Sunflower Street (Rose Hill Mysteries Book 8)

by Pamela Grandstaff

  “On board the O’Hare gravy train,” Hannah said.

  “I’m not getting anything from it,” Claire said. “I can get reimbursed for any expenses, but I can’t imagine what they would be.”

  “Tickets for us to take him to Harry Potter World,” Hannah said. “I need to be on that committee, in charge of leisure activities.”

  “Do you really think Jillian is behind the food poisoning call?” Maggie asked.

  “I think as soon as she found out I got custody of Eugene she began her campaign of terror, yes,” Claire said. “When Dad disappeared, I was afraid she had kidnapped him.”

  “That Sophie chick has made you paranoid,” Maggie said.

  “It’s not paranoia when someone is out to get you,” Hannah said. “It’s common sense. It’s self-preservation. Sometimes fear is a perfectly legitimate response to a very real threat.”

  “It makes me think Jillian may have killed Gigi,” Claire said.

  “Well, she’s picking on the wrong people,” Hannah said. “We will prove she killed Gigi and put her away.”

  “Did you go see Cheat today?” Claire asked.

  “Now, don’t nag me,” Hannah said. “I meant to, but I got busy. There was a possum in Dottie’s garage that had backed her cat into a corner and neither one was giving in.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I took two trash can lids, sneaked up behind them, and banged them together. The possum fell over and played dead, and the cat flew out of that garage like its tail was on fire. I scooped up the possum and relocated it to the woods.”

  “Why doesn’t everyone in town come out here and do this?” Claire asked. “I remember when we were kids, and Lily and Simon owned it, there was always a crowd out here. They had cookouts and set off fireworks.”

  “Sam doesn’t like anyone he doesn’t know on his land,” Maggie said.

  “It’s true,” Hannah said. “I started a rumor that the pond was infested with copperheads, and everyone quit coming out.”

  Claire felt something brush against her foot in the water and jumped.

  “Ha ha,” Hannah said. “Got you.”

  “You need to go question Cheat tomorrow,” Claire said.

  “All right, all right,” Hannah said. “What do you suggest I ask him?”

  “Ask him who might have wanted to kill Gigi, or what his daughter-in-law is up to.”

  “What if it was him?” Maggie asked. “What if he killed her?”

  “Maybe I better go with you,” Claire said.

  “Damn straight,” Hannah said. “Sending me in with no back up; not cool, Claire.”

  “All right,” Claire said. “I’ll come up and get you, and we’ll go there together.”

  “I feel like we should warn the whole family,” Hannah said. “If Jillian’s coming after us, we need to be prepared.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Maggie said. “These are all coincidences. Don’t let yourself get all wound up or you’ll start seeing Jillian around every corner, blaming her for every bad thing that happens.”

  Hannah had just got off the phone with Maggie when Claire arrived in the morning.

  “Jillian strikes again,” Hannah said. “Someone called the health department and claimed food poisoning from Aunt Bonnie’s bakery; this time they said it was the corned beef pasties.”

  “It’s a good thing you all know this health inspector so well,” Claire said.

  “He even told Maggie it seemed as if somebody might be out to get her family,” Hannah said.

  “Does she believe us now?”

  “She’s coming around,” Hannah said.

  “Maybe we should have a family meeting,” Claire said. “Warn everyone.”

  “Well, I told my dad and Maggie told her mom, so consider that done.”

  “I need to tell my mother,” Claire said. “I will as soon as I go home.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s exhausted,” Claire said. “Uncle Fitz has him this evening; they’re playing cards up at the Whistle Pig Lodge.”

  “Just tell me what I can do to help,” Hannah said.

  “I don’t know,” Claire said. “It’s getting harder.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Claire knew Hannah would break the tension with a joke; she just waited for it.

  “Are you ready to meet and greet Cheat?” she said. “I know you want him.”

  “I’m volunteering at Hospice today,” Claire said. “We’ll have to do it later.”

  “But Cheat would be so happy to see you,” Hannah said. “If you play your cards right, I bet you could have your way with him.”

  “That man gave me the willies,” Claire said. “I wish I never had to see him again.”

  “He digs you,” Hannah said. “Use that to our advantage. Flirt with him a little. He’ll probably incriminate himself just to impress you.”

  Claire was in the garden behind Pine County Hospice, watching a hummingbird sip from each cupped spike of a deep red Bee Balm flower. The sky was bright blue with a few decorative, puffy clouds lounging about. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in the scent of daisies, marigolds, and something she didn’t know the name of, a profusion of little pink flowers with a wonderful, delicate scent. When she opened her eyes, the hummingbird was gone, and a man in a clerical collar had taken its place.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you,” he said, “but I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Ben Taylor, the chaplain here.”

  Claire felt a little disoriented, and faintly embarrassed, but she shook the hand he proffered. He looked to be around her age, tall and fit, not with a handsome face, but a friendly, kind one with laugh lines. No wedding ring, she noticed, and then chided herself for looking.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard lots of nice things about you.”

  “And I about you,” he said. “The director says you’ve brightened the lives of not only many patients and their families, but the staff members as well.”

  “That’s kind of her,” Claire said.

  “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked. “I’ve been on my feet all morning and I could use a rest.”

  They walked to a nearby bench and sat quietly for a few moments, admiring the view of the mountains in the distance.

  “The director says you’ve been coming in to volunteer three days a week.”

  “I love doing it,” Claire said. “It’s very meaningful work, but I need a day off in between just to recover.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” he said. “There’s a very real syndrome called ‘compassion fatigue.’ It plagues those who help people in a highly emotional environment like this. You have to take time away to recharge your batteries; to get a little distance between you and the drama.”

  Claire thought about the black cloud that had been following her lately, no matter where she was or what she was doing, and before she knew it, tears were falling.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  He handed her a handkerchief from his pocket. It was wrinkled but clean.

  “No need to apologize,” he said. “Maybe you need more than a day away.”

  “I need to do this,” Claire said. “I need to be busy and stay focused on something other than myself. Otherwise, I’m just a walking pity party.”

  “Anything you tell me will be held in strict confidence,” he said. “I’m really good at listening.”

  Claire looked in his kind, dark brown eyes.

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” she said.

  “I can rest and listen,” he said.

  “I lost someone recently,” she said, and then had to pause while she shed fresh tears.

  He was quiet, and waited. Claire felt like she could take all the time in the world and he would just sit there, like he would rather be there with her than anywhere else. That was a good quality in a clergyman, she decided.

  “Laurie was a policeman, like my dad. He had a drinking problem, a bad one. He was k
ind of bitter but had a sense of humor about it. He was funny. He was sad. He was kind of lost and … it wasn’t exactly a romance, but it was more than a friendship,” she said. “I actually didn’t know him all that long, but the chemistry between us was instant and intense. I was with him when he died, it was very sudden, and I’m just not handling it very well.”

  Ben was quiet, and gave Claire time to consider saying more before he spoke.

  “The journey through grief can take a long time,” he said. “You must be as patient and compassionate with yourself as you would be with a dear, old friend.”

  “I feel ill,” she said. “I hurt all over, and I want to sleep all the time, but when I lay down all I can think about are all the stupid things I did and said, and imagine all the things I could have done differently. I don’t want to be around my friends, I’m neglecting my boyfriend, and I’m short-tempered with my parents. I feel like a complete mess.”

  “Have you talked to a doctor?” he asked. “Do you have one?”

  “Doc Machalvie is our family doctor. I know what he’ll say, that I’m depressed, and he’ll want to give me a pill so I won’t be sad. The crazy thing is I almost don’t want to feel better. I don’t want to move away from it. I don’t want my memories of him to fade. It would be like losing him all over again.”

  “I’m not saying you need one, but I think you might find that an antidepressant would help you cope with your feelings, and make them more manageable, rather than make them disappear.”

  “I feel a little crazy saying this, but it’s almost like he’s hanging around, and he doesn’t want me to move on.”

  “You could talk to him, explain that you need to get on with your life, but that you’ll always remember him and love him.”

  “You don’t think it’s crazy that I talk to his ghost?”

  “There are lots of ways our minds help us work through our grief,” he said. “It’s very normal to feel visited by the deceased, in your dreams or as a strong feeling of their presence when you’re awake.”

  “After my friend Tuppy died, I heard him talk in my head for a while, too.”

  “When did it stop?”

  “After I figured out who killed him, and got them arrested,” Claire said. “I don’t want to be one of those people who attracts ghosts. I used to watch that show and I felt sorry for that woman. Most people thought she was crazy.”

  “It’s completely normal; happens to lots of people,” he said. “Ask your friend what it will take to make him go away.”

  “I kind of like him being with me,” she said. “Isn’t that sick?”

  “Totally normal,” he said. “But, is it keeping you from living your life?”

  Claire looked away.

  “Give yourself more time,” Ben said. “Talk to his presence, tell him how you feel, and ask him to help you get on with your life. If he loved you, he wouldn’t want you to suffer indefinitely.”

  “I hear his voice in my head,” Claire said, “commenting on things that happen during the day, giving me a hard time, kidding me, just like he did when he was alive. I like it. It makes me feel better. It’s like I get to be with him again.”

  “But you’re alive, and you still have a long life to live,” Ben said. “I’m sure there are people in your life who care about you. Reach out to them, let them know what you’re going through, and let them support you while you go through it.”

  “There are people, but they have their own problems,” she said. “Sometimes it seems like such an incredible effort just to be with people, let alone talk about this kind of stuff. I’m just so tired.”

  “Make me a deal,” he said. “We’ll meet here for lunch on the days you volunteer, and we’ll keep talking about this.”

  “I don’t want to make you work through your lunch,” she said.

  “We’ll bring our lunches, then,” he said. “We’ll eat and talk. What you’re going through is interesting to me. It’s a compelling story and I want to see what happens. I’ll help you if you let me.”

  “I’m not very religious.”

  “Not a prerequisite. We’re just two people who met up at the right time. You’re going through something you need help with, and I’m very good at helping people. It’s kind of my jam.”

  “Did you learn that expression in youth group?”

  “Not appropriate?”

  “No, it’s funny,” she said. “I like it.”

  “Hang in there,” he said. “Here’s your homework assignment: tell your ghost friend what I said, ask him what has to happen for him to move on, and write down what he says. I’ll be interested to hear what he has to say.”

  “He didn’t believe in God,” she said.

  “Maybe he does now,” he said. “Ask him. Meanwhile, I’ll see you day after tomorrow.”

  He patted her arm and left.

  Claire closed her eyes and felt the wind lift the tendrils of her hair from the back of her neck. In the distance wind chimes rang, leaves rustled, and a mockingbird went through his repertoire.

  ‘Complete bollocks,’ she heard Laurie say. ‘That’s his jam.’

  Claire smiled.

  ‘About this God question?’ she asked him.

  ‘Privileged information,’ he said. ‘I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.’

  ‘Did you hear everything he said?’

  ‘Blah, blah, blah, feel your feelings when you feel them,’ he said. ‘Blah, blah, blah, take a pill.’

  ‘Why are you still hanging around?’

  ‘Nothing better to do,’ he said. ‘All the good concerts are sold out for months in advance. I’m on the waiting list for Amy Winehouse, Billie Holliday, and Patsy Cline. You can’t even get on the list for Elvis unless you died before 1977. On the other hand, they can’t give away Richard Wagner tickets. Fifteen hours where you are feels like fifteen years over here.’

  ‘He wanted me to ask you what it would take for you to move on and let me get on with my life.’

  ‘Just say the word,’ he said. ‘Tell me to scram and I’ll vamoose.’

  Claire sighed.

  ‘The truth is you don’t want me to go,’ Laurie said. ‘And why would you? I’m better company than your erstwhile professor of journalism, Earnest McBoringstein. What is it with the beard, by the way? Is he having a mid-life crisis? He’ll be riding a bike with a wooden crate tied to it before the week is out.’

  ‘Leave Ed alone,’ Claire said. ‘He’s been really nice about you.’

  ‘Cause he’s alive and I’m dead,’ Laurie said. ‘It’s not exactly a level playing field.’

  Claire heard someone pushing a squeaky wheelchair down the path, and when she turned to see who it was, she could feel Laurie’s presence recede and disappear. One minute he was with her, in her head, talking to her just like he was sitting next to her, and then he was gone.

  She knew she needed to let go of Laurie and focus on her real life, but when she thought about telling him not to come back, she got a pain in her chest.

  ‘Not yet,’ she thought. ‘Not just yet.’

  Claire went back inside the Hospice House, a long red brick building that looked kind of like a ranch house someone started building and just didn’t know when to stop. The patient rooms were on the southeastern side, facing the extensive gardens and beyond that, a stunning mountain view. Across the hallway were the offices and treatment rooms, along with a large living room, recreational room, and a children’s play room for the families of the patients.

  Walking down the hallway, Claire thought she recognized a woman dressed in scrubs walking toward her, but before she could come up with a name the woman gasped and, in that hushed voice that everyone spoke in so as not to disturb the peace and quiet, she said, “Claire Fitzpatrick!”

  Claire smiled in recognition but she couldn’t come up with the woman’s name. When they met in the hallway, she grabbed Claire and squeezed her way too tight.

  “Oh my goodness,” she said. “As I li
ve and breathe. Come in here this minute.”

  She pulled Claire by the arm into the employee breakroom and shut the door behind them.

  “Please forgive me,” she said. “Do you have someone in here?”

  “No,” Claire said. “I’m volunteering.”

  “Thank goodness,” the woman said, and clutched her hand to her heart. “I love your family and I would be devastated to hear something had happened to any one of them.”

  She motioned to the long table surrounded by chairs.

  “Sit down,” she said. “I just moved back a couple of weeks ago and my mother said you were back, too, but I’ve been so busy getting the kids settled and finding a job that I haven’t had time to even take a breath.”

  “So, you’re a nurse?” Claire asked, racking her brain to try to come up with the name.

  She was picturing her back in high school, when she’d been a very studious, shy girl with braces and glasses.

  “Nope,” she said. “Physician.”

  “I’m sorry,” Claire said. “I shouldn’t have assumed …”

  “No worries, it happens all the time,” she said. “I haven’t quite got the hang of remembering to wear my ID.”

  She fished around in her pocket, came up with a laminated badge hanging from a lanyard, and slipped it on over her head.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Claire thought, as she read the name.

  “It’s so good to see you, Jan; I don’t think I’ve seen you since we were teenagers.”

  “A hundred years ago, at least,” Jan said. “Mom filled me in on your exciting life; it must have been hard to move back to our bump on a log.”

  “I’m learning to love it,” Claire said.

  “I hope I can say the same, eventually,” Jan said.

  “Where were you living?”

  “My husband and I were attending physicians at a hospice in Charlottesville, VA,” she said. “Last year our only daughter died from a drug overdose and left us with her three children. Their father’s in prison and unlikely to ever see the light of day again, thank goodness.”