The Obituary Society (2 page)

Chapter 2

The Cinnamon Scented Lawyer

Lila tugged the door of the vintage truck open and settled into the springy seat.  In this case, vintage was a nice way to describe a seafoam green Chevy that had somehow retained the ability to operate since 1950.  She put her hand out of the open window and ran it along the rust-pocked paint.  The truck was in poor shape, but to her artist's eye there was something beautiful about the way the years had worn down the layers of paint, the deep rust orange of the exposed metal, and the interesting curves and angles that hardly existed anymore in auto manufacturing. 

“
Put it in neutral,” she mumbled.  “Push the brake and the clutch.  Turn the key.”  The truck rumbled.  Her palms were sweaty.  Her stomach clenched;  It had been a long time since she last drove a stick shift.  For that matter, it had been a long time since she’d driven at all.  Grandpa Isaac's apartment was walking distance from most of what they needed, and they took the bus for everything else.

Lila put the truck in gear and concentrated on releasing the clutch, which didn't go as smoothly as she'd hoped.  She backed out of the driveway.  The gas pedal resisted when she pressed it, so the truck jolted every time she tried.  She'd get the hang of it.  She just had to get a feel for the old beast. 

She had come to an agreement with Ada.  She would do the shopping and other errands, as well as help with odd jobs around the house, and Ada would allow her to use the truck and stay in her attic bedroom her until she got things sorted out.  Ada said it would be nice to have some company, and that she really hated driving anymore.  Lila hadn’t mentioned her unease about the monstrous truck. 

After a couple of minutes of rumbling along at twenty-five miles per hour, she came to Auburn's small city center.  She loved Main Street's neatly lined trees and charming shops.  Baskets dripping with pink petunias hung from old-fashioned light posts, and kids rode their bikes down the sidewalks.  If she ignored the SUVs she could almost believe she'd entered a time warp. 

In her distraction, Lila noticed the four-way stop sign a moment too late.  Rubber screeched against concrete as the truck to her right stopped suddenly to avoid hitting her.  She quickly shoved her foot on the brake.  The Chevy jerked to a halt, throwing her forward.  She'd killed the engine.

Lila tipped her head back and exhaled as the adrenaline race through her system.  Her cheeks burning, she glanced at the faded blue pick-up.  She wished she could melt into the seat.  The scowling driver adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses and waved her on.  Lila took a deep breath, noticing several cars pulling up to wait for their turn as she restarted the truck.  Luckily the engine hadn't flooded.  She pushed the gas a little too enthusiastically and roared through the intersection.

Two blocks along she found the sign that read Edwards and Whiting Law Offices.  Luckily, there were several empty parking spaces, so she swung the truck in a wide, awkward arc into one, or perhaps two, of the slots. 

Dropping her keys into her purse, she climbed out of the truck and pushed her shoulder into the heavy old door until it latched.

Lila ducked her head, still embarrassed about her driving mishap, and hurried to the building.  She turned the brass handle and stepped inside.  It looked like it had been built in the early 1900’s.  The trim was thick and painted white, the fixtures were patinaed brass, and that unmistakable musty-old-building scent permeated the air. 

The front desk sat empty, so she wandered around the office, hoping to find someone who had not yet left for lunch.  She heard a man's voice and followed it down a hallway lined with office windows.  One was lit up.  She peeked through it and saw a man talking on the phone, his feet resting on his desk as he spoke.  
             

Perhaps it was the old building, or the fact that he was actually using a landline, but he brought to mind an actor from an old black-and-white movie;  the dark, wavy hair, one lock flopping forward in rebellion, the strong jaw and commanding aura.  She quickly looked away when his eyes met hers, hoping he hadn’t noticed her close inspection.

“I’m going to have to let you go now, Stephen.  I have an important meeting.”  His voice was deep and smooth, and she detected a slight southern drawl.  “But I’ll be in touch soon.”  He clanked the receiver onto the cradle and rose, walking toward Lila and extending his hand.  His gaze was direct and his handshake firm.

“
Asher Whiting.  What can I help you with today, Miss . . .”

“
Lila Moore.  I just came to see you about my Grandfather’s will, but if you have a meeting, I can—”

He chuckled and leaned toward her.  His breath smelled like cinnamon.  “Let’s just say it was time for that phone conversation to come to an end.  I do have a meeting, with a lovely young woman.  You have perfect timing.  Won’t you come sit down in my office?”

She checked a girlish grin as his hand brushed the small of her back when he ushered her into his office.  Asher motioned to a large leather chair opposite his.  She took it, then pulled her hair behind her shoulders and straightened her dress.  The formality of the office, and the oversized chair, made her feel small and shabby. 

Her toes wiggled her flip flops back and forth on the yellow varnished-wood floor as she studied the bookshelves behind his desk.  There were old leather-bound volumes, countless law books, and framed certificates.  Her eyes scoured the shelves for photographs that might give a glimpse into Mr. Whiting’s life, maybe something featuring a smiling wife or girlfriend.  There were none.  In fact, there was no clutter and no personal effects at all.  Well, as far as Lila was concerned, there was something to be said for tidiness.

Asher sat down.  The elegant and expensive leather chair looked like it was made for him.  “So you're Isaac Moore’s granddaughter?” 

“
Yes.  Did you know him?”

“
No.”  He folded his hands together on the desk.  “He left long before I came here.  Mr. Edwards and he grew up together though, as I understand it.  I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Lila swallowed.  She knew the intentions were good, but she hated empty platitudes.

Asher seemed to read her mind.  “I know it doesn’t mean much coming from a stranger.  But I do understand what you’re going through.”  He leaned forward, and a scent that was sharp with a hint of deep ocean wafted across the mahogany desk.  He looked at her with solemn blue eyes.

“I know my grandfather trusted Mr. Edwards,”  Lila began.  “I thought he should get somebody in Wyoming to take over his
affairs, but he wouldn’t have it.”

“
Yes, everyone in town feels the same way about him.  However, Mr. Edwards isn’t able to work as many cases as he used to.  I hope you won’t mind if I assist you.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.”  Her eyes rested on the dimple in his chin.

“
Did Mr. Moore give you much information about what his will contained?”

“
Not much.  He mentioned once he would be leaving the old house to me, and said to contact Mr. Edwards when the time came.”

“
Those old farming types.”  Mr. Whiting chuckled.  “Not much for sharing financial information, are they?”

“
Not much for sharing information in general,” Lila agreed, smiling.

“
Miss Moore, your grandfather had some savings, as well as a small amount in investments.  I’d like to go over those with you today.  Did your aunt want to be here for that?”

“
She said she'd rather not.”

The next half hour was spent with the official reading of the will and going through paperwork.  Lila tried to pay attention, and she felt she could do a great deal of listening to Mr. Whiting’s voice, but all the technical terminology made it easy for her mind to wander to other things. 

The savings amounted to about eleven thousand dollars, a portion of which went to Ada.  A pang of guilt went through Lila when she thought of her grandpa working so hard to save that money over the years, and living as frugally as he did, just to leave most of it to her.  

“
As you know, he left you the house.”  Asher opened a desk drawer and produced a brass key.  “It's been empty all this time.  Go and take a look inside when you get a chance.”  He knotted his brows together in concern.  “I think you’ll see the house needs a considerable amount of work, Miss Moore.”  His lip twitched and he stifled a laugh.  “I'm not just talking about the exterior paint.”

Lila smiled.  “Can't say I didn't notice it, but what can I say?  The women in my family know what they like, and they don't hold back.”

“Glad to hear that.”  There was a glint in his eye, and he hesitated, as if he was about to say something.  Then he regained his composure and cleared his throat.  “We here at the firm pride ourselves on taking good care of our long-time clients and their families.  We realize you are dealing with a lot with the passing of your grandfather, and Mr. Edwards really wants to be of assistance for his old friend's sake.  If you’d like, I can personally oversee whatever repairs you choose to have done and the sale of the house.  It’s the least I can do.”  His smile was gentle and grave at the same time.

“
I’ll consider that,”  Lila answered.  “Thank you.”  She couldn’t help but wonder if this kind of attentiveness was standard.  Asher placed the key in her hand.  Her stomach flitted as his hand lingered on hers a moment longer than necessary.

“
Do you have any additional questions?”

Lila stood and stretched.  “No, not for now.” 

“If you think of any, don’t hesitate to call.”  After adding his personal number at the bottom, he handed her his card.

“
Thank you again, Mr. Whiting.  It means so much to have someone walk me through all of this.  It's overwhelming at times.”

“
Please call me Asher.”  He smiled and shook her hand, the other hand pressing her lower back again as he led her out of his office.

As she walked toward the front door, a man with unruly red hair and freckles burst through it.  He looked gangly, but as he came closer she could see firm muscles in his arms.

Lila jumped out of his way.  “Where is he?  Where is Clint?”  His voice echoed through the building.  “What did he do?”

Lila turned to see Asher standing with his arms crossed.  He looked calm, but there was a firm edge to his expression.  “Mr. Snyder, please come into my office.  Whatever the problem is, we'll talk it over and work it out.”

“That ain't what I had in mind.  She said we were going to work this out civil and fair.  Then she comes into this office and suddenly she wants to take me for all I got.”

Asher glanced at Lila and nodded, as if reassuring her that everything was fine before ushering the man down the hall.  She heard a door click.

Lila hesitated.  With as angry as that man was, she wasn't comfortable leaving Asher here alone.  She hovered near the front door until the muffled shouting subsided, then walked back to the truck.

Chapter 3

High Fructose Corn Syrup

Lila fumbled with her keys before finally getting the right one lodged in the ignition.  She hoped her head was clear enough to get her and the truck to Owen's Grocery unscathed.  The tense situation in the office had shaken her, but it wasn't just that.  She didn’t know the first thing about fixing up a house.  She had never even lived in a house, let alone owned one;  just a succession of apartments with a landlord to shovel the snow and fix the furnace if it broke. 

Of course, there was something romantic about an old country home.  An image of her watering her garden, like Aunt Ada, in front of the house her great grandfather had built flashed across her mind, but she shook her head to erase it.  Just because she didn't have her life mapped out yet didn't mean it was time to settle down in rural Nebraska and join the gardening club, even if she couldn't quite clear the piercing blue eyes of a handsome local lawyer from her mind.  She shook her head harder. 

Owen
's Grocery was just down the street.  She squeezed the large truck into a parking spot and grabbed a shopping cart from the sidewalk on her way in.  This was the smallest grocery store she had ever been in.  The aisles closed in on her on either side.  As she walked, she got the idea that people were staring at her, and not just because of the squeaking wheels of her shopping cart.  It was as if a stranger had never walked Owen's tan speckled tiles before.
As she turned a corner she nearly ran into a stooped, white-haired man. 

“
Sorry.”  Lila veered to let him pass.  But the man just stood there, his head cocked to one side and his brows lowered.  Then, as if the answer to a puzzle had finally come to him, his face brightened.

“
I've got it.  You belong to the Moore's.  Your grandma Phoebe's hair was just that color.  Like sunshine.  I can see a little of Nick in you too.”

Lila smiled at the mention of her grandparents and father and nodded, suddenly shy.  There was a warm feeling in her chest, something like belonging.  She had never been to Auburn before.  Even so, her whole life she had felt disconnected, like she had been uprooted and transplanted to incompatible soil.  Now someone knew where she came from just from seeing her.  What kind of place was this?

“Yes, I'm Lila.”

“
Andy Peterson, nice to meet you.  And I was sorry to hear about Issac.  I'll always remember him toting Nick to church all those years ago.  Your dad was a rascal back then.  He'd crawl under the pews and pull the ladies' shoes off, set bugs loose, that kind of thing.  Pastor Lucas was young then, but I think that's about when he started losing his hair.”  The old man chuckled.  “Phoebe was so embarrassed they stopped going for almost a year.”   

“
I've never heard that story,” Lila said, laughing.  “Dad never was big on church.”

Andy nodded at her and smiled.  “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“You too.”

Lila hadn't gone two feet when a wrinkled hand grabbed her arm.  Gladys Ellison stood staring into her through her large bi-focals.  “Hello, dear, it's nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Gladys.”

Gladys squeezed her arm.  “You need to eat more.  I hope Ada's taking good care of you,” she continued in a conspiratorial tone.  “She's a wonderful baker, but when you want a good pot roast, you know I'm right next door.”

“I'll remember that.”

“
Now, my grandson is here.  I just spoke to him a moment ago.  I’d like you to meet him.”  She stretched her neck and opened her eyes wide, which gave them an unnatural effect behind the magnifying bifocals, and searched for him.  By some stroke of luck he was nowhere to be seen.

“
He's divorced,” the old woman continued, her voice low.  “It would be wonderful if he could meet a nice girl.”  She sighed, then smiled a little too broadly at Lila.  “I'll find him.” 

Lila put a hand on the old woman’s shoulder.  “I’d love to meet him, but I’m in a hurry today.  Another day?” 

Gladys had noticed a display of bananas, and from her furrowed brow it appeared they didn't look exactly as they should.  She nodded at Lila as she picked through the green-tinged heap of unsatisfactory produce.  “All right, then.”

Lila quickly finished her shopping and pushed her cart to the checkout, grabbing a Milky Way bar that stared at her at eye level.  As she glanced with mild amusement at the gossip magazines, she became aware of a voice somewhere near the vicinity of her feet.  She looked down to see the top of a head.  A little girl, Lila judged her to be around six, sat crunched up in the lower shelf of the shopping cart ahead of her.

“Malic acid, niacin—cin—cinamide, thiamin mono-nitrate.”  She sat reading the words from the back of a cereal box.  The pronunciation was imperfect, but still impressive for such a small girl.  Tiny fingers wrapped around the box, which completely obscured her face. 

The girl lowered the box and looked up with narrow brown eyes.   She craned her neck around the shopping cart.   “Dad, these are not natural ingredients.  How do you know I’m not allergic to them?”

A
voice tight with irritation answered.  “Juniper, that’s enough.  Stop reading the packages.  You’re making me crazy.”

For the first time, Lila noticed the girl’s father.  He had disheveled brown hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and two day's worth of stubble.  His dark, expressive eyebrows would have been attractive were they not lowered in a frustrated scowl.  He shoved the contents of the shopping cart onto the conveyer belt with impatience.  There was something familiar about him.

“There is high-fructose corn syrup in this ketchup.  Do you know your body can’t process high-fructose corn syrup?  It tricks you into thinking you're not full.”

His voice rose.  “Juniper, I said enough.  Quiet now, or you’re never watching educational television
again.”

“
She’s right,” Lila couldn’t resist saying, nonchalantly sliding the candy bar

beneath a loaf of bread.  She had seen part of a documentary about that.

He stopped, one hand suspended over the belt, the other clutching a box of Captain Crunch.  His lips twisted into an arrogant smile.

“Maybe you should forget about my kid’s nutrition and focus on your driving.”

Crap.  That’s where she had seen him.  She had cut him off at the intersection this morning.

Indignation rose in Lila’s chest.  Heat flooded her cheeks, but she couldn’t seem to keep her mouth closed.  “Hey, what you feed your kid is between you and your wife.”  She cocked her head and feigned interest in the magazines. 

The little girl looked up at Lila.  “My mom lives in Iowa now.”  She chewed one side of her  lip.  “But it’s just as well.”  She went on reading the ingredients on the box, more quietly now. 

As they left the store, Lila kept her head down, as if she were concentrating very hard on placing her groceries on the belt.  She glanced up briefly as she paid, and quickly thanked the boy at the register as he handed her the bags.  Hunching over the cart, she pushed it through the tiny parking lot and threw the groceries into the back of the truck.

She clambered in and slammed the creaky door, then threw her head against the steering wheel, harder than she intended.  She jumped back at the loud honk that resulted and looked around for witnesses.  Just her luck, glasses-man was just bringing his cart back to the store and looked in her direction.  Shouldn’t he be gone by now?  She had forgotten to return her cart.  He had probably noticed.  Now she was not only mean to little girls, but she was also one of those jerks who leaves their shopping cart blocking the adjacent parking space.

She grabbed the Milky Way bar and ripped the wrapper off, replaying the scene from the check-out line in her mind as she bit a hunk off.  Her mother used to tell her she lacked the filter that was natural to most people.  Of course, there was no way she could have known.  Still, the thought that she had carelessly brought up something so painful for that little girl
wrenched at her stomach.
 

Lila pushed her sweaty hair back from her face and neck, then rolled down the window and breathed deeply.  “Come on, Lila,” she said out loud,  “do you think you can make it back to Ada’s without drawing further attention to yourself?”

“What did you say, dear?”  It was Gladys, who happened to be walking past the truck at that moment on the way to unlock her car. 

“
Nothing,” Lila answered and sighed, a forced smile on her face.  “You have a nice day.”

Lila let out the clutch, then pushed the gas a little too hard, jolting the truck backward and clipping her abandoned shopping cart, which skittered across the parking lot as she fled the scene. Through the rear view mirror she saw glasses-man join Gladys and begin helping her unload her groceries.  The two of them stared after Lila as she drove away, mouths agape.  Gladys may as well forget about setting Lila up with her grandson.  She'd would rather go out with one of the old woman's senior citizen friends.