Her eyes moved from the top of Fellow's head to the end of his feet. The sheet covered him to his neck and she thought of uncovering him to look at his body. But he'd get cold. She instead lifted a corner of the sheet and looked at his small, pale shoulder before letting it fall again.
Piper's hand moved to his hair. The curls rolled like silk between her fingers. He's so still, she thought.
She allowed herself to look at Fellow's face. Her grief over the last two weeks reached new depths. Her breath halted and her mind raced, then stopped. Her emotions, ever growing and shifting, now froze.
She studied his face. The mortician had put rouge on his cheeks. He had cleaned him and made him look as close to alive as possible. She could not bring herself to look at Fellow's neck. Some primitive instinct within her prevented her from looking.
Piper caressed his cheek and inhaled sharply when she realized how hard the skin felt. But she didn't move her hand. She looked into the closed eyes of her son and imagined them opened again, the sparkle in them. She imagined Fellow could hear her thoughts, his ears still working beyond what was capable in life.
My baby. My beautiful boy. The son I've wanted all my life. Piper paused and drew a breath, but didn't say a word. You gave my life to me with your presence. I've never loved anyone so much. She moved her hand to his forehead. You are free now, free to play with the angels. Her lips were drawn tight in a grim line. She placed her hands on his chest as if to impart all the feeling she ever had into his heart. I will never be the same.
PART TWO
Chapter Fourteen
Minerva's car sat in her driveway, a thin sheet of ice across the windshield. George extended a trembling hand and tapped on the front door of her trailer. Seconds later he tapped again. Less than an hour ago, Piper had called Minerva and screamed the news to her, hanging up before she could reply. George jumped in his truck. The least he could do was tell Minerva properly. He knocked again, harder this time.
George blinked hard when Minerva opened the door. Minerva's usually coiffed hair looked grayer, stringy. Her swollen fingers were devoid of her typical bright red nail polish. She turned and gave a small motion for him to come in. He took off his cap and sat on the end of the couch. Minerva lowered herself in the recliner and a light moan escaped her lips when she bent her knee, scooping her skinny dog onto her lap.
He watched Minerva's blank eyes focus on the top of Lew's head.
"I'm sorry you had to hear it that way, Minerva. I didn't know if you understood what Piper was saying." Minerva sat quiet, the dog rigid on her lap. George looked around the trailer. His nose wrinkled at the stench of what smelled like rotten banana peels emanating from the kitchen. A tree drooped in the corner, dry needles forming a wreath around the bottom, ornaments gone except for a miniature Santa which had fallen on a sagging branch near the back.
George caught Minerva peering at him sideways while his eyes scanned the room. "I need to take that damn tree out," she said. She drew her fingers through her hair and she wriggled a few loose strands out from between them, where they floated to the carpet.
"Piper okay?" she said.
"Of course not."
"Who murdered him?"
"We don't know." George's head shot up and he saw Minerva's steady gaze on him. "How did you know that?"
"What do you mean how did I know? Piper told me." He watched her pull the dog to her chest and a small yelp escaped Lew. Minerva loosened her grip and laid a hand on the dog's head.
"Piper didn't tell you that. She only said—"
"Yes, she did."
"I was there, she didn't." He straightened and folded his arms across his chest.
George winced when Minerva pushed Lew off her lap a little too hard, sending the dog into the kitchen and down the hall, where it lapped at a dirty bowl of water. "Are you questioning me, George? Anybody could guess after all this time he'd be found...you know...if he was found at all. It's obvious."
He uncrossed his arms and clasped his hands between his knees. "You just seemed to know more than what I thought. No one mentioned...well, no one mentioned murder." George's grief bound his face and hot tears sprang to his eyes.
"Aw, hell. Piper didn't tell me," Minerva said. "I called the sheriff's office after we hung up, they told me."
His eyes widened. "You mean you found out that way? Did you tell them who you were?"
"Nope." Minerva coughed and pulled a strand of hair behind her ear. George blinked hard and shook his head.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry." George extended his arms as if giving a long distance hug. "That's no way to find out."
"Don't worry about it, George," Minerva said, scratching her cheek. "No one gives a shit about me. The cops gave me more information than you did. George, how dare you! You come waltzing in here like nothin', saying I did this and I did that. Well, I did nothing to that boy." Her finger shot up and she poked the air toward him. "And I'm tired of people saying I did."
George staggered to his feet. "Okay, time for me to go." He opened the door, turned around, stomped to the Christmas tree, and, grabbing it from the top, dragged it with him to the front porch. "You know," he said, his voice crackling, "I don't know what in the hell is wrong with you. You just found out your grandson's been...and you sit here fighting with me." He took a breath and his voice boomed. "What the hell is wrong with you? You poor, sick woman."
She winced, drawing her shoulders in and pinching her knees together. He dropped the tree, turned back toward the door, and slammed it shut with his foot.
***
An hour later, Minerva picked up the phone and dialed George's number, but hung up before anyone answered. So she was a little hard on him, but he had no right coming here and attacking her. The recesses of her mind whirred. She swiped her face with her sleeve and pulled herself out of the chair. She flung the door wide and stepped down the porch, dragging the tree behind her. Rounding the corner of the trailer, she lifted the lid to the trash bin near the yard's edge and hoisted the tree over the top. A long branch scraped her cheek and she moved a hand to her face. God damn it. No one told him to haul the tree out. She gazed at the blood on her fingers. A cold breeze flapped the hem of her housedress and she curled her hand in a fist.
Back inside the trailer, Minerva pushed a broom through the pile of needles like she was stabbing an enemy. She bent and jerked on the wadded tree skirt, unaware she was standing on the end of it. She yanked again, which caused her to tumble sideways onto the floor. She laid there, legs bare and stretched in front of her. Her heels dug hard, one at a time, across the achy carpet, thick arms held tight to her chest. One house shoe finally fell off and rested beside her. Her wracked sobs and desperate gulps of air went unheard by anyone but Lew, and the dog licked the exposed toes. She didn't move for a while, but lay there crying, until her back cramped and she crumbled to her side. The tree skirt had fallen away, part of it wet with tears and snot. Lew quit licking her toes and now sniffed the contorted face. It was dusk when Minerva quieted and slept on the floor. She awoke to the sound of the ten o'clock news. She felt cold and alone and decided to call Walter.
"Please be home," she said, dialing the number. She sat with a knitted blanket around her shoulders.
"Minerva, is that you?"
"I need you," she managed to say between sobs.
"I will be there as soon as I can. Sit tight, I'm on my way."
Fifteen minutes later, Minerva reclined on her bed and Walter sat, wide awake beside her. "Did you know the front door was open, honey?" he asked. "I closed it for you." Minerva lay curled on the bed now, knees half way to her chest, several wads of used tissue strewn on the floor. His warm palm on her forehead made her relax. "It's so cold in the house, I turned up the heater."
Minerva clutched Walter's arm, bracing herself for his reaction and her inevitable answer. "Fellow's been found."
His face fell and his hand went to her shoulder.
Minerva caught her breath. "Found him dead." She
turned her face to avoid his, her fingers clawing his arm.
She could feel his fingers wrap around her hand, but she remained still, her eyes marble cold.
Lew barked from another room and it broke the silence. "How?" she heard Walter ask, but she didn't respond.
The dog continued barking but Minerva didn't hear. Her mind was somewhere else, some place where she didn't have to face this. For a second she imagined herself a new person, without trouble. The thought almost made her smile until Fellow's face appeared. In her mind's eye she watched him on the carousel, sitting atop a laughing stallion, the reins tight in his little fist. The delighted giggles echoed in her mind while she watched Fellow wave a free hand at the crowd. She remembered a man waving back. Minerva hadn't liked the old man paying that much attention to her grandson. The image blurred when she tried focusing on his wrinkled face, causing her to snap back into reality.
"Are you all right?" she heard Walter ask. She turned her face to him.
"Yeah." She sat up and pulled the quilt to her shoulders. "I'm freezing."
Walter retrieved another blanket from the foot of the bed and raised her arms so he could tuck it around her. "What happened to Fellow?"
"He was murdered." She said it so quickly it alarmed her. She raised her face to meet Walter's eyes.
"Do they know how?"
Minerva avoided his sad face. "They know. I know they know."
"Honey, I know this is hard for you to talk about, forgive my nosiness. You don't have to...."
When she finally spoke, her words came out in a painful whisper. "I don't know what happened. They wouldn't tell me."
"Who wouldn't tell you? The kids?"
Minerva flinched at hearing "the kids" as if knives were piercing her skin. "Not the kids, the cops. George and Piper told me nothing. I had to call the cops to find out."
"My God," Walter said, eyebrows raised level with the top of his black-rimmed glasses, making his eyes seem larger. She saw this but it didn't affect her the way it usually did. "How did you know to call the cops?"
The springs creaked with each turn while Minerva positioned herself on the bed. "I didn't know. Piper called but I couldn't understand her, so I called the sheriff's office."
"Ah, I see." He took her hands in his. "I'm sorry you had to find out that way."
Minerva's bottom lip quivered like a child's. "Seems I'm always the last to know." She let that sink in. "And that no good George!"
"What did George do?"
Minerva waved him off but quickly grabbed his hands again. "Oh, it's not important, same as he always does."
"Well..." Walter said, and she was drawn in by his soothing tone, "the sheriff will find who did this and they will pay. Don't worry, justice will be served."
Minerva blinked and snapped a hand back, where it curled in a fist and stuck to her chest. "Of course, why wouldn't it?" Walter's words planted themselves somewhere in her conscience, his kind and loving demeanor somehow causing her anger to surface. She yanked her other hand from his grasp. "It's not like I did it."
***
"So the bitch is crazy," Davis heard Deputy Schmidt say. "Did she kill her old man, too?" He snickered and Davis looked up from his paperwork, frowning at him.
He pulled a pen from behind his ear and opened a notepad. "Can't say." He continued scribbling. "But I have my doubts about her innocence. That woman's so full of hate she could kill anyone."
"So you think the hag killed the boy and her old man?" He snorted, and Davis shot him another warning look. "Sorry, Boss. Did you go see her? What did she say?"
Davis tore a sheet of paper from the pad and tossed the pen on his desk. "God yes, and her place was a pig sty. She's distraught over the boy's death. " Davis shook his head and watched while Schmidt picked up the paper and read it.
"Is she mental? What's wrong with her?"
"I know she takes a lot of pills," Davis said. "Read through my notes, check the local pharmacies, and we'll find out for sure. Get a warrant if you have to. Seems like the lady may have some problems we need to know about. Unless we gather better information, my eye is on her."
He watched Schmidt fold the paper and put it in his pocket. "Okay. I'll go see what I can find."
***
Piper stood in front of the closet, holding the gun. She thought about Fellow's little body on the cold steel table. The gun felt heavier in her palm. She turned it over in her shaking hands. Her eyes settled on a small scratch on the barrel. Her mind went back to a time when she and her father were at the shooting range. She studied the scratch.
This was her father's gun. But why would her father's gun be among the gifts at the vigil? There was only one way. Her mother. Her mother had planted the gun.
Something wasn't right. Why would her mother have given it to them at church? She would have to tell Davis about it.
Piper dialed Davis' number. She told him how the gun was found and she recognized it as her father's. "There's only one way we could have gotten that gun. My mother put it there."
Davis told her he'd be over right away.
***
Minerva reapplied mascara, rouge, and her new Maybelline powder. She squirted both eyes with Visine and blinked, wiping the drops from her cheeks. She didn't want Walter seeing her blotched, plain face when she went to see him at his place. The sheriff had been rough on her with all his questions that morning. She was upset and disoriented. It would be good talking with Walter.
She arrived right on time and the light conversation quickly turned to Davis's visit.
"Hey careful, you'll ruin that pretty face," Walter said, wiping a tear from her cheek. Minerva pressed her cheek into his palm and closed her eyes. It was hard talking about being interrogated. "Sit down here; I'll get you some hot tea." Minerva sat on the gray loveseat, the only place to sit in the living room. Walter's apartment was small, but everything in it had its place: the couch, the end table he used as a coffee table, and the TV were all that furnished the room. A single shelf of books lined one wall and a rooster-shaped clock hung on the opposite wall. In spite of the deadly cold outside, the world without light, Minerva thought this room was like a bit of sunshine. The warmth of it took away the chill and she untied her coat.
"I just don't know why Davis visited today and forced me to talk. I never did anything wrong." Minerva wiped her raw nose on a wadded piece of toilet paper.
"What did you tell him?" Walter handed her the tea and sat beside her.
"I told him the truth. I was in the stall and when I came out Fellow was gone, just as I said before."
"Is that all?"
Minerva's eyebrows furrowed and the corners of her mouth turned down.
"What do you mean, is that all?"
She watched Walter hold up his hands in surrender. "I meant nothing, just trying to help. I wouldn't want Davis asking me about you again." Walter said the words seemingly without thinking and Minerva saw his face redden. Her jaw slackened while he pushed his glasses higher on his nose and added, "Yes, he talked with me, but nothing bad. Don't worry. I didn't want to upset you about it, so I didn't mention it. You had enough to worry about without thinking about this."
Minerva huffed and rolled her eyes. "You told them lies about me." She returned his gaze. "How could you?"
"I told no lies. You're my friend. I didn't want to talk to them." She maneuvered around him when he stood to face her and grabbed her coat from the couch.
"Get away from me. If you liked me you wouldn't have talked to them."
"That's not true, Minerva. They called me in, said I had to come down or I'd get a summons later."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You betrayed me. You went behind my back and talked about me." She pulled an arm through her coat sleeve and struggled with the other one. Walter took the other arm and stretched it out to give her room. "Don't!" she said and grabbed it.
"Please don't go. We can get through this," Walter said.
"We have nothin' more to
say."
Minerva ambled to the pickup as fast as she could, her purse clutched tight in her arms. She didn't look back to see if Walter was watching her.
***
Piper turned off the iron and unplugged the cord. This was the last of six pairs of jeans she had ironed for George. She was alone and wondered if he was at work. She couldn't remember the last time they really talked. She ran a hand over her face and formed a ponytail at the back of her head. Even though the heater was off, she rolled a newspaper and fanned herself. She took a seat at the dining room table and sipped water from a glass. It had been a while since she'd eaten well and her clothes were loose. A shaky hand reached for a chip from a basket left on the table. She nibbled it while watching a kid play on a skateboard outside the window. Piper cringed when he would hit the same ice spot on the sidewalk, narrowly escaping a crash each time.
She thought back to Davis' visit a few days ago. He had examined the gun and scribbled its serial number into his notebook. He said she could keep it since he had no reason to confiscate it. She hadn't heard anything about it since then.
She reached for another chip, but put it back. She rose and unhooked her purse from the hall tree and brought it to the table. Unzipping the baggy, she counted seven pills and swallowed all of them. She folded the baggy and put it back in a corner of her purse. She would have to find a way to get another prescription. Piper poured herself a glass of wine and stretched out on the couch, propping her feet on the coffee table. Sleep would do her good. She wouldn't have to think of her marriage or battle the horrible images of her son that assaulted her mind. She wouldn't have to think or feel anything.
It had been two days since Fellow's funeral. She couldn't remember much of it. She requested a closed casket so she wouldn't have to explain the high collar on his neck. But that was all she thought of during the service. John helped her through it, holding her right hand while her husband's arm braced her shoulders. Uncle Dill had sat her down for a "talk" before he left, but she was numb to his words. She just could not feel better about anything.
Minerva Day Page 16