by Pam Stucky
A pang of missing him shot through Megan's heart.
She watched this man in front of her and thought, what does a murderer even look like? Serial killers, sure, that was one thing (Zeus would say), pathological and unmoved, but your everyday passion murderer, surely that was just an ordinary person who had snapped? She waded cautiously. “Sylvie told me Romy suffered from depression sometimes—” Megan said.
Gus jerked his head to the right. “No,” he said. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“Then who?” Megan said.
Gus laughed. “The cops have already been out to talk to me, lady. It wasn’t me. I told that cop, the one that looks like a Greek god. It wasn’t me.”
For a second Megan thought he meant Zeus; then she remembered: Max.
“Someone was writing big checks on her account. Have they followed up on that? Seems to me that’s a place to look,” Gus said.
“Someone other than Romy?” asked Megan. This was new.
He lifted his shoulders, then let them fall. “Just lots of big checks, that’s all I know. That officer asked me if I had access to her bank accounts. I assumed that meant they were wondering about someone other than Romy.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “She didn’t care about money. Never did.” He looked out the window. “Maybe she just started giving it away.”
Gus’s shoulders started to shake, and at first Megan thought he was laughing. Enough, she thought. A woman is dead and he’s laughing? She almost got up to leave. But then she realized he wasn’t laughing; he was crying. Enormous, heaving, heart-wrenching silent sobs with occasional noisy gulps of air, tears starting to stream down his face. The onslaught came on like a waterfall over a broken dam, and then subsided just as quickly. He shook his head to compose himself; pulled a monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes and face.
“You assume you’ll have time to make amends,” he said. “You just assume that one day you’ll have that conversation that you’ve been meaning to have, that you gotta have one day, but you put it off. You make excuses, you know? You tell yourself she’s not ready to hear it yet. You tell yourself she doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. But that’s just an excuse to put off telling her the things you wanted to tell her.” He wiped his face again, then carefully folded the handkerchief and slipped it in his pocket. “She hated me. I’m probably the number one suspect because everyone knew she hated me and they thought I hated her, too. It was far easier to let everyone assume I hated her than to admit I’d been an ass. Admit I was wrong. ‘One day,’ I thought, ‘One day I’ll tell her I’m sorry and I still love her and I hope she has a good life and I hope she finds someone who can love her like I never could.’ And now she’ll never know.” He hung his head, the sorrow bursting from deep in his soul.
A few other people in the coffee shop were watching Gus’s breakdown. Of course they knew who he was, Megan thought. Everyone here would know. The man whose famous ex-wife died, they’d be thinking. Probably he’s pretending to be sad so they won’t arrest him, they would tell their friends. Megan glared at the gawkers until they looked away in shame. “She didn’t hate you,” she said quietly. She was unsure of her place in talking with him about his relationship, but his agony was too much to bear. “She talked about you with me, briefly. She said it would be easier if you were a jerk, but you weren’t. That you were a good guy. She saw you.”
He looked up, his eyes glistening with anguish but also hope. “She said that?” He looked out the window. The rain had returned and was coming down in sheets. He nodded almost imperceptibly. “She always did see people. That was part of what I couldn’t deal with. She saw me, she saw everyone. She saw too much. It was a gift that I couldn’t handle.” He pulled a napkin from the dispenser and wiped his eyes. “I wasn’t ready to be seen.”
Megan knew this feeling, from just that short time she’d spent with Romy. “She saw me too. I wanted to be seen. It was amazing, having someone listen. And hear,” she said.
Gus pulled out another napkin and wiped his nose, stuffing the used napkin in his now-empty coffee cup. He laughed wryly. “She’d listen. And then she’d turn around and put it into her books. Half the books, if you knew, you’d see me in the villain.” He was quiet a moment. “I guess I deserved it.”
“It’s awful,” Megan said. “Those conversations you never had. I know all about that. They eat at you. All the things unsaid, undone, all of it. You have to just let go, eventually.”
Gus looked up. “Your fiancé,” he said. Megan nodded. “Did you have unfinished business with him?”
Megan sighed to release the intense pressure that had suddenly built up in her chest. “I mean, there’s always unfinished business, isn’t there? The fact is,” she hesitated just a moment, caught up in the camaraderie of a fellow wounded being. “The fact is, he died because of me. Not directly, but he wanted to learn to fly because he wanted to surprise me. And he wanted to surprise me because I’d told him I was worried we were getting too settled and we weren’t even married yet. But it wasn’t him I was worried about. It was me. Boring old librarian. He was exciting. He ran rivers and flew planes. He was extraordinary. I was scared one day he would decide I was too ordinary, and leave me. But I put it on him. And he went off to learn to fly, and he died.” She peeled a napkin off the pile and wiped the tears that were starting to fall.
“How do you know he wanted to surprise you, if he died?” Gus asked.
“He’d told his parents. They told me.” She felt a rush of blood, of shame, rise up her face, clear up to her hair. Zeus’s parents didn’t seem to blame her; still, she couldn’t help but blame herself. And she had never fully faced it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t.”
Gus reached across the table and clasped her hand. “I understand,” he said.
TEN
Megan had intended to stop at the grocery store on her way home; the store in Concrete had greater variety than the much smaller one in Emerson Falls. But she and Gus ended up talking quite a while longer, and by the time they parted ways she was just barely able to walk in the library doors before it opened for the day at noon. She gave a nod to her co-workers, who had been bearing the brunt of her mental and physical absence the last few days, put her coat on the back of her chair, and started work.
By the time five o’clock came around, she was starving. “Rae’s it is, then,” she said to her computer as she turned it off. Grabbing her coat, she raced through the rain to her car and drove over.
“Megan!” a voice called out as she walked through the door at the warm and familiar pub. A burst of joy came over Megan as she realized how much she was grateful for this local gathering spot. Several people she knew were already present, and Megan looked over their plates to see what Rae was offering up for the night. “Looks like sloppy joes?” she said to Max, who was the one who had called her name. She put her wet coat on the back of a chair at the bar, pulled out another, and sat.
“Rae’s secret sauce,” he said with a smile, tapping the meal on his plate with his fork. The meat spilled generously over the bun; there was no hope of eating Rae’s sloppy joes like sandwiches. Megan swiped a french fry from Max’s plate and dipped it in the thick gravy.
Rae came out of the kitchen carrying plates of sloppy joes for three other customers. She spotted Megan, and with their eyes and nods Rae and Megan exchanged the message that Megan would have what they were having.
“Max,” Megan said, absconding with another fry. “So, I saw Gus today.”
Max raised his eyebrows as high as they would go. “You did what?”
“I wasn’t in any danger,” Megan protested, choosing to ignore the fact that at one point she’d been worried she’d end up bound and gagged in Gus’s trunk. “I didn’t go to his house or anything.”
The look on Max’s face suggested he hadn’t even thought of that possibility. “I should hope you didn’t go to his house. You just happened to run into him?” He scolded her with his eyebrows. “You know I’ve alrea
dy talked to him.”
“I know, but…” Megan sighed. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. We talked a long time. We had some common ground you, know, losing someone we loved.”
The disapproving look on Max’s face softened and he nodded.
“So we talked,” Megan continued. “Anyway, he mentioned that you told him Romy wrote out some unusually large checks in the last few months.”
This time the look on Max’s face, as he continued to eat his sloppy joe, was the look of someone who would neither confirm nor deny. “Go on?” he said.
“Nothing,” Megan said. “It just seemed odd. He thought it was odd. I was wondering if you were looking into that.”
The glittering smile, with a touch of amusement, returned to Max’s lips. “I am looking into that,” he said. “Oddly enough, I thought of that too.” He winked. “Say, do you happen to know how long your guests are planning to stay?” he asked.
“My guests?” said Megan. It had occurred to her that morning that she hadn’t been much of a hostess. Then again, she wasn’t Lily. These weren’t paying guests. These were people who had been foisted upon her without her having much say in the fact. “I have no idea. Saturday is the memorial for the family, I think. I’ll ask Sylvie next time I see her.” Even as she said it, she thought it sounded quite callous. I know your sister just died, but can you please leave? She decided she’d check in with her “guests” the next morning to see if they needed anything. Maybe she’d find out more then.
“Have you talked to Courtney?” Megan said, noticing her stomach was growling and hoping her own sloppy joe would come soon. “She was as close to Romy as anyone, physically, at least. You’d think she’d have some clue. Surely she has some ideas.”
Max’s eyes lit up with mischief. “You know,” he said, “I was turned down for a K9 unit. Maybe you’d like to be my partner instead?”
Megan punched the Deputy lightly in the arm. “Come on,” she said. “I’m helping. You know I am. I’m quite helpful.”
“You should become an investigator,” Max said. He took the last bite of his sloppy joe and wiped his lips.
Rae finally arrived with Megan's dinner and set it down in front of her. “You’re becoming an investigator now?” Rae said. “Not busy enough with the library?”
“You guys laugh, but in high school when we all took those aptitude tests, mine said I should be a forensics investigator. It could have been my destiny,” Megan said. She cut her sloppy joe into several pieces and took a bite. “Delicious, Rae,” she said.
“A forensics investigator!” said Rae. “What made you become a librarian instead?”
“Blood and maggots,” Megan said, wiping the gravy from her lips.
* * *
On her way home, Megan finally managed a stop at the small Emerson Falls grocery store. “I should get something nice for everyone,” she said to the milk in the refrigerated section, and then went on a search for some baskets and treats she could pull together: cookies and teas and whatever struck her eye as nurturing and thoughtful.
As she was waiting to pay at the counter, the bells at the front door jingled and Courtney walked in. Megan saw Courtney first. She studied the young woman. Her long, extremely straight blonde hair was parted in the middle, a look that Megan thought only beautiful young women could pull of. Courtney fit the bill in that regard. Her clothes were impeccable and well made; the casual jeans were high-end, as were the black boots that peeped out from under them. Her leather jacket was perfectly tailored, and her purse had an emblem on it that Megan supposed she’d recognize if she recognized that sort of thing. Courtney quickly found a bottle of wine from the small refrigerated section and stepped up to the counter behind Megan.
“Courtney,” Megan said, smiling, then she realized the young woman was giving her a blank look. “I’m Megan. The librarian.” Courtney continued to stare, indifferent. “I’m Kevin’s friend,” Megan added, which at least got a glimmer of recognition. “I’m so sorry about Romy.” The words she might say tumbled over in her mind, but none of them seemed right. Finally, she settled on: “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Courtney said, placing the bottle of red on the counter, even though Megan wasn’t done paying for her order. “Looking for a new job,” she said. “If you hear of anything.”
“Of course,” said Megan, frowning. Was Courtney really so uncaring that her main concern was her new job? “I’ll keep my ears open. What sorts of things are you good at?”
Courtney gave Megan the once-over, her eyes traveling slowly from Megan's head to her toes and taking everything in: the old but comfortable clothes, the pile of frozen meals she was buying, the gift baskets and teas, the long hair Megan had pulled into a haphazard ponytail after the rain had done all the damage it could do to what had started out as a reasonably good hair day. Courtney’s scrutiny seemed to Megan the closest a person could come to rolling their eyes in disdain without actually rolling their eyes. She thought Courtney was going to deem her not good enough for an answer, but then the young woman tossed her head and seemed to decide she may as well speak. “Organizing. Personal Assistant stuff. I’m good at Graphic Design stuff too, but no one around here would need that sort of work.”
Megan wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, and she felt her chest puff up a bit in defense of her town. “Sure. Well, if I hear of anything I’ll let you know. Are you staying with Kevin?” she asked.
Courtney pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of her wallet and slapped it on the counter. “Sometimes,” she said. She caught the eye of the clerk, nodded down at the bill on the counter, and walked out the door.
“Well that was a lovely chat,” Megan said. She picked up her bags and raced out again into the rain.
* * *
As Megan was unlocking her front door, she glanced down the hallway and noticed the door that led out into the library was open. She looked around, pausing to listen for any sounds of movement in the guest rooms. The library was closed, and the doors below would be locked. Megan didn’t want to shut the door on any of her visitors, locking them out of their rooms. At the same time, she didn’t like the idea of the door being open all night. “There’s no reason to worry,” she said to the corridor, but she could hear how unconvinced she sounded. After a pause, she headed down the hall, pulled the door shut and checked that it was locked. “If someone needs to get in, they can knock,” she said, and she let herself into her own apartment.
After putting away her groceries, Megan looked at the piles of treats she’d gotten for Sylvie and Wade, Emlyn and Baz. The Emerson Falls grocery store was not known for its wide selection any more than it was known for its low prices. Spread out across her dining room table, the goodies seemed sparse. Megan chewed her lip, then started poking around her own house for items to supplement what she’d bought. Coming across her wine rack, she paused to consider adding bottles of wine to the assortment. “This is not a celebration,” she scolded herself. “Wine is not appropriate.” She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Lily. “Hey,” she said when Lily answered. “Can you come over?”
Twenty minutes later, Lily was at Megan's door carrying a small bag filled with gifts she’d gathered up. As Megan let her in, she met Lily’s eyes with a look of despairing gratitude. “I have no idea why I needed to get them presents, but once I looked at what I bought, it just felt woefully inadequate. I knew you would save me.” She took the bag from Lily and put it on the table.
Lily smiled as she shrugged out of her jacket. “No problem at all. I keep tons of little trinkets on hand. You never know what will make someone’s day.” She went to the bag and started pulling out what she’d brought. “Lavender potpourri,” she said, holding one packet to her nose and inhaling deeply. “So calming. I love these.” She set them down. “Some lemon rosemary shortbread cookies I made this afternoon,” she said, producing two small zippered bags filled with the cookies. She reached into the bag again. “Bath bombs,” she said, with a frown. “I was
n’t so sure. Relaxing, but not everyone takes baths.” She set them down on the table. “And aromatherapy soaps,” she said, pulling four small soaps from the bag. “Eucalyptus and peppermint for stress relief, and vanilla and patchouli for comfort.” She sniffed one of each, closing her eyes as she drew in the scents. “Mmmm. I love those, too. That’s all I brought. You said not to go overboard.” Her raised eyebrows asked: is this enough?
“This is all perfect,” said Megan. She handed Lily a glass of wine. “Come sit with me. Can you stay a bit?” She started toward the living room, knowing Lily would follow. She tucked herself into the corner of her couch, pulling a blanket over her legs. Lily did the same in the other side of the couch.
“I can’t stay long,” said Lily. “Steve is heading out of town tomorrow and I need to prep breakfast myself. But I can stay a bit. How is everyone holding up here?”
“I haven’t really talked to anyone much,” Megan admitted. “I mean, I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be doing with them. They’re adults. They seem to be coming and going fine. If they need me, they know I’m here.” She remembered the open door. Probably something she should mention to them tomorrow, but she wasn’t sure how to bring it up: I know someone you care about has just been murdered, but can you close the door behind you? It seemed petty, even if she knew it wasn’t. They might feel safe enough to leave doors unlocked and open, but she didn’t.
“I saw Courtney today,” Megan continued. “At the store. She’s not terribly friendly, is she?”
“Hm,” said Lily. She was the kind of person who always looked for the best in others. Finding fault was not her habit. “Well,” she said, “she was busy when I saw her at the party. So maybe that’s it.” She paused, like a thought had occurred to her, but then smiled and took a sip of wine.
