Authors: Kristen Gibson
“I think so.” The
car started moving again.
“How do you know?”
“I know the
examiner. She wouldn’t have made these mistakes.” He made a turn and we were
nearing the funeral home.
“What if she was
having a really bad day?” Anyone can have them. I’d been having more than my
share lately, and this news didn’t help today’s outlook either.
“She still should
have caught these things. We’re going to find out what happened when we talk to
her in person.”
“We?”
“Yes. I spoke with
her over the phone. She tried to give me a story about botched paperwork, but I
didn’t believe her. I want to ask her in person, to see if she’ll lie to my
face, and I need you to be there.”
“I’ll go because I
want answers as much as anybody, but why do you need me there?”
“Because we have a
history.” Garrett gave me a quick glance before his eyes moved back to the
road. “I don’t know how I’ll react if she lies again.” As his words escaped,
they weighed like storm clouds.
“Is she the woman
Cal mentioned yesterday? The one he didn’t trust?”
“Yes,” Garrett
sighed. He needed me there, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him in
the same room with his old girlfriend who might upset him by lying to his face.
Made more complicated because I’d brought the case to him, not the other way
around.
I blew out a
breath. “When do we see her?”
“3 o’clock. It
gives us time to change, eat lunch, and come up with a plan.”
“Do we need a
plan?”
“Afraid so.” He
pulled into the driveway and groaned.
“What is it,
Garrett?”
“Grandpa’s here.”
“Ugh, you can pull
over to my side of the parking lot, if you want to drop me off.” I wasn’t happy
about it, but it was better to sneak in quietly than to let Grandpa Stanley
think we’d been up to something other than training.
“No, I won’t. You
don’t need to worry about it. Just let me do the talking.”
I fidgeted with my
hair then looked in the mirror. My pink flushed cheeks and messy hair would
definitely give Grandpa Stanley the wrong idea. Hopefully, Garrett had an idea
for how to play this. If things went south, I planned to ask Millie for some
kind of potion to make Grandpa Stanley forget whatever happened.
“Look, before we go
in there and get sidetracked, I want you to know one other thing Cal told me.”
He looked intense. “When they went through Chloe’s things, they found a
business card for some lawyer named Ted Oxley. There was a number scribbled on
the back of it. Cal said he’d look into it, but didn’t know if he could get to
it today.”
It couldn’t have
been a coincidence she had his card. We needed to figure out if he knew more
than he’d admitted to me, and we needed to find the owner of number on the back
of Oxley’s card. Maybe the person had some idea of who killed Chloe and why.
“She worked with
Ted Oxley. I paid him a visit after we found out Chloe was dead.”
“Why didn’t you say
anything?”
“I didn’t think it
was relevant,” I said it the same way Garrett had.
“Not relevant,
huh?” I think we both believed we did what was best at the time. If we were
going to find the truth out about Chloe’s murder, we needed to be honest about
everything.
“I thought so, at
first. Now, I’m not sure. He told me they worked a small case together, but he
seemed more abrasive than I remembered. Maybe he’s hiding something.”
“Everybody’s hiding
something.”
“Well, what he said
and how he said it didn’t seem significant, but circumstances have changed
since then.”
“We can look into
him, after we see what’s going on here.” Garrett helped me out of the car. We
got inside the door and headed toward the office. I stopped. He signaled for me
to get moving.
“Unh-unh. No. Can’t
do it.” I shook my head.
Garrett reached for
my hand and pulled me reluctantly to the door then wham! Garrett bumped into
his grandpa.
“Umph, watch it,”
the dark voice said. Grandpa Stanley. He quickly turned away from us and
stuffed a paper in his jacket. I wondered if Stanley was ever in a good mood.
“Better watch your
step.” Stanley turned back and eyed Garrett over his glasses. He must have been
reading whatever paper he tucked away before we came.
“What’s that
supposed to mean?” It sounded harsh, but I knew where it came from. Besides,
from what I’d seen and heard, Grandpa Stanley had a bad habit of putting people
on edge.
“You know what it
means,” Stanley responded, then noticed me staring at the paper sticking out of
his jacket pocket. He shoved it down further. “Hello, Mattie,” his voice
sounded silky sweet when he spoke to me, like I was an old friend. “How are you
ladies getting along up there?” It was really strange to hear him sound so
nice.
“We’re doing fine,
thanks,” I responded carefully.
“Glad to hear it.
You let us know if there’s anything you need.” Stanley gave me a polite nod and
smile.
“Will do. Thanks
for everything.” It didn’t matter how nice Stanley sounded, there was something
about him that made me suspicious. I turned to see Garrett, and he told me to
head upstairs. Even though we needed to talk about strategy before heading to
the Coroner’s Office, this seemed like a good time to leave the two of them
alone.
Before I got all
the way down the hallway, I heard them get into something heated. I guess
Grandpa Stanley’s good mood had faded. Garrett was a grown man and he could
handle himself, so I stepped up the pace until I reached the apartment door.
The air on the landing felt warm and stale, but cool relief hit me when I
walked inside.
The locks clicked
into place. I headed straight for the bedroom. I’d find some clothes, freshen
up, and check in with mom and Jos while I waited for Garrett to give me the
all-clear signal. Whatever we wanted to accomplish had to happen while Ryder,
or someone else, was around to man the phones. So, I needed to be ready for
just about anything.
Late-summer heat
had baked everything around us the past few days, but rain was headed our way,
so I planned for sun and rain and changed into a sporty skirt, tank and tennis
shoes—because walking in drenched sandals, with mushy wet feet and
squeaking noises, annoyed me.
I fixed up my
ponytail since the humidity was high, and there was no sense trying to compete
with Mother Nature. Once I felt somewhat put together again, I grabbed a glass
of lemonade and flopped on the couch. The window air conditioner kicked on and
drowned out the traffic noise. Pretty soon I relaxed. The outside air smelled
slightly damp—maybe the weather forecasters were right about the rain.
I sat the glass
down on a photo coaster sitting on the coffee table. It was a photo of mom and
me. It reminded me to check-in. There wasn’t an answer, so I left a message
telling her to enjoy her visit and to give everyone my love. They were probably
eating lunch. The thought of food made my stomach growl.
Jos texted me about
getting together once she returned from her regularly scheduled mandatory
family visit. She sent a series of emoji—everything from annoyed to
crying faces—at least she got to visit her family. I felt stuck at work,
and stuck on what to do about Chloe’s death. Even though we hadn’t spoken until
very recently, I felt guilty for not making the effort to stay in touch with
Chloe after college. Maybe if I had kept in touch, or texted her sooner, or
arrived at our meeting earlier, she would still be alive. I started to go down
the rabbit hole and needed to stop.
I sent back some
heart and family emojis with a smiley face
J
. Jos responded with a smiley face
J
and a martini glass
å
indicating she was ready to find her happy place. I
sent her a clock and asked if it wasn’t a little early for drinking. She
responded with, ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere’. I knew she was kidding, there
was no way she’d risk getting caught drinking this early, so I texted ‘Cheers!’
right back to her. We signed off. I stared out the window for a few minutes and
watched as clouds rolled in and nearly swallowed the sky.
CHAPTER 11
I saw a flash of light and returned to the green field of my previous dream.
The light of day was dim, maybe fading into night. I could just make out the
same young girl in her dress as I had before. This time we stood nearer
together. Her mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear her, so I inched closer.
Next to her, an old
native man crouched over something on the ground. I watched as he pulled a
small brown satchel off his belt. The man’s calloused fingers untied a leather
strap that held the bag closed. He said a few words, but I couldn’t hear much
because the wind whistling past us.
The old man said
something else then reached inside the satchel and pulled out a handful of a
reddish-orange powder. He began chanting and let the dust fall from his hands
to the ground. The wind blew it around, but I looked down to where he wanted it
to land, and saw a body. The person was unrecognizable. I watched as the powder
cover the body. The old man rubbed his hands together. More dust fell and
stained the grave.
The girl in the
dress caught my attention. She tried to tell me something. I still couldn’t
hear because of something now buzzing in my ear, but watched as she mouthed the
same thing over and over. I stepped toward her again—was it one, or won,
no. Then a switch flipped off the buzz and I could hear.
“Run. Run. RUN!”
She screamed at me. I turned to see what she wanted me to run from and
everything went black.
BEEP! BEEP!
“Hello?” The intercom sounded distant. BEEP! “Mattie, are you there?” Garrett’s
voice pulled me out of the dream world. I must have drifted off a bit.
“Yes.” It felt like
my body was nailed to the couch. It took me a minute to move and pick up the
phone.
“Stanley’s gone,
and Ryder’s covering. Come on down, we’ll grab lunch, and review the plan.”
“I thought we
didn’t have a plan.”
“We don’t,” he
admitted. “But we’ve got a little bit of time to make something up before the
meeting.”
“Sounds good. I’ll
lock up and meet you downstairs.” I checked outside. The sky had turned grey
green, so I grabbed a jacket and an umbrella, just in case. Then padded
downstairs, determined to get some answers about Chloe’s murder.
We agreed to grab a
quick lunch so we could spend some time reviewing the information we had and
preparing questions. The problem is, I’m short on cash and bills don’t pay
themselves. Wouldn’t that be nice? Before I could say much of anything, about
lunch or questions and murders, Garrett pulled up a chair for me and asked me
to sit.
“Can you help me
with something?”
“Sure, I guess,” I
answered him.
“I planned on
picking up lunch, but we have some paperwork to submit and Ryder is tied up
right now. It isn’t a job requirement, the pay isn’t great, but it would really
help us out. Would you be interested?”
Would I be
interested? In my head it sounded desperate and sarcastic. “Of course,” I said
in a normal voice. “What do you need me to do?” I figured they’d give me some
mundane job like stapling papers, checking e-mails, or making coffee.
Turns out the guys
hate writing obituaries. Obits are informational paragraphs, sometimes stories,
about a person who died. They typically include the deceased’s name, a bit
about their family, what type of services would be held, along with the where
and when. They’re needed for practically everybody who comes through here. If I
worked it right, this could turn into a nice side-job.
The problem was I
had no idea how to write, format or even submit an obit. Garrett agreed to
teach me. I grabbed some paper and a pen to take notes. He handed me a
newspaper with some obits circled in red. He gave me a slip of paper with a
website and login information, and some paperwork for Harvey Glump.
I eyed Garrett
because he knows this one wasn’t going to be easy.
Harvey Glump came
in with his wife a few weeks ago to make a down payment on his funeral in
advance. He was a real jerk to his wife; criticized the way she walked,
corrected nearly every comment she made, and pushed her when she didn’t move
fast enough out the door.
The only reason I
knew it was because mom and I happened to be waiting for a tour of the casket room
at the time. Hank asked us to wait in the parlor next to the office up front,
so we heard a lot of what he said. Afterward, Hank told us Glump was the guy on
the news connected to a real estate scam. Glump had ‘allegedly’ conned a bunch
of old folks to invest in a Florida retirement community with the promise of
timeshares in winter and profits from managed rentals the rest of the year. I
could see how it might be an easy sell; especially since we lived in the snow
and ice belt.
Maybe Glump got
what was coming to him, or maybe he was innocent, but he seemed like a jerk.
Like Tab thirty years from now. Ok, it was harsh, but I did not like mean
people.
“How much does this
pay?” I wondered if it was worth it.
“We can negotiate
the fee, but I will make it worth your while.” He knew he had me hooked. “I’m
heading out. Will bring back food, then we can go over some paperwork to prep
for our meeting.”
“Okay. I’m pretty
sure I’ll need sustenance if I’m going to negotiate with you, so bring me one
of whatever you’re having and a soda.”
He left. I sat
there looking at Harvey Glump’s file. What should one write about a person they
didn’t know, and certainly didn’t like? I read a few of the obits in the paper
and scanned a couple more on the computer—you can look up everything
online these days. After reading several examples, I stared at a flashing
cursor.
In some article
archived in my brain, I’d read that the best way to tackle a blank page was to
just let it rip—write anything and everything down and edit afterwards.
Here goes: Harvey
Glump. He was a real jackass to his wife, rumors around town said he swindled
old people out of their life savings in a fake real estate deal, and probably
no one will miss him much. It was a rough draft, but it had potential.
Second draft:
Harvey Glump lived a corrupt life. He stole from the elderly, treated wife
poorly, and was an all around jerk. His death will be celebrated Tuesday from
6-8 pm with a Mass and party to follow Wednesday at 10 am. Donations to the
people he swindled and his poor wife for enduring 35 years of his crap will be
accepted in plain envelopes anytime between now and Thursday.
There, I felt
better already. Too bad I couldn’t use any of it. Although it was creative, I
needed to start over. This was harder than it appeared. I wondered if a drink
would help.
No one was around.
I thought about raiding the desks for a bottle of something mind-altering, then
decided against it. I didn’t need a shot of whiskey to do this. Harvey Glump
may have been a tool, but he was dead. No sense in putting his wife through any
more heartache. Maybe Glump was having a bad day when we saw him. Maybe a bad
year. I shouldn’t judge. He’d meet his maker, good or evil, and get back what
he gave. The fact remained: I needed money. They needed an obit. Time for a new
approach.
Stick with the
script. Include the basics: name, age, surviving family members, and details of
the service.
Harvey Glump was a
walking, breathing person—a good start, I thought. Then my fingers flew
across the keys writing stuff about a guy I never knew. After inserting some
details about his family, and his businesses I’d finished. That ought to do it.
Where’s the next one? I was ready for more.
Show me the money!