The Unbelievable, Inconceivable, Unforeseeable Truth About Ethan Wilder

by Cookie O'Gorman

“Okay, fine.” I drew up the rest of my courage. “If you don’t want to tell me, it’s your decision. But you can’t tell me what to do, Wilder. If I want to come here and check up on you, I will. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.” Unless they got a restraining order, I mentally amended. But I’d worry about that later.

  “You finished?” Wilder said in that same indifferent tone.

  “Yes, I think so.” Taking a deep breath, I gave a curt nod. “I’ve got a funeral to attend, and I can’t be late.”

  #

  Three and half-hours later I was up to my ears in flour, contemplating just how bold my words to Wilder had been. I wondered at my own behavior. After having been dismissed twice, once by his father, once by Wilder himself, I’d refused to go until I had my say. Where’d that kind of daring come from?

  I didn’t have to look far for the answer.

  To my left and right were two of the most brazen women I’d ever met in my life. I’d been fortunate to have some of Mom’s and Aunt B’s spirits rub off on me. Even now, as we were boxing up dishes for Mae’s funeral, they hadn’t let grief stop them from making some of the best sweets in our recipe books.

  Aunt B, in particular, seemed to be taking Mae’s passing pretty hard.

  “It’s not right,” she said for the third time. “Mae was never popular before she died. Heck, people tried their hardest to stay away from her. Now nearly every person in Bowie’s going to her funeral? Bunch of bloodsucking vultures.”

  “B,” Mom said, “it’s a good thing people are going. Imagine if we were the only ones there.”

  Aunt B sniffed. “Sounds good to me.”

  Mom rolled her eyes and went back to boxing the cookies. She and Aunt B were bringing half the shop with them, leaving everything but the display cases empty, but Aunt B wouldn’t have it any other way. I was on clean-up duty.

  “Mae worked at the hospital for years,” Mom added. “Maybe some of the people were her friends.”

  With a dismissive sound, Aunt B turned away.

  But what Mom said was true. Not only had Mae been a registered nurse at Bowie Medical, she’d worked the graveyard shift until a few years ago. It’d said so in her obituary. I’d never really thought of Mae having a job. George had told me a rumor that said Crazy Mae was like a hermit, hunkered down in that Victorian of hers like a cave, only leaving for food and groceries. I should’ve known better than to believe that one. She at least left now and again to get some of Aunt B’s cookies.

  “What about her family?” I asked. It was a curious thing. There hadn’t been any surviving relatives listed next to Mae’s name in the newspaper. No children, aunts or uncles.

  “She doesn’t have any,” Aunt B said. “Mae didn’t have brothers or sisters. She never got married or had kids.”

  Mom took up where she left off. “Mae’s parents died when she was very young, Delilah, left her to live in that big house all by herself. I don’t know how she did it all those years. She must’ve been so lonely.”

  I nodded. There was nothing else to say.

  “You almost ready?” Mom put a ribbon on the last box. “We need to get dressed and get going here in a few minutes.”

  I looked down at my hands. They were covered in flour. It was a good thing I’d brought a change of clothes, my black blouse and slacks in the car, or they’d have been covered, too.

  “I’ll be ready,” I said, walking to the sink.

  Aunt B came around and leaned up against the basin.

  “Did you need something, Aunt B?” I watched as she waited for Mom to leave. Once she had, Aunt B turned to face me. I could already tell it was going to be bad news.

  “I want you to stay behind and watch the store.”

  “Why?” I asked. “There’s nobody here. Like you said, everyone’s at the funeral.”

  “I need you to stay here, Delilah.” Her tone was unyielding, but I had to ask.

  “Why, Aunt B?”

  Though she didn’t answer, I recognized the look in her eye. I’d seen it many times before.

  “What’d you see?”

  Aunt B sighed. “What’s with all the questions? Can’t you just do as I say? She’ll be back any second.”

  I crossed my arms. So, she didn’t want Mom to hear. That’d work in my favor.

  Seeing my expression, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re as stubborn as your mama, and I don’t mean that as a compliment, Delilah Marie.” Her tone was hard as nails. “Alright, then. I was doing it for your own good, but you want to know? You want to hear all the gory details? That’s just fine with me.” I waited. “Okay, so here it goes. I did have a dream about you last night, and it wasn’t a good one—one of the worst ever actually. There was a lot of blood and stabbing involved, and I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come with us tonight.”

  “Are you saying”—I swallowed—”that you saw someone stab—”

  “No, no,” she interrupted. “Not someone. It’s the flowers you’ve got to look out for.”

  “What?”

  “The flowers, child. You need to watch your back.”

  “Flowers?” I repeated dubiously. “You dreamed I got attacked by some vegetation, and that’s why you don’t want me going tonight?”

  “Scoff all you want,” Aunt B said seriously. “The vines were pricking you all over. I saw one tangled around your throat. And the blood,” she shuddered, “that was the worst part. Usually, I don’t dream of blood, but this time I did, puddles and puddles of it. All yours.”

  She took my hand, and I saw the fear in her eyes.

  “There are going to be flowers everywhere at Mae’s funeral. You have to promise. Promise me you won’t go, Delilah.”

  “Okay,” I said, agreeing straight away. Aunt B, I knew, didn’t say things like this to scare me. She did it for my safety, and I had enough faith in her abilities not to argue. “I won’t go. I promise.”

  Aunt B sagged, pulling me in for a hug. “Thank you.”

  The next moment Mom came in, saw the two of us, and said, “I miss something?”

  “No.” Aunt B took a step back. “Nothing. Delilah agreed to stay here just in case anyone comes by.”

  Mom looked amused. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

  “It could.”

  “You never know,” I said, following Aunt B’s lead. She winked at me as she left to change into her funeral dress.

  “Alright.” Mom grabbed a couple more boxes. “You two go on and keep your little secrets. Delilah, just make sure you lock up.”

  “I will.” Minutes later, I hugged each of them and waved as they drove off. Once they were gone the first thing I did was check the place from top to bottom. No flowers, not even a leaf in sight. I guess that meant I was secure.

  With no customers, nothing to do, and the absence of any man-eating plants, I got bored really fast. Usually, I would’ve gone to the emporium, but, like most of the shops surrounding the bakery, Doc closed up early to go to Mae’s service. Ronnie had taken off to meet George so they could go together. There were no cars on the road, none but mine in the parking lot. It felt like I was the only person in the world.

  I watched the sunset and then decided I might as well do something productive.

  It took a full twenty minutes just to unload everything. I took all the sweets out of the display cases and set them on the counter. I’d given up hope for any business. Seeing the crumbs and frosting I’d managed to leave behind, I set to work. There was nothing worse than a bakery with a dirty display.

  Nearly ten minutes later, the phone rang.

  “Hi,” I said, “you’ve reached Southern Charm Confections.”

  “Delilah,” Garrison sounded relieved. “I’m glad you’re there. I wanted to apologize again for what I said to you. I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

  Garrison hadn’t been in the bakery since he’d snapped at me, which was several days ago. Though I remembered that horrible day, the way he’d cut
me off, how bad I’d felt afterward, I was surprised Garrison still did.

  “It’s fine,” I said truthfully.

  “No, it’s not,” he said. “I should’ve never spoken to you like that.”

  “Garrison, it’s okay.”

  “It’s really not,” he said again, “but I hope that we can get past it.”

  The bell over the door chimed, and I spun to see who’d come in. It was Wilder. He was wearing his leather jacket, a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans, looking as if he’d left home in a hurry.

  “Doherty,” he said, striding to the counter. “I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t expecting you to show up at my house like that, guess you took me by surprise.”

  Funny. I knew the feeling.

  “It’s fine,” I said, repeating the words I’d just said to Garrison. Two apologies in a row? Man, people must’ve really been coming down on me lately.

  “I know you’re trying to help, but you don’t understand.”

  “What don’t I understand?”

  “You think my dad hits me.” He shook his head. “You think he’s been abusing me or something, but he’s only ever tried to protect me.”

  Garrison called my name, but I ignored it, hand covering the receiver.

  “Protect you from what?” I said, allowing my disbelief to show. “He sent you to New York, right? How was he going to protect you from so far away?”

  “Don’t you see? That’s why he sent me away.”

  That brought me up short. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing,” Wilder said, looking down. “I didn’t mean anything. Just don’t come to my house anymore, okay?”

  I was still stuck on his last statement. “You’re saying your dad sent you away for your own protection?” His jaw tensed, a small movement, but I saw it. “What would he need to protect you from in Bowie? There’s nothing dangerous around here.”

  “Leave it, Doherty.” Wilder met my eyes. “Like I said, it’s nothing.”

  But I could tell it wasn’t.

  I quickly ran through the facts, everything I knew about the boy in front of me. Jim Wilder had sent his son away directly after his daughter’s death, a dubious suicide which most people, even the non-gossipers, thought could’ve just as likely been murder. The public assumed he was responsible for his sister’s death. He was found covered in her blood at the scene of the crime. Why else would a father send away the only living child he had left? Wilder claimed it was for protection, but I knew he wasn’t guilty. So, if it wasn’t guilt, what was it? I’d been convinced the reverend killed Anne, but Wilder seemed to think otherwise. But if he didn’t do it, and I knew Wilder didn’t do it, then who...?

  “You know,” I said in wonder and watched Wilder’s eyes widen. I’d gotten it wrong after all. “Who was it, Wilder?”

  He didn’t answer, though his skin looked paler than it had a moment ago.

  “Who was it that killed your sister?”

  I barely heard the bell, but there was no missing the familiar white sundress, the slight frame, the wild brown hair. It was hard to look away from the gun she had pointed at the back of Wilder’s head, but I took her in at a glance. There weren’t many firsts left for Southern Charm Confections. We’d been open for business several years, seen a lot of strange things, but this one took the cake: A ghost had just walked into the bakery.

  And she was carrying Willie Stubbs’s missing gun.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Hang up the phone.”

  I didn’t move, wasn’t sure I remembered how.

  The woman could’ve been Mae’s double. At first, I’d thought it was Mae, or her spirit rather, realized my mistake only after hearing her speak. The one time I’d heard Mae’s voice it had been whisper-soft. This woman, whoever she was, had a strong alto, one that commanded attention.

  Or maybe it was the gun that commanded attention.

  “Hang up the phone, now.” She turned the weapon so it pointed at me. “And you had better make it sound convincing.”

  Definitely the gun, I thought, moving on stiff limbs.

  “Delilah,” Garrison said again, sounding concerned. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great,” I said, overly cheerful. “It was good talking to you, Dad. Give Mom and Aunt B my love.”

  “Dad?” Sensing trouble, Garrison asked, “Delilah, what’s wrong? Is something happening at the bakery?”

  “Oh sure,” I laughed. The sound came out all wrong. “But I’d hurry, if I were you. They’re going to sell out of those real quick.”

  “I can be there in ten minutes. You think you can last until then?”

  “Don’t know. Bye, Dad.” I placed the phone in the cradle.

  Not a second later, a bullet knocked it clear off the wall.

  I turned around.

  “Wouldn’t want to be interrupted,” the crazy woman said.

  And yes, I’d known she was crazy the moment she walked in. It wasn’t the clothes or the hair or even the gun that tipped me off. There was just something about her that said, I’m a loon. Get too close, and I might just claw your face off.

  “Why don’t you come around here? Let’s get a look at you.” She gestured to me, and I walked, slowly, around the counter, stopping beside Wilder. Closer up, she looked younger than I’d initially thought. “Now, do a little turn for me.”

  I looked to see if she was serious. Seeing she was, I revolved on the spot.

  Rule One of Survival: Never question a crazy man—or woman—with a loaded gun.

  “So, it’s you,” she said once that was done. “You’re the little tramp he’s seeing now. It’s amazing.” She took a step closer, looking me over, gun still cocked and ready.

  “Please,” Wilder said, “don’t point that at her.” Up until then, he’d been so silent I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  Apparently through with her assessment, she frowned. “You don’t look a thing like my daughter.”

  “Listen, this is between us. Just let her go.”

  “Don’t you tell me what to do, boy!” The gun swung around so fast; all I saw was a blur. “I never liked you, still don’t. You’d better watch what you say to me.”

  I went to inch closer to Wilder, but she saw.

  “Don’t. Move.” The words were said with such force. I stilled instantly. “What do you girls see in him anyway?”

  I didn’t answer. She wasn’t really asking me to.

  “I just don’t understand,” she went on. “Is it the football thing?”

  I frowned. Far as I knew, Wilder didn’t play football.

  “No, of course not.” Her lip curled. “Girls like you only ever want one thing.”

  As she paced, I got a better chance to look at her. Besides the hair, she was actually pretty. True, she was tiny, her skin fairer than fair, but not from malnourishment. I was sure I’d never seen her in all the years I’d lived in Bowie. But there was something. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but there was something familiar about her.

  She stopped suddenly. “Did he tell you he got my daughter pregnant?” She laughed. “I bet he didn’t. Dave Diamond’s a good Christian boy. He would never do a thing like that. But guess what? He did.”

  Just then, her head came up, and I nearly gasped. The woman’s eyes flashed, but that wasn’t what struck me. It was the color of her irises, a unique shade of light green I’d only ever seen on one other person. The boy standing next to me.

  “We’ve been over this,” Wilder said, tone neutral. “It’s not Dave, Mom. It’s Ethan. I’m your son, Ethan.”

  Pearl Wilder looked at her son, and it was clear she didn’t recognize him. Even looking into his eyes— her eyes—she didn’t recognize him.

  “You’re a liar,” she said, rolling her shoulders. With the movement, the gun bobbed, but her grip was sure. “Stop trying to confuse me, Dave. I’m going to kill you either way.”

  “Like you killed Anne?” Wilder’s head swiveled in my direction, but I kept m
y gaze on his mother. Everything was starting to make sense, but I had to be sure.

  She blinked. “How—?”

  “Was it an accident? Or did you do it because she slept with Dave out of wedlock?”

  “Of course, it was an accident,” Wilder said, but Pearl was smiling.

  “You don’t get it at all, do you?” she said. “I didn’t care that she had sex. That stupid social group for virgins never fooled me. Kids make mistakes all the time, and the good Lord forgives. But that baby would’ve been a living sin against God. There can be no forgiveness without repentance. The Bible tells us this.”

  “Mom,” Wilder said, obviously shaken. “Don’t say things like that. You’re not well. You would never hurt Anne on purpose.”

  I could tell he really believed that. It made me wonder if she hadn’t always been like this. The shooting could’ve been what pushed Pearl over the edge, I thought. But what was crazier than killing your own child? I’d had it right after all—I’d just blamed the wrong parent.

  “Don’t call me that.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. To me, she said, “An abortion would’ve been better, but she refused. Even when I put a gun on her, she wouldn’t do it. She would’ve killed Jim’s career. Our entire way of life, all his beliefs, everything was on the line. And Anne was willing to risk it all for that...thing growing in her belly.”

  I resisted the urge to tell her she was just trading what she perceived as one sin for another.

  Wilder was shaking his head. “You’re not well. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “So they can what? Lock me up like Jim did?” She brought both hands to the gun, aiming at Wilder’s chest. “I don’t think so.”

  “Lock you up?” I asked the question to keep her talking. She was holding that gun like she intended to use it. Maybe if I stalled long enough, Garrison would come bursting in and save us before Wilder’s mom could fire off a shot.

  “Oh yes,” she said conversationally. “Jim had me locked up with Miss Mae for quite a long time. She took good care of me, gave me clothes, food. But Jim? He was convinced I was a ‘danger to myself and society.’“—this said like she couldn’t believe it—”Came to Mae’s house to read the scriptures to me nearly every night—as if I didn’t already know them by heart. It was infuriating. I nearly tore his throat out one night just to get him to shut up.”