Room Two, on the other hand, was practically a ghost town.
If I had wished that this would be an easy job and that I could somehow blend in and not have to give my backstory unless someone directly asked, I was mistaken. All eyes turned toward me when I walked through the double doors.
I inhaled the cool, perfumed air and tried to steady my heart rate. At least Gran had been right. Besides the select individuals who were in on it—Gran, Hazel, and Gwen—I didn’t recognize anyone. Gwen gave me the stink eye the moment she spotted me and made her exit just as quickly as I had walked in. I got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t happy to have her mother hire the Funeral Fakers.
I went directly to Hazel. Knowing her, I was able to give her a genuine smile and extend my sympathies, as I would have anyhow. Seeing that the police were still investigating Roseanne’s death, there was no physical body to pay my respects to.
“And who might you be, sweetie?” Hazel asked me. The way she delivered the line had me almost stuttering my response. You’d have never known that she and I had just had coffee the day before. The way the rest of the family looked on, I knew the show was for them. I did my best delivering my lines and including a couple of tidbits of how I met Roseanne and how I was shocked by her passing. One guy in particular, a young guy about my age, seemed especially interested in my conversation with Hazel. I sincerely hoped it was because he thought I was friendly and not that I was completely full of it. When a break arrived in our conversation, he approached us.
"Hi, I'm Jake Levin. Roseanne was my aunt.” My first thought was that I had no idea Gwen had a son. Regardless, I reached out to shake Jake’s hand and found them to be large and callused. That along with his broad shoulders and darkly tanned skin had me thinking he didn’t wear a suit every day. Not that it didn’t look good on him.
"I'm so sorry to hear about your aunt. She was a life force, wasn't she?"
Jake gave an easy laugh at my description of Roseanne. "That's a nice way of putting it. Thank you. So you're from Tampa?”
He had been listening to my backstory more than thought. “Most recently. I'm originally from Atlanta." That part was true. I found it was easiest to spin a story if not all of it was full of lies.
"Really, that's where I’m living right now,” Jake said. At that minute, Hazel excused herself and left me to talk to her grandson alone.
"Oh yeah? That's awesome. Whereabouts? I grew up in Peachtree.”
“Just finished a job that way last week.”
“What type of work do you do?”
“Landscaper. I manage a company in Gainesville.”
Can I call it or what? No way Jake was landscaping in a three-piece suit, that was for sure.
Now I know I was at a funeral and I was on the clock, but I spent most of the next twenty minutes talking with Jake about my hometown. The best places to eat, favorite concert venues, the lushest parks, and the up-and-coming neighborhoods—we covered it all. Every minute that I sat there talking with him started to make me feel homesick. Perhaps I should’ve turned tail and licked my wounds there instead? Then I remembered that while, yes, it was true, Peachtree had at one time been home, it did have everything—including my parents. That reminder popped my home sweet home fantasy in an instant. No, Asheville was where I was meant to be right now. That realization also reminded me that it was time to get back to work.
After talking with Jake, I met Petunia, Hazel’s sister. In our minute-long conversation, I could quickly tell where Gwen got her snootiness from. Gwen was more like her aunt than her mother in that regard.
In addition, the rest of Petunia’s immediate family—two sons and a daughter—had also flown in. There wasn't a disappointment in the group. A lawyer, a physician, and a banker rounded out their professions. And they weren't quiet about their accomplishments.
"I saw your article in the Journal of American Physicians," one brother said to the other.
"Yes, I was very proud of the research my colleagues and I completed in that regard. And you, I heard you won the Hildebrand case."
"Yes, yes. That was a wonderful day in court.”
"If you need anyone to invest your earnings," the sister chimed in, “My stock options are earning seven percent.”
Yes, it appeared that Roseanne had been the black sheep of the family. During the memorial, I noticed that if the person was dressed in respectable attire, they were either family or digging for information on Roseanne for much different reasons. Debt collectors. People who wondered where to make their claims to. How much life insurance was there? How quickly they could be reimbursed? Bless Hazel. I would have hired Exit Stage Left too.
“Do you know who’s handling her estate? She owed me money,” one middle-aged balding man said to me.
“Oh, no, that I don’t know,” I said in a voice as quiet as I could above a whisper. Inside I was praying no one else had heard the man.
“Well, do you know who I should ask? I need to find out to make a claim. Maybe now that she’s dead, I can finally get my money back.” The man looked about the room. I saw him eyeing Petunia. That would not do.
“Do you have a card? I can check with the family and get back with you,” I offered.
The man fished out a business card from his wallet and passed it over. He owned one of those cash advance companies, the kind that charged ridiculously high interest rates and sucked people in with quick cash and promises of a better tomorrow.
I was still talking to Mr. Frank Thorn, per his business card, when I noticed another woman walk in. In fact, everyone noticed her. It would be impossible not to. With long, flowing hair that was such a shiny dark black it was practically blue, and the deep-purple chiffon wizarding robes she wore that billowed after her, this woman was a sight. I was betting she was a close friend of Roseanne’s.
Hazel was tied up in a conversation with her nephew, and it would have been rude for her to completely walk away. I eyed her knowingly and moved to intercept the woman before she could approach any of the attending family.
The woman was visibly distraught. I forgot her appearance, well mostly, when I saw the tears in her eyes.
“She came to me for advice, and I'm afraid I read the stars wrong,” she said to me without an introduction.
What was she talking about? I was confused. “Stars?” I repeated.
“I’m an astrologer," the woman supplied. “Roseanne had come to me with questions about her love life, and maybe if I would have looked a little deeper, I would've seen the hard aspects about to hit her. I knew she said she had trouble, but nothing like this.”
“I … um … yeah, I can understand why you’d be upset. We were all very shocked by her passing,” I managed to spit out. I may read my horoscope from time to time, but that’s as far as my astrology knowledge went.
“It was murder, wasn’t it?” the woman continued, her tears now falling freely. All the waterworks had my eyes doing the same. Darn ability to cry on demand.
“Possibly. We honestly don’t know yet.” I was going to give society the benefit of the doubt until we knew more about Roseanne’s death.
“I just can’t believe it.”
I turned toward the side table and grabbed a handful of tissues for myself and the woman. Hazel met us at that time, and I excused myself to take a break in the ladies’ room.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” a dark-skinned woman said to me as she powdered her nose in the bathroom mirror. I was doing the same.
Her question caught me off guard, but I fought to stay in my role. “I’m from out of town,” I offered up.
“I meant working for Ruthie,” the girl said, smiling at me in the mirror.
I about dropped my compact.
“Hey, how’d you know?” It had only been a month since my last performance and it seemed that already my skills were slipping.
“You’ve been crying. From what I’ve heard, no one is crying over this lady’s demise.”
That was true, u
nless you counted the astrologer.
“The way you can cry like that, I bet Ruthie will keep you busy.”
“I hope so. I could use the gigs.”
“I hear that. I’m Tabitha by the way.”
“Maven.”
Just then, another woman walked into the bathroom.
“Hey, Stacy, how’s it going?” Tabitha asked.
“This is worse than the Henderson funeral,” Stacy replied as she walked into a stall and shut the door behind her.
“Is she?” I let my open-ended question hang in the air in case Stacy wasn’t in on the gig.
“A faker? No.” Tabitha replied. She held the bathroom door open for me to follow her out. “She just likes to crash funerals. Says it’s a great way to meet men. Everyone’s looking for a little pick-me-up after the service.”
I did a double take over my shoulder, but Stacy was still inside the stall attending to her business. Now I had seen it all. A real-life funeral crasher. And I had thought Bakers was a just an average small town, I joked with myself.
Tabitha and I parted ways, but not before she offered to introduce me to the rest of the crew on another day, which I readily accepted. She promised it would be a fun time, and I didn’t doubt it. The acting type usually were.
The rest of the memorial service passed in much the same way. Some more of Hazel’s well-to-do family members arrived, and we fakers had our work cut out for us trying to paint Roseanne in a more pleasant light. She hadn’t made it easy. I promised myself then and there I would be a better person, or rather the best person I could be, and that no one would have to hire the fakers for me when my funeral rolled around. Nothing like a little death to remind you to live your best life.
Jake met back up with me toward the end of the service. “No pressure or anything, but my grandma is cleaning out Roseanne’s belongings from her house tomorrow. I guess Roseanne was a bit of a pack rat. I don’t want to leave my grandma to take care of it all.” I followed Jake’s line of sight across the room to his mother. "I know my mom isn’t going to be any help, and I can’t think of anyone else to ask.” He looked embarrassed about that. I didn’t blame him. You would think his mom would at least step up now that her sister was dead, but it appeared from the way Gwen flat out ignored her mother during the service and talked only with the snooty family members that she had no intention of doing so. "I'm not sure how long you're in town for, but I was hoping to tackle it tomorrow if you're free?” Jake continued.
My eyes did the whole deer-in-headlights thing while I tried to think of an excuse that would prevent me from helping him. The truth of the matter was, other than helping Greta move some furniture, I didn’t have anything to do tomorrow, and even though we had just met, I liked the idea of spending more time with Jake, only as Maven and not Megan.
Scratch that.
What did it matter?
Jake was only going to be in town for two more days. Giving him a hand and hanging out would be no big deal. It would also be the nice thing to do. I was all about being nice. I didn’t want to end up like Roseanne now did I?
We decided to meet at Hazel’s house at ten o’clock in the morning. I already knew she lived a couple streets over from Gran. However, I nodded politely while Jake gave me directions, and we swapped phone numbers so he could text me her address.
"Nice car," Jake said as we exited the funeral home.
"Thanks, it was a gift." I left the comment at that. Once again, I thought it was better to go with the truth. Not only that, but I wasn't sure a counselor’s salary would allow for such a ride. Perhaps I should just tell Jake the truth. Wouldn’t that make life easier? I opened my mouth and started to do just that, but Gwen joined us right at that moment.
“Jake, I need to speak with you,” she said in a clipped voice. Gwen looked at me as if I was some disgusting little thing that she didn’t want associating with her son. The woman had issues.
I said goodbye to them both and put the afternoon behind me as I got in my car and left. What an afternoon, I thought. I had worked hard for my money. Even though I was exhausted, I was proud. No one questioned my cover, and I was able to help Hazel and would help her out again tomorrow. That made me feel good inside, a feeling I had almost forgotten.
Minute by minute, I was coming to realize just how bad New York City had been for me. It hadn’t been where I belonged, and that hurt a bit. I had wanted to belong there. To make it. But at what cost? My personal happiness was too high a price to pay. I knew that now.
That didn’t mean I knew where I belonged, however. I thought back to my conversation with Jake. Peachtree had been my home, and even though I longed for the comfort of the familiar, nothing was calling me back there either. I felt a little lost.
I swallowed that thought and felt my tummy rumble. Eating my emotions wasn’t going to cut it. I needed to get something real to eat, and soon. I was starving. Acting always did bring out my appetite. I decided to swing by Miss Sue’s and grab some grub to go. I'm sure Gran would appreciate it as well. She had arranged a small luncheon at the memorial service and spent her entire time running around, making sure everything was stocked and everyone was happy. I was sure she hadn’t taken the time to eat a thing.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, the diner was mostly empty. It was that slow time of day—the lunch rush was over and people hadn’t begun to think of dinner yet. The only other people at the diner besides me and Miss Sue was a cook, and the way he was scrubbing the grill with his earbuds in told me he wasn't going to be bothered by little old me.
“How was the service?” Miss Sue asked me while setting a fresh paper placemat and an empty glass in front of me.
“Good. Gran was busy. Thought I’d grab some food to take home.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Your grandma and Hazel are two peas in a pod. I’m glad Hazel has her right now.” Miss Sue’s voice cracked. She turned from me to compose herself.
After the briefest of pauses, she was ready to take my to-go order. The health-conscious me was thinking I should order a couple of Cobb salads, but the way my stomach was gnawing at itself told me that wouldn’t cut it. I went with a couple of olive burgers with an order of fried pickles and onion rings for Gran and me to share.
Miss Sue hung the ticket above the grill and tapped her cook on the shoulder to let him know an order was waiting. Then she got back to work. If I had thought she seemed a bit off before, it was nothing compared to the way she was fiddling around now. Her hands were shaking so bad, she splashed the tea she was pouring into my glass right over the rim. Her hands kept trembling the whole time she attempted to refill the salt shakers, too. It got to the point where I started to wonder if she had a neurological disorder and I was completely reading her behavior wrong. Then I felt like an awful person for not thinking of that sooner.
But then Miss Sue turned to me in a confession-like manner and stated, “I just can't keep quiet anymore. If I'm going to tell someone what I saw, you're just as good as anyone.”
Her hands were now twisting the apron around her waist. Miss Sue looked to make sure the cook was busy at the grill before she said, “I saw her."
"Saw who?" I asked even though I was pretty sure I knew who she meant.
"Roseanne. I’d been working late here at the diner. The coil went out on this refrigerated case.” Miss Sue tapped the top of the case with her finger. “Without fresh pies, a diner isn't worth a dime. Everyone knows that. So I stayed late until I got it up and running again.”
“Was Roseanne here?” I asked.
“No, but see, that's the funny thing. I don't live but a short jaunt from here, so I don't bother driving. I just walk it every day. So here I was, heading home, and who do I see in front of me but Roseanne. Now what she was doing walking up midtown at midnight beats me, but she didn't look too good. That's the part that eating me up inside. At the time, I just thought, ‘Oh, Roseanne has gone and tied one on again’.” Miss Sue shook her head, disgusted with herself. "Y
ou have to believe that I had no other reason to suspect otherwise," Miss Sue pleaded.
“You said she looked drunk?” I asked, thinking through Miss Sue’s statement.
"Yes, isn't that awful? I avoided making eye contact with her because I didn't want to even get into it. Sometimes, all it took was looking at Roseanne the wrong way, or her perceiving it as the wrong way, and she would let into you. The woman just wasn't nice."
I nodded. So, Roseanne looked drunk walking up midtown the night she died.
“She didn’t have any friends up that way?” I asked.
“As far as I know, she didn’t have any friends at all. She insulted more people in this town than anything.” A tear slipped out of Miss Sue’s eye. I turned away to keep my own waterworks from starting up again.
“I just don't know how I’m ever going to live with myself. Roseanne obviously had some sort of physical ailment that overtook her. You know Grove Park isn’t too far from where I saw her, and all I did was avoid her. What type of person does that make me?” Miss Sue’s apron was officially twisted into the tightest knot in front of her.
“Now don't go being too hard on yourself. I probably would have done the same thing,” I said.
“Really?" Miss Sue looked at me with such hope in her eyes that it did make me tear up. I continued on anyway, “All I keep hearing about is how awful Roseanne was. It seems she was mean to everyone and took advantage of anyone she possibly could." I got that message loud and clear at the funeral. How many people had come looking to collect their belongings or get their money? More than one was too many as far as I was concerned. "You should really give Sheriff Evans a call and tell him about what you saw though. I bet that would help ease your conscience just a little bit, too.”
“You don’t think I’ll get in trouble?” Miss Sue seemed really nervous at the prospect.
“No, I don’t. Not if Sheriff Evans is familiar with Roseanne’s countenance, and I believe he is.”
“Oh, she was just as nasty to him as anyone. She didn’t respect his badge one bit. Of course, it didn’t help that she was often on the wrong side of the law.”
Mourning After Page 4
