by Laura Alden
“So, a good thing, yes?” Marina asked. “Yes. I see it. Now, what were you thinking about back there a minute ago when you got the long face?”
“Actually, I was thinking about relationships. About . . .” If I hemmed and hawed for the right amount of time, she might believe I was trying to come up with the right words, not that I was trying to slide out of her question. “About how they can end in such different ways. About Kelly and her boyfriend. Remember? Everybody said they were the perfect couple. Made for each other. And then he dumps her, and she dies.”
“Worst ending of all.” Marina went away somewhere, so far that I had no idea where she’d gone. Before I could pose a gentle question, she shook her head, tossing a pink scrunchie to the floor and setting her hair loose. “What do you know about him? Kelly’s boyfriend, what’s-his-name.”
“Keith Mathieson.”
She made rolling motions with her hands. “More. I know you have more.”
“Are you saying I hold back?” She just looked at me. “Okay, okay. He’s part owner of an insurance company on the other side of Madison. Lives in Madison, too.”
“Married?” Marina asked. “Kids?”
I shook my head. “That’s all I know.” When I’d called Barb to ask, she was eager enough, but when it came down to facts, she hadn’t known much. She’d gone on and on about how he hadn’t even had the decency to show up to Kelly’s funeral, how the bouquet of four dozen roses had been nice, but why hadn’t he at least come to the visitation?
Since the answer to that was easy—fear—I was sure she’d been asking a rhetorical question. Most of the town thought Kelly had killed herself because of Keith; facing the accusing eyes must have seemed an impossibility to an eighteen-year-old.
Poor kid. Who among us would have that kind of moral fiber? Although . . . I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to think of Oliver as Keith. Would I have made Oliver go to his dead girlfriend’s funeral? If he’d begged me, tears streaming down his face, would I have relented and let him stay home?
Not a chance.
“This has got to be your shortest list ever.” Marina held up an imaginary pad of paper. “The title of this list is, Beth’s Minimalist Information About the Boyfriend.”
“It’s all I have.” I’d talked to a few other people about Keith, but he seemed to have dropped out of life in Rynwood altogether. His parents had retired to Florida a few years ago, and his only sibling, a brother, had lived in Colorado since college.
Odd, to think that a family could have been raised in this town and then moved off, no traces left behind. How easy it was to be washed away from a place you’d lived. So easy to be forgotten after you were gone.
“Quit that,” Marina said. “You’re getting that sad-looking face again and it’s just too nice a day. Come on.” She jumped out of her chair.
I stayed put. “Where?”
“You know where Keith Mathieson works, don’t you?”
“Why?”
She gave a martyred sigh. “For a smart woman, sometimes you can be dumb as a box of rocks.”
“Marina, I am not going to barge into that man’s office and start asking him questions about Kelly.”
“Why not?”
I gaped at her. There were so many answers to that question that they jammed up the speech center of my brain.
“First off,” she said, “you’ve been asking the wrong questions of the wrong people. You should have started with the boyfriend.” She shook her head sadly. “Why you didn’t get me in on this earlier, I do not know.”
I did, but I didn’t want to say why. Because it was all wrapped up with Gus. Because I hadn’t wanted to push at that pain and Marina would have insisted on helping me clear up whatever it was, and what if even Marina couldn’t find the old Gus? Maybe he was gone forever, and I really, really, didn’t want to think about that.
“Are you stuck?” Marina grinned and held out her hand. “Because I can help you up out of that chair.”
I grabbed hold of her wrist and let her pull me upright. “Maybe I was stuck, just a little.”
“That’s all right.” She thumped me on the back. “What are friends for?”
Unexpected tears blurred my vision. I reached down to open the desk drawer that held my purse and rubbed the wetness away. “Apparently they’re for making me do things that I don’t want to do.”
“Exactly!” Marina stuck her finger in the air. “You make me write thank you notes and I get you out of your chair. Even trade, yes?”
Once again she’d summarized our relationship in twenty-five words or less. “Even trade,” I agreed.
“Well, then.” She jingled her car keys. “No time like the present. Shall I drive?”
“Let’s take two cars.”
She lifted her eyebrows, but I got out my own car keys and ignored her look of reproach.
Because I had a plan.
* * *
Keith Mathieson’s office was in one of those soulless strip malls. Someone had done their best to add character to the space, but no matter how many planters you placed around the doors and no matter how tidily you trimmed the shrubs, a strip mall was a strip mall and there was no disguising the fact.
Marina and I parked out of sight along a side street. As we’d arranged, she stayed put while I got out and scoped out the businesses all in a row. Party store, dollar store, pharmacy, Keith’s insurance office, Chinese restaurant.
I walked into the party store, rummaged in a cooler for a couple of sodas, grabbed some chips, and surreptitiously studied the staff. Behind the counter, a thirty-something manager-type chatted with a kid who must have been eighteen to work in a store like this, even though he didn’t look old enough to have taken driver’s training.
When I’d almost memorized the brand names of beef jerky hanging on a rack, the teenager went to the back of the store and I went up to the counter.
“This it?” the manager asked, ringing up my purchases, no movement wasted.
I upgraded his status from manager to owner. “All set,” I said. “Say”—I pointed out the plate glass window in a very vague direction—“is that Keith Mathieson’s car?”
“Piece of crap silver Toyota? Yeah, that’s Keith’s. Must be twenty years old if it’s a day.” He asked if I wanted a bag. “Told him five years ago to get something a man wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen driving. A pickup, or an SUV even, but he said he’d drive that Toyota until it couldn’t be saved. Rust bucket city, you know? Hey, lady! Don’t forget your change!”
I retraced my steps and pointed out Keith’s car to Marina.
“Huh,” she said. “You’d think an insurance agent would make enough money to buy himself a new car at least every decade. Ready?” She started her car, grinning. “Can’t believe you came up with this idea all by yourself.”
Marina drove into the lot’s first entrance. I took the second entrance, enacting the plan I’d formulated after spending five minutes with Google’s satellite imagery. The parking lot was big enough to have a row of parking spaces down the middle, and I’d leapt to the conclusion that a store owner would park in that row. Spaces against the building for customers, farthest spaces for staff, spaces in the middle for owners. And there was Keith’s car, smack dab in the middle of the lot.
I stopped my car next to his rear bumper; Marina parked hers next to his front bumper. I turned off the ignition with satisfaction. He’d have to talk to me now.
Two minutes ticked past. Marina leaned out her car window. “Is it five o’clock yet?”
“Almost.”
Thirty seconds later, she asked, “Is it five o’clock yet?”
“Patience is a virtue.”
“Says you.” She turned her car radio to an oldies station, pushed back her seat, and put her feet up on the steering wheel. We sat through “Paperback Writer,” “Time for Me to Fly,” “Build Me Up Buttercup,” and were halfway through “Stairway to Heaven” when the front door of the insurance company ope
ned.
“Is that him?” Marina asked.
“Shhh!”
We watched as a man about my age turned around to lock the door, apparently oblivious to the car situation in front of him. Maybe that wasn’t Keith, maybe it was his partner or—
The man tugged the handle on the front door then turned to face us. He stood stock-still for an instant, then headed our way.
“That’s him.” Marina grinned. “This should be fun.”
I watched Keith walk toward us with a fast, stiff-legged gait. He wore his hair just a little longer than any other male insurance agent I’d ever met. His khaki pants, white shirt, and navy blue blazer were so classic that they were almost trendy again.
Fun? I wasn’t so sure. Marina, with her inherent longings for excitement in her life, was in her element, watching the oncoming stranger with gleeful anticipation. I was watching him with the stomach-twisting dread of incipient confrontation.
He reached Marina first. “Excuse me, but that’s my car you’re blocking.”
“Keith Mathieson?” She arched an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” He looked at her, at me, then back at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Ask her.” Marina nodded in my direction. “This is all her idea.”
Every hair on my arms stood up. Was this what it felt like to be tossed under a bus?
Keith marched over to my car and stood with his arms crossed. “And you are?” he asked, looking down at me.
I’m nobody, who are you? “Beth Kennedy. Remember a while back? I called and asked you about Kelly Engel.”
“And?”
His posture didn’t indicate a softening of his can’t-make-me-talk attitude. How on earth was I going to convince him to confide in me? What could I possibly say to make him want to open up?
“Do you remember Maude Hoffman?” I asked. “Kelly’s great-aunt?”
“No, I don’t.”
For the first time, I looked directly at him. Before, I’d been looking at his shoulder, or at his forehead, or at his neck. Now I looked him straight in the eyes. “Aunt Maude is the most lovable human being ever born.” I said flatly, stating it as pure fact. “If you say you don’t remember her, you’re lying.”
He rearranged his arm-crossing stance. “Okay, maybe I remember. What does that have to do with blocking my car? I can call 911, you know.” But he didn’t reach for the smart phone clipped to his belt.
“Maude asked me to find out what really happened to Kelly that night. Auntie May says . . . you know Auntie May, don’t you? She says Maude won’t rest easy until she knows for certain what happened.”
Keith’s shoulders slumped to an angle that suited the creases of his jacket. “Kelly’s death was an accident.”
I looked at him. “Lots of people say she killed herself.”
“Lots of people have their heads . . .” He stepped back and raked at his hair with his fingers. It settled back in the exact same position as it had been before. “Look, Kelly didn’t commit suicide. There was no reason for her to do a thing like that.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
He tipped his head back, tightening the skin on his neck, and breathed in deep. “I’m sure not. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to go home. It’s been a long day and—”
“People say she killed herself because you broke up with her.”
For a moment he looked right at me. In the sloping set of his shoulders I saw grief worn red and raw and fresh. In the lines of his face I saw the sorrow of love lost forever. And in the wetness of his eyes I saw the truth.
“You didn’t break up with her, did you?” I asked softly. “She broke up with you.”
“It was time to move on, she said.” His voice came at me so low I could barely hear it. “That we’d had a high school romance, but it was time to go our separate ways.”
“I thought you two had a plan.”
He shrugged, half shaking his head. “Turns out it was my plan, not hers.”
I blinked as a sudden thought struck me.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “The police checked me out left, right, and center for an alibi. I was working that night at the movie theater. It was still downtown then and I was there, selling popcorn from the first evening show at seven all through the midnight showing of Rocky Horror.”
Marina made a noise—she was a huge fan—but I quieted her with a glare. “Did you tell the police she broke up with you? And not the other way around?”
“Every time they came to the door. Over and over. But once they were satisfied that I couldn’t have done it, they went away.” He stared off into the distance, looking back into the past with such a sad expression that I couldn’t stand it any longer.
I opened the car door and got out. “Keith.” I said, touching him on the arm. “Why didn’t you want to talk to me, earlier?”
He glanced at me, then away. “Everyone assumes they know what happened and they all hate me for it. ‘There goes the guy who made Kelly Engel want to kill herself.’ ‘That’s the guy who practically killed Kelly. Why isn’t he in jail?’” He shook his head. “I don’t talk about it. And no one else has, not for years.”
“Barb thinks Faye Lowery killed Kelly out of jealousy.”
Keith nodded. “I know. She might be right, but I don’t know. The only thing I know is Kelly’s dead and a day doesn’t go by that I wish she was still alive.”
Poor Barb. Poor Keith. She was trying her best to keep Kelly alive by insisting on finding the truth. He was trying to keep her alive by staying in the past, driving the same car, wearing the same clothes, keeping the same haircut. Three tragedies, not one.
“Why don’t you move away?” I asked impulsively. “Don’t you think you should move on? Find someone to marry. Have kids. Move to Chicago. California. Anywhere but here.”
“I tried,” Keith said. “A couple of times. But . . . it didn’t work out. Besides, Kelly’s grave is here, you know.”
For a moment I couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Finally, I nodded. Because, somehow, I did know.
Chapter 19
The next morning I woke and had absolutely no idea what day it was. Tuesday? No. Thursday? No. Still mostly asleep, I ran though almost every day of the week until I finally settled on Saturday.
And not just Saturday, but Saturday on a holiday weekend. A long weekend during which I was banned from the store, and in which I had no children to feed or clothe or clean. Or hug. Or kiss. Or—
The phone rang. I sighed and reached over to pick it up. “Hello?”
“Quit that,” Marina said.
“What?”
“Whatever it is that you’re doing.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Exactly! And that’s your problem.”
“Um . . .”
“I know how you get, moping around when the kids are gone. What did you plan for today? No, let me guess. Going around the house on your hands and knees and cleaning the baseboards? Scouring the shower grout with a toothbrush?”
My plans had included washing the kitchen floor and renting a carpet shampooer to clean Jenna’s and Oliver’s rooms, but she didn’t need to know that. “It’s sad, isn’t it?” I mused. “How Keith’s never got over Kelly.”
“Yeah.” Marina blew a sigh through the phone line and into my ear. “What a waste. Guy needs to buck up a little, don’t you think? I mean, honestly. Blowing his entire life because his high school sweetheart died? Get a grip. Romance is nice and all, but this is carrying things too freaking far.”
I thought about that. I knew what she meant, that Keith was wallowing in his misery beyond all sense, that he should snap out of it, get some help, and start living. But . . . was there really such a thing as a perfect match? A soul mate? I’d never thought so, but what if I was wrong? What if I’d been made for a particular man? And what if he died? After him, anyone else would be second best and it might be best to live alone. But . . . could being lonely eve
r be the right answer?
“Yo, Beth. Are you there?”
“Kind of. What are you doing today?”
“Trying to decide between making a cake for my neighbor’s son’s graduation party, entering a skydiving competition, and working on a cure for forgetfulness. How about you? And I don’t want to hear about your list of chores. Tell me something fun.”
“Is vacuuming the car considered fun?”
“Not on any planet in the solar system.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to solve a couple of murders.”
* * *
I stood on the sidewalk opposite the police station, trying to assess the likelihood of Gus being on duty. The police car parked out front was the most obvious sign that at least one officer was in the building. It was Saturday, on a holiday weekend. Yes, he’d probably scheduled himself. So, no, I didn’t want to go in.
“Coward,” I muttered.
“What’s that?” Cindy Irving was behind me, pushing a cart full of weeds and grass clippings.
“Just trying to convince myself to do something I don’t want to.”
“Beth, you are such a Goody Two-shoes. What are you going to do, turn yourself in for parking in a no parking zone?” She held her wrists together, in anticipation of the handcuffs. “Take me now, officer. I’m a menace to society.” Laughing, she picked up the handles to her cart and trundled off.
“Don’t be such a pansy,” I told myself, then before I could change my mind about jumping off the high dive, crossed the street and barged into the Rynwood Police Department.
“Hey, Mrs. Kennedy.” Officer Sean came to the counter, smiling. “What’s up?”
I looked around. “No Gus?”
“The chief’s out on a call. Fender bender at the mall entrance. Is it important? Because I can call him.”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “Just wondered, that’s all. I, um . . .” Coward. “I lost a spiral notebook the other day. I don’t suppose anyone turned one in?”
“Haven’t seen one, but let me look.” He crouched down behind the counter. “Gloves, mittens, hats, cell phones if you can believe it, and a boot. Look familiar?” He held a bright red child’s boot up high. Left foot.
