by Iris Kincaid
“I don’t have long to talk. If I miss my bus, it’ll be half an hour till the next one comes.”
“Well, we thought about that. And we would love to give you a ride home. And by the time we get there, the interview will be over.”
Ivy sighed. She hated the thought of having to talk about Stella, but avoiding the crowded bus was a very appealing trade-off. “Okay.”
Lorna had volunteered to chauffeur so that Finn could sit in the backseat with Ivy. Bella was resting contentedly in a sturdy cat bed on the front passenger side floorboard.
Finn examined his subject intently. “So, I’m guessing that you won’t be attending the Stella Kirby Memorial service.”
“What? Am I supposed to be sorry that she’s dead? Well, I’m just not that charitable. She was a horrible person and just like that loser manager of mine, she made a living by exploiting people. And then she got what she deserved. I know that’s not the kind of thing to say. Maybe I’m not a saint. But I’m also not a murderer. That’s why you want to talk to me, right? To find out if I’m a murderer?”
“We need to conduct a thorough investigation and your name did come up . . . on more than one occasion.” Finn caught Lorna’s eye in the rearview mirror.
Lorna cleared her throat. “Yeah, so, I did recall an incident from last year when you got banned from the library for a whole year after you threw a cup of coffee in Stella Kirby’s face.”
“Now that, she definitely deserved. It was cold coffee. It wasn’t a lethal weapon.”
“Stella screamed bloody murder over that.” Lorna flinched. “Oh, no pun intended.”
“It wasn’t enough to make me a laughingstock. To have everyone think I was an idiot. To make them think that I lost all of my cars and that I was riding the bus.”
“Ma’am, you do ride the bus,” Finn reminded her.
“But no one needs to know about that. That’s my private business. Now, I can feel everyone snickering at me everywhere I go. Especially Stella. I could always imagine how she and her book club were laughing at me. And then I walked past her table at the library that day, and she asked me ‘How’s life at the call center?’ Asked me that at the top of her lungs so that everyone nearby could hear. That’s why I threw the coffee.”
“You sound pretty angry. Very understandable,” Finn noted.
“Of course, it’s understandable. It shouldn’t make me a suspect.”
Finn shrugged sympathetically. “And yet it does.”
They arrived at Ivy’s apartment building. It was a very modest multiplex of four apartments. Lorna imagined that they were pretty nice. But it was no mansion. Bella took the lack of motion as an opportune time to leap into Lorna’s lap.
“One last question, Ms. Morgan. Can you account for your whereabouts the day before Stella was killed?”
“I work the eight AM to four PM shift. After that, I go home. Alone. Every night. I never go out. My old friends want nothing to do with me.”
Lorna sighed. She’d never been rich, but there were many things about Ivy’s life she could relate to. “You should invite your coworkers over for a movie night or a game night,” she suggested.
But talking about the misery of her fall from grace was only causing Ivy’s spirits to fall further. “My mind just tortures me with the luxury and security I had and what a failure people think I am now. What am I supposed to do about that?”
Lorna stroked Bella’s insistent head. “Forget about it.”
Ivy blinked in surprise as she caught Lorna’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Forget about what?”
Lorna smiled. “Nothing.”
“Officer Cochran, will that be all? I need to go and make a big batch of oatmeal raisin cookies so I can take them into work tomorrow. Someone else did that last week and everyone really appreciated it. There are actually some pretty nice people over there.”
Finn raised an eyebrow at Lorna. “I’m sure there are. Yeah, we’re done.”
As Ivy walked to her front door, Finn got into the front seat. “Well, she’s no flower, but you certainly made her stop drooping. You’ve got more tricks up your sleeve than I thought.”
Lorna shrugged. “It was just too much regret to carry around.”
“Still, she had to watch Stella get rich while she got poor. And her getting poor helped Stella to get rich. That’s some serious motive there.”
“I like her.”
“You like everybody. You like Miles. You like Lexi. You like Ivy. One of these people you like is going to turn out to be a murderer.”
Lorna shivered. It was a distinct and disturbing possibility.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After Lorna had dropped him off at his car, there was still an hour to go before sunset—a perfect time to visit her mother’s grave. It was a pilgrimage that she still made on all birthdays and special holidays, and this week would be the anniversary of her parents’ death. Perhaps it was a good time to show her mother that the burns were gone and that she was really going to be all right.
There was always another visitor or two in the peaceful, expansive cemetery. But today’s fellow visitor made her heart skip a beat—it was Max Crowe. His head was bowed in front of a large tombstone, clearly missing someone.
What did Delphine say? That his mother had been killed by a witch when he was very young. Even younger than herself when she lost her own parents. It felt like fate. Or at least, she would never forgive yourself if she didn’t at least try. Quietly, she joined him at his side.
“My mother is here too. I was older than you were, though. I was twelve and I think that you were only eight. That’s a very young age to lose a mother. Although, there’s really no good age. No time when it wouldn’t devastate you.”
Max nodded agreement, wondering, How does she know that I was eight? Who has she been talking to about me?
Lorna continued, “My father died on the same day, but he’s not here. His will said that he wanted his ashes scattered into the river near where he was born in Maine. I wish he were here, but last wishes have to be honored.”
“I only wish I knew what my mother’s last wishes were. I had a child’s grasp of the world. I could only see what she was to me. But she had her own dreams, her own needs, her own life that I wasn’t old enough to see,” Max responded.
“I know the worst possible thing is for parents to lose a child. For the rest of their lives, they think to themselves, oh, he would have been thirteen now, and we would’ve taught him how to use the wood shop tools. Or she’d be graduating from high school today, and we’d be celebrating with a coast-to-coast road trip before she leaves for college.
“But the same thing happens when you lose a parent. You think, she would have been in her forties now, and she would’ve gotten her scuba certification because that was something she always wanted to do. Or, she’d be sixty-five now, and ready to retire, and booking cruises right and left. And badgering me about grandchildren.”
Lorna and Max shared a moment of silence. Lorna continued, “It’s hard to get over that feeling—that this is wrong. This was not supposed to happen. They should be here. They should be here.”
Max examined his lovely new acquaintance with wonder and relief. So much grief and passion beneath that beautiful surface. And at long last, someone who seemed to know exactly what he was feeling.
“After thirty years, your grief is supposed to be gone. When I stand here, the eight-year-old boy always shows up. His confusion and his pain and his loneliness. It all comes flooding back. The thought of living in a world without his mother is absolutely unbearable.”
A split-second later, the beautiful stranger had flung herself into his arms and was sobbing uncontrollably. He felt her body shaking against him, her words coming out in choppy, heartbroken bursts.
“I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the thought of that poor little boy who lost everything that made the world a wonderful place for him. I just want to reach back in time and hold him until it stops hurting so
much. And tell him that one day, he’s going to be happy again.”
Lorna’s sobs continued. Max pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “The little boy’s right here. You are holding him. And he believes you, that one day he will be happy. He believes you.”
Eventually, the tears subsided, although the hug did not. Not until a crispy, chilly breeze blew right into them. Max tilted his face upward and Lorna did likewise.
“Rain!”
*****
They arrived by separate cars to the Café Au Lait parking lot and made a dash for the door, the drops of water already starting to pelt down. But the real downpour came as they found their seats. This was turning out to be a very lucky day.
The two-story café was simultaneously spacious and cozy. On this rainy occasion, it was crowded and noisy, but it was still possible for two people to pull their leather chairs together and shut out the rest of the world. Or to find a very small table where a private discussion could be enjoyed without including the neighboring table.
Lorna suggested two chai lattes, which was her mother’s favorite drink, and Max enthusiastically agreed. As he went to fetch the drinks, Lorna went to the café’s game shelf and pulled out Othello, one of her favorite games. It would help to calm her nerves as she was wondering what to say to this man she had been wanting to talk to for so long.
Thankfully, he knew how to play, although he was no match for her. You don’t play game night year after year with the library geeks without learning a thing or two. But Lorna’s expertise only seemed to delight Max.
“I used to play this with the kids in my foster family. But then they stopped when I was about twelve, because I was always winning,” Max recounted. “I always wanted to find someone who could give me a bit more of a challenge.”
“My mother and I would play this game when my father was on the road. And she had no qualms about beating me! I think she’d be happy that I’ve gotten good at it. Although, what I really need to get good at is bridge. She really wanted to win a bridge tournament.”
“And you like bridge too?”
“Not in a big way. But, it was on the list.”
“The list?”
“I went through all her papers, her notebooks, and I found that she had written out a bucket list. Have you heard of those?”
“Yeah, a list of all the things that you want to do—”
“Before you die. All the things she wanted to do in her life. Some she had mentioned to me, and others were a surprise. So, I promised myself that when I was grown up, I would start doing her bucket list, at least one item every year, in honor of the life she should’ve had.”
Max was becoming more intrigued with Lorna with each passing moment. “What did you do last year?”
“Okay, well, you know about First Night in Boston?”
“Sure, I hear it’s quite an incredible event. I’ve always wanted to go myself.”
First Night was the New Year’s Eve celebration in Boston, where the frosty winter evening was turned into a wonderland of art and spectacle. Dozens of theaters, and gallery owners kept their shops open until after the New Year was rung in. It was a cultural bar hop with tens of thousands of people checking out the musical and dance performances, world class ice sculptures, light displays, a wide range of paintings, sculpture, and jewelry displays, and two complete firework extravaganzas.
“Boston is so close. She was sure that she’d make it sooner or later. But she never did.”
“But you did for her. I hope you had a wonderful time.”
“It was actually a chance to hit two birds with one stone. Also on the bucket list was spending at least two nights in a luxury hotel. Which she never would’ve been able to do with my father. He was a traveling musician and stayed in flea bag motels and slept in his van. So, I made reservations at The Four Seasons months in advance. Also, I knew that going to First Night and enjoying the hotel amenities wouldn’t be nearly as much fun by myself. So, I invited a friend.”
Of course. A woman this beautiful would never lack for company. Of course, she’d want someone to kiss at midnight, Max fumed inwardly.
Lorna continued, “So, my friend Melody and I had a really great time. And I was able to cross two items off in one fell swoop.”
Melody! A girlfriend. Why was that such a relief? Even in his own head, Max knew a rhetorical question when he heard one. He desperately wanted for Lorna to be unattached and available.
“I think that what you’ve done to honor your mother is wonderful. I really do. But you know what she would want? And I’m going to be presumptuous enough to tell you exactly what that is.”
Lorna held her breath. How could he possibly know what her mother would have wanted?
“She’d want you to put that list away with all your other treasured mementos of her. And then get out paper and pen and create your own bucket list. And as every year goes by, she would love to know that the daughter she had to leave too soon was making her own dreams come true, one by one. That’s what she’d want. Am I wrong?”
Of course, he was right. But what on earth would be on her own bucket list? She had never felt hopeful enough about her life and future to even think of such a thing.
“No time like the present,” Max challenged teasingly.
“Only if you do yours right here with me,” Lorna threw back at him.
Put down his deepest, most heartfelt desires in black and white, in front of a woman he’d already bared too much of his soul to?
“Deal. Let me scrounge up some paper.”
Othello was returned to the community shelves and the bucket listing began.
“How many?” Max mused.
Lorna had attended a book discussion at the library on this very endeavor. “One hundred. Nothing is too small. In fact, it’s good to have big and small things. That way, you can knock off at least three a year.”
“Still . . . that’s a lot.”
“Think of places you want to see, languages you want to learn, instruments you want to play, events and festivals you’d like to attend, like First Night. And they don’t have to make sense to anyone else. If you want to binge watch eight seasons of Game of Thrones, or if you want to add hula hooping to your jump roping expertise . . .” That made them both smile. “And big things too. Adopt a child, start a charity, anything and everything.”
This was going to be rather exhilarating. With several furtive glances at one another, they spent the better part of the next hour furiously scribbling down their lists.
“Do we share them?” Max wondered.
“Of course, we share them. I mean, I don’t know you very well, Max, but I think we might be similar in at least this respect. I think we keep a lot of things bottled up inside. So, yeah, if it’s all right with you, we share.”
And so, they did.
“I’d love to take my students out for two big trips every year, Boston in the fall and New York City in the spring. You can’t imagine how many of these kids have never left Oyster Cove.”
“I didn’t know you were a teacher. What do you teach?”
“History. Tenth grade.” I can’t believe this woman has been in my arms and didn’t even know what I do for living.
“What a wonderful idea. They’ll have so much fun.”
“Of course, I’ll need a female chaperone to come along,” Max said offhandedly.
“Of course,” Lorna quickly agreed.
“Now you.”
“I know that librarians have a very dull reputation, and I’m not a wild person. I’m really not—”
“Now you have me on pins and needles. What is it?”
“Okay. What are your thoughts on . . . Burning Man?”
Max’s eyes widened and he gave a hearty laugh. “My thought is that you are full of surprises. I actually read a couple of articles recently on Burning Man and it sounded like . . . I don’t know . . . it had me intrigued. You mind if I add that to my list?”
“Be my guest. And then
read your next one.”
“Okay. I’ve never played an instrument in my life. But I love listening to classical music. And I was thinking about maybe learning the cello. And then after a few years, if I got pretty decent, then I would try to get together with a quartet, and we would play at things like art gallery openings. For free. Then there’s no pressure to be great. Just having fun and enjoying the music.”
“I love that one. You should totally do it. There must be a music teacher at your school that you could hire as a private tutor. I think there are also lessons at the community college. And you just reminded me of something that I had always dreamed about doing—playing the piano.
“But it always seemed like you have to learn when you’re a child. Can you really learn to play well when you’re an adult? And I’m talking about me, not you and your cello. I think you and your cello are going to be great.”
“Did you ever see the movie Master and Commander with Russell Crowe—no relation? Well, he plays the violin in that movie and I read that he had to learn how to play it specifically for the movie. He learned in six months. And he’s unbelievably good at it. You’d swear that he’d been playing for twenty years. I think that’s what gave me the idea that it wasn’t too late for me to learn the cello. And if it’s not too late for me and Russell, then I know you can learn how to play the piano.”
Max watched approvingly as Lorna added this item to the bottom of her list.
It was her turn to continue. “I haven’t done much traveling, so I have a lot of cities on my list—New Orleans, San Francisco, Montréal, and I know this is corny . . .”
“I can take it.”
“Niagara Falls.”
“Perfect. And you know about the difference between the American side and the Canadian side? You’ve got to see the Canadian side.”
“Another place on my list, and it’s a little silly, since I don’t have any children, but Disneyland.”
“Disneyland or Disney World? I haven’t been to either myself. I think maybe we both missed out on a lot of childhood things. But like playing an instrument, I don’t think there’s a problem with being a late bloomer here. Now they’re both crazy expensive. But if you go to Disney World, you can also go to Universal Studios, which I’ve heard great things about. In fact . . .” He scribbled it at the bottom of his list.