Death of a Double Dipper

by Angela Pepper

  “You're up,” Logan said to her.

  She made a gagging face. “Who can sleep with the smell of all that garlic wafting around?”

  “Hello,” I said, offering my hand. It wasn't the first time I'd come over to Logan's and discovered some friend or client of his—often a husband who'd been kicked out of the house—was bunking in his second bedroom. It was, however, the first time it had been a pretty young woman whose name I didn't even know.

  “Stormy Day,” she said. “I'm Jennifer.”

  I shook her hand tentatively. “You mean Jinx?”

  She gave my hand a happy squeeze, and her face lit up. “Ah! So, my big brother hasn't been keeping me a secret.”

  “Yes and no. He doesn't talk about his family much.”

  Logan's sister, whom everyone called Jinx, wrinkled her nose adorably. “Can't say I blame him,” she said. “Our family can be a bit trashy. And now poor Sam's getting her kids taken away, which is not unusual in the Sanderson family, I'm sorry to say.”

  “It's only temporary,” I said. “Are you visiting for long?”

  “I'm here for the funeral tomorrow, and then...” Jinx looked over at Logan, as though it was up to him.

  He finished chopping and then swept a pile of chopped onions from a cutting board into the sizzling pan on the stove. The hot oil and veggies steamed noisily, filling the air with aromatics. Suddenly, I was so hungry, I felt hollow.

  “As long as you wish,” Logan said to his sister. Looking at me with a twinkle in his green eyes, he said, “Though my landlady might slap a surcharge on my rent for extra use of hot water and utilities, as per our tenancy agreement.”

  “She sounds like a tough lady,” I said. “A real dragon.”

  “More like a tiger,” Logan said. “But I know how to make her purr like a pussycat.”

  Jinx exclaimed, “Ew! Gogie!”

  I smirked. “Gogie?”

  Logan explained, “When Jinx was little, she couldn't pronounce my name, so she called me Gogie.”

  “Or Logjam,” Jinx said. “I didn't know what a logjam was, but I must have heard it somewhere. That's what I called all jam. I used to eat a lot of peanut butter and logjam sandwiches.”

  Logan shook his head. “This is all so boring to Stormy.”

  “No, not at all,” I said. “It's refreshing. Logan never tells me any of these things. It's like I'm suddenly seeing a whole new side to him. A cute side.”

  “I wasn't cute before?” He blinked at me.

  I waved a hand at him, curling my fingers like a tiger's claws as I roared playfully. Normally, I wouldn't have been so flirtatious in front of someone I'd just met, but the wine was hitting my system, and it felt good to be silly after a rough day.

  Jinx excused herself to get dressed for dinner.

  I walked up to Logan and hugged him from behind.

  “Mind the spatter from the stove,” he said softly, but he didn't push me away. He arched his back to lean back and give me a kiss. “Don't mind Jinx,” he said. “She likes to push people's buttons.”

  She hadn't bothered me at all, so I had to assume he was simply warning me. I slipped my hands into Logan's pockets. “Sounds like a certain lawyer I know.”

  He looked down at his pockets. “Are you conducting an investigation in there?”

  “It's your fault for always having mints in your pocket.” I pulled out his roll of mints and took two.

  “That won't go with the wine,” he said.

  “I need sugar.”

  “They're sugar free.”

  “Why must you be so quarrelsome?”

  “You would prefer a man who's spineless and jumps at your every command?”

  I frowned, detecting a hint of acrimony in his question. I countered with another question. “How was your day?”

  “I had to drive into the city and pick up my bratty sister from the airport.”

  “And how was that?”

  “Long,” he said.

  I sighed inwardly. It was so like Logan to give me a one-word non-answer to any questions about his interior emotional life. Sometimes I wondered if he felt anything at all.

  “Road trips can be fun,” I said. “You should have asked me to go with you.”

  “You were busy getting Sam's kids taken away from her.”

  “And her guinea pig,” I said. “Don't forget about Higgins.”

  “Release me,” he said, looking down at my left hand, which was still tucked in his pocket. “I gotta put the pork in the stir fry.”

  “It's right there on the counter.”

  He breathed out audibly. “Stormy.”

  I pulled my hand away and held it up in the air. “Fine. I'll give you some space.”

  He frowned. “It's just that the pan is hot and there's oil spattering around.”

  “No need to explain,” I said icily. “I understand. You've opened a nice bottle of wine, and you're cooking me a good meal. I can be grateful and give you the space you need to do it.”

  I retreated from the kitchen, taking the bottle with me to the living room.

  “You've got stuff all over your butt,” Logan said. “Is that a used Band-Aid? Don't you dare sit on my couch until you go clean yourself off.”

  “Okay, Dad,” I said haughtily. Did he have to act so disgusted over a bit of lint?

  I gave him a dirty look and sulked off to the bathroom.

  Jinx was in the bathroom, putting on makeup with the door open. She nodded for me to come in anyway. She had her auburn hair pulled back with a clip and was applying liquid eyeliner. I hadn't noticed at first, but she had small wrinkles at the sides of her mouth, the kind of lines I associated with a young person who was also a smoker. She didn't smell of cigarettes, so either she'd quit or Logan wouldn't let her smoke around him. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if it were the latter.

  Her auburn hair wasn't natural. The roots had a much darker tint, closer to the shade of Logan's hair. In the bright lights of the bathroom, the hair color wasn't flattering and gave her skin a sallow tone. But she was still a pretty girl, with the huge eyes and waifish look that was popular on young actresses lately, almost like a character in a Japanese comic book. I saw her resemblance to her brother in the way her eyes flitted between her reflection and mine while she smiled knowingly, as though we were the only two people who “got it.” We were in on the same joke and everyone else around us was just playing a role, background actors in the main story, which was us.

  I pulled open the drawer and grabbed one of Logan's many lint rollers. Sitting on the carpet at the Sweet residence had resulted in a lot of objects being transferred to the back of my jeans, including but not limited to guinea pig cage confetti, bits of crumbled food, and not one but two children's Band-Aids.

  “You got in trouble,” Jinx said with a teasing tone. “I heard him giving you heck. Do you always let him talk to you like that?”

  “My father taught me to choose my battles wisely.” I added, “As did growing up with a sister, actually.” I finished removing the debris from the back of my jeans and carefully peeled away the sticky layer so it would be fresh for Logan's next use, just how he liked it. “Did you two get along when you were growing up?”

  “As well as siblings in a dysfunctional environment can get along.” Her expression changed, becoming sad and distant for a moment. “He got out as soon as he could, of course.”

  “Right,” I said, nodding. Logan's home life was one of the many topics he only gave one-word answers about. “I hope you'll be around here for a while,” I said. “I'd love to show you around the bustling metropolis of Misty Falls, Oregon.”

  “And for me to give you the dirt on Logan's old girlfriends, right?” Jinx gave me a mischievous smile. I could see how she'd acquired her nickname.

  “There's dirt?” I blinked innocently.

  “Don't worry,” she said in a hushed tone. “You're not his usual type. I think he's finally broken the pattern.”

  “Good to kn
ow,” I said. Was she pulling my leg or hinting at something I needed to know? Was this what Logan had tried to warn me about? Was Jinx a truth teller, or was she a troublemaker?

  Logan called out that dinner was ready.

  Jinx and I exchanged a conspiratorial look.

  “We shouldn't make him wait,” Jinx said. “Logan gets mad when he's ignored.”

  Neither of us made a move to leave the bathroom. We stared at each other without blinking.

  “Girls!” Logan yelled.

  We didn't move.

  He yelled again, sounding more annoyed. “Come on! Your dinner's getting cold!”

  “We're in trouble,” Jinx whispered. She couldn't have looked more delighted if she'd been handed a stack of birthday presents.

  “I'm used to it,” I said with a giggle as we finally left the washroom.

  Chapter 30

  THURSDAY

  I didn't want to attend Michael Sweet's funeral. Sure, nobody ever wants to attend a funeral, but I really wanted to sit this one out. Who wants to be near a mentally unhinged widow who's flinging pointy stuff around? Not me.

  Logan and his sister tried to convince me it would be okay, and that I'd regret not going, but in the end, they both agreed that it might be fine for me to skip this one. I would avoid all the stares and whispers of people who wanted to talk about what I might have seen that day at the house, but more importantly, I'd avoid the angry recrimination of a mother who'd been—temporarily—separated from her children.

  I was at home, alone because Jessica had gone to the service with the Sandersons, when I got a panicked phone call from Jinx. She needed me to run next door and grab her notes, then bring them to her at the funeral home so she could deliver her promised tribute to her cousin's deceased husband.

  I put on an all-black outfit, like a ninja, used my landlady key to retrieve the notes, and sped off to the funeral home.

  Jinx met me in the parking lot.

  “You're a lifesaver,” she said, and gave me a playful knuckle rub on the side of my head through my car window. I found it oddly familiar, yet it lifted my spirits for Jinx to be so accepting of me.

  The night before, we'd consumed the better part of two bottles of wine, and we'd had a great time teasing Logan about his quirks, including how particular he was about the countertops being wiped down with a specific spray bottle and a different cloth than the one used for washing the dishes.

  “I'm so hungover,” Jinx groaned. “You shouldn't have made me drink all that wine.”

  I laughed. “Excuse me? You were the one pouring.” I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned forward to look past her, at the groups of darkly clad people entering the funeral home. By the look of it, there'd been a huge turnout. As much as most people in town didn't love Michael, they did care for Samantha and were attending the service to support her—as it should be.

  “How's it going in there?”

  “Little Sophie's here,” Jinx reported. “With a social worker. Poor thing.” She scrunched her face and blinked away the beginnings of tears. “But she'll be okay,” Jinx said, lifting her chin resolutely. “Kids are resilient. She's probably better off without him. No father at all is better than a lousy one.” She leaned close to my open window. “Just between us, Michael was kind of a jerk. He grabbed my butt at their wedding.”

  I didn't know what to say to that, and then I did. “Don't walk too close to the casket.”

  Jinx stared at me for several seconds before she finally cracked up laughing. She had to pull a tissue from her pocket and dab the corners of her eyes before she ruined her professional quality makeup. “Thanks. I needed that.” She shook a finger at me. “You're a naughty one, Stormy.”

  “Thank you.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder at the funeral home. “We should be back out again in an hour. Do you want to get a late lunch with us?”

  “Sure.” I didn't have any other plans for the day. We talked for a few minutes about where to meet and what time. I wasn't sure which restaurant would be best. The good spots were near the funeral home, which meant that the crowd attending might pick the same places, and we'd be in for a big wait plus staring. Finally, I told Jinx I'd just stay in the parking lot and work on my laptop in my car. “It's no problem. I work in my car all the time,” I assured her, pointing to my laptop case in the passenger seat. “Anywhere can be an office.”

  She reached in through my open window, gave me another playful head rub, and then walked away, waving without looking back as she walked up to the Blight Family Funeral Home doors.

  “Jinx!” I waved her notebook out of my window. “You might need this.”

  She ran back for the notes, her loose auburn waves flying like flames, joking that she'd lose her head if it wasn't attached.

  I waited around in the parking lot, in my car, for nearly an hour before I was distracted by a chattering sound. My teeth. The crisp autumn weather had turned shivery cold that week. My gas tank was low, so I didn't want to waste gas by idling my vehicle to power the heater. The service would be over any minute, but then we'd still have to figure out where we were having lunch, and I had to use the washroom now.

  I locked up the car and casually slipped inside the funeral home to use the washroom and also linger a while to warm myself up.

  While I was in my stall in the women's washroom, two women entered, talking quietly.

  I recognized Samantha's voice immediately.

  I froze where I was. I did not want to emerge from a stall and have an altercation with the grieving woman. Getting someone's kids taken away—even just temporarily and for their own safety—doesn't earn a person many friendship points.

  Samantha called out, “Hello? Is anyone in here?”

  Her voice echoed around the tiled room. I kept my mouth shut.

  The washrooms at the Blight Family Funeral Home were semiprivate, with doors that went all the way to the floor. Unless she and her companion got right down on the floor, they wouldn't see my shoes under the stall door. I was reminded of a scene from the classic eighties movie, 9 to 5, plus countless other comedies. At least I didn't have to pull my feet up onto the seat like some two-bit gumshoe or office snitch.

  Samantha sighed. “Thank God it's just us. I'm so tired of having people stare at me.”

  I felt a twinge of guilt at hearing her repeat the same sentiment I had. She had far more to complain about than I did.

  “At least you look stunning,” the other woman said. “How much weight have you lost since the last time I saw you? Ten pounds?”

  “I hope not,” Samantha replied. “I should eat more. Michael doesn't like me to be too skinny.”

  “You're not too skinny,” the woman said. “He'll be... happy to see you.”

  “Jinx, you're just saying that,” Samantha said petulantly. “My boobs are deflated. They shrunk as soon as I stopped nursing Junior.”

  I nearly clapped my hand over my mouth. Samantha was talking to Logan's sister, and she was playing along with Samantha's delusion about Michael coming back from the dead.

  “Ain't no thaing to worry about,” Jinx said with an urban twang. “Michael will be happy to see your boobs, and the rest of you,” Jinx said.

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  From my hiding place, I had to admire Jinx's acting skills. I was starting to believe Michael Sweet might be coming back any minute.

  Members of both the Sanderson family and the Sweet family had been spoken to by the psychiatrist who was working with Samantha. I'd learned about this the night before, over wine and stir fry. The psychiatrist, who was an expert in disassociation, had asked that family members gently go along with Samantha's delusions for the time being. Confronting her would only make her lock in harder. I wasn't so sure about the psychiatrist's methods, but what did I know? I'd gained a lot of personal experience lately with abnormal psychology, but I was only scratching the surface of what made people tick.

  “When Michael does
come back, he's getting a vasectomy,” Samantha said. “No more babies. That's what deflated my boobs.”

  I felt a tickle in my throat and attempted to cough silently.

  “Right,” Jinx said hesitantly. “Hello? Is someone else in here with us?” To Samantha she said, “I thought I heard something.”

  My skin prickled. She wouldn't be able to see my shoes or my shadow, but if she tried opening all the stall doors one at a time, she'd find mine locked.

  Jinx and I had bonded the night before, teasing Logan as a team. Did our bond come with a psychic element? My sister and I noticed that the more time we spent together, the closer we got in our thoughts. I didn't believe in such things as psychic powers, but I tried it anyway, mentally willing Jinx to carry on with the conversation, carry on with Samantha's delusion.

  Keep talking, I thought at Jinx. Keep Samantha talking and then get her out of here. Definitely don't try to open stall number seven.

  “I guess we're alone,” Jinx said with a light laugh.

  I could see them through a slim crack at the edge of my door. They ran some water in the sinks, washed their hands, and then began touching up their makeup.

  Jinx said, “You should put some face powder over that lipstick to set it.”

  “Oh? I usually kiss a tissue, like this.” Samantha took a paper hand towel and pressed it between her lips.

  “That just rubs it off. You want the lipstick to stay on your face.” There was a clicking sound as Jinx opened her purse, which was a hard case with a buckle, like a toolbox. She patted the countertop. “Sit up here and let the professional makeup artist fix your face.”

  Samantha made an oof sound as she hopped up on the counter.

  After a minute, Samantha asked her cousin, “Did you see the work they did on the body double? He looked exactly like Michael, lying there in the casket.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Jinx said. In a less confident tone, her voice quavering and pitching up higher, she asked, “Are you sure it wasn't Michael in that casket? It sure looked like him, and I don't know if there's a makeup artist good enough to make someone look like someone else. I know I couldn't pull it off. What if your husband really is dead?”