I ended up spending the next twenty minutes convincing Miss Sue of her innocence and trying to restore her spirits before heading out with my to-go order. As a thanks, Miss Sue had included a whole chocolate cream pie, which I thought was a fair trade any day of the week.
4
I made sure to park my car in Gran’s garage that night so Jake wouldn’t see it when he headed over to Hazel’s house the next day. Gran wasn’t home yet, but I couldn’t wait for her to eat. I practically inhaled my food and was ready to change into sweatpants and veg out and watch old movies for the rest of the night when Hazel stopped by. Cary Grant was going to have to wait.
“My sister Petunia couldn't believe the respectable individuals that showed up today. Even Jake commented how surprised he was to meet such a nice acquaintance of Roseanne’s named Megan." Hazel winked at me. “It might sound funny, but it makes me feel good to have them think so highly of Roseanne. If any member of my family is grieving Roseanne, it would be Jake. I have to say Roseanne took a liking to him from the moment he was born. Only person in the world she cared for. So thank you for easing his grief, even just a little bit.” Hazel seemed to be rambling a bit, and that might’ve been the gin talking. I could smell it plain as day on her breath. I didn’t blame her one bit. I felt a woman was allotted more than a drink or two after burying her daughter that day. Okay, metaphorically on the burying part since the police hadn’t released her body, but same difference. It had been a rough day for her.
"Honestly, I think the only reason my relations bothered to make the trip was to see Roseanne make a mockery of herself even in death. Thanks to you, we sure showed them.” Hazel beamed as much as she could. I smiled in response.
“I heard you’re going to be coming over tomorrow, too,” Hazel said.
“Yeah, I told Jake I’d give him a hand going through Roseanne’s things,” I replied.
“Can’t tell you how grateful I am for that. My daughter … well, it’s going to be some work.”
“I heard. I thought it was the least I could do,” I replied.
“Well now, I’ll pay you for helping—” Hazel started to say.
“Absolutely not,” I replied, cutting her off.
“But you’ll still be playing Megan.”
I gave an inward sigh.
Hazel picked up on my feelings. “I wouldn’t ask you to do it if she hadn’t been so well received today. I’d just hate to pull the rug out from under Jake. Seems like that would just be wrong. I don’t want to hurt him,” Hazel continued.
“No, I understand. I don’t want to hurt him either.” Even though I preferred it wasn’t the case, tomorrow would just be a continuation of the job. I still wasn’t going to let Hazel pay me though.
Hazel patted her chest and let out a little gin burp. “Excuse me. That tonic will get you every time.”
I eyed Hazel and thought all those cocktails were catching up with her. She was dead on her feet.
“Why don’t we get you home? Is anyone staying with you?” I asked.
Gran picked that moment to walk in the kitchen door. Perfect timing. She took one look at her friend and invited her to sit down.
“Have you eaten anything?” she asked Hazel.
“I got takeout from Miss Sue’s,” I offered. “There’s still an olive burger and plenty of fried pickles and onion rings left over.” Probably not as many as there should be. Tonight I learned that there was nothing like fried pickles down south. In fact, I probably would’ve finished the rest of them already if Hazel hadn’t stopped over.
“I’m not going to have you fuss over me. You did enough of that earlier,” Hazel said to Gran. “Let me get out of your hair and you guys can get on with your evening.”
Gran ignored Hazel and got out two plates and started divvying up the food. I noticed Hazel took up a chair at the table and didn’t protest any further. I left the two women to eat and decided to take a soak in Gran’s tub before switching into those sweatpants.
Gran’s tub wasn’t particularly fancy, or deep, but it was clean. Gran might not be able to cook to save her life, but she could clean like nobody’s business. You wouldn’t find any soap scum or mildew in her bathroom. No ma’am. Her tub was scrubbed, her shower curtain was ironed, and her towels were white and fluffy. Someday I’d learn the secret to her perfect towels, but until then, I’d take full advantage of her skills.
While the tub filled, I poured in a capful of Gran’s rose-scented bubble bath and thought about what Hazel had said. I don’t want to hurt him. The words rolled around in my brain like bingo balls in the hopper. I had been honest when I had said I didn’t want to either. I had been hurt enough lately, and I wasn’t about to intentionally inflict pain on anyone else, either. No way around it. I could never fess up to Jake now. Guess I’d always be Megan to him.
I didn’t sleep well that night. Even with the bath, the day had been too full of emotion for me to settle down into a restful sleep. Instead, I counted on my morning coffee to get me up and running. I spotted pumpkin spiced coffee creamer in Gran’s fridge and added a healthy pour to my mug. The first sip tasted like dessert in a cup. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all. By the time I reached the bottom of my first cup, I was feeling moderately human.
I hadn’t forgotten my promise to Greta to help move her furniture, but she hadn’t returned my call yet. With no time settled on, I was free to meet Jake at Hazel’s right at ten o’clock. My attention kept drifting out the front living room curtains. The window faced the road, and I was waiting for Jake’s truck to pass by before heading out.
Ten minutes later, I spotted him. My stomach dipped as I watched him drive by in a rather large and impressive pickup truck. It seemed fitting for him and his line of work. Big and tough. I bet he could fit whatever his landscaping heart desired in the bed of that truck. I gave a nervous laugh that was so out of character, I decided it must be a little bit of stage fright. You’re helping Hazel, I reminded myself. I had to keep that reminder in the forefront of my thoughts or I was bound to cancel on him.
I checked my phone one last time to make sure I hadn’t missed a call from Greta before heading out.
My first thought when I pulled into Hazel’s was that I should have waited longer.
Hazel was sitting on one of the two front porch chairs that decked her quaint cement porch while Jake kneeled in front of her. His large frame practically blotted her out from view, but from the side I could see her small, delicate hand clasped softly between his in a comforting sort of way. I stood by my car for a moment, watching the two of them together while I tried to decide if I should stay or go. Hazel looked up and spotted me, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her free hand, before motioning for me to join them. I swallowed dryly and started to do just that.
"I can come back," I offered after shutting the car door after me.
"No, no. It's perfectly fine. I've just had a bit of upsetting news, that's all.” Hazel lifted a white hanky from her lap and dabbed at her nose.
I didn’t press for details, but Jake still provided them when I reached them. "Sheriff Evans was by this morning. Preliminary toxicology reports show that Rosanne died of an overdose."
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry." I guess it wasn't murder after all. Did that make things better or worse?
"An overdose of insulin," Hazel added.
Now I was even more confused. "Roseanne was diabetic?"
"No, but Gwen is,” Hazel replied.
“Oh.” Gwen wouldn’t murder her sister, would she? I left the question unspoken.
“Don’t worry, I told just as much to Sheriff Evans.” Hazel stared off into the distance. I could only imagine what she was thinking. I’m sure she remembered how the two women had just fought the night before. Everyone had seen it. I tried to catch Jake’s eye, but he too was lost in thought. His eyes seemed focused on the front porch’s painted light-green wooden planks.
“I’m so sorry,” I replied, which honestly was all I
could think of to say.
"I think I need some tea.” Hazel stood abruptly, leaving Jake shuffling back. She went directly inside, leaving the two of us on the front porch.
Talk about an awkward silence.
Now more than ever, I was thinking it was a good time to make an exit. Surely, he’d want some alone time to think things through and perhaps reach out to his mom?
Jake ran his hand through his already tousled dark locks, making the style all the more untidy before seeming to make up his mind. “Are you ready to do this?”
“Are you sure? I thought you might want some time to make sense of all this,” I said, trying to give him an out.
“No, I’d rather keep my mind busy”
“You know what they say, idle minds are the devil’s workshop.” I quoted Gran before I could stop myself. “Sorry, disregard that.” Where in the world did that come from? I shook my head to erase any offense.
Jake didn’t seem to take any, and I followed him inside Hazel’s house. As announced, Hazel was in the kitchen making her tea in earnest. The kettle was on the stove, her delicate little tea set with its miniature pink roses was out, and she was pouring milk in the creamer. I thought about stepping outside and calling Gran to see if she could stop by and lend some support to her best friend, but it turned out I didn’t have to. Gran was pulling in the driveway a moment later. I didn’t wait for her to knock. I felt confident in my acting ability, but that didn’t mean I wanted to pretend Gran was a recent acquaintance. Instead, I allowed Jake to lead the way to Roseanne’s room.
Hazel’s house was a carbon copy of Gran’s. Living room up front followed by the dining room and kitchen on one side, and a bedroom, bath, and another bedroom on the other side. A small concrete slab was poured out back. Hazel had taken the bedroom up front, which meant the back room was Roseanne’s bedroom.
If you could call it that.
“Holy guacamole.” The words were out of my mouth before I could help myself. Jake’s description of a pack rat was spot on. It appeared Roseanne was a collector. Of what, you may wonder, and I’d have to say everything. She had bottle caps, belts, baseball cards, and Barbie dolls, and that’s just what was stacked against one wall. She had rolled-up maps, a drawer full of postage stamps, and stacked kitchen tins, too. The room was small to begin with, but this collection made the quarters tight.
“Where did she get all this stuff?” I asked as Jake closed the bedside drawer that contained the stamps.
“I have no idea. I guess there’s an equally impressive collection in the garage, too.”
I started to think that Jake didn't need a friend a help with Roseanne’s things, what he needed was to call an appraiser, or maybe have an estate sale. This wasn't junk that Rosanne had laying around but collectibles. The Barbie dolls alone had to be worth a pretty penny, especially considering they were still in their original packaging and looked to be in pristine condition.
"You think this is worth something?" Jake asked me, motioning with his arm to sweep the room.
"Absolutely. I’d try to get someone in here to assess it right away. Before we take anything out,” I replied.
Jake nodded as he seemed to think about it. "You're probably right. I guess maybe we should tackle her personal belongings instead?" Jake seemed less certain, and if he had reservations, they were nothing compared to the way I was feeling. If I had been a real friend of Roseanne's, this might have been uncomfortable, but going through a stranger’s belongings? Well, it just left me feeling kind of weird inside.
However, I checked those emotions and went with Jake to the closet as we threw back the accordion-style doors and surveyed Roseanne's wardrobe. This part would be easy. We could bag it all up and send it to the local women's shelter. I'm not saying any of it was appropriate. Most of it included T-shirts with beer and cigarette logos, ripped flannel shirts, and cutoff jeans, but maybe someone would find value in it.
"Here, let me get that for you," Jake said as he grabbed the last of the shirts on the top shelf. He was taller than me by at least six inches, making the task much easier for him to accomplish.
"There isn't anything else up there, is there?" I asked. Jake was standing on his tiptoes now as he surveyed the rest of the closet. When he lowered himself down, in his hand he had a small envelope. It was red. The kind that used a small string to wrap around two buttons to secure the two sides together. On the front written in blue ballpoint pen with three numbers, 715. Jake undid the twine between the two sides and dumped the contents out. A small gold key fell into the palm of his hand.
What in the world? I thought. “It’s a safe deposit box key.”
“You’re sure?” Jake asked.
“Absolutely. My first real job was working at the local bank. Part of my responsibilities included letting people in to their safe deposit boxes. Members would bring in their envelopes, which looked just like that, and after verifying their identity, we’d log it and let them access their boxes. See?” I turned the envelope over to reveal the bank’s name and address.
“I wonder if my grandma knows anything about this.”
“Probably not, and I’m thinking now might not be the best time to bring it up.” Gran and Hazel’s conversation had drifted down the hall, and Hazel was mighty upset at the prospect of one daughter being involved in the other’s death. Jake listened for a moment too.
A thought crossed my mind while we were standing there in silence. I had to tread carefully with my next question, knowing Jake cared for his aunt. I didn't want to offend him.
“There isn’t any chance your aunt could've thought she was shooting up with something else and accidentally used your mom’s insulin, is there? I just know she had a less than virtuous reputation.”
Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Possibly. As awful as that sounds. It’s not out of the question.”
“Did Sheriff Evans say anything else about the toxicology report?” I asked.
“No, and he wouldn’t elaborate when my grandma asked. He just wanted to know if she had been diabetic or not and was mighty upset when Grandma pieced the insulin overdose together just from the couple of questions he asked.” I nodded. Hazel was a smart one. You couldn’t pull anything past her.
“Personally I think the sheriff wishes it was an accidental overdose. He didn’t care for my aunt, and it would make his life a whole heck of a lot easier.” Jake squeezed his fists shut in frustration.
“Have you tried calling your mom?”
“Her phone’s off. I haven’t checked in at the office yet.” Frustration creeped into Jake’s voice.
“She didn’t take any time off?” I would’ve imagined Gwen had requested a couple of personal days for the funeral and to help her mom out.
Jake gave me a look as if I was crazy. It reminded me of just how strained Roseanne and Gwen’s relationship had been.
“I’ll see if I can track her down and then call the bank.” Jake grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and picked up the little red envelope.
“Good idea. Ask the bank if anyone else was on the box with her. If she was on it solo, it’ll have to go to probate court—that is, unless she set up a beneficiary.”
At least that’s the way it used to work. And in the little time I knew Roseanne, I knew she wasn’t likely to have set one up. She didn’t seem like the type to have her affairs in order. Then again, if she was keeping stolen property in the box, which I suspected she was, and given she had been murdered, perhaps all it would take to gain access would be a search warrant. I’d leave that up to the police. Speaking of which, I found myself wondering if Miss Sue had called them yet this morning. Hopefully she had.
Jake stepped outside of the room to place his call. I stayed put, figuring he could use some air, and looked around Roseanne’s room. I was in awe at the number of items she had seem to accumulate, in what was my understanding, the short amount of time that she had been back home. That is, unless she carted all of this stuff with her from Tampa? I su
ppose that was possible.
I looked around to see what else I could work on. I knew Jake was short on time and he would be even shorter if he managed to get an assessor lined up to look at the rest of Roseanne’s things. The closet was cleaned out, but Roseanne’s dresser sat untouched. I had a feeling the dark cherry, six-drawer piece had been in Hazel’s family for years. They just didn’t make furniture that solid or ornately carved anymore. Vines were inlayed up the legs and across the edge of the dresser, giving it a distinctly feminine feel. It definitely wasn’t Roseanne’s style.
Did I dare open it without Jake present?
As the minutes ticked by, I figured I might as well make myself useful. After all, we had already found Roseanne’s secrets. What else could this dresser hold? I pulled out another black trash bag from the box and shook it open, prepared to toss the clothes inside. I did just that with the first three drawers, adding more shirts, some shorts and undergarments to the bag. These were the types of things one expected to find in a bedroom dresser. It was the last drawer, the one closest to the ground, that gave me trouble.
At first, the drawer wouldn’t budge. The wood stuck at one side, making the heavy drawer even harder to open. I rattled the handle and tried to jar it loose, but it still didn’t move.
That only made me want to get inside it more.
In what I’m sure looked absolutely foolish, I sat on the floor with my feet pushing the drawer above it, and with all my arm strength, I pulled on that bottom drawer until it gave way. The force had me falling backwards, flat on my back. I quickly scrambled back up.
Thankfully Jake walked in after that.
“What is that?” Jake asked from behind me.
I was now bent low over the drawer, looking inside.
“You better call the cops,” I replied. Because that bottom drawer was full of two things—drugs and dollar bills.
Mourning After Page 5
