Murder Comes Calling

by Raven Snow

  “I guess so,” Rowen replied, rocking back on her heels. That fact had occurred to her already, but she hadn’t wanted to mention it out loud either. It felt too awkward to mention. After a lifetime spent apart, they were only connected by blood. If Shane had really wanted her as part of the family, he would have sought her out.

  At least all of this meant that it was Shane’s turn to look a little awkward. “We’ll have to have dinner or something,” he suggested. “Under happier circumstances. It’s a shame we had to meet like this.”

  “It is.” Rowen reached into her purse and removed her phone. “Here, let’s swap information. If you need me for anything during all of this, just give me a call.”

  Shane pulled out his own phone with a nod. “Whatever happens with the funeral, I hope you know that you’re welcome there.”

  “Welcome” felt like a subjective term for how Rowen would be received at a funeral for Bertha. The word also saddled her with a sense of obligation at odds with that. “I’ll be there,” she assured him. “I hope Julia is treating you all right.” They had swapped information and were about to go their separate ways. Rowen couldn’t help but blurt out that last part.

  “Hmm?” Shane put his phone back into his pocket. A goodbye had been on his lips but mention of Julia distracted him. “Oh, right. Ms. Martinez.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’re having some kind of interview with her this afternoon. I’m not sure how I feel about it, to be honest. The rest of the family wants to do it. They think it’s important to raise awareness or something. Like it’s going to be that cold again any time soon. This isn’t about a PSA. This is all about a story for Channel 2. I can’t blame them, I guess. It’s their job.”

  “It is,” Rowen agreed. “I should know. I run a paper with my family.”

  “That’s right. The Lainswich Inquirer.” Shane gave Rowen a quick once over. “What? Are you trying to change my mind here? Get me to do an interview for you instead of Channel 2?”

  Rowen shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t be against it. Technically, you’re family. Julia is going to force you on camera. I know you and your family are having a difficult time right now. Maybe print would be a better medium for you. It’s totally up to you, of course. I’m not going to lie and say it wouldn’t boost sales, but… Well, I also know Julia. She’s not a bad woman, but she will do anything for a story— even if that means making you very uncomfortable at a delicate time like this.”

  “I’ll think about it,” said Shane, and it sounded like he meant that. “Well, take care of yourself.” He turned then and went back to his daughter.

  Rowen wished him well and headed back to the car where Eric was waiting. She got in on the passenger side. At least something good had the potential to come out of this. At least she had maybe gotten the Inquirer a story.

  “So, how did it go?” asked Eric.

  “About as well as it could go, I guess. We have to go to the funeral, and he wants to have dinner at some point.”

  Eric nodded like that was a good sign. “Understandable. He’s your uncle. That’s a whole side of the family that you didn’t know you even had.”

  “That’s the thing,” Rowen said, watching Shane and Kate from the window as Eric pulled out of the parking lot. “They knew they were related to me this entire time and didn’t say anything until now. I’m not sure that you can really call that family.”

  Chapter Five

  It didn’t take long for Rowen to hear back from the funeral parlor. Her father had evidently shown quite a bit of interest in the notion that there might be some money coming his way. The body would be cremated. It seemed the Trainer family would be hosting a small memorial service on their own land. So, Desmond hadn’t shelled out for a funeral after all. Rowen couldn’t summon up any extra anger at him for that. It wasn’t like Bertha had made her wishes known. If she had, they wouldn’t be in this mess. For all Rowen knew, this was precisely what she had wanted. Still, she didn’t doubt that the rest of the Trainer family would be mad.

  Shane contacted Rowen later that afternoon as well. He kept complaining about her father to a minimum, stating instead that he wouldn’t mind doing an interview with her for the paper. It would have to take place after the funeral, though. He was putting off the interview planned with Julia, much to his own family’s (and no doubt Julia’s as well) chagrin. “It just feels too exploitative,” he had told Rowen. She expected an angry call from Julia at any moment after that, but it never came. Maybe Julia thought Rowen had her own hands full for once. Between the death of a great aunt she hadn’t known she had and the potential of meeting her father for the first time, she really did.

  ***

  The memorial service took place the next day. Rowen put on the same black clothes she had worn to her Grammy’s funeral. It was the most somber thing she owned, though the black skirt was a little too thin and short in the cold. Rowen hurried to the car, her shins freezing.

  Eric had put on a nice black suit. Neither of them was sure if there was a dress code for the occasion, but it was always better to be safe than sorry with these sorts of things. “Do you have the address?” Eric asked once they were both in the car.

  Rowen had to be asked the same question twice. She was stuck in her own head again, her thoughts on what was likely to happen within the next couple of hours. “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Hang on.” She pulled them up on her phone. “Drive like you’re going downtown. I’ll tell you where to go next from there.”

  Eric started to pull out but stopped at the end of the driveway. He reached for Rowen’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You afraid that your dad will show up?”

  Rowen nodded. “He’ll have to, won’t he? He has to bring the ashes, so he’ll definitely be there.”

  “Maybe,” said Eric. “You’ll be all right either way. If it’s too much for you, we can always go outside. I’m sure everyone will understand.”

  “Will they?” Rowen wasn’t so sure about that. Maybe Shane would give her a break, but Rowen hadn’t properly met the rest of the family. She had no clue how they felt about her.

  “You’re so negative lately.”

  “We’re on our way to a funeral. I think I’m allowed to be negative today.”

  “Fair enough.”

  ***

  The Trainer household was nice. It looked like they were, at the very least, settled comfortably into middle class lives. The two-story house had a garden out front and an effort at landscaping made with the rest of the lawn. Trees and shrubberies were spaced out evenly, though like all the other greenery, they were covered in snow at the moment.

  There were already several cars parked in the driveway. Rowen surveyed them without knowing what she was looking for. She hadn’t studied the cars parked outside the hotel. She hadn’t puzzled out what kind of car her father drove, if any. Maybe that Coreen woman drove him around. Not that this helped her. She didn’t know what to look for there either.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” asked Eric.

  It was a bit late for the question now that they had pulled into the driveway. “We can’t just back out and leave now.”

  “Sure we can.”

  That got a smile from Rowen. She could feel it on her lips and quickly tried to hide it. This was no time for smiling. “We’re going in,” she said, resolute.

  “If that’s what you want.” Eric cut the engine and opened his door.

  The outdoors was still too cold to stand out in comfortably. At least it was for Rowen. She wasn’t used to the cold. She imagined the same applied to the rest of Lainswich as well, so it was likely this memorial service would be taking place indoors. She couldn’t hear any talking going on around back. “We should have brought flowers,” she said as it dawned on her suddenly. Rowen swore quietly.

  Eric put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze when she started dragging her feet. “It’s fine,” he assured her. “She’s been cremated, so there’s no grave to decorate. If you want, we c
an always send the Trainers some flowers or food later.”

  “Okay.” Rowen nodded. That made sense.

  “And you’re sure you want to do this?”

  Rowen was stalling a lot for someone so insistent. She took a deep breath and willed herself up the few steps to the door. She knocked. There was a little shouting inside when she did so, like someone being ordered around. Sure enough, it was the son that opened the door. Ty. That was his name. He looked a lot like he had on his family’s social media pages, the only difference being that he was wearing a suit today. It didn’t fit him right through the shoulders, making the sleeves several inches too short. Most likely it had been bought a while back for a different occasion while the boy was still growing like a weed.

  “Hi, I’m—”

  “A Greensmith,” Ty finished, his eyes moving up and down Rowen. “We’re, like… related now, right?” It was difficult to tell how he felt about that. Maybe he didn’t even know how he felt. The distracted way he blocked the door while he studied her suggested as much.

  “Well, I think we’ve always been related.” Rowen forced a smile but either her little joke hadn’t landed or Ty had missed it entirely. She cleared her throat. “But, yes. I’m your cousin, I guess. I’m Rowen. This is Eric.”

  “Hey.” Ty stepped to one side, opening the door wide so that they could come in. His greeting wasn’t warm or even terribly welcoming. Rowen tried not to take it personally. The circumstances weren’t exactly cheerful ones, after all.

  “Good to meet you,” Eric said, nodding to the boy.

  Ty closed the door behind the both of them. “Everyone is down the hall.”

  Everyone. The word stuck with Rowen as she walked. Did “everyone” include her father? A lightheadedness came over Rowen as she walked in the direction Ty had directed them. She could hear people talking. There were some male voices in there, but she couldn’t pick any out as the one she had heard back at the Greensmith house.

  The memorial was taking place in a room that didn’t really look lived in. It was the kind of sitting room where everything is expensive and ornate and all the upholstery is covered in plastic. Some mismatched chairs looked like they had been dragged from other parts of the house. There were quite a few older guests sitting in them. It looked like Bertha had made her fair share of friends through the years.

  Rowen scanned the sea of faces for one that looked like her own. She was still looking when Shane approached her. “I’m glad you could make it,” he said, pulling Rowen into a stiff and awkward hug. “And you as well,” he added, offering Eric his hand. He’d clearly forgotten his name.

  “This looks nice,” said Rowen, nodding to the turn out and to the pictures of Bertha lining the walls.

  “I wish we could have had a proper funeral.” Shane stepped away from the both of them. “I’ll be lucky if we can even do this right. Desmond hasn’t bothered to show up yet, and he has the ashes.”

  So he wasn’t here after all. Rowen wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Did it make her feel less anxious or more? At the very least, it was frustrating. “When did you last talk to him?”

  “I talked to him last night. I haven’t been able to reach him today.” Shane clenched and unclenched a fist at his side. “It’s all right,” he said, perhaps mostly to himself. “We’ll be able to manage without him. We always have before. It’s just disappointing.” Shane left them after that, going to mingle and swap stories with some of the older guests.

  Rowen found herself a place to stand in the corner. Eric settled in beside her. People mostly ignored her, which was fine. It was better that she went ignored. Every time someone turned to look in Rowen’s direction, she felt her heart rate speeding up. Lacie and Kate were the worst offenders. When they came into the room, they both pointedly ignored Rowen. She felt their eyes on her once or twice. Both times the look came with a chill that traveled down Rowen’s spine. There was anger there. Shane’s anger might have faded some, but Kate’s was still strong. It seemed Lacie had similar feelings, though Rowen couldn’t be sure why. Was it just because she was a Greensmith?

  It wouldn’t be right to leave now, before the memorial had even properly started. Rowen tried to distract herself instead. She studied the pictures all around the room, taking in the photos of Bertha at various places, with various people. Most of the pictures were taken at places she recognized. They were all around Lainswich. There weren’t pictures of her traveling to distant locales, not like the ones on her nephew’s social media.

  There were older pictures that were in black and white. Some people were standing in front of a house. Rowen recognized it as the one Bertha had died in, her family’s house passed down through the generations. There were other people with her, both adults and children. Was her father in that picture? Rowen was about to take a step toward it when two new people came around the corner.

  “Sorry we’re late,” said a man in a voice a little too loud and jovial for the occasion. He was a bit on the short side, about as tall as most of the women in the room. He made up for his short stature in how he carried himself though. He moved through the room like he was the most important person in it. Coreen followed behind him, a frown on her face. He motioned back to her. “This one took forever to get dressed. You know how women are.” The silence he was met with said that, no, the rest of the room either didn’t know or care how “women are.”

  This had to be Desmond. Rowen took in his dark, slicked back hair and the pinstripe suit he wore. He reminded her a bit of Norm. He had a showman quality to him, one that Rowen instantly distrusted. Not that she had any reason to trust this man from the beginning.

  Eric gave his wife’s shoulder a squeeze. He must have guessed who this was as well. “Hey, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” said Rowen. The words surprised even her. She was, she realized. She was perfectly fine. Now that she had actually seen her father, a lot of the anxiety was gone. This wasn’t anyone worth feeling anxious around.

  “Here.” Unceremoniously, Desmond handed a box to Shane.

  It took Rowen a moment to realize what was in the plain, cardboard box. It took Shane even longer. His eyes went wide when he did. Once he had, he grabbed the box in one arm and snatched Desmond by the wrist with the other. Angrily, he led him from the room.

  “I think your aunt is in that box,” Eric muttered.

  “I noticed,” Rowen said back, quietly. Unlike the rest of the room, she hadn’t been scandalized by it. Really, she didn’t have much of a frame of reference when it came to her father. He had been avoiding his daughter his whole life. Why not show up to a memorial with your adoptive mother in a cardboard box?

  “Sorry.”

  A woman’s voice pulled Rowen from her crowd-watching. There were a lot of murmurs going up among the guests. Rowen turned away from them to see Coreen standing nearby. She was dressed in dark and somber clothes. Her fingers kept moving up and down the leather strap of her purse.

  “I told him to put the ashes in something,” Coreen continued. “He wouldn’t hear it. He said they were just going to scatter them anyway, so why bother?” She rolled her eyes.

  “You don’t have to apologize for him.” Rowen thought that it said enough that she accompanied him everywhere. It was that that gave her a low opinion of the woman.

  Coreen looked from Rowen to Eric. She smiled. “Hi, I’m Coreen.”

  Eric nodded and shook her hand. “I’m Eric, Rowen’s husband.”

  “Oh!” Coreen raised her eyebrows. She looked back to Rowen. “I didn’t realize you were married. That’s nice. Congrats.”

  “It happened a while ago, but thanks.” Rowen allowed the conversation to grind to an exceptionally awkward halt.

  Coreen lingered around Rowen and Eric until Desmond reentered the room. There was an exasperated air about him now as he walked behind his cousin. Shane had a small, ornate chest in his hands. It wasn’t quite an urn, but it was certainly a lot nicer than the box Desmond had
brought along.

  There was a small table at the far end of the room. Desmond placed the box there, between a photo of his aunt and an arrangement of lilies. He turned to face everyone else. “I think we can finally get started, if everyone’s ready.”

  There was some more chatter as everyone moved about to find seats. Coreen went to rejoin Desmond near the front while Rowen purposely went to sit in the back. She noticed Coreen whispering something and saw Desmond glance her way. He didn’t look for long—at least, he didn’t when Rowen was looking back at him. As awkward as the whole thing was, coming here had paid off. There was no escape from Rowen this time. Desmond would have to face his daughter. She still had a few things she wanted to discuss with the man.

  ***

  The memorial service was standard fare. A lot was said, stories were told, prayers were spoken. Kate got up and sang a hymn Bertha was said to have liked. Everyone pretended Kate’s singing voice was excellent and not verging on the wrong side of tolerable. Every so often, Rowen caught Desmond glancing back at her again. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

  When the memorial service ended, Rowen lingered near the door. To leave, her father would have to walk past her. Possibly because of this, he seemed to be in no real hurry to go. He talked with his brother and with several of the older women who had known Bertha. He ate some of the refreshments that were brought out, taking his time with them while, occasionally, sparing yet another glance in Rowen’s direction. All the while she stood stationary at the door.

  Finally, there was no putting it off anymore. Desmond leaned down to whisper something to Coreen. She nodded and headed for the door. He followed, walking fast as he went. Maybe he hoped that Rowen didn’t know who he was or that she would let him go by without comment. He had no luck on either front. Rowen stepped in front of the entryway before even Coreen made it through. As short as she was, she wasn’t terribly imposing. Still, they couldn’t just shove her out of the way.