Getting Caught in the Rain

by Barron, Melinda

  The more they searched, the more despondent Dex seemed to become. By the time he’d signed paperwork for the officers and they’d left and said they would do their part about sending Agatha’s remains to the funeral home, he was sitting on the couch, his elbows propped up on his knees, and his head in his hands.

  Rachel sat down next to him. “When will your parents be here?”

  “Sometime tomorrow,” he said. “They’re going to call me when they get here and I’ll go pick them up. Dad said they would use Agatha’s car, since she hasn’t driven it in ages.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she said. “Where do we need to go now?”

  “Agatha left me a file,” he said. “She reminded me of it a lot; in fact, just last night. It’s in the drawer in her nightstand. I’ll be right back.”

  He came back moments later with a manila envelope in his hands. He sat down next to her on the sofa. Their knees touched and Rachel fought the urge to touch him even more, to put her hand on his knee and squeeze. They sat in silence for some time, and she waited for him to open the envelope, to tell her what would happen next.

  Finally he said, “I’m hungry.”

  “Then we should go eat,” she said. “We’re going to a restaurant to pick up your phone.”

  “Not a good plan,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Once they were in the pickup, he put the envelope in the backseat and drove off. They picked up his phone, which was dead, and drove off. Without asking her what she wanted he drove to a deli. He pulled into the drive-thru and ordered a Ruben with extra sauce, and a club with no tomatoes, chips, and two diet sodas.

  They remained silent as he drove off. He went to a park across town and parked in a lot that was mostly vacant except for two cars.

  “It’s a nice day out,” he said. “Want to snag a picnic table and enjoy the sunshine?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  They ate in silence at first, her the Ruben and him the club. When they were half done he said, “I don’t want to deal with all this. I’d love to pass it off to my dad, but I have a feeling Agatha would know and she’d haunt me forever.”

  He wolfed down the rest of his lunch. She pushed the other half of her sandwich toward him and he ate that, too. It didn’t surprise her that he ordered without asking what she wanted. They’d eaten together enough that he knew what she liked. An uncomfortable silence settled over them after he’d taken their trash to the can that was nearby.

  Finally he said, “I don’t remember a time when Agatha didn’t live with us. She always made me laugh. She always cooked for us. She always stood up for me if there was trouble in the house.”

  “I remember that,” Rachel said. “I especially remember the car incident.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I lost access to my car for two months because of that. Thanks for bringing up that painful incident.”

  “Painful my fat fanny,” she said with a laugh. “You and Tommy stole his mother’s car and wrecked it. You’re lucky Agatha knew the deputy who investigated, or else you would have spent time in juvie. As it was you were on juvenile probation for a year. Agatha saved your butt.”

  “She did that.” He toyed with his drink. “We didn’t steal the car. We just borrowed it.”

  “There’s a fine line there,” she said. “His mother didn’t see it as borrowed, or else you wouldn’t have been in trouble.”

  “Change of subject,” Dex said. “Let’s talk about the time you wet your pants during the Wizard of Oz movie night.”

  “Not fair!” Rachel wiggled her finger at him. “That is a totally different situation.”

  “Yeah, it was rather fun watching you scream. The popcorn flying up in the air was a perfect touch, and, of course, there was the fact you tinkled in your pants.”

  “I remember you screaming, too,” she said. They were both laughing now. “Agatha planned that one to the letter. I think she made the witch’s costume herself.”

  Just as the scene where the witch was releasing the flying monkeys, Agatha jumped into the room and screamed, “I’ll get you, both of you.” She’d waved her arms around and ran from one corner of the room to another. It was Dex who had first noticed it was not a wicked witch, but Agatha scaring the daylights out of them.

  Rachel had indeed tinkled in her pants. And she’d been embarrassed every time Agatha retold the story to someone she just met. But she also smiled, because it was one of Agatha’s best pranks. Agatha had always loved to pull pranks on people, something she’d passed on to Dex.

  “Do you remember the Christmas tree incident?” he asked.

  “Is that the one that sticks out for you?” Rachel chuckled. “I remember the Easter bunny one more.”

  “Who knew an Easter bunny could run that fast,” he said with a chuckle.

  There was a short silence. “Why is it when someone dies people start telling stories about them?”

  “It’s a way to deal with grief,” Rachel said. “I’ve talked about it with friends. I think it’s the shock of knowing that someone in your life won’t be back. You tell stories to remember them. It’s too bad it ends after a while.”

  “Does it?” Dex asked. “Dad still tells stories about pranks his father played on them. I guess that’s where Agatha got it. Funny that Dad didn’t pick it up. He used to get ticked at Agatha for ‘causing trouble’. His words, not mine.”

  “I sort of remember that,” she said.

  “They loved each other,” he said. “I remember overhearing an argument between my parents one time. Mom was not happy that Agatha was still living with us. Dad told her he would never kick his sister out.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He said she knew why.” Dex tapped his fingers on the table. “But he didn’t say why, and I never heard about it again. I never really asked Agatha about her past. She was very quiet about it.”

  He turned to her. “What did you guys talk about on your lunches?”

  “Books, and current events, and food, I mean cooking and recipes.” She rubbed her hands over her knees. “I have a question. The TV at Agatha’s house. It seems out of place. She never talked about TV shows while we were together.”

  He laughed. “I bought it for her at Christmas two years ago, after the old one she had finally gave out on her. She wasn’t going to replace it, but I told her she needed it for news and weather reports. Then I set her up with a streaming service. I enjoyed knowing she watched a lot of movies.”

  “While she knitted,” Rachel said.

  “Yup.” He chuckled. “Dad told her once that those knitting needles were permanently attached to her hands.”

  “Then where were they?” she asked.

  “What?” He frowned at her.

  “The needles, and the yarn,” she said. “They weren’t in the living room, near her chair. They weren’t in her bedroom, and they weren’t in the spare room.”

  She watched as he focused on the lake near them. From the expression on his face she imagined he was mentally reviewing each room they’d been through that morning. Finally he said, “You’re right.”

  Without saying another word he got up and headed toward the truck. She fell into step beside him, rushing to keep up with his longer stride. They drove silently back to Agatha’s house and parked in the same place as before.

  They were not yet up the steps when a voice called out, “Wait, wait.”

  Rachel turned just in time to see a tiny woman throw her left arm around Dex’s neck and hug him tight. In her right hand she held a casserole dish.

  “I’d hoped you’d be back soon,” she said. She let go of Dex and hurried to Rachel, giving her a half-hug, too. “You must be Rachel. I’ve seen you come and go, and Agatha talked of you quite a lot. I’m Theresa Perkins.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Perkins,” Rachel said.

  “Theresa, please,” the woman said. She turned and offered the dish to Dex. “Cowboy caviar, just like my mother used to make on New Year’s Day. I
hope you can use it to counter the bad luck that’s reared its ugly head already.”

  “Thank you,” Dex said. “Why don’t you come in and have some with us.”

  “I’d love to,” Theresa said.

  Dex opened the door and indicated Theresa, and then Rachel should go inside. Once they were in the living room, Rachel took the pot of peas.

  “I’ll dish them up and be right back,” she said.

  She found a tray and loaded the bowls and spoons onto it. Back in the living room she found Theresa on the couch, and Dex on a chair nearby. She passed out the bowls and sat down near Theresa. As they all took their first bites, she cast a sideways glance at Theresa. She guessed her to be about sixty, small and thin with gray hair and glasses that perched on the end of her nose.

  “Did you spend much time with Agatha?” she asked.

  “We had coffee every morning,” Theresa said. “We alternated between houses. I’m a widow, and it’s always good to have someone check up on you from time to time. I had no children. Sometimes Agatha and I would share dinner, or lunch, when she was not out. She was out quite a bit.”

  Rachel didn’t think two days a week was quite a bit, but she didn’t say anything. They ate their peas in silence, and after they’d set their bowls on the table, Theresa stood.

  “If there’s anything I can do for you please let me know.”

  “There is one thing,” Dex said. “Please, sit back down so we can talk.”

  She did as he asked.

  “Did Agatha bring her knitting to your house?”

  “No,” Theresa said. “If you want the truth, I can’t remember the last time I saw her knitting. Which, now that I’m thinking about it, is odd.”

  “It’s not here,” Dex said. He nodded in Rachel’s direction. “Rachel noticed when we were in here earlier.”

  “It has to be here somewhere,” Theresa said. “After all, a murderer wouldn’t break into a house, kill someone and only take a basket of knitting.”

  “Who said anything about murder,” Rachel said.

  “Well, the police asked all sorts of questions this morning,” Theresa said. “They made it sound as if something was amiss.”

  Rachel couldn’t help but smile at her choice of words. She never would have put it that way.

  “Did they say they thought Agatha had been murdered?” Dex asked.

  “They asked if I’d seen anyone around the house, lurking,” Theresa said. “I told them no, but you can rest assured I’ll make sure my alarm is set tonight.” She paused for a moment before she said, “I’m sorry, that was an awful thing for me to say. I’m going to go home now.”

  And set your alarm, Rachel said to herself.

  “I’ll walk you over,” Dex said.

  When they were gone, Rachel got up and searched from room to room. She found no yarn, no needles, no works in progress. It was so strange. She went to the closet, the last place to search, and found less clothes than she expected.

  “What are you doing?” Dex asked.

  Rachel looked up to see him standing in the closet doorway.

  “Where are her clothes?” she asked. “Most of them are gone. What did she do with them?”

  “First the knitting, now the clothes,” he said. “I didn’t come into the closet while we were looking today.”

  “Neither did I,” she said. “I didn’t even think about it.”

  He stepped back into the bedroom and she followed him. She pushed past him into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. All her toiletries seemed to be there, unless she had something besides the usual sundries.

  “All her medicines are near the kitchen sink,” he said.

  “Missing clothes, and missing knitting,” she said. “If you were going to go somewhere, leave your home, what would you take?”

  “Agatha wasn’t going anywhere,” he said.

  “What if she was, and she just happened to—die—before she could leave.”

  “She would have told me,” he said. “I just saw her last night.”

  The defensive tone of his voice told Rachel she didn’t need to push things any further. It was odd, but it wasn’t anything missing that would point to foul play. She said a silent prayer for Agatha.

  “It’s nothing, I’m sure,” she said. “Maybe she’d sent her clothes out to the cleaners. We need to check her papers to see if they are somewhere.”

  “Later,” he said. “I’m tired. It’s not even five and I just want this day to end. I don’t want to face my parents tomorrow, and I don’t want to face the fact I have to plan a funeral for a woman I’ve loved all my life.”

  He sat down on her bed, and put his head in his hands. Rachel sat down next to him, and held him while he cried.

  Chapter 3

  It turned out that Dex didn’t have to plan the funeral. Agatha had done it, right down to the time and place. All she’d needed was the date. It was all paid for, and all arranged.

  She’d even written her own obituary, for which Rachel was very grateful. She was afraid that Dex would ask her to do it, since she’d studied journalism at school. So when Dex had called her to say it was all taken care of she thought that was that, and things would go ‘back to normal’, as they always seemed to do after someone had died.

  Or did they? Things would always be different, of course. Rachel tried not to think about the next time she was scheduled to have lunch with Agatha, and the fact it would not take place. Tears stung her eyes as she did. Instead she threw herself into her work. The day after Dex’s parents had arrived from Florida, she hadn’t gone out to his house. She’d worked with her employees to set up an estate sale.

  But as she handled each piece of the customer’s belongings all she could think about was Agatha. In this case the woman selling the items was still alive, which was unusual. When she’d contacted Rachel, she’d said she wanted to sell her things and divide up the money amongst her three children because she knew they would fight over what to do after she was dead.

  “Mrs. Ping, isn’t there anything you want to keep?” Rachel had asked her as they’d walked through the woman’s house on the first day they’d met. “I mean, as keepsakes?”

  “Everything I want to remember in my life I have locked in my mind,” Mrs. Ping said. She’d tapped her index finger against her temple. “I miss my husband. He’s been gone ten years now. But if I want to remember him I can see the photos I have, or simply close my eyes and picture him laughing. I’ll be with him, soon.”

  That was a month ago, and Rachel had pushed the thoughts aside, working only with Mrs. Ping about prices and what she wanted done with things that didn’t sell.

  Mrs. Ping had assured her that everything would be gone.

  “What about your kids?” Rachel had asked. “Are you sure they don’t want anything?”

  “I had each of them come in turn by turn,” Mrs. Ping said. “They could take up to fifteen items, no more. They’re lucky I let them do that, after they told me I was wasting money on everything I bought. I overheard one of them tell the other at Christmas last year that I was spending their inheritance. That’s when I decided to do this, and perhaps take a trip or two.”

  Mrs. Ping looked around the room and Rachel could see the sadness. But as quickly as it had come upon her it was gone. “It just took me a while to set it up. To finally decide I was doing the right thing, to change my will to reflect what was happening in case I died before it was over, and then to find you.”

  She winked at Rachel, who smiled, although her heart wasn’t in it. As she stood in the living room in one of the oldest and richest neighborhoods in Amarillo she couldn’t help but think of Agatha, who lived less than a mile from here in a nice, but not rich neighborhood.

  But she did have a houseful of items that would need to be taken care of; of course that was not up to her. Dex would have to take care of it, as her executor. She hadn’t seen him since his parents had come into town. She’d left before he’d gone to pick them u
p, not wanting to intrude on their first meeting.

  He hadn’t called her since then, and it really didn’t surprise her. He had a lot to deal with, the least of which involved her. She supposed Carrie was helping him call people, arrange meals for his family, hugging him and offering him comfort. Those thoughts made her green with envy, and she cleared her throat and turned toward a display case that featured nothing but teacups and saucers.

  “I bought those on our various trips around the world,” Mrs. Ping said. “Even if we revisited a country and I already had a cup I bought another one.

  Rachel did a mental calculation of what was in the case. There had to be more than fifty cups and saucers. It was quite a collection, and she knew from research she’d done that it would fetch a pretty penny at auction. The first sale would be an estate sale, done live two weekends at the house. The second weekend would include an online auction, manned by Stacy Sheppard, one of Rachel’s best workers. Stacy worked three laptops like it was an Olympic sport and she was a gold medalist.

  “Do you want to put a higher reserve on the Georgia O’Keeffe painting?” Rachel asked. “It’s very rare to have an original of hers.”

  “She was a friend of my husband’s before he and I met,” Mrs. Ping said. “I’ve decided not to sell it. When I’m gone my children can sell it and split the profits. I know that means less money for you, and it probably goes against our contract…”

  She let her words drift off, and Rachel couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll overlook it, because…” Because why? Because when she looked at Mrs. Ping she saw Agatha? And she wouldn’t want to go against what Agatha wanted.

  “I’m sure most of the clothing will go well online,” Rachel said. “People who run vintage clothing stores check the online auctions quite often.”

  “Are you saying my clothes are old?” Mrs. Ping looked offended, and then she laughed. “I’d be surprised if anyone bid on them.”