by Natasha Deen
“I haven’t seen that one before.”
“It’s probably his first time driving through, heading to the Territories.”
“You know, it could be a woman. And local. Maybe someone just bought it.”
“No way.” Nancy shook her head. “Only a man would be dumb enough to ride a motorcycle this late in the year. Alberta weather changes at the drop of the hat, and no one local is crazy enough to take on the roads to the Territories on a bike.”
I flashed back to the conversation with Nell and Serge. “Holy crap! The murderer. He’s local, isn’t he? That night, when I went looking for Kent, I was the only car in the lot. This town’s so small you sneeze and you could miss us. Any non-local in town would catch people’s attention—”
“Because they wouldn’t recognize the vehicle the guy was driving. That’s what I thought, too. High-five, kid. If this dead thing doesn’t work out, you may have a career in law enforcement. I’ve been quietly asking around.”
“Any luck?”
“Not yet. No one saw anything unusual.”
“They’re probably lying.”
“See? You’re already learning.”
“Yeah, yeah. So funny.” I stood. This was the worst case, ever. No leads. No clues. Only one thing could make me feel better. “I want to do a junk food run. You gonna narc me out if I go to the store unsupervised?”
“Nah,” she said. “I’ll keep it on the down-low from the man—if you empty the dishwasher for the next two days.”
“I always empty the dishwasher.”
“Then we’re good.”
“You want anything while I’m there?”
“Since you asked, I need a couple of things—”
After Nancy gave me her list, I gave her the rundown on Kent and his accidental vandalism. Twenty minutes later, I walked into the Golden Chicken Market. I didn’t bother with hiding behind sunglasses. This town was too small for Superman-esque disguises.
Luckily, it was the perfect time. Too late for the stay-at-home-crew, too early for the people coming off work. I resisted the urge to follow my nose to the origin of the amazing roasted chicken with rosemary scent and headed straight for the junk food aisle. Chips, chocolate, gummies, and fruit chews vied for my attention.
After I’d put enough empty calories in the cart to get me a personal warning from the surgeon general, I headed to the cash register. There was one guy in front of me, buying toothpaste, deodorant, and a toothbrush.
My phone binged with a text and I reached for it.
The cashier, Jason, looked up from the items he was ringing through and gave me a sympathetic smile. “You doing okay, Maggie?”
“Oh—” I shoved my phone back in my pocket. “I’m—”
The guy in front of me jerked upright and spun around. “Maggie?”
I gave the guy a wary once-over. Average height, greying hair mixed with brown, belly going to paunch. “Yeah. Do I know you?”
His face crumpled and he began to cry.
If I’d known him, I would’ve hugged him or at least put my hand on his shoulder. But he was a stranger and his tears made me go stupid. I proved the point by standing there like a moron while the guy heaved and sobbed in front of me.
“I’m—I’m—” on the fifth try, he got out, “I’m Kent’s dad. You and I talked a few days ago…”
The basket slipped from my suddenly weak grip and I awkwardly grabbed for the metal handles as it went to ground. “Mr. Meagher. I’m so sorry.” I hoped he would nod and go on his way.
Jason was in eavesdropping range, which meant I had to watch my words because he was a huge gossip.
“I’m real sorry about your boy,” said Jason. “It’s shook up the town. Serge Popov, then Kent. It’s like there’s a target on the backs of the boys in Dead Falls.” He glanced at me. “And of course, you almost died, too.”
Mr. Meagher managed a wet snuffle.
“Folks are scared,” Jason continued. “There hasn’t been a murder in years and now two—almost three—in a month?” His gaze keyed in. “Serge, I guess he was just a matter of time, but Kent, he was a real good kid.”
He remained silent on the topic of my almost demise and I wasn’t sure how to take it.
Mr. Meagher bent over as the sobs wracked his body.
I shot Jason a look that screamed, “shut up!”
Of course he didn’t catch the hint. “And you, Maggie, finding the boys each time.”
If he hinted at my being an angel of death, I was going to grab him by whatever hair was left on his head. “I’ve never really been known for my good luck,” I said. “Maybe you should finish ringing in Mr. Meagher so he can go.”
Jason nodded. “We’re all real sorry for you too, Maggie.”
Yeah, thanks. Totally believed the insincere tone.
“It’s kinda weird, isn’t it? With your dad being an undertaker and all. Those bodies get funnelled his way.”
Did he just imply I was offing the guys in Dead Falls to bring my dad work?
“I’m so sorry,” Mr. Meagher wheezed, “I hadn’t seen my son in mon—months and now I’ll never—” He gripped the edges of the counter, holding on to it as though it was the only thing between him and collapsing on the floor.
Considering he was about to bury his son, the counter probably was the only thing between him and an up-close meeting of the ground.
I awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. What could I say? Even if Mr. Meagher believed in life after death, Kent wasn’t exactly in a great space emotionally, and I wasn’t in a great space—location-wise—to let him in on my secret abilities.
“Marlo will want to talk to you.” He wrenched off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “We owe you thanks for—we both thought Kent was just busy—”
“Oh, um…”
“You can follow me to the house.”
From the corner of my eye, Jason perked up. I could almost see him mentally transcribing what was happening for future posting on his social network feeds.
“Thanks, Mr. Meagher, but I wouldn’t want to intrude, and—”
“Please.” He lifted his hand toward me. “It would mean so much to Marlo and me. You were one of the last people to talk to Kent.”
Oh boy, he didn’t know the half of it.
“You and that other girl, Belle, she talked to Marlo.”
“Nell.”
“We just want to know if—” Mr. Meagher’s hands dropped back to the counter.
“Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Jason vibed his displeasure at my turning down a grieving father’s request.
Nancy had commanded me to not go to the house without her. Trying to explain the wrath I would face from both Dad and her would be longwinded. There was a faster way to end this conversation. “Let me phone my dad, okay? Get his approval.”
On the other end of my cell phone, Dad’s voicemail kicked in. Great. I tried for Nancy but got her voicemail, too. “I should probably take my groceries home, first.”
“None of that is perishable,” said Jason.
Maybe not but I wished he was.
“My wife and I just lost our son,” said Mr. Meagher. “We just want to talk to the girl who saw him last. Is that too much to ask?”
Now what? Either disobey Dad and Nancy, and get dark looks and grounded for a week, or tell Mr. Meagher no and have Jason spread all kinds of stories about what a heartless kid I was and how my dad had done a crap job raising me.
I didn’t care about the bad-mouthing of me, but no one gets to say anything negative about my dad. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I said, “Just let me pay for my stuff and I’ll follow you out.”
Chapter Sixteen
In the car, I texted Dad and Nancy…and hoped it wouldn’t be the last text I ever sent as a living perso
n. Then I put the vehicle in gear, called Serge to me, and headed to the Meagher house.
“What’s up?”
“I ran into Kent’s dad at the grocery store and now I’m heading to have a coffee with him and Marlo.”
Serge checked the backseat. “Is Nell following?”
“No. Why would Nell be here?”
“Because your dad said you were only allowed out of the house if she was with you.”
“I was caught off guard, okay? Nell’s not in on this.”
He did a double take. “How do you get caught off guard going into the store? That seems like a conscious decision—”
“Nancy okayed the store. Mr. Meagher blindsided me.”
“You should’ve said no.”
“Yeah, I should’ve done a lot of things in my life. Can you stop grinding me on this?”
“You know your dad’s going to kill you, right?”
I groaned. “This is you letting up on me?”
“I’m just saying we should text Nell—”
“Yeah, cause her suddenly showing up at the Meaghers’ house will look super casual.”
“Why didn’t you just say no?”
“Thanks, Nancy Reagan.”
He beamed at me. “And you thought the oldies TV wasn’t doing anything for you. See how it’s teaching you accurate pop history. But back to this thing you’re doing that’s going to have Hank and Nancy doing their impression of the exorcist—”
“I ran into Mr. Meagher at the cash and Jason was at the till.”
“Oh, boy. No further explanation needed. That guy’s got a mouth like the Grand Canyon.”
“Exactly. I tried calling Dad and Nancy because for sure, they’d have said no—”
“Mags, I sympathize and empathize, heck, I’ll even prioritize, but your dad is still going to have a fit.”
“Tell me about it,” I groaned.
“I hope we get something out of this talk with the Meaghers,” he said. “Maybe it’ll help ease your dad’s screaming or mitigate any lifetime groundings.” He sighed. “And maybe it’ll help Kent, too. I felt bad for him when he was with us. Just sitting there, staring into a corner.”
“Maybe he’s just processing?”
“He thinks he’s lingering to save his mom from an accidental overdose or medication mix-up.” Serge shrugged. “But you get the feeling he’s not moving on until we find his murderer?”
I nodded. “I just hope the murderer doesn’t find us first—if it was a murderer and—”
“Not some guy finding a dead body he wanted to keep, then panicking when he heard you on the path?
“Thanks for that image.”
The last few minutes of the ride we did in silence. I pulled behind Mr. Meagher’s truck and shut off the car. “You wander the house,” I told Serge. “Look for anything—especially the meds.”
He nodded.
Mr. Meagher waited for me by the front door. “Marlo’s…fragile.”
Talk about a conflict of interest. I could use Mrs. Meagher’s emotional state as a way to bail on the visit—and save myself from punitive groundings. But this was a chance to be nosy and find out stuff, and transition Kent. But…this was an even bigger opportunity not to get hearing loss by Dad yelling at me for breaking our agreement. Then yelling louder for disobeying Nancy.
“I can come back later,” I said. I’m all for sleuthing, but Dad had this vein that would pulse when he got super mad. I’d only seen in a couple times in my life and I’d die happy if I never saw it again. Besides, Serge was here and could do all the nosing around we needed.
“No, you’re here, now.” He opened the door and stepped inside, leaving me no choice but to follow.
The house was sweltering. I closed the door behind me and immediately started to melt.
“I’m going to look around again,” said Serge. “See if I can’t find something useful.” He pointed to a box with the University of Alberta logo on it. “That must be Kent’s stuff—homework or papers. Think you can find a way to get into it?”
I gave him a small nod.
He gave Mr. Meagher a once-over. “He looks horrible—can you see it?”
He just lost his son. Of course he looks horrible.
“No, I mean…there’s a halo of colour around his body. Like mud.”
His energies are off because of Kent.
“But you can’t see the colour or how his outline looks kind of shaky?”
Boo-Boo, if I could read the living, I’d be a lot more popular.
“Good point.” He jerked his thumb at the hallway. “I’ll head down there and see what I can find.” Serge moved away as Mr. Meagher came toward me.
“Let me take your coat,” he said.
I handed it to him and resisted the urge to peel off my sweater and stand there in my tank top. After he’d put my coat in the closet, we headed for the living room.
Mrs. Meagher emerged from one of the bedrooms. “Hold on,” she said. “It’s so cold in here. Let me turn up the heat.”
Great. I was going to be Dead Falls’ first victim of spontaneous combustion. As soon as I had the thought, I felt guilty. I was here because I needed knowledge, needed information to transition Kent. But knowledge for Mrs. Meagher hadn’t been a lantern to her life path. It was a winter’s storm and it had frozen all the life and vitality from her and taken that which she most loved from her. The fragments of her previous life were held together by a combination of shock and grief, and the torment she was in showed itself in her painful shuffle to the thermostat.
She squinted at the case. “It’s as high as it can go. It must be broken. I’m sorry, I’ll have it fixed later.” She pulled her sweater close, wrapped her arms around herself. “You were kind to come. I should have listened to you—”
“No, ma’am, it was—”
Her lips trembled. “Should’ve filed that report. Maybe they could’ve done something—”
“He was long dead,” Doug said softly. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“They could have found him sooner if I’d filed that report! Could’ve brought my boy home.” She pressed her hands to her face. The sobs came, primal and raw, and wracked her body. “I think of him lying there. Cold and alone—”
I swiped the wetness from my eyes with the back of my hand. This was the worst part of being me. Knowing I could tell her how he was doing.
Knowing I could never tell her.
“Sit, Marlo.” Mr. Meagher moved to her, put his hand on her shoulder.
She threw it off, wrenched herself from him. “This is your fault!” She spat the words. “If you had been a decent man—”
“What, he’d be alive now? You’re blaming me for his death? What about you? You smothered him. The kid couldn’t breathe around you—”
Poor choice of words and it took him a breath to realize it.
“God, Marlo, I didn’t mean—”
“I hate you. I hate you for deserting this family. I hate you for being an absentee father and forcing Kent to look to strangers for his role models. I hate every breath you breathe,” she hissed. Mrs. Meagher lurched for the couch, collapsed into it, then reached into the right pocket of her cardigan. From its depths, she pulled out the bottle of meds. Her fingers closed over the top and she struggled to open it.
Mr. Meagher rose to help, but odds were great if he touched his wife, there would be a blood bath.
“Let me,” I said. I took the bottle. “How many do you take?” I asked.
“Two.”
I handed them to her and palmed a third pill.
“I’ll get you some water,” said Mr. Meagher.
“Don’t need it.” She dry-swallowed the pill then turned to me. “You talked to Kent. Maybe you were the last one to ever talk to him. How was he?”
&nbs
p; Oh, crap. This was the problem with lying. I couldn’t remember exactly what I’d said to get in the door that night. Something about Nell and wanting to be a doctor. But what had I said to Mr. Meagher on the phone?
I swallowed, folded my hands, and looked down. Hoped they would buy my delay tactic as an attempt to compose myself. “Well, Nell and I had talked about a career in medicine. It was really her idea to talk to Kent.” I peeked at them, checked to see if my ambiguous start had satisfied both their memories.
Each of them had the expression of people who were zoned out—unfocused gazes, mouths in straight lines, no light in their eyes—waiting for the cue word so they could zone back in. They were too locked in their grief to even remember what I’d said that night. Terrible for them. Great for me and my crappy ability to lie.
“Mostly, he talked about his family,” I said. Which was true.
That set the light glowing in their eyes again.
Mrs. Meagher leaned forward. “He did?”
I nodded and went for a general overview. “Just about growing up here, how…” Okay, Maggie, do not mention anything about him having issues with his parents over the divorce. “…much he was looking forward to being a doctor.”
“Thank God for that scholarship,” said Mr. Meagher. “He could never have gone through school without it.”
Cue my opportunity to wedge myself into their lives and start some digging. “What happens to it, now?” I asked. Not that I cared, but asking easy questions—and ones not directly related to Kent’s death—seemed a good way to segue into the stuff I really needed to know. “Will they do a special bursary in his name or anything?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. I hadn’t even thought—” He turned to his ex-wife. “We’ll have to notify them.”
She gave him a half-nod.
“Maybe that’s something I can help with?” I asked. “You’ll have enough to do with the funeral arrangements. I’d like to help. I mean, I wouldn’t be on this path in my life if it wasn’t for Kent. We should probably tidy up all his affairs. Let his friends know about the funeral, talk to the school about any paperwork…”
“What else did he say about his family?” asked Mrs. Meagher.
