Mourning Express

by K. M. Waller

  My thoughts were interrupted by a text from Gabe. Didn’t even make it across the state line. The zombie movie production is shut down. Bringing home wine tonight.

  I twisted my phone in my hand as my plan solidified. I might never recover the thousands Victor stole or be able to stop the lawyers from hounding me after my YouTube misfortune, but I bet with Gabe’s assistance I could get back a certain wedding ring quilt. I slapped a mosquito that landed on my hand and trotted to my car. The dread and helplessness faded enough to put a smile on my face. Bowman wouldn’t know what hit him.

  ∞∞∞

  I walked into the apartment and found Mateo taking up the length of the couch, his feet dangling off the end. Men in blue soccer uniforms trampled up and down a green Astroturf on the television. The sound was muted. No longer wearing the suit, he looked comfy in running shorts and a faded t-shirt.

  When I hesitated by his feet, he turned his head in my direction and let out a little sigh. “What’s up?”

  I thumbed through the wad of twenties from Pearl and counted out eighty dollars, hoping I’d only need one hundred and twenty the following day. I held up the money. “I know it’s not nearly enough, yet. But enough for good faith, maybe? I get paid again next week.”

  The strain around his eyes softened and his lips curled into a half-smile. He held out his hand. “I’ll take good faith.”

  I sat down adjacent the couch in a reclining chair that’d seen better years. The day’s events weighed heavy on my eyes so I leaned my head back and shut them tight. “Is Gabe in our room?”

  “I think he said something about getting some wine before coming home. The movie biz seems unreliable job-wise.”

  “It can be, I guess.” The low hum of anxiety in my belly reminded me how much I missed it. Not the rising before the sun, late night parties, or the constant need to work out and remain camera ready, but I missed the connection it gave me to Mom and Grammy. The life Mom had lived, and the excitement Grammy got when I told her about an audition.

  I pushed the remainder of the cash into my pocket and promised myself that any leftover funds would be used to take Grammy out for a nice dinner. I just needed to convince Gabe to work out a convincing disguise for me for the next morning.

  “Hard day?” Mateo asked, his tone of voice suggesting he actually cared.

  I opened my eyes and found him staring at me. Not ready to tell him about my real job yet and the unintentional stress I’d added to my day, I shrugged and searched for a way to change the subject. Harold’s accident popped into my mind. Not exactly a great change of subject, but with Mateo’s medical experience, perhaps he could shed a little light on Pearl’s uneasiness regarding Harold’s death.

  “Tell me about slip-and-falls.”

  “Really? That’s a little out of left field. Did something happen to your grandmother?”

  “No, no, she’s fine. I know it’s a weird question, but how often do you respond to them?”

  He sat up on the couch, taking my question seriously. “They’re second only to vehicle accidents. Especially with the elderly. Our county has an active fall prevention team that prints and hands out informational flyers.”

  “Do many of the falls result in deaths?” I moved into the vacant spot beside him and rested the side of my head on the back of the couch.

  “Depends of the severity of the head trauma, but some do. My co-workers handling the zone next to mine this weekend responded to a shower slip-and-fall of an elderly guy whose fall was fatal.”

  Harold. How far did I let this conversation go without it taking a turn toward morbid? I let the quiet sit between us.

  “You know, this is the first time in the three months that you’ve lived here that you’ve asked me about what I do.”

  “I really come across as self-absorbed, don’t I?”

  “The hashtag doesn’t do you any favors.”

  I laughed and let out a little snort at the end. “I’m really not a diva. I swear. It’s just everything with my brother and the lawsuits.” I shrugged. “It’s exhausting and I’ve had tunnel vision.”

  His chest shook with a soft chuckle. “Why do you think I give you so much slack?”

  “That’s what you call slack? I’d hate to see your tough side.” I balled up a fist and tapped his shoulder with it.

  Our gazes met and held for a moment. The interest I’d seen the day prior returned. The door jiggled and Gabe burst through, a paper bag cradled in his arms. My friend had impeccable timing.

  “I’ve got wine,” he sang out, and then noticed us on the couch. “Well, don’t you two look cozy. Again.”

  I stood so fast I bumped my shin against the coffee table. “Ouch!”

  Mateo focused his attention back on the soccer game. I grabbed Gabe by the sleeve and with an aggressive tug, ushered him toward the bedroom. “I need to speak with you privately.”

  “No need to speak privately. I approve of you and Mateo as a couple.”

  I shoved him in the room and shut the door behind us. “Shush. We are not a couple.”

  “Are you seriously going to tell me nothing is going on between you two?” he whispered.

  “There’s really not.” I twisted my hands in front of me. “I need to talk to you about helping me with a disguise. I need a wig and a good makeup job in the morning.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I hear the words coming out of your mouth, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking me for. Is this for another funeral assignment?”

  “I’m still not quite done with the first funeral assignment.” I bit the edge of my lip before I flopped down on the bed behind him.

  I explained everything that happened at the funeral and then later with Pearl admitting to her love affair with Harold.

  “Thwarted love.” He pressed his palm against his heart. “And you’re Pearl’s champion. This is right out of a good rom-com. I’m the sidekick, of course. And… Pastor Tom and Mateo are your love triangle?”

  “This is most definitely more tragedy than romantic comedy. And I don’t do love triangles. I really want to get that quilt back for Pearl. I think if I disguise myself and get there early, I have a good chance of buying it.”

  “One condition.” His wide smile made me roll my eyes.

  “What could that possibly be?” I asked.

  “I get to go with you. I’m not due on set for a week while the director pulls the stick out of his metaphorical rear end, so I have plenty of time to watch you put your acting skills to use.”

  “Fine.” It’d be less scary with Gabe as my backup anyway. “But I really want to sell it, so I’m going to need the blonde Jon Renau.”

  The wrinkle between his eyes meant I’d struck a nerve. Asking to borrow a makeup artist’s most expensive wig held the same weight as asking Grammy to borrow her favorite silk scarf. The answer usually resulted in “no,” alongside very unladylike curse words.

  “Deal. But you have to take the couch for two more nights.”

  I really wanted that wig to go along with my country-girl persona I’d worked up earlier on the drive back from Countryside. “Deal.”

  “What’s the character backstory?” he asked.

  I slipped into a deep southern drawl. “I’m Mary Margaret and I just have to have a double wedding ring quilt for my upcoming nuptials.”

  “Nice. Can I be the fiancé?”

  “Of course you can, sugar.”

  He bopped the end of my nose. “The forces of evil are no match for an out-of-work actress with a plan.”

  8

  Gabe and I followed the estate sale signs into Misty Haven’s fifty-five-and-over community. The cookie cutter two-car garage houses had bright green square lawns and matching mailboxes. Much like any other planned community except the noticeable missing children who usually rode bikes or played in the yards. The sidewalks were an extended width to accommodate golf carts.

  A woman I recognized as Sadie Perkins held a bag of bread and t
ossed crumbs into the community pond. I idled my car a few houses from Harold’s and watched as other interested buyers stood near the front door waiting for Bowman to start the estate sale.

  “We need to split up once we get inside,” I said, applying another layer of bubblegum pink lip gloss to my lips.

  Gabe fidgeted beside me. “I’m a little nervous about this.”

  “You didn’t have to come.”

  He glanced at me and chuckled. “I wouldn’t miss your clandestine mission no matter how high our chances are of getting caught.”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror again, taking in my disguise. Southern girl Mary Margaret wore a pristine white button up shirt and modest jean skirt that stopped mid-calf. The blonde wig hung straight past my shoulders. I opted for oversized sunglasses that covered half my face. Gabe had applied foundation a few shades darker to give me a tanned face that covered any natural freckles. The bright pink lipstick sealed the deal.

  I slipped into my practiced southern drawl. “No one will recognize me in this get-up, sugar.”

  “Mmm.” He held up his hand and twisted it back and forth in a so-so gesture. “Don’t oversell it.”

  “Don’t be critical,” I responded.

  “Sorry.”

  The front door of Harold’s house jerked open and Bowman used one hand to wave people through while the other held a cell phone pushed against his ear.

  “Look, Bowman’s opening the door.”

  “He doesn’t look friendly,” Gabe said.

  “He’s not. Just steer clear until we have the quilt.”

  We exited the car and made our walk down the sidewalk and up to the front of the house.

  Bowman grunted a greeting but didn’t put down his phone. “Everything’s for sale.”

  “Thank ya, hon—” When Bowman turned his back to me, I gave up finishing my sentence. Irritation gurgled in my gut. I couldn’t understand how he could be any better than his uncle had been.

  His last words before he walked away were spoken to the person on the other side of the phone. “Don’t send anyone over. I’ll get you what you need.”

  Gabe wandered in ahead of me and picked up a lamp in the shape of a woodland duck. “Cool.”

  I took it from him and placed it on the table. I patted his chest and lowered my sunglasses an inch. “Sweet’ems. Don’t get distracted.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Where should we look first?”

  I took in the living room and dining room combo. The house appeared to be set up just as Harold had left it when he died. Bowman hadn’t troubled himself with organizing anything that would resemble a sale. The icky-ness of picking through someone’s belongings replaced my earlier irritation, but I had a mission to complete. “You go through the living room and den. I’ll head to the bedrooms.”

  Several more people filed in behind us through the open front door. Since this was my first estate sale, I wasn’t sure the protocol on first come first serve, so I wasted no time pushing past a few women lingering in the hall.

  The master bedroom was my first stop. A dark blue comforter tucked neatly into the corners of a queen-sized bed took up the middle of the room. A couple of framed woodland ducks sat above a headboard. For someone accused of duck killing, the man had a bit of a duck decorating theme going on throughout the house.

  A matching dark blue chair sat in the corner near the closet. No quilt as far as I could see. I headed to the closet and pulled open the doors. Blankets, clothes, and shoes filled the shelves and hangers, but no wedding ring quilt. I left the doors open as I moved to the master bathroom.

  I hesitated at the door. Harold had died in that shower. The likelihood of quilt hanging from the towel racks was slim, but I couldn’t take the chance. I held my breath and leaned my head into the bathroom. A quick head-swivel confirmed no quilt.

  Darn it. I pushed past a few people who commented on my bad manners and into the second bedroom. The wedding ring quilt sat in a heap on the edge of the bed. Bingo. A woman with short dark hair and a heavy chest ran her fingers along the edge of the quilt.

  I bit my lip and reached across the bed grasping the edge into my fist. The woman gasped, but recovered fast to leap forward and grab the other edge. With a tug, she snatched it out of my hand.

  “I saw it first,” she said.

  “I…” I stopped and remembered to use my drawl. “Honey, I really need that quilt. My fiancé and I are getting married in a week and a wedding ring quilt is just what we need for luck.”

  The woman raised one eyebrow. “Well, good luck finding one because this belongs to me.”

  “Um, no, sweetie, I had it first. You snatched it away.”

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” she quoted the cliché and pulled the quilt to her chest.

  I smoothed the hair hanging past my face and sniffled a little as if I was going to cry. Which I probably would since my life had become a series of cry, beg, bargaining, make promises.

  “Don’t sniffle at me, honey. I have two granddaughters and I’ve seen it all. I’m immune to tears.”

  Apparently, everyone was nowadays. I glanced around. Where was Gabe when I needed him? I skipped begging and went straight to bargaining. “I’ll give you ten dollars if you let me buy that quilt.”

  The woman huffed and narrowed her eyes. “Fifty.”

  A crowd of about five buyers began inching into the small bedroom with us. I could not let this turn into a spectacle.

  “Twenty,” I countered and put my hands on my hips. “Or I’m going to have to do something really mean and horrific like wrestle you to the ground for that quilt. And I’m a three-time mud wrestling champ out of Raleigh so I know I can do it.” I really hoped that was a thing and I hoped even more that she wouldn’t call my bluff.

  The woman assessed me with a roaming gaze, and I guessed she weighed her options of winning a fight against me. “Fine. Twenty.”

  I forked over a twenty and took the quilt from her. Now, to find Gabe and convince Bowman to sell me the quilt for what I had left in my pocket. I walked into the living room to find my best friend leaning against the wall talking to a short redhead. She giggled at something he said. I tried not to roll my eyes.

  I walked in between them and wiggled close to Gabe. “Hi, sweet’ems. I got what we came for.” I turned to the wide-eyed redhead. “My fiancé and I are getting married in a week. Won’t this quilt be the perfect thing to accompany us into our new marriage?”

  I’d said every word long and slow as Gabe’s posture stiffened behind me.

  The redhead sucked in a sharp breath. “Delete my number, you cheating jerk.” She stomped away and I bit my lips to stop from laughing.

  “Come on, Rosie. We’re not really engaged.”

  I lifted up the oversized sunglasses so he could feel the full weight of my glare. “That’s what you get for not helping me look for this quilt. I almost had to go full Black Friday fight on a woman back there.”

  He pursed his lips. “My bad.”

  “Let’s find Bowman and get out of here. I want to put this Harold stuff behind me. It’s a bit disturbing how many people here I recognize from his funeral.”

  I folded the quilt into the tiniest square imaginable so I wouldn’t have to worry about any other buyers grabbing ahold of the edges. We walked through or poked our heads into each of the rooms searching for Bowman.

  Back in the hallway, I blew out a frustrated breath. “Where is he? It’s like he doesn’t care about making sales.”

  “I’ll check the front yard and you check the back,” Gabe said.

  We split up again and on my way out the back, I heard angry voices coming from the side of the house. I peeked around the corner and saw Bowman standing toe-to-toe with a guy who looked like an extra in a gangster movie. The man wore his jet black hair slicked back and a gray sports coat with matching gray pants. From this angle, I could see a couple of gold rings on his left hand. I almost bet that if I could see the guy from the f
ront he’d have gold chains dangling over an open burgundy shirt with sprouts of black chest hair poking through. Classic mob dress code. I wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but their body language suggested they weren’t haggling over the price of the kitchen table.

  I backed away and went inside the house. If I was right, they were standing in the side yard near the master bathroom. Did I really want to go back in there to where Harold had died just to hear what they had to say? I cursed my incessant curiosity and weaved through a gaggle of people pulling items out of Harold’s closet.

  I bumped into a man coming out of the bathroom and recognized Lou Kadlec. He mumbled an “excuse me” but not wanting to expose my ruse for the blanket, I didn’t say anything at all.

  Once in the bathroom, I could see the outline of Bowman and the other man through the fogged-glass window. I stepped inside the tub and pressed my ear against the glass praying that the outline of my face wouldn’t be visible from their side.

  Pieces of conversation flowed through.

  The same woman who’d I’d almost wrestled for the quilt stepped into the bathroom and her wide-eyed response at my face to glass stance almost made me quit snooping. Then I heard words that made me press my fingers to my lips and wave her away.

  “I’ll get Napoli his money. I’m selling off everything the old man owned and the house as we speak,” Bowman said.

  “Lucky for you your uncle had that so-called accident just in time, but you’re still late on your payment. You’d better have the money by today at three or you and your uncle will be sharing the same grave.”

  “I’m not scared of you, you thug.”

  “Are you scared of this?” I couldn’t see what the man held in his hand but my wild imagination put a gun there.

  I knocked hard on the window before slipping the locks and pushing it up. “Mr. Bowman, sugar. I’m so glad I finally found you. This quilt is the perfect thing for my upcoming wedding.”