Patrick said nothing, made no excuse whatsoever, when he stormed past us. Fred caught up with him and hotfooted by his side. The girls and I silently slouched home behind them. I fussed with silent questions, Marley even more so. And Ruth walked side by side with us, her way of letting us know she was on our side. Funny how that worked. She didn’t know one thing about us, but we had loved the mother she would never meet, so she felt a kinship. It was a show of solidarity, a closing of the guard around the Coopers, Brewsters, and now the Hyatts.
Edgy would’ve liked her gang.
Dean was waiting on the porch swing, hat pulled forward and ankles crossed. He appeared to be napping, but I knew full well he was alert and watching. He waited until we were almost to the porch, then rose and stepped lightly down the steps to meet us.
Patrick and Fred walked right by him without saying even a word and went inside.
Dean’s thumb pointed at the doorway. “I’m assuming that is your son. Who tangled with him?”
“He and a neighbor got into it. Come in and I’ll introduce you.”
We gathered around the dining room table to sort out what had happened and make sense of it somehow. Marley spoke first. “We need something to drink.” She hopped up and disappeared into the kitchen. The refrigerator door rattled closed, and she returned with bottled water.
Fred just looked at her, then he twisted off the lid and slurped deeply. He focused on Ruth. “Your mother was my life, but I would’ve shared her with you. I’ll tell you all I know. Can we talk alone?”
Ruth looked at me.
I answered her unasked question. “The bench out by the potting shed is a good place. We won’t disturb you.” I looked pointedly Marley. We did not need to know what Fred told Edgy’s daughter.
Ruth quickly followed Fred outside. In what little I knew of her, I saw lots of Edgy’s fearless, take-it-on-the-chin attitude. I hoped Ruth wouldn’t be overwhelmed when she learned of her mother’s mental illness, that she had backed a car over a toddler cousin who had died and then had been forsaken, left pregnant and alone. Afterwards, Edgy had turned to drugs and Fred had put up with it all.
“I’m assuming you’re Ruth’s uncle.” Patrick sat across the table eyeing Dean.
“Sorry,” I said. “I forgot to introduce you.”
Dean shook his head. “Everyone was in a state of shock when you came home.” He turned back to Patrick. “Care to tell me about it?”
Patrick shrugged. “No big deal. I was protecting Mom from a neighbor that needs a good cuffing along his stubborn head.”
“Figured that. Same guy that gave your mom and Edgy trouble at the church?”
Patrick swung his attention to me. “What church?”
No way did I want to get into that whole mess right now. “We’ll talk about that later. Lester’s stalking is the problem now.”
Dean played with his bottle of water. His fingers quit turning it round and round as he focused on Patrick. “It appears you did right by your mom.”
Patrick’s brow drew into the familiar frown he had when puzzling over a problem. I could tell my son was trying to figure out why Dean thought he could give an opinion about him. My son elected not to challenge the comment.
I couldn’t stand any more tension—not the worry over Fred telling Ruth about her mother and not the fact that Dean sounded like he was giving his approval to my son. It was none of his business. Instead of lambasting Dean with choice words, I rose and went into the kitchen to look through the window above the sink. Ruth was leaning back against the cedar bench, one leg hooked over the other and foot bouncing. Fred bent forward, his arms on his legs, his hands between his knees. For a big man, he seemed hunched into himself, smaller and grieved to his soul. How could he not be? The poor man was explaining the love of his life to her daughter—and Edgy would never know her.
“Mom!”
I jumped like the hounds of hell were after me.
“Get away from the window.” Marley frowned at me as if I had become her wayward child. Maybe I was. My late-in-life desire for one last love affair had resulted in so many hurts. My breath caught as I fully realized the mess I’d created.
I turned from the window. “Please tell Patrick and Dean I have to lie down, which is exactly true.”
“Mom,” Patrick said from the doorway. “I understand you’re tired and upset, but I really need to know what you said to Lester and his wife at Woodland Park.” He came into the kitchen and rested against the refrigerator as if the hum from the motor could calm him.
Dean stepped into the room and propped a shoulder on the doorframe.
They had me surrounded. I didn’t much like it and spoke directly to Patrick. “I mentioned the fact Edgy and I saw him at the mega church on the hill where he and a strange woman sat, snuggling together.”
The three of them stared at me like I was evil incarnate. Well, maybe more like disbelief, but I felt like the devil. “Yes, I did that. And Edgy not so politely told him as we followed the crowd toward the church doors. Afterwards, he spied on Edgy constantly. Now he’s started on me.”
Patrick partially rose. “What has Lester done?”
Dean held up his hand. “Let’s not gang up on your mom.” He turned to me. “We need to protect you, but we also need to let Detective Langnecker know what Lester’s been doing. He could be a suspect in Edgy’s death.”
I couldn’t argue or disagree because I was at a loss for words.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Marley said. “We need a break. Mom, go rest for a while. Dean, Patrick, and I will wait on Ruth and Fred. We’ll let you know how it went.”
Dismissed and inside my bedroom, I sprawled tummy down across the bed and simply waited for the stress to ease. I couldn’t remember when I had been so disgusted with my offspring. I was not their child. Soon I couldn’t stand lying flat, either. I rolled over and slid to the end of the bed to reach for the closet door. I had to rise a little, but I got the door open, sat back down, and stared at the steel safe below the clothes. Finally, I stood and spun the combination lock to the right set of numbers and opened the heavy door.
I shuffled through passports, money, and papers as I searched for the revolver Mel had bought after the warehouse fire. He’d been spooked for months by the threat of incarceration. The poor man had never been at fault, but the pressure still aged him in a way he couldn’t set aside. The shame and embarrassment ate at his introverted personality.
The gun wasn’t under the papers. Maybe he had taken it to the office and left it there. I closed the safe and shoved the clothes on their hangers to one side, exposing the cabinet where he stored his hunting rifles. The key was hidden in a bag tucked in an old shoe. I retrieved the key, unlocked the oak door, and chose the Remington. The box of bullets was in the bottom of the cabinet. The smooth cartridges slid easily into the holding chamber as I loaded the weapon, set the safety, and carefully laid it under the bed.
Chapter 16
T oday, I planned to dress for Edgy. She’d pitch a fit if I went to her funeral decked out in somber black. Did I have anything in the closet even close to what she would deem appropriate? I pulled out a blue frock—the one with polished-white polka dots. She would hate it. I hung it back on the rod and finger walked the hangers looking for something she’d approve of. Each piece seemed so conservative. When did that happen? I knew darn good and well when, but again I refused to face it or take responsibility. It was easier to deny I had any role in our midlife marriage crisis. Mel certainly denied his part, too. Why we stuck it out was a mystery, but we had.
I pulled out a pair of bootcut Wrangler jeans with rhinestones patterned like butterflies on the hip pockets. I hugged them tight. Edgy had insisted I wasn’t too old to wear them, but I hadn’t even put them on until now. I picked out a black pullover that plunged pretty low and my great-grandmother’s antique brooch covered with flashy pink and purple rhinestones. I’d sparkle today.
Digging around for boots in the bottom o
f the closet, I found a pair with zippers, square high heels, and brass buckles. Perfect. I could almost hear Edgy laughing as I dressed.
The spirited chatter of Ruth and my children resonated from the kitchen. I stopped in the doorway, and my heart eased. They were doing the same as I was, sharing joy as if Edgy was sitting at the table with them. I had dressed to please her, and they had, too. No black dresses or veils. We were all dressed casual smart, all refusing to dwell in sadness. Edgy would be sent off as she lived—sharp-witted and flashy—and with Ruth’s wide, lopsided grin that matched her mother’s.
The front doorbell rang. Ruth brightened. “Must be Uncle Dean.”
“I’ll answer it,” I said from the doorway. I got the what did she overhear now look from three startled adults. Odd that no matter how old your children are, they’re still kids to you.
Stetson in hand, Dean was waiting on the porch. Such an eyeful. He didn’t comment on my attire, just walked inside and headed to the kitchen. I smiled to myself. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out where the Coopers gathered. Immediately, they were all talking at once, making plans for how to travel to the cemetery.
I walked behind Dean, made a spot for myself by the sink, and jumped into the planning. “I told Fred I’d ride with him so I could hold Edgy’s urn on the way.”
“Okay,” Marley said. “Ruth, would you like to ride with me?”
“Absolutely, and Patrick can go with my uncle.” Ruth paused, then added, “Or vice versa.”
Patrick immediately said, “I’ll ride with Dean.” He sounded as if he wanted to please Ruth, but I had a suspicion he wanted some time with her uncle. That was good. They needed to figure each other out because I had a hunch: Ruth might not know it yet, but Patrick appeared interested enough to make her family. Time would tell.
Our travel plans set, I hurried out the front door and down the sidewalk to Fred’s.
The garage door opened as soon as I stepped onto his driveway. He backed Edgy’s RAV4 out, stopping beside me. He picked up the container of Edgy’s ashes from the passenger seat, and I slid inside. He waited for me to secure the seatbelt and then handed me the rectangular metal box made of polished copper, simple and nice. As I gripped the smooth surface, I couldn’t help but think it needed a rough finish. Nothing had ever been smooth for Edgy. Her large, caring personality was encased in a small box that didn’t match her. I held the container tight to my body, protecting the ashes of my friend—the last thing I could do for her.
Stress lined Fred’s face, but he tried to smile through it. “Thought you’d be more comfortable in this than my old truck. It’s a mess.”
“Edgy and I had lots of laughs in this rig.”
He nodded and backed out onto the street.
The C. E. Conrad Memorial Cemetery sprawled across the top of a hill to the east of Kalispell. We passed through an old stone entryway and followed a long, curving road to the top and continued on a circular lane to a second rise through acres of gravestones shaded by maples and willows. Up we went to the upmost top of the hill. Edgy would rest where the wind and rain whipped, where the sun beat down, where the moon cast shadows. Fred had picked the perfect spot.
The soothing tones of “Amazing Grace” swelled from a wooden stand holding a CD player and a large vase of crimson roses. I handed Fred the urn, and he placed it next to the roses on the table, then stepped close to the pastor. He spoke quietly until both nodded. Fred joined us as we gathered in a wide horseshoe around the grave covered with plywood and artificial grass. Neighbors crowded with other neighbors and were joined by a few couples from the church we had attended together for years. Off to the side was a gathering of strangers, probably people curious to see who would be weeping over a murdered woman. Edgy’s small service grew as folks who cared about her and those who didn’t joined together to say goodbye.
The other mourners stared at me and Ruth, surely wondering who the pretty woman was. No way was I going to introduce her to anyone except close friends at the backyard party this evening. Ruth had enough to deal with in burying her mother she’d yearned to know. I caught the look on my son’s face. Hmm. He didn’t usually take to people right away. He was a self-protecting soul and took his time. Ruth had his attention.
Ten in the morning of July thirty-first. I marked the time and date to memory as the day I said goodbye to my dearest friend. Life would never be the same without her. Dean moved closer behind my right shoulder. Marley stood on my other side. Fred was next to Ruth Patrick was behind Ruth. We bowed our heads for prayer and heard words of comforting wisdom.
Reverend Steele spoke about Edgy. He recalled her hours spent in the church nursery caring for the youngest on Sunday mornings. He reminded us of all the times she had prepared delicious meals for members after surgeries and her readiness to help whenever needed. He added, “Our Edwina had her problems and tried to overcome them as best she could. We will miss her.”
Stanzas of “I’ll Fly Away” soared on a west wind.
Reverend Steele nodded.
One of the groundskeepers removed the grass and plywood. Fred crossed to the table and picked up Edgy’s urn in strong, steady hands, then carried it to the opening in the earth. He knelt and lowered the urn, reaching down so deep his broad chest rested on the ground. His heavy shoulders moved as he situated the urn in the perfect place. He paused a moment, then rapidly stood and crossed over to stand dry-eyed beside Ruth, forcing Patrick to move over.
Marley slipped away to the vase filled with thorns-trimmed long-stemmed roses. She chose one and walked by the grave, tossing the tender blossom inside. Ruth plunked one from the vase and stood straight and true, looking down into the ground. She stated clearly, “I’m truly sorry I didn’t get a chance to say Hello, Mother to you.” She bowed her head for a moment, dropped the rose, then hurried back to Dean.
Both Patrick and I dropped our roses, then stepped aside waiting on Fred.
He had held back, watching us pay our respects before he chose two roses. He kissed the top one and then entwined the other around it. Stoic, he stared downward at Edgy’s urn and dropped his roses inside.
“Goodbye,” he whispered and then hurried down the hill, got in Edgy’s orange RAV4, and drove away.
I stood off to the side, my fingers pressed against my cheeks and breathing deeply. As the crowd broke apart to visit or wander the cemetery, I tried in vain to get control of my emotions enough to mingle.
Marley, Ruth, and Dean huddled a few paces behind me, making sure I was all right. I set aside my grief and crossed to my daughter, pulling her out of earshot of the others, and whispered, “You three staring at me like I’m going to crumble into a sorry mess isn’t helping. Please take them down to the family plot and show them where the Coopers and the Yorks are buried. Wander around a bit. It’ll make it easier for me.”
“Good idea, Mom.”
Dean nodded to me before following the girls.
They had gone no more than halfway down the upper slope when I saw Detective Langnecker hiking up from the opposite direction. His shoulders were drooping slightly and his arms were hanging slack—his only signs of sadness. He was a professional and in control of himself. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I searched deep into his eyes. “I can see you are. Any closer to finding who pushed my friend?” I asked, knowing full well he was here to observe.
He shook his head. “I just want to pay my respects.”
The moment stretched long enough for me to feel even more awkward. “I just sent Marley to show Ruth and Dean our family plot if you want to join them.”
“I’ll do that.” He excused himself. As he walked away, I wanted to see sinister or ulterior motives in him. I didn’t detect any and admitted silently that I just plain felt guilty any time he was around.
I worked my way through the crowd, hugging the ones I knew, shaking hands with those I didn’t. One guy at that cocky-forties age drew close and reached for a handshake. His hand dropped when I
didn’t extend mine because I recognized him and knew he wanted only one thing—information.
“I’m Chad Downing from the Daily News. I’m told you were good friends with the deceased and were at the homicide scene.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“It’s my understanding—
“She just told you she doesn’t have anything to say,” Randal said from behind me. He took my arm. Tears stung my eyes as he led me from the reporter and past a group of staring bystanders. I’m sure they were straining to overhear. I turned my back on them.
“It’s okay to cry,” Randal said after we separated from the crowd. He wrapped me in a tight hug.
I stepped back. “I didn’t expect you to come.”
“I came for you, not Edgy.”
Taken back by his words, I didn’t know what to say. He was trying to be kind and didn’t know that an invisible wedge now existed between us, one that had formed because I feared he had been selling drugs to Edgy. Her murder had changed me. I had become distrustful and on guard all the time—even with an old friend. Unfortunately, there was reason to distrust him.
A frown crossed his features. “What have I done to make you angry?”
“I’m not angry, and I do appreciate you running interference for me with the reporter. But I have to say, you also confuse me. We used to be comfortable with each other. Now, there is an edge I can’t cross. It’s like you’re watching to see if I suspect something. What have you done?”
Randal glanced around.
“No one heard me,” I said quietly. “What are you hiding?”
He backed up a step.
“I know Edgy bought drugs from a guy in a red Corvette at Millie’s.” I would have missed the flicker in his eyes if I hadn’t been paying close attention.
“You think that was me?” he asked.
“I also know the man talked to a guy in a dirty brown truck with an odd fender. Sounds to me like the truck belonging to the young man who helped us after the wreck.”
Blame the Car Ride Page 14