way.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
The teapot was already on the burner when I walked into the kitchen, and I smiled. Wyatt must have left it for me, anticipating that my morning was going to be a rough one.
Unfortunately, I didn’t realize just how rough until I listened to the messages on the answering machine where the peppy voice of my mother-in-law was waiting for me.
“Hello, Harper,” she said after the beep. “Since you couldn’t make dinner last night, I was hoping we could meet for lunch. I’ll see you at Charlotte’s at noon.”
Most people would’ve asked for a confirmation or requested the person call about what time was best for them. But Nancy Bennett wasn’t most people. She was the matriarch of the Bennett clan, had dominion over four sons, and no one messed with her.
I wanted to be her when I grew up.
The clock on the wall told me I had enough time to drink my tea and get ready, so I plopped myself down at the table and took leisurely sips. After all, this tea was my reward for being a good daughter-in-law. I could at least enjoy it.
Charlotte’s wasn’t busy, so I got a table right away. Of course, since I’m related to the owner that probably would’ve happened anyway.
A couple of minutes after I sat down and started playing with my silverware, Nancy joined me across the booth.
She was a tall woman, like myself, with brown hair like her sons’ and bright green eyes. Her features were delicate any time, unless you said something about her horrible oatmeal cookies.
As per usual, I got something heavy, and she got salad. Once the waiter was done taking our order, there was a moment of silence before either of us said anything. It was like the moment before something pops out at you in a scary movie.
“So,” she began, “Wyatt tells me you’re involving yourself in this recent unpleasantness.”
There’s so much unpleasantness in Waresville that it took me a moment to realize she was talking about the case. Her eyes screamed disapproval, which stumped me slightly. She usually wasn’t so outspoken about my “unusual hobby”.
“I took the case as a favor to a friend,” I said, shoving a piece of bread in my mouth as soon
as I was done talking in the hope she’d let the matter drop.
No such luck.
“Maybe Victoria would be better off without your intervention.” She shook her head. “There’s a lot of evidence against this Peter fellow.”
“Evidence can be manipulated.”
“Yes, but not everything’s a conspiracy theory.” She daintily patted her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Sometimes the people who look guilty, actually are.”
I smiled politely, but I wasn’t actually paying her any mind. There were a lot of people whose advice I’d take about solving murders, but Nancy wasn’t one of them. If I was looking for the best nail salon in town, though, she’d be my first call.
My mother-in-law seemed to sense that I was only humoring her, and her face colored a bit.
“I don’t think I was supposed to tell you this, but I overheard Wyatt on the phone last night,” she said. “The lab results for the boat came back, and they found that detective’s prints and DNA all over the place. It’s only a matter of time until they find the murder weapon as well.”
Kosher had already admitted that he’d been on the boat, but I still frowned. Hard evidence was always worse than words. The latter could be taken back. Fingerprints? Not so much.
And Nancy was right about that last part, too. The police had people searching every nook and cranny in and around that lake. Sooner or later, they’d find the gun. If the murderer had been smart enough to wear gloves, Kosher’s prints would be the only ones there.
That’d be the end of this case, and the end of Kosher’s career. Not to mention his life on the outside.
I dug into my lunch with unconcealed ferocity. Apart from all those bummers for Kosher, I’d never lost a case. I’d never been beaten by the police. The thought of this being the first time did not sit well with me.
After the lunch with Nancy was over, I headed over to Cooper’s school to pick him up. I was late, but I usually was, and I found Cooper waiting for me in his usual spot.
