Mourning Crisis
Page 7
Trash piled to the ceiling of the mobile home bedroom, just like the kitchen table. It couldn’t have been much higher than seven feet, but still, my twelve by twelve bedroom at home was like an Extra Value Meal at McDonald’s compared to Buford’s bedroom. Not too expensive, but worth it.
Two hours later I’d gone through all I could without losing myself in the sea of stuff and only ended up with a birthday card from someone named Leroy and a gambling chip Alice wasn’t even sure belonged to my fake fiancé.
I did, however, leave that trailer with a better understanding of why my mother worried so much about the unknown future of my acting career. She wanted me to have a stable job, marry a sweet boy and make babies. It was what she knew made her happy, and what she knew made a lot of people happy, and I suspected she thought I would be safe. I think she feared I might end up living my life like Alice Mableton. Unemployed, unhealthy, worn out, with sunken in, yellowing eyes and a horrible cough, with nothing to do but smoke cigarettes in a beat-up trailer full of garbage. I owed my mother a sincere apology, but I already knew that.
Alice gave me the key to Buford’s rig after I sifted through what felt like miles and miles of garbage in a space that had me feeling worse than a trapped rat.
The rig was parked just outside of the trailer park. When I pulled up to it and got out, a car idled up alongside me.
“Need some help, ma’am?” Christopher Lacy smiled from inside the vehicle.
I froze. “What? What’re you doing here?” My words were sharp and quick, and though I didn’t exactly want to sound rude, I couldn’t quite help myself, the words just flew out of my mouth before I’d had a chance to stop them.
Taken back by my attitude, he blanched. “As I mentioned, this isn’t the greatest area, so I thought I’d check on you. You know, make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m…I’m fine. Thank you.” I walked up to his window, my eyes darting back and forth around me. “You really shouldn’t be here though. Please, can we talk later?”
He drew his eyebrows together and angled his chin down and to his left. “Mayme, what’s going on?”
I shifted my head back and forth and made sure to check behind me. “Christopher, please. This is important. I need you to leave. I’ll…I’ll call you in a bit, okay? I promise. Just…just go.” I flipped around to leave, but when he didn’t pull away, I turned back around. “I’m okay, honest. Really, just go.”
“Mayme. What’s—”
“I promise. It’s for my work. I’ll explain.”
He pointed his forefinger at me. “I’m calling you in an hour. If you don’t answer, I’m coming back. You hear?”
“Okay.”
He rolled up his window and pulled away.
Great, I thought, I had an hour to get items in Buford’s rig for his memorial and get the heck out of Dodge, or I’d be busted by the cops, sort of. Okay, so I was a bit of a drama queen, but considering my career of choice was acting, that wasn’t such a bad thing.
I climbed onto the driver’s side of the gargantuan sized truck and unlocked the door. The truck towered over me even when I climbed up to open the door. The door itself loomed large, so big in fact, I felt like a Munchkin from The Wizard of Oz.
To my surprise, Buford’s 2017 Volvo truck was immaculate, and the exact opposite of what I’d expected. I recalled watching the reality TV show about hoarders a time or two again and hearing that some children of hoarders went the opposite direction of their parents. It was a disease, but even so, those that didn’t have it often worked hard to make sure they never got it, too, going to the extreme opposite to ensure they didn’t turn out like their mother or father. Maybe Buford worried he’d end up like his Aunt Alice.
Having been inside that trailer, I empathized with him.
I heaved myself into the truck’s cab, snuck a peek into his few drawers and found several treasures I could easily use for the memorial table. I realized then that the stranger I pretended to love had died in that truck, sitting in that bed, watching Netflix. I stilled myself, allowing a moment to let that sink in, and giving Buford Lester the respect he deserved.
As I considered the man I didn’t know personally, I wondered how he must have felt in those last moments. I’d done my due diligence and researched what happens to the body when it goes into anaphylactic shock. It wasn’t pretty. In fact, scary and painful and horrific were excellent descriptions. Some of the symptoms aren’t even noticeable as part of an allergic reaction at first. An achy feeling, stomachache, diarrhea, vomiting, weak pulse, feeling feverish—every symptom one would find for every terminal disease or even a cold, listed on WebMD, the website no person outside of the medical field should ever go to. It’s the inability to breathe and the closing of the throat that come with anaphylactic shock that brings on a swift, painful death.
If not caught quickly, death from an allergic reaction that closes the throat is imminent.
An honest to goodness real tear fell from my eye. I closed my eyes as other tears built up in them and let them fall to the dead man’s bed. “I’m sorry, Buford Lester. I’m sorry you died alone in this truck cab, and that nobody could help you.”
I leaned back onto Buford’s pillows and said a prayer for his soul. When I opened my eyes, I stared straight into a shelf on the opposite side of the truck cab and right at a yellow box with the words EpiPen 2-PAK written in black ink across it.
I grabbed a bag full of Buford’s belongings for the table, stepped out of the rig and smacked right into a tall, skinny man with greasy long, black and gray hair and a scrawny matching beard that he’d braided to a long point. He wore faded denim overalls and a no-longer white V-neck t-shirt underneath it. Some people might have called him redneck, but to my family, he was pure country, and sometimes, that wasn’t a compliment. “Help you with something?”
I grabbed onto the side of the door. “Uh, no thanks, I’m good.”
“What’re you doin’ in Buford’s truck?”
I wished I didn’t have to answer. The man badly needed a shower. He stunk worse than the boy’s locker room at my middle school, and if I hadn’t been raised proper, I’d have strongly suggested he invest in at least a bottle of Axe spray or something. Heavens, he stunk something terrible. “Who’s asking?” I set the bag down, retreated back into the rig and picked up the second bag. And gently placed it outside of the truck.
“His partner.”
I did a quick rewind in my brain, mentally flipping through the dossier pages for the part that mentioned Buford’s partner. “Oh, you must be Tucker Hyut.” I stuck out my hand, though I really didn’t want to shake his. Just a quick glance at it and I saw the dirt and grime under his in-dire-need-of-a-clipping-nails. “Ivy Sawyer, a pleasure to meet you.” I shook his hand up and down like I was as happy as a pig rolling in manure.
“Never heard of ya. Care to tell me what you’re doin’ in Buford’s truck, ma’am?” He eyed me up and down like I was his supper. I wanted to rush home and take a hot shower.
“I came to get some things for his memorial table for the visitation and such.” I closed the door to the rig and hopped off the truck. “His Aunt Alice knows.” I picked up the last bag of items inside the truck and hopped out with it.
“That’s all well and good, but who are you to Buford?”
“I’m his fiancée.”
He spit his chewing tobacco from his mouth onto the gravel parking area at his feet. “’Cuse me? Buford don’t have no fiancée.”
“’Course he doesn’t now, he’s deceased, but he did before he died, and that was me.” I wiggled my torso and jutted out my chin. “I guess that makes me some kind of widow of sorts now.”
“Lady, I’ve been riding with Buford for a long time, and he ain’t once mentioned no fiancée. He ain’t mentioned no girlfriend. Heck, that man’s so angry and mean, ain’t no woman alive would dare let him near her.” His eyes gave me a long gaze, traveling from my legs up, and settling on parts a lady didn’t mention
if she was a real lady. I wished I’d let Christopher Lacy stick around after all.
“Excuse me, sir, but my love was a gentleman till his dying day, and it is just rude to speak ill of the dead like that.” I marched toward my car. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a funeral memorial table to prepare, so I must go.” I unlocked my car. “But if you intend to come to Buford’s final celebration of life, I’d like to ask that you kindly leave your negative attitude at home where it belongs.”
He stuffed another pinch of chew between his bottom lip and bottom teeth and nodded. As I got in my car, I heard him laugh.
If fear hadn’t taken over my soul, anger would have.
I drove away from the trailer park, and when I turned onto the main street heading back into town, I checked my rearview mirror and saw a familiar car behind me.
Christopher Lacy’s car.
I’d never been so grateful and annoyed in my life. Even though I hadn’t seen him when I left the trailer park, I had a sneaky suspicion he’d been there, keeping an eye on the place, just waiting for me to go. While that warmed my heart, it also worried me. My job required me to be Ivy Sawyer, not Mayme Buckley, and it also needed confidentiality. Posing as a dead guy’s fiancée wasn’t against the law, at least not that I knew of, but it wasn’t exactly all that ethical. I kind of swept that part under my metaphorical rug because it was the closest thing to acting I could find, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. At least not when they’d fallen through a stage floor and destroyed the one thing in their life that meant something to them. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the one thing that meant something to me, but it was the one career thing that mattered to me, and the one career thing I was good at, and I was darn good at it, too, and that meant something to me. Falling through a floor in front of a theater full of people notwithstanding, obviously.
I didn’t think Christopher Lacy would understand that, and I didn’t want to explain it either, but nonetheless, I appreciated his effort to watch out for me.
I pulled into the first convenience store I came across and parked. He did the same. When I got out of my car and stood against the side of it and stared at his, he nodded, and without shutting off his, stepped out of it and walked over to me.
“For a detective, you’re not very good at that whole surveillance thing.”
He chewed on a plastic straw. “That was intentional.”
“Well, thank you, but I’m okay, though I do appreciate you watching out for me.”
“Like I said, Happy Trails isn’t the greatest place. Saw you talking to that guy by Buford’s truck. That the friend you mentioned? I might be wrong, but wasn’t that Tucker Hyut?”
“Wait, you know Buford?”
He nodded. “Ran into him a few times at The Backwoods, a trashy bar known for easy women and bad bar fights on the outskirts of town. Never caused any trouble there. Not a bad guy actually, but his buddy Tucker, he’s not someone you ought to be hanging around with, Mayme.” He took the straw from his mouth, stared at it, flipped it over and stuck the other side in instead. The move was calculated in a big screen movie with a southern sheriff trying to intimidate a suspect, kind of way. “Surprised to see you talking to him, that’s why I’m asking if he’s the friend you mentioned.”
“Actually, that’s the first time I’ve met the guy.”
He nodded again. “Good to know. Word of advice, Mayme. Stay away from Tucker Hyut. He’s got a criminal record a mile long. Nothing he’s done any time for, but not because he shouldn’t because he’s been lucky.”
If my acting career ever took off again and I got a role in something that needed a realistic cop, I’d definitely suggest Christopher Lacy for the part. He nailed it. Of course, it wasn’t a role for him, but that didn’t matter. “Thank you. Duly noted.”
His shoulders loosened, and he smiled, even though that darn straw still stuck out from between his teeth. “Still would love to get together when you’ve got some time.”
My lips parted ever so slightly, and as I went to say yes, I remembered where I’d just been. “I’m sorry, now’s just not a good time. Can I take a rain check? Maybe in a few weeks?”
He tugged the straw from his mouth and pressed his lips together for a moment and then finally nodded. “Sure, Mayme. Just give me a call. You know how to reach me.” He moved away and headed back to his car.
I pushed myself from my Tribute and moved toward him. “Christopher, wait.”
He turned around, and we made eye contact. The straw was between his teeth once more.
I cut the distance between us. “I’d really like to spend some time with you. I’ve just started a new job though, and it’s kind of weird, the hours and all, and I uh…I, I don’t know how to explain it, but if you’ll just give me a week or so. I’m not putting you off or anything. I promise.” I swallowed hard and blinked hoping he understood my intentions and that I hadn’t made a fool of myself.
His stiff posture relaxed, and a smile stretched across his face. “One week and then I’m dragging you on a date. I’ve waited a long time for this, Mayme Buckley.” He tapped my nose with the tip of his finger, and I almost fell over onto my floor-busting behind.
He’d waited a long time to go out with me?
4
I sat on my blow up chair and read through the dossier again. Daddy had patched up every tiny hole he could find and also picked up an electric air pump, so every time I felt myself sinking toward the ground, I just hit the pump switch to on, and air filled the ancient chair right back to life.
I had to do it about every fifteen minutes, but I didn’t mind. I kind of dug living the retro 90s life.
Christopher’s warning about Tucker Hyut stuck with me. Tucker led me to believe he knew Buford well and that if Buford had a fiancée or even a girlfriend, he would have known. Knowing I’d quite possibly see him again over the next few days concerned me, so I needed to make sure I’d crossed all my T’s and dotted every I. Rereading the dossier was the best way for me to do that.
And, I wanted as much information on Tucker Hyut as possible, so I scoured the internet with a fine-toothed comb and found absolutely nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.
Christopher said he wasn’t a good person, so how was that even possible?
I searched my mother and found information on her, a woman that probably wouldn’t know how to pronounce the word gif or what an emoji was, but a guy with a criminal record a mile long is invisible on the internet.
What had I gotten myself into?
I sent a text to Christopher and asked him how I would go about finding out information about someone with a criminal record.
He texted back a question instead of an answer. I hated when people did that. “What kind of information?”
I responded with, “I’m curious about that Tucker Hyut guy and what you said.”
His text back sounded as if I’d asked him to get the information for me, which I hadn’t. “I can’t run anything on him unless I’m working on a case he’s involved in, which I’m not, but I do know a lot about his arrest record. Why are you interested in him?”
“Would pleading the Fifth Amendment be appropriate here?”
“No.”
“That’s not the answer I wanted,” I texted back.
“That’s too bad.”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say.
An hour later I’d reread through the dossier, retaken copious amounts of notes, and come to the conclusion that the best I could do was just that, the best I could do. I decided I planned to do as I’d planned. The next day, I’d go back to the funeral home and set up the memorial table. Later, I'd visit with the family and then spend the rest of the day preparing for his service, though I wasn’t sure exactly what that would entail. If I were to guess though, it would be spending more time with his family answering questions about my questionable relationship with Buford.
I fell asleep thinking about Tucker Hyut and worrying about him blowing my cover.
“Well, at least we agree on something, ‘cause I don’t think we’ll need to tell her at all. I told you, I just know there ain’t nothing to worry about, Bobby, now don’t you go and get yourself all worked up about this, you hear me?”
I cracked open my door peeked out. Daddy held Momma in his arms.
“I worry about you every second of every day, darlin’. You’re the light of my life.”
I pulled my door open and acted like I hadn’t heard anything. I stretched my arms out wide. “Wow, that was a good night’s rest.”
Momma smiled like I hadn’t been a jerk to her the day before. I hated how she was so forgiving even when I hadn’t apologized.
“Momma, I’m sorry about yesterday. I acted like a spoiled brat. I know you’re just thinking about what you think is best for me. You deserve a better daughter than me.” I joined their hug.
She wrapped her arms around me. “Oh sugar, I don’t deserve nothing of the like because you’re the best there is, even if you fell through a floor.” She pushed me away and smiled.
“It was an old floor,” I said.
“Emm hmm.”
Daddy smacked her behind. “I bet this would fall through a floor or two, too.”
“Bobby Buckley, I do declare,” Momma said, all Gone with the Wind like.
All was forgiven, but I couldn’t help but wonder what they were talking about earlier.
“Would you like help with any of that, Ivy?” Clementine James met me at the side entrance to the funeral home.
“That would be just lovely. Thank you, Ms. James.”
“Please dear, call me Clementine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She walked back inside and seconds later was back with two burly looking young men dressed in black suits, white shirts, and black ties. “My boys will get whatever you’ve got left. Just tell them what to do. They’re at your beck and call.”