Dead Enemies

by K. E. Garvey

  “Are you ready to talk?”

  She hadn’t heard her sister enter the room, and replied with a shrug as she hung the dishtowel she’d been holding over the sink’s edge.

  Amy pulled out a chair at the table and sat. She stared at her folded hands a moment, and then said, “The sun’s bright today, but you wouldn’t know it.”

  Sali looked toward the window. She was right. The gloom that had settled like a blanket over Amy’s apartment blocked the sun’s attempt to brighten the day.

  Amy continued. “I agree with Johnston. We can’t stay here. Do you think Steve would mind houseguests until they catch…?” She let her words trail off.

  “No.” She turned to face Amy. “I mean, no, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, but also no, I’d rather not stay there.”

  “Oka-a-y.” Amy drew the word out to prod an explanation.

  Sali joined her at the table although she didn’t know how long her nerves would allow her to remain still. “I can’t tell him anything without having to tell him everything, and I’m not even close to being ready to do that. I feel like I’m stuck in a state of limbo. Does that make sense?”

  Amy offered a sympathetic smile, but said nothing.

  “Besides, what would I tell him even if I wanted to? How can I answer his questions when I have no answers?”

  After a few moments, Amy said, “Well we can’t stay here. I guess that leaves a hotel?”

  “What about Aunt Katherine’s?”

  Amy’s face turned into a horrified mess of knitted eyebrows over a twisted mouth.

  “Think about it,” Sali said. “He’s already been there and has to know the police have found her, so what reason would he have to return?”

  “She died there. It’s just too… morbid.”

  Sali stood. “How do you know someone didn’t die right here in this room in the past?”

  “Exactly. I don’t know. And what I don’t know—”

  “I told you what Detective Johnston said. There was no struggle, no blood, it’s not like there’s anything gruesome to see there. Besides, at some point we’ll have to go there and clean out her things unless you plan on letting the house vacant to rot where it stands.”

  Sali could see her sister’s displeasure at the thought of entering the house where their aunt had been murdered, but when she didn’t put up a fight Sali knew the issue of where to stay and been settled.

  “I’ll be there with you and it might actually help us to find closure.”

  Amy’s expression softened as she leaned back in her chair. “I suppose you’re right, but I’m still not comfortable with the idea. What do you think about having a memorial service for her?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Considering the way she died, don’t you think it’s the least she deserves?”

  “Who would we invite?” Sali asked. “We were her only family and unless you know something I don’t, she had no friends to speak of. She’s kept to herself since Mom died.”

  Amy looked away.

  “I’m sorry. None of this is easy.”

  “So, what now?”

  Sali lifted her glass off the table. “Now we wait for the police to do their job.”

  “I meant for us. We both have jobs… lives to get back to. I’m feeling better every day, you have students who need you and don’t you have several big races coming up? We can’t just hide out hoping it all goes away.”

  Ice cubes rattled in her glass as she held it against the lever on the freezer door. “I took an indefinite leave. And you might be feeling better, but I hear how winded you are and we’ve only been talking for five minutes. As for your shoulder, no more than five pounds for the first four weeks, remember? That doesn’t allow you to do much for yourself.”

  “As well-meaning as they are, your motherly tendencies can be annoying.” She finished her sentence with a limp smile.

  Sali pulled luncheon meat and mayonnaise from the fridge, and bread from the breadbox. Her stomach had been knotted tighter than a child’s shoelace all day, but Amy was due for medication and would end up nauseated if she took her pain killers on an empty stomach.

  Amy watched in silence while Sali put together a sandwich. When Sali was through, she slid the plate in front of Amy and pulled a napkin from the holder to place next to her plate.

  “Thank you.”

  Sali lifted several pill bottles and read the labels until she found the one she’d been looking for. “Here…” she stuck an index finger in and pulled one pill from the bottle, “…take this when you’re done eating. For pain.”

  Amy set it on her napkin. “I don’t know if I can forgive her.”

  “Who, Aunt Katherine? What did she do?” She asked as she placed the bottle with the rest.

  “Mom. She told us so many lies. Huge, life-altering lies. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  Sali studied her sister. She wasn’t ready to have this conversation. There was a lot she didn’t know and even more Amy didn’t know. One thing she had always wanted to ask her mother, but hadn’t, was how much exactly did she know. She and her mother had never had that talk. Sure, her mother knew she lost a baby. But did she know whose baby it was? Had she confronted Warren? Is that what they had fought about that night? She shook her head and placed it in her hands. Too many questions and no way she could think of to get the answers with both her mother and her aunt gone.

  “I’m not ready to think about that.” She placed her hands on her hips, and said, “How long will it take you to get ready to head to Aunt Katherine’s? I think the sooner we’re away from here the better we’ll both feel.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, but I’m not going to cause a stink about it either. Give me a half hour once I finish eating, and if you don’t mind, would you water the plants so they’re not dead when we get back?”

  Amy’s request brought her own plants to mind, and how she hadn’t thought to water them since before the shooting. “Seriously?”

  Amy held her sandwich in front of her lips and looked over the top of it. “What?”

  She let out a puff of air and pushed the loose hairs from her face. She murmured, “Plants,” as she pulled a measuring cup from the cupboard, and Amy went back to eating her sandwich.

  Sali grabbed the last of her things: a pair of sneakers, a peasant blouse, and a pair of jeans she’d left lying on a chair in the corner of the living room. As she stuffed them into her small bag, she noticed something sticking out of the back pocket of the jeans. She pulled it out and turned it over in her hands. Her breath caught in her throat. How could she have forgotten about this? This should have been the first thing she thought of when she learned that Warren was still alive, and it never entered her mind. Was she that overwhelmed by everything going on that she was now unable to process information in an orderly fashion, or remember it for more than a few minutes?

  She dropped the jeans into the bag and headed into Amy’s bedroom. “I lied to you.”

  Amy turned to face her, a pair of sandals dangling from her hand. “What?”

  “I lied to you. At the hospital, when you asked who sent the flowers I told you the card was unsigned. That was a lie.”

  The faint lines running the width of Amy’s forehead deepened.

  “Did you hear me? I lied. Warren sent the flowers. I can’t believe I forgot about that when Detective Johnston told us he was alive, but it’s true.” She extended her hand and waited for Amy to take the card from it.

  Amy dropped the sandals on the bed and reached out for the card, all the while keeping her eyes locked on Sali’s. Once in her hand, she turned it to face her, and read the single word written in cursive across the front. “Mooshie.”

  “All this time, how could we not have known?” Sali began to pace. “How could I have forgotten to tell the police?” She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Can you believe it? I flat-out forgot to tell them about the card.”

  Amy reached out, but let her hand drop aga
in. “You had no way of knowing what it meant. As far as we knew, he’d been dead for more than twenty years. Strange, yes, but I doubt I would have made the connection either. You’re being too hard on yourself.”

  “Am I?” Sali stopped and faced Amy. “And now that the connection has been made, tell me why he’d try to kill you and then send flowers signed by me?”

  Amy looked at the card once again. “I don’t know. I think we should let Detective Johnston know right away though.” She looked around the room. “I’m about finished in here. If you’re ready, we can head out and call him on the way.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Warren - 2018

  In many ways work wasn’t much different than prison. Do only what was necessary to keep the uppers off your back, don’t do anything to bring attention to yourself unless attention is what you’re after, and buddy up to the lowest-ranking member of the group because the lower the member, the higher his desire for acceptance.

  Over the last week he’d made it a point to spend more time talking to a man named Howard. He was a slight man in heavy-framed glasses, and Warren thought with a name like Howard, in a world so cruel, he was destined to be an accountant or a geek. Even the pitch of his voice lent itself to the effeminate first impression he gave.

  The two of them sat alone at one of the eight tables in a lunchroom that doubled as a conference room. No one at the other seven table seems to notice them, and he preferred it that way. Keep a low profile until it’s time to rise.

  “So, what’s with you and Richie Rich over there,” Howard asked and motioned to the table with the most men at it. “You two friends?”

  Warren scanned the men at the table and concluded Howard had to be talking about Chris Hoffman, his ride to and from work. “Why do you call him that?”

  “Rumor has it his old man died and left him sitting sweet. He works to make it look like a rumor so no one comes looking for a hand out.”

  Warren filed that tidbit of information away for later. “Your tone suggests you don’t like him.”

  Howard popped another grape into his mouth, and said, “He comes off as an ego-tripper. I’ve seen you ride in with him a few times. Curious is all.”

  Warren easily recognized the nonchalant mask over jealousy. His old lady wore it with everything. “I hear what you’re saying about the guy, but until I can scrape up enough for a set of wheels of my own it is what it is.”

  “That’s why you’re hanging around with him?”

  “He’s my ride. Nothing more.” Warren bit into his sandwich like he was biting into cow hide. He hadn’t fingered Howard as being gay, but his doubts were sprouting like weeds. “Is that an issue?”

  A sandwich in one hand, a grape in the other, Howard spread his arms in a welcoming manner. “Not at all. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, right?”

  Warren peered over the top of his sandwich as he took another bite.

  “But hey, just a thought. If you don’t want to be indebted to him, I’ve got a car you can borrow until you can get one of your own.”

  Warren lowered his hands and lifted his head. “Is that right?”

  “It was my mother’s. She passed away about a year ago. Kind of felt wrong to get rid of her stuff, including the car. It’s just been sitting there. Would probably do it good to run a bit, you know, lubricate the moving parts and blow the carbon out.”

  He was still on the fence regarding Howard’s sexuality, but at that very moment, he would have given him a blow job in the maintenance closet if it took that to seal the deal. “Mighty generous of you, and… well, it would make my life a whole lot easier. Thank you.”

  Howard offered a broad smile. “No problem, man. You can just ride home with me after work to pick it up. If you don’t have plans for dinner maybe we could stop a grab a bite afterward.”

  Warren stuffed the remainder of his sandwich into his plastic bag. “Actually, I’ve got a friend stopping by tonight.”

  “Oh, a friend. OK then, another time.”

  He started to stand, and then lowered himself back onto the chair. “Listen, I’ll give her a call on break and reschedule. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  Howard lit like a light bulb. “If you’re sure.”

  I’m sure I need that car.

  “I’m sure. I’ll meet you in the lot after work,” he said, and stood. He took several steps and turned back. “Seriously, thanks.”

  Howard smiled as wide as if he’d just been picked first for a playground game of kickball.

  Warren set his trash on top of a mound of garbage in the overflowing can placed at the exit. Pushing one of the swinging doors open, he passed through and let out a breath of air glad to have the conversation with Howard behind him. There was an undeniable similarity between Rodney and Howard: both friendless, both a bit left of peculiar, and both with an aversion to proper hygiene, but there was also a vast difference. Howard had the brain Rodney was lacking. The only thing he’d ever seen Rodney piece together was two halves of a broken cookie where Howard wasn’t too stupid or too shy to ask questions. He’d have to be careful what he said to him going forward. If anything he told him today came up at a later time, his answers better match because he was sure Howard would call him out on it if they didn’t.

  Out of nowhere his father popped into his head. It seemed each time he was deceitful, there was his father to point a righteous finger at him. If bodies really could turn in their grave spurred by the transgressions of those they left behind, he figured his father had been to China and back twice. That thought made him grin.

  ~

  Rodney stood in the middle of the living room, hands crossed over his chest as Warren stepped through the doorway. “Where you been? And where’d you get that car?”

  Instinct wanted to reach out and take him by the throat. For being such a buffoon, he certainly was nosy. As aggravating as he was, Warren wasn’t through with him yet and had no choice but to bite his tongue and keep quiet. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “A guy at work loaned it to me. When he asked me to stop and grab a bite afterward I couldn’t very well say no after he just handed me the keys, could I?”

  Rodney stared at Warren a moment longer, and seemingly satisfied with his answer, uncrossed his arms and headed back to his usual spot in front of the television. “You missed sister again. Funny how she always comes when you’re gone.”

  “I got a job now. What’d she want?”

  “That damned list she had me make, and to work me up with more of her what-I-should-be-doing bullshit. She never runs out of bitchin’.”

  Warren lowered himself into a chair opposite him and ran the palms of his hands over his thighs. He looked in Rodney’s direction once or twice, offering a half-smile and short nod when he did. “Listen,” he waited until he had his full attention, “I know how much you love this Beavis show, but it’s real important I watch the news. I even hurried home to catch it.”

  Rodney’s eyes narrowed as he studied him, but then he threw a hand in the direction of the TV, and said, “Why not. I’ve seen ‘em all anyway. Was thinking I might start watching that South Park show. Ain’t seen none of them.”

  “I appreciate it.” Warren stood and took the remote from the table at Rodney’s side. When the image on the screen switched, the opening theme for the six o’clock news was just winding down.

  “What’s with you and the news anyway?” Rodney asked.

  He couldn’t tell him what he was watching for, but that didn’t mean he had to lie. “While I was away I felt like the world was spinning without me. So much was happening and I wasn’t part of it or even aware of it.”

  “I get ya. Same here, but I’m not like you. I don’t care enough to catch up.”

  Warren raised a hand. “It’s on.”

  An explosion in Harrisburg, no fatalities, traffic jams on several roads, more trash talk on Trump, an announcement stating the giant retailer Bon-Ton was in its final days, but not a word about the shooting.
He didn’t expect it to be headline news anymore, but no mention at all? Not a new lead or a clue that had been previously overlooked? No statement from the victim? He had planned it, executed it, and got away clean; but somehow, it now felt as though it had never happened. That he dreamed of doing it, but never had. He rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to remove the tension spreading in both directions. His head began to ache and he closed his eyes. The rush of luck he’d had since his release had run out. That’s all it was. Rather than waiting for everything to fall into place, he would have to step up his game and work for the prize. He could do this. Twenty years in the making, he wasn’t going to give up just because it didn’t fall into his lap.

  He had finally calmed himself down by the time the last commercial was over. A banner with a photograph of the woman named Amy Bloo stretched across the screen under the anchors. He slid forward in his chair.

  “…Police say tests run on the weapon found at the scene of the shooting in front of the vacant Bromberger’s Casket building along with the evidence collected point to a single assailant. Blood found at the scene has been identified as belonging to a man named Warren Grissom who had been a prisoner at the Graterford State Correctional Institution until his release a month ago. Anyone with information as to the whereabouts of Warren Grissom is asked to call the authorities at—”

  “Hey, that’s you! What the hell’ve you done?”

  Warren scratched at the back of his hand with the other. The harder he tried to think, the blanker his mind became. “Like I’m the only Warren Grissom in the world.”

  Rodney stood, and in the loudest voice Warren had ever heard him use, said, “Released from Graterford a month ago?”